Long Sentence

"I Michael, Michael! What, what are you doing?" Pamela cried out as his thumb continued to diddle her clitoris, bringing unwanted pleasure.

Pamela's legs instinctively wrapped around Michael's hips. She thrust upward to meet his forceful thrusts. Suddenly, Pamela tensed and screamed out in orgasm.

"Aw fuck, fuck, fuck," Michael complained, pumping a torrent of sperm into Pamela's clutching, pulsing pussy.

"I, I cannot I cannot believe get off me get your get off me," Pamela ordered, furious.

"God damn! What? What is wrong with you?" Michael bellowed, pulling his still spurting cock from her wet pussy. "God damn, God made fucking feel good on purpose! He gave you a clitty for a reason, Pam, so you'd want to fuck your husband, Jesus, get over it, huh?"

The slamming of the spare bedroom door was her response. Michael vowed to visit the Home Depot and get some stripping for the spare bedroom's door.

They attempted another union a week later. Pamela absolutely refused to fully disrobe and slapped Michael's hands away from her breasts. But, when Michael diddled her clitoris, Pamela again found herself giving in to the wanton, lustful feelings in her belly.

"I, this, this is wrong," Pamela cried out as Michael spurted his semen into her depths.

"We need a better mattress for the guest room," Pamela snapped the following morning.

"Then go get a job and buy it yourself," Michael said tiredly. "Don't see me sleeping in there, do you?"

'I need you,' Faith texted.

Michael swallowed the mouthful of far too sweet oatmeal as he read Faith's text message. Washing down the lump in his throat with watery reconstituted orange juice, Michael looked at his unhappy wife's tight face.

'I can't,' Michael responded.

"You, I don't like it when you bring business to the table," Pamela said.

"No, but like spending the money that business brings to the table," Michael replied, feeling his heart tug when Faith responded 'Please?' to his text message.

At 3:09 pm, when it was 7:09 AM in Taiwan, Michael bought up one hundred million dollars of the Taiwan Dollar. This time, he had Tom's approval for such a large expenditure. Michael broke into a cold sweat as the minutes ticked by with no change in the Taiwan Dollar's value.

At 4:42 PM, when it was 8:42 AM, the value surged and Michael sat, watching, watching, watching as the value rose. At 5:53, with Tom standing behind him, Michael dumped the one hundred million dollars and he and Tom laughed out loud at the seventeen million dollars Michael had made for Thibodaux Investments' clients.

"Tomorrow is Saturday there; hey, take tomorrow off," Tom said, finally noticing that they'd stayed an hour late.

In his car, Michael responded to Faith's numerous text messages. Her last class was at one the following afternoon; she knew she had a test in that class so could not afford to miss it.

"You're late," Pamela greeted Michael when he came into the house.

"Blame Taiwan," Michael shrugged.

"Well, blame Taiwan on your dinner being ruined," Pamela snapped.

"Oh, I'm sure it was ruined before it even came off the stove," Michael glibly replied. "Just out of curiosity, what was it supposed to be?"

In the morning, Michael dressed for another day's work. A call to Polly Chastaine's office was returned as Michael was sitting in front of St. Ann's Public Library. The gang graffiti that marred the graceful stone building's façade angered and depressed Michael and he felt a desire to retaliate against these thugs that so proudly defaced a public building.

"Hi neighbor," Polly cheerfully said.

"Why do lawyers do that? Make you leave a message when you call them?" Michael asked.

"So we can get our meter ready; you know we charge by the minute, right?" Polly answered breezily.

When Michael told her why he was calling, she lost all cheerfulness. Polly then let him know she was in the middle of the Dublachon V the State of Louisiana case but referred him to Peter Neulin, a new hire with Banks, Chastaine, Greene.

Peter called Michael within three minutes and agreed he could see Michael in twenty minutes. Michael again looked at the thoughtless defacing of the public library and put his car in drive.

Michael did not like Peter Neulin from the moment the man introduced himself. The longer he spent in the man's presence, the less he liked him. Peter had a fairly low opinion of Michael Chopin; he had a low opinion of most people. The fact that Michael did not want to go 'scorched earth' on Pamela Katherine Chopin lowered Michael's standing in Peter's eyes.

"She can have the house; yeah, I love the house, but when I have to make myself go home? It's just not worth it," Michael said. "And, shit, give her one year spousal support..."

"You've been married less than a year; I know I can get you out of any spousal support," Peter interrupted.

"But I don't want to get out of it," Michael said, losing patience with the buffoon.

Lunch was at the Dead End bar. Watching some very attractive young women shimmy and shake while he enjoyed a spicy shrimp creole and a draft beer did buoy Michael's spirits. At one fifty one, Michael followed his blonde admirer up two flights of stairs to Faith's door.

Michael spent a very satisfying afternoon in Faith's bed. She even attempted anal sex; Michael knew she'd never be able to accommodate his girth, but she certainly did try.

After Michael dressed, he again told Faith this was good-bye. She needed to focus on her schoolwork, he needed to focus on his job. Cheekily, Faith thrust two fingers into her depths. Then she smiled as she sucked her semen coated fingers clean.

Another stop at the Casual then Michael went home. It was not Pamela's fertile time, so Michael asked her if they were going to try to fuck that night. Pamela slammed the oven door shut after pulling out the over-cooked chicken leg quarters and glared at him.

On Sunday, while Pamela and her parents were at the Church of the automobile salesman, Michael put his winter coats and clothes into the trunk of his automobile. Monday while on his lunch break, Michael went and rented an apartment at Queen's Court Apartments. On Tuesday, he used his lunch break to turn on the utilities at his new apartment. Wednesday and Thursday, he bought furniture from consignment shops and hired Short Moves to move the new furniture into the one bedroom apartment.

Friday, Michael contacted his attorney, Peter Neulin and told him to file the papers with St. Elizabeth Parish, and arrange to have Pamela served on Monday.

Sunday, Michael surprised Pamela, and her parents as he attended their church with them. Then he took them to Side By Side Steakhouse for the Sunday brunch.

"God, I, I absolutely hate myself," Michael confessed silently as he stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom Sunday night.

Next to him, his wife, his beautiful wife lay, happy and content. Her husband had gone to church with her and her parents. Her husband had taken them out for a very nice Sunday meal. Her husband had not uttered one profanity the entire time, had not even partaken of the alcoholic beverages that were readily available. And, upon arriving home, they'd again practiced procreation. Thankfully, the vile act was over, completed before Pamela's base urges overtook her, caused her to feel that deep-seated shame.

Monday morning, Michael quietly peeled the burnt bottoms off of the biscuits. He ate the flavorless turkey bacon and runny eggs and lumpy grits. Then, he surprised and horrified Pamela when he hugged her tightly and gave her a loving kiss to her lips.

"I, ack, go, just go to work," Pamela demanded, angrily shoving him away from her.

"Goodbye," Michael said, taking the bulk of his suits in a dry cleaner's bag.

Any mementos he'd wanted to bring were already at his new apartment or in the trunk of his car. Michael was depressed to see that there really had not been much he'd wanted to bring with him. He knew he would have to come back either tonight or tomorrow night, with a Sherriff's deputy to retrieve the remainder of his clothing.

"Goodbye," Michael said a second time as he closed the door between kitchen and garage.

At their morning coffee break, Cindy Breaux playfully ruffled Michael's hair and opined he needed some cheering up. In a playful voice, she asked him if she could do anything to 'cheer him up.' Michael mutely shook his head and Cindy lost her smile.

"It's really as bad as that?" Cindy quietly asked.

"Yes ma'am, I think it is," Michael agreed.

Pamela's phone call broke Michael's heart. Her sobs and wails were genuine, her anguish was real. But, after he finally hung up on her tears, Michael realized, at no time did Pamela admit any fault. At no time did Pamela offer to change, to modify her behavior.

Immediately after work, Michael stopped at a PC Nation's branch and requested a new cell number. Between Faith Decker and Pamela Chopin, his phone never ceased 'dinging' and ringing as both girls continuously texted and called him.

"Oh Lord, it's hard to be humble," Michael sang to himself while the young woman assisted him.

Arriving home to his apartment, Michael paused for a long moment in the courtyard. Three teenaged girls lay on the chaise lounges near the swimming pool. All three glistened with sunning lotion, all three girls wore little more than dental floss and postage stamps. The one nearest to Michael was wearing a strapless tiger print bikini and Michael enjoyed the vivid colors against her oily skin.

"hey, brought you a 'housewarming' gift," Cindy Breaux giggled when Michael jumped.

Michael graciously accepted the large jar candle and invited Cindy into the cool dark interior of his apartment. She followed him into his bedroom where he placed the candle onto the well-worn tall dresser. When he turned, she greeted him with a scorching kiss.

"Oh dear God! Yes! Yes!" Cindy cried out as Michael tongued her very wet pussy to a screaming orgasm.

She let out some more cries and groans as Michael worked his fat cock into her. Just before he ejaculated, Cindy cried out for him to pull out, shoot on her belly.

Michael watched as she scooped his semen onto her fingers, then licked her fingers clean. She declined his invitation of supper and dressed.

"See you later, lover," Cindy said, showing him that she was tucking her panties underneath his pillow.

At the Thibodaux Investments' Labor Day picnic, Michael met Sonny Merchot, Cindy Breaux's husband. The young man had been a high school athlete and behaved as if he were still in high school. Michael looked at Cindy as she stoically pasted a smile on her face.

"Dude, she's married. And married equals trouble," Michael thought and resolved to avoid any further exploits with the woman.

Looking around at his fellow employees, particularly the female employees, Michael thought, Pamela would have been scandalized, incensed at the flesh being displayed. Cindy was particulary risqué, the hem of her snug tee shirt not quite meeting the waistband of her extreme Daisy Duke shorts. It certainly did appear that her large breasts were unfettered as she allowed her brutish husband to drag her around the park.

Pamela would have also been outraged at the sight of Nina Crowder and her wife, Brooke Crowder pushing their daughter around. Michael did wonder if Pamela would have found fault with Billy and Sarah Stevens, or would she have been jealous of the four beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed children, as well as Sarah's swollen belly?

Yvette Wooten, one of the Administrative Assistants also sported a very swollen belly; Michael heard someone say 'twins.' She was a very attractive blonde woman and her happiness shone in her radiant smile.

The real shocker to Michael was Yvette's boyfriend. Michael knew Butch Everhart from the IT Department and had assumed that the young man was gay. On more than one occasion, Michael had observed Butch wearing eye liner and mascara. But the two stood together, Yvette leaning heavily against Butch, Butch's hand lovingly pressed against Yvette's distended belly.

Tom's wife Kimberly was a bit of a surprise. For starters, she was significantly younger than Tom. And, she was not particularly attractive. But watching the homely young woman as she herded their two children, tended to her younger sisters, Michael began to understand, and appreciate what Tom saw in his wife. Kimberly's beauty wasn't on the outside; it shone through from the inside.

Food and drinks were provided; Cindy's husband seemed determined that there would be no beer left for Tom's caterers to take home. Like most high school boys, the more the volume of alcohol increased, the more Sonny's volume increased. Cindy was highly embarrassed and Sonny was downright belligerent when Tom and a few male employees, Michael included quietly suggested that Sonny had more than enough to drink; maybe it was time for him to leave.

"And I'm sure Pamela would have enjoyed Cindy's humiliation," Michael thought as a tearful Cindy led a protesting Sonny toward a battered 2016 Camaro.

The workday after that Labor Day picnic, Michael was shocked, outraged when Cindy showed up for work with a hideous black eye. He heard her assure a female coworker that she was fine, and that Sonny was behind bars.

"Still, don't need to be playing in that pool," Michael thought and picked up his desk telephone.

"Mr. Chopin, this is Mindy Cohen with Childress, Couvillion and Cohen Accounting," a pleasant sounding voice said.

"Yes ma'am?" Michael asked, rapidly typing out the name 'Mindy Cohen' and looking at 'no match found' on his computer screen. "And what can I do for you, Ms. Cohen?"

Mindy gave a brief description of Childress, Couvillion and Cohen Accounting then described their plans to branch out into investments as well as other services.

"I know, at present, we're just a small accounting firm in a small Arkansas town," Mindy cheerfully admitted.

"I, wait, how much?" Michael asked when Mindy finally made their pitch and named their offered salary.

"Plus, of course, your commission, and a percentage of any commissions your staff would earn," Mindy quickly offered before Michael could turn the salary down.

Michael gave her his email address; he wanted it in writing. Michael verified receipt of her email and concluded his call.

Leaning back in his standard issue office chair, Michael took stock. He stared at his computer monitor without seeing the screen.

Michael had recognized Sonny's 2016 Camaro; Charlie Welchen, his step-father had driven a very similar 1986 Dodge Aries. The same scrapes and dents and cracked windshield had adorned Charlie's car.

Finally, Shelly, Michael's mother had tired of living under the heavy hand of her drunken husband. Right now, Shelly was living in Lowridge, Texas, teaching at a public high school. Michael had no idea where Charlie was, if Charles Ivey Welchen was even alive. He did know his half-sister Mindy Welchen was living in Gratchley, Arkansas, dancing at Sugar Plums, a gentlemen's' club.

"Wonder how close Gratchley's is to Myndee?" Michael asked himself.

Michelle, Tom Thibodaux's executive assistant informed Michael that Tom did have some free time at two forty five that afternoon. In her crisp, clipped British accent, the harsh faced woman let Michael know that Tom had an urgent call scheduled for three pm with a concern in Costa Rica. Michael promised the woman he'd be done before three pm.

Looking over the paperwork from Childress, Couvillion & Cohen Accounting, Tom acknowledged he would not match their offer. He certainly would not promote Michael Chopin ahead of the two men already in the department; they had seniority over Michael.

"Sir, I do not want to burn any bridges behind me," Michael stated.

"No? Gambling with ten million of my dollars on some euros? When we know how unstable the damned euro can be?" Tom asked.

The twinkle in his eye let Michael know the man was not serious. Michael gave the man a smile and handshake.

"So, next Friday the hmm, the seventeenth?" Tom affirmed, looking at his calendar.

"Yes sir," Michael agreed.

Wednesday morning, Peter Neulin called and informed Michael he was about to pee in Michael's cornflakes. Michael assured him, there was very little chance Peter Neulin could ruin his good mood.

Pamela Chopin's got herself an attorney and Carter Fullilove's a pretty good lawyer," Peter said.

"Good. So we can move ahead with the divorce. How's that going to pee..." Michael asked.

"She's fighting the divorce. And Carter? Does not mind getting rich while you two go to the poorhouse fighting with each other," Peter said.

"Oh. But you're different. You have way too much integrity to do such a thing," Michael suggested.

"So, let's have a sit-down meeting with them, see what we can do to move forward," Peter suggested, not answering Michael's witticism.

"I'm pregnant," Pamela informed Michael before he and Peter took their seats in the conference room of the law firm of Ferguson, Benoit, Fowler & Jones.

Michael thought to object; they'd not had intercourse on Pamela's fertile days. But he remembered reading in a Biology textbook in his undergraduate days, stress and other factors can interfere with a woman's menstrual cycle. He and Peter looked at each other as Carter Fullilove slapped the paperwork from Dr. Ellen Sweetman's office onto the table's surface.

"Know what? Mr. Neulin, the only reason to get a divorce is if I want to marry again," Michael said as he and Peter left the squat, ugly building that housed the law firm of Ferguson, Benoit, Fowler & Jones.

"Uh huh. You want, we can order a DNA test," Peter offered as he reached his Mercedes-Benz.

"As reluctant as she was to fuck me? I really doubt she went out and fucked anyone else," Michael sighed. "Just, just retract the petition for divorce. I, I have no need of it."

"Custody? Support? You going to want any visitation?" Peter asked, already swiping his finger across the screen of his cell phone.

"As of the eighteenth of this month? I'll be living three hundred, three hundred and fifty miles away," Michael smiled tightly. "So. No."

"But, since we're not getting a divorce? She's not entitled to any spousal support, is she?" Michael continued.

"Now you're thinking like a lawyer," Peter laughed, opening his car door.

"Now that's an ugly thing to say," Michael said and located his own car in the crowded parking lot.

"I'll be in touch," Peter said and closed the door of his car.

Michael made arrangements to have his final paycheck from Thibodaux Investments deposited in his First National Bank of Arkansas bank account. Then he contacted First Credit Union in Bender, Louisiana and rearranged the mortgage pay schedule. With Thibodaux, Michael was paid every Friday. With CCC, he would be paid on the first and the fifteenth of each month. Michael had gotten into the habit of paying a mortgage payment every other Friday, in an attempt to have the home paid off before he was thirty years of age.

"It ain't for you, Pam; it's for my son or daughter," Michael thought as he closed the First Credit Union's bank accounts.

"Michael, Mr. Fullilove says you withdrew the petition for divorce?" Pamela's breathy voice asked when Michael answered his office's telephone on Friday.

"One more week, one more week," Michael thought to himself. "Okay, God? Just one more week, okay?"

"Yes, that's true," Michael agreed and winced as Pamela let out a happy squeal.

"So, you, when are you coming home? I, I can do a meatloaf; you said you like my meatloaf, well, except for the red gravy, but I don't have..." Pamela bubbled happily.

"No, Pam," Michael cut off her happy prattling. "You and I? We're through."

"But, but, you, you stopped the divorce," Pamela spluttered.