Pictures at Ten

by Sean Geist

  Pictures at Ten

  (A Wife-Watching Story)

  By

  Sean Geist

  Published by Sean Geist

  Copyright 2016 Sean Geist

  Cover Photo dolgachov / Bigstock.Com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written consent of the author, except for brief quotes used in reviews.

  All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to any actual persons is entirely coincidental.

  All characters in this story are over the age of 18 unless specified. V1.2

  Acknowledgement

  I want to thank DC for his keen eye and vital grasp of English grammar. He offered up his valuable time to read and edit this story. I didn't always make the changes he suggested. If this work flows well, he's to thank. Any errors and rough patches that remain are solely my doing.

  I need to thank Max Sebastian for letting me name drop one of his characters. If you haven't read any of his stories then you're missing out.

  I also owe a debt of gratitude to my readers. While I write for myself first, it's nice to know there are people out there who appreciate my work.

  And most important of all, I want to thank my wife. She's quick with a compliment, an encouraging word, and a helpful criticism. She makes me want to be a better writer. She'll always be my muse.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Afterward

  Also By Sean Geist

  Chapter 1

  Gunshots rang out. The hero reached under his jacket and pulled his hand out. His eyes grew huge; his palm was covered in blood.

  “Oh shit,” he said and the screen faded to black.

  “Fuckin' a.” My wife squeezed my elbow, startling me out of my shock. “They can't end that way.”

  “That's why they call it a cliffhanger.” We had been watching this particular cop show for the past four years. It was a touchstone of our relationship which started when we met in European History at S.M.U our freshman year. I was studying Journalism, Daphne, my future wife, was majoring in Business Administration. A mutual admiration for Lawless Streets was the first thing we bonded over.

  Daphne had her head in my lap. “They can't kill off Scott.”

  “Don't worry. They won't.” He was the star; he drew eyeballs to a show that was getting long in the tooth. Without him, no one would watch.

  We sat there and the credits rolled. My wife mumbled a few curse words at the show's writers.

  As we watched, the image on the screen split in two; the left side showing the now unreadable end credits, the right filled with a head and shoulders shot of a rather handsome but, to us, unrecognizable man.

  “Coming up on Metro-Plex News at Ten,” the man said, “Dallas mayor, Jan Pritchard, explains her decision not to run for a second term.” The image on the screen turned to shots of police surrounding a house somewhere in the city as the anchor teased the story of an armed standoff in Mesquite.

  My wife sat up with a burst of energy I hadn't seen since the time she almost stepped on a snake while on a hike out in west Texas. “Who the heck is that?” Her voice filled with a mix of inquiry and admiration.

  “Not sure.” I knew all the local newsreaders; media was my passion as well as my chosen career.

  As if, in answer to her question, the man's image re-appeared. “Those stories, and a look inside Cowboy's training camp. I'm Steve Speare and the News at Ten starts in one minute.”

  A car commercial came on and I looked around for the TV remote.

  “You know, Daph, I heard rumors around the J-school, Metro-Plex was looking to replace Don. Guess they finally pulled the trigger.”

  MPN had been in fifth place in local news for the past decade. A media group based on the East Coast purchased the station earlier in the year in a bid to get a foothold in the country's fifth largest television market. After spending millions to build a new set, hire new reporters and upgrade equipment, it looked like they finally decided to replace their aging anchorman. We had discussed the topic in my advanced journalism class that spring. We thought they'd hire a woman or maybe an Hispanic or Black man. Looked like they decided on the safe, if unimaginative, route of a handsome young fair skinned man.

  Well, in the end it didn't matter to us, we didn't watch Metro-Plex News. I was about to change the channel when my wife grabbed the remote from my hand.

  “You're not switching channels.” Daphne's eyes were glued to the set.

  “Don't you want to watch Fox?” Channel Four had been our preferred station for local news.

  “Not tonight. Let's try something different.” At least until now.

  We watched Metro-Plex News with their new anchor. I wasn't sure if a new face was going to matter in the big picture, but tonight, at least, their switch bought them at least two new viewers.

  As a critical watcher, I had to admit, Steve Speare was a great choice. He looked about three decades younger than their previous anchor; that would attract a younger viewership. He was ruggedly handsome, with a solid jawline, light blond hair, cut short, and piercing blue eyes; that would please the female audience, as well as some of the gay male viewers. But he wasn't quite so hyper-masculine that he would drive off the straight guys.

  I knew one viewer they hooked for sure: Daphne, the beautiful red-head who sat next to me on the couch. Every time Steve's face was on the screen her eyes were glued to it, no checking email or playing Candy Crush.

  I got up to use the restroom while Steve was bantering with the weather guy and Daphne nearly pushed me over when I stepped between her and the TV set. By the time I got back, weather was done and it was time for sports. This is usually the time we head to bed. Not tonight.

  I chuckled to myself as I watched my wife stare at Steve and Bill, the sport's guy, chatting about the Cowboys' prospects for the season. I knew she was just watching her new crush and not listening to what they were saying. Neither me, nor my wife, were football fans. At that moment my amusement over Daphne's infatuation turned a bit sour, as a hint of jealously started seeping in. I needed to win back my wife's favor, no matter how silly that seemed. I decided to take my wife to bed and drive away any thoughts of that man from her head.

  The image on the screen changed to training camp and I reached for my wife's hand, hoping to guide her to the bedroom and some passionate love-making.

  “Hold up, Richard.” My wife turned to look at me, since Steve wasn't on the screen anymore. “I want to see the last story.”

  I doubted she cared about the last story; she just wanted to see Steve's face again.

  Other men might have been upset if their wife refused to go to bed with them and instead wanted to get one last glimpse of another man. I wasn't. Despite the fact we were a young couple, just a month out of college and still in our first year of marriage, I trusted my wife.

  Humorously enough, I found myself a tad jealous, but also a little bit aroused.

  Daphne spent the sport's segment fidgeting, like a junkie waiting for her next fix. She breathed an audible sigh when Steve re-appeared on screen. It was maddening watching her. I could only imagine it as similar to what women must think when they have to pull their men away from the TV during a football game.

  “Thanks, Bill.” Steve's baritone voice again issued from our TV speakers. “Finally tonight, the Garland Recreation Department opened a new water park catering to the canine crowd.” Images of splashing dogs and equally wet pet owners filled the screen.

  “Who ever wrote this drivel should be fired.”

  Daphne must have taken my comment as a sla
nder at Steve. “Think you could do better?” Her voice had a hint of indignation.

  Yeah, as a matter of fact, I could, I thought to myself. “Why are you getting mad at me?”

  “Cut Steve some slack. He's new.”

  “And he probably didn't write that either.” I didn't want to get into a real argument over something so silly, so I decided to lighten up our quickly degrading conversation. “Sounds like someone has a crush.”

  My wife's pale pink face turned rosy and a smile slowly formed on her lips.

  “Maybe.” She looked so cute, like a teenage girl admitting she stole a kiss from the quarterback.

  I left my wife to finish watching her new favorite broadcaster and went to get ready for bed. I didn't think much of her sudden interest in Steve Speare. Daphne and I were very open about what we liked and often teased each other when a hot man or beautiful woman caught our eye. We even had a freebie list; three celebrities we were allowed to sleep with, if the opportunity arose. I had a couple of Hollywood actresses and a tennis player on my list, at least one of whom was probably a lesbian. Daphne had the president and two baseball players.

  We would often use our fantasy fucks during sex. Sometimes I'd ask my wife to close her eyes and think about one of her picks as I fucked her. And more than once, Daphne role-played, acting like one of the women on my list, as she seduced me. It was nothing more than a game to us, no one got hurt and we had great sex.

  I was brushing my teeth and leaned over to rinse my mouth out, when I felt a pair of hands reach around and begin stroking my bare chest. I stood up and looked at my wife in the mirror. She was naked, save for a pair of light blue undies. Our eyes met in reflection. Her hazel pupils burned with a lust I hadn't seen since our honeymoon. She moved to kiss my neck and I lost the view of her face in a tangle of her deep red hair. I closed my own eyes and enjoyed the feeling of her lips brushing against my skin and her teeth lightly nibbling at my earlobe. She pressed her body against mine, squishing her breast against my back, her hardened nipples felt like small pebbles between us. I could feel a heat radiating from her pussy as she pressed it against my ass.

  My cock stiffened as she whispered into my ear. “I want you inside me.” She slowly slid her hands down my hairy chest and into my pajama bottoms. One hand stroking my rapidly growing erection while the other moved lower to tickle my balls. My body was filled with sensual bliss and I didn't want her to stop, but she would have to, if I was to fulfill her desire.

  I turned around to face my wife. She was pure sex. Her lidded eyes and lustful aroma drew out the animal in me.

  I grabbed her head and kissed her, fiercely invading her mouth with my tongue. A moan escaped her lips and vibrated through me. Her fingers played violently through my hair, grasping and pulling, the pain enriched the pleasure that consumed me.

  I moved my right hand to grope her breast, eliciting another sigh. My left moved further down, finding her lower lips engorged and moist with desire.

  Something had triggered a surge in my wife's libido. We both enjoyed sex, but not like this, not with this much urgency. This was starvation sex, months without, our bodies demanding satiation.

  My wife was rarely an instigator. Tonight, she was turned on like never before. She was not simply accepting my sexual advances, she was demanding them. And in the back of my mind, I knew the cause – Steve Speare, the blond hunk of an anchor. My wife had been driven to lust by his chiseled features and his soothing verbal delivery.

  I would have mind-blowing sex tonight because Metro-Plex News hired a new newsreader, and I was going to ride this fantasy wave all the way to shore.

  I moved our bodies around in an erotic dance, out of our en-suite and toward the bed. Without a word I turned my wife around and bent her over the mattress. Her protests as we parted turned to giggles of lust as I pulled her panties off, leaving her bottom bare. I pushed my pajama bottoms down and lined up my steely hard cock against her swollen labia, rubbing the tip through her moist lips and against her throbbing clit.

  “Stop teasing me.” Daphne moaned as I pushed forward, penetrating her. “God, that feels good.”

  I leaned over my wife's body and began moving in a deep steady rhythm, each thrust drawing a sharp cry of pleasure. My lips brushed up against Daphne's ear. It was time to explore our passion. “You're not thinking of me, are you?”

  My wife was silent, but I could sense her answer by the way her muscles pulsed around my cock. She knew, I knew. Words did not have to be exchanged.

  “Just fuck me. Shut up and fuck me.”

  I complied. I stood back up, grabbed her hips for support and began pounding my wife's pussy like I'd never done before. It was a unique experience for the both of us. For her part, Daphne met my thrusts with one of her own, each just as hard and fierce. My balls slapped her mound as our bodies clashed.

  I could feel my climax building.

  “Fuck me. Yeah. Fuck me.” My wife's words drove me on. I wasn't going to last much longer, but she still hadn't come.

  “Give it to me. Give me your cum.” The dirty talk was driving me wild. I was about to explode. “Give it to me. Steve.”

  I threw my head back and erupted. One long “fuck” issued from my mouth as I pumped my seed into Daphne's pussy. I couldn't see her face, but I knew she had to be smiling when she triggered my orgasm by invoking the name of her new crush.

  Even after having such an explosive climax, I stayed hard and continued moving in and out. I was rewarded with the sensation of my wife's orgasm hitting. Her body started shaking and I felt her muscles constrict around me. I drove my cock as deep as I could and held it there. Moans and sighs spilled forth from Daphne's lips as I twitched my cock deep in her womb.

  “Oh, God. Oh God. Oh”

  Eventually, her climax ended and we reluctantly disengaged.

  Later, after cleaning the sweat and cum from our bodies, we lay together cuddling.

  “That was incredible.” The words seemed inadequate as they passed my lips.

  “You're not mad at me?”

  I knew why my wife asked that question, but I played dumb. “Why would I be mad?”

  “The stuff about Steve.” Daphne's body tensed as she mentioned his name. Maybe she was afraid how I'd react, maybe she was having another moment of pleasure. Either way, I didn't care. I needed to comfort her, so I drew her close.

  “It's just a fantasy, Daph. Nothing to get mad about. It's like me and Haley.”

  “Haley Martin?”

  “Yeah. She's hot. I think about her when I masturbate sometimes.”

  My wife slapped my arm.

  “Now, you're the one getting mad.” She started giggling. “Hypocrite.” I started tickling her. She tickled back and we started wresting. Our grappling turned to groping and we were soon making love again. This time slow and subdued, but with no less pleasure.

  After we both climaxed, I held my wife tight against me, my cock still inside her. “I will always love you, Daphne. You're the rhythm of my heart.”

  “Even when you're lusting after some red-head actress?”

  “Even when you're wetting yourself over some handsome news anchor.”

  We both smiled and kissed. My erection had been softening, but talk of love and lust started blood flowing again.

  “Really, Richard?”

  “I know. We got work tomorrow.”

  “Save it for later.” Daphne kissed me on the nose. “Night, love”

  She rolled over toward her side of the bed, I rolled to mine.

  “And she's blond now.”

  “What?” My wife's weary voice was almost inaudible.

  “Never mind. Good night, Daffy.”

  “Night. Steve.”

  “Bitch,” I chuckled.

  ***

  Good news likes to spread and so two weeks later, I found myself slipping out of our apartment and making the half mile walk to the light rail station. On the train, I was surrounded by business men taking a late lunch,
a few homeless people trying to avoid the scorching summer heat, kids enjoying one of the last few days of summer vacation; I ignored them all, rapt in my own joy.

  A soft feminine voice announced my stop at the hospital where Daphne worked, making sure all the accounts payable added up.

  “Must be something special to get you all the way out here.”

  I was sipping a cup of coffee in the small cafe off the main admitting lounge. “It is. Sit.”

  Daphne set down her spinach salad with grilled chicken. “I've only got half an hour.”

  I started in, while she shoveled the leafy veggies into her mouth. “I did it; I got the job.”

  My wife stopped and stared, her fork halfway between the bowl and her mouth. “At the station in Des Moines?” The look on her face was frozen. I knew she didn't really want to move to Iowa, but none of the stations in Dallas would hire me fresh out of college. The NBC affiliate in Des Moines would.

  “Yup. They want me to start in two weeks.”

  We had already talked about the move before I applied. The station was offering about as much as Daphne was making at the hospital, which was infinitely more than the nothing I was making as an unemployed graduate.

  My wife continued eating. She didn't say anything, but the look in her eyes told the tale: anger, over having to leave her job and hometown, uncertainty about our future in an unfamiliar state, and finally accepting our life together required me starting my career at the bottom at some down market station in the middle of a cornfield. By the time she put her fork down, I had convinced myself she was excited about the move; she wasn't.

  “They paying to move us?”

  “No. But I do get a thousand dollar advance.” We didn't have much to move, just our clothes, some small appliances, a couple boxes of books neither of us wanted to part with and other personal odds and ends.

  “This really what you want?”

  I paused before answering. I really wanted to work in Dallas, but that wasn't going to happen without first getting experience elsewhere.