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"You're so sweet," she said, picking up the envelope, and the three one-hundred-dollar bills laying next to it. "Oh Karl, an extra hundred? You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to do that," I said, my heart brimming with love for my sweetheart on this very special day.
She smiled. "I'm going to buy something really pretty at Victoria's Secret, and then next time I see you, you can peel it off me nice and slow. Would you like that?"
"Yeah," I mumbled, blushing. I could feel my hard-on coming back. If only we had another five minutes. "Aren't you going to open the card, Erin?"
"No time honey. Gotta run but I'll tell you what. Tonight, when I go to bed, I'll open your card, and I'll read it, and then I'll get myself off thinking about you. Would you like that?"
"I'd love that," I said, my heart aching.
"You'll call me again soon?" she asked, stuffing the bills into her tiny sequined purse.
"Roger that," I confirmed, reaching for her. She gave me a little hug and a peck on the cheek, and then she was gone.
Just like every time before, the hardest part was the drive home. It wasn't the traffic that made it so bad, it was the realization that my fantasy life was over and my real life was returning. If only I could have started over. With Erin. Erin and I, we could have had it all. We could have been living the American dream, and I could have finally escaped from the prison that was my life.
I pulled into the drive just as the sun was setting behind the tile roofs of the subdivision. Bobby's tricycle was by the front door, the plastic streamers dangling from the handle bars like stripper's tassels. Feeling oddly detached that evening, it occurred to me that if I could leave my son with only one bit of advice, it would be the wisdom to make better choices than I did with my life.
I opened the front door. "Honey, I'm home."
"In here, dear," my wife called, her voice distant and small. Taking the death march down the hall, I realized it was getting harder and harder to slip back into the shoes I abandoned every time I could afford Erin's services. I rounded the corner at the end of the hall and stepped into our bedroom. I was greeted with the flickering glow of candles and the sweet-sickening smell of incense.
"Happy Valentines Day honey," my wife gushed, smothering me in a jarring hug. Her double dose of perfume made me crinkle my nose. I kept meaning to ask her not to wear it, but once it's on, it's a little too late to make that request.
"You too," I said, wrapping my arms around her ample waist. She was wearing a red teddy I'd never seen before, her large, saggy breasts straining at the flimsy fabric.
"Bobby's at the sitter's," she said, grinding her puffy tummy against me.
"I got you a card," I said, offering it to her. She disengaged from our hug and fumbled with the envelope. That was so like her - clumsy, always in a hurry. I liked it when we first met; her spontaneity, her impulsiveness, but spontaneity and impulsiveness can lead to consequences - like children. Oh well, we make our choices, and then we live with them.
Finally extracting the card from the envelope, she opened it greedily, barely even reading the rhyming verse on the front. Then her mouth gaped open. She glared at me, her eyes wide. "Erin? Who the fuck is Erin?"
I've got my own place now. It makes it a lot easier to "entertain" if you know what I mean. I admit, it's a dump, but between the child support payments and the lawyer fees and credit card bills, it's all I can afford. Since Erin is no longer in my price range, I've been seeing Trish. She only charges fifty bucks, and, because I'm her number one "special" customer, I don't even have to use a condom when we fuck.
"Come on baby," she purrs in her sex-kitten voice, "shoot inside me! Fill me up!" Then, when my jizz is oozing out of her snatch, she catches a glob on her fingers and drips it into her mouth.