~BHM, ~FFA, ~XWG, ~Sex, After overhearing an admission by his wife, a man is inspired to live differently.
1. Joel
My dear, lovely wife Sarah had been taking guitar lessons for months and I was pleasantly surprised by her ardor for the instrument--she never missed a lesson, and spent hours each night picking out chords, strumming away, singing under her breath. It hadn't occurred to me that the draw wasn't so much the music as the teacher. That is, until I overheard a conversation one day between she and her sister Rebecca, who was visiting from Denver.
Rebecca is very blunt and loud, and it gets on my nerves. So that day when she and Sarah came home from shopping, I hid in my basement study, hoping they would assume I was out. But after a few minutes I heard the pop of a wine cork. Realizing it would be a long, boozy, giggly afternoon, I decided to sneak out to the garage without either of them hearing me. I tiptoed up the stairs and could overhear them chatting.
"So, are you still taking guitar lessons with the sexy beast?" Rebecca asked. I stopped in my tracks--I'd met Sarah's teacher once and he was an elephantine, red-bearded, barrel-chested guy named Zach. Surely that wasn't who they were talking about. That guy was so big he was like three of me tied together.
Sarah giggled. "Oh yeah. I don't know if I'm getting any better, but he sure does make a good muse. I mean, I'd never do anything about it of course..." she trailed off wistfully.
"Of course, but you can look, you're not dead!" Rebecca said, and I heard them clink glasses in assent.
"So..." Rebecca continued with a sly edge to her voice, "How fat IS he?"
Sarah gasped. "Huge. But how did you know?"
"Oh come on, Sarah, what am I, blind?" Rebecca hooted. "Every boyfriend you ever had before Joel was--let's be honest--immense. And remember that rugby guy I dated who gained 50 pounds in the off-season? You took that breakup harder than I did! You, little sister, are a chubby chaser."
"Ugh, I hate that term," Sarah groaned. "It's so glib and stupid."
Rebecca sipped her wine. "Didn't you tell me Joel used to be fat at one time, before you met?"
"Yeah, as a teenager. I always hoped that part of him might...y'know, reassert itself, but leave it to me to marry the one ex-fatty who never backslides," Sarah muttered, and I heard her pour another glass of wine.
Rebecca snorted with laughter. "No, leave it to you to marry a guy who looks like Cary Grant and treats you like a queen, and bitch because he isn't fat enough for you."
"I know, I know," Sarah said ruefully. "What do I have to complain about? He's wonderful. It's just that I've always liked a man with...appetites."
Joel's Revelation: a Tale in 10 Parts
by ffaboots
by ffaboots
1. Joel
My dear, lovely wife Sarah had been taking guitar lessons for months and I was pleasantly surprised by her ardor for the instrument--she never missed a lesson, and spent hours each night picking out chords, strumming away, singing under her breath. It hadn't occurred to me that the draw wasn't so much the music as the teacher. That is, until I overheard a conversation one day between she and her sister Rebecca, who was visiting from Denver.
Rebecca is very blunt and loud, and it gets on my nerves. So that day when she and Sarah came home from shopping, I hid in my basement study, hoping they would assume I was out. But after a few minutes I heard the pop of a wine cork. Realizing it would be a long, boozy, giggly afternoon, I decided to sneak out to the garage without either of them hearing me. I tiptoed up the stairs and could overhear them chatting.
"So, are you still taking guitar lessons with the sexy beast?" Rebecca asked. I stopped in my tracks--I'd met Sarah's teacher once and he was an elephantine, red-bearded, barrel-chested guy named Zach. Surely that wasn't who they were talking about. That guy was so big he was like three of me tied together.
Sarah giggled. "Oh yeah. I don't know if I'm getting any better, but he sure does make a good muse. I mean, I'd never do anything about it of course..." she trailed off wistfully.
"Of course, but you can look, you're not dead!" Rebecca said, and I heard them clink glasses in assent.
"So..." Rebecca continued with a sly edge to her voice, "How fat IS he?"
Sarah gasped. "Huge. But how did you know?"
"Oh come on, Sarah, what am I, blind?" Rebecca hooted. "Every boyfriend you ever had before Joel was--let's be honest--immense. And remember that rugby guy I dated who gained 50 pounds in the off-season? You took that breakup harder than I did! You, little sister, are a chubby chaser."
"Ugh, I hate that term," Sarah groaned. "It's so glib and stupid."
Rebecca sipped her wine. "Didn't you tell me Joel used to be fat at one time, before you met?"
"Yeah, as a teenager. I always hoped that part of him might...y'know, reassert itself, but leave it to me to marry the one ex-fatty who never backslides," Sarah muttered, and I heard her pour another glass of wine.
Rebecca snorted with laughter. "No, leave it to you to marry a guy who looks like Cary Grant and treats you like a queen, and bitch because he isn't fat enough for you."
"I know, I know," Sarah said ruefully. "What do I have to complain about? He's wonderful. It's just that I've always liked a man with...appetites."
