(This story takes place in a fictional world with fictional people. Any similarities to people or things in the world we actually live in is coincidental.)
*****
A week of vacation for Walt meant an especially busy week for the other employees of Nelson Plumbing. Tim, Cliff, and the apprentices did their best to handle the increased workload, both trucks returning each day with the setting sun or beyond.
Gwen pitched in where she could, doing her best to keep things going both in the business and in the home, delivering needed supplies to jobsites for the overworked crews while making sure her husband had something warm to eat and nothing more to do when he pulled into the yard each evening.
The early mornings and late nights all but ruled out any physical intimacy as Tim would stumble in, eat, shower, and fall asleep, only to begin the cycle again early the next morning. Gwen resisted the urge to bring her toys out from the closet, feeling that tending to her own pleasure when her husband was working so hard was a kind of betrayal.
The time alone gave her plenty of time to think, in particular about Alison's questioning of her parents' love life. Her daughter's belief "that if you don't give guys...that, they'll find it somewhere," awoke old assumptions and suspicions. Gwen's mother had instilled her own version of that message as she was growing up, that men who would not demand the sins of the flesh were the ones worth marrying. In truth, Irene Curran had hinted more than once that all men were susceptible to the availability of easy women, and that all that could be expected of a husband was to be discrete in his affairs. In fact, provided it didn't become an embarrassment in social circles or produce unwanted challengers to the family fortunes, the infidelity might even be a blessing in disguise to a married woman as she would no longer have to perform those ghastly duties for anything other than producing legitimate heirs. Still, her mother took delight when the husbands of her circle of friends were caught in compromising positions. There was a special level of righteous superiority reserved for the few wives who fell into the same trap.
Gwen would not be surprised if her own father was that type of husband, and that her mother tolerated, if not approved, of the arrangement. He was a good father, perhaps a bit distant and formal, but he was a man, and she had never seen her parents share anything more than a polite kiss. However, he never seemed to be without an attractive, young, sometimes single, sometimes not, secretary, even having her travel to conferences with him on occasion "so they could get some work done", just as most of the other partners in the firm did...Adam was the only partner who had an assistant older than the man she worked for.
Tim's not like that, the Lady would always argue defiantly. Tim has never given you any reason to believe he might be doing that on the side, even if your sex life has not been...perverted. There's no need to stoop to being a slut to keep a man who has been true to you. But if he's not getting what he wants, the Slut would counter, how long before he does wander?
What more could he possibly want? She had loosened up quite a bit these past couple of months, was more free with what she allowed him to see, their lovemaking had been more frequent ...she was even using her mouth on him, for heaven's sake! The knowledge that she had done these things for her own deviant needs, and not necessarily his, haunted her. Even her boudoir shoot, done as a gift for her husband, had devolved into her flaunting her naked body for a strange man.
You could ask what he wants, the Slut suggested. The Lady harrumphed at the suggested invasion of privacy and the idea she might find out more than she wanted to know, but evenings spent waiting for Tim to come home wore her down, her refusal to combat the stress with sexual relief only making matters seem more urgent. The dreams returned several nights, awaking her each time just before Liz's hand caressed her face. It became not an issue of whether to ask, but how.
The work week ended mercifully with Tim making it home at a decent hour on Friday, early enough for a regular meal and a swim before bedtime. Gwen looked forward to spending the weekend with her husband, content to let him sleep tonight and satisfy her urges in the morning. Cliff had the emergency call duty for the entire weekend, and there was nothing to interrupt the couple's alone time. She hoped she would be able to find the right moment to ask him what he really wanted from their love live and quell her fears.
"Oh, hey, meant to tell you," Tim sleepily called over his shoulder as they lay in bed that night. "Me and Ed are taking his boat and going fishing tomorrow. I know I'm behind on stuff around here, but I really need to get out on the water for a bit after the week we had. You don't mind, do you?"
Gwen did her best to hide her disappointment. "No, no, of course. You should get out for a while—it'll do you good. There's nothing around here that can't wait." A vision of he and Ed, out on the boat with a pair of buxom young women aboard, her husband using a different kind of pole to fish with, began to form.
"Thanks honey, I appreciate it. I really just need a little time on the lake. I'll get stuff done when I come back, I promise." Tim rolled back enough to find her lips. "Love you. Sleep tight."
"You too." Gwen lay there, staring at the ceiling long after the steady breathing coming from the pillow next to her told her he was asleep. They hadn't made love since last weekend. Was fishing more important than that? Or did he plan on rising early enough to do both? Was sex just not important to him anymore? Or was it just sex with her?" She knew she was being irrational, such a rare occurrence for her, and the lack of experience with it made it difficult to stop. The thoughts chased each other around her head until she fell into a fitful sleep.
The dream returned that night. It was the same familiar setting, only she was surprised to find Tim standing there as her keeper, dressed in the standard-issue Nelson Plumbing workshirt and pants, the riding crop in his hands seeming so absurd—he didn't ride!—while Liz climbed the low set of stairs. She reached to caress her face, finally making contact.
"Here you go," Tim said as if loaning out a tool, "maybe you can teach her a few new tricks. Just don't break anything, alright?"
"No permanent damage," Liz agreed with a confident smile, examining the chained woman who was doing her best to avoid eye contact. The hand left Gwen's face and reached between her spread legs...
She awoke with a start. "What the hell?" she thought groggily, finding the situation serious enough to swear to herself. She was certainly not her husband's property to give away, and most certainly not to another woman! Anger and arousal swirled.
The effects of the dream only worsened a few moments later when Tim awoke at first light and hurriedly dressed. Wearing nothing more than a t-shirt, Gwen offered to make him coffee for the road, but he declined the beverage while missing the more obvious invitation. Tim risked a quick squeeze of her bare bottom as he kissed her goodbye, and she stood on the deck, oblivious to the cool dawn air on her bare lower half, while he loaded his truck with poles and a tackle box. With a wave, he was down the driveway and gone.
Gwen returned to the kitchen and started some coffee while she tried to make sense of the situation. She had practically thrown herself at him; he had refused. Maybe he didn't find sex as important as she had assumed? Or was she boring and he was saving his energy for better things somewhere else that morning? She cursed Alison for putting the idea in her head, then quickly cursed herself. No, it's not her fault. It's always been there. You just chose to ignore it.
She sat in the kitchen for some time drinking coffee, thinking, not caring who might walk in on her in her state of undress. Practical ideas—barn chores, laundry, a ride, fought with more irrational thoughts. She should go down to the landing and see if Tim's truck was there. That would just prove he's on Ed's boat, she knew. No telling who else was out there with them. And how would she explain it to him if she was sitting there, waiting for him, when they came back? Hi honey, just wanted to make sure you didn't find someone younger and prettier and willing to satisfy your every need. What would you like for dinner? Her irrationality seemed to mock her inability to control it.
A masturbatory session was considered; if he didn't want to take care of her, then she would take care of herself; but the notion that his lack of action somehow required revenge did not sit well with her. In the end, she passed the time by tending to the barn while the horses nickered nervously at the obvious smell of stress coming from the human in their midst. A ride up the ridge followed, and laundry followed that, her time spent thinking only strengthening her resolve to be everything Tim might desire in the bedroom and win him back from the naked women on the boat. What exactly 'everything' might be, and whether it would be enough, worried her.
Gwen did her best to put on her calm and composed face when she heard Tim's truck coming up the driveway well after lunch. His scowl and stiff-legged walk as he climbed the deck stairs told her he had not had the relaxing morning he had hoped for. A strong smell of gasoline swept over her instead the hoped-for smells of a day spent around bait and fish.
"So, we get halfway across the lake when the outboard quits. We spent two hours trying to fix it—Goddamn Ed doesn't keep a real toolbox on board—and when we finally get it going, it's painfully slow. We had canoes passing us, for Christ's sake. And I couldn't even troll while we were on the way back, because I had to keep the fuel line from falling off while Goddamn Ed drove. Then we get back and I had to help take the Goddamn outboard off of Goddamn Ed's boat and put it in the back of his truck so he can get it looked at. Sure as hell I'm gonna be busy when he needs to put it back on." Tim paused, out of breath and out of story. "Hi. How was your morning?"
Gwen smiled, amused at the outburst she knew to be her husband at his angriest, and horrified that she could ever have suspected him of cheating.
"I'd kiss you, but I'm pretty flammable at the moment," he called out on his way to the bedroom before she could answer. "I should have just stripped on the deck in case my shirt catches fire."
