Published September 2011; This is a current, incomplete thread from our Writing/Roleplaying Forum. Its title on the board is "A session of hate sex, not for the weak", located in a private subfora.

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Some backstory:

Miranda is Ted's second wife. They're currently separated, and have kept something of a friendly relationship throughout the separation. Well, as friendly as things *can* be when, well, you'll see. Or you can visit the boards and read up on them yourself, as their relationship is well-documented and a fun read.

There is one key piece of information one needs to know about Miranda: She has always had the ability to keep a game face on, to be a professional at work (she works for WWE in a clerical/production assistant capacity) and has never used Ted to get ahead in her job. She worked there before they were together and didn't quit to sit home all day and spend their money. So in that sense, she's maintained independence. But even the most professional woman can harbor a sense of longing.

Ted...well, you'll see. Let's begin.

There was a lot of unfinished business here. Miranda's patience was wearing thin, having to hold down her job and try to deal with the selling of the house. Ted had flown her out to Tampa and she'd been staying there on and off, to be closer to Mississippi than Connecticut, so she could go out there on a little more than a moment's notice, as needed, to deal with the realtor.

Ted had gone out of his way to get her there, but once she got there, he was obviously only doing for her because he'd been told to. Whether it was someone at work (possibly) or his parents (probably), things weren't exactly at a truce level, but they were getting along as well as could be given the situation. Ted slept over at his friends' (and probably womens') places a lot, so she was alone for the most part when not on the road.

It wouldn't be unheard of for her resentment to be building quietly, when she'd glance up at work and while Maryse was no longer all over him, some diva or another was. Yes, it had been like that when they were very much together, but maybe it was the Florida heat she was dealing with this summer on her days off. Maybe she wasn't thinking clearly. Maybe she was just angry not only at him, but at herself, for not making things work.

She should've stood up to him the first time, no, not the first couple of times, that he cheated. She was convinced she should've just backhanded him across the face and given him an earful. "Who the FUCK do you think you are?" was how it would've begun, and it would've ended with her *showing* him who he was. Hers. Her husband, her lover, her friend.

She was not jealous by nature. It had to be the heat every time she stepped outside the Tampa residence.

Residence. Ha, what a joke. This was a rented flat that was little more than a place to sleep and work on the computer. Their residence was now having strangers walk through it, critiquing their decor, criticizing their price, and summing up their short marriage in dollars and cents and judgments passed. They were the anonymous "sellers" but it didn't take much more than a few glances around at some of the memorabilia in Ted's den to figure things out.

This wasn't home. Mississippi was.

Well, not anymore.

Bastard.

He had to, just HAD to fuck anything that moved, with a pulse, hair, and a mouth. To see how much Miranda would take. A woman can only take so much. He got what he wanted.

Or was that what he wanted? Or DID he want her to react? Never know now...or would she? No, you can't go back in time. You'll never know what someone wanted once upon a time.

But she did know one thing, and she hated herself for it: The anger was getting her hot for him. She had caught him looking at her almost smugly recently, it was just a ten second glance where eyes had locked and there was a smugness in there.

And her eyes had reflected the same.

And she'd allowed Laurinaitis to put his hand on her shoulder and guide her into a meeting. And Ted saw. And if she didn't know better, she'd have sworn his smug factor dipped for just a second.

Now, anybody who knows Miranda knows she wouldn't touch another wrestler or anybody in this company. She hasn't touched anybody since the separation, although she's had her offers. She's still, at least sexually, hung up on him. She's had too many lonely nights where she's woken up pissed off that she was alone.

He was stopping in this evening to get his mail. He had keys to the place. It was his place, in his name, he paid the rent. But tonight, as her hormones surged and a bit of vindictiveness reared its head, tonight was going to be different.

She'd picked up the phone and left a voicemail.

"Yeah, hi Ted," Her voice was a little raspy, like it would be the morning after one of their more luxurious fucks, but this was premeditated on her part, using *that* voice. Not saying who it was because he damned well better know who it was. Plus he had Caller ID. "Can't get your mail tonight, you'll have to make it another time. I have plans." Click.

Her plans now included brushing her hair out, putting a whorish amount of eyeliner on, and getting changed into next to nothing. She knew her phone would be ringing soon.