mine tonight
Jules doesn't bother to call her when he isn't coming home anymore. She doesn't bother to call to ask him to come home either. A sad state of affairs for such a young marriage, it's only been three years, but then again they'd never been lovey dovey, never been the honeymoon couple. They'd gone out because Judithe had suggested it and the real draw between them was that he had a fat cock and a fat wallet and she didn't hang all over him demanding his attention when he had his career to focus on. He'd proposed after a few months, she'd said yes without caring.
Their flat is large, tasteful, if just a bit gaudy because she's nothing but, but the space means they can spend all day there together and never speak. Not that she hangs around for that, why bother when there are interesting people to talk to and see. Jules was far from interesting.
Still. Sometimes she itched for him. Whether it was pettiness in the face of his neglect or if it was just a desire for something familiar, she didn't know and she didn't care and not getting what she wanted made her dangerous. She usually had more sense than to bring men home to their bed. Maybe June, from time to time, just because she loved that awful boy, but no one else.
That's where she's brought her pretty boywhore though, counts the money out in front of him and pays him slowly, teasingly, bill by bill in exchange for every touch. She makes him work for it--a long string of condoms tied off and dropped into a wastebasket where she hopes Jules sees them--but somehow she doubts the whore's complaining about silk sheets and a warm, luscious woman to press into.
She's not complaining about a body to curl into afterward. Cold-hearted bitch she may be, but even she shows a smile when her endorphins are high.