Interlude: Rachel's Evening

The image on Rachel's tablet suddenly stops moving. She stares at the freeze-frame for a moment: her fat, cum-stained sister digging into a package of cookies, while her bottomless son reaches out to hang up the call. Then the screen goes black, and Rachel sighs.

"Americans..." She's only talking to herself, but it still rings hollow. The middle-aged blonde housewife is well aware that this kind of "second wave sexism" certainly isn't confined to America. H1W1 seems to destroy a decade of social progress with each passing month; a modern woman can be intelligent or dignified, but never both.

But Jenna is neither, she thinks, shaking her head. Those boys are taking advantage of her... And where the hell is her husband in all this? We never got on, but I thought he at least had enough balls to protect his wife from something like THIS...

"Thank God I don't have children," Rachel mumbles, but she doesn't mean that either. She can feel her IQ dropping by the day, and her husband growing more absent. She licks her lips, then cringes. "It's 6:45, Harold... Where are you?"

Her husband doesn't arrive home until 7:30. His tie is loose, his hair's a mess, and for a moment Rachel thinks he might be drunk... Until she sees that his fly is open.

"Hey baby," Harold says, walking straight into the kitchen for a glass of water. "Did you have a good day?"

"N-not really," she sighs, staring at his crotch. "I talked to Jenna--"

"Who?"

"My sister, Harold. I know we haven't seen her in a while, but--"

"Sorry. Long day." He takes a long drink of water, then leans back against the counter and nods for her to continue.

"Her situation... It's terrible, honey. Her family's abusing her, and I don't know what to do."

"Huh? Like, her husband's hitting her?" Harold looks shocked. "I remember him being a little... I dunno, meek. I wouldn't have thought..."

"No, no. Her sons are using her... Or, at least one of them is, anyway. Maybe her husband, too." She shivers.

"What, like sex? Honey, we talked about this... I know it's strange, but if those boys are giving her their loads, well... She's a lucky woman."

"Lucky? Harold, I don't think they're even letting her swallow! Not enough, at least, and I can tell she needs it."

"Are you sure? She never was the sharpest tool in the shed, you've said it yourself--"

"I'm sure. This is different." Rachel rubs her forehead, trying to find words to express the seriousness of the situation. "I'm... I'm just so foggy today. Dammit... Harold, can you please give me some medicine?"

"Oh... Uh..." Her husband looks sheepish. "I'm afraid I 'emptied the tank' on the way home."

"Jesus, again? I thought we talked about this!"

He took a step toward the door as his wife fumed. "Look, I'm sorry, but I saw this bird--This young lady--She was so thirsty, ah, I mean--"

"You mean she was a prettied-up 18-year-old slag, and you couldn't help yourself?"

"I mean she looked like she was halfway dead! So dumb she could hardly speak! Begged me to fuck her throat--"

"Okay, okay... I don't want to hear it," Rachel snapped. "Go lay down, and I'll see if I can tease out another in an hour or so."

"Honey... I'm afraid I can't," Harold replied, taking another step away from her. "I'm supposed to meet the guys for dinner. It's Thursday, remember?"

And I'm sure some of 'the guys' are bringing their daughters, Rachel thought. But she was tired of fighting, and knew better than to jeopardize her relationship with Harold. The moment he felt trapped, he might do something stupid... Like 'taking a break' from their relationship, and going to live with one of the dozen loose women who propositioned him every day.

"Okay, Harold," she said quietly. "Just... Try to have one ready for me tonight? You can wake me up when you get home, I don't care. Just... Don't let me dry out."

"I promise," he replies, giving her a sad smile. "I won't be too late."

The moment he leaves, Rachel turns on her heel and heads for the bedroom. If Harold won't provide for her, she'll have to go out foraging again... And that means a change of clothes.