I guess this is the first chapter of my story:
The fresh sheets rustled as I turned over in bed. They formed themselves around me and I opened my eyes to see just a hint of blue-grey light through the window. It was December first, not only my fortieth birthday, but our twentieth wedding anniversary as well.
My husband Randy breathed deep and slow. I ran a finger over the soft, dark-brown wisps of hair on his chest, along the dark-brown stubble on his chin and pushed a lock of wavy brown hair away from his forehead. His hair curled around his neck--exactly the length I liked it. Exactly the length where he’d cut it short again.
He softly took my hand and kissed my fingers. He rolled towards me and guided my hand to his erection. I stroked him and felt him harden even more. He pulled me in really close and kissed me like I was his first cup of coffee, ever.
He rolled on his back and I straddled his hips. He entered me with the grace that could only come after twenty years. We knew every corner and crevice of each other. We fit together like hand in glove. A perfect match.
But our marriage wasn’t always a graceful perfect match. Five years ago, when our daughter Mandy was fifteen, we had reached a stagnant point. Then she moved out two years ago to go to college and we seemed to have found each other again. What a miracle; so many marriages split up after such things.
I spread my legs to allow him to enter as deeply as humanly possible. I nuzzled my face against his neck, into his hair and smelled cigarettes. He had started smoking again a few weeks back. The smell mixed with his cologne made me tingle and I kissed him, sucking ever so slightly on the tip of his tongue. I circled my hips and pressed my weight down and then rubbed my clit back and forth along his moist skin. I tightened my muscles around his cock and I could tell he was close to coming.
Like a well-oiled machine, we awaited that point we knew we would both reach our climaxes. I felt the light building somewhere behind my eyes and a wave of satisfaction. I kissed him full on the mouth, sucked his tongue. I never felt so loved, so important, so much like a woman.
He kissed my cheek. “I love you,” he said.
I squeezed him tighter, never wanting to let go.
“Happy Birthday,” he said.
Oh yes, my birthday. I was expecting a string of pearls because he had been on about me wearing nothing but pearls and red lipstick for some time now. I slid off of him and stretched out beside him on my side, one leg draped over his thigh. He moved away from me and sat up on the edge of our bed. He raked one hand through his hair. I heard the drawer on the bed-side table open, a lighter click and smelled cigarette smoke.
“Since when do you smoke in the bedroom?” I said. “There’s no ashtray.”
“Yes there is,” he said.
I sat up and saw there was an ashtray in the drawer next to a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I craned my neck to see if there was a present in there for me, too.
“Jess, there’s something I need to tell you,” he said. A smile strained his lips.
“Happy anniversary?” I said and kissed his thigh. “You don’t have to work today. It’s still so early.” I rolled on my back and held out my arms. “Come back under the covers.”
“Sorry, Jess, but I have to get up. I have a lot to do today.”
“But it’s my birthday. It’s our anniversary.”
He turned to me and his serious look made the blood drain from my face.
“I have to go.”
“Are you going to the city again? You said you didn’t have to go until March.”
“Jess, you know I love you. I love you so much. But there’s, well, there’s…”
A sickness heaved in my gut.
“Look. There’s someone else. Jess, I am so sorry.”
A ton of bricks fell on my head. “You’re joking, right?”
He searched my face. He pleaded with his eyes. “Look. It’s me, not you, ok? I love you.”
“How long?” was all I could get out of my mouth.
“A little over two years. I hoped it was just a fling, but it’s not. She’s the woman I’ve always dreamed about.”
“I thought I was,” I whispered.
He stood and looked out the balcony door over the frozen lawn.
“Can’t we talk about this?” I said.
“I’m moving back to the city,” he said without turning to face me. “Today.”