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feel any stirrings of desire towards her, and that’s including when she struts pass me
butt-ass naked fresh from the shower.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m a guy. If she pressed the issue, my little man will come
out to play. Which reminds me, she hasn’t pressed the issue. It’s possible that she
hasn’t been in the mood either. Either way, it’s Friday. I’ve taken a half day off. I

will pick her up take her to lunch, do some more shopping for the baby, and maybe
we can spend the rest of the weekend making love and reconnecting as a unit.
I stop by a nearby grocery store and pick up a simple bouquet. I pull into my
reserved spot at the condo. The wind blows my hair and I grip the flowers tighter.
It is almost April and it will heat up eventually. I enter the condo quietly since
Cassie usually takes a nap around 12:30 PM. I walk into the kitchen and start
looking for a vase. I want them to be next to the nightstand when she wakes up.
I hear a woman’s moan from the bedroom. I smile; she is most likely watching
yet another chick flick. Maybe Sex in the City, Kim Cattrall was always up for
something dirty. I hear a thud, and now, I’m concerned. I slip off my shoes in case
there is an intruder; I don’t want my Florsheim boots to clank against the wood. I
tiptoe towards the room. I quickly learn that there’s no intruder – at least not the
kind I was thinking about.

“Oh, Cassidy, I missed you baby,” I hear a familiar voice moan. I tense; only
one person calls her by her whole name.
“No one fucks me like you do, Monty,” she whimpers before she yells a few
more obscenities that I don’t care to repeat.
“Be quiet, I don’t want to get caught,” the low life whispers harshly. “He
doesn’t come home until after 5 PM.” She states between huffs.
“Besides, he’s probably running after that chubby, ugly midget.”
I step in the room and lean against the wall. I’m sure I’ll be upset later, but all
I feel is vindication and freedom. I couldn’t put my finger on it before, but now I
can put my eyes, nose, and ears on it, for sure. They don’t see me yet. His pale,
tattoo-covered body is pumping into her from behind, his long black hair falls like
a curtain over his face and shoulders as he kisses her along her spine. Her eyes are
closed, her fists are balled up in the light-blue sheets, and her back is arched. She
oscillates between “right theres” and “fuck yeahs.”
I momentarily contemplate being a gentleman and letting them get off, but the
realization that she could be totally disrespecting my child is sickening. What’s even