Married with Baby

[FilthyFilthy]

He coughed a few times laying on my dining room table. "He has to be burped" so I picked him up and raised it over my shoulder. "No... give me him" and she'd show me so she took him and raised him above her shoulder. She slapped his back a few times and the baby stopped crying for a moment and when he cried again she handed me the baby "now you try." I brought it up onto my shoulder and by accident my hands cupped his ass so my wife slapped my hands away and took him. "Nevermind" so we went back to watching TV.

The living room was barely separated from the dining room and it was only defined by the furniture and the large and dark green throw rug underneath. We had tucked the baby's crib in behind the couch because I hated walking down the hall every time the god damn thing cried.

The sound of my beer cracking open drew our attention over to the baby who was staring at me from the spaces through his crib (he cries when he hears sharp noises). The fucking thing had been watching me and it was trying to make me feel uncomfortable so I set my beer onto the coffee table and Shirley watched over him as I walked past the crib and into the kitchen.

Another one of these nights I thought and considered taking a shower.

A wall separated the cooking area from the living room and other than the shower it was my only sanctuary. We shared a bathroom with the rest of the floor and the bedroom came with an indirect invitation to my wife.

In the kitchen I felt the plastic handles sticking out from the top of our knife block and I wished she'd take off. The sound from the TV muted and I felt the imaginary weight of everyone in the neighborhood waiting. The kitchen was dark and only a single lamp from the living room complemented the flashing lights from "my" favorite TV sitcom. "Jeffery what are you doing in there" she wondered out loud to which I didn't care to respond.

On the wall behind me to my right her shadow appeared in the yellow light growing bigger, and I heard the soft thuds of her socks nearing me on the linoleum floor, "I'm making a salad" I warned. Through my right peripheral I could see her standing at a safe distance in the dining room by the table "aren't you gonna come back in and watch the rest of the show?" and I turned my head to the knife block and stared. When I heard the soft thuds again I looked through where she'd been standing and out our only window and into the rain. From the living room the couch springs squeaked and loaded slowly as the sound from the TV came back.

Ever since the baby arrived things had been different and I hated both of them for it. The baby cried and cried and our passive competition for who had to comfort her grew more and more sour. My wife stopped listening to the songs I made and I stopped caring enough to play them for her. I scolded her for spending so much money on clay for her faggot elephant sculptures and she threw them all away to spite me. I hit the dog and she put it down, she made dinners and I said I wasn't hungry, I went to bed and she turned up the TV and so on and so on.

Sometimes when she ran her baby powdered hands over the baby's penis I wondered if she felt that I got in her way like she got in mine.

This is how you solve a problem:

I grabbed onto one of the handles on the knife block and the wall in front of me disappeared and my wife stood up, she looked surprised which I found hilarious. She stepped back and tripped on top of my recliner in a way that made her look fatter than she was, like she wouldn't be able to stand up again. "Stop!" as her head twitched back hard at the bottom of my boot heel and some of her teeth clattered onto the coffee table beyond her chin. She showed her face again and it looked silly with that now permanent bleeding overbite which made her look like the dumb hick that I knew she was and she screamed like a mongoloid. "Carpe diem" I quoted her favorite movie.

I ripped the front of her shirt open at the top and tossed it aside as she felt her face inspecting the damage (which was more severe and cartoonish than I'd thought possible, her bottom row of teeth looked like it could touch the tip of her nose (and later I'd remember it and laugh)). I was going to cut her stomach open to make her see and taste and smell her insides but she kicked me in my bad knee (carefully chosen surely).

She rolled onto the floor and onto all fours and I stepped to her side and wrapped my elbow around her neck. I pressed her breadknife against (which until now hadn't been used) and sliced into one of the blue veins on the side of her neck. Her left hand pushed on my back and slid down my pants so she stuck her fingers inside my anus and cranked my rectum which made my erection feel numb. I sawed hard and blood sprayed on the recliner, I figured she'd die quickly so I cut faster and she tried to hold my arm steady with her right hand which became weaker and weaker as her blood poured onto the carpet. I cut through white and blue cords, through strings and chunks hard and soft and the knife hit the bone of her spine so I adjusted it's angle so as to cut around the bone. Her hand in the back of my pants continued to move and I could tell that she was still alive when I cut into her throat.

I twisted her head sideways so that I could see into the gash on the side of her neck and I could see the purple tube at the front of her neck, the unmistakable throat, and I slid the knife back and forth over and over until I saw bubbles. I twisted her head more sideways to stretch out the gash and to get a better look at what I was doing and the exposed spinal disc in her neck jolted up and her arms went limp. All of her weight fell heavy on my elbow and I was disappointed because I knew that she had died.

I stepped forward and let her body fall to the floor to stand above her head facing her body to get a better grip . I squeezed on her face and the back of her head and twisted it to the left, I switched hands and twisted again and the sight of her dead eyed face about her shoulder blades gave me butterflies. Her neck twisted and twisted until it wound into a point and pinched itself off and I threw the head at the television.

The baby was crying so I took his mother's corpse to him and propped her on top ofthe crib. I slid my hand between the bars on the crib and cut across her breast at the nipple and steadied the meat with my other hand. When the blade hit her rib cage I pulled it out and dropped it to the floor, with both hands I squeezed the milk from her breast and onto the baby's face and the baby cried even harder.

Her corpse had pink monkey pajama bottoms so I ripped them down and slammed my erection into one the holes. When I fucked her and couldn't cum I threw her body down on the floor and then I knew what I had to do.

I was whipping on my dick in the shower and I could hear Shirley clanging the dishes together, washing them louder than usual to be sure that I heard.

In my mind's eye I picked the baby out of his crib and let the white blankets fall to the floor and laughed about accidents as my hands cupped his ass again and again.

Sometimes all a marriage needs is a little alone time.

As I read the story I'd written over and again I'd masturbate in the privacy of my mother's room. One day I'd get married and I'd get my wife pregnant and the scenario would be hidden somewhere in my head and I wouldn't be able to help myself from re-imagining it with her and the baby in mind, she would never know it but I'd think about it from time to time when I'd fuck her and when I'd change the baby.

There'd be nothing anyone else could do about it either :)%uFEFF