Double Standards (standard:drama, 587 words)
Author: TJC	Added: Jul 18 2004	Views/Reads: 3876/3	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
An angry man, facing divorce, confronts his options and the double standards of the sexes.

DOUBLE STANDARDS 

Her perfectly done face filled the television screen.  Sharon Sullivan,
the host of a popular Los Angeles morning show that was about to go 
national.  She was beautiful with shoulder length blonde hair, green 
eyes,  and a body that still filled my fantasies even after nearly ten 
years of marriage.  Now I was out of her life and she was divorcing me. 
 Never mind she was a two-bit waitress when I found her.   At that time 
I was an up and coming screenwriter and since she and I hit it off I 
introduced her to some people.  I loved her at first sight and would 
have done anything in the world for her.  She became a local star while 
my career went nowhere. 

“That's your wife, huh?” 

“Yeah, that's her,” I told the cute little Latina hooker.  “How'd you
know that?” 

“I saw you both on television,” she said.  Her hand rubbed my balls
gently.  “It's too bad things are so bad.” 

“Just get back to work,” I barked.  The hooker took my anger back into
her mouth and I stared at the screen in the hotel room.  Things were 
bad.  The divorce was public because I felt she should pay me some 
alimony.  Hell, I helped her get started.  She is successful due to my 
help.  If roles were reversed and I was the big star, there would be no 
question that I'd have to pay her because she's a woman.   Yet, since 
I'm a man,  she actually gets away with public comments  such as “Why 
can't he get a job?”    Oh I could just hear the uproar if I said that 
about her if she was down on her luck and I was the TV star. 

“Damn double standard,” I said.  “Well baby,  I'm going to win this.” 

“What did you say, honey?” 

“Oh Christ, get on your hands and knees.” 

While I enjoyed the little hooker, I watched the rest of my wife's show.
 The longer I looked at her, the harder my thrusts became.  When I was 
finished,  I climbed off the bed and headed for the shower.  “Thanks, 
baby.  The money is on the dresser.  Get lost.” 

The water felt wonderful.  Hot water after hot sex was the best stress
reliever.  I was going to get my fair share of money from Sharon and 
then I would be able to have a good time. Women.  Travel.  With no 
hassles, maybe I'd finally feel ready to write something good.   The 
air grew a bit cold as I saw the bathroom door open and through the 
blurry door I could see the hooker dressed in her little black outfit. 

“Did you find the money?  It was right there.” 

“I got it, honey,” she said cheerfully.  “I wanted to say it was fun and
maybe leave my card if you ever want to get together again.  I'm sorry 
about your divorce troubles.” 

“Yeah, thanks.  Maybe I should have her killed.  I think I'm still on
her insurance.”  No way could I ever do that.  I still loved her.  But 
I fantasized about it all the time.  “Think I should hire a guy to kill 
her, baby?”  I started to laugh. 

“Now that's a double standard,” the hooker giggled.  “Why must it be a
guy?” 

“You're funny, my sexy kitten,” I said through the door.  “Who the hell
would hire a woman to kill somebody?” 

The shower door opened and the hooker was smiling.  “Your wife.” 

Two silenced shots and the story ended. 

TC 


Tweet