Chapter 1: The Status Quo
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Slow, .
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1: The Status Quo - It's easy to forget what you wanted out of life once you get caught up in the rat race. The things we wanted when young get forgotten while competing to out do the neighbors. At some point, you just become lost. Does it have to be that way? Not necessarily.
"Life sucks, then you die," Greg said bitterly as he watched a stream of bubbles in the beer charge to the surface. He knew the bubbles formed along the sides where the glass had imperfections or was dirty.
"What do you have to complain about?" Donald asked from the barstool beside him. He knew where Greg lived and what kind of cars the man drove. The house was nearly a mansion with four bedrooms, formal rooms, family rooms, and a pool in the back. It had a lawn that was half an acre in size. Parked in the driveway were a BMW, SUV, and a heavy duty pickup for pulling the camper and the boat that were parked next to the house. As far as he was concerned, Greg had achieved the American Dream.
Greg looked over at Donald and recalled the tales of woe the man had spilled over beers in the past. The poor guy had come home one night and found his wife in bed with some jerk that lived up the street. The divorce had taken care of all their assets. The lawyers got most of the money while he and his ex had split the rest. Donald was stuck paying child support and alimony. Deciding that compared to Donald, he didn't really have any reason to complain, Greg said, "Nothing, I guess."
"I saw you walk up. Are you still in that carpool?"
"I've never understood that. You've got money. Why carpool?"
"I like the fact that I don't have to navigate the traffic every day."
"You drive a BMW. What's the big deal?"
Greg hated the commute to work. It wasn't that far, but the traffic was bumper to bumper the entire way. What was the point of having a performance car if all you did was creep behind the car in front of you? The chance to sit back and talk with the other guys three days a week was worth more than the prestige of parking his BMW in his parking space. He only had to drive the carpool on Monday and he drove to work alone on Friday. He answered, "Three days a week I get to nap on the way to work and talk with the guys on the way home. It is a hell of a lot better than staring at the ass end of the car crawling in front of me while listening to some crappy radio show."
Donald laughed and said, "Still, sitting in those leather seats must be pretty nice."
"I don't know. I used to have a VW Bug. I loved that little car," Greg said. It had been cramped, but it had been one great car. He'd rebuilt the engine on it as a teenager and painted it orange with white spots. He used to call it his Lady Bug. His girlfriend at the time loved it and they'd had some great times in it at the drive in. He had nearly cried the day he traded it in for the sedan.
"Then get one of the new ones."
"They aren't the same," Donald said with a shrug of his shoulders. He had been excited when Volkswagen had started advertising the new bug. He had walked away very disappointed upon seeing one. His old bug had rugged little seats, rubber mats, an engine in the back, a little AM radio, and heater that had never worked. The new one looked like every other car on the inside and only resembled the old bug on the outside.
"My, you are in a good mood tonight," Donald said in a voice that dripped with irony. He spotted a woman he knew coming in the bar and said, "I'll catch you later. It looks like I just might get some female company for a change."
"Have fun," Greg said as he took another sip of his beer. He set the glass down on the bar coaster and tried to read the printing on the coaster through the bottom of the glass. He was killing time and he knew it.
The glass was about a third of the way full. It meant he would be leaving in ten minutes. Sighing, he grabbed a handful of popcorn and chased it down with more of the beer. He looked at the glass and the popcorn thinking back to when he had started coming to the sports bar. At first, it had been nice. He'd have a drink and then head home feeling a lot more relaxed and cheerful. Now, he went through the motions of watching the large screen televisions, drinking the beer, and eating the stale popcorn. He didn't feel relaxed and cheerful when he headed home; he felt bloated and depressed.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Shuffling through them, he found a ten and slapped it on the bar. Calling to the bartender, he said, "Keep the change."
Stepping out onto the sidewalk, he headed towards the corner. At the corner he turned left, pausing for a couple of seconds to watch the kid across the street selling flowers. He didn't understand it. Every day that kid was there selling flowers. Greg didn't think there were that many men in the neighborhood who felt guilty enough on a daily basis to keep the kid in business. The only man he knew that bought flowers with any kind of regularity was Jim, a member of his carpool. Come rain or shine, that kid was at the corner every night during rush hour selling flowers.
He walked the block to the street that led into the Glenwood Estates housing development. This was the 'good neighborhood' and most of the houses were huge. There were a few smaller places that were tucked away here and there in the development. They had been added to use the odd sized lots that remained after the rambling yards had been laid out. In a way, the people liked having the smaller houses there since it made their house look bigger. He walked the three blocks to his street.
His wife was embarrassed that he walked from the sports bar to the house three nights a week. She felt it was not appropriate behavior to walk four and a half blocks when one had a luxury car that one could drive. She claimed he looked like one of the Mexican workers who had to walk to work from the bus station at the corner. He was sure that the words weren't hers, but reflected what the neighborhood women said.
At his street, he turned the corner and headed the half block to his house. It was the largest house on the street. For all he knew, it may have been the largest house in the development. It had been one of the last houses to sell and they'd gotten a good price on it. The developer had wanted to move onto another project.
He stared up at the house from the end of the driveway thinking about how much work it was to maintain. Every Saturday during the summer, he spent the entire day doing nothing except taking care of the lawn and the pool. If he was unlucky and it rained, he'd have to spend two evenings of the week mowing the lawn.
Maintaining the house was a never ending battle. There were three and a half baths to fix up. It seemed that there was never a time when a toilet wasn't backed up or wouldn't stop flushing. If the bathrooms were in proper working condition, then something else was broken.
He turned into the driveway and headed towards the house. He looked over at the flowerbeds and knew that this weekend he would have to plant flowers. Spring had arrived and with it came the chore of gardening. He would have no free time until winter came again.
Entering the house, he looked around at the mess. The kid's backpacks had been dumped on the floor. The table by the door was piled with letters, newspapers, and unopened bills. To his left was the formal living room. That was a lot cleaner since they weren't allowed to sit in it unless it was a special occasion.
He didn't notice that there was a thin layer of dust on everything. Tomorrow that dust would be gone. His wife, Sharon, would spend more than an hour cleaning it. First, she'd get her little duster and attack the dusty surfaces. She'd move and dust every little item in the room until it was spotless. Then, she'd vacuum the floor with the monster vacuum. In the meantime, more dust would be falling in one of the other rooms. The next week, she'd be back cleaning that same room and no one would have used it in the meantime. From the kitchen, his wife called out, "Dinner in ten."
The house was laid out such that it was necessary to yell to be heard from one room to the next. He hated listening to her shout. It gave her voice an angry tone even when she wasn't upset. He shouted back, "Okay."
Knowing that he was going to have to deal with the bills soon, he shuffled through the pile of mail. It was a mixture of ads and bills. He grabbed the pile and carried it into his den where his desk was located. He dumped the stack on the desk and sat down in his chair.
His bladder reminded in that it was time to recycle the beer. He recalled the water cycle from his early years in school. It rained, the water ran off into the streams, the streams fed the lakes, the water evaporated from the lakes to form clouds, and then the water fell back to the ground as rain. The beer cycle was similar. You drank beer out of the bottle, pissed it into the toilet, flushed it into the sewer, at the treatment plant they bottled it, and then you drank it out of a beer bottle.
He got up and headed to the bathroom. By the time he finished relieving his bladder, his wife had called out, "Dinner's ready!"
He washed his hands and left the bathroom. Without rushing, he reached the table and noticed that there were only three places set. Taking his normal seat, he waited for everyone else to show up. His wife shouted from the kitchen, "Dinner's ready!"
He wanted to shout back that he knew, but the call wasn't for him. He stared at the center of the table waiting for dinner to be served. His wife slid a plate in front of him. It was loaded with the amount of food that she expected him to eat. He looked down at the plate and said, "Pork chops, green beans, and mashed potatoes. No gravy?"
"I didn't have time to make gravy. Do you think I have nothing better to do than slave in the kitchen all day?"
He looked over at his wife. She was wearing a sweat shirt, a pair of stretch pants, and tennis shoes. He didn't even bother looking at her face. He knew without looking that she wasn't wearing makeup and that mop that she called hair just hung in place. Pursing his lips, he looked back down at his plate. Not wanting to create a scene, he said, "I thought they had canned gravy."
She rolled her eyes and turned to call out for her son, "Dinner's..."
"Ready. I know I heard you bellow," Harry said as he entered the dining room. He shuffled over to his chair and sat down. Without looking up, he started to eat his food even before his mother had sat down at the table. All he wanted to do was get through dinner and back to his room where it was safe.
Greg stared at his son. The boy was wearing blue jeans and a tee shirt with the image of some band on it. His hair was uncombed. He sat hunched over with his mouth about three inches over the plate and shoveled the food into his mouth. Greg didn't tell him to sit up straight since he didn't want to get into a big fight that night. Pointing to the empty spot, he asked, "Where's Cathy?"
"She ate something earlier and is sulking in her room," his wife answered. It never failed for one or both of the kids to eat something before dinner and ruin their appetites. She wondered why she bothered to cook.
"Oh," he said. That was another topic of conversation not to pursue. He started digging the little chips of almonds out of the green beans wondering why she couldn't get the plain green beans. He stabbed one of them with his fork and ate it mechanically. After swallowing, he asked, "How was your day?"
"You need to pay the bills. There's a whole pile of them by the door."
"I know," he answered wondering how that answered his question.
Vigorously sawing away at her pork chop with her knife, she said, "I bought flowers for the garden today. Saturday, you'll have to plant them in the flowerbed. You'll also need to mow the lawn now that Spring is here."
"I figured as much," Greg said with a sigh. That was a Saturday and Sunday shot.
"You're going to have to get the pool ready for the summer soon, so you'll need to run by the pool supply place on your way home from work tomorrow," she said. She didn't understand why he took the carpool to work. She had decided it was so that he only had to run errands on Fridays when he went into work alone.
"Okay," Greg answered wondering how dinner time had become time to receive his marching orders. There was no way that he was going to be able to do all of that by himself in one weekend. Turning to Harry, he said, "You're going to have to help me with the yard on Saturday."
Having heard the work assignment, Harry knew what to expect. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Uh, Dad..."
"Don't argue with me. You have all week to do things with your friends," Greg said cutting off any arguments. It bothered him that every time he asked Harry to do something around the house, the kid had a ton of activities scheduled. It had been even worse the past couple of months.
"It's just that..."
"Stop it. You're working in the garden Saturday and that's that," Greg replied shaking a finger at the young man.
Harry glared at his father before turning his attention to his food. Between bites, he grumbled about how unfair parents were. The food sat heavy in his mouth. Appetite ruined, Harry stood up and walked away from the table having eaten only half his meal. Greg watched him go while shaking his head. He said, "That damn boy is lazy."
"It's all your fault. If you had spent some time with him when he was younger..."
"That's bullshit. I would come home from work and you'd all be off somewhere doing something. I never saw either kid most nights because they weren't here," he said. It seemed like the kids were busy with one thing or another. There had been football, baseball, basketball, cheerleading school, dance, and music. Every night, the kids had some activity to keep them busy and out of trouble. Sharon was busy taking them from one place to another. He said, "When they were here, they never talked to me. Hell, I haven't heard Cathy say a word in five years. Does she even know how to talk?"
"All you thought about was working. You never thought about us."
"My hard work bought us this damned house," he said angrily. He pushed his plate of food away and stood up as he said, "That's enough. I'm going in the den."
His wife stood up and stomped into the kitchen. He could hear her slamming drawers and saying, "I slave over the stove and nobody appreciates it. Nobody does a damn thing in this house. I have to do it all."
He went into his den and turned on the television. Sitting in his comfort chair, he stared blankly at the television without seeing what was playing. After twenty minutes, he got up and went to his desk. It took ten minutes of work on the pile of mail to separate bills and ads. The bills went into one stack and the ads went into his waste basket. One of the ads was for cleaning the gutters. He almost wept when he realized that he'd have to clean the gutters soon.
He opened each bill and removed the ads that were stuffed inside the envelope. It didn't change the number of bills, but it did make the stack look a little smaller. It was a small comfort. One took what comforts one could.
He looked over at the checkbook and then back at the stack of bills. He wondered if he was going to have to refinance the house again to get ahead of the bills. That day was coming. Shaking his head, he said, "Not tonight. I can't face the bills tonight."
His stomach grumbled. He hadn't even eaten half his dinner. Looking over at the clock, he saw that it was all ready eight thirty. The burger place would be open for another half an hour. He'd drive there and get a bite to eat. Grabbing his keys, he headed out without telling anyone where he was going. He didn't think anyone would miss him.
A few minutes after he had left the house, his wife went into the den. Looking around, she saw that he wasn't at home. She knew that he had gone off to get something to eat. He did that whenever they had an argument during dinner. Lately that had become almost a nightly event. Observing the contents of the desk, she knew that he hadn't paid the bills. She stamped her foot and, in frustration, cried out, "Can't you just do one thing that I ask you to do?"
Greg returned home an hour after he had left. He rubbed his stomach as it rumbled. The beer, popcorn, pork chop, green beans, mashed potatoes, hamburger, French fries, and coke were not mixing well in his stomach. It wasn't that he over ate since he hadn't eaten a half portion of any single item. He'd left half his hamburger uneaten at the burger place. He figured it was the beginnings of an ulcer.
He opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle of the pink stuff. Removing the cap, he took a big swig from the bottle. It calmed his stomach a little, but did nothing for his headache. He screwed the cap back on and returned the bottle to the desk drawer. He had a spare just in case he finished the current bottle.
Returning to his comfort chair, he flipped through the channels until he found a history program about ancient Egypt. When they showed two rows of slaves pulling a huge rock up a ramp, he flipped the channel. The scene had reminded him of his home life.
He stopped flipping through the channels when he came across one of those 50's family shows. It showed a make believe world that never existed. Everyone was nicely dressed, their hair was combed, and they talked to each other about their trivial little problems. Mom and Dad knew best and as a result of their wise advice, their kids were well behaved.
He had grown up watching shows like that and had actually thought that he could live that way. For years he thought other people did live like that, but at some point in time he had grown up. Life wasn't like that. Looking at the screen, he said, "You lied to us and fed us false dreams."
In her bedroom, Greg's teenage daughter, Cathy, stared at the wall and cried. For a month, she had fallen asleep with dreams of Robert Green holding her hand and taking her to meet his parents. Her day had been ruined the moment she had seen him with Amy Ables. She could hardly believe her eyes. Robert Green, the most delectable hunk of teenage boy in school, was holding hands with Amy Ables. Crushed, she decided that no boy was ever going to ask her out.
Upset about what she had seen at school, she had come home and eaten a quart of ice cream. Then she had a huge argument with her mother because she wasn't going to be able to eat dinner. Why didn't her mother understand? Dinner didn't matter compared to the tragedy that had befallen her. Now she was depressed, her stomach hurt, and she was convinced that no boy would ever kiss her. She just knew that she was going to wake up in the morning fat from eating all that ice cream.
In his room, Harry searched the web for porn confident that was as close as he was ever going to get to a girl. He wasn't going to be able to date until he could drive. Pretty girls didn't go out with dweebs who were chauffeured on the date by their parents. He was going to be turning seventeen soon and still hadn't been practicing how to drive a car.
His father wouldn't even listen to him long enough for him to ask about practicing. All his father did was order him around to do more work. He would have agreed to help with the damned gardening if his father would take him driving. It was so unfair.
The only thing his mother ever said to him was to demand that he clean his room. He looked around the room at the handful of clothes scattered on the floor wondering what the big deal was. She didn't live in his bedroom. If she wanted it cleaner than that, she could do it herself. He was happy with how it was.
He reached into his desk and pulled out a candy bar. He munched on it while going from website to website in search of the perfect woman. He even knew what she looked like and her name. Her name was Lisa McCullum and she was a girl in a couple of his classes. He knew that he wouldn't find her picture, but he hoped to find one of a woman who looked a lot like her. Too bad he'd never get to date her since he'd never get his driver's license.
Depressed, he ate some more of his candy bar thinking that he'd get pimples from eating so much chocolate. When Harry finished it, he threw the wrapper at the trash can. It almost went in. He found a picture of a nude woman and looked at it for a minute. Smiling, he said, "At least there is the internet. Too bad you can't download new parents."
Sharon was sprawled across her bed crying. She didn't know what she had done to deserve this life. Her husband ignored her. Her daughter was hostile and would argue over the color of the sky. Her son was rude and treated her like a maid. She spent all of her free time trying to hold the household together and no one appreciated her efforts.
She curled into a fetal position and thought about her life. It had all been planned out. She was going to live the American Dream. She was going to fall in love with a handsome man who would be successful. Her husband would treat her like a queen and she would treat him like a king. They'd get a nice big house in a good neighborhood with good schools. They'd go to the country house on the weekends to relax. They'd have two kids, a boy and girl.
She was going to be the perfect mother. Her kids would have no choice except to be perfect. Her son would be on the school football team. After graduating with honors, he would go onto college before starting a successful career as a lawyer. Her daughter would be a popular cheerleader. After high school, she would go to college and then become a successful career woman who had everything.
There was the saying that one should beware of what one wished for since they just might get it. She had gotten it. She had married a successful man, but it seemed to her that he cared more about his success than about her. She had gotten the big house she wanted. Of course, they had bought it after a huge fight. When he had said they couldn't afford it, she accused Greg of wanting to ruin the futures of the children by forcing them into substandard schools. Now she had come to hate it.
Her children were a mess and she didn't understand what she had done wrong. They went to the best school in the area. She made sure that they had participated in all the right social activities when they were younger. Her son didn't make the football team and her daughter didn't even try out for the cheerleaders. They were good students, but not great ones. They were sullen and withdrawn at home.
In his den, Greg flipped through the channels and found nothing of interest on the television. He turned it off and thought about his life. He didn't mind his job. He was good at it and made good money. His problems were at home and he wasn't dealing with them very well. It seemed to him that he ended up in an argument every night over something. They even recycled past arguments without ever resolving them.
The choices on how to fix his home life weren't very good. He suspected that they would become an all too common story. It wouldn't be too much longer before he was tempted to find some eager young woman who would be nice to him. Then one day, he'd decide to move in with her rather than put up with his home life. His wife would come home to find that all his stuff was gone. She'd be distraught and cry wondering what she had done wrong. She'd get a lawyer and put him through hell.
He realized he could end up like Donald; coming home early and finding his wife in bed with some asshole that lived up the street. He snorted and thought of that mop she called a hair style. At first, he thought no one would be interested, but he knew that some guy would look past that for the chance to have a little something different on the side.
The fact of the matter was that he didn't want either of those two things to happen. He wanted the girl he married back. She had been attractive, interesting, and supportive. Now she was plain, boring, and a nag. He wanted the family life that was in the 50's television shows. Looking across at the blank television screen he said, "I wanted Father Knows Best and I got Married with Children."
It was late when he went to bed. Believing that his wife was asleep on her side of the bed, he slipped under the covers trying not to wake her. He rolled on his side and stared at the wall. It took him an hour to fall asleep. She lay next to him fully aware that he didn't kiss her good night. Tears running down her cheeks, she cried softly to herself. It took her an hour to fall asleep.