All Grown Up: The Story of Jacob and Renesmee Part III

29

 Amy

 I hate reality shows. They are Randy's favorite, so we watch them all the time. I'm sure there are some that are okay, but not the ones I've seen! Sorry, but I don't find people manipulating each other for money amusing. When our cable provider added a whole channel of it I realized, Hell is real! I have the privilege of sitting around and listening to Randy talk about what he would do with the prize money. His fantasy man cave that would take up our whole house has a bigger TV and more speakers every time he talks about it. Last night, it had been more Survivor.

 "Check her out," he said, pointing at the half-naked woman on the screen with the perfect body. "She's had three kids." 

"So what?" I said. 

"So, I'm just saying. You use Daisy as an excuse, but you could look hot like that if you tried." 

"Come on, Randy. She gets paid to look like that. Not everyone snaps back immediately, besides her boobs are fake."

 "How the fuck do you know?" he argued. 

"Look at what she's wearing. Triangle bikini tops offer zero support, there's no way they can just stay up on their own like that." The boobs in question were perfectly motionless as their owner ran down the beach.

 "See? No movement. Fake." I said, resting my case. 

"Eh, who cares," he said, taking another swig of beer. "I can still like looking at them."

 That had reminded me of something I hadn't really wanted to bring up, but it was as good a time as any. 

"I could really use a new bra. Maybe you could leave me some money tomorrow, and I could go to the store when Daisy is at school?" 

"What do you need that for?" he said, narrowing his eyes at me.

 "Since I don't have very many, I have to wash them more often. So now they all have holes in them." 

"You'll be fine. Nobody sees them but me," he said, blowing me off.

 "Come on, I even found some that are on sale," I pleaded. 

 "Drop it, Amy," he warned. 

"Just one!" 

"Look, you've got a whole bunch of clothes in that garbage bag in the closet that you can't squeeze your big ass into anymore. Don't blame me if you don't have anything to wear, maybe you should try fitting into those again!" he snapped. I sat as far away from him on the couch as I could, as tears stung at my eyes. I didn't say a word for the rest of the show. Neither did he. "I try and tell you not to push me," he said when it was over. "If you could just shut up and let it go, then I wouldn't have to say things like that!" 

He stormed off to the computer room. You would think that he'd have the courtesy to at least watch porn with the volume off when he knew I didn't like it, but no. So I went to the other side of the house to do chores, while he sat in there watching women with bodies better than mine, doing all the stuff I won't. I wanted to improve our sex life, but he didn't want to try costumes or anything like that, nothing I wanted to try. He said he didn't think I could pull off one of those little maid uniforms, but joked that if I really wanted to, I could clean the house in one. 

I like to think of myself as open-minded, but there is a big difference between kinky, and just plain wrong. After all that sick stuff he's into, he won't even kiss me! He said it's not me, he's been like that with all of his girlfriends and he just doesn't like "swapping spit." I'd get a peck once in a blue moon when he knew I was really pissed off at him, but that's it. French kissing was out of the question. He's always too hot or says it's too uncomfortable to cuddle with me. Sometimes I just feel lonely and wish he would hold me. He used to, if I asked, after ten minutes of boring humping that was orgasm free, for me anyway. It hurt too much when he shot me down, and literally pushed me away from him, so I just stopped asking and stayed on my own side of the bed.