It has been a while since Chapter One was published; it might serve the reader better if he went back and reread that first.
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Oh, my God! I was waiting, hoping beyond hope that Henry would come home to me, and not spend the night with that slut. I was going to do everything I could to seduce him, to make him mine again, and then he charges in, with the slut in tow, and demanded that I get out, because he's going to fuck her on our marriage bed!
I guess that I should have said, "Hell no!" and made them fuck in the spare bedroom, but I couldn't. I was so mortified that I jumped up and fled our bedroom. I'd put on some sexy satin pajamas, like in the movies, but left the top unbuttoned, hoping Henry found it sexy, and I clutched the top together, rushing out, glad that I hadn't been naked. I ran into Simon's old bedroom, barely able to see through my tears. I was wailing so loudly that the neighbors might have heard me.
It was so awful, I cried so much that I soaked the thin chenille bedspread over the pillows, and I was in real, physical pain. My guts hurt, and I was half choking on my own tears.
I don't know how long I laid there, crying my heart out, before I just had to go to the bathroom. I guess that I'd just about run out of tears, had no more to shed, at least for a while. Of course, my bathroom was our bathroom, in the master suite, but I couldn't use that, not with Henry fucking his slut in there, so I opened the bedroom door, cautiously, not wanting to be seen. The door to the master was half way open, and the room was dark and silent, as I padded to the bathroom our kids had used growing up.
I plopped myself down on the toilet, and my bowels just let go. It was horrible, nasty, totally stank up the bathroom. I hadn't puked when Henry brought Janet in, I guess because my dinner, such as it was, had already passed through my stomach and was in my intestines, but this felt like I was puking sick from the far end. I just sat there, sobbing almost tearlessly, but still listening for noise from the master bedroom.
How long had I lain there, crying? Henry and the slut had at least finished whatever fucking they were going to do, and I knew already that Henry wasn't able to go all night. Even before my affair with James, Henry had been like a University of Kentucky basketball player: one and done. I don't think that Henry had gone for two since before he turned thirty.
Of course, how many married men did? Yeah, James was exciting, especially at first, but he was one-and-done just as much as Henry was. I suppose the naughtiness of sneaking around helped make the sex more exciting, but really, it wasn't much better than with Henry, and no better really, once the affair dragged on. When James had to break it off, because his wife figured out he was having an affair - thank God she never found out it was with me! - it was as much of a relief as it was a disappointment.
I really fouled up the bathroom, wondering if the stink would bother the slut and enjoying that thought, but worried that if Henry detected it he'd want me even less than he did. I cleaned myself up, then looked to brush my teeth. My toothbrush was in the master bathroom, but, fortunately, there were some unused ones, still in the packaging, stored in the medicine chest in here, plus an unopened tube of Colgate in here. I wished that we'd kept some mouthwash in the now-guest bathroom, but we hadn't done that.
The house was deathly quiet; not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. I hadn't heard anything from Henry and the slut, not through my crying, and they must've been sound asleep now. At least they weren't snoring.
What was I going to do? Tomorrow was Saturday - actually, today was Saturday, since it was surely after midnight - and no one had to be at work. Was I expected to be up early, like a good little wife, and have breakfast ready for Henry and the slut? Am I supposed to just calmly feed them bacon and eggs and fresh, homemade biscuits like I normally made for my husband on weekend mornings?
I went back to Simon's old bedroom, but sleep just wouldn't come to me. There was an old dial-face alarm clock in the room, but, in the dark, I had to get really close to read it; it was 4:14 in the morning. Might as well get the fuck up, because staying in my son's old room just kept reminding me that Janet was sleeping in my bed, with my husband, when I should have been in there. I tiptoed to the stairs - which didn't require passing the half-open master bedroom door - and went soundlessly downstairs.
My iPad was still upstairs, on my nightstand, so there wasn't anything to read, and I wasn't sure that I wanted to turn on the television, making noise. We never had that many books around, and no magazines or newspapers. These days, I only read from my iPad, though there were some old Victoria Holt paperbacks still left. Trouble was, they were in the master bedroom, too.
I sat back down in Henry's La-Z-Boy, with nothing to occupy my mind other than my own thoughts. I had to keep Henry, I just had to! Yeah, I had screwed around with James, but that was ten years ago! Other than that one-nighter, I had been a faithful wife for nine years now. Henry knew about James, anyway, and he'd stayed with me, kept fucking me, so he at least wasn't revolted by it, Yeah, he'd given me the reason that divorce was too expensive before, but that now, with the kids grown up, it wouldn't hurt him financially, so I could divorce him if I wanted to.
Emotionally drained, things seemed to flow into my mind more rationally. Yeah, Henry wouldn't dump me ten years ago, because that was the beginning of the financial crisis. Not only would he have gotten stuck with child support and probably alimony, but with the bottom having dropped out of the housing market, if we had to sell the house, we probably haven't even broken even. We'd put 20% down, so the mortgage was for only 80% of the sale price - we hadn't even paid closing costs; those we negotiated to put on the seller - but getting $140,000 for a home we'd bought ten years earlier for a $200,000 would have been a stretch, and we owed more than $140,000 on it then. Now, with the housing market back, we could probably sell for $250,000, maybe more, and come out with a profit. We only owed about $60,000 on the mortgage now, so we'd each walk away with what, $95,000 in our pockets? Sure, divorce now wouldn't hurt Henry in the slightest! He could rent an apartment somewhere, and have any of his sluts come visit him, anytime. Maybe that bitch Janet had her own house, and he could just move in with her if he wanted.
Meanwhile, I'd have nobody.
James had stayed with his wife, so he wouldn't want me. I'm 55 years old, post-menopausal, and I have a hard time with sex; how am I going to get another man?
But I didn't want another man; I wanted my husband!
I guess that fatigue finally took me, because all of a sudden I awoke, with the light of dawn in the living room. My mind was clear within seconds, and I knew enough to stay still, and listen. As before, there was no noise in the house. Henry and Janet must still be asleep.
Henry and Janet. Damn, it hurt to think about that! I guess that I had replenished my tears, because my eyes started to get wet again, but at least I wasn't sobbing hysterically this time. A glance at the time on the cable box told me that it was 7:22, so I got up, went into the downstairs lavatory and peed.
It was like I was an automaton, heading back up into the kitchen and starting our usual Saturday morning breakfast. I got out the flour, sugar, buttermilk and baking soda, getting ready to make the biscuits from scratch. They'd take 15 minutes to bake, at 425º, once I'd gotten them mixed up, and I'd cook the bacon and eggs while they were baking.
Fortunately, we had some fresh orange juice in the 'fridge, and I'd make some coffee as well. Damn it if I was going to show my humiliation; I'd have breakfast ready in as dignified a manner as I could, even if that meant feeding that slut as well. Cooking kind of occupied my mind anyway, making things easier on me, at least for a few minutes!
Well, I was as prepared as I could be, with the bacon cooked, and the eggs just about done. The biscuits were out, and I had the table set, with three place settings, coffee and orange juice already poured. I went to the foot of the stairs, knowing that the master bedroom door was half opened, and, though it took all of my willpower to do it, yelled up with as steady a voice as I could muster, "Henry! Janet! Breakfast is ready!"
Henry's plate was ready, with two eggs, over easy, just the way my husband likes them. I had no idea how the slut liked her eggs, and didn't really care, so I prepared her two, over easy like Henry's, and if that wasn't how she liked them, well too fucking bad.
"I can't believe that you cooked breakfast," Henry said as he staggered down the stairs. He looked a little rougher than usual for Saturday morning.
Oh, my God, he came down
alone!
Was the slut
gone?
