Seven Year Scratch

Author's note: I wrote this in response to feedback from readers asking for a shorter, one-part story. It's a little longer than intended, but it takes time to flesh out the characters and develop the plot. As always, your votes, comments and feedback are much appreciated, although I may not always respond to feedback for privacy reasons. Thanks for reading!

I remember the day when it seems like things started to change. I couldn't very well forget the date. It was our wedding anniversary – seven years to the day since I married April. She was a beautiful bride, 23-years-old then with long brown hair, glowing green eyes, a long and lean body, and perfectly round but not overly-large breasts with plump nipples that begged to be sucked.

At 30, April was still beautiful, maybe more so in my eyes. Her hair was blonde now and her figure was fuller, thanks to the 20 pounds or so that had crept onto her frame over the years. She was still the love of my life, and I knew that I was too often remiss in not reminding her of that fact. I resolved to tell her so on this, our anniversary.

Driving home from my job at the insurance agency, I took the backroad because I knew there was an old white van parked every day at an abandoned gas station. A guy sold flowers out of the van and his prices were a lot more reasonable than those rip-off florists in their fancy little shops. I bypassed the five-dollar bouquets that were the van man's specialty and bought the 15-dollar spray of red roses. I always bought roses for April on special occasions.

When I got home and stepped through our front door I held the flowers behind my back. April acted surprised when I brought my arm around to display the roses as I said, "Happy anniversary, sweetheart!"

"Oh Lou," April reacted with a big smile, "You got me roses! They're beautiful! Let me put them in some water. It looks like a couple are already starting to wilt."

I stood behind my wife and gave her a backwards hug as she put the flowers in a vase.

"I love you, baby," I said as I planted a kiss on the back of her neck.

"I love you too, Lou," April said, turning around. She then stepped over to the table and picked up two gift-wrapped boxes, which she handed to me.

"Two gifts?" I said. "You shouldn't have. All I got you were the flowers."

"And that's all I need," April said in a consoling sort of way. "I have everything I've ever wanted. Now open your presents."

"Okay," I said as I opened the first small box. It was a bottle of expensive Polo cologne. "What, you don't like the way I smell?"

April just smiled and gave me a playful slap on my chest. I opened the next box, which I assumed was some item of clothing based on the box's shape and weight. Inside the box was a set of three pairs of silk boxer shorts, one black, one blue and one purple.

I held a pair of the boxers in the air and chuckled as I said, "Purple? Really? I'm not sure about this, honey. I've worn white Fruit-of-the-Looms since I got out of diapers."

"I know," April said, still smiling but clearly not joking. "Nothing but whitey-tightys, day in and day out. Well, I've decided that we need to change it up a little bit! You can use your old cotton underwear to wax the car or something."

"Okay, well, I'll try them on for you later," I said as I leaned in to give her a thank you kiss. "Are you ready to go to dinner?"

"I guess so, if you're sure that you don't want to change into your new silk boxers first," April responded with a grin. "We should get going since we both have to work tomorrow and we can't celebrate too late."

If it hadn't been a work night I might have taken April to a romantic little bistro for dinner, but I opted for Red Lobster instead. It was close by, and we both liked the food, especially the cheddar biscuits. As soon as we were seated, in the middle of the crowded dining room, I told our server to bring us some biscuits, along with ice water and two glasses of the house Chardonnay.

When the biscuits arrived a few minutes later I took one and handed the basket to April. She nodded her head no and waved the basket away with her hand.

"What?" I responded in surprise. "I brought you here for the shrimp feast and these biscuits, and now you don't want any?"

"Oh, I want them," April said, "but I've decided to try to lose a few pounds and I can't do it by scarfing down all those buttery carbs."

I patted April's hand across the table and told her that she didn't need to lose weight. I told her she was perfect just the way she was, then I added, "Well, I guess that leaves more biscuits for me."

I ordered a bowl of clam chowder and the shrimp feast. April ordered a grilled shrimp salad with dressing on the side. For desert I ordered a fudge brownie with ice cream, to share. April took two little bites and left the rest for me.

We got home before 10 PM and ordinarily would have watched TV until our usual 11 o'clock bed time, but it was our anniversary, after all, so after we checked for messages on our cell phones, standing in the kitchen, I took April's hand in mine and walked her to our bedroom.

I always thought our sex life was good. Good enough for me, anyway, and April had never complained. Now seven years into our marriage, we weren't as passionate as we once were, but we had sex two or three times a week and we both made sure that each of us reached a climax. We had developed a routine that was mutually enjoyable and reliable.

Both of us got undressed. April had a few sexy nightgowns but she seldom wore them. I would be pulling the negligee off of her in a matter of minutes, so why bother? Climbing into bed, we started with some passionate kissing. For a couple of minutes, we explored each other's mouths with our tongues, moaning quietly to amplify the effect. Then, with April on her back, I kissed my way down to her breasts. I would suck on one tit while fondling the other. April had big nipples that she liked to have nibbled and pinched while I suckled. I knew just how hard to squeeze her nips to bring her to the edge of pain without actually hurting her. After working on her boobs for a few minutes, April gently pushed my face away, letting me know she was ready for the next step. I then kissed my way down to her smooth-shaven vagina. I started kissing her pussy and licked at it with my tongue. My oral skills topped my love-making repertoire, and April always responded favorably. After a couple minutes of me lapping at her clit with my tongue April would always have an orgasm. If she had ever faked cumming, even once, her performance was certainly good enough to fool me. This time was no different.

"Oh Gawd, I'm cumming!" April squealed. "Keep it up, keep it up, keep it up! Oooh, Oooh, Ahhhh!"

As soon as April finished her climax I moved in and eased my dick into her pussy. She moaned quietly and I muttered, "Oh, that feels so good. Nice and wet and warm."

I never measured myself but I'd been in enough locker rooms to know that I was average in size, bigger than some and smaller than others.

That night I managed to piston my dick in and out of April's pussy for several minutes before I started grunting and cumming. "Uh, Uh, Uh, Uh!" Four spurts of my cum. It felt great!

As usual, April and I traded a kiss and laid next to each other, panting and catching our breaths. At some point, one of us would leave the bed and head for the bathroom to clean up and the other would follow close behind. That night – our anniversary night – we stayed on the bed a while longer.

I leaned toward my wife and gave her a quick kiss, then said, "That was really nice. Happy anniversary, sweetie."

April smiled and gave me a similar smooch, then echoed my "happy anniversary". She began to circle my sparse chest hair with her fingernail and spoke again.

"So tell me the truth. Are you feeling the 'seven year itch'?"

"The 'seven year itch'?" I pondered out loud. "That was an old movie from like the 1950s, right? I don't think I ever actually watched it."

"Yeah, it was a movie with Marilyn Monroe," April informed me. "The 'seven year itch' was a term that those old-time sex researchers came up with because they determined that if a husband or wife was going to stray from their wedding vows it was most likely to happen in their seventh year of marriage."

"Wow," I said with a grin. "You sure know your sex trivia! So, you tell me. Do you think the 'seven year itch' is real?"

April shrugged her shoulders, and with a crooked little grin, she said, "I don't know. There might be something to it. I mean, we have lots of different guys at work, and some of them flirt with me sometimes. You know how guys are, and sometimes I wonder what it might be like to, you know, get to know them better. But I asked you first! Don't you ever think about having sex with someone other than me?"

I raised my eyebrows and answered, "No. Not really." Then to lighten the moment a little, I added, "I'm pretty well satisfied with you. Besides, it would be too much freakin' work to break in another woman at this point!"

April chuckled, hopped off the bed, and went to the bathroom to wipe my cum from her pussy.

I stayed on the bed until April was done on the toilet, thinking about what she had just said and feeling a tad concerned about it. I knew how April's brain operated and I knew what it meant when she said she was "wondering about something".

Shortly after we got married, April asked me if I thought she should shave her vagina, which was quite a hairy bush at that time. I told her that it was up to her, but that it might be fun to try it. She immediately dropped her shorts to show me her already clean-shaven pussy mound.

Another time, a few years back, April asked me if I thought she should color her hair. I told her that I had fallen in love with a brunette and I didn't see any need for change. Two days later, I came home and discovered that I was married to a blonde. I had to admit, though, that I really loved her new look.

And just last year, April asked me what I thought about tattoos on women. I said that I was not a big fan of tattoos on anyone, but that some of them were okay. In less than a week April had a colorful butterfly permanently inked on her left shoulder blade.

So, given her pattern of behavior, I had to wonder whether her curiosity about having sex with some of the flirty guys at work would result in further action on her part.

I tried to put those negative thoughts out of my mind as I stepped up to the toilet bowl and wiped my penis with a tissue. I thought about the countless times that I had come in April's pussy and how much of my sperm had gone to waste over the years.

When April gave me her gifts a few hours earlier and said that "she had everything she ever wanted" she was not being 100-percent honest. One thing she wanted, and didn't have, was a baby. She wanted to be a mother. We didn't talk about it much since we both knew what the problem was. After being unable to conceive for a while, we both went for testing. The doctors determined that April's vaginal fluids had a certain pH imbalance which was toxic to my sperm. It was not a hopeless situation, since only one of my sperm had to survive April's poisonous flow to fertilize her egg, and the medical experts said that while pregnancy was unlikely, it was always a possibility. Plus, an in vitro fertilization might succeed. We had never really looked into artificial insemination, though. Not yet, anyway.

In the days and weeks that followed, I paid close attention to April, being constantly mindful of the way that she had brought up the "seven year itch" and suggested that it might be relevant and real. I wondered whether the itch was something that my wife would want to scratch, or maybe was scratching already. It wouldn't take long for me to notice some signs indicating that she might.

Changes

The next week, on a Thursday evening, April told me that she was going to join some of her coworkers when they went to a bar near her office after work the next day. The Friday-after-work-happy-hour had been going on for a couple of months but April had never participated before. I frequently met with my friends and clients over drinks so I really couldn't object to April doing the same.

The first Friday, April got home a little after 9 PM and sat down and told me more than I really wanted to know about who was there and what they talked about. April said she had had a great time and looked forward to attending the get-together every Friday unless we had something more important on our social calendar.

By her third Friday, April was getting home after 11 PM. When I mentioned the late hour she apologized but said that everyone was having lots of fun together and that she was actually one of the first to leave. I wasn't happy but I decided not to begrudge my wife a few hours of revelry after her work week.

April made a good salary at her job and I had never objected to her spending money, although she was far more extravagant than me. So, I really couldn't say anything when she started to replace her wardrobe. When I asked her why she was on such a clothes buying spree she told me that she had been needing some new things for a while, and now that she had lost 10 pounds with her dieting she felt entitled to reward herself. She really was looking great.

April reserved her most daring and revealing outfits for Fridays when she went out to the bar with her friends after work. One Friday morning I was shocked when April came into the kitchen wearing a very short miniskirt and a low-cut boob-hugging top. I did a double take when I saw her big nipples poking out through the fabric.

"You're not wearing a bra?" I asked incredulously.

"No, I don't need a bra with this top," April answered curtly. "Besides, we have casual Fridays at my company."

"Casual Fridays are for polo shirts and khaki pants, not braless boobs and skirts that show your ass!" I retorted.

April shook her head and smiled, then told me to "stop being such an old stick in the mud!"

One evening, as we sat at separate ends of the couch, watching TV, April held her cellphone, tapping out text messages. That was not unusual, but the naughty little grin on her face seemed out of place.

"Who are you texting with?" I asked in a bemused sort of way.

"Oh, just a friend at work," April answered without even looking my way. "We're getting warmed up for our Friday happy hour."

When April left the room to use the bathroom, I picked up her phone to see who she was texting, and to maybe read some of the messages. I entered her passcode, but it didn't work. I tried the four-digit code again – it was our wedding year – and I entered it carefully, but again it didn't work. April had obviously changed her code so that I couldn't snoop on her phone. I wanted to scream WTF but I just put her phone down before she came back to the couch and I said nothing.

The next Friday, April wore another outfit that I felt was totally inappropriate and she reminded me that she'd be going to happy hour after work. I came home, ate leftovers, watched TV, and waited for her to arrive. When she wasn't home by 11 PM I called her cellphone. When she didn't answer I sent her a text. She texted back, saying "be home soon." It was almost midnight when she arrived. I had been pacing the floor and met her at the door. April said, "Sorry I'm late. We all lost track of time."

Standing just inches away from my wife, I noticed the smell of cologne. The Polo cologne that April had given me. I just sort of blurted out, "I smell Polo."

April shrugged and said, "Oh, well I probably picked up some from you when I kissed you goodbye this morning. That Polo cost a pretty penny, but it lasts a long time."

"Yeah, that's probably it," I said. But I knew full well that April did not pick up the smell from me. I had an insurance meeting that morning at an allergy doctor's office and they had specifically asked me not to wear any fragrance.

I found myself becoming increasingly suspicious. The next Thursday, I told April that I wanted to join her for her Friday-after-work get-together. She immediately tried to put me off, saying that it was just her coworkers and that I might feel out of place. I persisted, saying that I wanted to meet some of the people she worked with, and to see the bar, and share a drink or two. April finally relented and we agreed that I would join her and her friends at the bar after work.

There were six people, all females, from April's office at the bar for the cocktail hour. They pulled tables together for the weekly gathering and it seemed like April and her crew were having a good time. I began to think that I had been wrong to suspect that anything inappropriate had been occurring.

There were no assigned seats and people shifted position frequently. When I got up to use the restroom I returned to find my chair next to April was occupied and I had to sit across from her and two seats down. That's when "Crazy Carrie" arrived.

Carrie was one of the newest and youngest employees at April's workplace. One of the women sitting next to me chuckled and said, "Oh boy, you're going to meet Crazy Carrie!" Carrie was different, with her green-dyed hair, piercings in her lips and eyebrows, and tattoos everywhere, from the top of her neck to the ends of both wrists. Everyone shouted "Hey Carrie" when she approached.

Carrie waved at everyone, then stepping close to my wife, Carrie loudly said, "Hey April, where the hell is Barry? Couldn't he make it tonight?"

I probably wasn't supposed to notice how all the women shot daggers at Carrie with their eyes, or the way that April blushed and her mouth fell open.

"Carrie!" one of the ladies shouted as she pointed at me, "This is Lou. April's husband, Lou!"

"Oh fuck!" Carrie exclaimed as her hand shot up to cover her mouth. Then Carrie tried to recover, saying "Hi Lou. I'm Carrie. Nice to meet you! April talks about you all the time!"

There was an awkward moment of silence, then everyone started blabbing at once, as if to distract me. At that instant I knew. April's boyfriend was named Barry.

The trap

I no longer had any doubts that my wife was having an affair. Instead of just confronting her about it I wanted to catch her in the act. In conflicts, I always prefer a passive-aggressive approach and that is what I intended for this situation.

Early in the week, I told April that I was going to have to travel out of town to meet with an important insurance client. I'd have dinner with him Friday night and play golf with him on Saturday. I'd be leaving Friday morning and I'd be home Sunday at noon. I told April that a contractor was coming to our house early Saturday morning, just to make sure that she would spend Friday night at our home and not at Barry's place, wherever that was.

On Thursday night, April helped me pack my suitcase. She seemed really excited that I would be gone, although she told me repeatedly how much she was going to miss me. That signaled me that my suspicions were correct and she would easily fall into my trap.

On Friday morning I carried my suitcase to the car and kissed April goodbye. I went to work at my office and stayed late, figuring that I'd check the house for "activity" at about 9 PM. As I drove down our street that night I switched off my headlights a block from home and silently coasted into the vacant lot next to our place. My heart started racing when I noticed a strange car parked in our driveway. I silently exited my car and tip-toed across our front lawn to peek in the living room window. The light was on but no one was in the room. I stepped around to the side of the house and peered into the kitchen. No one was there either. Looking toward our bedroom window, the curtains were closed but I saw dim light there.