All people and places are fictional. All characters are over eighteen.
*****
Razor sharp knife through sweet white onion. A crisp, snick of a sound, over and over until the pieces are swept into hot olive oil and an aromatic sizzle fills the warm humid air. Margo gives the pan a quick flick with her wrist to toss the pieces, and lets the gas flame do its thing. After the onion has softened a bit she sprinkles in smoked paprika, salt and a little flour, and tosses it again. Minced garlic, a spoon of grainy mustard, a splash of dry French Vermouth, a little water. She tucks in two thick pork chops that she browned a few minutes before and puts on the cover to finish them. Brown rice with coconut oil and steamed asparagus rounds out the dinner plates. A fruity Beaujolais fills the glasses.
"Delicious honey," her husband Derek says. "You're too good to me."
Yes, Margo thought, I
am
too good to you. The least you could do is fuck me once in a while. The thought brought a sad little smile to her face. 'Fuck' wasn't a word she used to use, under any circumstances, but lately it had crept into her vocabulary. She hadn't said it out loud yet, but whenever she said it to herself it made her smile a little.
Fuck, pussy, cock, tits. Even a well used word like ass for goodness sake. They had never been uttered by Margo in all her forty years. She was a 'good girl', and now a 'good wife', but recently, in the last six months or so, she'd reached a tipping point.
In the mirror, day after day, her reflection looked back at her with an emotionless expression, showing the passage of time. First thing in the morning, when it all was most on display, she was grateful for blurry eyes. Anyone other than Margo — a man for instance — would see it very differently. Yoga and long walks had kept her fit, and her face was radiant with middle-age beauty, the type of beauty most young girls hope they'll grow into but don't achieve. Lovely eyes and a mischievous smile that curls up at the corners, soft strawberry blonde hair that looks just right with a bit of grey streaking through it, and smooth cleavage, on display, at least a little bit, every day.
Derek carved off a piece of pork and put it in his mouth, watching the news on a TV at the far end of the room as he chewed. Margo watched him as the little smile from the 'why don't you fuck me' thought faded from her face. She'd grown tired of wondering why the spark had left their marriage. Tired of thinking about it. Just tired.
In bed that night, in her old t-shirt and loose-fitting cotton yoga pants, she lay awake with a pulpy romance novel as Derek drifted off to sleep. It had cooled enough to have the windows open, the nighttime silence giving her imagination free-reign with the words on the page. The chapter she was reading was just getting to the good stuff — the sex scene with the gardener she was hoping for. Then she heard it. Outside her window, across the darkness, the next-door neighbors where making love.
They were an average-looking young couple, in their late twenties, trying to have a baby. Margo had heard the sounds a few times before, usually at night but once during the day. She'd wondered if she should tell them — that they could be heard when their window was open — but it seemed too awkward a conversation to have, so she let it be. The sounds always stirred mixed feelings in Margo. Disappointment, sadness, excitement and desire, all mixed together in a strange way. She wasn't sure if Derek had ever heard them. Ten years Margo's senior, she wondered if the sounds would stir
anything
in him, or if his sex-drive was simply gone, washed away with the years.
On that particular night Marybeth and Billy — that's the young couple next-door — were having a particularly good time with their baby-making. Moaning exclamations drifted on the summer night air, so lovely and pure. Young love in all its carnal glory. Margo closed her eyes and listened deeply, imagining Billy's cock deep in her own pussy, moving slow and deep, the way she'd seen young porn men fuck older women in flickering images on her computer screen. Her hand slipped inside her old yoga pants, her middle finger touching her clit ever so gently. A warm heat overtook her, but she knew she had to stop. Stop touching herself and stop listening. No good would come of either, not there, not in bed with her sleeping husband. Read the book Margo, she told herself. It's all you get these days.
———————
"I probably shouldn't be blabbing about this, but Christie's having an affair."
Margo was having coffee and half a pastry with her friend Joan at a cafe down the road from the yoga studio. "You're not gonna believe who the guy is," Joan added.
"Joanie! Oh my God, you shouldn't be telling me this!"
"I know, but it's so juicy, isn't it?" Joan said, her eyes wide and smiling. "It's Matt, the cute guy that works at the Quick-Fill at Ander's Corners."
"You're
joking
!" Margo said. "She's old enough to be his mother!"
"I know!" Joan exclaimed. "Can you
imagine
?"
Margo
could
imagine, and she wasn't alone. Most of the women who went in that Quick-Fill could imagine.
"How do you know? Does everybody know?" Margo said.
"Just you and me, and anybody else Christie blabs to. I was surprised she told me, but I could tell she's proud of it and wanted someone to know."
"Wow!" Margo said quietly.
"She said things have been dried up at home," Joan said. "I can sympathize."
"You and Jim? Really?" Margo said.
"Well, not really dry, but...I guess I'm not as attractive as I used to be," Joan said sadly.
"Wow, what's going on with us all?" Margo asked. "Is this just how it is when you hit forty? I never imagined it like this."
"So, you and Derek?"
"Not good," Margo said, looking down at the crumbs on the plate.
Margo thought about telling Joan how listening to her neighbors made her feel, but didn't want to get deep into the personal. Joan was a good friend, but sexual conversations had been few and far between with her.
"I wish you hadn't told me, about Christie I mean," Margo said. "Now I've gotta pretend I don't know when I see her at church."
"Are you kidding? You've got the best poker face I've ever seen. You could bang half the town and keep it a secret probably."
"Joanie! That's..."
"Exciting to think about?" Joan said. "You don't have to tell me honey. We'd all love a little somethin' on the side. The kids these days got it made with their friends with benefits thing. That's what we need, friends with benefits. Just don't tell anybody. Well, nobody like me anyway," Joan laughed.
———————
Sunday morning was warm and humid. All the windows in the church were open. Reverend Blake's sermon was about open windows, letting the world into our lives, sharing in our neighbor's trials, tribulations, joys and triumphs. Margo mind went right were it shouldn't when you're at church, to Marybeth's moaning and muffled screams of ecstasy, and the dull thump of her bed hitting the wall as Billy pounded her young pussy with his young cock. They were sitting right there, just three pews in front of Margo. She wondered if Billy gathered up Marybeth's long hair and held it tight while he fucked her from behind, the way the porn men sometimes do.
"Lovely sermon Reverend," Margo said when she and Derek shook his hand on the steps on the way out.
Her mind was still in a bit of a fog when she saw Christie and her husband heading their way.
