"Look, I've already agreed she can come back and watch our kids. Can't this wait? Or I could do it over the phone maybe?" Greg grumbled to his reflection as he pulled the knot of navy and forest green striped tie tighter against his neck.
"I happen to think it's important you let her know in person," Gina called back, "And since we were invited to her parents' party, what better time?"
"How about you go then?"
"No way. You're the one that fired her for being a 19 year old college student AND being smart enough not to drink and drive, you are the one who has to fix it now."
The doctor considered pushing the info further but ultimately opted to hold his tongue. Things had not been great around the house as of late. Gina seemed to be avoiding him, they were picking at each other over the smallest things, and their sex life had dropped off a cliff. Most of the time, they were too annoyed with each other to want it and when they weren't, Gina only seemed to want a quick, perfunctory session—limited foreplay, no teasing, slam bang and over—or she said that all she could hear was him saying "that word"—"fuck" to be specific, although she refused to repeat it—and would stop the whole thing dead in its track.
At the same time, Greg had avoided Mallory for three weeks, since that late Christmas Eve night/early Christmas morning slip up. He had stopped letting himself think about her, look at those pictures she had left him in their secret email account, and continued to resist Gina's pressure to give Mal another shot as their babysitter. But now he had run out of excuses and, rather than be honest as to why exactly he did not want the coed back in their house, he had caved.
Greg knew what was going to happen when he left this house. He knew his marriage was in as rough a place as it had been ever and that his libido was running wild. He knew he was very much not past his wildly inappropriate wanton desire for the blonde 19 year old. He knew that when he got to her parents' house that it was inevitable their affair would reignite. And if it was as out of control as it was when he thought he was happy in his marriage...well, who could predict how it would be when he knew he wasn't.
Gina was living in frustration too. She did not enjoy the quibbling, the fraught silences, the generally dispirited love making. She was consistently doubting her plan and mad at her husband for having the kind of desires that were making her think of it in the first place. She did not really want him to go see that teenager with her tight body, great skin, and navel piercing that she knew he'd not be able to resist fetishizing the moment he saw it. She hated the whole damn thing, top to bottom, but the alternative was worse.
File for divorce and be at the mercy of the court and public opinion? No thanks. Acquiesce to the man she married whispering profanity in her ear, sullying their sex life? Unthinkable. Live in married misery for years, waiting for him to break first? The very thought of it made her want to burst into tears.
No, forcing her husband to stray to ensure his guilt would let her control the terms of their divorce had to be the way to go. She might shudder at the very thought of him stripping Mallory's clothes off her, of his hands all over her smooth skin, of their mouths hungrily reaching for one another, only breaking to gasp or moan, but what other choice did she have? What options was she left with?
When Mallory's parents first told her that the Clarks had said one of them would be attending their annual "We Survived the Holidays" party, she went ahead and assumed it was Gina. Despite how wonderful Christmas Eve had been, she knew the doctor was avoiding her and that his wife had seemingly made no headway in reversing his attitude towards her resuming her babysitting duties. She had spent some time wondering how Mrs. Clark would deflect her parents asking why she hadn't been babysitting for Shelly and Martin in weeks, but otherwise gave it little thought.
Then, two days earlier, as she was helping her parents pick up party supplies, her mom let drop, "Oh and won't it be nice to see Dr. Clark? I know you get to see him all the time, Mallory, but I think it must be almost a year since we talked to him in person.
"You just want to stare into his eyes," Mr. Rich joked.
"Not just, dear," she corrected him, "Mostly, yes. But he's also very funny."
"Too bad he's married or you could run away with him."
Mallory blushed in the backseat, thankful neither was paying attention to her. This was a very awkward moment for her.
"Oh knock that off," Mrs. Rich mock slapped her husband, "You know I only have eyes for you."
"Uh-huh," he smirkingly replied.
"Well, you and Pierce Brosnan. But what are the chances I'll ever run into him?"
They all laughed, Mallory hardest of all, as if she was trying to force the discomfort out of her with the giggles.
Since then, the teenager had been gripped with anxiety. Thrilling, thrilling anxiety. She tried not to let her imagination run too wild, but she couldn't help it. She was thankful she had an apartment to escape to. It gave her a place to go to be as noisy as possible in without fear of her parents overhearing her as she gave her dildo and fingers quite a workout. More than once, she was disappointed that Brenda had opted to spend the entire break back home as she could've certainly used a helping hand or two. Or mouth. Or tongue.
Now, she flitted around her room, pulling her dark green thin v-neck sweater tight against her skin and smoothing out her loose, billowy—flowy as she thought of it—tan knee length skirt. She took a long look at herself in her old bedroom's mirrored closet doors, debating once again whether she should run back to the apartment and change.
Finding an outfit for the night had been an exercise in threading an infinitely small needle. She wanted to be sexy enough to entice the doctor's baser instincts to the surface but not so blatant as to catch her parents attention or violate the "dress up for this party" edict that had become the tradition over the years. The skirt was relatively demur, the sweater tastefully tight, the neckline appropriately cut. Not a bad outfit for a formal class presentation and certainly good enough to pass the parent test.
To ensure Mallory's primary goal, she added chunky brown high heels, left the bra at her apartment, and opted for a cream colored thong that she knew Greg had a particular appreciation for. Even though he couldn't see it yet, knowing she was wearing it gave Mallory a jolt of confidence and a bit of swagger in her step. She looked over herself in the mirror, the sight of her toned bare legs, the subtle way her breasts moved beneath her sweater that would reveal to anyone who took a moment to stare that her tits were unrestrained. Her skirt fluttered a bit when she moved quickly, allowing a bit more of a peek of creamy thighs but it was a slight enough to play innocent if someone called attention to it. She sighed and allowed herself to admit that, yes, she looked good. She wanted to be a little naughtier, push the envelope a little bit more, but this would have to do.
"You look very pretty, hon," her mom intoned from the hall, "I really like that skirt on you. Is it new?"
"Yes, mom...I get it with one of my gift certificates from Christmas."
"Well, good choice."
"Thanks!" Mal smiled wide and hugged her mom.
"Oh...Mallory..." she began to whisper, "Did you maybe...forget something?"
