0 comments/ 12329 views/ 0 favorites Painting the Barn By: Cal Y. Pygia When the old gray mare ain't what she used to be, painting the barn is more of a challenge than it was when milady was just a silly filly, but, at any age, putting on one's face isn't a simple matter, which is why this article is necessary. It may be hard to believe, but there's more to a woman than her tits and ass. There's her twat, too. Just kidding. There's a lot more, of course. There are her face and--well, that's about it, unless you count her hair. Okay, okay, I'm joking, all right? There are also her clothes and her accessories. In erotica, variety is the spice not only of life but also of lust, and there should be as much variety as possible in a woman's tits, ass, hair, clothing, and accessories as possible. (Otherwise, there's no way to tell the difference between a hardened slut and an innocent ewe ready for her first, uh, sheering.) When writing about women, an author has to offer something in lieu of personality, after all. Ladies, how can we describe thee? Let me count the ways. Starting at the top, a writer should consult a manufacturer of hair color. By doing so, he will learn (if the writer's a she, she will know this already) that there are more colors than blonde, brown or black, and red. Each of the big three has a whole "family" of tints, tones, shades, and hues from which to choose. According to one such manufacturer (I'd mention the name, but Literotica's not partial to the naming of names unless the names are paying to be named), hair color includes these shades: golden platinum, light ash blonde, pale golden blonde, honey blonde, brownish blonde, platinum ash with beige highlights, butterscotch, dark blonde, light beige blonde, strawberry blonde, wheat, golden lights, honey, frosted blonde, medium ash blonde, light honey brown, and ginger--and those are just the tints in the "blonde family" of hair colors. There are just as many in both the "brunette" and the "red" families. By using the exact hair color, or shade thereof, in describing your story's female characters, you can differentiate one, say, a honey blonde, from another, say, a golden light. After the hair, there's the face, and here, as elsewhere, the typical woman--the girl next door, if you will--is going to need all the help she can get. Before she can get said help, cosmeticians have learned, a foundation has to be laid, as it were, upon which to build. Therefore, "foundation makeup" is applied that generally matches the skin tone to smooth out such irregularities as oily skin, dry skin, birthmarks, acne scars, blotchiness, freckles, birth defects, and curses of God. Most such makeup is composed of a combination of oils, emollients, alcohol, powders, minerals, silicone, and water. Foundation makeup is the mask, or canvas, so to speak, upon which the makeup artist performs his or her miracle, transforming mere ivory (or ebony) into a statuesque beauty of Galatea's loveliness. Next, let's consider (I almost wrote "look at") the eyes. There's an array of cosmetics to make the mirrors of milady's soul more attractive: eye shadow, eyeliner, and mascara seem to be the main ones. For men who write erotica, a few definitions may be in order. According to American Heritage Dictionary, eye shadow is "A cosmetic available in various colors or tints and applied especially to the eyelids to enhance the eyes." The same source defines eyeliner as "makeup used to outline the eyes" and mascara as "a cosmetic applied to darken the eyelashes." Since, by definition, makeup is mostly about the outer girl, that's about all the assistance a girl can expect from cosmetics manufacturers, as regards her peepers. However, colored contact lenses can be used to turn brown eyes blue or green or blue or green eyes brown. Like hair color, eye makeup comes in a bewildering assortment of hues. One company offers 120 shades of eye shadow! Fear not, though, all of them come on a single two-layered, 9"- x 6"-inch "palette" which includes both "matte and shimmer colors" for as little as thirty bucks, or about 25 cents apiece, which is, presumably, quite a steal. For the anal retentive among you, in using such a product, milady will be applying the following ingredients to her eyelids: talcum powder, kaolin, mica powder, magnesium stearate, titanium white powder, colorant, pearl lustre mica powder, and silicone oil. With such a "palette" before her, milady can color her eyelids any hue she wants, from white to tan. (By the way, if she doesn't like "cake" eyeliner, she can opt for its "gel" form.) The eyeliner equivalent to the black dress is smoky eyes. Again, for male authors, smoky eyes result from a layered effect that is produced (one is tempted to say "achieved," as if effecting this look were an accomplishment of sorts) by using eyeliner in association with several shades of eye shadow and mascara in which dark, rich colors are matched with lighter base tones. However, women can also opt to match their eyeliner to the eye color that God or nature gave them or to the color of the clothing that fashion designers offer. Brown eyes are easy to please, looking good in virtually any color of eye shadow. However, some makeup artists suggest blue eye shadow or a gold shimmer for dark-eyed "beauties." One would think that blue eyes would call for blue eye shadow, but that would be logical, and there's nothing logical about either women or cosmetics, so if that was your guess, you'd be either a man or a male-to-female transsexual who hasn't quite made the transition yet. No, blue eyes call for earth tones to make them "pop" (although I, for one, can't imagine why on earth a woman or shemale, for that matter, would want to look like Popeye). Brown with a pale purple base, taupe, or a slate gray color are among cosmeticians' recommendations for blue eyes. Green and hazel eyes call for purple shades. What's actually in eyeliner? Here's one company's formula: hydrogenated jojoba oil, caprylic/capric triglyceride, pumice, limnanthes alba (meadowfoam) seed oil, hydrogenated cottonseed oil, euphorbia cerifera (candelilla) wax, glyceryl caprylate, copernicia cerifera (carnuba) wax, macadamia ternifolia seed oil, tocopherol, chamomilla recutita (matricaria) extract, ascorbyl palmitate, titanium dioxide, iron oxides, mica, and zinc oxide. (Aren't you sorry you asked!) The problem with mascara is that it can clump or run. Fear not, though! Scientists have been working, day and night, on these problems, and they've made headway. Meanwhile, there's the matter of which color best suits blondes, brunettes, and redheads. The answer: black (for brunettes) or brown (for everyone else). There are other choices, but they're not recommended. For thicker-looking lashes, curl the lashes and apply a second coat. Be advised that it's likely a woman will be applying some mixture of these ingredients along with the basic black or brown color: lanolin, linseed oil, mineral oil, castor oil, eucalyptus oil, sesame oil, oil of turpentine, alcohol, water, ceresin, gum tragacanth, methyl cellulose, rayon fibers, carbon or iron oxides, beeswax, paraffin, carnauba wax, and water. Okay, that about does it for the eyes. Next, let's consider the lips. There are a lot of colors from which to choose for lipstick ("a small stick of waxy lip coloring enclosed in a cylindrical case," our friends at American Heritage Dictionary tell us) or lip gloss ("a substance for making the lips appear glossy," according to wicked Wikipedia). In fact, there's a rainbow of colors, a garden of them, a your-choice-of-metaphor of them. Basically, though, traditional hues range from cream and frost to red, but everything to purple and black are also available, and not just for clowns and vampires on Halloween anymore. There are also various types, including sheer, shimmer, cream, matte, long-lasting. Ingredients? Wax (beeswax, candelilla wax, or camauba); oil (mineral, caster, lanolin, or vegetable); alcohol; pigments; preservatives; and antioxidants. There remains, of women's facial features only the cheeks to consider. A woman who is hot (and especially one who is hot to trot) must be depicted as being always blushing. To make this miraculous feat happen--or seem to happen--she needs to apply rouge (or blush, as this cosmetic is now more generally called). Naturally, color is a big deal here, too, and cosmetics companies allow their customers an array of hues in which to simulate blushing, but most are some version of pink and are supposed to match the skin tone (of Caucasian women, at least). What's in the stuff? (I almost write "shit" instead of "stuff," before remembering that Literotica is a family-oriented website.) Pretty much the same culprits as one finds in other makeup: mica, zinc stearate, zinc oxide, jojoba oil, caprylic/capric triglyceride, titanium dioxide, iron oxides, ultramarines, grapeseed extract. (The so-called animal cruelty-free version contains something along the lines of mineral oil and talc paraben--apparently, vegans aren't concerned about harming the non-animal environment composed of helpless plants and innocent minerals!) That's it for the face; now, the body. I was going to go on (and on) about fashion, because women are heavily into clothes and accessories, but then it occurred to me that men, typically, aren't, and erotica has a largely male (or lesbian) audience which (this humble writer excepted) is best described as chauvinistic, sexist, and misogynistic (according to hairy-legged feminists, at least), and, for them, milady looks best without any clothes on at all. Naked, for them, is really the best disguise. Therefore, a final word or two should be all that's needed to close the door on this article concerning the painting of the ol' barn. First, for the woman (or shemale) who doesn't have much in the way of tits, what little cleavage there is can be enhanced by makeup. Simply apply a darker-than-natural-skin-tone shade of makeup to the cleavage and a lighter-than-natural-skin-tone shade of makeup to either side of the cleavage and to the tops of the breasts, where, normally, the sun shines brighter. A similar trick can be performed on milady's buttocks, and blush can impart a rosy glow to her ass cheeks as well. Makeup isn't really just about color. It's combined effect--big, bright eyes, highlighted lips, and blushing cheeks--is supposed to mimic the signs of orgasm, suggesting that milady is continuously in the throes of la petite mort, or "the little death," as the poetic (and macabre) French prefer to call sexual bliss. If such a signal as that doesn't attract a guy, he's gay, for sure, so even a fat lady or a plain Jane, provided her barn is properly painted, should have some luck in landing a hapless lover, if not necessarily a hubby. Moreover, writers of erotica--even male writers--have no excuse, now that they're read this article, not to describe milady in all her near-infinite splendor. If cosmetics companies have searched the world over to bring, at tremendous expense and effort, and based on the latest scientific knowledge and technological capability, the waxes, oils, pigments, and other ingredients needed to paint milady's barn, authors of erotic fiction can be expected to do no less than to use their work as a basis for describing the loveliness of milady's charms. Painting the Bathroom I would like to thank my editor HopelesslyAddicted, and my sounding board, you know who you are. And all mistakes are wholly owned and cherished by the author. There are no winners in this story. As in life that sometimes happens. How to start, how do you write about the worse experience of your life? I guess I will have to start at the beginning and work myself to the present. First, I would like to state things did not turn out as I intended them. And I did not foresee the outcome that took place. I don't know if I could have done much of anything differently. I certainly would not have sent the letter had I known. My name is Sara Bonecker. I am married to a wonderful man whom I know with every fiber of my being, loves me. More importantly, he respects me. Moreover, it is respect or the lack there of that brought about the dissolution of my first marriage. It is the events of my first marriage I wish to write about. Maybe putting detail into words about it will ease the burden of sorrow. I, like most of my friends, attended university for four years. I graduated with a degree in finance. Yes, I am a banker. In these troubling times, the rest of America does not view to us too kindly. I'm sure you watch on CNN, all the fat bonuses that have been given out by banks, paid for with taxpayer money. I am not that high up the ladder so I haven't seen any of that. I'm a corporate banker. I keep my eye on Wall Street but my clients are not the big players. I deal in loans for payrolls, that sort of thing. My first husband I met in university. He was studying for an Engineering degree. A Mechanical Engineering degree and that is all I really understand about that. Ben was the most handsome man I had ever seen. People talk about Adonis well I married Adonis. I became Mrs. Ben Dover. It was the happiest day of my life when he proposed. Things were going to be tough. We had just graduated and we had massive student debts. We moved to New York City as the job opportunities I calculated to be the best there. Ben soon had a job with a Construction firm working on international construction projects. I took a mid level job at Bank of America. The first three years we lived in a small apartment and began to pay on our student debt. We were making good money so we managed to have fun along the way. Life was good. In our fourth year of marriage, Ben said it was time for us to look at starting a family. He had come from a large family and so he wanted to get started on one soon after we were married. We ended up postponing our start until we had our debts under control. I argued it would curtail my career with the bank. Ben said he would take as much maternity leave as was needed and I could return to work as soon as possible. I said our apartment was not big enough for a family of three. Therefore, we went looking for a house. When Ben and I would make love, we often talked dirty to one another and we would act out situations that would give us a thrill. My fantasies are tame and some would say lame. I wanted spontaneous sex. I wanted Ben to take me without asking. I loved it when he would sneak around the house, catch me in a compromising position, and have his way with me. Ben's fantasies lead to our demise. Just after moving into our new house, Ben observed me looking intently at a man in a clothing store. "Are you hot for him Sara?" I was startled. "Ben you know I only have eyes for you. Doesn't he look a lot like you?" I asked. "Now that you mention it he does. What were you thinking about as you looked at him?" Ben seemed to be pressing this line of thought. I did not know where he was going with it. "Obviously he looks like you so I was wondering if he might be a cousin as I know all your brothers. Is he a cousin of yours?" "No, first time I have ever seen him honey. Why would you think he was a cousin?" "Just look at him Ben, he is tall like you. He has dirty blond wavy hair just like you. He is slim in the waist with broad shoulders and he has big hands just like you. Don't you see the resemblance in his facial features? And those eyes of crystal blue just like yours. He could almost be your twin Ben." Ben just smiled; I had never seen such a display before this enigmatic smile on his face. I was not to find out then either as when we looked the man was gone and Ben and I went about our shopping. We had this new house and it was a fixer upper. We had bought within our budget and it was a good thing we did. We had been in debt for too long to want to strap ourselves with even more. I loved the house and it was ours. I again had cause to look at my life and feel that everything was going great. Ben and I made a list of all the repairs we thought we needed around the house. Painting the trim on the outside of the house was my first project. Make it look good on the outside while making it livable on the inside. Ben's first project was the kitchen. Paint, countertops and cabinets, were all in need of repair. His project was going to cost us more than mine did. I also took to looking after the yard and the garden. I am amazed at the amount of money you can save if you grow your vegetables. It would take three months to fix the kitchen and make the outside look presentable. During this time, our life in the bedroom changed. Ben would initiate love making by changing his voice and his mannerisms. One day he would speak with a southern drawl and the next it would be with a Spanish accent. He seemed more vigorous during these exchanges. I was benefiting with some of the best orgasms of my life. One day I was in the bathroom and I realized it was the next big project. Shower and sink, I think I wanted a tile floor. I was measuring the baseboards when Ben found me. In a thick Spanish accent, he said to me, "Ah I see you are waiting for a real man to come along." Before I knew what was going on he was fondling me and I was getting hot. Ben took me right there on the bathroom floor. The whole time he was talking dirty in Spanish to me. I don't speak Spanish but I had to say whatever possessed my husband was sure taking me for a ride. He torn my shorts off but left on my silk panties. He started slowly licking at my quim and the mixture of pressure and the silk drove me to a quick orgasm. Once I have my first Ben usually wants to fuck me, this was not the case today. Holding me down with his powerful hands, Ben continued to drive his tongue across my clit. Then he pulled my panties to the side and started on my puffy pussy lips. I learned a long time ago where my g-spot is. Ben found it on his first try. He has this way of curling his tongue and brushing softly to the roof of my pussy. I am lucky I guess, as my g-spot is right there just inside my entrance the distance of an inch or so. Ben lightly sways his tongue over my spot. My head is moving involuntarily by now. I have no control over my legs and my stomach is doing summersaults. My toes are so curled I think they are going to break. The combined feeling is one of flying, floating and dying all at the same time. Ben is relentless and I squirt all over his face I am drained and senseless. Sometime later Ben is driving himself into me. He is not making love to me now he is fucking me. His cock is driving my spot as he makes these short fast thrusts into my pussy. After no more than ten of these, I go into a continuous squirting frenzy. Screaming in ecstasy until I am hoarse, my body is not my own any more. Ben has taken it, possessed it. I am but a toy for his amusement and I love it when I am conscious of my surroundings. Staying conscious is hard work as I pass from moment to moment. Then Ben takes pity on me. His thrusts go deeper and the angle takes the pressure off my spot. He is going like an animal, but still he is showing his control and skill. Each thrust just barely hitting my cervix. Just enough force to tell my body he is as deep as he should go and not enough force to hurt me. God I love this man. And then finally, Ben rears back snarling what I can only assume is invective in Spanish. His cock wonderfully expands and I can feel his seed being unleashed into the deepest parts of me. I pass out for a time. I find myself, when I wake lying on our bed, I still don't have much control over my legs. Ben is grinning at me. "Water!" Is my only word, I am dehydrated from all my moaning and screaming. My pussy has that delightful contented ache of having just been fucked. My clit is still too sensitive to touch. I look at the clock; we had been in there for over an hour. I am a practical girl and so strange things go through my head at times like these. I had made three decisions. One we needed to paint the bathroom. Two I was not going to have sex on the floor again for quite some time if I could avoid it. And three I was going to ask Ben what this was all about. We took a shower together and made plans to eat out at our favorite bistro. Hot sex, dinner and dancing followed by more hot sex, I love it when a plan comes together. But not all things go as planned. The dinner and dancing were a great wind up for what would be a celebration of being married to a man like Ben. We raced home from our night on the town. The only thought in my head was comfort and sex in our big bed. Ben ruined everything. "Honey have you ever thought of having sex with another man?" "No Ben what brought that idea up?" "Remember the guy at the mall? I saw the look you gave him. I understand that attraction can't be helped. I would understand if you wanted the attention of other men." "I have you Ben and I don't want anyone else. If this is the moment you tell me you want a threesome with another woman, understand one thing. I am a one-man woman Ben. I don't share nor do I wish to be shared." I was getting upset and you could hear it in my voice. "Sara I don't want another woman. We always talk about our fantasies. And to be honest I want to see you with another man." "Talking and doing are two different things Ben. I think that ends this discussion." I rolled over and made myself unavailable. My mind was racing faster than the drive home. Who was I married to? I didn't get much sleep that night, too much thinking. Life returned to normal for us after that non-argument. Ben and I engaged in sex on a regular basis, gone were the accents and the role of another man. The sex was good and I was happy with the way our life was going. "Ben? We need to start our next project, the bathroom." "Sara we need to start a different project, the child making. Remember all this is so we could start a family. Sara we need to put more time into that project, the bathroom can wait until we have results on that project." "Last time we were looking at working on the bathroom Ben, I distinctly remember that we worked on the child making project too. I am not suggesting that we leave off that project for the bathroom but I think we have been doing a good job where that project is concerned. I want you to paint the bathroom. I have the colors all picked out. I want you to choose from the samples which color you like." "As long as the bathroom doesn't get in the way of baby making any color is fine with me Sara. I trust your judgment." "Tomorrow I will get the paint and the supplies. You will have to get a hold of that contractor that is going to do the basin and shower renovations." "I'll call them and see if they care whether it is painted first or should be painted after." "Oh I hadn't thought of that." So Ben got his way, we ended up working on the baby for the rest of the day. I can't say I really have anything to complain about. I like working on babies. I wonder if I am going to like having babies. The contractor informed Ben that doing the painting after would allow them to work faster as they would not have to worry about damaging the paint if it was to be replaced. The contractors were waiting on the fixtures for the bathroom and we were waiting on the contractors. This gave Ben and I time to work on his pet project. I never worked so hard in my life. At about this time Ben started in on the Spanish and accent. He was more spontaneous with his lovemaking and I guess there was no real harm in his fantasies. As long as they stayed just that, reality and fantasy in this instance do not mix. Two weeks passed and still the contractors are waiting for the fixtures. I guess that is what happens when you want something specific instead of what is in the showroom. Work at the bank was beginning to become hectic. I was starting to spend a considerable amount of time on over time. The economic situation was worsening and the housing market was beginning to crash. The bank began to tighten up on all forms of loans. And that brought clients in to plead their case with the management, me. To the businesses that I had a long-standing relationship, I would send my recommendation up the chain of command. This did not always secure the loan these businesses needed. Makes no sense to me why we were not loaning these good clients the money they needed. After all, they had good reputations and had no defaults on previous loans. In effect, they were as secure a guarantee on a loan as one could hope for. But the banks were in a panic. Little did I know that all hell was breaking loose. Ben's work on the other hand was flourishing. He had mission statements to write, schedules to keep and a host of small decisions to make. I had not seen him happier in a long time. Our bedroom fun, kitchen fun.... just about anywhere fun, was going strong. He still played the Spanish lover even if I considered it absurd. After all, he has blond hair and white skin; he doesn't look Mediterranean in the least. But close your eyes and his voice and accent could trick you. The sex was good... no it was very good. Ever had that feeling that when things are going great something bad is just around the corner? Every time I heard that accent, I got that feeling. I made myself keep my eyes open because I didn't want to buy into his fantasy. I didn't want anyone coming between my husband and me. I guess I just don't understand the compulsion. My husband didn't act like a wimp and here he wanted me to fuck a strange man, over my dead body. The contractors finally arrived with the basin and shower stall. The lighting had been done while we waited. I had the mirror ready for when the contractors finished. And suddenly fate decided to lend a hand. One of the workers was none other than the man from the mall. I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that things were going to go wrong. I trust my instincts; they had never failed me before. One day, two at the most and then he would be gone. I decided to avoid the situation by spending more time at work. A win-win situation for me, I would avoid a potential confrontation with Ben and I would get caught up on my workload. I only wish it had worked. I arrived home at six that evening, Ben was in the kitchen making dinner. This had become a routine since the mortgage crisis. I went to him and kissed him hello. "How was your day dear? Anything new and existing happen with your latest project?" We made it a point to show interest in each other's careers. I had learned a great deal about his engineering work over the years. And I think Ben could become an accomplished Banker if he wanted to. I was also avoiding a conversation I did not want. "Well nothing new happened today at work. Sara go look in the bathroom it is almost finished. They even put the mirror up for us. They are going to be back tomorrow to do the finishing touches on the grout and moldings." I went and looked in the bathroom. Everything seemed to be in order. The tile had been laid and the basin and cabinet installed. The shower looked just like I had pictured it. I felt a sense of relief, but not over the work that was done. Ben had not mentioned the man. Maybe we were going to get through this. I should have known better. That night Ben was an animal in bed, actually, he was an animal in the kitchen first then a caveman as he took me back to his lair. The Spanish was coming hot and heavy and I was left a quivering mess by the time he ran out of steam. God I love this man. What I didn't understand then is love is fleeting and can, given the right circumstances, turn on a dime. I did not marry for money; I didn't marry for social position. I married for love, and given what happened, I wouldn't change a thing I did, accept for sending that letter. If I have one regret, besides wanting my marriage to succeed, it would be that I never even wrote that letter. But I did and I will have to live with the consequences the rest of my life. I thought I had dodged a bullet. The man from the mall had worked on our bathroom and Ben had not reintroduced his interest in my interest of him. Does that sound confusing to you? It still confuses me today. I thought Ben loved me, I believed that with all my heart. It was not so, and Ben would prove it too me. So I had just dodged the bullet, life was good. Or so I thought. I inspected the work done in the bathroom. Noted that we still needed to paint the walls and install the lighting. Ben had taken me to bed and the sex was heavenly. Ben just seems to know when I want it hard and when I wanted in soft and romantic. It would be the last time I would be made love to by Ben. Only we didn't know it then. The next day dawned like any other day. We showered and did our normal morning routine before heading off to work. Although I had caught up on a great deal of my extra workload, I was still behind. By noon I knew I would be spending a little time working over at the end of my day. I called Ben to tell him I would be late, "Ben, I am swamped here and I will be about an hour late tonight. Do you want me to bring take-out home or do you just want to delay supper until I get there?" "I want you to wait I will start supper later and it will be ready for you when you get home. Sara I have a surprise for you in the bedroom for this evening. You will need to eat a big meal to keep your strength up." "After a day like today that sounds perfect, I can't wait for my surprise. I'll talk to you later, love you." "I love you too bye." "Bye." The rest of the day dragged as only a day can, when you are anticipating as I was. I never lost focus though. A new account was giving me problems but at 5:30 I packed it in and headed home. I never put my work ahead of Ben and I never would. A job is a job but the love of your life is your life. I returned home and didn't notice the truck parked on the street in front of the house. I should have but I was in a rush to see what the surprise was. I opened the door and like many times before I called out for Ben. "Ben I'm home and I am starving. What are we having for dinner?" I strolled to the kitchen and Ben was slaving over the stove. He moved and kissed me passionately. "We are having steaks this evening. They will be a little while, why don't you go shower and tell me about your day." I moved to the bedroom all the while telling him about the new account. How the bank was bulking at readying the funds for this new business venture. My argument was that the customer is a long-standing one with good credit practices. But with the economic times it was beginning to look like a hard sell to the people upstairs. I started the shower and stepped in. The hot water was soothing. I could not hear anything but the running water and was surprised when Ben entered the shower. I didn't turn around. "Who's cooking supper if you are in here with me?" Ben started soaping my back and kissing my neck. My eyes closed as I had already soaped my face. I put my face under the water as Ben continued to lather my breasts. His hand slipped down to caress my pussy. I turned to kiss him and my eyes opened. I screamed. This was not Ben. I pushed him back against the shower wall. My knee came up and struck him in the groin. All the time I was yelling for Ben. My heart was going a mile a minute. I had to get out of there, where was Ben? Painting the Bathroom Have you ever been in one of those moments when time slows down? This was the moment for me. My hand reached for the shower door as my assailant was falling to the floor of the shower. I think I kicked him or maybe I stepped on him in my haste to get out of there. Where was Ben? The door opened I jumped out and there standing with a shocked look on his face was Ben. The next thing I noticed was he was naked and aroused. Then it hit me. The face, I had seen that face before. At the mall, in the unfinished bathroom, he is the contractor's helper. What the fuck was going on. And then the moment was over. "You fucking bastard!" I hit him I had just hit Ben. The slap might have been heard on the next block, it was the first of many as I punched, slapped and kick Ben out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. "How could you do this you motherfucker?" I didn't give him time to answer. I had him off balance and kicked him one last time between the legs. Ben went down and curled into a ball. Funny what goes through your mind at moments like this; Modesty, I needed to cover up. I needed a gun. Who was going to protect me? Certainly not Ben, I started dressing while Ben curled up on the floor. My cell where the fuck is my cell, I frantically looked for my purse. All the time I am not doing a good job of getting dressed. Found it, my purse. Cell phone, cell phone... Ahh... nine-one-one. I hear movement from the bathroom. "Don't you dare come out here you bastard I have my cell and a push of the button will have the police here in minutes. They'll have to collect your remains as I have a shotgun pointed at the door. You come through that door and I will shoot you." I hope he thought I wasn't bluffing. I really wish I had a gun. At this point, the movements stopped in the bathroom. Ben started to come around. I had most of my clothes on and my finger on the send button. How the fuck did I get into this situation? "Sara why did you hit me?" "Your bastard friend in there was going to rape me. You useless fuck. How could you do that to us?" "Rape you Sara? He wasn't going to rape you. I asked him here so that we could have a threesome. We were going to make love to you, together." "Find his clothes Ben. Get him dressed and get him out of here. Then you and I are going to have a talk." Ben rose unsteadily from the floor, I made a point of showing him that I was armed with my cell, my finger ready to dial. I purposefully kept the bed between us. Ben collected the man's clothes and opened the door to the bathroom. "Don't shoot me." The guy yelled when the door opened and Ben put his head in. "I'm sorry she is not taking this well, don't worry she doesn't have a gun. Just get dressed and leave, I'll handle this." It didn't take him long to dress and leave. Ben went to get dressed and I told him no. "Leave your clothes, living room now. I am going to talk and you are going to listen." I marched him out to the living room and had him sit on the couch. I paced, I was at the time furious. "Just sit and listen, I don't want to hear a word out of you. Nod your head if you understand." He nodded his head. "I told you that this fantasy of yours was and is never going to happen. Did you think I was kidding?" "Sa-" "I said shut up. That means don't talk, your actions tonight have spoken enough for you." I was starting to see red. You can't imagine how worked up this had me. "You have fucked everything up Ben. What kind of a wimp are you. Do you think you are not man enough for me? Is that it? Or perhaps you think you're married to a slut. What part of I am a one man woman did you not understand?" "Don't move." I went into the bedroom and retrieved my purse. "I am going to my mother's I will contact you in a few days when I have calmed down. You will not contact me. No phone calls, no showing up at my work, no contacting my parents or any of our friends looking for me. Got it." At that point, I stormed out the house leaving Ben naked and stunned on the couch. I didn't look back as I pulled the car out of the driveway. I got half way to mom's house and realized I didn't have a change of clothes. I guess I am going shopping tomorrow. A few days turned into a few weeks. I must have apologized a million times to my mother for not explaining what made me show up at her place in the middle of the night. Nor did I explain why I would not return to my home or talk with Ben. The anger never left me. Not for months, I was so angry that I retained a divorce lawyer within days of leaving Ben. My lawyer wasn't happy with what I wanted. No counseling, if Ben wanted to see a shrink that was his business. I did not want anything from the house that would remind me of Ben. The equity in the house was almost non-existent so I told her to leave it to him. I would keep my car only to sell it and buy another. Clothes, dishes, wedding album and presents I left all to Ben. He could have the keepsakes to remember the marriage he had destroyed. I wanted nothing. I handled all of this through my lawyer, I never once spoke to Ben, and there was nothing to say. The divorce was final after a year as Ben kept dragging his feet on everything always asking if I would talk to him. I gave him nothing but silence, he didn't listen when I talked before there was no point in talking now. I moved away, took a transfer to another branch in Albany. There I dedicated my time to rising up the ladder. There I met John Bonecker. We took it slow. He was gentle with me and I sensed he could feel the anger that still resided in me. I fell in love with him and he always tells me it took me much more time to realize it than it did him. We were married within three years of my divorce from Ben. Life was good and I would visit my mother as often as I could. She told me Ben was still living in what use to be our house. I told her I didn't care, that I was never going back there. As things have a way of happening, I gave birth to a little girl in the first year of my marriage to John. And then I did the most evil thing I have ever done. I wrote Ben that damned letter. Ben. I have not contacted you nor did I ever think I would contact you. I know now that that was a mistake. I have hurt myself by not gaining closure on the events that destroyed our marriage. I blame you for that. I will always blame you that. I don't think you even know what you did. So I will tell you. By bringing that man into our life, into our shower you told me something. Something no wife should ever be told. I was just a fuck to you. Our wedding vows said "Forsaking all others" and you somehow forgot that. I was not your Lioness to be serviced by whomever you choose. That was ugly and cruel. I felt like a piece of meat. I don't think you know how degrading that is. You might think I am being unreasonable, that it isn't cheating if you approve of me fucking some other guy. Well it is cheating. We had an agreement. I was yours and yours alone. And you were mine. Exclusive is what a marriage is. I told you that you could have a fantasy as long as it stayed a fantasy. But that wasn't good enough for you. You had to go and ruin everything. I haven't told anyone why we got divorced. It is too embarrassing to think that the man I loved was a sick pervert with such low self-esteem. Or worse had ideas that his wife was a slut to hand around to other men. Good-bye Ben I hope you are getting help with your mental problem. Sara I attached a picture of John and little Julia to the letter. On the back I wrote: She could have been yours. March16th 2013 New York City, New York(AP) The body of Ben Dover was found this morning in his home. First indications are that he died from a single gunshot wound to the head. A picture and a letter were recovered at the scene. The police have ruled it a suicide. Next of kin have been notified. The police are not saying whether the letter or photo are linked to Mr. Dover's death. Mr. Dover's body was found in an unfinished bathroom on the main floor. It was a macabre scene with blood covering one of the walls.