Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Cheating,
Desc: Drama Sex Story: Chapter 1 - He knows she's cheating. He can see it in her eyes.
It took a funeral and a three-year-old child to pull the blindfold off my eyes and make me face what I really knew had been there for a while. I hadn't wanted to see it; I'd ignored it as long as I could but suddenly I was right up against it. The funeral was for my maternal grandfather, who died of a massive heart attack, and the three year old was my daughter Alyssa.
We were at my mother's house the day after the funeral, making ready to leave and return home. The luggage was all packed and loaded into the rear of the Navigator and I was putting Alyssa in her car seat.
"Would you like your shoes off, honey?" I asked her. I knew the answer but I liked asking, because I loved the sound of her little girl's voice.
"Yes, please," she said solemnly and very distinctly. I smiled at her and began to unbuckle the straps on the tiny Mary Jane shoes. I didn't bother to ask if she would like her socks on or off. The answer was always "off." That had to have been from my side of the family. I'd rather go barefoot myself than deal with hot, uncomfortable leather.
With her socks off and her toes wriggling in undisguised relief, I tickled the bottoms of her feet. She knew I would and had been watching me intently, waiting for the moment she could squeal and kick her feet as if she actually wanted to get her away from my fingers. She didn't though. She'd have been disappointed if I hadn't done it. This was a game we often played, and one we'd both come to cherish.
It struck me that we'd been playing it a lot lately. My young daughter and I were spending more and more time together. Both of us seemed to cherish the hours we had in each other's company. It was not so with my wife, Laura. Before I could explore that thought, my angelic little daughter interrupted my thoughts.
"Daddy?" Alyssa asked. I was leaning past her and placing her shoes on the bench seat beside her. I stuffed each sock carefully inside the proper shoe and pushed the shoes a little into the cushion so they'd stay there.
"What, punkin'?" I asked gently. When she didn't immediately answer, I turned to look her in the eyes.
"Why doesn't Mommy love us anymore?" she asked simply. I was taken aback. I stared at my child for a moment, unable to answer.
"Honey... your Mommy loves us both, I'm sure," I said slowly, "and in particular, she loves you more than anything else in the whole, wide world," I assured her. For a brief instant, there was a sparkle in her eyes, but it faded quickly.
"But she didn't want to come with us to say goodbye to Gran'pa," she said plaintively. I had no real answer except the one Laura had given me.
"She had to work, honey," I said. I was going to explain about the biggest account in the accounting firm my wife worked for and how it needed so much of her time and attention, but that would have raised far too many questions in a three year old's mind. I was quiet for a long moment.
"Mommy will be there when you get home, baby," I said consolingly. "She'll be there waiting for you."
"Does she have to work at night, too?" Alyssa asked. I started to answer, saying no, her mother went out at night with "the girls" a lot to unwind. But, again, that would have raised more questions than it answered in Alyssa's mind.
"No, baby girl," I said, "I think Mommy's about done with having to work so hard and then she'll have lots more time to spend with you... and me," I told her. Suddenly, I had to end this conversation. It was too uncomfortable. I buckled the last strap on the car seat, kissed my little cherub of a daughter, and patted her arm before closing the door.
Twenty minutes later, she was peacefully asleep in the rear seat while I drove the big SUV down the Interstate. My daughter slept, but I could not. I kept replaying her sad words in my mind. If a three year old was noticing, it wasn't just me anymore. That was what my wife had implied the last time I'd asked why she was going out with her friends so often.
The sun had nearly set when we pulled in the driveway. My wife, Laura, was indeed home. Alyssa ran upstairs, excited and bursting with things she wanted to tell her mother about all the cousins she'd encountered at my mom and dad's. I tailed along behind, still consumed with the dark thoughts that had taken root in my mind on the drive home. Why was my wife spending so much of her time in the office or partying with her girlfriends?
I found Laura sitting before her vanity, putting on makeup in her bra and panties. She rose to give me a peck on the cheek in welcome. Without warning, the idea struck me that I couldn't remember the last time she'd given me a strong, lusty kiss and wrapped her arms around my neck to show me how much she loved me. I sat down on our bed and watched.
Alyssa talked to her mother for a while without much of anything in reply. It was obvious even to little Alyssa that Laura wasn't paying any attention and, after a while, our daughter wound down and quietly went down the hall to her own room. Laura continued primping, touching her hair and getting her makeup on exactly right.
"What's going on, Laura?" I asked, trying to keep the unexpected emotion out of my voice. My stomach muscles were abruptly cramping and I could feel the surge of blood up the back of my neck. It was difficult to breath.
"What do you mean, honey?" she replied. She hadn't noticed my sudden agitation and was still giving all her attention to the mascara brush so near to her right eye.
"We've only been home ten minutes," I said brusquely, "and you're rushing off somewhere already?" She stopped brushing at her eyelashes and looked at me with poorly concealed impatience.
"Honey, you know I always go out with the girls on Friday nights," she said in a tired, we've-gone-over-this-before, voice. I didn't like her tone and I didn't like the implication that she was doing something we'd agreed was right and proper.
"Actually, my dear," I said sardonically, "you go out with "the girls" on Friday nights, some Saturdays, almost every Sunday, and virtually every Wednesday after work for happy hour and sometimes they all blend into one long, excruciating night out for you."
Alyssa had quietly disappeared after her mother had shut her out and was in her room with the door shut. I heard the strains of one of her educational toys begin playing a jingle. Getting up, I closed the bedroom door and turned back to find Laura also standing and looking at me without any expression on her face. Moving fast, I stepped close to her and caught up both her hands in mine. I hugged them to my chest.
"Laura," I said slowly, striving to keep control of my voice. I didn't want it to break right now.
"Honey, Alyssa asked me this afternoon why you didn't love us anymore... and Laura, I have to ask the same question, I guess." Laura's eyes narrowed in that way that told me I'd trespassed into forbidden territory. I ignored the signs and plowed ahead.
"Do you? Do you still love me?" I asked my wife of 6 years. For a moment, she didn't answer. She fought off a visible irritation and melted against me.
"Of course, darling," she said softly, "I love you more today than when we got married... and I thought then I'd die sometimes, I was so happy." My stomach was still cramping but I tried to relax. She was happy? But not now?
"Stay home tonight, honey," I said, ignoring my sudden misgivings. I refused to let a begging note come into my voice. Laura sighed patting me and stroking my chest.
"We can put Alyssa to bed early," I said. "We'll dim the lights and bring up that bottle of wine we've been saving and you can put on that black lace camisole I bought you for Valentine's Day, how 'bout that?" Curiously, her body had seemed to be reacting in favor of my idea... until I mentioned the camisole. When I said that word, her body stiffened and she tried to back away. I held her by the wrists and wouldn't let her retreat far.
"Laura," I said deliberately, "are you seeing someone?" I watched her closely as I spoke and... there it was. I saw a quick flicker deep in her eyes and a miniscule tightening at the corner of her eyes. They were gone; they vanished quicker than it takes to tell, but I'd seen them. I heard a sharp hiss as she drew in a quick breath of air.
What wasn't gone was a suddenly racing pulse I could feel through my fingertips. I'd kept her close to me by holding her wrists and the pads of my first two fingers were resting on the primary blood vessels there. It was as reliable a lie detector as any FBI polygraph. I had my answer.
"Don't be silly," my wife protested. "Honey, I could never love any man but you... you know that!" she said. She leaned into me, cuddling her head on my shoulder to breathe softly into my neck and give me little kisses here and there. I noticed her head didn't rest hard enough on my body to mess up her hairdo. I wondered if Laura felt the cold chills that were rippling up and down my back. Laura patted me on my upper arms and pulled away, turning to look at the clock beside the bed.
"I'm going to be late," she said fretfully, "and I promised the gals I wouldn't be again. I gotta go, but... maybe tomorrow night?" she asked gently.
"Laura, we really need some "us" time," I answered, not trying very hard to disguise my rising annoyance. "Tell the "gals" you'll make it some other time and spend tonight with me and our daughter, how 'bout doing that for us, please?" I suggested. She pulled away and went to her closet to pull on a short skirt.
"I can't disappoint all my friends," she protested. "Why would you want me to do that?" she said crossly.
"You would rather disappoint me and your daughter?" I returned harshly. "Or don't we matter to you any more?" My wife's eyes narrowed as she worked herself into an anger to match mine.
"I told you--tomorrow!" she snapped. "Dammit, I'm entitled to some time for myself without you always being there and smothering me to death! I'm not your Goddamned slave, you know."
We argued some more. She told me she was a free and independent member of the marriage; I couldn't tell her what to do and she'd damn well do whatever she needed to do to get some relaxation and blow off some steam after a hard day's work.
I said that she had always been given plenty of space. I said the proof of that was that she'd never heard a word of protest from me when she went back to work after the baby. I said I thought it was great she was working as a mid-level manager in an accounting firm when I actually made enough money for us to get along fabulously without her working at all. I told her I supported her career, was proud as hell of all that she had accomplished, but I didn't see why her job and nights out with the "girls" overrode the family's needs. I got a little sarcastic when I mentioned the "girls" I guess. She got madder, asked what I was accusing her of... and I left the room.
I was too upset and too hot to keep going down that road. I'd have said something I might have later regretted so I went downstairs to sit on the couch in the living room. I sat there fuming, with half an urge to physically stop her from going out on me this one night at least. I knew, even in my rage, I couldn't do that. When she came down the stairwell, I was reasonably calm. We looked at each other. She was defiant and I... well, I don't know what I was feeling. It wasn't good, whatever it was.
"Laura," I said, "please don't do this." My voice was unintentionally husky and deep. She stopped for a moment at the door as if in indecision. She opened it but held still a while longer.
"Laura," I said a little louder and more firmly. "Honey, I love you. I'm begging you, please don't do this to me and Alyssa." Laura looked back at me with a peculiar, blank expression on her face. She took a step in my direction; it seemed there was a sudden look of hope in her eyes, but it waned and died. Abruptly, almost ferociously, she turned away, stepped through the door, and closed it determinedly behind her.
Alyssa came tearing down the stairs and out into the foyer. She opened the outside door and watched for a long moment as the headlights of her mother's Lexus disappeared down the street. Without saying a word, she shut the door and walked quickly over to the couch. I knew that walk.
It was as if the polished marble of the foyer floor was too hot to walk on and she had to get off it quickly. She clambered up on the couch near me and stared fixedly at the door for a while as if hoping her mother would miraculously come back in. I stared too. After a moment, Alyssa climbed onto my lap and we hugged for a long time before I carried her into the kitchen to make us a couple of sandwiches.