Finding Happiness After Love Dies

I pushed myself away from my desk in frustrated boredom. I am sick of this job and the people I have to work with. Almost all of them are lazy and work harder to get out of their assigned work than they would if they actually did it. The first fifteen years I had worked here I did my work then went around and took work off other's desks to help, to be a team player. It got to where they would just drop folders off on my desk even if it were assigned to them. It has gotten to where if I even touch someone else's work file they try to make like it was my assigned work and want me to take care of it. It doesn't even seem to matter to the lazy bastards that I am management now. They try to foist their work off on their peers or even on me—anyone just so they don't have to do it. I have tried to straighten the slackers up but higher-level management won't let me. I was working on firing one of the employees and the union got involved. The office manager called me into his office and tore up her poor performance documentation in front of me then said, "Ron you are documenting substandard performance of a beautiful female union Steward that rumor has it is screwing our area director. We don't want or need the headaches this would cause. Just let it drop."

I felt my anger rise then forced myself to let it go. I said, "Fine but we'll be sorry it came to this. I have noticed things are getting worse out there and she is the worst of them all. If we don't stop the decline in work production and accuracy we will be in big trouble with higher headquarters. Even if they are the ones who say let this continue they will blame us for the problems with quality and production." We sat and visited a few more moments about work and non-work things then I returned to my office.

After I got myself settled once more in my desk chair I allowed myself to reminisce about the problem facing us. About five years ago, even before I was promoted to supervisor, I almost quit helping others cold turkey. I had my work section reassigned several times because the employees I worked with convinced a gullible manager I must have had an easier section because I was always current. I tried to no avail to convince them it was because I came to work and started at starting time instead of spending nearly the first hour visiting. I always worked "smart" and steadily, as rapidly as I could accurately work. Doing this I even managed to get more than my pro rata share of work done.

Four years ago the current manager was assigned to this office. As soon as he arrived the Union Rep convinced him I once again had the easier section of work and asked him to realign workload. He did so as one of his first actions upon assuming his current job. About a year after that my peers tried once more to get work sections changed. By then not only was I doing more than my pro rata share of the work on the floor but I was also doing a significant percentage of his work. This time the manager did his research. It turned out that of three specialists that worked the same type cases I did I was turning out 43% of the work. My assigned workload came to almost 38%. The manager refused to change the assignments and the employees blamed me for being a kiss ass.

I had no friends at work and few otherwise because in addition to my civilian job I was in the Army Reserve. I was a Major and had a Staff assignment. It was not just one weekend a month and two weeks in the summer like the commercials would have you believe. Oh, I suppose it was for the lower ranking personnel but I had risen too high for that statement to be accurate in my case. I was usually away from home at least two and sometimes three weekends a month. Last year I had been away from home 100 days for the reserves. Of course you can see by that I missed a lot of work in my civilian job for military purposes. That, of course, did not endear me to my employer but by now I just didn't care. Since I enjoyed the military work I took the time if it was offered. I volunteered for assignments and if I got orders I went.

My home life suffered because of my unhappiness with my civilian job and because of the time I spent gone for military duty. It didn't help that my wife Beulah was also in a job she disliked. Both of us were well up in the salary scale however and life, when we could find the time to enjoy it, was good. I made over $60000 per year and my wife made in the mid $50,000's. I made almost $1500 per month from the military on average also. We could afford all the expensive things we wanted but we didn't purchase many. Why bother, we never had the time to play with or use nice toys anyway. We rarely got to take a long trip or even a short one for that matter unless it was business related. Everything we owned was paid for and we were socking money away faster than scat.

As the years progressed we had very little time together. At first when we were in college and just after we were very much in love and spent every waking moment we could together, many of them in bed. It wasn't unusual to have sex 7 days a week and many times twice a day. Beulah and I were both highly sexed and weren't afraid to enjoy ourselves.

Beulah was absolutely beautiful. She was 5'9" tall with perfect C cup tits and a set of legs and ass to die for. When we weren't at work she usually followed my request to wear short skirts, thin button front blouses and no underwear. It didn't matter whether we were at home or at play that is the way I wanted her to dress and she did so. It kept us both horny and her available to fuck whenever we could find a secluded enough spot. Over the years Beulah and I fucked in bars, parks, theaters, boats, cars etc. If we could do it and be safe from arrest we fucked if the mood struck us no matter the location. One time we were visiting at a friend's home and I pulled her onto my lap facing me and we fucked in the dim light while we visited. Beulah was having her orgasm before our friends realized we were making love. They were so excited they went into their bedroom for a quickie. Doing that enhanced our sex life for weeks afterward. We never had sex or even played with others however. There was no need for others in our bed. We were adventurous enough, in love enough that we were all the other needed or wanted.

Unfortunately, as we aged, especially after the birth of our son Charles time for sex began to become harder to find. The fact that we were both rising to positions of greater responsibility in our jobs (and the reserves for me) also reduced the time we had together.

We worked in different occupations, different companies and even on opposite sides of town. We had a nice large home with swimming pool but rarely got to use it or our beautiful patio.

After work I always rushed home and begin working on something for the reserves, doing the yard work or making needed repairs. Many nights I would beat Beulah home and prepare the meal for the family. Many evenings Beulah would work late or go out with her friends or both. It was rare as the years passed that we were both home in the evenings before bedtime. I became the primary parent for childcare for our son Charles. Naturally with this schedule we had little time to talk and reconnect. Sex was reduced once again as were most of our other intimacies.

Many times I would wake up, shower, dress and go to work before Beulah even woke up. We had separate alarms and made use of them routinely. I normally started at 7 a.m. and Beulah at 9 a.m. I got off work at 4 p.m. and Beulah at 6.

It was Monday August 21st the year Charles was 20, the year Beulah was 40 and I was 42 when it all broke down. Everyone was up early that morning; Charlie was leaving for his third year of college that morning and he wanted breakfast as a family before he left. He said, "Thanks for getting up with me. I know you are both busy and I wanted to be with you as a family at least once this summer before I left. I probably won't be home until Christmas this year and I wanted this time with you." He opened his mouth to say something else then with a sad look he closed it and began eating. He looked from his mother to me and seemed so sad. I felt worry eating at my heart and stomach. I knew our son felt our love, our marriage, even our family crumbling around us.

I finally asked, "What is it Son? You look worried."

"Nothing. I just feel like...well sorta empty I guess. I suppose I'm just worrying about nothing but things just don't feel right any more."

Beulah didn't say anything as we talked. She just sat and drank her coffee, eating the bagel she had prepared for her breakfast and reading the damn book she always had with her. It was almost as if her mind was 1000 miles away. When Charles pushed his plate back and rose to leave she barely looked up. She said, "Goodbye Charlie. Be careful." She then turned her head back down to her romance novel.

I felt my anger rise and looked at Beulah. She was totally ignoring us and I started to say something to her about that. I didn't when I felt a touch on my arm. I looked up and saw Charles shaking his head 'no'. He refrained from starting anything with her this morning too. I rose from my seat and followed Charlie out of the house. We stood by Charlie's truck for a moment visiting. I told him how proud of him I was. We talked a little longer then Charlie said, "Well, guess I'd better get on the road. I love you Dad." He stepped to me and gave me a tight hug.

Charlie turned and started to get into his truck then he said, "Dad, I understand. You need to do something. You need to get a life and get happy again." He never looked back at me. He just finished getting into his truck, started it and left.

I felt my chest tighten as I stepped back from his vehicle. I looked at this man, my son. As he began to roll I said with a catch in my voice, "Take care Son. Call me when you can." I stood and watched as Charlie pulled onto the road and drove away. After he was out of sight I walked to my truck, started it and followed Charlie down the road. I was returning to a shitty job in a shitty mood. I had spent the entire weekend with my family—well excluding the eight or so hours when Beulah was gone Saturday evening—and felt so alone, so empty I didn't know what to do. Beulah had slept to noon both days, then Saturday evening she had gone out with her friends. Sunday she had read almost all day while Charlie and I tried to get the last visiting in before college. She had not even helped prepare any part of Charlie's going away BBQ meal. She was late coming to the table to eat because she wanted to finish her chapter.

Just before closing time one of my Claims Representatives came into my office—yeah, you got it. It was the Union Steward. She was having trouble with an unruly client and needed to hand the interview off to me. I had been listening to her interview as I reminisced so was not surprised she came to me. In fact, I was about ready to step in on my own. As I waited on her to escort the client to my office I thought; Damn, crappy weekend, crappy Monday and now I have to work late. Here I am stuck in a late interview that became my responsibility because of an incompetent employee and it is a stone cold bitch.

After the introductions, I began interviewing the client. The man across the desk from me was an arrogant, rude and probably crooked asshole. He had already spent over an hour trying to convince my Claims Representative to pay out several thousand dollars of my employer's money to settle a claim that was at best tenuous and probably was outright fraudulent.

Finally, after another hour, I managed to end the interview and escort the asshole to the door. Now I am the last person here except for the office manager once again. I know I am the assistant/floor supervisor and have to take the interview when my employees can't handle it for some reason but I knew she could have handled it properly had she not been acting like a bitch. She had so enraged the client she couldn't handle it. On top of the late interview now I have a disciplinary interview to look forward to with the errant Claims Representative tomorrow. As I said, I had been listening to her interview before she referred it to me and I had taken notes. I had several improper statements and actions she had made that I had to discuss with her.

As I was clearing off my desk John, the manager asked me if I would like to stop for a beer before we went home. "Damn straight I do," I replied. We went to our favorite local bar for a beer. The first sip of the ice-cold Newcastle was exquisite. Before we knew it though our bottles were empty and John said he had to leave. Crap. I've had one beer, thirty minutes here in the bar and I feel guilty for doing even that.

I drove into my driveway and saw the lights on in the Den but none in the kitchen where Beulah should have been preparing supper. I felt my jaw clench in anger. I would bet anything in the world there was nothing cooked. I would either have to cook, do without or fix a sandwich.

When I walked into the house it became immediately apparent I was right. There was no supper prepared and after a quick look into the fridge I didn't even see anything out to prepare. I grabbed another Newcastle and walked into the Den. Beulah was sitting with the TV on and reading a People Magazine. She had an empty plate beside her chair on the table along with a partly finished coke and bag of chips.

When I walked into the room she put her book down and looked at me with a blank expression. She didn't even say hello. I felt a surge of anger and asked, "No supper?"

Beulah just shook her head 'no' then said, "I had a sandwich. Fix whatever you want." She began reading her book again and ignored me.

I started to complain but then decided I really didn't want to listen to any more of her crap. I sighed and walked from the room. I made a sandwich and got another beer. While I sat at the kitchen table to eat I kept thinking about my Crap life. I know I am acting like a wimp but I just felt overwhelmed. I needed to do something about my life but I just didn't know what.

I wondered why Beulah even bothered to come home this evening, hell, the way we were with each other now I wondered why either of us ever decided to come home. I suppose it was just for a place to sleep. She didn't come home many evenings until nearly bedtime or even after I was in bed. That was just one more thing about our relationship I was sick of. I had tried to talk to her about her behavior several times and she either got angry or just ignored me or walked off. Up until about two years ago we had some doozy arguments about her attitude. We fought about her not coming home, her partying with the girls, about her not doing housework or fixing meals but I finally just gave up. A time or two I had followed her and not found anything objectionable about her behavior except that she did not spend her free time with me, her husband. I even considered divorce but at the time Charlie was still at home and I didn't want to disrupt his home life. I suppose the way Beulah and I were though it was disrupted in any event.

I finished my meal, put the dishes in the dishwasher then went into the office to work. I had learned long ago not to go into the Den and turn on the TV or try to talk to Beulah. She would get angry and either bitch me out or stomp from the room looking for a quiet place to resume reading. Normally she didn't yell she just ignored me without saying a word. If the TV was too loud or I insisted on continuing to talk she would just get up and go somewhere else.

After working a few moments I pushed back and walked into the kitchen for another Newcastle. After I got there I decided to hell with that. I decided it was time for the hard stuff and filled a cocktail glass full of ice. I took it back into the office and poured myself a nice glass of Glenmorangie, Quinta Ruban. Then I sat in my large leather chair and drank it slowly, savoring the smooth taste of fine scotch as it drained down my throat and warmed me to the core. I thought about the way my life was going once more and still could not see anything good about it. Even married and living with my wife I was alone. Even in the house with Beulah I am alone. I have no close friends, I work 40 plus hours a week in my civilian job and another sixty hours or so a month for the reserves. I am tired all the time and burned out. In the little free time I have I must do property upkeep on the house and on our vacation cabin on the river as well as exercise enough to pass the physical fitness tests for the Army. Oh, sure our home is paid for as is the 80-acre farm and small cabin on the river. Of course we stay so busy we don't get to enjoy either one much.

We have a little over $1,000,000 in savings plus we each have almost that much in retirement accounts. Hell, we could stop working now and live on the interest. Some days I really think that is what we should do. I would if I could get Beulah to do so. I laughed to myself. I thought she probably wouldn't do things with me if she were not working. If I didn't know her better I would think she had a lover but that is so unlike her I just couldn't believe she would. I had wondered about that earlier as I said and did not find one. Of course I could have missed it because at that time I tried to do the surveillance myself.

The longer I sit here contemplating life though the more I wonder if Beulah is cheating on me. She certainly ignored me at home. She almost never gives me a kiss or smile, she gets angry almost every time I try to get her to make love. Even when she gives in and agrees to 'service' me that is what it was—she serviced me like a disinterested prostitute. She does not like me to use foreplay any longer. If I rub her breasts or nibble her neck she gets upset and makes me stop. If I don't stop many times she will get out of bed and I get no pussy that night or for some time to come. Very rarely she will let me eat her out but when she has her first orgasm she wants me to fuck her then leave her alone. When we screw she lies there almost without moving until she gets near her orgasm. After she cums she lays still once more. She has stopped using her Kegel muscles so she is a loose fuck. Oh, well, back to the paperwork.

Later I heard Beulah finally go into the bedroom. I heard her shower and get into bed and decided to see if I could get a little pussy. As I walked toward the bedroom I realized it's been three weeks since I had any sex with Beulah. No wonder I'm as horny as a Billy Goat. By the time I got into bed with Beulah she was already almost asleep. She slapped my hand away when I touched her breast and again when I tried to play with her pussy. She muttered one word only each time. She said, "NO!" then curled into a ball and drifted off to sleep.

FUCK. I laid there with my hard on, squeezing it from time to time while I seethed in anger. I could tell I wouldn't get to sleep until I did something about my cock so I finally got up and went into my office. I opened one of my favorite porn sites on the net and read some stories as I rubbed baby oil into my cock. It didn't take long to relieve the stress and I threw another paper towel into the trashcan. I was getting quite a collection there now. Two scotches later I finally got drowsy enough I thought I could sleep and wandered back to my lonely bed. Yeah, I know my wife was there but no more contact than she allowed it was just as if she wasn't. Besides, the way she had been treating me I had no real desire to be with her anyway. Maybe the bed was a little warmer temperature wise than if I had been alone but that was it. Of course there was less room than if I was alone also. It was a good thing we had a King Sized bed.

I woke up early—5 a.m.—with the alarm blaring in my ear. It was Saturday morning and Beulah snarled, "Can't you turn that damn thing off? I don't know why you don't sleep in the spare room when you have to get up this damn early."