Acorns

My husband of 20 years didn't match the typical descriptions of husbands, those deficiencies of our husbands we'd make fun of on girls night out. Actually it was more like complaining or demeaning our husbands. Perhaps us girls thought it to be a form of "group therapy."

Of course a lot of these comments, while demeaning, were presented in a rather humorous way. We'd laugh at those men. The alcohol helped the mood.

I had a hard time coming up with negatives about my husband, Cooper. He was handsome, didn't really have a dad-bod but was fit and trim. Besides being a good financial planner and providing well for the family, he spent a good amount of time with me and the kids.

He didn't require much wifely maintenance because he almost always picked up his clothes and hung them in the closet, putting dirty ones right into the hamper sorted by whites, colors, and darks. He could even do laundry but I pretty much took care of that. He loved grocery shopping which I appreciated, at least while I happened to be appreciative and not begin to take all this for granted.

The cars were maintained, cleaned, gassed up. The yard looked good for the neighborhood, he was social and friendly to the neighbors and all our friends. He was a decent lover, though after 20 years you pretty well know what to expect in the bedroom.

Me, however? Yeah I was a little bored with our sex, not that Cooper didn't try to liven it up. Toys, long weekends, sexy underthings for both of us. It seemed to me like he was pushing it when now looking back, I knew it was more me. Did it add a little stress to the marriage?

Yep. But my husband was devoted, and while upset at times or turned off to my attitude he rolled with it. He was good at rolling with things, which made him a great financial planner. When disruptions in the economy or markets upset his clients he was good at rolling with it, taking their ire, listening until he could provide a reasonable perspective. I think that's why so many clients stuck with him. Of course his plan designs worked for people, but it was his personality that kept them with him.

So why did I become dissatisfied with my husband and seek out an affair partner? I ended up making a terrible mistake, even letting him take pictures of me in our bed. I don't know how I got myself here. I'm stuck. I don't know how to make a change.

It's a roller coaster of uncertainty and tension. I almost hoped I'd be caught, that the affair would be discovered, it was so fatiguing living a double life. If I was caught, it would take the decision off of me. The circumstances would decide what would happen.

As I continued the affair, it starved my marriage. The intimacy, connection and focus on my marriage dwindled and diminished. The emotional connection to my husband was starved. Our physical intimacy dwindled. Our relationship became skewed, at least from my perspective.

Surely my husband must have recognized all this, but did he? Or was he just too good at being devoted "for better or for worse" that he just rolled with it, like he did with so many things.

Perhaps it was because there had been no hard evidence for quite a while. But did he notice a departure from our usual patterns that were so familiar after 20 years together? Our privacy, interactions with each other, schedules, ways of showing up and being present and open that did not follow the previous patterns?

Saturday night was the usual girls night out and we all hit a new club. It was certainly one for younger twenty-somethings, us girls stood out given our age, a little fuller in our dresses, even our reactions to the pick-up lines thrown our way. But the attention was exciting!

It was great to be asked to dance, and at a club! Not like at a wedding where couples our age waited for a slower song so our husband would leave the bar and do their one slow dance with us, then either go back to the bar or leave for a boring rest of the night at home.

No, this was exciting, loud, frenetic dancing with young men who were interested in us. So what if I was 42 and the guy I was with was 28? That's not much of an age difference, is it? Since us girls all arrive separately by taxi or Uber, we pretty much left separately. Over the evening we'd lost track of each other anyways.

This guy, Harris, dressed well, smelled well, had a full head of hair, was fit and trim, danced well and said all the right things. Maybe some alcohol had something to do with it, but you know what? I enjoyed the laughter, feeling seen. I loved his interest and curiosity, the feeling of being desired. It was a change of pace from what became routine with my husband.

Cooper once told me the secret to selling his financial products had little to do with the facts, but was primarily the emotion in the sale.

Looking back on that night on the dance floor I realize it was the emotion of the moment, not the fact that I was a wife, mother, homemaker. Good emotions are pretty convincing, they just feel right. You know what I'm saying? If it feels good it must be ok, right?

Making out on the dance floor was so hot. Even off the dance floor in the bathroom hallway I found myself pressed up against him, my lips on his. Harris kissed me back eagerly, his hands roaming on my curvy hips. "I've wanted to do that all night," he whispered in my ear, his hot breath against my skin."

"Me too," I replied, my voice tinged with desire.

In the dimly lit hallway, with patrons occasionally walking past us, it seemed like we were the only one's in the club. He reached down and grabbed my ass and pulled me closer. I moaned and began grinding myself against him, my nipples hardening as he couldn't resist reaching up to touch them.

"Oh, fuck, yes," I moaned as I threw my head back. Harris took the opportunity to kiss my neck, licking, nibbling at my skin, my skin that felt so alive and sensitive. I shivered, with my breathing now reduced to short gasps.

So after plenty of dancing, making out on and off the dance floor, Harris asked "Do you want to get out of here?" as his fingers dipped into my bra cup. I accepted his proposal and left for his home which turned out to be in an upscale neighborhood, Oak Hollow. I'll admit I did have a few thoughts on the way to his home, but the conversation was engaging, like I was with someone who understood me, who was open with me. The naturalness just felt right, safe, and comfortable.

As he walked me up to his front door with his hand on my lower back I felt conflicting emotions, like nervousness, uncertainty, excitement all at the same time. I so wanted to get my hands all over him, experience something I hadn't had since college, something different. Self-doubt crept in. Would I be any good for him? Will he think I'm still attractive outside of the dark club?

Inside this well-appointed home, we could not keep our hands off each other. I looked around, saw the stairway, and pulled him upstairs where I thought we'd find the bedroom. As soon as we were inside I pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top of him.

"I've wanted this cock all night" I said, grinding my hips against him. Are you surprised I was aggressive? Yep, I admit it. I thought it better to get this going quickly before he would have second thoughts. OK, that's a lie. It was because I didn't want to have second thoughts.

As I straddled him, Harris reached up and cupped my breasts through my lacy bra. I moaned, arched my back as he reached behind and unclasped my bra.

My breasts spilled out and he couldn't help but take one in his mouth, sucking and biting at the nipple, sending electric shocks from my nipple to my pussy as my hips were grinding against him.

"Yes, just like that," I said breathlessly.

His hand reached down and slid along my thigh as I instinctively spread my legs to give him access to my wet pussy. He slipped a finger inside, feeling my slick walls.

"Oh fuck yes!" I moaned and bucked my hips against his hand. This was such a different experience, in a different bed, in a different home. It was so... different!

He added a second finger, fucking me harder. I moaned. My breath was coming in short gasps. He knew I was getting close, my muscles clenching around his fingers.

I could barely whisper "I'm gonna cum." Harris didn't let up, continuing to fuck me with his fingers. I scrunched my face and let out a long moan as my back arched as I came hard, my juices coating his fingers.

"Fuck, that was good," I said as I collapsed onto Harris. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close for my afterglow. We lay there for a moment to catch our breath.

"I want to fuck you," Harris said. Do you know what it's like to hear a man say that to you with determination, with desire? I know, I know, our husbands say that all the time but it's not the same. It's the same ole' same ole' and frankly the timing usually isn't good. I know that's an excuse but hey, I'm being honest here.

So hearing this gorgeous young guy wants to fuck me just lit up my pussy. Emotionally I wanted to be taken, let him have his way with me. "Yes," I replied.

Harris rolled over, pinning me beneath him. He reached down and positioned his cock at my entrance. "Do you want this cock?" he teasingly asked

As soon as I replied "yes" he thrust into me, filling me completely. Oh it was good! He started to fuck me hard and deep. I wrapped my legs around his hips and locked my ankles together and I pulled him into me deeper with each of his thrusts.

He fucked me hard, and was picking up the pace. My nails dug into his back as I moaned. I brought my hand up to his head and grabbed his hair.

"Yes, yes, fuck, yes! I'm gonna cum again!" I barely whispered, my mind barely able to compile the words.

Harris didn't let up, continuing to fuck me hard, his balls slapping against my ass. I came hard, my eyes either blacking out or seeing stars, I'm not sure. Either way, the oxytocin flowing through my veins overcame any thoughts or vision.

Just as my senses were beginning to recover I felt Harris' cock hardening even more, feeling a sense of fullness when I realized he was filling up, that he couldn't hold back any longer, and he yelled loudly in a roar as his own orgasm crashed over him.

I felt the hotness of his cum shoot into me, coating my love canal in warmth, taking several thrusts to finish ejaculating his seed into me as his cock twitched out its last remnants.

"That was amazing" I said with my eyes wide open staring at the ceiling.

"Yes, it was," Harris replied as he rolled off of me.

We lay there for a while longer, our bodies entwined, as our emotions settled back to normal.

How was the sex? Great! I mean, it's obviously different with a different man after all those years. How could it not be? The moves are different, the flow and sequence of events different, the technique different.

It's like, you know how you drive your car for the past many years and are totally used to it. Then you get a brand new rental car while on vacation and it smells different, has new gadgets to try out, feels different when you get in, and drives differently?

Well, before I knew it I had to Uber home so I got in by 2 am. Cooper was already asleep so I took a quick shower (for obvious reasons) and quietly slid into bed, setting my alarm early enough to get up and get coffee going as if nothing had happened.

The next morning Cooper came down to a fresh pot of coffee and a humming wife. Yeah, I broke a pattern that morning since I'm not a morning person, usually grouchy until a few cups of coffee. I guess he was just happy to have a happy wife for a morning.

Over the next few days I found my mind wandering, even to the point where Cooper called me out on it, like if something was wrong. I gotta tell you, when you have an affair you've got to learn to think quickly and come up with reasonable answers. Ok, you got me. They're excuses.

But what was I daydreaming about? Of course you know: Orgasms. Laughing while laying naked to my lover. Replaying the wonderful emotions and endorphins from that night.

More dangerously, though, my mind moving towards the thoughts of contacting Harris, seeing if that night could be repeated. What's really amazing is that in this thought process the fidelity of my vows did not come up into my mind. Why not?

With the kids in college, Cooper typically conducting client appointments at people's homes after dinner, so I had a lot of free time. Did Harris? Could he make time for me? Would he be willing? Should I call him or should I wait for him to call me? Do I get a second phone? Do I change my lock code on my phone?

Whew, there's a lot that goes into cheating.

He was more than happy to hear from me, and even arranged to meet me at a hotel at his expense. It made for a fantastic afternoon. Then the girls made plans again for that Friday's GNO, only this girl was gonna meet somewhere else.

"Somewhere else" was his home in Oak Hollow, actually, his grandparents' home. He was house sitting since they were in Europe for the summer. It was a great location with tree lined streets, large homes separated enough that neighbors weren't able to be busybodies. I'd drive over there to save time and money on Uber's, plus, no one would see my car from the street given how many oak trees were in everyone's yard, creating a private and lush setting.

It became a regular thing, to the extent that emotional feelings began to arise between Harris and I. What was it? Was it because he was young and virile and satisfied me so well? Was it because I felt desired? Was it because I had the excitement of the affair with the stability of a home life and marriage?

What did he see in me? Did he have a mother-complex? Did he find my maturity more comforting than younger girls? Did my experience in life seem more certain and secure than his other relationships? Was it because I'm married that he felt safe, that the commitment would only go so far?

These all remained unanswered questions, but questions to be ignored since the sex was so amazing. And anyways, who was getting hurt? No one.

So our daily life continued between Cooper and myself. Just the same old patterns of life, including my dear husband doing his weekly duty on Sunday mornings, gassing up the cars, cleaning them out, and washing them.

Looking back, now, and with some regret, it turned out that it was a "mast year" for oak trees. Different varieties of oak trees shed their acorns in different cycles, some only every four years, some three years, some every other year.

Every so often their cycles line up leading to extra-large bumper crops of acorns, at times ankle deep depending on the number of trees in one's yards. This was that kind of year.

What do you think my husband found in the windshield wiper cowl? You know, it's at the bottom of the windshield, sort of like a grill that the wipers stick out from?

Answer: Hundreds of acorns.

The club area downtown doesn't have any trees, at least, nothing that would shed an acorn. Imagine his curiosity wondering where all those acorns came from? Everyone knows there happens to be an upscale neighborhood, old style homes, some are mansions, known for mature oak trees throughout the neighborhood. Oak Hollow.

Now I haven't specifically talked with Cooper about his thoughts, as it turned out there wasn't much talking I could do. I'll get to that in a moment. But I can imagine him wondering what my car was doing over in that subdivision on girls night out. None of my friends, none of any of our friends lived over there.

His mind probably started working. "My wife's car. Oak Hollow Subdivision. Girls night out. Happier wife... "

I'm not good at math, but perhaps he began to put together some patterns that either started to add up, or maybe they didn't add up and that was the problem? I don't know.

What I do know is what happened a few weeks later on a Sunday morning after another GNO, which for me now stood for "Get 'nother Orgasm." Ok, the acronym seemed funny at the time. Not so funny now.

Cooper was up early, especially since I got in again so late and slept in. I came down for a good cup of coffee and Cooper was cooking up some scrambled eggs. So I sat at the kitchen table trying to have the caffeine bring my senses back to life given the pounding I took only a few hours earlier.

"Here babe, got you some scrambled eggs!" as he pushed a plate in front of me. He opened the pan and dumped the eggs on the plate.

I thought my vision was still a little fuzzy because I couldn't tell if that was bacon or sausage in the eggs. I squinted and looked again and it was - - - acorns. Acorns in the eggs.

Looking up I saw my husband leaning against the kitchen counter, a frown on his face, staring at me. I was waiting for him to say something, but he just stood there looking at me.

Something was wrong, obviously. It doesn't take 20 years of marriage to recognize that seeing acorns in one's scrambled eggs means there's something wrong. But being in an affair means you're in a constant state of paranoia.

Yeah, you seem to take precautions to hide the great sex and keep it from the spouse. But it's like I'm always looking over my shoulder, with high anxiety, wondering if I missed something that he might find.

Acorns in eggs, a stone-faced husband, no conversation? It meant for sure there was a problem. And he wasn't saying anything? How do I play this? What would you have done?

Well, I looked back at the acorns and eggs and decided to play it cool. "Thanks honey, I guess I haven't tried this combination before" and I picked up my fork and began eating the eggs, pushing the acorns to the side, glancing up at him as I ate. Still, silence.

Our laundry room is just off the kitchen. Cooper went through the door into the laundry room and came back with a plastic bag and threw it on the table in front of me. Again, no words.

I looked at him, but this time his face looked angry, but no words. Did I dare to say something? Should I ask him what's up or what's wrong? Or should I just look in this bag, after all, he threw it over to me. Instead I just sat there.

"Dump the bag out" he commanded.

Lifting the bag I dumped its contents on the kitchen table. It was five different panty sets. I wondered where they had gone, I couldn't find them when I did the laundry.

"Smell the crotch. NOW!" he shouted.

I jumped at his yelling but sat there. I knew what he wanted and why. All I could do was look at the table. He must have pulled my panties out of the hamper every Sunday morning to see if there were cum stains from my lover, and he found what he probably hoped not to find.

Clearly my looking at the table was an admission. My silence probably wasn't helping, but what could I say? He knew.

So he filled up the silence. I don't need to detail the anger and rage and the

blindness that resulted from my betrayal. He said a lot of things that could never be

unsaid again, things that proved our marriage was unrecoverable.

Pretty much everything he said was correct. And even when I wanted to apologize and say I'm sorry I knew those were only words. Eventually I was able to squeak out "It's over." That was probably a mistake. Looking back I think I should have just let him burn his anger out, just sit there and take it as long as he could go on and give him space. But nope. I didn't do that.

All it did was further enrage him.

"How do I know it's over? Am I supposed to trust you now? I'm a financial planner. Tell me, am I supposed to reinvest in this marriage? Hell, when we made our vows that was supposed to be a guarantee! Now am I supposed to say past results are no guarantee of future returns?"

Ouch. That hurt. He had a point.

That's when I decided to shut up and not make this any worse. Give him some space, let him grieve, try and look for an opportunity to be forgiven, or at least wait for a time when we could talk and not scream at each other.