A Real Job
Posted: Fri Jun 08, 2007 10:03 am
I'm a Senior Citizen and never had a real job. I'm quite proud of that fact actually since it's the one war cry I remember from my wife. "Get a real job Boofer." My real job was watching and controlling her behavior, something I learned early and always lost on her. She was and always will be a work in progress.
When I got married, I dropped out of college and became a window washer, wearing a grey khaki suit which read "Boof" in little circled letters. It was all worth it in the beginning as I looked forward to regular sex and 69 sessions in our pay by week motel room in Eagle Rock. But things began to change rapidly with those words from her pouty, puffy lips, "when are you gonna get a real job Boofer?" I came home one day to find her hung over on the couch, she had trashed my 64 Chevelle while joy riding with her old boyfriend, Tony. I ask her if they had fucked, and broken my window while doggy fucking? She told me she didn't like my tone and left to see her mother. This was the red flag warning about a wife who expected a Real Job.
Two years into marriage and working menial jobs, I went to my father on bended knee and he landed me a real job. A salesman for a prominent company selling mechanical parts to the Railroad. I couldn't sell shit but it meant wearing a jacket and tie every day, large expense acct. with a small salary until I proved myself. My wife, now working as a receptionist for a psychiatrist told me how proud she was of me while shaking her ass in small dresses for rich Doctors. Boofer the plastic salesman with the hot submissive young wife. My once upon a time aspirations had dwindled mightily.
Sal was my Western Region boss. He made me sick the first time I met him. Sal sported a crew cut when crew cuts were out. A short, stocky, bossy prick. He set me up with an office, an old box car which Sal refurbished for me single handedly while I held the hammer and screw driver. He rolled his sleeves up in his shitty little white shirts while Boofer sported a purple shirt with cuff links. Sal had invented a special box car which he constantly bragged about, his patented claim to fame. I had a big nice desk, a telex, and soon as Sal went back to Denver, I got myself a dart board to play with.
Dad called me from his office high in the sky, "how you doin Boof?" Great dad, love the job. I'd learned to hit the bullseye 4 out of 5 shots.
Sal was insistent on meeting my wife and family. Our main boss in San Francisco was big on family, so naturally Sal claimed to be also. I told Gina about Sal coming for dinner and perhaps a boost for Boofer and a new dart board? My wife took off early that day and prepared some spaghetti with apple struddle for desert. She was buzzing around the table in one of her receptionist "cum and get it" dresses. A little black number with white dots and matching stilettos. For whatever reason, these dresses of hers always rose above her butt cheeks in the back, one of her finer assets was the derrier, but why couldn't she find a dress that fit?
Sal came rolling up the drive way in his rental and my wife was putting on the ritz and charm. I made sure she promised she wouldn't drink, but she had some Coors for Sal, remember he was from Denver. Sal could drink a case and you couldn't tell it. I sat quietly by as Sal impressed my wife his stories about how he invented the Auto Carrier. Gina sat sideways in her chair with that black dress rolled up to her panties, doodling her leg and flashing her eyelashes at Sal. I was the odd man out until Sal wiped the last bit of marinara from his chin. "I think Boofer can make something of himself here?" Gina said, "oh really, you think you can teach him something Sal?"
Upon leaving, Sal kissed my wifes cheek and then the kiss of death on my real job. "We have a family picnic coming up on the 4th in San Francisco, you'll be there won't you?" No, not a picnic with men and booze! Please no, she can't handle men and booze Sal! It'll be the end of my Real Job, and it Was!
Boofer
When I got married, I dropped out of college and became a window washer, wearing a grey khaki suit which read "Boof" in little circled letters. It was all worth it in the beginning as I looked forward to regular sex and 69 sessions in our pay by week motel room in Eagle Rock. But things began to change rapidly with those words from her pouty, puffy lips, "when are you gonna get a real job Boofer?" I came home one day to find her hung over on the couch, she had trashed my 64 Chevelle while joy riding with her old boyfriend, Tony. I ask her if they had fucked, and broken my window while doggy fucking? She told me she didn't like my tone and left to see her mother. This was the red flag warning about a wife who expected a Real Job.
Two years into marriage and working menial jobs, I went to my father on bended knee and he landed me a real job. A salesman for a prominent company selling mechanical parts to the Railroad. I couldn't sell shit but it meant wearing a jacket and tie every day, large expense acct. with a small salary until I proved myself. My wife, now working as a receptionist for a psychiatrist told me how proud she was of me while shaking her ass in small dresses for rich Doctors. Boofer the plastic salesman with the hot submissive young wife. My once upon a time aspirations had dwindled mightily.
Sal was my Western Region boss. He made me sick the first time I met him. Sal sported a crew cut when crew cuts were out. A short, stocky, bossy prick. He set me up with an office, an old box car which Sal refurbished for me single handedly while I held the hammer and screw driver. He rolled his sleeves up in his shitty little white shirts while Boofer sported a purple shirt with cuff links. Sal had invented a special box car which he constantly bragged about, his patented claim to fame. I had a big nice desk, a telex, and soon as Sal went back to Denver, I got myself a dart board to play with.
Dad called me from his office high in the sky, "how you doin Boof?" Great dad, love the job. I'd learned to hit the bullseye 4 out of 5 shots.
Sal was insistent on meeting my wife and family. Our main boss in San Francisco was big on family, so naturally Sal claimed to be also. I told Gina about Sal coming for dinner and perhaps a boost for Boofer and a new dart board? My wife took off early that day and prepared some spaghetti with apple struddle for desert. She was buzzing around the table in one of her receptionist "cum and get it" dresses. A little black number with white dots and matching stilettos. For whatever reason, these dresses of hers always rose above her butt cheeks in the back, one of her finer assets was the derrier, but why couldn't she find a dress that fit?
Sal came rolling up the drive way in his rental and my wife was putting on the ritz and charm. I made sure she promised she wouldn't drink, but she had some Coors for Sal, remember he was from Denver. Sal could drink a case and you couldn't tell it. I sat quietly by as Sal impressed my wife his stories about how he invented the Auto Carrier. Gina sat sideways in her chair with that black dress rolled up to her panties, doodling her leg and flashing her eyelashes at Sal. I was the odd man out until Sal wiped the last bit of marinara from his chin. "I think Boofer can make something of himself here?" Gina said, "oh really, you think you can teach him something Sal?"
Upon leaving, Sal kissed my wifes cheek and then the kiss of death on my real job. "We have a family picnic coming up on the 4th in San Francisco, you'll be there won't you?" No, not a picnic with men and booze! Please no, she can't handle men and booze Sal! It'll be the end of my Real Job, and it Was!
Boofer