“You can go on and fuck all the men you want!” Karen screamed, and I slammed the front door shut.
I trudged out of the foyer and into the sunny spring day, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Our apartment was in a couple of dignified brick walk ups smashed together on a quiet street in Avondale. Squirrels chased each other around in the newly green tree branches, and an ice cream truck warbled a few blocks off.
I really had to stop ending marriages like this.
Our silver SUV was parked at the curb, and I threw my overnight/maybe forever bag in the back with a heavy sigh. It was Election Day, and my client had a pretty good chance of winning, except for the small matter of being massively outspent and getting caught not paying his water bill. My part in it was done; there was nothing to do except reflect on how my dumb bisexual ass had stumbled into yet another bad marriage.
Where had I gone wrong? How did I even fall in with Karen? I’d been in a smoking hot bisexual, biracial throuple, for fuck’s sake. Karen wasn’t even attractive, she was straight, she hated sex, and her blowjobs were inexplicably painful. Sure, she was great with my kids, but the side of runaway insecurity, self-loathing, and eventual biphobia was a heavy price.
I leaned against the brick façade and rubbed my eyes. What a clusterfuck. I needed to find a place to stay for the night, return my client’s calls, and pick up more weed. Piper was going to be a nightmare about this. Even worse, I was sullenly horny from a near-celibate marriage with terrible, grudging missionary when it wasn’t.
…you know what? One of those things was a lot more fun to address than the others.
I took out my phone, flicked on the camera, and took a selfie right against my apartment building. I liked what I saw: salt and pepper beard, a smart fade, and a confident smile. I was fucking hot; hell, that had bothered Karen more than anything. How many times had she accused me of fucking men while I was out? And she had just told me to do it.
Up came the Google play store, and I downloaded all the dating apps that I remembered being worth a damn from that crazy time in Uptown. I slid into my car as I tapped off a quick bio: Divorced father, bisexual as fuck, weed and insider politics. There, that should be enough. I started up the car, and headed towards a coffee shop in Wicker Park.
An hour later, I had my date for the night.
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