The women’s soccer team threw an end-of-semester bash in December of 1990, and someone invited those of us in the Scholars Program. When my roommate, Hannah, and I stepped into the party with our Scholars friends Rowan and Josh, I immediately spotted Robby across the crowded common area. Our eyes met, and I observed a familiar, petite soccer chick on his arm. He had been dating her when I met him back in late August. Clearly, he had chosen to spend his last night in town with her instead of me. I had wondered why I hadn’t heard from him yet that day. Crushed, I turned to leave the party when Nick touched my shoulder.
Ennui, curiosity, and a yearning for inspiration to write compelled me to investigate a dark web site for cheating spouses. There, I stumbled upon private messages from user redchevelle71. In Franklin, Tennessee, redchevelle71 seemed safely distant enough from Mobile for correspondence via email.
This story is set in the not-too-distant future, a couple of months after the coronavirus epidemic has been beaten and all quarantines have been lifted.
“Eliza has no use for that foolish romantic tradition that all women love to be mastered, if not actually bullied and beaten. ‘When you go to your woman,’ says Nietzsche, ‘take your whip with you’… But to admire a strong person and to live under that person’s thumb are two different things.”
She woke up to the usual sink full of dishes, dirty clothes basket full to the brim and wondered when it would be something different. She dreamed of waking to a sparkling new home, a dishwasher and a not so full basket and she laughed.
There are plenty of foolish women who imagine that, provided they do not "come to the point" with a lover, that they can without offending their husbands at least, afford a trade in gallantry; and it often results from this way of looking at things more dangerous consequences than if their downfall had been complete. What happened to the Marquise de Guissac, a woman of status from Nîmes in Languedoc, is a sure proof of what we are posing here as a maxim.
Note: The following tales are adapted from "Short Stories, Histories and Fables," by the great master of erotic fiction, the Donatien Alphonse Francois Comte de Sade, better known to history as the Marquis de Sade.
Every disgusting stain on those six tatami I can trace back to his giant fat ex-Sumo ass drinking himself unconscious. Blood stains, sweat stains, even sex stains, wanted and unwanted. Every cigarette burn too. I have to take the burning butts out of his fingers when he passes out so he doesn’t set our little shit apartment on fire. I’ve seen him sleep through earthquakes when he’s drunk.