Vacation Argument

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story contains elements of extramarital and unprotected sex, and a husband who appreciates his wife's activities. If that is not for you, please move along to something you like better. Civil comments welcome.

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It was the same argument we'd had for years, although it usually needed with her showing me her back, and closing a door, avoiding the end. This time we weren't home. Trapped in a hotel room, there was nowhere for her to go, and I pressed the advantage. Too hard, I guessed later. Hindsight is so valuable. Only the second day of a week away and I allowed my ego and selfish desires to run my mouth, and I said things I definitely should have kept to myself. The fact was I'd had to hold them in for so long because she would end the discussion before I could ever say them. And faced with the opportunity now, I was more concerned with having my say than having good sense, and it all spilled out.

And oh, how I let it fly. How I have to do all the work in our sex life. How she doesn't participate, she just receives. How she has no imagination, no desires, no fantasies. How her entire contribution to what we do is saying no to everything but straight sex. How her ultimate fantasy is to get the same sex we had last time. How frustrated she makes me. How I have to say what I want only to have her call me a pervert and demean me. How she is constantly labeling what I tell her other people do as perverted and deviant and sick. How she can't role play, or talk dirty, or imagine anything other than laying on her back, allowing me to have her.

And all the while I spewed my long-held venom, she sat, and sniffled, and then cried, but didn't say a word. Even as the tears spilled down her pretty face I kept it up, relief and vindication helping me to ignore the hurt I was causing, making me think of me, and my needs, my wants, and my desire to hurt her feelings. It felt good, and I finally took a deep breath.

She looked up at me with tears in her eyes, but her jaw set and eyes hard. "Are you done?"

"I think so," I said, hands on hips, victorious. "Thank you for finally listening and not shutting me off."

Her eyes narrowed, turning harder. "Oh," she said dripping with sarcasm, "you are SO welcome; I'm glad I had the opportunity to hear all you had to say," she snarled, and stood. She walked to the closet and took out her suitcase. "And I hope you enjoy the rest of your vacation." She smirked, and started opening the drawers of the dresser and removing her clothes.

"What are you doing?"

She didn't answer; just hastily threw all her belongings in a pile into her suitcase, gathered her shoes into her shoe bag, and collected her toiletries. When she was done she headed for the door. I blocked it.

"Where are you going?"

"Move," she said, and the tone was not one I had ever heard, even when she was slamming doors on me at home. "I'm leaving. I'll see you at home."

"You're going home?"

"I don't know!" She barked harshly, "just get out of my way!" I had never seen her like this, and I squeezed to the side of the narrow doorway. She passed me, dragging her suitcase, shoe bag over her shoulder, bumping me on her way out. Her suitcase hit my foot, and she grunted as she pulled it over, unapologetic. She clumsily pushed her bags out the door, then stood still.

She turned. "I love you," she said without emotion. A declaration of fact. "I hope this was what you wanted, and you feel good about yourself."

"I hope you got the message," I returned, still elated from finally having my say.

She looked at me and angled her head to the side. "I got a message," she snarled. "I don't know if it's the one you were going for." And she let the door close, and I was alone, in our hotel room, victorious and by myself. Still with the heady sensation of purging my spleen, I hit the courtesy bar, despite the fact that it was only ten in the morning. My chest swelled, and my male ego thrummed with the crushing defeat I had delivered.

I drank until two, then passed out for a while. When I woke I was granted the dual gifts of regret and self-retribution, amplified by a monstrous hangover. I checked my phone but there were no messages. I went for a short walk, got some food and returned to the room. The adrenaline rush I'd felt earlier had dissipated and my hangover seemed impervious to aspirin, and after finding my phone still silent, I watched television until I fell asleep.

I woke the next morning refreshed but still alone. Still nothing on my phone. After a shower I decided to stop worrying; she was a big girl, and could handle herself. I did some sightseeing that was mostly wandering around, telling myself that I would enjoy the vacation in spite of her. The weather was warm, there were attractive women in the waterfront city, and I strolled the boardwalk and the hotel strip, eyeing the scenery, human and otherwise. But I found myself imagining my phone vibrating and checking it frequently. Nothing. After dinner I broke down, and sent her a text.

R U OK?

After a while I got one back.

FINE

Well, at least she was alive and all right.

WHERE R U?

DON'T WORRY. IM FINE

So, she won't say. I wondered if she went home. She had credit cards and all her stuff. Maybe she went to visit one of her girlfiends, or her mom, or something.

K. I wrote. Then added, MISS YOU

HAVE FUN she replied.

Then after a few minutes another one.

DON'T FORGET I LOVE U

ME 2 I answered. At least there was that. I thought about going home, but figured there was no point. If she hadn't left, she might come back. If she went somewhere else I'd end up alone at home. I'd rather be alone here.

After dinner I went for another walk on the strip, visited a few bars, but I felt like a loser, drinking alone. There were some hot chicks to distract me, but to tell the truth, I didn't feel chatty or friendly, and kept to myself. Frankly, I was hoping she was okay. It was the worst fight we'd ever had, and we'd never been apart angry. We usually just moped separately through the house for a few days until the hostilities eased, and we were forced to have a conversation. Then we'd look at each other and laugh about it, and things would get back to normal. So I wandered from bar to bar, having a drink at each, over tipping, and feeling a little sorry for myself. When the bars closed around two I took a cab back to the hotel.

The next day was pretty much the same for me, passing time, insisting to myself that I was having fun without her, that she couldn't get me to give in. Around dinnertime she sent a text. I probably looked like a lonely businessman, sitting at my table, alone, with my phone.

HAVING FUN?

DOING OK

ME 2. ENJOY. LUV U

I wanted to say that I missed her, and had it typed, but deleted it.

GLAD UR ALRIGHT I sent instead.

She didn't answer.

After dinner I dressed in club clothes, determined to have a better time. I took a cab to the end of the strip where the clubs were; no bars for me tonight. I convinced myself I wasn't a loser or too old for the crowds that would be at the clubs. Maybe I'd ask some younger girls to dance. But when I got to Luna, the first club, I knew I was out of my league. It was dark, and loud, and way younger than I expected, and I immediately felt the fool. But I screwed up my courage and lubricated myself, and stood near the dance floor. And, truth be told, I actually got a couple of dances with hot younger girls. It boosted my ego, and I hung out for a while feeling pretty good about myself, fantasizing about what could be, if only.

And then I saw her. Or at least I thought I saw her. It was just a flash, way far across the dance floor, and I immediately convinced myself it wasn't her. But I found myself working my way though the dense, throbbing crowd to get a better look. Of course it wasn't her, I told myself. How could it be her? She was somewhere else, sulking and cursing under her breath about me.

Wasn't she?

I got to the area where I thought I had seen her, or someone who looked like her, but of course bodies had shifted onto and off the dance floor, and the human landscape looked nothing like it had when my eyes tricked me. It was dark. There were flashing strobes, and neon, movement. I looked carefully at everyone in the area, and got a few awkward glances in return. But she wasn't there, so I turned to go back.

On the dance floor. Her hair, her height. Her frame. Just a glance between moving bodies, she was in the middle of the floor. My vision was mostly obscured, so I got on my toes and craned my neck. I saw a few more glances turn my way, but I didn't care. There. In the middle of the floor. She spun, but the lights flashed on and off. It could have been her, maybe; I didn't know, not for sure. I searched for a higher advantage point, scoped the raised tables off to the side, saw the stairs and made my way to it. I wasn't certain, so heading out on the dance floor and making a scene was out of the question.

I kept on eye on the woman who might or not be my wife and jostled my way to the stairs up to the raised deck. It was less crowded, mostly groups at tables, and I pretended to be looking for someone as I weaved through. I found a part of railing with no tables against it and wormed my way into the group crowded there, ignoring their disapproving looks.

And there she was. Dancing in the middle of the floor, hair bouncing, looking like the carefree girl I had dated and married. Definitely her; I got a good look, despite the flashing lights and darkness. Definitely her. Maybe. She hadn't gone home. She'd stayed on vacation, just like me. And from the looks of it she was having a lot more fun than I was. If it really was her.

I realized she was dancing with two people; she was one of a trio, the other two a guy and a girl, younger than her and me. But she was keeping up with them pretty good. And she looked good, decked out in club clothes I had never seen. Was that a miniskirt? Was it really even her? The guy grabbed the other girl and dirty danced with her, it looked like; it was really hard to tell in the moving crown and flashing lights. And the girl gave it right back to him, grinding her ass back against him. And then he broke off and grabbed my wife and did the same. To my surprise, she, too, returned the gesture in the spirit, and sticking her butt out at him, grinding back against him. My wife? Really? The other girl grinned and hooted, pumping her fists in the air. My wife was bumping and humping with a guy? I felt a twinge of jealousy, but then again, I had had a few dances, too. Nothing like this, though. And really, I wasn't sure. She wasn't acting like my wife, that was for certain.

Then the girl grabbed them both in her arms, and they faced each other, bouncing and jouncing, heads together. The guy turned to the girl and kissed her, mashing faces together. I think I saw tongue; I know I saw open mouths and hands rubbing low on backs. My wife kept her head in with them her hands around their backs, rubbing just like they were.

And then the guy turned and kissed my wife. I think.

I nearly dropped my drink off the rail. Their heads were still together, all three of them, but he definitely had his face turned to my wife, but the other girl blocked the view. I saw his hand on her back, and then it disappeared. But I really couldn't see shit, and I cursed to myself.

The guy pulled his head back and howled a shout, and then another as the girl put her face into my wife. This time there was no mistake. I watched as a woman who I thought could be my wife kissed a girl on the dance floor, mouth open. Definitely I saw tongue. The girl's hand dropped to my wife's butt. My wife's hand dropped to the girl's butt, and I think I saw it go under her dress.

Well what the fuck? My wife, who had no fantasies, who couldn't break out of her one-way-only sexual routine with her husband - her HUSBAND! - was kissing a couple of kids in the dance floor in public, and playing grab-ass? Argument or no, I was putting a stop to this. Right after I made certain it was her. I had to know for sure.

I dropped my drink on someone's table as I passed and muscled my way through the crowded table area. I bumped a waitress and didn't apologize. I glanced down at the floor from the top of the stairs, making sure of their position on the floor, and didn't see them. I stood on the stairs, blocking traffic, searching the floor and the crowd surrounding it. There. At the far end, heading off the floor, away from me. Heading for the exit. I cursed and ran down the stairs, and immediately got tangled into the crowd. I stepped on a few toes, maneuvered my way through, but it took way too long to get to the exit.

I burst through to the door outside to see them climbing into a taxi, all three in the back. I was going to shout her name, but froze when I saw his hand go under her miniskirt as she climbed into the cab. And she didn't swat it away. And she was wearing a miniskirt! Now past the noise and dark of the club I had a sudden doubt that it was really her, and shouting and running for the cab seemed like a foolish move if I wasn't absolutely positive. It looked like her. But it didn't act like her, or dress like her.

The cab pulled away, and they were gone.

Of course, as soon as they pulled away I was sure it was her, and cursed myself for not shouting and running. Dumb ass. The night ruined, I grabbed a cab and headed back to the hotel. Back in the room I tried telling myself it wasn't her, but I couldn't get it out of my mind. I paced. I watched television. I even went outside and walked the grounds, nervous energy and frustration driving me to distraction. What if it WAS her? Why was she dressed like that? Why was she kissing another man? Why was she kissing a GIRL?

Really, it made no sense. I had tried for years to break her out of her limited scope of acceptable experience. The closest I had gotten was a few times I got her on top, and a sparse handful of the worlds shortest grudging blowjobs, none to completion. I had tried initiating dirty talk during sex, but she wouldn't have it. I'd tried fantasies, suggested light exhibitionism, suggested role play where we could pretend I was someone else, or she was. Nothing. The woman I was married to wouldn't even consider those things, wouldn't even discuss them; she just cut the conversation off with 'I don't like that'. Like the kid who hates Brussel Sprouts and never tried them.

I finally fell asleep in front of the television and woke up the next day, still tired, still convinced there was a good chance it might have been her. And if it was, then she was in the city. I tried texting, calling, email even. No response. I set my mind to search. We had four nights left before I had to go home. If she were still here then it was likely she would be returning home with me on our flight. But there were only so many clubs, and I had the energy of the wronged to drive me.

So I spent the next few days cruising the beaches and boardwalks and stores and restaurants, and the nights in the clubs and bars. A long shot, no doubt, but I looked anyway. Once I thought I saw her and went rushing up to a woman that was not her, and embarrassed myself. Another time I thought I saw her, or someone that looked like her, leaving a club with a group of people, arm in arm with two of the guys, laughing. But I was pretty sure that was not her. It wasn't her way. Each night I was more frustrated, and I became more convinced that she was not in the city, that she had left and gone home, or somewhere, and my optimistic enthusiasm started to dwindle.

My last night I was out at the first club again, Luna, when I got a text.

AT THE HOTEL.

I beat it out of there and cabbed back. In the elevator, and walking down the long hall to the room I was on edge. Would she be there? What would she say? What should I say? I was multiple parts angry, sorry, worried, jealous and scared. I opened the door.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her bags were there. She looked up at me, and I looked her over. Same girl I had married. No miniskirt. No club clothes. No wild hair or dancing; just her. The woman who had left me alone after I had my sniveling, selfish tirade that I had held inside me for so long. In a rush I had a moment of clarity, and evaluated my actions that day against the overall view of my love and devotion, and a lifetime of happiness and fulfillment. Maybe not total sexual gratification, but I had married her only hoping for that, and knowing that whatever happened, I was better with her than without her, and the same went for her. We were meant to be together, she and I.

Now, I'm pretty sure there are guys out there who would stand on principle, and insist that no matter what, if she left she should be gone, and if she can't figure out how to do what I want sexually, I should cast her aside. And truth be told, there were times I felt that myself, the night I drove her away being one of them. And I felt pretty good about myself at the time. But I'd had my say, then; I felt different, now. Smarter. So I did what a man, a husband, does.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I acted like an ass. I wanted to say my piece, and I did. And I didn't do it well. I said hurtful things." I swallowed, hard. "I missed you. I was worried about you." I took a step towards her.

"Stop," she said, holding her hand palm out to me, and I did. She looked me over and took a deep breath. "And thank you. I missed you, too. And I love you. But you had your say. And I deserve the same chance. Sit," she added, patting the bed next to her.

I sat, turned towards her, and she did the same. She took my hands in hers, the way we always did after a fight, a sign that together we were okay, and that the fight was over. She looked at me and took another deep breath. When she began, her voice was clear and steady, controlled, almost as if it had been rehearsed. Like me, I guess, she had been running a dialogue through her head.

"I'm glad you said what you said," she started, "and I want to apologize, too. It's my fault that it got to this point; my fears and beliefs that wouldn't allow you to say what you wanted before, my opinions that make you feel insecure about your desires, and I'm sorry." I guess I was expecting something more harsh. Not that. I was speechless and just nodded. "I could have done without the insults and criticism, but I guess I had that coming after so long. It hurt. A lot." She took another deep breath. "I cried. I was so angry." My heart went to her, and I started to speak, but she hushed me. "No. Let me finish." I sat back, and squeezed her fingers in mine, letting her know I was okay, and would listen.

"I almost went home, I swear," she continued. "I was so angry, I wanted to hurt you the way you hurt me, just as bad. I-" she stalled, "I stayed. Checked into another hotel." Her eyes dropped and her head lowered. "I thought about what you said, about me, about us." She bit her lower lip. "I wanted to get back at you. I-" she stalled again, and lifted her eyes to mine, regret filling them. "I did things. I went out, and I- I did things." Her eyes welled with tears, and she blinked them away. "With others," she added, and a single tear ran down her cheek. "I'm sorry." I thought of the club, wanted to ask if that had been her, but made myself wait. That miniskirt. Kissing a girl? Instead I reached for her face and wiped the tear from her cheek.

She sniffled and smiled.

"Thank you." I returned the smile. "I wanted to tell you that.." she stalled, and took another deep breath. "That you were right, and I'm sorry." She gave a wistful half-smile, and added, "I'm sorry I caused such a mess, sorry I left, sorry I tried to hurt you; you didn't deserve that." She stopped. "Well, maybe at first you did; I was really angry. I was furious." She heaved a deep breath. "And after I decided to not go home, I was determined that you would not ruin my vacation." She gritted her teeth. "I went shopping. And I went out. I was determined to have fun. And I did."