An Affair Of Another Color

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This is something that happened to me recently and something I wanted to put down in writing. The subject matter involves infidelity so if you don't like that you should stay away.

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Most people when they're young don't believe that they will follow their parent's footsteps. The notion of doing or becoming anything so boring is sometimes cause for revulsion. Even those who come from supportive happy homes have no desire to continue the cycle even if that cycle doesn't seem all that bad. Our parents are bland and boring people who never had fun in their lives, they lived to enforce rules and make sure we didn't have too much fun. The security and the stability, while often taken for granted, was appreciated and our love was their reward. That's how I felt and I don't mean to project but I feel like all a lot of my peers felt the same way.

As we went out into the world we were going to change it, make it something that we could call our own, something exciting. My idealism was at an all time high when I went off the school to be a scientist of sorts. Maybe I would make a ground breaking study, maybe I would unify the theory of physics! Ok, ok, I wasn't that optimistic but you get the idea. It was during my summer job at a weather office that I decided that I would go into Environmental studies and Environmental science. Global warming here I come!

Now as I sit here looking in the mirror at a slight bulge in my tummy and trying different ways to suck it in while my mind wanders to how life can catch up to anyone's ideals. When deciding between going hard into my field and maybe getting a PHD or something like that or family I chose a family. I got married rather young by today's standards and if anyone really chose to get a calculator and do that math I was already pregnant when my wedding gown was being adjusted and readjusted. I still got a good job in my field, I work in an emissions research lab, not as flashy as I might have thought but by most anyone's standards a good paycheck.

I have the respect of my peers and have made my parents proud. My husband completed his engineering degree and went to work for a small firm but also makes good money; although his job does put him on the road from time to time. Six years after our son was born, and I had time to establish myself at work, I gave birth to our daughter. Our son, Justin, is now 15 and our daughter, Lisa, is 9.

I'm not sure when it all happened but we acquired all sorts of stuff. I never realized all the stuff we had until we moved. When we moved to a bigger house I guess we had to because we were running out of places to put all this stuff! The new house was fully equipped with central air, a two car garage and even a swimming pool. That's when the awful truth hit me: we were just like my parents. The cycle had continued in almost perfect harmony, my husband and myself are both professional just like my parents, we have two children just like my parents, and now we even had a swimming pool just like my parents. All this and the world was still the same world that we had inherited from them and before we could change it we are already passing it on to our children.

Looking at my body in the mirror nothing could mask the fact that I wasn't getting younger or reaching my peak, I was getting older. I'm not out of shape or anything, I work hard to stay active, but it's just that it takes so much more these days. I can't hide my wrinkles completely and I have stretch marks from when the children were born. When I was younger I had the body of a dancer (ballet that is) and even when I stopped dancing I did other things to try to keep my figure. I like being desirable and never wanted to lose that feeling. When it was time to hang up my tutu I turned to the gym, I turned to running, I tried swimming, I tried yoga and I eventually settled on soccer. I joined an adult league and even with my slight frame I wasn't even the worst player, not close to the best either but it was enough fun that I have stuck with it to this day.

In light of all of that I am still staring down this little pouch were my tummy was once flat. One of the reasons that I'm so worried about putting on weight is that I know that it just wouldn't suit me. Some women carry their weight well and can still look very beautiful and even sexy, but these are women with large breasts. My breasts never really grew much, I wear a b-cup, 34b, but I could probably get away with wearing an A. I would just rather I had a little room in there and give the impression of bigger than wearing one tight to my skin. Not that I'm all that shy about it, after I got out of high school, I have always been comfortable with my body; small tits and all. I always figured what I lacked there I made up for with my legs. I am slight of frame and for that reason feel petite in size but I'm not short, I am 5'7" and have long dancer's legs. At least they were dancer's legs they may have been becoming soccer legs over the past 10 years. Still I hate this pouch!

"I think men still look at me." I said silently to myself as I tried on my lingerie.

I can see them look at me, I can still notice. Not as many as when I was younger, there was no fooling myself into believing that, but still I can see them look. I've even saw a young man look at my ass in a grocery store the other week, he thought he was being discreet but I saw his eyes wander. Of course, this was just a small thrill there I was with my young daughter walking down the produce aisle with my wedding ring on, still it was nice to get a thrill. Putting on my small black panties and lacy bra to match the thought just served to depress me.

I want my husband to look at me like that, but he hasn't looked at me like that for years; like he takes me for granted. I can't remember the last time he took me away for a romantic getaway. Not a trip were I make the plans, think of things for the kids to do and he just gets in the car and drives. I want him to tell me that I drive him wild, that the kids are at my parents and that I was going with him. He would take me to a hotel with flowers in his hands, candy on the bed and satin sheets soon to be covering my body. Why do I keep trying to look good for him if he won't do that for me?

We still have sex, sure we have sex. But the sex we have this sexy outfit will just be wasted on. Sex has more or less become a routine and not really as regular as the word would imply. I don't mean to say that it's all his fault because it's not, the lack of romance doesn't put me in the mood all the time. I also don't like to do it until late at night because I don't want the kids to hear. I'm not a total prude in any way but it does make me a bit uncomfortable if I think the kids could be wide awake. If they're still up and it's past mid-night and the bed starts creaking I won't get a guilty conscience over that. My husband does complain that we don't do it enough and that makes me feel bad but for some reason just asking for it isn't the biggest turn on for me.

I wish he would take notice when I put on an outfit like the one that I'm looking at myself in the mirror as I tuck in my tummy, stand up on my toes and look at my ass in profile. I think to myself, "Michelle girl, at 38 you still got it." I wear my hair long; it's brown and sort of curls at the bottom I have started to get a few grays but I haven't started colouring yet. I have brown eyes that I sometimes cover with glasses but mostly I wear contact lenses. There are some wrinkles that show through on my face and while they do worry me I have come to accept them. The panties are small, black with satin lace, not a g-string but they show off my ass, they make me feel sexy. If I dress like this he's sure to remember that he has one sexy wife and one that deserves to be swept of her feet, this much I'm sure of. One thing I'm also sure of is that the type of sex I'm tired of is the type were he asks until I give in followed by 10 minutes of pounding and right to sleep.

Where's the danger in that, where is the excitement? The thoughts continue to cascade over my mind as I exchange my little black panties for my navy cotton ones and get ready to begin my day. Beginning my day with the hopes that things will change but the realistic knowledge in my mind that my hopes are not about to be realized. That's what 15 years of marriage can do, if you asked either one of us I'm sure neither would hesitate to profess their love for the other. And I do love him very much; he is my first true love and the one whom I plan to be my last. He is the father of my children and there is no doubt in my mind that he would do as much for them as I would; we would both lay down our lives for them.

The day that was beginning was a Saturday. Meaning that the Saturday routine was in full order and I had to snap out of my daydreaming and get on with life. My husband often worked on Saturdays and this was no exception, this meant that the kids were my job. I like to keep them busy and give them structure as I figure will make them more rounded and keep them away of dangers. Lisa tends to thrive on this and looks forward to each lesson while Justin tends to resist. He prefers Facebook and joking with his friends to planned activities but that's not something that I would allow him to do all day.

My daughter is in gymnastics and takes it quite seriously. Her body is entering her peak of athleticism and her confidence in her routines is growing every day. My son plays hockey and the guitar but sometimes he worries me as he seems to grow more moody every day. My friends and parents tell me that it's typical teenager stuff but it still breaks my heart. There was a time when we were so close in everything and he was so happy. Now he likes to lock himself in his room and go on his lap top. It's embarrassing to say but he's rude to me as well, he never says I love you anymore and generally shuts me out of his personal business. It's something that I'm supposed to accept but it bothers me to no end and has been the cause of more than a few fights. My husband will often intervene on my behalf but privately later tell me to calm down and that he's just going through a phase. I can't help that I'm an emotional person and sometimes his phases find me crying in the washroom. Mostly I feel concerned for him and it makes it hard for me to feel happy at home.

I actually felt relieved that I would be leaving him at home that morning as it was my daughter's gymnastic lesson I would be taxiing for. Her lessons are down at the university gym where the instructors are mostly university students making ends meet teaching some lessons. The gymnasium has stands made out of wood that can serve for an audience during competitions or a place for the parents to rest and watch the lessons. I'm a proud parent but I don't watch her every step or every balance on the beam. I spend a lot the hour playing on my phone or casually talking to one of the other moms.

The class is split into a girl's side and a boy's side. The boys side is mostly little boys, I even made my son do it when he was younger and he never forgets the trial that I put him through. One of the many scars I supposedly have inflicted on him. The girls are taught by girls and the boys are taught by boys, one of the boys always says hi to me but we weren't on a first name basis or anything.

After the lesson I took Lisa shopping, like we do most weekends, and she helped (in her own way) get the groceries for the coming week. She liked to come as it made sure she would get in her lunch what she wanted, so long as it passed my health seal of approval. I actually found myself taking extra long at the store, until Lisa even asked me what the hold-up was. It hit me at that moment and I'm sort of ashamed to say it but I really didn't want to be swept into one of my son's moods, I was actually avoiding him.

After a few speeches about being an adult and slapping myself straight in my mind we were on our way home. I had to take my son to hockey practice which in Canada at his age was getting ever more militant. He is a pretty good player and I can tell he likes being there once I drag him out of the house. I don't feel as comfortable at his practices as I don't really fit in with the other hockey moms. I'm the sporty type but I'm not very competitive, when I play I don't really care who wins and who loses. When I watch him of course I want him to win but I don't get into anyone's face about ice time, I don't yell at kids over the boards and I don't make a total fool out of myself like some of the parents. I feel so embarrassed for them and have a hard time even relating casually to them. It's sort of a drag because the demands of hockey make my presence at rinks much more than I would like it to be. My unassuming demeanor also means to my son that I don't advocate for him, one of my many so called failures to him.

Almost needless to say after the events of Saturday I was looking forward to Sunday to do my own thing. We have a non formal and non verbal agreement that Sunday is my day of rest and my husband handles the kids. His way of handling our son is mostly to leave him alone but I guess that gives him daughter time and that is nice. As for myself I wasn't about to stay around the house and fight with my son so I made up my mind to go to the gym.

I hadn't been in a while but if I was going to get rid of this pouch soccer just wasn't going to be enough. I got my gym bag together and put on a pair of yoga pants, I didn't really like to leave the house in just tights so I threw a pair of jeans on top of that. I had a pass at the gym down by the university where my daughter does gymnastics so I decided to use it. My plan was to go to the gym while she was at her lessons but it never seemed to materialize. Regardless I was going to take my time this Sunday and really clear my head.

I hit the weights, I hit the bike, went to the pool and even the whirl pool. By the time I was done I felt completely relaxed, tired and renewed all at the same time. It was exactly what I needed as it seemed to flush out all the garbage thoughts I had been thinking all week. It was in this wonderful state of mind I made my way to the exit when......

"Hey, don't I know you," the voice of a young man began, "yes, your son is in my class."

My son isn't in any class flashed through my head as I turned to see who recognized the back of my head. It was the young man who would say hi to me as I waited for my daughter to have her lesson.

I corrected him, "I think you mean my daughter is in the class next to yours."

A little flustered by his obvious error he continued, "oh, but it's still you, I mean you look a little different, I mean in how you're dressed, but it's still you, I'm Mark by the way."

A bit taken back by his seeming familiarity with me I nevertheless introduced myself, "I'm Mrs. ________, and my son was in your side years ago but there's no way you could of........." I trailed off as I realized the silliness of my comment given his obvious age.

I felt a little bit of awkwardness but I also felt it was proper that I introduced myself by my proper name. It seemed to tie his tongue for a second or two but being tongue tied didn't seem like something that was common for him so he regained his composure pretty quickly.

"I go to the university, I'm a fourth year art student." he announced as if to quickly move into conversation.

From there the questions flowed sort of naturally as we stood in the entrance of the gym. I asked what sort of art he was studying, what he wanted to do when it was over and the typical questions an older person asks a younger.

"Would you like to get some coffee with me?" he blurted out as we talked.

"I don't know if I should, I will be expected home soon." this wasn't really true but I wasn't sure if I should be going for coffee with this rather peculiar boy. I mean why did he even want to have coffee with me?

"I just thought since we were standing here talking it might be better to have a seat, it won't take long, I won't keep you." he lightly insisted.

I didn't really want to go home as I remembered when I told him that I had to. It really did seem like I "had" to, like it was a chore. I really wasn't expected home at any time so I took up his invitation and we went for coffee. He was a good conversationalist; his enthusiasm was enough to suck me into whatever he was talking about. We talked a bit about art and I told him about how I was a dancer when I was younger. He seemed genuinely interested but I felt a bit bad that all my conversation topics were about what I had done in the past. Made me feel sort of like an observer in the world again rather than a doer.

We had about three cups of coffee and I felt like my bladder was going to give way at some point so I said my good-byes. I couldn't help thinking that he was a nice young man and that that girls must have been all over him. He was attractive in a pleasant way. His nicely groomed eye brows and huge smile stood out to me as did his ebony skin. He was about 6 feet tall and obviously in good shape from his time at the gym and his skill in gymnastics. I thought to myself as I drove home that I hoped my son would be so well adjusted when he got to university. Mark gave me a good feeling, I wasn't sure what it was but it was nice.

Once I got home I was in a very good mood something that was less and less common these days. I wasn't even going to let me son bring me down, I would usually fight with him to get his homework done but that wasn't going to happen this night. I decided that I was going to slip into my newly bought lingerie and surprise my husband and perhaps my boots could be knocked! Being in a good mood for me is my main aphrodisiac, better than chocolate, better than red wine and certainly better than having a certain something waved in my face. My son happens to be the good mood killer these days so my plan was to avoid him, I didn't even want to feel awful about it that night, I would have time for that the next day.

To continue with my good spirits I opened a bottle of wine to share with dinner. I'm not a heavy drinker but I do drink enough to have some wine in the house for when the need arises. I prefer red so I took my time with dinner and sipped slowly letting the kids clear the table long before I was done.

Maybe I shouldn't be so much of a perfectionist but there are some nights when you just hope everyone will act like you want them to, like you deserve a break and don't want to verbalize what you want because that would ruin it all. My husband decided that he had to get some work done and was elbow deep in technical drawing by the time the last drop fell from the bottle. The kids were fighting as my son wasn't letting my daughter watch want she wanted to watch on TV. I can't say I completely blame him for this as she can really watch some dumb stuff but I also just wish he had the maturity to be nice to his little sister every now and then.

In any event this night I was not putting on my referee uniform, I was going to open another bottle of wine. These glasses flowed more quickly than the first bottle until the bottom was clear, I figured I wasn't quite wine poor yet so I opened the last bottle. Like I said I'm not a heavy drinker so three bottles is way past my limit and I was pretty drunk. I wasn't feeling all that romantic either and didn't have the energy or balance to slip into my little black panties. Instead I decided to go unannounced to bed with most of the wind out of my sails.

From all indications my husband sensed my state of inebriation and begun his carnal assault.

"Michelle." he whispered into my half sleeping ear, "Let's have sex."