That I'm desirable, sexy, attractive. Well, I've tried. Well, I've kind of tried. It's not easy. I was brought up to be a fine, wholesome young lady. ...ow, married, I'm supposed to be a slut. Like Roseanne Jameson in eighth grade. She was a slut. I think she had every seventh and eighth grade boy's dick in her mouth, maybe with the exception of, oh, what was his name, he was such a... , well who cares.So, hubby wants a slut and I've tried. Even went out to dinner with friends once and he talked. "Hello, I pulled a muscle in my leg. Do you have a cell phone I could use to call my husband for a ride?" I asked of the college aged girl manning the station."Sure," she replied handing me a simple cell phone. I punched in my own number and waited."Hello," Peter's voice said."Peter it's me I'm going to be standing in front of the Downtown Decorator Gallery. Pick me up when you can." I knew about the gallery because I had laid the play before I started the race. I had half a dozen pickup points. As evening approached, we were all tired and hungry. The group agreed to meet at a local diner before heading home. I noticed Mike and Julie were acting uncomfortable. I pulled them to the side as we walked to our cars and asked what was bothering them. They were reluctant to say anything at first, but Julie finally admitted they couldn’t afford to go to dinner. Only Mike was working, and his job as a night clerk at a convenience store only paid a little over minimum wage.It hadn’t. Everything else was just too distant. Great just great I hate thinking about this shit, she thought growling at herself. Only a few things helped her to sleep. But unlike Jean thinking was not one of them. Usually when she though she lead herself down the same old road which made her head hurt which made her angry which the made her excited.“I mean, it should make you too lazy to lazy to do anything…” she sighed angrily, flinging her legs apart to let her crotch breath a bit. It was soaked.