I wrote this a few years ago...I recently got to share it with someone (hehe thanks for reading hun) and I decided I would post it here...why
bc I like it! MUHUHAHAHAHA
Enjoi.
When I pulled up to the house after a long days work the windows showed a view of the dimly lit parlor inside. After parking the car, I reached for the keys in my purse and tossed my cigarette butt out the window. Nearing the steps of the front door, I noticed a beautiful vase filled with two-dozen radiant red roses. It was so typical of him to behave in such a manner the night after gallivanting around town with Fredrick and the Beacon Street whores. It was routine by now. Every time he felt guilty I would come home to the same old gig: a dozen roses and a home cooked dinner awaiting my arrival. He must have realized the depth of his error this time since the flower arrangement had doubled in size.
As I entered the house I grabbed the vase of roses in my arm. A faint, melodic sound welcomed me into the parlor. The euphonious whisper of the music was calming to the ear. The entirety of the house was filled with an intense aroma of beauty. This indescribable scent was rather smitten, sending chills through my spine. It was as if senses alone were to debauch me. I could not help but to let down my seemingly impermeable shield of aggression.
The feeling of seduction laggardly began to overcome my insides and spread through my veins. My body became weak for my husband. I was still so angry for what he had done but as I entered the bedroom the luscious arrangement of rose-pedals leading to the bed enticed me to temporarily forget his mistakes. The delicately placed flower petals lead a trail straight to the bed and as I followed them, I felt a warm presence behind me. It was my husband.
I turned to greet him. He swung his arms around my waist and embraced me with a close sensual hug. Apologies wept from the lips of this betrayer and I merely smirked at the thought of the events to come. He motioned toward the bed and we approached together, his hand tightly squeezing mine. I had him sit down and wait for me to retrieve the two glasses of champagne from the kitchen.
Rather quickly, not to put a damper on the mood, I poured my champagne into a glass and reached under the sink for my more than worthy husband’s potent beverage. I poured his glass and grasped it in my free hand. Strutting back to the bedroom I let out a faint yet menacing giggle. Gazing into my husband’s eye, I handed him his glass and proposed a toast. “To honesty, being faithful, and to the future,” I said to him.
There was an enormous sense of relief seeping through my pours as my husband sipped from his glass. He squirmed and choked on the liquid for a bit and vomited on the bed. This was a small price to pay when the night is at its end. At last he passed out.
I called his closest friend, Frederick, immediately and asked him to come over to help me bury my poor dead husband. I could sense Frederick’s smirk through the phone receiver. He agreed and asked if I would need anything else to help in my time of mourning. I suggested him to grab a box of condoms on his was over and explained to him that I would be in need of a new bottle or Drain-O since I had just used up the last bit.
