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Mark Clodi & Tiffani Speller. About a Woman

A Zombie Chronicles Novel

Chapter 1

'It's not like it's that big of deal.' Roger said wearily.

'Not a big deal? Not a big deal?!' she responded, her voice seething and shrill, 'We'll see when I start swelling up like a balloon, when we have diapers to change, college to fucking pay for!'

Sighing Roger protested, 'We're married for Christ's sake! It's what 'married' people do, right? It isn't my fault the condom slipped off!'

The way he said it betrayed something, in the darkness her eyes widened in shock and she knew it was indeed his fault the condom 'slipped' off. She started to reply, to escalate the fight, but her anger just deflated.

'Fuck', she thought, 'I didn't even finish.' This was, of course, the normal way things were working for her these days. The sex, which had always been mediocre before marriage, had turned into robotic motions, with fewer sessions per month than she had ever dreamed of. Why didn't her husband want her more often? She was open to new ideas, had never turned him away and yet 'the horse had stopped drinking at the trough', so to speak. It had deteriorated so much that a few weeks ago the woman had not fulfilled her birth control prescription, which she had passed on to Roger. The ironic thing was that since she went off of her birth control Roger had shown her more interest than ever.

'Three weeks and we've had sex, it was never lovemaking anymore, four times, damn but they were like a couple of wild teenagers!' Sarcasm never helped, it just often felt good. She had been married for four years, she was twenty nine years old and her friends, parents and now even her husband seemed to be on the baby war path. The dirty little non-secret was that she didn't want kids. She never had, her mom had 'pooh-poohed' her opinion away, telling her daughter she would change her mind when she got older.

However nothing had changed and she was pretty sure nothing would. Roger now wanted a kid, a hundred and eighty degree turn around from the day he took his vows, he also made it clear two or three kids would be better.

'Yeah, the condom slipped alright.' Part of her profanity was from the slippage, most was directed at the fact that she was still horny as hell. Why couldn't he finish what he started? She nuzzled closer to him, however a few moments of that let her know there would be no repeat performance, nor even cuddling. 'Where was a pool boy when you need one?' The very thought brought her a fresh wave of arousal.

She moved her hand between her legs, listening for Roger to stir, he was lethargic, drifting towards sleep, yet not quite there, she had been 'caught' before, explaining that had been humiliating. She usually just slept after another one of what she thought of as 'Roger's Rapids', especially if his foreplay was of his standard performance variety.

'Let's see,' she thought, 'first the mandatory French kiss. Then, the one thing that decides if I cum or not; the neck nibble.' If Roger nibbled, it was a happy night of long sex, maybe even with some oral. A left side nuzzle was a horse of a different feather. Left side meant quick nipple fondling, some fast 'is the hole wet' exploration and almost immediate thrusting followed by equally speedy ejaculation. No, there was no need to get worked up about 'left nuzzle sex'. Again the thought of a pool-boy as a third partner crept into her mind. Just naughty enough to keep her arousal peeked, not too fantastic, not too mundane. Just ri-ight! The woman quickly slid out of bed and headed downstairs to the guest room, casting a quick glance behind her towards her now sleeping husband.

Twenty minutes later she was still glowing with the after affects and turned on the television, a cable news channel came on with the latest news about the riots that seemed to be everywhere the last few days. On both of the coasts, Denver, Austin, who knew where or why, no reporters we on the scene, travel along certain corridors was prohibited, it was a total cluster-fuck, so far as the woman could tell no one had come out and used the 'T' word yet. She was leaning towards a domestic terrorist group herself, another group of nuts, like the Constitutionalists or something. This would be just another group put down by the government; the end result would be fewer rights for the remaining people with higher taxes to pay for it. And so it goes.

The news was leading off with a story on several explosions in Colorado, rumored to be nuclear explosions. Someone had smuggled footage out of the 'Denver nuke', and it was all over the air now. The woman sat up, clutching the thin covers of the bed closer around her. 'Fuck! This is the world my family wants me to bring a kid into?'

The woman resolved to head to the pharmacy when she got up the next day. The rest of her night was spent watching the news. In the morning her husband poked his head into the room then came in and shut off the television without really looking at it. Before leaving he rumpled her hair and kissed her brow goodbye.

An hour and a half after Roger left a curfew was issued, citizens were ordered to stay in their homes. Twenty minutes after the curfew was issued a man approached the woman's front door. The man was about six feet tall had a bulging belly and wore a gray suit with black leather shoes. His knees and pant legs were muddy and there was a black stain along his right arm. His once designer haircut was mussed, leaving his gray-black hair a tangled birds nest. He was slow, he shuffled instead of walking, he did not knock at the woman's door, he did try to turn the door knob.

The front door had not been used in months, not since Roger's parents had come over for dinner. The woman preferred to go out, not stay at home. The door was locked. The man at the front door tried to force it in, his attempt was lacking and he soon gave up and moved to the next house. The noise he had made stirred the woman in her sleep and she awoke minutes later.

She yawned sleepily and scratched her ribs as she struggled into consciousness. Getting up was a chore, especially after staying up to watch the news so late. She hopped out of bed and viewed herself in the bedroom's full length mirror.

'Not bad.' she thought, viewing herself with a critical eye. At five foot six she weighed hundred and thirty five pounds, not as fat, yet, as most of her friends and not a skinny bean pole without any meat either. Her brown hair accented her skin tone, she was sure there must have been an Hispanic or Italian somewhere in her past probably on her dads side. The woman's old grandma always hinted about her first husband, making him out to be some sort of family skeleton in the closet. She had seen pictures of her grandfather in his military uniform, he looked like a normal guy to her, unfortunately he had been killed in some war overseas long before she was born.

Her old grandma had a wild past, that is one thing everyone agreed on, she still went against the grain living on her own, a few hundred miles away, at an age when most people in their eighties considered retirement homes a welcome respite. The woman continued her nude assessment, legs; good. Arms; excellent. Buttocks; rather nice. Hips, good, breasts, never enough, but the men she had been with had not complained. Lower stomach, well, that is where the extra few pounds had settled.

'More gym time. Today, after…..what?' She remembered, 'The pharmacy, the 'morning after' pill!'

Now, it actually was 'the morning after'. 'Now it is time to keep any babies from coming into this world of terrorists who set off bombs in Denver.' The woman headed upstairs to her bedroom, pulled on a fluffy pink robe and called her Doctor.

'Dr. Bayer's office. How may I help you?' asked the receptionist on the other end of the line.

'Hi, this is Dora Sturges, I am one of Doctor Edmundson's patients. Could I speak to him please?' said Roger's wife.

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