Bye, Felicia Ch. 01-04

"Because I have a better solution. That we call it quits and move on to other people. If you're going to be all about control, especially about money matters that you epically fuck up half the time, that's my first inclination. I will not be like that foolish Dale from Penthouse Letters who let his wife take control of his money, rob him of all of his freedom, and force him to grovel for sex or even some time off chores while she sat on her ass and did jack squat! Why those idiots thought that was erotic is beyond me!

"So, tell me, Felicia...do you want to sort things out? Come on over and we'll talk, but after we do, I want the copy of the house key that you made without my permission handed back to me. Yes, I know about that. Hard not to know. The only times that you could have changed the parental controls were when you were off work and I was on the clock and not home. This meant that you must have a copy of my house key, which meant that you must have sneaked out with the house key and made a copy while I was asleep or drunk one night. Yep, you slipped up there, didn't you?" I insisted, making her gasp in frustration and fear.

"Armie, honey, I honestly didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry. I guess that I read too much into your activities, and some of it was advice that I got from my mother and certain of my friends. It seemed to work well with my father, at least. Well, it did until the news that I got this week, which made me think that perhaps I could nip things in the bud...and take control early. I thought that only doing it later was what screwed things up with my parents...

"So, yes, I'd been trying to assert dominance with you, courtesy of counsel from Mom, Aunt Joyce, and my girlfriends Clara, Jane, and Rosalie. I guess that I should have listened to Molly and Esther, my other friends who told me that it wouldn't work, would only drive you away. Then there was Darlene, but she refused to give me any advice at all, any tips whatsoever. I couldn't quite figure out why, but she just said that she couldn't be trusted to give honest advice.

"Now, I know why...Dad ran off with Darlene and she's to be my new stepmother, of all people! She's a homewrecker and Mom's furious with her for stealing her man, but Darlene refuses to show any contrition or remorse. She says that Mom treated Dad like garbage and threw him away, so...Oh, God, I've turned into Mom and I'm going to suffer her fate, but early!

"Please...don't dump me like this. Certainly not in your lair, your house, where you can...make me watch you sit there in your boxers and smirk over leftover pizza, knowing you. Can we...at least have a date to discuss this? If nothing else happens between us, we've one final date to remember. I'm just not the sort of girl happy with watching her man sit around half-naked, watching TV, and eating cold pizza for breakfast. That's not my idea of spending time with you.

"At least, if we're on the verge of breaking up, do it at dinner, after feeding me and letting me drink some decent wine. I'm not into video games, beer, and Chinese takeout, either. I like a proper date."

Felicia sounded like one of those idiotic Facebook memes about missing "real men" and "real dates," ones that made me want to puke...Did I mention that I HATED "real dates?" So-called "real dating," in my book, consisted of a man wearing a noose abomination (aka a suit or tuxedo), paying for a fancy, inedible meal (I don't like Donald Trump, but he's right about gourmet restaurants sucking donkey ass), and listening to a whiny ice princess bitch and moan about how none of her friends ever appreciated her, how her bosses wouldn't give her any slack, promotions, or days off, and her exes always took her for granted. That doesn't even count first dates, where people lie to each other constantly to impress each other.

Why should I pay the bill for that kind of bullshit, anyway? Why should I treat such a spoiled, entitled brat like a lady when she's mostly an oxygen thief who wants a promotion and raise, but doesn't want to work overtime to get it? Why should I even entertain the notion of putting MY spawn, my precious seed, in her, when she'd shuffle them off to nannies and daycare so that she could go to Aspen with her friends and fuck the ski instructors behind my back?

Why should I commit to be faithful to such a bitch when she would cut me off, and then fuck my best friend or boss or whoever to get what she wanted from them until she needed something from me again, and then she'd briefly turn on the waterworks and offer me their sloppy seconds? In other words, why should I be a victim, a sap, a fool, or a schmuck? Why should I be a cuckolded, henpecked idiot like Felicia's old man? Judging from her mother's behavior as well as advice, and that of her friends, that was the life that Felicia seemed to intend for me. For myself, I silently thanked whatever God might really exist that Darlene had set Felicia's father free. Good for her and for him, too!

"See, here you go again! Fine! I'll pick you up tonight, at least, as a concession on my part, but on yours, I get my damn copy of the house key back, and we go where I choose to eat! It won't be no damned Chez whatever, either! You've been to Haddad's, right?" I decided, breaking the silence, knowing that the dead air had Felicia unnerved.

"The...Middle Eastern place? Sure. I guess that's a good compromise. I don't want to fight about everything with you, and it's clear that if I keep insisting on my way or the highway, that's all that I will get out of this relationship...fights. Seems that Molly and Esther were right on about you. They said that you struck them as the sort of man who didn't take crap from people, who cared about people, but wasn't going to be a victim. That you were no one's fool.

"So...can we perhaps have a truce until at least supper tonight, see how we handle the meal? If the date goes badly, I'll be sad, sure, but we can part as friends, if not lovers. Pretty please? I'm asking you, not trying to boss you around for a change. How about it? Peace? What time, by the way? I won't even make you wait for a change, or I'll try not to, at least," Felicia turned up the charm like she had when we first met.

"Okay, then. Seven pm. Do your primping well ahead, so that you're not behind. If you're five minutes late, I'll drive away and have the locks changed so that you can't use your copied key. We'll be over for sure then. Are we clear?" I got a little pushy myself for once and was proud of myself for sticking to my guns.

"So be it. I'll do as you ask...dear," Felicia acted choked up, clearly a bit shellshocked by our little discourse, which had combined with her parents' split to undermine her carefully constructed fantasies of a wife-led marriage.

Chapter 2

Okay, I thought to myself...I don't much care for dates, but if I'm going to do that much for my girlfriend, with our relationship clearly on the rocks, why not do so for Pippa? How about a lunch date for her? I would tell it to her straight, too, hoping that she understood. If she didn't, at least we could be friends, and she couldn't fault me for being honest with her and even more courteous than I felt like being with Felicia. I wanted to size her up, too, see what she was really like in person, anyway.

"Hello...sir? Mr. Stern? Is that you? I'm on a smoke break. To what do I owe the honour of your call, good sir?" Pippa's lovely British accent filled my ears.

"Yes, that's me. Armin. You can call me that, if you wish, of course," I assured Pippa, which brought out a giggle from her.

"Um...well, actually...may I call you, 'sir' or 'Mr. Stern,' pretty please? I rather like the formality of it, at least for now. What is it that you wish from me, sir?" Pippa surprised me, making me feel that perhaps I misjudged my prospects with her, though I persisted, needing to know for sure.

"So, Ms...I don't actually know your surname, do I? I hoped for a lunch date from you, if that's possible. Would you be open to that?" I posed the question to her, wondering what sort of reply I'd get.

"Just call me 'Pippa,' please. No need to be formal with me. And, yes, I would love to have a lunch date with you, sir. I know, I know, I seemed to contradict myself there, but you shall understand when we meet, good sir. Trust me, love. It will be quite clear then. When and where? Can it be close to my work, please, as I still have half my shift left afterward?" Pippa answered me, intriguing me with her insistence that she and I not speak as equals...it was as if I were her superior.

"How about St. George's, if you don't mind pub food and a taste of your native land. Meet me at say, 12:03 at the latest, just outside your work, and I'll escort you down the sidewalk toward it. I'll be the bearded fellow in the yarmulke, since it's Shabbos," I decided abruptly to embrace my heritage and flaunt it a little, at least this once, laying one of my cards on the table.

"Shabbos, as in the Sabbath? Are you Orthodox or Reform? Or what's the third one, Conservative?" Pippa showed some knowledge of Judaism, if only basic.

"Reform, thank God! Not the most observant, either, if you will, but I went to temple last night and I do observe the high holy days most years. I'm not kosher at all, as my pizza this morning shows and so does the choice of restaurants," I explained, which got a giggle out of her again.

"Very well, then, my sweet Israelite. I look forward to getting...biblical with you soon," Pippa confessed to my shock, "and yes, I mean it exactly how it sounds, girlfriend or no girlfriend. You don't have to dump her to date me. That's your call and none of my business. That's girlfriend crap. I don't want to be your girlfriend. I want to be your wife. I'll explain later. Yes, I'll even convert if you wish, but only if you wish. At least I don't have to worry about a bris."

You could have hit me with a sledgehammer and I would have been less stunned. It was my turn to be shocked and shaken up. Pippa basically pushed for a bigger commitment from me than Felicia, and before even the first date! Despite this, she was clear that she didn't mind me dating my girlfriend, for some reason. She was essentially pushing Felicia into the role of mistress, if she could help it, if she wanted to keep me at all. What was more, she offered to convert, not that I cared if she did.

More shocking to me...I wanted to marry her! I actually desired to take this woman that I had never even met in person as my bride. I had never even seen a picture of her, but I realized something about her that appealed to me...she was hungry for me...not for my wealth. Not for the status. For me! She wanted to be mine, despite barely having spoken to me.

She didn't want to control or possess me. She wanted to serve me! She didn't let jealousy rule her, either. She was willing to share. Pippa had only spoken to me twice now, in just a few hours, but she had already wormed her way into my heart, for some reason, much to my astonishment. Her eagerness to please me had done the trick...I was already falling for her.

"Well, Pippa, we can discuss this over lunch, can't we? See ya then, babe. I look forward to that conversation. It's a date, and likely to be an eye-opener," I cleared my throat, admitting to myself that I was fascinated by Pippa's winning ways, her English charm.

"See you then...darling...sir, I mean! Excuse me, I have to get back to the grindstone," Pippa's enthusiastic, yet smoky voice came through the phone as she hung up at last.

I finished up the episode of Big Love, along with my breakfast, watched another episode to let my food digest, and then hit the pool for an hour to swim off some calories for my part. Then I showered off and realized that I was more pressed for time than I thought now. I got dressed in a rush, but sharply as I could manage it, brushed my teeth, dabbed on some fresh cologne that Karen bought me (for her "sharp, handsome, dashing brother," she told me back then), and took the Jeep for Time Warp Cable downtown, where Pippa worked.

My date just barely stepped out the door when I spotted her. I could tell that it was her, of course. Something about her identified her very well. Unlike her famous namesake, the sister-in-law of Prince William, this Pippa was a honey-blonde with soft, flowing tresses, an average stature, and a buxom figure, from the wide hips to the impressive bosom and cleavage. She was pale and had blue-grey eyes, with just a hint of pink to her cheeks at some moments, such as when flustered. She wore flats, but I could tell that she liked pumps, just not when trying to work. She had a very professional blouse and skirt on, but the length of the latter wasn't exactly conservative and the former left enough of a hint of her cleavage as to stir up many a man's loins without being obvious about it. It was on the fence between business attire and nightclub or date material.

"Pippa?" I asked as I approached her, even kissing her hand for a second before she pulled me closer to invade my mouth with her tongue.

"Sir...thank you for meeting me here. Pippa Magill, but I honestly hope to change it to Stern soon enough. My birth name's Philippa, but Pippa is easier to say, of course. I'm from Bristol. Are you from around here or elsewhere, Mr. Stern?" she asked me as she took my hand and we walked over to St. George's.

"Born in Maine, not that it matters. My family moved to Oregon years ago and we've lived here ever since. Mostly to avoid the scandal of my sister's birth and Dad's reckless revenge. She was the fruit of Mom's adultery, you see. Dad laid down the law, got some vengeance, burned his bridges in Maine, and dragged us clear across the country to get the heat off everyone of us. My sister lived with us, but she was always treated like a foster kid rather than Mom's real child.

"I was the golden boy, if you will, but I refused to treat my sister like an insect. Karen is a sweet young lady and I've always gone out of my way to be good to her. She didn't deserve to be punished for Mom's infidelity by either of them," I explained to my newest companion, even as we were seated and I got a beer, reminding myself to know my limit and not get drunk.

"Are you holding off to keep us safe? How nice of you! Smart, too. Plenty of time for beer later, I suppose. I'll have the steak kidney pie. Yes, guilty as charged of being truly British, I'm afraid. You want...the...?" Pippa inquired now as she ordered.

"Bangers and mash, and try not to undercook the bangers, please," I encouraged our waiter, Eric, who gulped as he eyed Pippa, as if to say that she had his complete attention, and then rushed off to put in the order.

"We both avoided the cliche fish and chips, I see. Not that they're bad, but one can't live on seafood alone and we Brits do have actual meals that extend to more than scones and crumpets and tea. I see that you're aware of that, of course. Oh, dear, do I really have time to eat this and get back to work?" Pippa wondered aloud.

"If not, I can always speak to him. I'm a shareholder with voting stock in Time Warp, my dear. The last thing that he'd want to do is piss me off. I have my own firm that I run, dealing with security and anti-virus software, and, yes, we made a bundle last year alone. Trust me. I even have a country club membership, and at last count, don't tell my family this, because they're rich as it is, but still would get jealous, I was worth 2.25 billion dollars," I assured my date, watching her eyes grow wide like saucers.

"I'm...on a date with a billionaire? I thought that you were rich, yes, but nowhere near in that league. Does your girlfriend know your wealth?" Pippa downed her beer in a hurry to get a grip on herself.

"She thinks that I'm worth about 2.25 million dollars. I kinda fudged things with her, mostly to see how she would take that news. Yes, very well-off for a man in his early thirties, wouldn't you say?" I teased Pippa, even as she looked at me with some anxiety.

"You don't think that I'm...a gold digger, do you? I mean, seriously?" Pippa blushed a little.

"Don't be silly. You didn't have the first clue as to the extent of my largesse. How could you be lumped in with that set, who would be checking up on such things and insist on a fancier restaurant at least? If anyone's a gold digger, it's my girlfriend, Felicia Norton. Nice girl, but very caught up in her own assumptions and dreams, what she thinks is her destiny or something like that. She isn't always nice, either. She can be, though.

"Anyway, that's neither here nor there. Now, why do you want to be my wife, and why should I take you as that? And why do you not care if I boff Felicia now and then? Does this extend to other women as well?" I had some hard questions for Pippa as we drank and waited for our meals.

"Two things. The first one, I won't lie, is somewhat mercenary, but I do want to stay here in the States, even if it does mean your abysmal health care for my medical issues. There's still lots of benefits to living in the US, so why not marry an American? Sure, the authorities would be investigating, but they shan't find anything to see that I'm anything but a very loving wife to my Yank hubby.

"The second is that you represent exactly the sort of husband that I desire...forceful, proactive, independent...masterful, if you will. You're clearly that sort of man, given how you handled the mess with your girlfriend screwing with your cable controls. You don't tolerate people meddling in your affairs and that, to me, is a very assertive, appropriate conduct for a husband and master.

"You see, sir, I want to be a bit of a...not a Stepford wife, because those are mindless, but an obedient, submissive wife. I find it appealing, the thought of belonging to my own husband, combining marriage and bondage into one permanent commitment of loyalty and surrender to my man, my lover, my master...my owner. I don't want 21st century marriage. I want what marriage should be, used to be...a union of a man and his chattel, his property.

"Tell me, please...would you like that, sir? A slave wife? A slut wife? A pet wife? As long as I'm your private plaything, it's not my business who else you date or screw. I would gladly sign a prenup, and everything, just to be yours. I'd offer to sign this for you, too," Pippa presented me with a copy of a Master-slave contract, much to my shock.

"But...we just barely met! How do you know that you can trust me? How do you know that I won't disappoint you, harm you, betray you, etc.? What if I'm an abusive prick? Seriously!" I warned Pippa, who shook her head.

"Then I'd turn you and myself into the authorities, who would arrest you and deport me back to Merry Old England. My parents would take me back in, if needs must. Being an immigrant is a double-edged sword. It means that I'm more vulnerable to deportation, but that very threat is also a last-minute potential for rescue or delivery from anything truly coercive. But you're not, are you? Not an abusive prick, that is," Pippa showed her calm and resolve, much to my delight.

"Okay, technically, I don't need a prenup to protect most of my wealth, as it was acquired prior to marriage and thus isn't community property. Anything gained afterward would be, but that's not likely to be enough to cost me my shirt. My house is in my name. My Jeep is in my name. I own several rental properties, all in my name. Oh, and the suite of offices where you work? In my name. Yes, I'm your boss's landlord, honey buns. Good old me.

"Even so, I want a prenup to protect both of us from any confusion, any interlopers who might try to manipulate us or stir us suspicion, jealousy, paranoia, and most of all, to protect you from penury. So, this is my plan. The prenup will entitle you to community property and a lump sum of cash, to be paid out at the time that the divorce becomes final. In the event of my death if we do not divorce, of course, you would automatically inherit it, regardless of the provisions of any last will and testament.