Chapter 1

I parked my 98 Volvo in the garage, using the little remote control gadget clipped to the sun visor to open the door. The car had run us nearly thirty thousand dollars. The house I parked it in had run us nearly three hundred and thirty thousand dollars. It is a two-story, five bedroom with a swimming pool (which we were able to use about six hours out of any given year, this is SEATTLE for Christ's sake), a hot tub and redwood deck. The house is located in one of the most exclusive suburbs of Seattle and I suppose my mother is proud of how far I've come in life. She'd taught me well after all.

I'm attractive and I know it. Ever since I'd begun to develop breasts at thirteen guys have been fawning all over me. My hair is honey blonde and always fashionably styled. My waist is trim, my legs nothing short of fantastic, and my breasts firm and much envied. I get my looks from my mother who was once a contestant in the Miss Washington contest. Mom married a doctor, a brilliant, nerdy cardiologist she'd met her first year as a young nurse just out of school. You can bet your ass that she didn't work as a nurse for a second year. I grew up in these suburbs, attending private schools all of my life and eventually enrolling in WSU as an English major. I worked part- time during these years as a receptionist at a prestigious law school. I didn't need the money of course. Mom and Dad paid for all of my expenses, including my apartment and my car. Mom had secured me the position through a friend of hers figuring that it was a good place to meet a "marriageable" man. She was right. It was there that I'd met David, a fourth year student who was about to graduate near the top of his class.

Though David is certainly not the most attractive man that has ever walked the earth, he's actually kind of dumpy and constantly struggling with his weight, he was certainly the suitor with the biggest potential that had crossed my path. It had been drilled into my head practically since birth to marry rich. Back then I measured a man's worth by his present or future earnings, not by how I felt about him. I put on my charms and David was putty in my hands. By the time he'd entered his first year of practice as a corporate lawyer, we were married and I'd dropped out of college to become a full time housewife and attractive ornament for my husband.

I play my part well. I keep our house nice and neat in case David's colleagues decide to stop by when they're not working eighty-hour weeks. I keep my body trim and attractive by working out at an exclusive gym with a personal trainer three times a week. I play gracious host whenever it's my turn to host a party at our house. I flirt lightly with his superiors, making them envious of the "good woman" their pet lawyer managed to bag. David expects to make partner in another five years or so, a promotion that will allow us to move into a more exclusive suburb and buy more expensive cars.

It's probably just as well that David spends so much time away from the house. You see, though I love my house and my neighborhood, and though I love the two children this marriage has produced with all of my heart, I simply don't love David. I never have I suppose. There was a time when I thought I did but some simple self-examination has revealed that it was his money and earnings that I loved. David himself is difficult to talk to. I don't believe I've ever had a meaningful conversation with him. His attitude is condescending towards me, as if I'm simply a dumb blonde incapable of grasping whatever it is that he is discussing. The most conversation I get out of him is when he wants some sex, something that has died out considerably since my last pregnancy. Even then he is a disappointment. Sex with David usually takes all of ten minutes from initial foreplay to his contented snores. In our entire courtship and marriage my own hand has produced the only orgasms I've had.

At times I've considered having an affair. My personal trainer for one, an exquisitely fit twenty-five year old whose body is comparable to anything Michaelangelo ever carved has sent me vibes from the first day I'd met him that he would be partial to a little extra-marital activity with me. I instinctively know that he would be good in bed but something keeps me from taking that step. Perhaps it's his personality. Vick is as dumb as a post, dumber perhaps. He knows nothing except what body parts are best enhanced by which exercises. Conversing with him is about as stimulating as watching a city council meeting on cable television.

I have my routine. I get up each morning, shower, and drink a few cups of coffee to jerk my brain into gear. By this time David is always off to work. I get my children dressed in their designer, name-brand clothes and drive them to the private academy where they go to school, where they've already started their long road in learning to be like their mother or their father. I chat for a while with the other mothers, some of whom are David's colleague's wives. When I return home I eat a little breakfast, usually something like cottage cheese or a bagel with fat-free cream cheese on it. Can't have any unsightly fat clinging to me, can we? I do my housework and, if it's one of those three days, I go for my workout. Afterwards I have lunch, some fat-free soup or some mayonnaise-free tuna. I've been known to sip a glass or two or three of white wine during this part of the day. Oh hell, let's be honest here, I drink a lot of wine every day during this period, always becoming strongly buzzed and requiring an afternoon nap. After the nap I pick up the kids and start preparing dinner. As often as not, David is not with us for dinner. At least half the time he doesn't come home until well after the kids are in bed. If David is not home by the kids' bedtime I will read a few chapters out of some steamy romance novels I keep hidden for just such occasions and then rub my pussy until I have a sharp, faintly satisfying orgasm. Such is my life. The next day the whole thing starts over.

It's certainly not the fairy-tale existence the characters in my novels live but it's tolerable. We're well into the upper-middle-class. My husband is a respected lawyer on his way up the ladder. Our family is in good standing in the community. This is everything I'd ever dreamed about, right?

When I walked into the house, still wearing the spandex from my Monday workout, the phone was ringing. I ignored it, heading towards my bedroom so I could change out of my sweaty clothes and take a nice, refreshing bath before lunch. I was feeling extremely horny that day, a result of watching the bulge in Vic's extra tight shorts for the last two hours, and wanted nothing more than to strategically place my pussy next to one of the powerful jets in our bathtub Jacuzzi attachment while I rubbed my clit. This was an activity that I'd recently discovered and it was quickly becoming my favorite masturbation technique.

As I turned on the water in the tub and prepared to strip out of my workout clothes the answering machine kicked into operation.

"Hello," Came my voice from the speaker next to my bed. "You've reached the Brentlings' residence. We're unable to come to the phone right now but if you leave your name and number at the beep, we'll get back to you just as soon as we can."

"BEEP" said the machine.

I gave my wet pussy a quick stroke through my shorts while I went through which fantasy I should indulge in today. The kind, considerate, respectful Mel Gibson? The articulate and caring Brad Pitt? The deep and insightful Dennis Quaid?

"Hi Jen," Came the voice of my sister-in-law, Charlene from the answering machine's speaker. "It's Charlie," She said, using the nickname that her parents and David refused to use. Brentlings did not HAVE nicknames I'd learned. I was always Jennifer. Charlie was always Charlene. "I wanted to know if I could... "

I took two steps to the nightstand and picked up the phone, pleased. I'd always liked Charlie, David's younger sister, and the baby of that particular family. She was most definitely not carved from the same mold as the rest of that clan. Charlie was twenty-three on that day. To her family's horror and disbelief, she'd dropped out of college four years ago, without even having met a marriageable man, and had enrolled in a paramedic school. She was still single and worked as a paramedic in the City of Seattle, a profession that brought frequently told shame to the rest of the family. She was still single at twenty-three! She was still WORKING for a living at twenty-three! She was only making civil service wages at her job!

I liked her immensely because she was the most independent and bright female I'd ever met. She scoffed at the lifestyle she was supposed to have been indoctrinated into, choosing a profession and a life that she enjoyed instead of tagging along in the footsteps of her family. She always seemed happy when I talked to her, contented. How I envied her happiness, how I longed to look forward to each day like she did.

David of course was distant with her. He was friendly with her but kept contact to a minimum. Charlie was the proverbial black sheep of the family and they were incapable of supporting her in her strange (to them) pursuits. At family get-togethers such as Christmas and Easter, Charlie was hounded constantly by her parents and two older siblings about when she was going to get this "paramedic phase" out of her life and start looking for the "proper man". "Your looks won't last forever you know" her mother always advised her. Charlie took these rebuffs well, never yelling or screaming, never offering any assurances, but always leaving as soon as she could get away with.

Of course I agreed with my husband when he ranted about her, after all, I'm the obedient, faithful wife, but inside I respected her more than any other member of either her family or mine. Charlie was a REAL person, someone who'd carved herself a niche in this world all by herself.

"Charlie?" I said quickly, cutting her off in mid-message.

"Hey Jen." She said happily. "Glad you're home. I hate leaving messages on goddamn answering machines."

Like always, she said exactly what was on her mind, another trait I respected. "What's up?" I asked.

"Well," She said cheerfully, "Its April 12 you know, three days before that magic day."

"Huh?" I asked, confused.

"Tax day." She explained.

"Ohhhh." I knew about April 15 only from literature and news programs. My family and David's family always had their taxes done by CPAs long before the deadline. If money was owed it was sent out by the same CPAs on the deadline day. If money was due it was sent out as soon as the taxes were done. None of this had ever been a concern of mine.

"Anyway," Charlie continued. "As is my usual routine, I haven't even looked at my W-2 until today. In any case I need to do my taxes."

"You want to use our CPA?" I asked, giving the only answer that could come to my brain. I didn't know how much our CPA charged but I was sure it was more than Charlie, with her meager income, could afford.

She laughed. "No," She answered. "I was just wondering if I could use your computer for an hour or so. I'll do the taxes myself."

Do the taxes herself? Was such a thing even possible? "Uh, sure." I finally answered. "You can do them on our computer?"

"Goddamn right I can." She answered. "I bought a program that does them for thirty bucks but I don't have a computer to use it on. So what do you say? You gonna be home today?"

"Yes." I answered, wondering if she was pulling my leg or not. A computer program that did your taxes for thirty dollars? If such a thing existed, why did David spend hundreds to have a CPA do them? "Come over any time."

"How 'bout right now?" She asked.

I looked at the filling bathtub with envy for a moment, silently saying goodbye to my rub session. Oh well, maybe later. "Sure." I said. "I'll be home until I have to pick up the kids."

"I'll be over in about a half hour." She told me.

Instead of rubbing my cunt to the image of Mel or Brad, I picked up the slight mess in the house instead. When the doorbell chimed thirty minutes later the house was spotless (as I'd been trained to have it when guests were coming over) but I was still wearing my sweaty spandex.

"Charlie." I greeted her with genuine friendliness. "Good to see you."

We exchanged a friendly hug. "How you doin' Jen?" She asked, taking in my apparel. "Workout today?"

I nodded. "You know how it is." I said.

"Oh yeah," She answered, coming into the formal living room and closing the door behind her. "I have to run and do sit-ups every day too. Keeps me in shape for my job. We do a lot of heavy lifting you know."

I nodded, unable to even conceive of doing lifting, light or heavy.

Charlie was dressed in a pair of tight blue jeans and a sweater. Her jeans showed off her trim body well, a body that any dentist, doctor, lawyer, or corporate accountant would propose to in an instant. Her dark hair was ragged however. Windblown from exposure to the outside and slightly damp from the light rain that was falling (in Seattle, light rain was always falling, if it wasn't, then it was heavy rain). Her face was pretty, even without make-up. I wondered if she had any idea how attractive she was capable of making herself if she took the time to apply a little cosmetics and fix her long hair a bit. Her eyes were dark blue, the color of the sea and stared around the room with a worldly cynicism that I was incapable of even imagining. She carried two bags in her hands, one of paper and one of white plastic and marked with the logo of a local computer supply store. I could see a box inside of the latter.

"Davie at work?" She asked as I led her across the bottom floor to the office where the computer was kept.

I nodded. "Where else?"

She chuckled. "Just as well I suppose. I'm not his favorite person in the world."

I started to make a token protest but she cut me off. "Please." She said. "I have no illusions about the opinions my family holds for me. I'll just get my taxes done and head out before brother-dear gets home from work."

I went up to take a shower while she was working on her taxes. I thought about rubbing myself off but simply couldn't concentrate on a fantasy long enough. Eventually I toweled off and began the long procedure of putting my make-up and clothes on so I could look respectable when I picked the kids up later.

When I came back downstairs Charlie was still working in the computer room. I didn't want to drink my normal allotment of wine while she was there but I couldn't keep myself from having at least a glass of it. As I poured, I called out to her, "Charlie, do you want a glass of wine?"

"Yeah." She said hungrily. "Bring it on!"

I brought her a glass of wine and then sat down on the leather couch in the room to watch her while she worked. Our computer, which was a mystery to me, was allegedly the latest, greatest model available. We upgraded it once a year. It was contained within a solid oak roll-top desk that had cost up nearly three thousand dollars. The surface of the desk currently had a scattering of official looking paperwork on it, the monitor filled with a maze of financial figures. Charlie took the glass absently and sipped out it while punching in figures that she was reading off of the forms before her.

We didn't talk much but simply sat there, her hard at work, me sipping out of my rapidly diminishing glass of wine. The alcohol was going straight to my head and I slipped out twice to refill my glass before Charlie even made it halfway through her first. She made no comment on this.

"Fuckin' cool!" She finally screamed, startling me.

"What?" I asked.

"I get six hundred and twelve bucks back from those fuckers." She proclaimed happily. "Thank God. I thought I'd owe 'em this year."

To me six hundred and twelve dollars was a pittance. I'd paid more the week before for a dress to go out to one of my husband's firm's parties. But Charlie was obviously excited about it.

"Well good for you." I told her. "What are you going to spend it on?"

"Bills." She said sadly. "What the hell else?"

Bills? I did not even have a concept of that. We sat in silence again while she executed some commands on the computer and the laser printer in the corner of the desk began churning out forms. While this was happening she began moving the mouse around on the pad and the computer screen changed over to the opening display. She moved it across something and a menu popped up. Just as she was about to move on she paused, her eyes widening.

"Well what have we got here?" She said more to herself than me.

"What's that?" I asked out of politeness than anything else.

"Shaved jay-peg?" She said, as if reciting. "Barepuss jay-peg? Cindy jay-peg? Baldy jay-peg?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, not having the slightest idea.

"Somebody," She said knowingly, "Left a lot of jay-pegs in the personal history folder."

"What's a jay-peg?" I asked. "What's a personal history folder?"

She gave me a pitying glance. "Pictures." She answered. "Usually of the pornographic variety if they're on the computer. Looks like Dave's been doin' a little more than his books on this thing."

"Pictures?" I asked, still not getting it.

"Digital images that are downloaded from the Internet." Charlie explained. "There's a shitload of them out there." She smiled sweetly. "Shall we take a little look?"

"David downloading porno pictures?" I asked. "You must be mistaken."

"Oh yeah?" She asked. She moved the mouse and clicked it two times. The screen lit up with a picture of a young brunette woman lying naked on a bed. Her pussy was shaved bald, displaying her pouting vaginal lips for the world to see.

I gasped. "Where did that come from?" I was shocked.

"There's more." Charlie told me. She began clicking with the mouse and different pictures began appearing on the screen. Some were blonde, some brunette, some redheads, a few were even black. They were in a variety of poses and positions. But all had their pubic regions neatly shaved.

"Looks like brother-dear is into shaved pussies." She commented, clearing the last picture away.

"This is unbelievable!" I cried, flabbergasted. It had never occurred to me that my husband possessed such pictures. I'd thought he was completely disinterested in sex.

To my astonishment Charlie slid out of the chair and knelt on the floor. She ran her hand over the Berber carpet beneath the desk. "Uh huh." She said slyly.

"What?" I demanded.

"Come here." She told me, beckoning for me to kneel beside her. I did so and she took my hand in hers, rubbing it across the fabric of the carpet. There were several rough spots in the generally smooth floor covering. "You feel that?" She asked.

"What is it?" I asked, confused.

"It's come." She told me.

I jerked my hand away as if it had been burned, disgusted with the mental image that had come into my brain.

"He sits here quite often," Charlie said, "Looking at pictures of shaved women and pumping his python. What you got here is your basic accumulation of dried come from multiple sessions." She grinned. "I had a boyfriend once that did the same thing. Only he was into pictures of pregnant chicks." She shook her head sadly. "It's amazing how little guys think we know about computers. David didn't even try to hide these, they're right there in the documents folder, same place I found Mark's collection."