"Which one is yours?"
The question -- and the voice that asked it -- startled him. He was pretty deep in thought, mulling over an argument with his wife that they'd had the night before. He turned to face her, but she pointed back at the playground and smiled. "Which kid is yours?"
He was a little taken aback and didn't answer right away.
"One of them is yours, right? I hope you're not just sitting at a playground watching random kids. That'd be creepy." She spoke with the confidence of one who knew he would eventually catch on and who delighted in the discomfort she was causing him.
"All four of them, actually," he finally replied. "My
wife
said she had an urgent work thing on a Saturday morning, so here we are."
"Vague urgent work thing? Sounds fishy," she said with a playful smile. He only glanced at her now and then -- he was trying to keep his eyes on his kids. Until the Home Owner's Association finally got around to putting a fence around the playground, he couldn't take his eyes off them for more than a few seconds.
"She never lies to me -- I have no reason to question her," he replied with half a smile. He let his comment linger and waited. He didn't know what her game was, but he was willing to wait and see. Her move. She stayed about five paces away from him, to the right and a little behind where he stood. Close enough that she was in his peripheral vision, though just barely. She was positioned in a way that kept her mostly hidden from the playground. Completely hidden if the shadows were just right.
After a minute or two of silence, during which he forced himself not to look her way, she spoke again. "So... you don't know me, but..." He turned and gave her a questioning look. She seemed almost flustered, hands shoved in her pockets. "I mean... we're strangers and all, but I've seen you around the neighborhood. You've probably seen me out here with my kids -- you just don't remember."
He took a moment to look her over. Tight t-shirt partially concealed with an unzipped hoodie. Tight blue jeans. Sandals showing off freshly painted nails. Wavy brown hair swept up in a way that showed off her elegant neck. Healthy curves, top and bottom. When his eyes returned to her face, he saw a smug little smile that told him she knew he had been checking her out.
When was the last time his wife had taken such care to look sexy?
"Anyway," she went on, feeling a little more confident after seeing she had his attention, "my husband promised me anything I wanted for my birthday. A fantasy fulfillment of my choosing." She took a step closer to him and looked down at the ground. Her voice lowered. "I told him that I wanted one time -- a freebie -- with a stranger."
"Why did you ask for that?" he said nervously, ready to back up if she got too close.
"Doesn't matter, does it?"
He shrugged. "Probably matters to your husband."
"Well, that's between me and him," she shot back.
"And what did your husband say?"
She smirked. "He wasn't too happy. Didn't even let me explain." She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "But he knows I love him. He'll come around." She took a few steps backwards while maintaining eye contact with him. "And when he does, maybe I'll see you around here again."
He let the weight of that not-so-subtle suggestion sink in. She smiled coyly as the implications registered. Then she nodded towards the playground. "Better check on your kids... stranger." As he turned to make sure all three of the older kids were still in sight and still mobile and the youngest still asleep in the stroller, she turned and jogged to the sidewalk, disappearing around the corner.
His eyes remained on the kids, but his thoughts wandered far afield until his stomach urged him to call everyone back to the house. He got a text from his wife.
Back in a bit. Bringing lunch home with me
.
*******
"Sorry to rush out like that," his wife apologized as she pulled food out of boxes and bags and set it on the table.
"No problem," he said pensively, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching his wife move around. Her hair was pulled into a hurried ponytail, and she wore a light sweater than still managed to look frumpy. "Sounded pretty urgent."
"Yep," she replied. "Definitely was." The tension over their argument from the previous night was still present, but slightly dissipated. She was at least talking to him again. "You and the kids have a good time?" she asked.
"Yeah," he answered, trying to get a look at his wife's face. Trying to see what she might be thinking. "We went to the playground for a while."
"That's nice," she said, handing him a sandwich. "They need to get out more, especially when the weather's nice." And with that, the conversation was over.
That night, as he lay next to her in the dark, he listened to the steady breathing that told him she was asleep. He had hoped that her friendlier behavior that day had been hinting at an openness to intimacy, but by the time he had gotten the last kid to bed, he arrived at his own bedroom to find his wife under the covers and unresponsive. He lay on his back an looked up at the stars visible through the skylight in their bedroom.
He realized that, despite their six years together, the woman next to him was still a mystery. Not that he didn't know her at all, quite the opposite, in fact. But especially now that the kids and jobs kept them so busy, it was so hard to feel like they were growing together instead of living parallel lives. He longed to roll over, spoon up behind her, and tease her awake. They used to do that -- sometimes. But age and familiarity had stolen most of the playfulness and excitement out of their bedroom.
More often than not, during the past year or two sex had become a chore -- something they did because they were supposed to, because it was bad if you were married and didn't have sex. She accommodated his appetite when schedules and energy levels and kids' sleep schedules allowed. But what man wants to feel like his wife is having sex out of duty? Smiling out of duty. Kissing because she should. Reaching around and touching his bare back because that's what she's supposed to do when he's on top of her. Waiting patiently for him to finish. Planning their grocery shopping while he is inside her.
He had even, on a couple of occasions, faked an orgasm because he didn't want
her
to feel like she was inadequate or undesirable. But honestly, watching her stifle a yawn while he was fully inside her really didn't make him feel desired. And not being sexually desired by his own wife... it was like a wet blanket, not only on his libido but also on his self-esteem.
He wondered, perhaps for the first time, what
she
was feeling in the midst of all this. Did
she
care that sex had become an afterthought in their marriage? Did she know or care that he needed more than civility, bagged lunches, and an occasional hug to feel like he mattered to her?
Did
he matter? Or were they on a path of accepting the status quo, because it was easier than the alternatives?
His last thoughts before he drifted off to sleep were that maybe he could understand why someone would ask for a freebie -- for one time with a stranger. Just to feel alive again.
*******
Life continued at its usual pace: school, work, playtime, dinner, housework, and so on. His wife had a busy week at the office, and his job required a few extra hours near the end of the week. By the time Friday night rolled around, he had barely seen his wife except in passing. She promised things would slow down soon, and he knew she meant it when she said that. But still...
