Last night, as I was waiting for my meds to kick in so I could go to sleep, I just kept thinking about it, over and over again.
I picture this:
They met at an agrientertainment event, and she was a friend of a friend. Rumors were that she was dating a rich real estate developer, and that her family owned vines in Monterey. Her parents knew people. She was classy in her tight, black dress with heels not too high. She had the unusual habit of putting her hand on every man's arm when they were talking. She liked to lean in just enough, but didn't come across as being slutty. He saw this, and immediately felt jealous.
Some nondescript woman with a big ring (it has to be bigger than the engagement ring he gave his first wife because he doesn't want his second fiancee to feel like she's second place) kissing him in front of his friends. They go wine tasting together (don't all rich people go wine tasting in this area?). She's met all his friends, and his mother likes her so much that her future mother-in-law asks her out to coffee, just to chit-chat. They bond at the local Starbucks while Mom tells stories of Morpheus when he was just a child.
They've already discussed having children, and can't decide on one or two. They want to get a dog, to start out with. They're arguing playfully over what breed. She says Welsh Corgi, but he wants something bigger.
They're planning a wedding, but it has to be bigger than his first, so they're struggling to find people to invite (his first wedding had about 500 people). During the toast, his best man will look over at Morpheus and his new wife, and say, "The first time I saw those two together I knew they were soulmates." Because that's what you say at wedding, number two. His friends have come up to her, and said how happy she makes him. He just isn't the same person without you, they explain. He's so much happier now than he was. He's never been happier.
They'll have all these pictures of the wedding, and they will line the hallway with them, saying to themselves and to each other that this is only the beginning. There's so much more to experience, and so many more pictures to take over the next forty years. They'll have baby pictures and graduation pictures and pictures taken during their vacations to France and Malibu and pictures when they're old and wrinkly, and when they need to lean against each other just to stand up. There'll be grandbaby pictures--just you wait and see.
Wife Number Two doesn't take any drugs, but she drinks freely, and the best sex they have is when they're buzzed-bordering-on-drunk. He makes her cum multiple times per night, and then he cums after he's serviced her properly. Like a truck with one of those big transmissions, maybe even an Allison, where you feel the shifts underneath your feet. Jerk, jerk, jerk.
Thrust, thrust, thrust.
He runs every morning in the hills behind his house, and she goes to an expensive gym where she works on her thighs, and that thigh gap that she cherishes. She doesn't mind that the weight lifters have a direct view of her ass as she's on the stairmaster. She thinks about it every time she gets on and off. In the locker room, she twists around in the mirror so she can check her ass out to make sure it looks peppy today. It always does.
She notices that he notices so she has her hair and nails done regularly. She's not a natural blonde, but she's not sure he could even tell if she was. She pays to have her legs and bikini waxed so she's clean and smooth when he goes down on her--and he goes down on her a lot.
She pouted enough that he took the cutting board that celebrated his last marriage by having a carving of the wedding date, and he finally threw it away, instead of handing her the excuse that he was just using it to chop strawberries.
He paid off her student debt as an early wedding present from her Bachelor's in Business that she knew she would never use but was forced to attending college anyway by her insistent parents, who explained that she would never find a proper husband working at Popeye's or Walmart. She maintained a 3.0GPA without trying because she was too busy to really study hard.
They're so happy to have found each other that they don't even think about the outside world, and stay in on Sundays to have sex in the morning after eating a late breakfast. She cooks because a woman should cook for her man. Hell, sometimes they don't leave the bed at all. He knows how to make her coffee, and she complains mildly that she prefers to only drink Peet's.
They institute "date night" so they will never forget how much they mean to each other. Mostly they go to an expensive, vogue little restuarant next to the creek in downtown Yuppieville. He orders what he likes, and she always orders a salad, and eats slowly, chewing softly, like her mother showed her when she was young. "You won't catch a man if you chew like an ol' dairy heifer," her mother used to say. She only eats half, and then complains that she's so full that she couldn't eat another bite. He drinks too much during dinner, and tells her about the business deals he's working on, and all this money he's making. She nods her head in the right places, and sometimes helps him, as if he needed help, with certain business terminology. She did take economics--twice. Sometimes they finish each other sentences, and then laugh when they do. Rich, attractive people can laugh loudly and drunkenly in a restaurant, and no one complains. People only want to be them, carefree and driving a $150,000 Mercedes to go to the grocery store with.
But rich is owning a private jet, and they're not that rich. They're merely on the upper end of middle class. He tells her stories of fishing on a ditch bank in Midland, Texas, where he grew up. She thinks to herself, he's so down-to-earth.
Every time he grabs her hand in public, she feels like she's good enough, and every time he lets go, she worries about how she can command his attention again. She wants him to be completely absorbed by her, and sometimes when they're sitting at a table in public, she grabs his hand and slides it up her leg to her panties. She just reminds him of the goods there.
He kisses her on the street, and twirls her around like she's a little dancer, and in the dizziness they both experience, like being short on oxygen or up somewhere way up high, they kiss more.
He asked her to marry him in the middle of the night, as they were cuddling, it was dark and off-the-cuff and she couldn't see his face but imagined his special smile, so you know he really meant it. She squeals like a beauty pageant contestant, and says "yes" over and over again.
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