Broken House

“Broken House” part I

by c.w. cobblestone

 

A flat tire led to my deflated manhood.

 

It happened on a Saturday, when Nicole had just left the house for an afternoon of shopping. I was inside folding one of my wife's blouses when I heard her scream: “Dammit! Ed, get out here, now!”

 

I put down the laundry and rushed out of the house. Nicole stood in the driveway near her Durango, arms crossed, tapping her foot. My first thought was how incredible she looked in the white linen pants and lime green baby-doll top I'd just ironed for her. But I put that out of my mind — she was obviously pissed about something.

 

I gulped when I saw the flat tire. I was in for it! Earlier that morning, I had taken the SUV out to gas it up and get it washed, and I must have run over a nail or something. Damn!

 

I twiddled my fingers as I approached my seething young wife. As soon as I got within earshot, she started on me.

 

“Look at this shit! A flat tire! I'm supposed to meet Erica at 2, and it's quarter after one already! Jeezus, Ed, is there anything you don't screw up?”

 

I hung my head and stared at her sandals.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Yes, you are sorry. What else is new?”

 

I shuffled my feet.

 

“Well, don't just stand there chewing your cud — fix the damn thing!” Nicole's eyes flashed. “Or am I supposed waste my Saturday sitting around the house all day watching you clean?”

 

I wordlessly turned to get the tools from the back of the SUV. As I moved to the rear of the vehicle, I was startled to see our next-door neighbor just a few feet away. He was his haunches, fiddling with his lawn mower, obscured by the bushes that separate our yards.

 

When I made eye contact with him, he kind of smirked at me. I blanched — he'd obviously heard everything! I nodded at him as casually as I could and continued collecting the tools. Then I started on the tire, feeling the man's presence on the back of my neck.

 

He had only recently moved in; I didn't even know his name. Nicole had noticed him immediately. I know, because I was doing the dishes on the day he moved his stuff in and I overheard her on the phone telling her best friend Erica what a hunk the new neighbor was.

 

So, I really felt under the gun as I struggled with the tire-iron, trying to unscrew the stubborn lug nuts on my wife's flat tire. Nicole was standing over me, practically holding a stop-watch in her hand, telling me to hurry up. And our handsome neighbor was hovering somewhere in the background ... I could feel it.

 

I was having a tough time trying to break one of the nuts, and Nicole was really getting perturbed. “You're absolutely useless, you know that?” she snarled as I perspired below her. “Useless in the bedroom, and useless in life.”

 

A sudden, deep voice behind me made me jump: “Having a little trouble there?”

 

I slowly turned around to face him. He was a full five inches taller than me. I submissively averted his gaze.

 

He squinted. “Looks like you could use a hand with that tire.”

 

I forced a smile. “Um...no, thanks, I can manage.”

 

Nicole sniffed. “Yeah, right, Ed. You aren't managing much from what I can see!”

 

She turned to our neighbor and her scowl melted. “Don't listen to my idiot husband — we'll be out here all day and he still won’t be able to do it,” she said. “I have to meet a friend, so, yes, I would really appreciate it if you would help a girl out.”

 

“No problem. Glad to help.”

 

The man stepped forward and pulled the tire-iron from my hand. I bowed my head and moved aside.

 

“Don't worry about your hubby,” he sang as he squatted and fitted the tool onto the nut. “He don't seem to know much about tires, but we all have our talents.”

 

“Oh, you don't know Ed,” Nicole deadpanned. “He doesn't have any talents.”

 

The man chuckled and gave me the once-over before returning to the tire. His muscles practically ripped through his shirt as he broke the nut loose in one easy move. He expertly spun the tire-iron, removing the lug nut which I hadn’t been able to budge.

 

“So, you're not much of a mechanic, but that's okay,” he said to me. “I'm sure there's something you can do.” He began unscrewing another nut. “What line of work you in?”

 

“Um...I'm an attorney.”

 

“An attorney, huh?” The man stopped his work on the tire and winked at my wife. “Well, I guess I better watch what I say — your hubby here might use it against me in a court of law.”

 

“Oh, he's not that kind of lawyer,” Nicole offered. “He's a boring tax attorney.”

 

“Yuck. Taxes? You're right: boooooor-iiiiiiing! How about you, sweetie? What kind of work do you do?”

 

I stiffened. Did he just call her “sweetie”?

 

“Oh, I don't work.” Nicole glanced at her fingernails. “Ed here makes sure I have everything I need.” She cocked her head. “Material things, anyway.”

 

“Well, I'm glad your material needs are being met.” The man again stopped working and looked at my wife. “But material things ain't everything. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem like a girl who deserves to be taken care of — in every way.”

 

“Ooohh...” my wife purred and smiled at him. “Well, sailor, I'll tell you, I like what I'm hearing so far.”

 

I stood there like a putz with my mouth open, scarcely believing what I was hearing. They were flirting right under my nose — and I couldn't bring myself to do a damn thing about it!

 

They continued their flirtation for a moment, then the talk subsided as our neighbor concentrated on the flat. The Durango was ready to roll in about five minutes; I had spent nearly double that time trying to remove one nut.

 

“Oh, thank you so much,” Nicole gushed when the man was finished. “I really appreciate your help. It's nice to have someone around who can do ... things.”

 

Then my wife looked at me and jerked her thumb toward our neighbor. “Ed, thank the man for doing what you weren't able to do.”

 

“Ummm...thanks.”

 

“Hey, no problem,” he said, handing me the tire-iron. He wiped his hand on his pants and extended it toward my wife.

 

“By the way, I'm Trevor,” he said. “At your service.”

 

“Very nice to meet you, Trevor. I'm Nicole.”

 

“Ahhh, lovely Nicole. Darling Nikki. My new neighbor. Listen, Nicole, you let me know if there's anything else you need help with, you hear? I'm always more than happy to oblige.”

 

“Oh, yes, I will definitely let you know,” she said. “Definitely...”

 

I was livid as I put the jack and tire-iron into the back of the Durango. How could she flirt with this guy right in front of me like that? I mean, it wasn't the first time she'd done it...but what the hell? This was our next-door neighbor.

 

When the tools were put away, I ambled toward my wife and neighbor, who appeared to be wrapping up their conversation. Trevor smirked at me as I approached them.

 

“This is some wife you've got here, buddy,” he said. Nicole giggled.

 

I swallowed. “Uh, thank you.”

 

“No, seriously,” he said. “I'd watch out — someone's liable to try to steal her away from you.” Nicole giggled again. He winked at her. “She's a beaut, Ed. Keep an eye on her.”

 

Then he walked away, throwing a flippant, “seeya,” over his shoulder at me.

 

I stared at my shoes as Nicole slipped into the SUV.

 

“Now, why can't you be more like him, Ed?” she sneered as she started the engine. “But you're not, and you never will be. Now — go finish the laundry, and don't forget I want the closet rearranged today...oh, and you need to do my shoes, too.”

 

With that, she drove off, leaving me standing there in the driveway feeling like a complete piece of shit. As the Durango pulled away it got worse: I noticed with horror that Trevor was just a few feet away, still working on his mower. I thought he had gone back in his house, but no! Once again, he heard everything!

 

Red-faced, I turned to go back inside. “Hey, there,” Trevor's voice stopped me in my tracks.

 

“Ummm ... yeah?” I stammered, looking down.

 

“Oh ... well ... nothing, really.” He grinned. “I just wanted to tell you again: that's really some wife you've got there. A lot of men would kill for a girl like that. Now, if I were you, I'd go and do what she says. Do a good job on that laundry.” He chuckled “And her shoes.”

 

Even after all the humiliation I'd endured, I still felt obliged to defend my manhood. I said as casually as I could: “Yeah, well, Nicole and I have a 50-50 marriage. We share all the chores.”

 

Trevor arched an eyebrow. “Fifty-fifty, huh?” he said. “More like 100 to nada from what I see.”

 

I wasn't sure how to respond, so I just muttered, “well, I'm gonna get going ... take it easy. And thanks for your help.”

 

“Any time, buddy.” His lip curled. “Any time.”

 

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

I felt like a doomed man sleepwalking through my Saturday chores. My four-year marriage to Nicole was on shaky ground to begin with, and now this. She'd flirted with guys in front of me before, but this was different. This guy lived right next door to us!

 

Everyone warned me not to marry Nicole. I'm 15 years older than her, and it's obvious to anyone she only married me for my money. I'm not rich, but I do pull in a pretty good salary as a “boring” corporate tax attorney, which is the only reason a pretty blonde like Nicole would even look at an overweight, balding guy like me.

 

Against everyone's wishes, I took Nicole as my bride. I doted on her and treated her like a spoiled princess, and that's exactly what she became. With each passing month, she treated me more and more like a servant, not a husband.

 

Any time I disagreed with her even the slightest little bit, she was quick with her standard reply: “Fine. I'll just divorce your ass and take you for everything you've got. You're a lawyer, so you know damn well you'll get screwed in court.” At which point I would meekly apologize and beg her not to talk like that.

 

It didn't take long for Nicole to alienate me from my friends and family. She treated them the same way she treated me, but unlike me, they wouldn't put up with the little princess' shit. So eventually we stopped getting invitations to parties, weddings and birthdays. I lost contact with everyone, all because of Nicole.

 

Sex? Don't make me laugh. Nicole and I have what's known as a sexless marriage. I have struggled with impotence my entire life. Early on, I attempted sex with Nicole a few times, but I always ended up sitting on the edge of the bed, sobbing in embarrassment. When Viagra when was first introduced on the market, I had great hope that I might finally be able to make love to my wife. But when I took the drug, I got an allergic reaction: my face and chest broke out into a severe rash. Nicole often jokes about that incident with her friends.

 

After the first year of matrimony, Nicole made it clear she was seeing other men. She rationalized it by saying since I couldn't please her, she had to get satisfaction elsewhere. I meekly accepted her affairs, and as a consequence she lost any vestige of respect she had for me.

 

About once a month, if was lucky, Nicole would allow me to lick her pussy and ass. She always made me take a shower beforehand, and she never allowed me to touch her with my hands while I licked her.

 

“When you touch me, it makes my skin crawl,” she always says. Lovely words to hear from your wife, let me assure you.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

With my mind flashing a mile a minute, the day's chores seemed to pass quickly. But the stress of worry caught up with me, and as the afternoon wound down, I was physically and mentally exhausted.  Wearily, I started on the final task of the day, polishing all my wife's shoes. I sat on her bed — yes, her bed; I'd been sleeping on the couch for several years — and set her two dozen shoes on the blanket around me. With a sigh, I chose a pair of black pumps to start with. Might as well start on the sexy ones...

 

After about a half hour, I heard Nicole's SUV pull into the driveway. I put down the shoe I was working on and rushed downstairs to greet her.

 

I stood expectantly by the door. A minute passed. Then two. Then three. She never came in. I wondered what was keeping her, and I cautiously peeked out the front window.

 

My heart sank when I saw Nicole and Trevor standing in the driveway carrying on a conversation. He was standing very close to her, his hand propped up on the Durango near her shoulder. She obviously welcomed this invasion of her personal space, judging from her body language and smile.

 

After a few minutes, Trevor leaned down and kissed my wife on her cheek. She put her hand on his nose playfully, as if to chide him for moving too fast. He laughed it off, and chided her back. Nicole playfully leaned up, planted a quick kiss on Trevor's cheek, then turned and pranced toward the house.

 

I jumped away from the window and stood in the hall, my heart racing. In a few seconds, the door opened and Nicole breezed into the house. She handed me her purse, pushed past me, then plopped down on the couch.

 

“First I want you to bring me a cold lemonade, then go out to the truck and bring in all the bags,” she said, stretching. I turned to do her bidding.

 

As I handed her the ice-cold lemonade, she said casually, “oh, listen, I invited Trevor over for dinner tonight, so make sure there's enough for everyone. Are there enough steaks in the freezer for three?”

 

I froze. “But...Nicole...”

 

“But what? I asked you a question.”

 

“Well...” I didn't know how to stand up for myself. “I - I just wish you wouldn't do this to me...”

 

She immediately went on the attack: “Do what to you, you fucking wimp? I just want to have dinner with my next-door neighbor! What, are you afraid he's gonna fuck me right at the dinner table? Well, don't worry, Ed — we won't do that to you. I'll make sure he takes me upstairs so he can fuck in the bedroom. That way you won't have to see it. Is that okay with you? If he fucks me in the bedroom?”

 

As she berated me, she kept putting an emphasis on the word “fuck”; each time she spit the vile word, I cringed.

 

“P-p-please, Nicole.” Tears were streaming out of my eyes. “Don't talk like that. Please...I love you...”

 

She chortled. “Yeah, right. You love me. Well, that's good, Ed. Now, let's get one thing clear: you don't tell me what I can and can't do with my life. If I want to have dinner with my neighbor — or fuck his brains out — I'll do it. And you won't say shit.”

 

I sadly looked at her. Her blue eyes shot a hole through my soul. “You want to push me? Fine — go draw up the papers. And make sure your shit's out of the house by tomorrow.”

 

“No, Nicole, please, please ... don't talk like that,” I begged like a child. “Honey...I'm sorry...it's just...well...”

 

“It's just what? That Trevor is more man than you'll ever hope to be in your wildest, wimpy little dreams?” She leaned back on the couch and giggled. “I bet he's as good in the bedroom as he is working on cars, what do you think, Ed?”

 

“I-I don’t know.”

 

“You don't know. Whatever. Now, for the second time: Are there enough steaks in the freezer for Trevor to come over? 'Cause if not, you're gonna run to the store to buy some.”

 

“No, Nicole, there are plenty.”

 

“Good. Now, go get the bags from the Durango. Then get started on dinner.”

 

 

TO BE CONTINUED...

 

“Broken House” part 2

 by c.w. cobblestone

 

 

 I stirred the vegetables with my head hung low. Did she have to sound so goddamned happy, humming that same airy tune over and over? Blinking, I peeked into the living room, where she sat on the couch painting her toenails. Her leg was propped up on the coffee table and I could see her pussy peeking from beneath her terry cloth robe. I swooned.

 

 The sizzle in the frying pan snapped me out of it. Reality washed over me like slime. I was cooking a romantic dinner for two — my wife and our new neighbor. Nicole was obviously burning with anticipation.

 

 She snapped her fingers.

 

 “Ed. Bring me another iced tea.”

 

 I turned down the burner and rushed into the living room to fetch my wife's empty glass.

 

 She sneered. “I thought I told you I wanted my blue shoes ready.”

 

 “U-um, they are ready, honey; I cleaned and polished them up real nice for you.”

 

 “Ugh, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me 'honey'? It makes me nauseous. Haven't I told you that a million times?”

 

 I gulped. “I-I'm sorry.”

 

 “So where the hell are my shoes?”

 

 “In the bedroom — I can go get them if you want.”

 

 “Why would I have asked about them if I didn't want them, doofas?” She went back to polishing her toes.

 

 Sighing, I scurried to the bedroom to get Nikki's pumps. By the time I returned to the living room she was laying on the couch, feet propped on the table, gabbing on her cell phone.

 

 “He'll be here at 8. Oh, my God, you should see him, Becky — an absolute dream. I was peeking at him through the window when he moved in. His arms look like they were sculpted by Michelangelo. When he was lifting those boxes....mmmmm. And that ass — girl, I'm telling you. Wait till you see him.”

 

 She giggled. I ventured into her field of vision holding her shoes. She snapped her fingers and pointed to the table. I set down the pumps and retreated to the kitchen, trying not to eavesdrop. It was impossible.

 

 “Yeah, Ed's making steaks now.” There was a pause. She snorted. “Are you kidding? What's that wimp gonna do? He sure as hell ain't gonna say anything to Trevor — he'd get his fat ass kicked, royal. And he knows better than to piss me off. Last time he ran his mouth, I put that pathetic tongue on hiatus for two weeks. I see who I want to see — he's got nothing to say about it.” Another pause. “You got that right, girlfriend.”

 

 Nicole stretched. “I don't know, Beck; I was thinking of wearing that blue dress, with the blue pumps. Or is that too dressy? You think?” She cocked her head, listening. “Yeah, you're right. That would drive him crazy. One sec.” She cradled the phone on her shoulder and snapped her fingers. “Ed, go bring my gold sandals down. And iron my red blouse and the off-white slacks.”

 

 “Yes, Nicole. Um, do you want me to take these blue shoes upstairs?”

 

 “Well, dumb ass, if I'm not going to wear them, why in God's name would you think I'd want them down here?”

 

 “I-I'm sorry.”

 

 She huffed. “Go. Iron.” She lifted the phone to her ear again. “Sorry, girl; it's like dealing with a damed eight-year-old. You have to tell him everything.”

 

 Muttering to myself, I retrieved the blue pumps. I'd spent nearly a half-hour ironing her blue dress, all for nothing.

 

 I dragged the ironing board to the kitchen and took care of Nicole's new outfit while keeping an eye on dinner. The blue dress was classy; the red blouse, if unbuttoned far enough, screamed sex. And I had no doubt my wife would be showing off lots of cleavage.

 

 When I was finished, I hung her clothes on a hangar and checked the baked potatoes in the oven. They still had about 15 minutes to go. I glanced at the clock. It was 7:30; the extra ironing had put me behind schedule.

 

 I darted back and forth through the kitchen, frantic to get dinner ready, while my wife lounged on the couch chatting with her friend, totally oblivious to how I was breaking my back to please her.

 

 The veggies were nearly finished; I dialed the burner to its lowest setting and glanced at the clock. 7:42.

 

 “Ed, another iced tea.”

 

 I wiped my hands on a dish towel and scurried to the living room. Nicole had hung up the phone. She stood, allowing her robe drop to the floor, and strolled toward the bathroom.

 

 “Bring my clothes,” she said, disappearing through the doorway.

 

 As I lifted the hangar I looked at the clock. 7:53....

 

 

 TO BE CONTINUED….