Amy rubbed her fingers through her blond hair as she looked at her watch. It was eight-thirty, already too late for a night out.
Where was Mike? Where was her husband?
She had tried calling him, texting him, everything but smoke signals.
"He's cheating on me," she thought angrily to herself. "He's cheating on me on our anniversary."
Amy could think of no other explanation. Why would he miss this of all nights? She had reminded him to be home on time, that it was their special day.
She looked down at her slender hips and ample breasts. Was she not sexy enough after twelve years? She had tried to keep up, even look younger than she really was. Was it not enough?
Her insecurities began to invade her thoughts as she drifted back and forth from her delusion to the reality that her husband was almost four hours late from work.
"Honey," her husband's words broke her from her dreamlike state, "I'm sorry I'm late."
Amy fumed.
Late was one thing. Four hours late on your anniversary was quite another.
"Late," Amy stood up and smiled, "you're not late, you're three hundred and sixty four days and twenty hours early."
Amy watched his expression drop as he stood there speechless.
"I'm sorry," Mike finally stammered. "I don't know how to make it up to you."
"Make it up to me?" Amy snapped, "you can't get back our anniversary now. It's past."
She glared at him he fumbled with his coat through the moment of silence.
"What can I do?" he moved closer to her but she pushed him away forcefully, "I want to make it up to you. I'm so sorry."
"You can start by washing all that whore juice off of you," Amy quipped, "and then if I've cooled down we can talk."
Amy watched his expression droop as he stood there shaking his head "no". What was he thinking? Who was she?
Amy wasn't sure she wanted to know.
"If I shower," Mike almost whispered, "then can we talk?"
"I don't know," she both said aloud and wondered to herself, "we'll see."
She watched his he slumped his head and slowly walked away. Why was she so mean? What had come over her? It wasn't like her.
Part of her wondered what she did wrong? Why was he looking somewhere else? Infidelity is a symptom of a problem, not the problem itself.
She heard the steam of water from the shower start.
Or was it?
It was like she was waking up. How many times had he cheated before this and she had not noticed? If she caught him this time, there surely were others. He was always coming home at odd hours, one day five, the next ten.
How many times? Thinking about it was making her crazier and crazier with jealousy and hatred until she stormed off toward the bathroom.
"How many times?" Amy stood there staring at her husband through the steamy shower door, "how many Mike?"
"I don't know what to say," Mike stammered, rinsing the soap from his eyes. "I don't honey."
The response sent her over the edge. She grabbed her razor and some strawberry scented gel and shoved it into the shower.
"Here," she commanded, "I want you to look like a swimmer when you're done. What do you think she'll say about that if she sees you again?"
"Honey I didn't," Mike started.
"Take them or I'm walking out the door right now," Amy pushed the items further into the shower. "And don't forget the backside."
Mike hesitantly grabbed the gel and razor and began shaving.
Amy stood and watched, soon a calming sense of power began to come over her.
"If you put a little less gel on you'll get better results," she smiled smugly as she watched Mike slather the gel on his chest. "I'd also start with the most sensitive areas, razors get dull fast."
Amy was torn when she saw his shaft stiffening, she wanted to humiliate him not turn him on, but at the same time the sight of his hard shaft made her lust for his touch.
"Is this enough?" Mike rolled the water over his body revealing his poor attempt at shaving his legs.
Amy laughed.
"Honey," Amy shook her head "no", "you'll need to get all of the hair, not just two or three strands."
With each stroke she watched some of her anger subside and turn into something she couldn't quite understand. It felt powerful in a way she had yet to feel in her life. She had never once told someone to do something. She may had suggested or coerced, but never forced someone to follow her command.
Now was the first time she felt any control in her life and it was intoxicating.
How many times had she done what he had wanted? Or her parents and siblings? It was time for her to wake up and take charge of her life.
"How does it feel?" She handed him a towel when it was finally finished, "I think you did a good job for your first time."
Amy watched as he quickly covered his body with the towel.
"What are you embarrassed?" She tugged at the towel and feigned peaking at his body.
"Can we talk now?" Mike almost begged, "Please?"
Without answering Amy grabbed his towel and tugged him all the way through the house to the kitchen.
