Chapter One: Karen
I’ve found my soulmate; except he isn’t the man I married.
We meet every Thursday and talk everyday in between. And so it’s been for almost four years now. And, it’s moments like these when I’m lying in his arms that I simultaneously think, “What am I doing?” and “God, I don’t want this to end.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath right into his armpits just before hearing his laugh fill the space between us.
“I don’t get you,” he whispers before kissing my forehead.
“You just smell so good.” I take another sniff then we both laugh. His scent is more soap than musk with no trace of cologne. I don’t prefer cologne anyway; that’s for men who try too hard. The soap smell, though? That’s the smell of a man who simply takes care of himself. Some could say that man doesn’t work too hard. For a brief moment — as it happens every time I lie in his arms — I wonder if it’s just the smell of a fresh shower after a midday romp with his wife.
Yes, we’re both married and honestly, that’s the way I like it.
Yes, we’re both married and honestly, that’s the way I like it. I wouldn’t dare sleep with him if he were single. I think he loves her and I know he has no plans of leaving her for me. Even if he did leave her for me I have no plans of leaving Dean for him…or anyone else. As for right now, with Adrian is where I want to be, but I know he’ll be leaving soon. It’s 4pm and soon is anytime before tomorrow.
He starts snoring and the low hum and soft vibration of his chest calms me. I run my hand over his stomach until it drops by his side. He grabs my right hand with his left and holds it tightly. We drift asleep.
Something’s buzzing. We both jump up and it’s his phone. Mine just has a few text messages from my best girlfriend. She’s probably just checking to see if it was as good as I hoped it’d be today. Adrian and I had an argument a few days before and she knew this would be a makeup session. She’s probably just checking in to see if he got out of the doghouse. I try to focus on reading her text messages, but get distracted by his voice. He’s trying to sound rushed and busy, but if I heard him I’d know he’d been asleep. It’s her.
“Yeah…okay…*sigh*…yeah, I told you I’ll be home later. Alright. Bye.”
They never exchange I love you’s. Well, at least I never hear him say it to her and believe me I listen very closely. Every time he answers the phone I get nervous. What is planned as an 8-hour rendezvous could easily be shortened to three hours with one phone call. I know — intellectually — that it comes with the territory when you’re in a relationship with another woman’s husband but my heart knows no such thing.
I stand with my back to him to check my phone while trying to breathe through the palpitations of fear and longing. He slaps me on my behind once he hangs up and I quickly put my phone down. I turn around just in time to see his bare ass walking towards the bathroom and get excited all over again. I’ve never gotten excited by seeing a naked man before him. Sexy to me has always been a well-dressed man until now. He can wear anything (except his tattered Georgetown t-shirt) or nothing at all and I’d still find him undeniably sexy. I slide between the sheets and glance at the clock on the nightstand. 7:18pm.
He walks over to the bed and places one hand on the mattress and grabs my ponytail with the other. I don’t protest. He turns my face up towards his and presses his lips on mine. We kiss slowly yet deeply for a second before he pulls my head back and starts applying a cadence of soft kisses along my neck. He lets go of my hair and moves his hand to my neck. It’s a grip firm enough to make me lean back on the bed because I know that’s what he wants. He pulls back the sheet and quickly disappears underneath them. He makes me come once before settling into me…again.
He doesn’t quite fill me up and we both know it. I’m not sure if it’s because Dean is bigger or because of the wreck down there after three deliveries. Despite being 39 years old I’m oddly self-conscious about not being “tight enough” and the fact that my boobs look incredibly sad. Literally. Well, maybe that’s not too odd for a 39-year old. The being self-conscious part not the body issues. Those, I think, are rare…I don’t know of any young women that complain of loose-ish lady parts and saggy boobs. Nevertheless, I never feel self-conscious with him. Whenever he stares at me my first thought is “wow, he thinks I’m beautiful” not “oh my goodness, my tiger stripes are showing.” Still, he moves inside me with what looks like pleasure and I feel all of him. I run my hands along his back (careful not to scratch) while doing a few rhythmic squeezes trying to remember my Kegel routine. Squeeze. 1…2…3…4…5…Release. Squeeze. 1…2…3…Release. Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. 1…2…Shit! I’m coming again. He smiles at me and puts his lips near my ear.
“I love what you do to me,” he whispers softly. Then, “FUCK!” He screams as I feel him explode for the second time today. He collapses on top of me and we kiss until I unknowingly push him out of me. We both laugh. I spread my legs and he bends down to get face-to-face with it. He loves to see his cum trickling out of me. He puts one finger inside and back up to my mouth. I don’t mind being his creampied pornstar tonight.
We kiss again and between pecks I see his eyes dash towards the nightstand. I know he’s checking the time. I put my hand on his cheek to turn his head back to me.
“You know I have to go at some point,” he says.
“I know. Me too.” I try not to look disappointed.
I prepare the shower and we spend the next fifteen minutes cuddling upright with water running down our backs. Once we’re out I start a small pot of coffee and begin ironing his shirt. Just enough that it looks neat, but not too pressed that it looks freshly ironed.
“He’s so damn lucky,” he says speaking of my husband. We never call their names. When we’re together they are simply “he” or “she” and occasionally “my husband” or “my wife.” These aren’t rules, but rather ways that we’ve adapted to dealing with the fact that we both belong to someone else. I knew that once our spouses lost their names that our friendship was more than a friendship and we were in trouble. That was four years ago.
We say our goodbyes and flip a coin to see who leaves first. He gives me one last kiss before leaving the room. I finish getting dressed and fifteen minutes later leave both keys on the desk, close the door behind me, and walk through the lobby to my car.
I smile inside the entire drive home. It’s 10:39pm when I pull into my garage and my phone vibrates.
Him (10:40pm): U home and safe?
Me (10:41pm): I am. Thank you for always checking on me. :)
Him (10:42pm): ;)
I open the door and the house is dark. I turn on the light in the foyer so that I can see. I walk up the stairs and see that the dishes from tonight’s dinner are on the counter and the food is still on the stove. I spend a few minutes putting things away and loading the dishwasher before heading to bed. I’m exhausted.
Him (11:32pm): Can you check the PO Box tomorrow?
Me (11:35pm): Sure.
Him (11:37pm): Thanks. Are you in bed?
Me (11:38pm): YW. Yeah, you’ve made me one tired woman.
Him (11:42pm): ;) Get some rest. Good night. Love.
Me (11:43pm): G’nite. Love.
I place my phone on the nightstand on top of my magazines. There’s no clock here. Dean starts moving and I cringe when his arm wraps around my waist to pull me closer to him. He’s asleep again within two minutes.
His snoring annoys me.
