Chapter 3

When she finally emerged from the bedroom, clad in a long robe, her hair was still wet from her second shower.

She had resisted the urge to fuck herself again, by force of will alone. She'd picked up the dildo, which had lint adhering to it from the carpet, announcing it was past time for her to vacuum the floors. She washed it off in the sink and put it back in the drawer. She didn't cover it up this time.

She felt tired. John was still in the chair, but the dishes he'd eaten out of were now on the coffee table, along with four empty beer bottles.

Anger replaced her weariness and she went to sit in her own recliner.

"I used it," she said, tersely.

"Used what?" asked her husband, only glancing at her.

"I used the sex toy I got for my birthday," she said.

Suddenly, the TV was forgotten. It was like magic. His eyes, as they focused on her were bright, and a smile formed on his lips.

"Really?" There was excitement in his voice.

She was disgusted.

"I had to. All you do is sit in front of this fucking TV and drink beer," she said, her voice hard.

"Hey, come on," he said, still ignoring the TV. He was clearly trying to mollify her. "You know how hard I work. When I get home I'm exhausted."

"You're exhausted because you sit on your ass all evening," she said. "Do you know how far I ran tonight?"

"Ran?" He looked confused.

She realized he hadn't paid any attention to her at all since he got home.

"Never mind," she said. "I used it, and I'm going to keep using it until you start acting like a fucking husband again."

He blinked, but she saw his chest rising and falling faster.

"When did you start talking like that? You don't use that gutter language."

"I do now. While you've been watching reality shows, I've been living reality. And I've changed."

"Why?" he asked. "I don't want you to change."

"I don't think you want me at all," she said, the anger now bubbling out, almost beyond control. A thought struck her. Could there be somebody else? Was he expending his passion on some other woman? Then she realized that was impossible. He spent every spare moment outside of work in front of the TV.

Unless he was expending that passion at work. He was a supervisor. He made his own schedule. And he had a score of pretty, young women working for him.

"Are you having an affair?" she asked, suddenly.

"What?" He was obviously shocked. "Of course not! Where would you get an idea like that?"

"Most men like to have sex," she said. Her inference was obvious.

"Come on, Honey. I like sex. I just don't feel like it as often as I used to. That's normal. A man's sex drive diminishes as he gets older."

"Well mine hasn't," she said. "I have needs. You aren't tending to them. I had to use a rubber penis to have an orgasm!" It came out as a shout. She hadn't meant to shout. She got up in frustration and went to assuage the hunger pangs that were annoying her.

"Honey! Wait! Don't be like that," he called. "I get it. It's okay. I don't mind if you do things that way."

She might have given him a chance.

Except that he stayed in that fucking chair as he said it.

She was reading in bed when the door opened and he surprised her by slinking into the bedroom. He stopped, just inside.

"You're ... um ... not using it right now ... are you?"

She looked down at the bedspread that covered her body. She was holding the book with both hands.

"It doesn't do anything by itself," she said, sarcastically.

"You're mad," he said, as if that were a surprise announcement. "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" she asked. "Sorry you didn't get to see me doing that? I hear men like to watch."

He blinked.

"Of course not." He looked around for some reason. "I mean, sure, that would be interesting, but that's not why I'm here."

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"Why do you think?" he asked."I'm your husband."

"You want to have sex?" Her astonishment was tempered by the realization that she had goaded him into this. She said it again. "You want to have sex?" putting the emphasis on a different word.

"Of course I do," he said, looking slightly offended. "You're my wife. You just said you need me."

She almost said he'd missed his chance, but bit her tongue.

"Besides," he said, beginning to disrobe, "everybody knows that make up sex is the best kind."

"And you think we're making up," she said.

"I hope so," he replied. "I have neglected you. I'm sorry about that. I'll try to do better from now on."

He stood, naked before her. She examined him. He was thicker, heavier than when they'd met. She'd been aware of that, but hadn't really paid attention to it before now. He had love handles. And a paunch. She doubted he could run more than a mile without collapsing.

He was also soft. He said he wanted to make love, but his body suggested otherwise.

"You can't have makeup sex with that," she said, feeling a little cruel.

"That will take care of itself," he said, confidently. "Can I come to bed?"

"It's your bed," she replied.

She realized she was being pernicious. She took a deep breath. He was being conciliatory. He was trying to do what she'd said he was supposed to be doing.

"I'm sorry," she said.She pulled the bedspread over, inviting him into the bed. "I didn't like having to use that thing."

He got into bed and scooted over to lie next to her. His hand went to her breast.

"Was it that bad?" he asked.

"It was supposed to be you," she said.

"I'm here now."

He did get erect, as he got her pajamas off.

He mounted her, just like he always did.

It even felt good, until he whispered into her ear.

"Was it as good as this?"

He thrust, thinking he was being forceful ... manly.

And then, before she could get anywhere close to an orgasm, he groaned and spurted.

As he rolled off of her, thinking he'd done his duty, she wanted to cry.

The dildo had been much better.

It was Wednesday, hump day, but her dissatisfaction with events the previous night followed her like the cloud around Pigpen in the Peanuts cartoons. What did she have to look forward to at the end of the week? Nothing she could think of. Even the file she was working on was boring. Movement at her office door caused her to look up.

"Hey girl," said Cindy, in her usual cheery voice. "Lunch again today?"

"I'm not in a very good mood," said Claire. "I wouldn't be much for company."

"Then we'll hit a street vendor and do some window shopping," said Cindy, undaunted. "You can tell me all about it."

"Maybe," sighed Claire.

"Get your work done," said her friend. "I'll see you then."

They ate hotdogs from one vendor, and shared a bowl of cheese fries at another.

"I'm going to have to work out extra tonight," said Cindy. "But it's worth it. I feel so decadent."

"I pulled a muscle yesterday, so I can't run tonight," said Claire. "I'll probably swell up like a balloon."

"I doubt it," laughed Cindy. "You're in great shape. I'm so jealous of you sometimes."

"Get out!" said Claire, but a surge of something happy went through her.

"Really. Everybody's jealous of you. The guys all look at you."

"They do not," she said.

"Yes they do. If you weren't married, your dance card would be full every weekend."

"Stop it! You're embarrassing me."

"No I'm not. You love it. Now, you look like you lost your last friend, which is impossible, since I'm right here. So ... what's bothering you?"

"Everything," groaned Claire.

"Oh, come on. It can't be that bad."

She suddenly went very still, and her face sobered.

"It's not John ... is it? He isn't having..."

"An affair?" Claire finished the sentence for her, but kept it as a question with her tone.

"Claire?" Cindy's voice was soft. Gone was all trace of jocularity. "Baby?" When Claire didn't respond, she asked again. "Is he cheating on you?"

What had been the wonderful, rich taste of cheese in her mouth seemed to turn to ashes as she prepared to answer.

"No," she said, listlessly. "It's the other way around."

If she had been still before, Cindy's body was like a statue now, as people swirled all around them. Then that illusion crumbled as she reacted.

"No!" she gasped. "What? You? Sweet little Claire Bonneville?!" She leaned, as if she might be in the act of falling over because paralysis had gripped her shapely body. Then control returned and she leaned close to her friend. "With who?" she gasped.

"It's not like that," groaned Claire. "Not like you think, anyway."

"Don't you dare tell me you cheated on your husband and then tell me it's not what I think!" said Cindy, who seemed to be trying to frown and grin at the same time. "Come on. Give. Shit! We're almost out of time. Wait! I want to hear everything. We have to go out for drinks after work."

"I can't go out drinking after work," said Claire.

"Why? Do you have a date with your boyfriend, or something?" The words were tinted with impatience.

Claire wanted to set her straight, but she was right. It would take too long. Besides, she didn't really want to talk about it. She didn't want to have to admit the things that were true, which she would have to do if she corrected the conclusions Cindy had jumped to. But she also couldn't let Cindy keep thinking what she was thinking.

"I've never gone out for drinks after work ... with anyone." She hoped that would get Cindy's mind off of the imaginary man she had cuckolded her husband with.

"Why not? You're free, white and over twenty-one," said Cindy. "You can do anything you want."

"That's a horrible thing to say!" gasped Claire, who was suddenly aware of a number of black people around them, some of them within earshot.

"It's just a saying," said Cindy, impatiently. "We're going out for drinks after work. I'm calling Danny as soon as we get back to work and telling him I'll be late. What excuse will you make to John?" She blinked. "What excuse do you usually make to John when you ... you know ... get away to be with him?"

It was too much. Something snapped inside her. Claire's response was instant, unplanned, and quite possibly ten or twenty times louder than she would have made it, had she taken time to think.

"I didn't cheat on my husband with a man! I fucked myself with that stupid dildo and thought about another man while I was doing it!"

Her breath froze in her throat as her mind caught up with what she'd just screamed. As a confession, it was cathartic. Unfortunately, people all around her had stopped, and were staring at her. Cindy was too, a shocked look on her face. There seemed to be a zone around them that was free of both movement and noise. Then, slowly at first, movement began again.

Then there was the noise of people exclaiming about what they had just heard that crazy woman yelling.

The fight or flight syndrome is very real. And Claire's only option was to run. She did that, blinded by her sobbing tears that made everything look like it was being viewed through wavy glass. She didn't see the light pole in her path. She only felt it when she ran into it.

There was a a split second where she felt pain in her unhealed gracilis, and then a surreal explosion of pain in her face as she ran straight into the light pole she couldn't see. Her nose crushed and blood spurted wildly from the misshapen nostrils that resulted. She rebounded, staggering like a cartoon character and lost her balance. She was still staggering to regain it when she heard a bloodcurdling scream and the screech of tires on pavement.

There was something like being cuffed by a giant, followed by the feeling that she was weightless, until another giant smacked her. And then ... nothing.

Everything went instantly, and magically, black.

She woke feeling groggy. It was hard to see anything, and she worked her eyes, thinking they were caked with crust from sleep. There was something in the way. Something close to her face. She brought a hand up to investigate and the movement of that hand released the throbbing pain in her head that she suddenly knew had already been there, like a lion, waiting to leap out of hiding onto its prey.