A shower before bed

You step into your house's single bathroom, already stripping your clothes off from another day of work and getting into the shower. You wish your house had more space - more room for your daughter to have her own bathroom, maybe even a larger master bath for you and your wife, but you can't afford it. Despite your job and the work you do for Ivan, you are barely getting by. Hell, the only reason you have a house to live in is that you inherited it from your parents.

People always ask you why you work so much. After all - you're an engineer. Surely, you can afford to live without scrounging for pennies? No, though. You can't. Karina wants to go to an expensive liberal arts school to be an artist like her mother attempted to be so many years ago, and that isn't cheap. You constantly funnel money into tax-advantaged education savings accounts, trying to save every dollar you can for your little girl. You have a mountain of medical bills which you're not sure you'll ever pay off, and beyond that, New York is expensive. Like, really expensive. Between property tax, income tax, stagnating wages, and retirement contributions, you have no money left over. The cash you earn from Ivan is the only reason you're able to put food on the table.

You're getting by though. You might not be able to buy Karina the nicest clothes, a new car, or much else for that matter, but she's healthy. She'll be able to go to the school she wants to go to and lead a fulfilling life. And as her father, that's all you want for her. Happiness.

You turn the nob of the shower off, stepping out onto the cold tile floor, one or two of the tiles cracked, and dry off. You sigh into the dusty mirror, the man standing within it looking back at you through a film of steam. He is muscular, despite not working out - good genes perhaps, with healthy auburn hair that is cut short, and thick, corded muscles across his body. Your eyes drift to his penis. One of the few things in life you have to be proud of, despite the lack of use it gets. Nine inches lay coiled there, waiting to strike like a venomous cobra, hiding beneath the surface until its moment arrives. You chuckle at your lame metaphor.

You finish drying off, throw on a pair of pajama shorts, and head to your bedroom. Nadia is already in bed, her back turned towards the door, asleep. You squeeze into the sheets beside her, trying not to wake her up. If this app is real, and it really can improve your life as it seems to, you know you need to use it to your fullest advantage. Your eyes dart to Nadia, to the decrepit house around you, and to the threadbare sheets laying on your chest. You go to sleep thinking of your wife, your daughter, and all of the other things about your life that this app could change - for the better, you hope.