POETIC JUSTICE
By
Vandemonium1
G'Day again folks. Sorry for the drought but I've been flat out like a lizard drinking at work and trying to get another one published but it was rejected twice. Oh well, it is fated only to be read on the blog I share with CTC. Recently my readership reached 10,000,000 and all I can say is Wow! If you'd told me that seven years ago I would have choked on my lower intestine. I feel thoroughly humbled and sincerely thank you all for taking this journey with me. As always, my sincerest thanks to my editor and my partner in life and crime, CreativityTakesCourage, as beautiful as she is talented.
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WENDY
To this day, I don't know if it was a sigh, a cough, a breath of air stirred up by my husband's presence, or something on a more psychic level that made me open my eyes. I do recall having an inane, endorphin spurred goofy grin on my face attesting to the success of John's recent efforts.
He'd taken longer than usual to get me into bed that afternoon; I'd been still worried. Once he overcame my objections and prised my legs apart, however, he'd been like a man possessed. Whether he was especially worked up by his efforts at seduction, or because he'd known we had less time than normal, he'd attacked me like a demon. The novelty of this approach had excited me like never before, and within what seemed like a mere minute or three, I'd had John's cum running out of me and fading contractions from my own powerful orgasm.
However, after about a minute of John's full, relaxed weight restricting my breathing, open my eyes I had.
Wendy, the happy housewife, the better than average mother, and, until recently, loyal wife, died right then and there as I looked across the room at the man standing in the doorway. Dave, my loving husband. The father of my children. Easily discernible in the mid-afternoon light slanting through the curtains of our marital bedroom.
One look at the devastated expression on his face sent my gaze inward, anywhere other than at the agony directly before me. Time slowed; my brain flitted from subject to subject. Anything was preferable to facing the realisation of the damage my actions had caused. No imagination was necessary on that front. Even if I was one of those people that struggled to recognise emotion in the demeanour of others, and I was far from one of those, the look on Dave's face was pain personified. No tears; just extreme..., well, pain. Few of my thoughts from that moment were committed to long term memory, thanks to the human reflex of burying memories of extreme trauma, so I'll recall them as best I can.
I do remember mentally kicking myself. After the incident the previous week, I knew I should have trusted my instincts and not met with John for a while, but after a week of observing Dave closely, lust convinced my logical mind that he remained clueless to my four-month affair with our next-door neighbour.
I was proud of my status as model wife and mother in our community of young families. I fully realised everyone we knew looked upon us as the perfect couple and I loved it. Unlike most of our female friends, I didn't need to work. To play up to my image, four years prior, I started putting the kids in day care once a week and volunteered at a local charity shop. Life settled into a routine after that, until that fateful party, next door, at John's house.
It was almost a perfect storm. The kids were at my Mum's, I'd had a few wines, and I was horny. Very horny. I'd just slurred into Dave's ear to take me home and have his wicked way with me when his damned phone rang. He was on call for his company that weekend, that's why he wasn't drinking. He left, leaving me swaying and dripping.
John, with whom I'd harmlessly flirted over the years, and who was also three sheets to the wind, volunteered to escort me home. His wife can't have missed him for the ten or fifteen minutes it took to walk me home, then kiss and grope me, before taking me quickly and roughly on my own bed. The newness and sheer taboo naughtiness of the act made it explosively good for two long-married spouses.
When, several days later, John came over during a workday to discuss the incident, the conversation centred on how we could continue without being caught, rather than expressing regret or swearing to never repeat it.
By comparing notes, we quickly decided that Wednesday afternoons were the safest times. It was my volunteer day and the only day John could sneak off between meetings. I told the family I'd volunteered to work longer on Wednesdays. In reality, I took off an hour earlier, at 2:00 p.m. I arranged for Karen, a neighbourhood eighth grader, to take our two kids home with her after school and entertain them at her house until 5:00 p.m., before bringing them home. That gave me two and a half hours with John every week, before he had to leave for a regularly scheduled 5:00 p.m. meeting.
With our respective spouses still at work until after six, it was most convenient for John to hide his car up the street, sneak through our backyard fence, and meet me in my bedroom. That way, there were no motel bills to hide, or possibilities of our cars being seen somewhere they shouldn't be.
The arrangement had worked flawlessly for months. So well, in fact, that the affair was getting a little routine and boring. I felt it, John felt it, and we both knew it was almost time to call it quits. The natural time to do that would have been after the terrifying events of the previous week.
That week, John and I had sex, talked, had sex again, then stupidly fell asleep. The sounds of children downstairs roused me. It was 4:45 and Karen had brought the kids home a little early. I woke John and told him I'd distract them, so he could sneak out the back door. He mumbled something incomprehensible back in his torpid state. Slipping on a dressing gown, I walked down the stairs, said hello to Karen and the kids and gently tried to steer them toward the kitchen. Karen was in a chatty mood and just wouldn't co-operate. I had her in the entrance to the kitchen when she looked over my shoulder and abruptly stopped talking. Glancing the same way, my blood froze, then boiled. There was John, doing up the buttons on his jacket, walking down the stairs. He muttered something about being late for an important meeting and disappeared out the back door.
I looked at Karen and immediately experienced the deepest sense of shame I'd ever felt. My immediate thought was the harm it would do to my reputation, followed quite a while later by the devastation it could wreak within my marriage. I guess that tells you better than anything what an entitled bitch I'd become. I separated Karen from my kids and went into damage control. Karen was old enough to know exactly what John and I had been up to but also old enough to have seen the damage divorce did to other families in the neighbourhood. I had yet to extract a promise of silence from her when Dave also came home a little early, at 5:05 p.m. Before I could stop him, he'd offered to run Karen home as it was raining. I sweated the whole fifteen minutes he was gone, especially as it should have been a five-minute round trip.
