Page 39 of Midlife Woes (Ex)

When he tore the top of my dress in half with his big ole ape hands, my cooch had the nerve to cum, that two-timing bitch. “You can ignore me all you want, but my pussy is still mine.”

I would kill you in your sleep, you bastard. “You better not say whatever you’re thinking.”

I told him to fuck off with my eyes, but he just laughed and kept pounding into me. When he pretended as if he was going to pull out mid-orgasm, I wrapped my legs around his ass and kept him in place until it was over, but I still wasn’t talking to him.

That’s probably why he bit my nipple harder than usual, trying to get a rise outta me. I squeezed down on that plank he had stuffed inside me, and he hissed and swore. That’ll teach you.

We had some sort of standoff, which I have no idea what the point was. He kept pounding, and I kept squeezing; when he gritted his teeth and started to spasm like he had the colic, I thought I had won; I finally had him. But that bastard went after my clit, and the cooch betrayed me once again.

You greedy heifer, you already came like four times, you couldn’t just let me have this one? He came long after me and was very pleased with himself. “Get off me!” With your nasty dick.

“I will when I’m ready.”

Hmph, whatever! By the time he pulled out, half of the Mississippi River flowed out from between my thighs. “Did you piss on me?” He just rolled his eyes and fixed himself, but he was all but smacking his lips while looking at my breasts.

“Take your ass back to work.” I tried covering myself with my arm, which he moved out of his way to get one more nibble on my tit. Then he marked me there, and cooch stretched and yawned like she was looking for seconds.

“How am I supposed to drive around like this?” my poor dress was in tatters. He pulled off his outer shirt then removed the tee-shirt he wore beneath it and pulled it on over my head.

“Wear that, and go home. If you go anywhere else, I promise you will not like the consequences.”

Who told him that I was his child? I don’t even talk to my kids that way. “Getting your ass lit up once didn’t help right. You keep playing.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“Yeah, but you were thinking it. Pain in the ass.”

I looked around for something to throw at him, but he gave me one of his looks, and I calmed down a little. At least I wasn’t as mad as I was when I left the house earlier.

* * *

He came home listento me, like we’ve been in a long-term relationship or something. Anyway, he came home later that evening and went right upstairs to look over the bed, then dropped about ten bags on my floor. “What’s all that?”

“Sheets. Did you throw out the old ones?”

“I forgot.” I didn’t, but I was in the mood for a fight. He eyed me for a minute, then shook his head.

“You did!” I do not like the fact that he knows me so well already. What exactly is his problem anyway?

“You staying here?”

“Where else? Did you eat?”

“I’m not hungry.” Why do I feel like a sullen brat?

He looked me over in the jeans and tee I’d changed into after taking my one-hundredth shower for the day. “Let’s go!”

“Where are we going?” He gave me that look of his, and I just went and got my shoes.

I looked over his head when he lifted me into his truck because I had no intentions of talking to him right now. “I read up on menopause, so I know you’re crazy right now.”

When I tell you, I screeched loud enough to raise the dead ten counties over. I tried jumping back down from the truck, but he wouldn’t move out of my way, and when I tried fighting him, he just held my hands behind my back and let me tire myself out. His words.

“You done? Because I worked all day, and I’m hungry.”

“You didn’t work all day when you had me back there in that field.”

“That was the toughest job of all.”

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