AKA Don't Stand Too Close to Me
My wife is perverted, sadly not in a sexual way. I call her perversion the 'Flowers in the Attic' syndrome, but a co-worker explained to me that description wasn't entirely accurate because while my wife was interested in secrets that families, especially secret prominent families kept, she is more interested in families that practice the various 'cides' in life; fratricide, patricide, matricide and any other ones that involves family murdering family she can find.
When we were first dating, she kept this secret obsession of hers from me and only told me on our wedding night. I was to rue the day, well it was actually night she told me this because for our honeymoon we were taking a driving tour of the bed and breakfasts in New England, a journey in which she was incredibly excited about completing she had said when we were making our wedding plans. She told me that first night because the bed and breakfast we were staying in was the site of a grisly murder. That first night, I laid in bed by myself in disbelief while my darling newlywed wife spent the next six hours exploring the home we had intruded upon, looking for whatever clues or sights she was interested in.
We did not consummate our wedding vows until the fourth night when a storm precipitated that we stop at a local motel early to avoid a washed out back road.
Sadly, it has been that way ever since. Oh, we settled down in our roles as husband and wife easily enough. We have had plenty of good times and our share of bad. That first year sex was phenomenal; the only time my wife denied my urges for her was during her monthly cycle or when we would go on vacation, which we did a lot; a long weekend here and a long weekend there. Each time to visit the site of another macabre location she had found out about or had an inkling to visit. With those visits, my wife was just too busy for her always randy husband.
Yes, apparently like most marriages, sex in our spousal bed did not hold up as strong as my wife's obsession. After the first year we slowed to sex about once a week instead of every day or two. A year or so later and it was once every two weeks and then three weeks. By our fifth year we reached our lowest plateau; we didn't have sex for over nine months and it wasn't because my wife was pregnant. She hates the idea of having rug-rats; always piping off about how if she ever had kids she would definitely kill them. No, my wife is too selfish to have kids.
At one time I thought I wanted kids but after my fifth year as a math teacher at the middle school; I have become quite content with visiting my siblings whenever they have a new baby around. Much easier for me to get my 'baby fix' and get to keep my sanity, too.
My frustrations with our marriage lead us to going to counseling, which my wife reluctantly agreed to. Agreed to with the stipulation that we could not talk about her obsession; it seems my wife was a tad embarrassed with her favorite pastime. She has her select friends she shares her obsession with and of course the occupants (if any) of the residences we visit, but to everyone else, she puts up a façade of a dreary life of a bored working wife. After our third visit, I figured because of the boundaries my wife was insisting on enforcing, the counseling was a lost cause so when she offered the peace pipe of giving more action in the horizontal bump arena, I signed on and we never went back.
She kept her word about the sex; sort of. We do it now about once a month, normally a week after her cycle ends when she is the horniest. It is good sex, real good, just not enough. So I do what those husbands in my situation that doesn't have the moral fiber of someone willing to act like a priest; well a legit priest. You know the type that should enter the pearly gates after they leave this plain of existence. Shirley there is one or two of them out there? Yes, 'shirley', after experience that end all of the great comic movies, Airplane and hearing the infamous "Don't call me Shirley" gag, I have since changed my lexicon; no longer to I acknowledge 's-u-r-e-l-y'; no it is now and always, 'shirley'.
Any way, like all normal, sexually repressed male whose wives would rather do something, anything other than fulfilling their spousal duties in the bed room, I surf porn. God Bless the creation of the internet and Al Gore too.
I used to have a nice porn collection on VHS and magazines. The wife would bitch at me a little but all I had to do is ask if she wanted to go to the bedroom so she could do her 'wifely duties' to shut her up. If I happen to be in a real pissy mood I would slam her about her own kinky obsession. That would get her running to her attic office in a huff, slamming every door along the way. I would have to sleep on the couch for a couple of days but I tend to get better sleep on the couch anyway. During the wintertime the wife's feet are like ice cubes and she insists on intertwining them with my legs. Frigid bitch my wife is.
So again we are on our way to a new locale and a new family murder site. I tried to get out of going on the trips but between the coke bottle glasses my wife wears and her piss poor night vision (yes, I am kinky, I love the way she looks in them), her subpar, well let's be honest, her crappy driving skills and the begging she does before each trip, I always seem to buckle under and agree to chauffeur her ever enlarging ass around.
That is not true, her ass isn't expanding, her ass is by far her best physical feature, it has such a curve to it, and it just begs to be squeezed. Sadly it is not fair game for spankings and fucking because that would, you know, hurt. Bitch. No her butt is still pleasing to the eyes, but her belly isn't. It doesn't hang down to her knees but it does stick out farther than her hand sized boobies. Her boobies are unique though. I have never seen any other like them; even on the internet. Her nipples are inverted. So of course she is very self conscious of them. They work fine, if she is horny or more often, cold, they puff up and stick out real nice. Yes, my wife has innie nipples vice outies. Deal with it. I like them just fine thank you.
We arrive at the Conrad Bed and Breakfast just before 5pm, enough time to get settled in our room and go down for dinner. There is some real perks for me to go on these trips. Home cooked meals definitely rank up there. I barely know how to heat water and the wife; she is good for burning water. Terribly cooks, both of us. So we eat out a lot or eat frozen pre-made meals. But when we travel? Nothing but the best home cooked meals for us. Yum!
As soon as the meal is consumed the wife disappears and I don't think nothing of it. Another perk from all of our travels is that I get to see all of the local sights, specifically the architecture. Why is that important to a math teacher you ask? Simple, I have a degree in architecture, not teaching. When the wife and I moved to that po-dunk town that we call home in Pennsylvania, it was under the pretense of me getting a job in an architect firm there. Well, our timing sucked and that firm shut its doors the week we arrived. So did we move back to Virginia? Oh, no, the wife found out about multiple murders and secrets in the surrounding hills and we just had to stay. Besides, her new job as a CPA was still there for her to go to.
After confirming that there was no jobs for me as an architect, I sat on my ass for a couple of weeks before boredom set, more rotten timing because that is when school was getting ready to start up and the middle school needed a substitute math teacher. By the end of the first quarter I was brought on full time and have been there ever since. And yet I still dabble in the architect biz; not because it is in my blood. Drawing the plans for doors and windows is boring shit, but I do have my own dreams. I want to build the perfect house, well I prefect for me, so while the wife is gallivanting around I go look at old houses, maybe take a picture or two for reference when I get back to the house and my auto-Cad program.
One trick I learned in our travels was to call the local realtors, in the small towns we constantly seem to visit there is one or at most two realtors. I give them a song and dance about possibly looking to buy one of their quaint houses for sale and they are all too eager to take me on a tour. I quickly learned which realtor knew about the wares they were pushing by asking about one subject: molding. Those that knew molding generally knew about all of the other small intricate questions I would follow with. If they didn't know molding, I wouldn't ask much and try to give them a vibe that they were blowing smoke up my ass.
The two mornings after our arrival and the wife actually joined me for breakfast. There are times where her subject matter will totally engross her even to the point where she will stop eating. It used to worry and bug me until I decided to see just how long she could be enticed. On that trip she must have found a gold vein because for three days she didn't come back to the B&B. Yes, I was worried. Jealous too. When she finally made an appearance she immediately waylaid me like her mouth was a machine gun. None stop did the words rapidly flow from her mouth. The dutiful husband that I am, I tuned her out. She was fine.
.... There is more of this story ...