The Job (Volume One)
Read The Job (Volume One) Online
Authors: Dawn Robertson
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #Romantic Erotica
The Job: Volume 1
Copyright 2015 Dawn Robertson
First Edition
All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of these publications may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the Author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover and Formatting by
ShoutLines Design
D
EDICATION
This book is dedicated to...
Donna Summer, because she works hard for the money.
Dawn’s Dommes because y’all are just amazing.
All the haters.
All the creators.
All the motivators.
Ivy from Ana’s Attic, Danielle Jamie, KD Robichaux, JM Walker, RL Griffin, and Justine Elvira for just being amazing.
My PA’s Stefanie, and Jessica - because NOTHING would get done without you.
Lily White for not offing me yet.
Oh, and my designer Rachel Mizer - Shoutlines Design for not killing me either.
Keep it Kinky.
Now go get your freak on!
T
ABLE OF
C
ONTENTS
I never thought my life would come to this. Day-in and day-out I am living a lie. A really big fat fucking lie. Behind my perfectly made up PTA mom face, I hide a deep and dark secret no one would ever guess; not in a million years. The overachieving soccer moms who are so wrapped up in their children’s activities they don’t even realize their lives are crumbling before their eyes… that used to be me.
I was one of them and didn’t even realize it until it was far too late. I overcommitted across the board and neglected my husband too much. I was the baseball snack mom and the car pool lead for the football team. I was the PTA President at the local elementary school three years in a row and the fundraising chair at our family’s church.
I
was
the perfect Stepford Wife and it cost me the life I had so carefully built.
Why?
Because I didn’t take
care
of my husband. I didn’t give him the attention he needed or wanted. I overachieved with my children and the community and I left my husband out to dry… or jerk off. He did what most of the other husbands are doing right this very minute… cheating. He looked elsewhere for someone to fantasize about while I was too busy baking cookies or decoupaging that thrift store table.
Our husbands are looking for the woman that will bend over their desk for twenty minutes in between conference calls, even if it costs him a couple hundred dollars. They are looking for the twenty something that won’t think twice about sucking dick in a parking garage where they could possibly get caught. They want excitement. They want new. They want the rush of it all. Even if it isn’t from you. Preferably if it isn’t from you, actually. They want that spark of excitement a new relationship or hookup brings.
The stolen kisses, or the sexy lingerie followed by anal. That’s what they all want. But once children are thrown into the mix, we forget about what they want. Pleasing them isn’t our top priority. This preset notion of what a good mother is in our society takes the front seat. We forget they are men who think with their dicks instead of their heads. It doesn’t change with age; it only gets worse.
I don’t know how I ended up being the woman that made their fantasies come true; possibly it was my own desperation, but I can tell you that when they take twenty minutes out of their day to put an ad on Craigslist looking to pay for sex… you and your children are not who they are thinking about. Actually, you are the farthest thought from their mind.
I live a double life. I am the overachieving single mother who fucks men for a living. I didn’t dream of becoming a prostitute as a child. It just kind of happened when my own husband left me for a younger version of myself. It began with the distress to survive and support my children. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. The desire these men have for me is a drug that fuels my fire and repairs the ego that my ex-husband smashed to pieces the second he walked out on our family.
It feels good to finally be desired by someone. Even if it is all for a quick buck.
I did it all right.
I graduated high school without getting pregnant by some jock on the football team, unlike so many of the other cheerleaders. I went to college and got a degree I could use in real life and managed to not end up date raped or with some nasty STD from a frat party. I got a job. I fell in love and we started a beautiful family.
Three children I couldn’t imagine my life without even if they drive me absolutely batshit crazy sometimes. I mean, don’t all mothers have that feeling? My oldest son thinks he knows everything, but I guess most teenagers do. In other news, how the hell am I old enough to have a teenager? Trenton just turned thirteen and is going on thirty overnight. Brady is your average ten year old. I virtually have no complaints, which is odd because shouldn’t the middle child have that
middle child syndrome?
Not him. Then there’s Grace. She just marches to the beat of her own drum and always has. Since birth actually.
They make my world what it is today. A little more than they probably should.
Back to my story.
It was my second year into teaching freshman history when I found out I was pregnant. It was a warmer than average February evening when Drew came home from the office and I shared the news. He was a man with big ideas about what a family should be. Mothers should stay at home with their children because you know everyone believes that kids with a stay at home mother will somehow thrive over those with moms who work outside the home. I called bullshit on it then and I should have stood my ground. I never could when it came to Drew. He just had that personality about him that could charm his way into whatever he pleased. Another reason I continue to avoid him like the plague.
Now, here I am: Thirteen years and three children later, a single mother with no solid job for the past decade and not even the local diner will hire me. Drew isolated me from the world. I became Betty Crocker. The Pinterest Queen of Crafts. And now? None of it is worth a shit when it comes to supporting my children. I’m overqualified since I have a college degree, or under qualified for everything else. I am looked down upon because I left my blossoming career to be a mother. Can you believe that? Never mind, don’t answer that. I’m sure it isn’t news to you.
The measly child support I get isn’t even enough to pay for all the damn sports these kids play. I know, I’m bitter. You would be too if you got to watch your philandering ex-husband walk away with his savings account intact and a brand new surgically enhanced twenty something at his side. What did I get? The house, my dying football mom SUV, and stretch marks. So I guess bitter would be the easy way of putting it.
I throw the stack of newspapers down onto my bed and let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m never going to find a job. I might as well just give up!” I shouldn’t raise my voice. I shouldn’t let my kids know there is anything wrong. It isn’t their fault. Hell, it isn’t my fault either, but it certainly feels like I am the only one in the world to blame for Drew’s straying.
“Mom, seriously? Who actually reads newspapers anymore?” Trenton says from the doorway. My thirteen year old is going to be the death of me. Puberty is a nasty creature, and now my baby boy thinks he is the new Justin Bieber.
“Lots of people read newspapers, Trenton. I am actually using them for the job listings. Time for Mom to get back to work.” I want to laugh. I should have never stopped working. I wouldn’t be so fucked if I had gone with my original instincts.
“No one uses the newspaper for job listings, Ma. I even know that. Go on Craigslist or one of those internet job sites. Monster, Indeed, CareerBuilder. Time to use the computer and get back into modern age.”
Being schooled by my teen; just what I needed.
“Is your homework done?” As the words slip from my lips, the boy disappears in a trail of too much Axe body spray. Yeah I’ve updated my resume on my laptop but I didn’t think that it was a smart idea using it on the internet. With all this identity theft stuff going around it just seems too risky. Maybe that is why I still can’t find a job? Because I am stuck in the goddamn dinosaur age.
Sitting down at the small black and white Ikea desk in the corner, I type in Craigslist and begin to navigate the help wanted ads. It seems pretty cut and dry, lots of day labor jobs, which I just skip over. No, thank you. I don’t want to be mowing lawns in the hot Florida sun. Every secretary position I come across I apply for, emailing my resume and life story along time after time, saying a silent prayer that some older businessman will take pity on me.
Going back almost an entire month’s worth of help wanted ads, I decide to take a break and explore the rest of the website a little more. I never realized it, but you can really buy or sell anything on Craigslist. Need a free sofa? They got you covered. Not that there is anything appealing to me about it. Cars, antiques, anything and everything - it is available. Hell, there is even a discussion board to talk about local events and bad mouth local businesses. This is my kinda place!
“MOMMMMMMMMMMM! Grace is eating crayons again!” Brady yells from the hallway. I take a deep breath and count to ten before closing my laptop and making my way to the chaos. The calm of the past hour was sure to be disturbed. It always is. Some days, all I wish for is peace and quiet. Just a couple minutes without someone’s temper tantrum or nuclear meltdown. All new behavior since their father moved out. Mainly from Grace because she just doesn’t understand what is actually happening.
“Grace, honey! Stop with the crayons!” My voice bellows through the towering stairway. The strange stuff my daughter has began eating should probably be some kind of red flag, but it’s just something else I have no desire to tackle. At least until it costs us a visit to the emergency room.
Stopping on the stairway landing, I pause looking up at the mirror that hangs across from me. Frankly, I don’t recognize the woman looking back at me. My once long caramel locks are greasy and pulled back without a care. My eyes are red and puffy, showcasing the wrinkles my overpriced cream clearly isn’t helping to hide or
repair
as advertised. The blue of my eyes isn’t vibrant with life like it once was. Drew took that from me. He dulled everything about the once gorgeous woman I was. I am willing to bet he will do the same to the arm piece he has now. It is only a matter of time.
