Sometimes, Trevor hugged his family good-bye as they left for the day, and sometimes he didn't.

     That morning, he made it a point.

     Helen was the last one out the door.

     She shot him a worried look. "That dream really got to you, didn't it?"

     "I feel like I got kicked by a hurricane."

     Trevor looked at his wife of twelve years as if seeing her for the first time. He saw her breasts, loose in her bra. She'd put on, maybe, thirty pounds since their wedding day, even as he had. It made her plump around the middle and gave her a big butt.

     Like Trevor was one to talk, with his paunch.

     He loved her so much.

     He felt like grabbing her right there, right there in the doorway, to cover her mouth with kisses. Hell, he felt like sweeping her up in his arms, carrying her into their bedroom, stripping off her clothes, then sticking his pig up into her, now, after three kids, gaping cunt hole.

     He didn't do that, of course.

     In reality, they rarely had sex anymore. Trevor could only remember once that year where they really went at it. Their first couple of years, though...whew!

     "I love you, Helen," he called after her as she descended the stairs for her car. 

     She shot him one last, quizzical look.

     "You sure you're okay?" she asked him.

     "I'm fine," he replied.

     I'm coming apart, he thought.

CONTINUE