She doublechecked her measurements against the blinds in her cart to be sure she had the correct sizes for the living room windows. It had been a casual statement at breakfast, the fact that she was going shopping for window coverings, that caused her husband to freeze with his spoonful of Frosted Flakes halfway to his mouth. His grateful smile--and the realization that he thought it was because of his concern from the evening before--made her flush in guilty embarrassment. The sudden rosiness of her cheeks made him reach out and pat her arm in reassurance.
"It's okay, honey," he had said soothingly. "They're just typical boys who can't help but watch a beautiful woman when they get the chance. We'll get those blinds up and then you won't have to worry about anyone invading your privacy."
She had just nodded silently, the flushed a deep crimson now, watching him as he got up, leaving his bowl of sugary milk and soggy flakes on the table beside the opened box of cereal and the litre of milk, and headed for the front door. He had knocked his shoes together, the dried bits of mud spattering on the floor, before leaning against the wall to put them on.
"I'll be gone until Sunday night for this music festival. I'll help you with the blinds when I get home." He'd came over and given her a kiss on the forehead. "Don't miss me too much!"
"I'll try not to," she'd managed to reply with forced joviality and a tight smile, but he was already out the door. With a sigh, she'd finished her tea and started cleaning the kitchen, wondering how her life had become so boring, so routine, so passionless. Her hand had started to shake as she wiped up the ring of milk from his cereal bowl when she thought of the night before. Had that really been her? It seemed so far away, so distant, surreal, as if she'd dreamed it. She'd been restless all night, feigning sleep when Matthew had come home, feeling guilty and not sexually drawn to him at that moment. Even when he'd snuggled up behind her in his post-practice routine, his erection hard against her ass, wanting that quick release that would bring him down from his musical high and help him sleep, she'd laid still, forcing her breathing to be deep and regular. After rubbing against her for a couple minutes, he had given up, rolled over, and the bed had moved to the quick rhythm of dry skin on skin. Ordinarily she was compelled to always be his release, to forever be readily available for his satisfaction, religiously believing that if you're being a good wife your man never should have to masturbate, but last night the desire to cater to his sexual whims was strangely absent. She'd pondered this as she wiped the counters and put the dishes into the dishwasher.
Now, waiting in the long checkout line, she wondered exactly what she was doing.
'I'm just buying blinds. Everyone has blinds. It means nothing. He probably won't even come over tonight. The blinds will be good. A physical barrier between me and the temptation to repeat last night's brazen impulsive exhibitionism. That's it. I'm just going to put them up and pretend nothing ever happened.' She glanced at the checkout line to her right to see a middle-aged woman and the child in her cart staring at her, and she realized she'd been muttering out loud. She pulled out her list of measurements and pretended to be engrossed in the numbers until it was her turn to pay.
Pulling into her driveway, she couldn't help but glance at the house next door. All seemed still. She hurriedly carried the blinds into the house and dumped them on the floor.
'If I get them up before tonight, then I can just tell him I don't need his help and downplay the rest of the interchange we'd had. A slave! Pffff! Who would take anyone seriously about that anyway? Absurd.' She pulled out the instructions and groaned. "Easy to assemble" was always a lie.
By the time she'd sorted out the hardware, found all the tools she would need, and dug the stepladder out of the garage, it was midafternoon. She decided to do the window by her desk first, to tackle the most obvious line of sight from the currently still house next door. No sign of activity whatsoever, she noted to herself. Must be nice to sleep all day.
She hadn't even gotten the second bracket in before her shoulder started aching from reaching and pushing while turning the screwdriver to attempt to drive the screw into the hard wooden window frame. She dropped her arm, shaking it out, closing her eyes and leaning her head to the left to stretch out the tense shoulder muscles. When she opened her eyes, she found herself looking down at Josh, who was watching her. She quickly hid the screwdriver behind her back and gave a little wave. He said something to her that she couldn't hear and cursed her inability to read lips. Slowly she opened the window.
"Hi," she said awkwardly, giving him a polite smile.
He knitted his brow in nervous unsurety, and finally blurted out, "Wasn't I going to help you with that?"
He looked so awkward and confused, and a little hurt, and she felt bad. "Yes. Yes, of course. I just thought...I just thought I'd get a little headstart on it. It looks like a bigger project than I anticipated." She gave him a warm smile, hoping to see the unhappiness on his cute face dissolve. He stared at her for a moment, his hands shoved deep in his pocket, waffling between hope and feeling a fool. The silence grew and she felt herself wanting him to look at her again the way he did last night as he was leaving, felt a desire inside her that she hadn't felt for the last few years of her married life. "Why don't you come over right now and help? I'll make you dinner."
He searched her face and then gave her a big smile that she returned immediately. "Alright, just let me changed and I'll be right there." As he hurried off into his house, she slowly stepped off the ladder and wondered what had happened to her common sense. She was a married woman, for goodness sakes, and inviting over a young man who so obviously had a crush on her couldn't possibly lead to anything good. 'Is this what a midlife crisis feels like? I'm hardly old enough to be at my midlife!! I'm not a dissatisfied housewife. Am I?'
She had barely had time to start making sense of her thoughts when the doorbell rang and he was there, holding a bottle of red wine, which made her purse her lips to contain her embarrassed smile as she felt her cheeks flush. Yes, red wine is what I prefer and, of course, he would know that. She opened it to let it breathe, and when she came back, he was already poring over the instructions and organizing the hardware, lost in thought. She watched him for a minute, savouring the intensity of his concentration, the cute way he bit his lip and frowned when he was trying to figure something out, the contour of his young lean frame as he kneeled on the floor. Impulsively she walked over to stand right in front of him. He looked up inquisitively, innocently, waiting to see what she wanted, and for a moment the word slave flashed across her consciousness. She felt an unfamiliar surge of power fill her, mischievous, daring. He waited, his eyes never leaving her face. With a slight smile, she slid her right foot forward.
"Take off my shoe for me." He stared at her for a moment, then gently placed one hand behind her heel while the other one removed her black flat. He softly caressed her bare foot before delicately guiding it to the floor. When he looked back up at her for approval, she suddenly felt overwhelmed and unable to speak. Her eyes held his as she nodded, her face intensely serious, sliding her other foot forward. His eyes never left hers as he did the same for the second shoe. The moment was thick and sweet as chocolate gelato, as they stayed frozen for what seemed an eternity, him on his knees, her towering over him. She reached down to tenderly touch his cheek with her palm, then turned and fled into the kitchen.
Shaking, she peeled the potatoes and tossed them with olive oil and seasonings, silently berating herself for continuing this charade. 'This couldn't possibly lead to anything; why am I leading him on like this? Why do I find it so appealing to have this young handsome man so willing to do whatever I want, when I am already married? Married to a man who provides a good enough wage that I don't have to work, that the bills are all paid, that I don't have any financial worries. Married to a man who was gone to rehearsals and shows five out of seven nights, and who spent the other two making love to his guitar in the basement before coming upstairs to have sex with his wife.' The sex was a formula now: a long kiss while he squeezed her left buttcheek, a grope or two of her right breast while kissing her neck for ten seconds, then the hands disrobing her, pushing her onto the bed, and less than five minutes of thrusting. Even her sounds were now rote, the same moans at the same places, the same whispered words of encouragement (he particularly liked it when she would beg him to cum in her, fill her), and the same expressions afterward. The rolling over, the pulling of her head to his shoulder, the kiss on the forehead, the "good night" and the snoring. She could script it out for a stand-in and he may not even notice that the woman beneath him was different, she thought angrily as she pounded the steaks with a mallet. Realizing her frustration, she paused, looking at the mallet, wondering where all this pentup negativity was coming from. 'I'm happily married,' she told herself firmly, resuming the pounding.
"How do you like your steak?" she asked from the doorway, watching his biceps flex as he easily secured the brackets that she'd been struggling with earlier.
He finished tightening the screw and nimbly jumped down from the stepladder. "Medium-rare, please." He tossed her a happy little smile and went in search of the next pieces he needed.
