#B!TCH (#Jerk #2)

by Kat T. Masen

  “Thank you, Rosa. I didn’t get much sleep last night, but, of course, my husband was out like a light. This morning he expected me to stay home. Didn’t even offer. And the worst part is, he wants more kids. I can barely cope with one,” I utter, somewhat relieved when the truth comes out.

  Rosa nods, and I quickly realize I am preaching to the wrong audience. Rosa is widowed, married to her husband for thirty-five years before he had a stroke.

  They had five children, three of whom live abroad with their partners. There’s one single son who lives in New York, who Rosa claims is sordido, which means he is sleazy. I laughed at the time, half-expecting some overweight, bald guy, but when she showed me his picture, the guy is incredibly handsome. Very tall, slim with Latino features, and boy, does he look good in a suit. She often told me he wasn’t interested in settling down, comparing him to Hugh Hefner. Her youngest son, Lucio, lives here in California with her. He attends a local college and seems to be the only one who genuinely gives Rosa the time of day, though I’d never tell her that directly.

  “Ay, Cariña, it’s difficult for a husband to understand the weight of motherhood,” she says in her thick accent while putting away the dishes. “My Jorge was a great father, he led his children down the right path, provided for them. But aye yai yai, he wouldn’t understand a single thing in the house. His mama, bless her, spoiled him.”

  “Sounds like Haden…” I mumble.

  “I always told my sons, never expect a woman to be your slave.”

  I smile but feel terrible since she is putting away my dishes, and I am standing here, still in my pajamas, with traces of vomit on me and not lending her a hand. “Here, let me help you.”

  She pushes my hand away, gently. “Cariña, please, this is my job. This is what makes me happy. You pay me, I work for you. Now, please, drink your café, shower, and leave this to me.”

  Almost on the verge of tears, barely able to hold the emotions back, I nod my head. Rosa can sense my stress and suggests she finish up in the kitchen and offers to stay with Masen if I need to get work done.

  I hop in the shower, washing every part of my body in an effort to disinfect whatever bug Masen is carrying. Dressing in my jeans and ivory blouse, I tie my hair into a high bun, grabbing my laptop and sitting at the dining table with a view of Masen. He has fallen asleep so Rosa continues cleaning, quietly, so as to not to wake him. I thought I should answer a few emails so I won’t fall too far behind.

  Ten minutes into a lengthy email which cc’d the publication team and Haden, I get a text from him.

  Haden: What the hell is that response?

  Me: Haden, really, you’re asking a lot from everyone in a short time. I’m happy to work on a schedule but we need to be realistic, we’re short-staffed and don’t want to push people to the edge.

  Haden: I don’t give a fuck. They are lucky to have a job.

  This is the point where I know he’s had a bad meeting, taking it out on everyone else. I contemplate not responding, but that man needs a reality check, and if anyone is allowed to give it, I have full reign as his wife.

  Me: Stop being an asshole. And by the way, your son is doing better. Just in case you were wondering. I’ll talk to you tonight.

  I close my laptop, and with Masen doing a bit better, we say goodbye to Rosa and make our way to the doctor’s office.

  According to Dr. Somersby, Masen has a twenty-four-hour bug most likely picked up from pre-school. There is no medication she can administer aside from the advice to stay hydrated and away from dairy. With Masen looking slightly better, I asked Dr. Somersby if we could have a quick discussion about my birth control.

  Happily obliging, the receptionist offers to mind Masen while Dr. Somersby shuts the door.

  “How can I help?”

  “My birth control is due to expire, and, well, I’d like to continue.”

  She grabs her prescription pad with a non-judgmental smile. “The last time I saw you, you mentioned your husband wasn’t on the same page.”

  I nod, letting out a sigh. “He shouldn’t really get a say since he’s not the one having to carry a baby, then have to go on maternity leave.”

  “If I had a penny for every time I’ve heard that. I’ll just check your blood pressure.”

  She brings out the machine and gives me the green light once the results come back normal. “How did you find this last brand of the pill?”

  “Fine,” I admit. “I’ve been watching what I eat because I gained a few pounds at the beginning.”

  “And sex drive? That brand is known to produce more estrogen which can lower your testosterone. Therefore, your sex drive may take a hit. Everyone is different, of course.”

  “I think the same. Look, we have a kid who keeps coming to our bed, and I’m just tired all the time.”

  “Right! Let’s change brands which may help balance the hormones to assist with fatigue. Providing you take it every day at the same time, it’s ninety-nine percent effective.”

  I begin to panic. “What about the other one percent?”

  “Actually, ninety-nine-point-seven percent effective.”

  “Okay, the zero-point-three percent?”

  “Well, it’s always a possibility.”

  “So, what you’re saying is that I should use like a condom as well because there’s still the possibility of falling pregnant?”

  She continues writing on the prescription, then rips it off the pad, handing it to me.

  “Every couple is different. If you’re that certain you don’t want any children at this point, it doesn’t hurt to use extra protection.”

  I take in all the information while grabbing my things, I say goodbye, thanking her for seeing us, and find Masen to head to the drug store. It’s only a block away and with my basket in hand, I place my prescription in and pick up a few things, throwing random products in the basket. I somehow need to walk past the condoms and grab a packet without Masen seeing.

  We continue walking, and I spot them, ahead, make some reference to the candy near the counter which Masen can have once he’s better and without looking, grab a pack of condoms and dump them in the basket, hiding it underneath all the other items.

  Why the hell is that so embarrassing? It felt like I was back in high school.

  I pay for the items, and haul ass home where Masen manages to get settled on the couch with his iPad.

  Putting all the items away, I sneak to our bedroom and pull the box out of the bag. Ribbed: For Her Pleasure. I let out a slight chuckle, then shove them in the back of my dresser drawer. Haden will have an absolute fit, but if he wants sex, he’s gonna have to suck it up.

  We both have a lot on our plates.

  We both want to have another child, and I still have a couple of years. It isn’t the end of the world just yet.

  Haden needs to be patient.

  The house becomes dark as the night falls. With Masen able to eat a small dinner, the exhaustion hits him, and he crashes in his bed with his dinosaur night light on.

  It’s after eight, and Haden hasn’t come home. I decide to call it an early night, just in case Masen wakes up, plus my body is beyond exhausted. After a quick shower, I get settled into bed, and within moments, my eyelids begin to drift off.

  It’s dark, pitch black, and the touch of a hand is caressing my breast, slowly and gently. I moan softly, and in my exhausted state, I don’t realize my shorts are off and Haden is rubbing against me until he slides in causing me to gasp. I moan, softly, bearing down on my teeth to remain as quiet as possible praying we’re not interrupted.

  Haden moves upward, his mouth presses hard against mine. His tongue rolls soft, but the intensity is there. There is no denying I need him, missing Haden so much and desperate to make love to him. I want him to see how much I love him, despite our battles, and how no one else in the world makes me feel the way he does.

  He pulls away, panting, as he hovers above me.

  “I’m sorry about today.”
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  “No, you’re not,” I tell him. “You’re just apologizing because you want to come.”

  “You know me well…”

  “You’re a jerk.”

  “Always, baby,” he teases, “Now are you ready? You’ve been a little prick tease lately, and I’m done holding back.”

  I squeal beneath him, grabbing his face in my hands and bringing him in for a deep kiss.

  “I’m ready, baby.”

  #JERK

  The cuffs of my shirt begin to irritate me, or perhaps it’s the goddamn heat inside this room.

  Presley is always cold. She hates using the air conditioning, reverting to windows for fresh air, so it is no surprise the overbearing temperature is wreaking havoc on my patience.

  I’ve been dreading this day for months. I don’t care for weddings, especially when I’m part of the wedding party. Thankfully, when Presley and I planned our wedding, it was simple without all the bullshit. She knew me well, another reason why I married her.

  What makes this even worse is that it is the wedding day of my cousin. The same cousin who dated my wife. That’s right, I’ll use the word ‘date’ because every time I remember they fucked, my anger morphs into a blind rage.

  Marcus met the girl of his dreams on a cruise ship. He was doing a photo shoot for a magazine and met this nerdy chick on some sort of book club holiday. The whole thing seemed ludicrous, but he claims they’re in love, and he proposed in the Bahamas the same weekend. He asked me to be his best man despite our distant relationship and my inability to forgive him for touching Presley.

  This is how I ended up in this fucking suit.

  Somewhere, in my drawers, sit my favorite cufflinks. They are navy blue with a silver edge and belonged to my late father.

  I pull the top drawer open and shove my socks around. Nothing. I continue with each drawer and still can’t find them. I yell out for Presley, but she mumbles something I can’t understand.

  I stand in the middle of our wardrobe, scanning the area. Every single thing is organized according to color and style. Even the shoes are all facing the same way. Presley’s OCD is over-the-top, so I strongly believe she knows exactly where they are sitting.

  Not wanting to look foolish, I continue my hunt, the frustration mounting as I come up empty-handed. I resort to looking in Presley’s drawers. I start with her panty drawer which is probably a mistake. Pulling out a lacy white thong, my dick stirs beneath my pants. Fuck, she looked irresistible in this. I put it back only to pull out the red one. Jesus, I remember her wearing this during a role-play session.

  Okay, c’mon, you’re going to be late.

  My hand reaches to the back where I come across a box. Pulling it out, it appears to be a pack of condoms. What in the ever-loving fuck? My breathing begins to quicken, heat flushing through my body making this room even more unbearable. I stomp hard and heavy steps fueled by anger toward the study where she’s quickly checking her email and throw them on the table.

  “Fucking explain this?” I seethe.

  She glances toward the box, then shuts down her email before swiveling the chair to face me head-on. “I bought them because the pill isn’t one hundred percent effective.”

  “You bought fucking condoms? For me?”

  “Yes, you.” She throws her hands up in the air, groaning in frustration. “Don’t even assume it’s for someone else. I told you, I’m not ready for more kids. So, if you want to continue fucking me, you’ll wear them. Simple.”

  “Simple?” I laugh. This has to be joke. This is why men get married to avoid wrapping their dicks in plastic. “You’ve got to be fucking joking.”

  “Why is this a problem? Honestly, Haden. You admit Masen needs a lot of attention. Do you think we can handle another child?”

  “I can’t handle my dick in a raincoat!”

  Presley buries her face in her hands for minutes on end while I stand next to her trying to calm myself down. I know it is hard with Masen, but he is a great kid and what’s wrong with having another baby? Presley needs to get it into her stubborn head that we don’t have forever, and Masen is already four. It would be great if he had a sibling closer in age, so they can bond.

  “We have a wedding to attend…”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “Well, kinda hard since you’re in the wedding party. We’ll talk about this later.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I state, grabbing the box, ready to toss it in the trash. “I’m not wearing a condom. End of story.”

  I walk out of the room only to realize I still can’t find my cufflinks, and with Presley not talking to me, I have no choice but to grab another pair and head out the door not to be late.

  I take it back, I hate weddings.

  The ceremony dragged on forever. Marcus and Marcia, oh yes, they even have matching names, went on forever with their vows. Okay, we get it, you’re in love and want to spend the rest of your life with each other.

  Don’t get me started on the photographs.

  After the ceremony ends, we are whisked away to some park where the photographer demands a thousand pictures all of which are painful and unnecessary. Rick, one of Marcus’s groomsmen, is smart enough to sneak in a flask of bourbon which we guzzle in the limo along with any other alcohol we can get our hands on.

  By the time we arrive at the reception, the sun’s beginning to set. The venue overlooks Malibu, it’s pricey, but Marcia’s parents own some sort of restaurant chain, so barely small change for them.

  I’m requested to sit at the main table. It’s long and overlooks the entire room.

  Over on my left, Presley is seated at one of the round tables next to Mom and David.

  She looks stunning as always. The strapless emerald dress fits her perfectly even though she claims motherhood added pounds to her hips. Those hips did what they fucking need to do in the bedroom, and that’s all I care about.

  And her hair—the long brown locks sit against her skin. I always have a fascination with her hair, something about the way it spirals naturally into a lock of curls just makes her all the more beautiful. She often complains about it being a tangled mess, how humidity isn’t her friend, and sometimes straightens it, though she claims it is a lot of work. If only she could see how beautiful she is to me. That’s all that fucking matters in my opinion.

  The scotch sits in the glass in front of me. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve had, clearly not enough to make this day move any faster. The alcohol and empty stomach are catching up to me. Thankfully, the entrée is served, but it looks green and squishy, but fuck it, I smash it down then more booze because sitting here is boring as fuck.

  There’s chatter all around. The girls are giggling, typical girl behavior induced by expensive champagne. The single boys beside me are figuring out who they’re going to try to fuck tonight.

  “Man, Marcia’s cousin, the redhead… fuck she’s a gem all right.”

  I snort. “She’s a dyke, man.”

  “Even better,” Rick snickers.

  I have only met Marcia’s family today including her two older brothers.

  They’re okay but the eldest one, Harry, is a sleazy fucker.

  “Fuck the bridal party, I’ll take the hot brunette over there. Man, she gave me a boner when I saw her ass walk past.”

  My eyes scan to where he’s looking until I see him staring straight at Presley. Against the pristine silver tablecloth, my knuckles tighten into a ball, hard and stark white. The sound of my grinding teeth echoes louder in my head, drowning out the noise surrounding me. The animosity is like acid burning, potent and damaging any rationality trying to ease its way through.

  I needed to suppress my rage in front of all these people but no one, and I mean no one, talks that way about my fucking wife.

  Rick cackles into his scotch glass. “You might wanna slow down, cowboy. She’s taken.”

  “Makes it even more of a challenge.”

  The rage inside me has fired
up beyond a level of control, forcing me to stand up in triumph ready to smack the shit out of this dickhead.

  Rick senses my animosity, placing his hands on my chest.

  “Not worth it, man. For the record, his missus left him for her yoga instructor half her age. Ego is bruised, so don’t let him get to you.”

  I clear my throat, and motion for Harry to lean in. “You talk about my wife like that again, and I’m going to make sure your dick is cut off and shoved so far up your ass you’d wish you never laid eyes on her. You got me?”

  I sit back in the chair, downing the drink in front of me in one go, then eat the damn chicken served in front of us.

  After the food and all the other wedding traditions including the cake and speeches which were up next, Marcus asked me to say something. Public speaking never fazes me, but with several scotches and a few glasses of bourbon swimming inside of me, I hold myself together to pull off my short yet sweet speech about marriage.

  The crowd oohs and aahs, there’s laughter followed by a giant applause.

  Damn, I am good.

  After me, my Uncle Pete takes the microphone which ends up in a drunken rant about his ex-wives and how marriage isn’t for everyone. There’s a mention about his time in jail, long-lost friends who never paid him money they owed. It’s classic Uncle Pete.

  I have to clap to that. It isn’t a wedding without a family member making a fool out of themselves.

  The MC requests the bride and groom take to the dance floor for their first official dance. Apparently, we have to dance with our allocated partner for the day. Blondie, as I call her because I can’t remember her name, grabs my hand much to my dismay and leads me onto the dance floor.

  They play Endless Love, fucking corny as hell, and blondie is rambling on about how she’s single and literally ready to mingle.

  So basically, she is down to fuck.

  Too bad I don’t fucking give a shit, counting down the minutes until the song ends. The MC announces other couples to join us.

  “Excuse me, I’m going to go dance with my wife.”