Note to readers: Read Part 1; you will enjoy this so much more if you do. This work continues my effort to challenge tropes around infidelity and explore desire from different perspectives. Per usual, it does not fit easily into a single category.
My phone chimed. It was Mary, my wife. "Hey," I said.
"Pete, can you come home early tonight?" she asked. "Don't worry, everything's OK."
In the almost year since Mary broke things off with Bill, we'd seen lots of changes.
We didn't see much of Bill these days. He kept a friendly, respectful distance, but we learned his Quick-Oil-Change business was growing and expanding. He was even opening up a second location. We heard he still dated frequently, now a better class of women, but it never went very far. I suspected he was still feeling the hurt from his first wife's betrayal.
Or maybe he was in love with someone else?
Mary was teaching graphic design at the university. She had a real talent for photo editing, telling stories with images, and it really brought out the best in her.
My data consulting career took off, but oddly enough, it was partly due to the fact I refused to work after 5 p.m. or on weekends. My wife came first, always. At work, I became a rare commodity, in demand. My income increased, and I was able to become more selective about the jobs I took, traveling less, and devoting more time to my marriage.
The results were undeniable: Mary and I were great. Things between us were never better, her affair with Bill was now a distant memory. We were now dedicated to each other. In bed, I really focused on her, trying to pick up her non-verbal clues and respond. Each time we made love, I wanted it to be more exciting than the last.
We started to be more spontaneous with each other, too. I'd surprise her in the kitchen by kissing her and massaging her butt or even pussy from behind, and she'd sneak in and blow me in the shower. We'd find a secluded section of the parkway and pull over to make out, or even something more daring.
And then, there was our date night. Date Night! We'd plan it carefully, then for hours, or even days in advance, we'd both tease and tantalize each other, share sexy giggles and sultry whispers, each glance a promise, each tender touch igniting a spark, building desire between us.
Then, the main event, fancy dinner, show or concert, vacation, or trip. When we finally made it to our bedroom, clothes would be ripped off, and we devoured each other like lovers possessed, lost in a marathon of ecstasy, every moan and caress, unleashing unrestrained bliss. A marathon of intense sexual pleasure. Yes, we are good now.
Tonight, however, she met me in the kitchen, took me in her arms, and kissed me. "Pete, I'm feeling weak," she admitted. I paused for a moment, and I knew what she meant.
"Bill's been on your mind?" I asked with a tinge of apprehension. She nodded, timidly.
"Well, you do have a giant picture of him naked hanging in our garage," she reminded me. "I see it every day."
"Yeah, that joke is spent. I'll take it down," I offered.
She put her hand on my face. "Not yet, maybe," she hinted. "Let me show you something."
Mary showed me what she'd been up to on her graphic design station. She had several of the pics Bill had taken of them having sex on the screen. Some were snapshots, and some were converted into artistic edits, dramatic or even avant-garde. "I was making a photo book of our lives, and I came across these on your old phone," she told me. "I had many on my phone too, and I'm sure Bill had hundreds. Taking pictures of us, making me pose, pretending he was exposing me, and threatening to post them online for anyone to see was one of his kinks...being exposed and photographed was one of mine."
Seeing those images again, recalling the betrayal I felt, their affair had me questioning my very manhood. Beneath my calm, confident façade, long-buried feelings of shame and envy crept back to the surface. I thought I'd moved past these emotions, but had I? In every image, Mary glowed--smiling, laughing, lost in pleasure, or reveling in ecstasy. It wasn't just the raw eroticism or the forbidden thrill of her affair. It was the undeniable truth etched in her expression: Bill ignited something in her I didn't, perhaps never could. As I glanced at her now, the same spark danced in her eyes, each photo calling to mind those moments.
She stood close to me as each of those pictures appeared on the screen and faded away, replaced by the next in the rotation. Mary's hand fell lightly onto my penis over my slacks, feeling it get harder, as we watched.
"I'd like to make a book of that experience and of our reconciliation, of that time in our lives," she said and sighed, "The eroticism, the story those pictures tell, is very powerful."
I was hesitant--it was a painful memory. For me, at least.
"I texted Bill to see if he still had his old phone, and he did. I asked him, and he agreed to give me the originals, hundreds of them," she informed me. "The stills, movies, and audio--all of it. I want it," she whispered into my ear, her warm breath punctuating her meaning. I knew what she was really asking.
I closed my eyes and visualized them together, those pictures revealing so much joyful bliss on her face, how passionate she sounded on that fateful phone call! God, she was electric with him, alive! I wanted that for her.
And yet, those images still haunted me.
"We should invite him over tonight," she said. "Do you think he'll agree?" she asked, playfully.
"Agree?" I chuckled in spite of myself. "Are you kidding? I feel bad for anyone who gets in his way!" I quipped.
Then I got serious. "Should I get a hotel room?" I asked, uncertainly, unsure of the role she had in mind for me.
"No, Pete, I want you here," she insisted. "I want to do it right this time. What do you think?"
I kissed her. "It sounds exciting, babe," I assured her.
I reflected on where I now found myself: Mary, my wife, had just informed me she wanted to fuck an old flame. A year ago I'd have been crushed, jealous, and angry about even the suggestion. What a difference the last year has made! I loved her, she loved me, and nothing would change that. I wasn't worried. In fact, I was strangely calm, as if her admission only affirmed the strength of our bond.
"You know, when I broke it off with him, it stopped, but never really concluded. I miss him, Pete," she confessed.
