A Terrible Truth

Emily woke up alone in her bed the next morning. She went downstairs, more than little concerned, only to find her husband, drunk and passed out on the couch. He had lipstick on his collar, and he smelled of perfume. Except, Emily sniffed him, going down towards his crotch, his 5 inch tool that he told everyone was 8 inches ... that smelled of pussy. She glowered at his slumbering frame before going back upstairs. Fucking bankers, think they own the world, she thought ruefully.