How To Cheat (on your wife)
It's on the left. The sign in front says "Peep shows after eight, Vids two for one." Parking's in rear because it's on the side of the highway and not everyone in town needs to know your business. Once inside, skip pass the dildos, bigger than you could've imagined, pass the kink games, the novelty items. Head to the back where the tapes are, you know the ones, that's where you need to go. Your eyes will roam past hardcore, voyeur, lesbian, bondage . . .Grab a video, maybe one from the bargain half-off bin. Find the cheapest one because you're not picky, not now.
Pay in cash, give the man at the front the crumpled twenty you've had in your hand, damp from palm's sweat. He'll put down the bean burrito wrapped in foil on the counter. Ignore his comments about the choice you made as his greasy fingers takes the money. The change, take the change, you'll need it soon. Go back to your car, the Honda minivan your wife made you buy, smiling as she rubbed her fingers along the back of your neck and whispered "an investment for the future." You jerk off in the backseat watching the screen up above to some girl with lips the color of cherries shouting "oh yes, oh yes, oh. . ."
Pick up milk at the gas station, remember that's what you left for, and go home. Your wife's in the kitchen wearing one of your dirty t-shirts, stirring beef stew in a pot and dancing to a pop song on the radio. Watch her as she tries to move, missing beats, sweating from steam. You can't help yourself, still hearing the moans of someone else. You make love to her there on the kitchen linoleum, all sparkle and shine, forgetting the stew until it boils over, making stains on the stove she'll have to scrub. Then later like rabbits you’re at it again in the bathroom, her fingers claw into your shoulders as your eyes focus on the flowered wallpaper, peeling. When it's over she apologizes for the gashes, goes back to stirring stew, and asks if you got milk, but you’re already gone.