Duh...

The sun having gone down several hours ago, a very tired man who worked as a Marketing Specialist for an international advertising company pulled his SUV into the driveway of his family's modest two-story home.

Brock Jacobs let out a weary groan as he entered the front door of the house, and the sounds of his son playing video games in the living room registering to ears immediately.

Damn it, he bitterly thought to himself, cursing his wife for not stepping up and making their lazy asshole of a son entertain himself in his room instead of the living room. She was much too lenient with their twenty-one-year-old son, who should already be working and out of the house at this point in their lives...

Instead of having to deal with that headache of an argument with Dexter right off the bat, Brock decided to make a stop by the kitchen first to grab a cold beer, hoping to take the edge off of his already boiling frustrations.

Unfortunately, as soon as he was walking through the doorway, Brock could hear his daughter and her two friends laughing at something, which instantly tied his stomach into a knot. Upon entering, he glanced at the dinner table and saw his twenty-three-year-old daughter Ophilia sitting with Gwen and Natelie, her best friends, while the table in front of them was littered with empty beer bottles. Without a word, the tall man walked towards the fridge and opened it up, and found nary a drop of ****. Too tired from a long day’s work and much too exhausted to deal with the backlash from arguing with his daughter in front of her friends, Brock just shut the fridge door and turned away back towards the hallway with the look of defeat clear on his face.

“Sorry dad!” Ophilia called out with a drunken giggle just after he’d stepped out of the room, her neck-length brunette hair bobbing around her soft and rounded face. “We wanted to pregame before we hit the bars! Ahah!”

“Ophilia, you said it was okay!” The heavy-set, blonde-headed Natelie squealed, giggling as she leaned down and pressed her face against the perky mounds that were Ophilia’s C-cup breasts, their size a bit too large for the undersized black tube-top holding them firmly in place. “You’re so mean!”

“Did you see that gut? He could lay off the stuff, if you ask me.” The short-statured, blue-haired Gwen said in a cold and flat tone, but Brock knew that there was a bitchy smile on her face as the hurtful words were spoken.

Cunts, he thought to himself. Those girls were too pretty for their small town, and every moron with eyes and a dick treats them like supermodels every time they go out and show off their bodies. If they had a dose of city life, realizing that they’re a dime-a-dozen in a place full of detached sexy people, maybe they’d show a bit more goddamn humility and respect for a man who’s fucked women hot enough to make their ex-boyfriends cum in their pants at the sight of them.

Ah, those were the days, Brock thought as he entered the living room and exited up the stairs just as quickly.

His brief interaction with Dexter was Brock flipping-off his skinny, greasy-faced son as the boy ate from a plate full of chicken tenders while waiting for his video game on the television to load, returning the gesture as soon as it was given. He was a good kid, but damn, Brock had a few regrets by not taking a more hands-on approach in raising him. If he’d just **** Dexter to play football, made him learn to play an instrument, or something… Oh well, he thought. Dexter still had his whole life ahead of him. Someone would find some use for him some day, hopefully.

Up the stairs and down the hall, Brock found himself walking into his master bedroom to also find his wife Gretta laying on the bed perched up against several pillows and watching a sappy movie on their bedroom's television. Though Brock had internally boasted about banging sexy babes just a few paragraphs ago in his youth, one may be fooled into thinking that his chubby wife was just the lucky one that happened to be the first to get knocked up by him. On the contrary, Gretta was the finest of them all at one point in their lives, back before he knocked her up and turned her into the boring frump she was today.

Oh well, Brock thought as he recalled what kind of miserable pigs that his former prospects had become in their later years, he certainly could’ve wound up with a worse partner than Gretta, even as disappointing as she was now.

“You could be doing that in the living room, y’know.” Brock said with a weak smile as he kicked off his shoes by the door, admiring his wife’s pudgy body through her translucent purple nightgown. She wasn’t the thin sexy babe he had once married, but her D-cup tits still looked great in a bra, and the way her long and curly brown locks were currently splayed out over her face and shoulders reminded him of much better days in their youth.

“I know.” Gretta glanced at him with eyes as tired as his own, managing a grin as well. “But you know how he can get when you don’t let him play his ‘vidya games’ on the big TV.”

“I swear to God, if I hear him do that ‘ree-ing’ thing one more time…” Brock swore, shaking his head in disappointment while letting his black slacks drop to the floor around his ankles to reveal his pair of plain grey boxer briefs with a sizable lump in the center, which smelled ripe enough with a long day's built-up sweat for even his wife to notice.

“You know he’s just joking when-... Oof! You need a shower, mister.” Gretta said playfully, bringing up a hand to hold her nose as she wafted at the air with the other.

“My thoughts exactly.” He said, forcing a chuckle. That was Gretta. His sweet, dear wife. Brock loved her with all of his heart, truly, but he would be lying if he said that she wasn’t a little too nice and reserved for his liking. Part of him would love to see her actually speak her mind; to have some kind of fire light up behind her eyes and demand something from someone; for her to not mind that he stunk of sweat and hard work so that she would eagerly throw herself on him as soon as he came into the bedroom like a good wife. “Go ahead and pull up something hot to watch on TV, I won’t be long.”

“Not tonight, honey.” Gretta frowned and half-closed her book, keeping a finger between the page she was on. “This chapter is-”

“Just getting to the good part. I know, I know... ” He sighed in silent agony, giving her a weak, false grin. “Can’t fault a man for trying, can you?”

She rolled her eyes and smirked, then went back to reading.