The Don's Wife

8 | Ground Rules

The little boy was standing in a pitch black room. Without light, without sound. He walked and walked aimlessly searching for a way out. Alas, his effort are fruitless. Just when he's about to give up hope, a door suddenly opened, granting him the light that he craved.

Blinded by the light, he squinted his eyes to see the familiar figure that stood still by the door. Turns out it was the woman he knew well. It was his mother.

"Mother, is that you?" He called out to the figure, hoping for her reassurance.

But the woman remained silent.

"Mother?" He called out again, only to be ignored yet again.

The woman then turned her back on the little boy and walked away from him. As she clacked away her heels the boy started to go after her.

"Mother! Where are you going?" Thinking maybe she can't hear him, he raised his voice just as he raised his pace.

"Mother wait!" He shouted louder, sounding more desperate while running this time.

But strangely the longer he ran the further the door gets. The little boy started panicking as his mother was getting further and further away from him. He ran frantically with all his might but still failed to reach the door.

"Please don't leave me!!" The little boy cried out in utter despair with tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Please.." With his energy finally drained, he sobbed out his last desperate plea.

My eyes snapped open to find the bimbo already straddled on top of me. On reflex, I shoved her away.

"Ouch!"

"The fuck are you trying to pull? You're trying to fucking rape me?!" I shouted at the bitch that sat on my bed.

"Of course not! I'm not that cheap you know." She rolled her eyes, offended by my accusation.

Yes you are, apparently.

"Just because you kept saying 'please..please..' I thought maybe you wanted some." She batted her fake lashes and flashed me her sensuous smirk that made me nauseous.

That damn dream again. It's been ten years since I've been suffering the same dream after the particular incident. Usually people regards such dreams as nightmares, but for me it's a constant reminder of how you should never trust women. Such as the bimbo in front of me for a blantant example.

"Well the answer is no, so stick to the fucking rules!" I got up and get myself dressed.

In order for this plan to work accordingly, I've set some ground rules that she needs to abide.

Rule number one, we don't fuck. Either with our genitals, hands, or mouth.

"If you ever pull that kind of shit again, I'll fucking kill you. Understand?" I threatened.

"Okay, geez.." She groaned, looking at me like I'm over exaggerating. Don't fucking care.

"And get off my fucking bed." She's tainting my bed sheet with her cheap overly-sharp perfume. I must've been dead drunk to have fucked her before and not throw up.

Rule number two, we don't sleep on the same bed. I get the bed, you get the couch.

"Wear this." I threw my white shirt at her, to make it seem like we're intimate enough.

Rule number three, keep the agreement in secrecy.

When the both of us made our way to the dining room I heard Mary and Rosalind chatting away chirpily in the kitchen. But as soon as they saw us their conversation immediately died down into an awkward silence.