Wife for Life

By d. d. writer

Be careful what you wish for because you might just get it. But be forewarned, what you wanted may not be what you thought it was. In the case of Rolanda Bowyer, she wants Troy Jenkins in the worst way. He’s a good looking lawyer she’s had a crush on since high school. With the hope of winning Troy’s heart, she transforms everything about her life, but will it work? Rolanda wants her dreams to come true; however, no one ever warned her that some dreams should remain just that: dreams!

• Language: English
• Publisher: d. d. writer
• Release date: Mar 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370881079

Book preview

They lined up to watch her stroll along the dirty, cracked, well-worn concrete sidewalk with gently swaying hips, causing hypnotic trances to every male who spied her. The ultra-tight neon red spandex micro shorts left almost nothing to the imagination except what color G- string she sported. A small pink organza shirt covered her perky breast, which shook and jiggled with any movement she made. Men gawked and women talked each and every time she chose to appear. No one had to guess who was out and about when for no apparent reason the sudden sounds of catcalls, whistling, along with the honking of several automobile horns rang out. Her presence was a surefire way for a group of guys hanging on the corner to forget what they were discussing. When she passed them by, their heads seemed to bounce in the same unconformable motion engineered by the bounce of her phat globes, with each voyeur staying glued to the spot until she retraced her steps, back to where she originated.

For the younger males experiencing the rigors of puberty, she became their masturbatory dream girl. She caused many of the older men to fantasize about her instead of the wife or live-in girlfriend who shared their bed, which in all honestly had them producing more powerful ejaculations not achieved since their younger years. Some of the drug boys would phone their co-conspirators, who would rush over just to catch a glimpse of the fist sized gap between her toned and sensual thighs. Each had attempted to run game on her; alas all failed. Shot down, yet not deterred, they fully enjoyed the challenge of the chase. Every one of them hoped their Player / Mack skills or luck, sooner rather than later would eventually steer her their way.

Women hated her in every way possible. It wasn’t her fault men would do anything to gain her attention. The auto repair shop down the street loved her. She’d been the cause of several fender benders, as the driver’s rubbernecking at her sexy body would become so mesmerized, they would forget to return their eyes back to the road in time to avoid whatever hazard awaited. If she would have asked, they would have been happy to grant her a percentage of the increase business she instigated. Those females too insecure about their relationship would issue ultimatums to their mates to get in the house whenever word spread "she" was on the prowl.

Too bad no one knew she was already spoken for and not a threat to anyone. All they needed to do was check out her ring finger.

Chapter 1

I wish the plebeians in my hood would realize how foolish they were behaving. But hey, that’s their problem. My name is Rolanda Boyer; however, most people call me, Ro, the ones who actually know me anyway. I’ve also heard some of the vulgarities others use who aren’t acquainted with me. It’s okay, they’re just jealous. I see them as having a problem with either low self-esteem, or being absent of any self-worth, or quite possibly both. As for me, I have all the confidence the man upstairs blessed me with. No disrespect intended to the heavenly father, but the beauty and the body, well… I’ve got to take the credit for that. It took an enormous amount of hard work to transform myself into the person being ogled at and loathed by so many. So, to the chicks out there hating: Chill out!

It’s like, before I moved to the big city of Atlanta, Georgia, I lived in a small economically advantaged town called Herndon, located in Virginia and pretty close to Washington DC. In high school, no one paid any attention to me. I was overweight, had crooked teeth, wore thick eyeglasses, stuttered when I spoke, and was probably included in the lowest percentile of attractive females in the nation. When I look at the photos from my yesteryears, I wonder how I ever allowed myself to stray out into the public much less achieve perfect attendance at school. Then again, there was one reason I can think of which made going to school worthwhile: Troy Jenkins. He was the one guy I had to see on a daily basis; henceforth, I never missed a day in receiving my education. No one knew of my crush on him or about the promise I made to myself to do anything I could to be with him.

After Troy graduated, a year before I did, I bumped into him during a weekend trip to the national Mall in DC. I don’t think he really remembered me, but he was kind enough to sit and hold a conversation with me. I can recall asking him how it felt to be the best catch in Virginia. He thought my connotation of his fineness was hilarious. Once he stop snickering, he became humble and admitted he never thought of himself that way, saying he was lucky to have graduated with a high enough grade-point average to get into college. Just sitting on the bench next to him had my heart beating hard and fast. I wanted to tell him he was the Ying to my Yang; instead I asked him what type of female he longed for. Inside my head, I prayed he would have said me, taken me in his strong arms, and kissed me like his life depended on it. To the contrary, he was brutally honest. Of all the characteristics he specified, I only possess one of the traits he mentioned: true and complete devotion. The chance meeting would set my course of actions, whereby I altered the old Rolanda to give birth to the new and improved me. That, in a nutshell is what I’m going to tell you about, and how I accomplished it.

It’s a long story of how I transformed from a female nobody knew existed to the one everybody wants to be associated with. Alas, for anyone’s information, I fought, suffered, and struggled to reinvent myself to have a chance at having my dreams come true. Guess what? It worked! I’m living proof that anything is possible if you try. I married Troy and became his wife. I’ll let you decide about the for life part.

Chapter 2

I’m going to skip some of the boring stuff and explain how I came to settle in Atlanta. I really could have gone anywhere to start my life, however no other city had what I longed for: Troy Jenkins! Troy had a sister who attended the same school and was in the same grade as me. Brenda was a member of the same fictitious club I belonged to: the lonely, unwanted, fat girl no one dated or dared be seen with in public crew. I won’t say we were friends or bosom buddies, but I did keep in contact with her after moving away from Herndon for only one reason. Yes, I’m going to say Troy again. Okay, call me dim witted or obsessed, but Troy was a hunk. He had wavy black hair, soft pink outlined lips, a regal nose, and light brown eyes, all placed on a sweet honey toned body, usually seen only in women’s dreams. Having the chance to just stare at him, I knew no matter what I had to do to get him, I’d do. If the only way to possess him meant hiring a kidnapper and having him delivered to me, I would have paid the cost with pleasure. It never transgressed to that point due to the information passed on to me by Brenda. She advised me of Troy’s decision to move to Atlanta after obtaining his law degree. That’s how I wound up in Georgia’s hottest city.

Atlanta is a nice place to live and an even better place to visit. I can still recall the first time I ventured into ATL’s famous nightlife. It was an eye opening experience. I donned a pair of red Guess jeans and a matching button-down shirt prior to leaving my pad. Since I’d spent hours getting my hair styled, nails painted, and convincing myself I looked presentable, I was feeling ready to mingle. I arrived at the club alone, meeting a few of the other big girls I worked with. We copped a table and watch the show as people were dancing and meeting potential hookups all over the club. A few of the females at our table were asked to dance, so I figured it was only a matter of time before someone tried his best pickup lines on me. While scanning the dance floor from the elevated platform, I didn’t see any of the ladies from our group.

Hey Linda, where is everybody? I don’t see any of them.

That’s right, I forgot you’re new to the underground, she said, leaning closer to me so she didn’t have to shout. We’re big girls, so if a guy asks us to dance, what he’s really saying is he wants some action.

Some action? I questioned, although now I realized I must have sounded stupid at the time.

Yeah, action! If they ask us to dance they’ll either want a blow job or a quickie in a darkened nook. But don’t worry, they won’t ask you, since you have on pants. Guys like easy access, if you know what I mean, she informed with a wink and a grin.

If I had gained any self-assurance in relocating to the new city, it evaporated right on the spot. A short while later, when two of the strayed females returned with their skirts wrinkled, along with ashen knees, there was no doubt as to what their endeavors involved.

I was ready to depart when a dark hued Prince charming asked me to dance. I accepted and headed for the center of the dancing area. He took my hand in his and gently guided me to a dark isolated corner, where we began to groove to the music.

You have nice lips, he said, while my back was facing him.

Basking from his complement, I said, thanks as soon as we were face to face again. That’s when I realized the reason for his comments. He wasn’t moving anymore, and his inaction caused me to stop boogying too. Putting a hand on each of my shoulders, he applied pressure, trying to push me downward. Reality came hard and quick. Maybe as hard as the exposed ebony python protruding from the fly of his pants, that he undoubtedly expected me to constrict my mouth around.

Go ahead mama; show me you know how to use them sweet lips. lewdly gyrating his pelvis as he spoke.

I had never participated in any kind of sex act up to that moment, yet often wondered what the equipment I wasn’t born with looked like. Sinking to my knees, I followed his instructions. The huge and incredibly thick organ didn’t look as bland or innocent as the drawings in my biology classes back in school. I went out on a limb and tried it. The thing was different, but otherwise, well – I don’t know why, but the flavor was exotic. I opened my mouth wider to sample more of his spicy elixir, receiving more of the intoxicating juice. Maybe if I had more experience or at least seen a few porno flicks, I would have known what I was doing. That wasn’t the case, so I improvised. As I started to apply suction, only a trickle of the salty sweet fluid emerged. Thinking a clog must be interrupting the liquid’s flow, I engulfed as much as my mouth could hold, biting down as hard as possible, hoping to be rewarded with the large squirt I’d heard other females talk about. That’s not quite what happened. The only thing I received was having my teeth almost being pulled out by the roots as he yanked his snake out of my mouth. Without bothering to even fasten his britches, he ran out of our private spot screaming. Embarrassed, I rejoined the ladies at our table.

Damn girl, wipe yo mouth, Linda said.

When I did, the napkin became stained with blood. Excusing myself, finding the restroom, I found, thankfully, the blood wasn’t mine. Returning to the table, I was treated to the latest gossip.

Some dude had his thang almost clean bit off.

I was too ashamed to stay a second longer. I left the club with the yearning for a strange new flavor and a rededication to my life’s ultimate goal: Troy!

Some things are easier altered than others, so I researched dieting, and found that a change to healthier eating along with exercise could actually help shed weight. After implementing my own diet plan of eating rabbit food for a month and exercising an hour every morning before going to work, I lost two whole pounds. Now, that might not sound promising to anyone, but I forgot to mention I worked at the Wing Delight. They were home to Atlanta’s best and biggest Buffalo wings, so 2 pounds seemed an amazing feat to me.

My next hurdle was to tackle my speech problem. The therapists discovered my stuttering did not stem from any medical disorder, but from a lack of confidence. Whenever I spoke about a subject I was sure of, I didn’t stutter. When the matter broached unknowns or topics of a personal nature, I-I-I j-ju-just… Well, you get the picture, right? He assigned a set of practice exercises to help me, and within a year, no one remembered I ever had a speech impediment.

In that year, I had also increased my workouts to include jogging in the morning and again late in the evening. I also changed jobs, finding employment at a coin operated laundry. In switching my line of work, I really started to see the weight melt away. I dropped from 322 to 260 pounds. I still had a way to go, yet being 5’8" tall, the change was noticeable.

I still wore the thick eyeglasses; however, I learned Lasik eye surgery could eliminate my need for eyewear altogether. The problem there became one of finances. To rid myself of those extra pair of eyes, I needed almost 5 grand. I was right back at the drawing board, because even with two sets of peepers, I couldn’t see a way to get that kind of cash.

I thought of every conceivable idea possible to come up with the money I needed, only to find out I had been, on a daily basis, letting a fortune slip through my fingers. Just when I was about to hit the streets in a mini dress and high heels (don’t laugh, some guys like big boned women and will pay for their… um, company), a customer approached me at the laundry asking if I’d change a bag of dimes for foldable currency. The store was almost empty and I had already completed my noon duties of cleaning the lint traps, filling the coin dispensers, added products to the vending machines, swept, mopped, and emptied the video games of their coins. I exchanged her $40 worth of dimes for paper money out of the cash drawer. When the old woman thanked me and left the laundry, I realized the owner Jeremy Grigsby was going to be furious having so much change in the till. To avoid any needless flack, I put two $20 bills in the register and place the bag of dimes inside my purse.

The next day while jogging, I decided to start collecting aluminum cans to pick up a few dollars and at the same time maybe loose a few extra pounds in the process. There were a lot of empty cans and my plastic bag was half-full. I thought I was a genius, finding money others passed up because they were too proud to pick up discarded metal trash. Just as I was about to pick up an empty can, a man with a metal detector yelled, stop!

I saw the can first, I said picking up the old container.

You can have the can; I want that dime next to it.

I retrieved the dime and handed it to him. I guess the puzzled expression on my face instilled to him I knew nothing about coins, especially old ones. He took the time to explain the dime I handed him was a Mercury dime and after checking the information in the little coin value book he carried with him, advised the coin was worth approximately $65. Introducing himself, Bruce Brown went on to share how older coins achieved their value. He explained about total coins production in a particular year, at which mint, and also coin conditioning as reasons for the round pieces of metal to have a worth greater than their face value. There went my belief of thinking the older the coins the more it was worth. He gave me several examples such as the 1943 penny, which is worth about five cents unless it was one of the very fewactually struck out of copper, and then it could be worth over a hundred thousand dollars.

I told him about the old dimes the lady traded in at the store and wondered if any of them might be valuable. Bruce gave me the coin book and his business card, letting me know he owned a shop on Martin L. King Boulevard, and if after checking my coins and finding any of them had a high value, he’d be happy to purchase them for 60% of their estimated worth. I thanked him and agreed to his offer, saying I’d give him a ring after checking all the dimes against the book’s listings.

I became so excited, I abandoned my can search in hopes of locating a few coins worth $65, like the dime I’d turned over to Bruce. After carefully logging down the year, mint, and condition of each dime, finding their value in the coin book, I listed their worth. When I came across a coin minted at the long-ago shut down New Orleans mint, I realized I’d hit the jackpot. The single dime was listed as having a value of $43,000. I checked and double checked every coin over and over again, and if my calculations were correct, the total value of the 400 dimes I traded $40 for, was worth almost $100,000. If Mr. Brown wanted to buy them as per our agreement, I’d bank a cool 60 g’s.

The next day I had to work the morning shift. I took the coin book with me and found a few pre-1960 quarters, which meant they were basically pure silver. After finding their worth in the book, each was assessed at a few dollars. As I said, I’d been letting a fortune slip through my fingers every single day. The high I felt was invigorating, and soon as my shift was over, I went to Mr. Brown’s shop. I showed him the coin I thought was worth the big bucks, only to see the wrong expression on his face.

If you weren’t an amateur coin collector, one I hadn’t started down this road of numismatics, I’d agree with your findings. Since I’m an honest man and consider us friends, I’ll tell you the honest truth, he paused.

It’s not worth that much, is it? I asked, deflated and depressed.

I’m afraid I can’t buy it.

Why? I thought we had a deal.

Rolanda, we do. The problem is, this coin is worth more than I can afford. You were right about everything pertaining to this dime except one; conditioning. You wrote the condition as good, yet this coin is in very fine shape which ups its value to an estimated $85,000.

I was speechless. Who would have thought that one little dime was worth more than most people earned in three years of working 40 hours a week?

If you like, I could contact a few collectors who might be interested in adding this piece to their collection, he offered, eyeing the coin through a magnifying glass. I can’t make any promises, but I’m sure any of them would jump at the chance to obtain this treasure.

What about the other coins?

Tell you what, why don’t you leave them with me and I’ll verify their proper conditioning and ascertain their correct market values and phone you later tonight with the results.

I couldn’t hold back my euphoria, issuing Bruce a bear hug, before giving him my phone number and heading home. Remember when I said I was a virgin? Well, add young and gullible to that list. I’ll admit I treated myself to a big dinner that night to celebrate. Hell, I even allowed myself to have a double helping of some devilishly delicious triple chocolate cheesecake. It was late when I made it home, yet I stared at the phone all night. The next morning I was still in a glorious mood as I worked my shift at the laundry. Rushing back to my apartment, once the clock acknowledged my hours of work were over, I sat by the phone waiting, almost willing it to ring. It didn’t happen. Mr. Brown’s business card indicated his shop closed at five, and if I drove on the interstate, I could still make it there before the doors were locked. I drove my trusty rusty Ford Escort to his shop as fast as it could go. Or should I say where Bruce’s shop used to be? Only the sun faded overhead sign left any clue that there had once been a coin shop at that location. Maybe at that point I should not have considered myself a virgin anymore, because Bruce Brown had royally fucked me. I sat and cried away at least 2 pounds, understanding both the joy and heartache of sex without ever engaging in the actual act itself.

I know most folks would have let Bruce’s treachery incapacitate their ability to function in a positive manner for a while; not me. I learned from it, and drafted a plan to better my future. Having a talk with Mr. Grisby, the owner of the Laundry Lion where I worked, he agreed to let me return to the store after it closed each night, to roll the coins in our wrapping machines, and verify the amount taken in matched the register’s total. My actions would make his deposits easier in the morning and in exchange he gave me permission to swap out any coins found to be worth more than face value.

Over the next few weeks, I began to familiarize myself with any coin which had increased value without having to verify it with the book. Within a few months, I collected quite a quantity of silver coins, yet nothing as impressive as what Bruce cheated me out of. Besides building up a nice collection of coins, my hard work paid off in other ways. Mr. Grisby promoted me to manager of the place after he found Christina, our former chief, had been looting his till for the past two years. The truth became evident after he checked his records and compared the totals taken in, before the months I started my coin searches. He was so elated; he even let me install a four rack gumball machine I purchased at the flea market.

The extra money I earned as manager came in handy, as did the medical insurance the position provided. Since I had insurance, I opted to have my teeth fixed in lieu of either Lasik surgery or a new pair of stylish glasses. The orthodontists put me on an easy payment plan for placing my teeth behind bars. I had to keep telling myself each time I saw my reflection in the mirror, that the braces would be worth their weight in gold once Troy was safely in my arms. In the interim, I moved to an apartment in a lower class neighborhood in order to save on expenses. Eighteen months later, and another 40 pounds lighter, I still wasn’t where I needed to be, but I was beginning to see results.

Chapter 3

Now, I know you’re wondering where’s Troy at this point. Well, he’s working at the law firm of White, Gray, and Bradford. They were attorneys which handled any nickel and dime, ambulance chasing case they could get their grimy little hands on. My man; well, he wasn’t really mine yet, was doing most of the grunt work while Raybon White, Paul Gray, or Devin Bradford won small potato cases in court. The firm employed four other bar certified lawyers, who like Troy, never saw the inside of a courtroom. That’s unless, on the rare occasion when White, Gray, or Bradford forgot an important document and one of their minions were instructed to deliver it to them posthaste.

Troy was no slouch when it came to charming the ladies. He was becoming a staple in nightclubs all over the city. Most would think he was just flirting, trying to pick up any of Atlanta’s finest females, but I know better than that. He was networking, letting people know who he was and making his services available to those in need. Let’s face facts, women gossip. Whenever someone’s friend or relative gets himself in a little trouble with the law, it’s usually a female who suggests the attorney to the person caught in the jam. Yes, I’ll admit Troy was tapping ass throughout the city. That’s okay, how else was he supposed to learn how to handle the new me? Teach on ladies, teach on!

I started going to the adult video stores to rent X-rated flicks to learn about sex. The third time I rented a stack of movies, the woman behind the counter asked if I had a man or machine. Of course I didn’t know what she was referring to at all.

Neither.

She didn’t miss my perplexed look, whereby she showed me a whole section of rubber toys which looked too lifelike.

I’ve never done…

It’s easy honey, just put it in the hole, she laughed.

But-but I’m still a virgin.

Well do tell. In that case, why don’t you go back to our viewing booths and I’m sure someone could solve that problem, she insisted, giving me free admittance to the booth area.

There were mostly men walking around, going from booth to booth. I imitated their actions, going into one of the little rooms, closing and locking the door behind me. I put some money in the slot and the screen came to life. My privates begin to tingle as I watched the movie. That old familiar exotic flavor crept back into my consciousness. Then, suddenly from a hole cut into the right side of the wall, a real, thick, meaty specimen just appeared. I couldn’t help but to stare at it. I almost ran out of the place, and would have if it had not been leaking that sweet gooey sauce I longed to savor again.

Go on baby, you know you want it, encouraged a husky sounding voice from the other side of the wall.

I know I shouldn’t have, but the voice, the sight of it, and well… as I got closer, the smell beckoned me like no other force I’d ever encountered. I inhaled deeply. Okay, I told myself I had experienced enough and tried to convince myself that it was time to leave. Yet before I could, a drop of the syrupy substance started hanging from the tip, making its slow descent to the dirty stained floor. I had to save it! There are some things too valuable to waste. Whoever the man was must have thought someone was really trying to suck a golf ball through a garden hose. I imitated what I’d seen done on the porn flicks, and after a few minutes was rewarded with the explosion of liquid heat witnessed in the triple X rated movies I often rented. When I finished draining the unknown stranger, he thanked me and left only a vacant hole. Between my legs, I was on fire. I almost ripped my pants in lowering them, as I masturbated right there in the little room. Within minutes of reaching orgasm and regaining enough strength to stand, the empty hole had been replaced with another male only piece of equipment. To make a long story short, I began my oral training that night and returned for many more lessons to educate myself on the art of giving oral pleasure. And yes, Troy was to become the benefactor of my studies.

One night when most of the normal size booths were occupied, and left with no choice, I ventured into one of the smaller ones. When I got down on my hands and knees, bringing my head level with the hole in the in the right side of the wall, the first instrument needing relief poked itself into my side of the wall. In the smaller room, my butt butted against the wall behind me as I put my oral skills to the test. I must admit I finally learned the benefits of wearing a loose fitting skirt or dress without panties, which granted me easier access to play with my own hot box while enjoying having my protein needs met. While I was busy with my final exam, whereby I constricting my throat muscles as the pumping member explored my esophagus, I felt a hand raise my skirt. He began his gentle manipulation of my flower with experienced maneuvers. Whoever he was, he knew exactly what he was doing because my nectar was flowing and began to run down inside of my thighs. When the hand stopped, I straightened my back and pushed hard against the hole seeking more of the man’s hand to continue its magic. That’s not what happened at all. I would have screamed to hell and back if not for the blockage penetrating my throat, preventing all loud noises except a muffled moan. The burning pain I felt as the man in the booth behind me had his way, soon subsided. I don’t remember how long it took, but once I adjusted to the rhythm he set, I found myself grinding my body back towards the opening to feel more of what he offered. After passing my oral exam with flying white colorful jets of a celebratory ejaculation, I released my examiner. I then turned all my attention to what was transpiring in the rear of my booth. I’m still surprised I didn’t knock the wall down, as hard as I was banging against it. I guess I got caught up in the moment, pretending the man in the booth, who was giving me so much pleasure, was my Troy. I lost it, seeing stars as I rocketed passed them in the ecstasy of climax. The man howled as I violently trembled in orgasm.

With my mission accomplished in learning about sex, I decided no more chances with my life. There are incurable diseases out there, not to mention itchy little bugs too!

Officially I was no longer a virgin, and no matter how much my body ached to be pleasured by more of those long hard lances, I denied myself. I used that inner need to motivate myself towards achieving my goal: Troy!

Chapter 4

Two long years passed by since I relocated in Atlanta, and I no longer stuttered, my teeth were starting to look a lot better in the braces, and I had burned away another 60 pounds. At 160 pounds I was starting to garner some attention. The wreck I used to see reflecting itself back at me in the mirror was slowly taking shape. The thick glasses accompanied by the mouth guard holding the braces in place didn’t complement the flawless skin on my face at all. Pimples or acne never bothered me; I guess they felt pity for someone in my predicament. That, and accidentally meeting Michelle Tapps-Vicks, who started her own brand of natural skin care products called Happi 2 B Natural, which are free of any of those harsh chemicals used in most of the beauty products sold at almost every cosmetics retailer throughout the world. Her products are all handmade, from all-natural ingredients, as well as using only original recipes. Michelle advised me that all of her wares were made in small batches and never re-batched, and as long as I used theHappi2 B Natural brand, she guaranteed I would never have a problem with my skin. To tell you the truth, I had my doubts, however looking at my smooth radiant skin and completely botch-less face, I realized she was absolutely right. I’m just glad that I’m still able to obtain her products online at www.H2BN.org, while living in Atlanta.

Mr. Grisby started hanging around the laundry, being extra nice to me. At first I didn’t realize he might have ulterior motives, but after catching him staring at my body on more than a few occasions, I wondered if he found me attractive, or possibly liked the way I’d shrunk in size. Whatever the case, I took his peeps as a complement until one night after I closed the laundry and was in the process of searching through the day's intake of coins, when Mr. Grisby returned. It was obvious he’d been drinking, as I could smell the alcohol from across the room as he began to rant about his wife cheating on him with some younger guy he spotted her with. The man was thoroughly convinced she was going to seek a divorce and drain him financially. I tried to calm him down, but he continued to ramble.

I’ll be damned if I let that bitch take half of what I own and give it to some young ass punk barely passed puberty. I’ll give it away first!

Realizing he was drunk, I let him vent. Once he hit turbo drive, well… let’s just say I’d found my comedy forum for the night. It was late, and I had to bite my lip from openly laughing at the man’s humorous quips. I would have usually been home engaging in my nightly exercising; however, I felt he needed someone to listen to his tirade. So, as he trashed talked, I started to stretch. Don’t forget I worked in a coin operated laundry, where the dress code is really laid-back. I had on a pair of gray warm-up pants and a T-shirt with the words, "Not Too Sexy," printed on the front. Bending over to touch my toes, I felt his eyes burning a hole through the material between my legs. Mr. Grisby’s continued debasing of his wife began to change, whereby instead of not wanting to let her fleece