The next Saturday night I stayed home due to hubby’s suspicions. The Saturday after, however, unable to stop myself, I announced.
“I’m going to girl’s night out bowling again.”
He was sullen, asked me not to, pleaded not to. My mind whirled how to devise a subterfuge which would stabilize my domestic safe world swirling out of orbit but still see Edward. The canard, bowling with the girls, was a desperate stop gap but had to fit until I could figure out something better.
Again, he watched from the kitchen window, like Mom did, as I backed out the driveway to meet another, like Dad did. On the way to Edward’s, I experienced a spasm of indecisiveness and stopped at a supermarket parking lot. With my head on the steering wheel, I told myself to go home. Raising my head, I put hesitation aside, got out and hurriedly brought cheese, crackers, and wine a failed diversion.
Back in the car, I drove directly to his vacant parking space, reserved by Edward to conceal my car from the street. I walked with swift determination through the parking labyrinth toward Edward’s apartment, clutching the bag holding my supermarket purchases. I strode to his door, in a fog, the fog of love with hubby, family, home only a peripheral thought.
I must manage events to keep family intact as Edward’s love plays out.
When he opened the door, instantly I was in another world, his. He took my package, we kissed, but instead of opening and serving what I brought, he turned me around and led me to his car, exiled on the street. Sunk in its bucket seats, we zoomed to the Japanese restaurant again. There, munching uni maki, his favorite delicacy, he watched me intently as I nibbled on a California roll. I drank sake while he drank Asahi beer. He claimed sake and beer enhanced the taste of sushi but I liked neither. His silent stare, versus usual conversation leadership, unnerved me.
After sushi, he hustled me back to the Porsche and drove to his apartment, faster than his usual fast. I was thrust back and forward with each gear change and jerked slid to side on turns. Parked, he jumped out, opened my door and hurriedly led me by the hand to his unit and up to the bedroom, wordlessly. His rush and continued odd silence unnerved me.
Perhaps he’s upset about something I said. Is he already tired of me? Has he met someone new, is a nurse or a woman doctor chasing him?
Standing next to the bed, I worried he thought me a "silly girl" below his intellectual level. Leading me hurriedly to the bedroom, not even pausing for wine and my cheese and crackers began to upset me.
Maybe I’m a silly girl but I’m not being taken for granted!
He undressed me deliberately, led me to the shower, turned the water on, waited until it was warm, opened the glass door and told me to shower. I obeyed but as the water streamed on me, I thought.
Why isn't he joining me? Isn't he taking a shower? Why is he belittling me, leading me around as if I’m just meat?
Out of the shower, he wrapped me in towels, dried me off thoroughly and sat me on the bed naked. As he undressed, I thought.
This is how it ends. I assumed too much. It's obvious, I'm just his sex toy. He didn't even shower. So be it. Get it over so I can go home, I should’ve known better than expect him to love me. I’m a simple girl, a stupid girl. He’s a jerk, destroyed my world just to use me. I hate him!
Once he too was undressed, he spread me on the undulating water bed. I just wanted him to be done so I could leave. He moved my feet and hands near the bedposts, turning me into an “X”. Vulnerable, exposed, spread eagle before him I shifted from hate to fright.
Is he into some tie-up game? Don’t let him. Don’t submit. Get ready to resist. If he brings out tie-up stuff, get up, run. Scratch if he tries to stop me from leaving.
Watching frightened, spread on the bed prepared to leap out, grab my clothes and run, he started lighting candles in brass holders.
He’s going to drip hot wax on me! Oh, God, I’ve no chance to run. No one even knows I’m here, who he is?
I cried and in terror and whimpered.
“Leave me alone. Don’t touch me. I want to go home.”
Surprised at my panic, he smiled down to reassure me, said softly he would never harm me, to relax. He bent down and whispered he was only going to teach me to be a woman, to explore my erogenous zones, the candles were only for my romantic enjoyment, their flickering shadow light to enhance my pleasure.
His voice calmed me; its tone more relaxing than his words. I nervously glanced back and forth at the candles but mostly kept an eye on him. The trickled tears on my cheeks dried. He gently kissed them. I moved my arms and legs to no longer be an “X”. He didn’t object. I began to relax. As he continued to assure in his calm voice, relief replaced fear. He wasn’t a pervert. I was going to be okay. The shift from love to hate, hate to fear, fear to relief, a confusing rapid change of emotions.
He moved to the base of the bed and massaged the heels and insteps of my feet. Moving on the bed he massaged my legs from my ankles to knees, then thighs, one leg and then the other as the water bed undulated in agreement. Satisfied, he rolled me over. I clutched a pillow to steady myself with the pitching water as he massaged my back. It was my first massage. As he kneaded each taut muscle, their pent-up tension dissipated. Soon, fully relaxed, face down in the covers I was smiling at the silliness of my recent panic.
He moved up and kissed the nape of my neck. I felt his firm penis and thought he was going to enter me but instead, he rolled me back over, spread my legs and kissed my thighs, each kiss a little higher up. By the time he reached my vulva, I was moaning pleasure. Eyes half-closed, I enjoyed the romantic enhancement of the flickering candlelight as instructed.
No longer afraid, I sought his entry. His caresses and kisses moved me. When my back arched up he eased off until I receded from the cusp of sexual oblivion and calmed.
The water still again, he renewed his erotic assault. As if playing a piano, he started with soft notes, increased the tempo and intensity as he caressed and kissed my sensitive keys until I was twisting and moaning, receptive and pleading for more. He at last entered.
I leaped about, thrust up to his downstrokes, suddenly shrieked my first verbal sexual exclamation.
"YES, OH YES!"
When he finished and pulled out, I curled into the fetal position and fell asleep.
He shook me awake to tell me it was time to leave. As I arose, my body tingled. My skin was alive. We ate the brier cheese with toast, naked at his little kitchen table. The flavor of the tea, the crunch of the toast and the tang of creamy cheese tasted different.
Aware of the time, I rushed upstairs, showered again and dressed. The shower water gave a shudder of pleasure to my skin. My clothes caressed me as I put them on. My body was alive with sensory sensations.
He walked me to my car. We separated with a last kiss. My lips hungered for another as we broke apart; my cheeks yearned for another caress. Driving home at 2 AM, the range of emotions experienced swept me.
In a few hours, love's blind fog first changed to confusion under his silent stare. Pride's insult at his indifferent rush to take me as a sex object flared then flashed into hate. Spread X on the bed, the candles, shifted from hate to fear. Then his soft words, kneading and kisses flipped hate to relief and relief to sexual ecstasy. The rapid emotional shifts, like shifted gears and turns in the Porsche, jerked my emotions about and ended in explosive overdrive pleasure. Combined they changed me. He was right. The night changed me into a woman but not into the one he thought it would.
At home, as before, my husband waited. As soon as I walked in the door, he grabbed me and led me to the bedroom without words, stripped me, pushed me on the bed and entered me, his rough lust rape, to claim me as his.
As he crudely took me, I experienced another emotion, acceptance, love’s acceptance. I was his wife, the mother of his children, he was my husband. I had hurt him, him who I loved too. I needed to turn his hate back into love for me.
When he withdrew, it was too late for questions. They would wait until morning. I curled again into the fetal position and slept until noon. Once up, I fixed lunch but didn’t know what to say or think and stumbled through motions awaiting my grilling.
Everything was otherworldly, my parochial repressed sexuality sloughed off, replaced by sensuality. I had to feel, taste, smell, hear and see all anew.
The night before I'd experienced love, hate, fear, ecstasy, and love again. My compulsive love's rush to see Edward, its confusion with his silence, its sudden change to hate, then to fear, ending in ecstasy, that changed me. Acceptance of my husband's hate, his claim I was his wife, the mother of his children, the love of submission my need to reclaim his love, that changed me too.
I no longer was a girl who still had to grow up. I was a woman, a woman in love with two men, one sexually, the other as my husband and father of my children. I had to understand who I was and be a woman, an adult one, perhaps like my mother.
As soon as the kids finished their lunch and went to the backyard to play, the inquisition began.
Author Notes: From a husband's swing suggestion a woman enters an affair never expected on the wedding altar.