Copyright 2009 by Marcia R. Hooper
This story is dedicated to Jim.
Matt sat at the edge of the mattress when I returned to the bedroom, his right leg folded beneath him, his hands clasping his knee, worry furrowing his brow.
"We need to talk, sweetie," he said.
"I know," I replied tiredly. Rubbing my forehead, I closed the bedroom door and made sure it was locked. The girls were in bed, but they could just as easily be awake as asleep and I didn't want either barging in on our conversation. Sex I wasn't worried about; no way was I having sex tonight.
Matt said: "Tell me what's wrong."
"You tell me what's wrong." Lately I had begun to feel alone in the marriage. Half the time I fell to sleep alone at night, and who knew what he did downstairs in his office. I suspected it had to do with pornography; I prayed it didn't involve another women. He'd been acting distant and preoccupied ever since September and since his time away from home was mostly accounted for, the Internet was all I could think of.
I thought, not for the first time: What if he's got an on-line girlfriend?
I asked him outright if there was somebody else.
"Are you kidding me?" he said.
Despite sounding surprised, his eyes momentarily cut away. The guilt portion of his reaction was enough to confirm my suspicions of a girlfriend; but it was also slight enough to indicate that it hadn't yet reached a dangerous level of intimacy. He was talking to someone on-line, I thought. Well, so was I, and I could live with that.
"I'm feeling more than a little neglected lately," I said, with just a hint of a smile.
He smiled back, sheepishly. "I admit, I've been pretty stressed out from work. This downturn business has got everyone walking on eggshells. And," he added, blushing slightly, "maybe I've been spending a little too much time on the Internet."
My grin widened a bit. My own activities on the Internet had broadened significantly in the past few months, so I knew how addictive pecking those little keys could be. It was not a subject I wanted to pursue.
"We're okay with the girls, though?" he inquired.
I said yes, even though I still felt a bit rancorous over the business. Matt was twelve years older than I, and previously married, so I had to acknowledge that Family Number Two needed to coexist with Family Number One. I only wished Matt would get his head straight about which family was which.
Come on, I thought sourly. Half that mess was simply your feelings being hurt because you're jealous of his easy relationship with his kids. It clouds your judgment sometimes and you need to acknowledge that.
Okay, I agreed. I'll work on it.
Good girl.
He stood up and walked over to me, limping slightly from his right leg having gone to sleep.
"Don't start," I warned him, crossing my arms over my chest.
"You're tense. I know you have a headache. A massage would do you wonders, sweetie,"
"You just want a piece of ass," I countered wryly.
He grinned and tried to capture my shoulders with his hands but I shrugged past him and headed for the bathroom.
"I don't feel like it," I said.
"You need it," he disagreed. "A massage, not sex."
I pushed open the bathroom door and turned on the light. I tried to close the door but he stood in the doorway and refused to move.
"Matt!" I complained.
"I've seen you go to the bathroom before," he said grinning.
"I have to go Number Two," I lied, feeling my face flush.
His grin widened. "I've seen you do that also," he reminded me.
Now my face really reddened. "No!" I said sternly, pushing him back into the bedroom. "Not tonight!"
Before he could recover I closed the door and pushed in the lock. Alone, there was no stopping my grin. I had to admit that I certainly needed a massage. I also needed to admit that yes, I could see a massage leading to some very good sex. Matt was randy tonight and his playfulness had put a match to the fuse leading to my powder keg. It had been a while. It had been even longer since we'd really gone at it hot and heavy. I wondered if I had hot and heavy in me tonight.
Un-belting my robe, I dropped my pajama bottoms and panties to my knees, reached behind me to feel for the seat before I sat down. I lowered it, saving myself an cold explosion of white porcelain and/or cold water on my poor fanny.
Men, I thought darkly. How many times had I asked him to lower that toilet seat?
I went pee, and then realized I had a Number Two coming after all. It's departure told me that Matthew, should he get lucky tonight, would find a completely empty rectum to plunge himself into, no enema required. The twittiness of it made me all squirmy inside.
God, I am hot, I thought.
I wiped, flushed the toilet and pulled up my pajama bottom and panties again, washed my hands and dried them, wondering all the while whether I could hide this sudden overpowering desire to be thoroughly fucked. My underarms itched and so did the inside of my vagina. This was bad. This was very, very bad.
He knocked on the door. "You all right, sweetie?"
"Go away."
I heard him go nowhere, and opening the door I found him leaning against the jam.
"Okay," I admitted with a sigh. "I'd like a massage."
He grinned widely.
