My Wife is No Longer My Lover Ch. 04

He tried explaining about Captain Kangaroo having a grandfather clock. Yet, when he started talking about Mr. Green Jeans and Bunny Rabbit, losing her in his childhood memories, he obviously felt foolish continuing his explanation and stopped expounding on why he needed a grandfather's clock. She had never heard of or watched the Captain Kangaroo show. With her parents both teachers, college professors and academicians, unless watching the news, National Geographic, or a documentary, they seldom wasted their time watching situation comedies or anything else on television. Instead, as if they were still in school during their never-ending process of educating themselves, they read. In the way that they were voracious readers, she was a voracious reader too.

### Susan Jill Parker -- Pool Table, Big Screen TV, and Big Brother ###

Another one of the things he wanted, a must have, he wanted a pool table too that he seldom used now that his best friend, Walter, was dead. They played pool all the time while having a beer and talking football or baseball. An eyesore and a constant reminder of him not playing pool, now the unused table is stacked with junk in the middle of the cellar floor. To protect the slate from getting warped from storing heavy boxes on the table, John put a 9' x 5' piece of plywood on top of the rails.

He tried teaching her to play but, too much like table sized, miniature golf, which she despised too, and a waste of her time, she wasn't interested in hitting colored, numbered balls in holes. With pool tables and pool halls preceded by the bad reputation they had from all the books she read, she wasn't much of a pool player. Yet, more than just playing a silly game, he pressured her to play strip pool and/or to have sex on the pool table.

He even wanted her to have sex with his best friend, Walter, while he watched. Now, he was talking. Yet, just as he didn't take the necessary steps to make her want to suck and fuck her husband, he didn't take the necessary steps to make her want to suck and fuck her husband's best friend. He needed to force her to do what he sexually wanted her to do by slapping her, stripping her naked, forcing her to her knees, and putting a heavy hand to her head, but he never did.

It was just a passing suggestion or an unrealistic, sexual fantasy that he'd masturbate over later in the privacy of the bathroom. There was no way that either of those things would happen, playing strip poker or having sex with Walter while he watched, without him forcing her. Yet, if only he forced her to have sex on the pool table, she would have allowed him to fuck her on the pool table. If only he forced her to have sex with Walter, she would have had sex with his best friend while he watched.

With her still playing the morally, modest woman instead of the promiscuous whore, if only John had lifted her skirt or pulled down her top in front of Walter, he would have wetted her libido. If only he had stripped her naked in front of Walter, they could have had some real, sexual fun. If only he had forced her to her knees, she would have allowed them both to hump her face and fuck her mouth while she sucked their cocks and allowed them to ejaculate their cum in her mouth.

Once naked, if only he had pushed her back on the pool table, she would have allowed both men to take turns fingering and licking her pussy while feeling her tits and fingering her nipples. If only he had pushed her back on the pool table, she would have fucked Walter while he watched. If only he had forced her to do all that he sexually wanted her to do, she would have done it all. Instead of him being so sad and so sexually frustrated, he would have been so happy to have a wife who was a whore.

If only John had lifted her skirt, pulled down her panties, put her across his lap and slapped her naked ass hard, she'd fuck both men on his precious pool table. If only he had forced her to her knees, pulled her hair hard enough for her to scream loud enough, she would have allowed them to impale her mouth with their pricks. Oh, yeah, she would have blown them both. If only he had tied her to a pole down the cellar, they all could have had some sexy fun. Yet, something she always sexually fantasized him doing, her husband never had the forethought to force his sexual wants, needs, and desires upon her.

'Too bad,' she thought. 'The three of us could have had some sexy fun.'

* * * * *

A custom pool table would have cost five-thousand-dollars or more but John found a company that imported pool tables from China for only twelve-hundred-dollars tax free. Instead of only having a choice of the color of the cloth, the table was all custom made to his personal specifications. Giving him a huge and varied selection, the color of the wood, the shape of the legs, the sides, the rails, and even the pockets were all custom ordered. With thousands of variations, all uniquely different, seemingly no pool table was the same. There had to be a catch.

With the pool table coming from China, John figured that the shipping must be enormous but shipping was included in the price. The only catch was the table came in two boxes and had to be assembled. She figured for that price that the table would be a flimsy piece of junk. She figured for that price, with the table coming from China, that the slate would be in cracked, crushed, and in pieces but it wasn't; it was all carefully packed. She figured he'd never put it together but with Walter's help, they assembled it in just a few hours.

As John unwrapped each piece of the table, she was surprised by the quality of the craftsmanship. As if hand rubbed, the wood was so shiny. When John assembled the table with little trouble and without frustration, the only help he needed was to install the three, one-hundred-seventy-five pound each pieces of slate. He enlisted the help of his son and the three men put the heavy, delicate slate in place. Once the table was assembled, weighing nearly eight-hundred pounds, it looked like a table that would cost eight-thousand-dollars. It was a beautiful piece of furniture that came with everything, the balls, the sticks, the racks, and even the chalk.

With her not needing a dog, a larger television, a grandfather's clock, and/or now a pool table, she was much like her parents in that regard and in their seriousness of a scholarly if not monastic life. She viewed troublesome, time consuming dogs, annoying grandfather clocks, big screen TV's, and pool tables as an unnecessary and foolish purchases. Time they could better used having sex, if only he forced her, she viewed walking dogs, watching television, and playing pool a waste of time.

Now that there's computers, the Internet, smart phones, Kindle, and tablets, just as no one needed to be constantly reminded of the time anymore, seemingly no one reads a book anymore. Soon, there won't be any libraries other than the presidential libraries and the Library of Congress. Soon, gone the way of the dinosaurs, with words on paper pages replaced by electronic images on computer screens, other than the electronic ones ordered online and downloaded from the Cloud, they'll be no more books. Soon, gone the way of gas station attendants, bank tellers, and supermarket cashiers, they'll be no need for librarians.

"God helps us," she mumbled under her breath. "The eventual ruination of mankind and womankind as we know it, we've allowed our politicians to make such a greedy mess of the world."

* * * * *

She mumbled the same thing when they replaced her and filled her job with a child, forty-years her junior. This little girl, barely five-foot-tall, had a master's degree from the Harvard School of Education. Kathy had a master's degree in library science too but not from Harvard. Instead of earning her master's degree as this child did at twenty-three-years-old, attending night school while raising a family and working full-time, Kathy didn't receive her master's degree until she was forty-years-old and was married with three children.

Moreover, in the way that she avoided computers as if they were a dreaded, fatal disease, her replacement, as if she was an extension of the computer herself, had grown up with computers. From operating them, fixing them, and programming them, she knew all there was to know about computers. Not only that but she was all over the social media. For the sake of her privacy, social media was something that Kathy refused to do. She stayed away from posting anything private to the Cloud as if the Cloud was a black cloud of doom.

From Facebook, to YouTube, to Twitter, to LinkedIn, to Pinterest, to Instagram, and to Snap Chat, social media was something that Kathy refused to participate in for fear that Big Brother was watching her. Truth be told, she wouldn't be wrong. She was wised to be suspicious of Big Brother recording her history on the Internet. With hacking more than the norm than a rare occasion, rather not to be noticed than to be a target, she'd be better off casting a smaller shadow and a smaller footprint.

'Ho hum, time for a nap,' she thought while yawning.

Instead of taking a nap, she decided to have a cup of tea so that she could finish her book, a romantic thriller about a man saving a woman from being gangraped. Now that she was reading about a woman about to be gangraped, pity the poor man who saved her from that, the thought of being gangraped sexually excited her. She hadn't felt that sexual excitement in years. In the way that her life was so boringly sedentary, the highlight of her existence would be to have three or four men strip her naked and force her to suck and fuck them.

Sometimes the occasional car or truck made a wrong turn and motored down their quiet, dead end street. Other than the clock and an occasional vehicle, they lived life in their house of forty-five years as if making the slow and easy transition to be buried in the cemetery across the street. As if the cemetery was a breathing and seething entity needing more dead bodies to decompose, the burial grounds loomed larger with each passing tick, tick, tick, and each passing year that they survived.

A constant reminder or how their life would end and where they'd go to rest in eternal peace, how convenient to have the cemetery so nearby? How reality invoking it was to have their final resting place across the street from their home and in view? In the way that she found it depressing to look at the cemetery, the tombstone littered landscape captured her husband's interest and morbid imagination. He had a habit of staring out the living room window at the cemetery across the street as if he was seeing ghosts.

"Sometimes when there was a full moon," said John as if talking to himself while staring out the living room window in the dark as she read. "As if he's standing there holding a lantern and waving me over, I can see Father Time right there in the cemetery," he said pointing to some reflection far in the distance and deep within bowls of the cemetery.

Father time? How was she to respond to that remark? What could she possibly say to ease his mind when they both knew they'd both be buried there sooner than later. They already bought their plots, made their final arrangements with the funeral home, and even picked out their coffins. Yet, instead of focusing on life and the good things, he thought only about the negative things. He thought about death, talked about seeing Father Time, and focused on pessimism, especially when he was depressed. Now she wondered if he was still taking his anti-depressants.

* * * * *

After working full-time jobs while raising three children, as if severed with a knife, the excitement of their hectic schedules abruptly ended in retirement. From that, to this, and soon to nothing, the end of their days would soon be near. Yet, losing their identities was more of a loss than losing their jobs. On the other hand, no longer feeling like indentured servants, their debt was paid and their final reward earned was their meager retirements combined with their entitlement to modest, monthly, Social Security checks.

'Entitlement, some entitlement. The new buzz word, was the spin that politicians loved to use in reference to the lowly middle class. What was even worse than calling people like her entitled was when they referred to themselves as public servants,' she thought and stopped thinking about the state of affairs and the way of the world so as to not get angry. 'Public servants, my ass. The only public they serve are themselves. If they are anything, they are self-serving, public thieves,' she thought.

Now earning just enough money between the two of them to survive, with health care costs eating up a big chuck of their income, they didn't feel very entitled. They certainly didn't feel as entitled as the entitled politicians who liked to call themselves public servants. Indeed, with those voted into office all greedy, self-righteous, self-serving, lying, cheating, and thieving, they were hardly the public servants they professed to be.

After working outside of the house most of her adult life, retirement was such a dramatic change. As much of a change as going from a whore having sex with random men to becoming a faithful wife and a loving mother. As if shaking her from a dream, it felt as if someone took her by the shoulders and shook her from unconscious thought to consciousness. Now that she was finally awake from the flashbacks of her life, she just wanted to go back to sleep. With that wish coming true soon enough, sometimes she wished she could sleep forever.

'You don't have to go to work today. You may stay in bed or do whatever you'd like to do rather than to go to work. You're retired,' said a voice in her head.

Only, she didn't feel as retired as she felt rejected. She felt rejected because she was old, outdated, and not as useful as her younger protégé. Trying to help her make the adjustment from working every day to staying home every day, there was always that familiar voice talking to her. She'd consider working part-time somewhere doing something but no one would pay her what she was worth. Besides, she was always so tired, sometimes too tired to even read.

As much as she felt excited that she didn't have to get up every day to get ready for work, she felt sad at the same time by the prospect of not having to work and being retired. Only, where she had a purpose before with working full-time, caring for her children, her husband, the house, and earning her master's degree at night, now there was nothing but reading and gardening. Now there was nothing but the past, a constant reminder of all the mistakes she made in the one life she had to live. Now there was nothing by John pacing the house when he wasn't masturbating and asking her for sex.

'Tick, tick, tick, tick...'

* * * * *

Seemingly, when they were young and both healthy, busy doing everything and busy doing nothing, there was always something to do and somewhere to go. Now as if they had already died and were forgotten, no one invited them anywhere anymore. Guilty of that too, they didn't invite anyone anywhere anymore either. In fairness, many of their friends moved, divorced, or died and she didn't have the motivation and/or energy she once had to open her heart, her life, and her house to new friends or to track down the old ones.

Been there and done that, she was too tired for all that bullshit. She was tired of commitments and content to stay home and read. John was the one who was sad and depressed. He had one best friend and he died. When his friend died, it was as if he died too and then when the dog died, John's depression had worsened. Yet, indeed, with both seemingly somewhat content to be alone and lonely, with her happy to be alone reading and him struggling with his loneliness, they were a match made in Heaven.

Between driving the kids to band practice, team sports, and school events, what little time they had left to share with one another in the bedroom was not as much time as John wanted. Truth be told, done sucking and fucking men, she was glad that part of her life was over. She never enjoyed having sex with John. Once she stopped her whoring with hot men, she was done with sex other than her bare, necessary, wifely duty.

Clumsy in his groping of her, never taking his time, and with her always feeling rushed, she never felt anything but the pressure of him on top of him. As if she had a timer in her head while they had sex, all she heard was him grunting and the infernal ticking of the annoying grandfather clock. Besides, he was too gentle and too nice when she needed someone who was rough and mean. She needed to be called names while being pushed, shoved, slapped around, and forced to do every sexual thing the man wanted her to do.

'Tick, tick, tick, tick...'

To be continued...

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