The Affair: Cristiana's Story

by Aidèe Jaimes

  I storm out of the room and he follows behind me, pushing into our bedroom before I can slam the door in his face.

  “I didn’t say you were a slut. But look at how you’re acting! Mia is right there. Do you want her to learn those behaviors?”

  “She wasn’t looking! And I was flirting with you, my husband! I won’t see you for days and wanted you desperately. And yeah, I may have drunk a little too much and was careless of my actions in front of Mia. But don’t worry about that. Your words have slapped the drunk right out of me along with the slut!”

  Owen shakes his head. “My words didn’t slap anything out of you, you’re still drunk,” he says and leaves the room, and me nearly screaming, I’m so angry.

  He plays with Mia for another hour. I can hear them through the monitor. At first I am fuming. I stare at the clothes in my closet for a long time, wondering if I should pack them up and leave. Or if I should make him leave. It seems like the end, and I think, is it really, or am I overreacting? Why do things seem to take such a nasty turn so suddenly?

  Then as the time passes and I hear them laughing and enjoying their time together, and as the alcohol wears off, clarity along with the guilt settles in.

  I shouldn’t have flirted so shamelessly near Mia. He was right about that. What if she had seen?

  Yet, I can’t get past the word. Slut. Someone without class amongst other things. He’s never called me anything like that before. Or even worse, if I get down to the heart of it, what really bothered me was his own disinterest in me. Like he felt nothing.

  When he finally comes to the room, I am in the closet organizing. He walks in and stands there looking at me. I think he’s waiting for me to say something, but I don’t know what to say, so I keep folding clothes and putting shoes back on the racks.

  “I’m sorry,” he breaks the silence. “It came out wrong. I would never call you that. You know I would never. I just didn’t like how you were acting in front of Mia, it was too sexual. That was what I meant by it.”

  I sigh and turn to him. “I know. I agree with that part. But it was hurtful how you said it. And the way you said it, like you couldn’t stand me. I mean, is that how you feel? Do you even love me anymore?”

  He comes to me fast and takes me in his arms. “What the hell are you talking about? Cris, you know I love you. I am so sorry I hurt your feelings.”

  “Do you even still want to be with me?” I whisper into his chest, still smarting.

  He breathes out heavily and holds me tighter. “Fuck, you know I do! There is no one else, never will be.”

  The words are said with such conviction that I know he’s speaking the truth.

  “Cris, why do you keep asking me this? What am I doing that’s making you wonder?”

  He’s referring to the fact that I’ve asked that same question many times in the past, especially after Mia’s birth. I can remember doing something very like this when I was pregnant.

  I don’t know why I have this insecurity. I guess I can’t believe he still loves me as much as he did fifteen years ago. Even though I love him more now than I did then, it’s hard to believe it’s possible. And I know I’ve changed. For better, or worse, I don’t know.

  “No, you haven’t done anything,” I answer.

  “Then why ask? It makes me think I am failing at something. Am I not a good husband? A good lover? Do I not tell you you’re beautiful or smart or funny?”

  “You do, you are!”

  “Cris, let me make myself clear. I love you more than life. It’s always been you. And you are stuck with me until I die, or until you leave me. But know that if you leave me I’ll die.”

  My heart soars at the truth in his words and I wrap my arms tighter around him too. My anger gone now, I don’t ever want to let him go.

  But you can’t hold onto something forever.

  4

  I’m a wreck. The butterflies in my stomach are fierce as I run around the house straightening, cleaning, gathering all the toys Mia has spread in the living room. I can hear her muffled laughter from my pantry. There is lots of commotion there now, and I know exactly what she’s doing, stacking canned goods, opening boxes, breaking spaghetti into itty bits, planning her own dinner. A quick peek at her confirms my suspicion. It will have to wait. I am running late as it is.

  Owen comes home today. His plane arrives in less than thirty minutes and I am so happy I can’t wipe this ridiculous grin off my face. God I have missed that man.

  He’s been in Chicago the last four days and three very long nights. Business trips. I hate those. They are just an excuse for men to go to bars and drink all night, inserting a work meeting here and there and calling it team building. Still, I know he hates leaving us and would rather stay home than hang out with most of his co-workers. Owen works for a large fastener manufacturer based in Chicago, but they have offices everywhere. He manages the warehouse here in Charlotte.

  I haven’t been able to sleep without him. Never have been. Last night I finally resorted to a sleep aid so that I didn’t look like a total zombie today.

  Grabbing Mia and my bag, I look at myself one last time in the foyer mirror. I think I look pretty. I’m wearing a bright blue racerback shirt that compliments my skin tone, a short jean shirt and black strappy sandals. My hair is down and I’ve let it dry on its own so that it tumbles down my back in messy waves. Owen loves it when I do that.

  When we get to the airport I practically race to the baggage claim, actually knocking over a few unattended bags. Isn’t there a rule about that?

  He is already there, waiting for his bag.

  He’s wearing his booty jeans as I like to call them, and a black polo that displays those broad shoulders all too well.

  “Daddy!” Mia yells, practically leaping out of my arms. She races to him and he catches her, holding her to him tightly.

  He holds out one arm to me and I immediately go to him. He leans down to kiss me. Though he doesn’t open his mouth, the kiss lasts a little longer than usual. The scruff on his face grazes me slightly. His scent, so familiar, surrounds me and he pulls me in tighter before he releases my lips.

  “I missed you like crazy.”

  I’m a little breathless. “I missed you more.”

  The ride home is eternal. Though Mia’s high voice fills the car as she begs for her Daddy to look at this or look at that, he and I don’t say much to each other. We have talked a lot on the phone over the last few days. No, right now our needs are very different.

  There are meaningful side glances, the sexual tension in the car building. He runs the back of his hand over my left arm, the tips of his fingers grazing my breast, and further down past the hem of my skirt to the bare skin on my leg. He turns his hand and rests it there, palm on my thigh, close enough to my core that I know he can feel the moisture building there.

  I am squirming, trying to get his hand to shift just a little higher. He complies, slightly.

  “We’re almost home,” he whispers.

  My mind races with images of what I want him to do to me, but for all that we still must wait. It’s going to be torture.

  We get home and as a good father, Owen’s first obligation is to be reintroduced to all of Mia’s toys. Then of course, to be a good Prince and let himself be saved by the mermaid.

  “Daddy, you fall off the boat, and then I save you, got it?” she demands in a dictatorial sort of way.

  “Okay,” he complies by coughing. “Save me! My boat!” Cough, cough.

  It’s so cute to see them in action. I am standing at the doorway to her room watching them, loving them so much.

  “I hate to interrupt the rescue,” I say. “But dinner is ready.”

  “Pizza!” Mia cries and dropping everything runs out towards the kitchen.

  Owen gets up and makes to follow me, but before I could go too far he has me pinned, my front to the wall. I turn my face to look at him and he presses harder into me. He buries his nose in my hair and the crook of my n
eck where he bites until I yelp.

  “Owen,” I whisper.

  “I need you. I don’t know if I can wait anymore.” His right hand is up my shirt where he moves my bra down to expose my nipples and touches them roughly. I lift my butt higher and he pushes his rock-hard bulge into it while his free hand lifts my skirt and sinks into my panties.

  His fingers play with the wetness between my legs, drawing little circles around my clitoris until I melt so far into him that if he wasn’t holding me up I would fall.

  My breathing is becoming labored as I try not to moan too loud. He’s got me shaking, standing on my tip toes, ready to come.

  And I nearly do when his voice comes out in a deep murmur near my ear.

  “Tonight I want it all,” he whispers and his fingers move from my clitoris, over my vagina, to my anus, where he rubs the puckered hole. I whimper because I am so aroused I want him to fuck me there too.

  But just as we are getting too lost in our own need, a tiny loud voice calls from the bottom of the stairs and brings us back to reality.

  “Mommy, Daddy, I’m hungry!”

  We break apart and then I can see how glazed his eyes are, pupils dilated, and he is panting too. It feels good to know I am not the only one.

  Dinner has never been so agonizing. Neither Owen or I eat much, he has a few bites of his cheese pizza while all I can muster are two bites of Mia’s crust.

  “I should have called the sitter,” I mumble in misery, counting the minutes until he’s inside me.

  He chuckles and rubs my arm. “Soon. Besides, I’ve missed both my girls.”

  As bedtime nears, Owen showers, then takes Mia from me. “You go shower while I get her down.”

  “Daddy, you put me to bed! Daddy, Daddy!” Mia claps.

  I take my time in the shower, making sure that my entire body is perfectly smooth and clean and fresh. My intent is to blow dry my hair and put on some make-up, but when I step out of the shower, Owen is already waiting there for me.

  He slams into me, his mouth on mine, his tongue searching desperately for mine.

  “I need you,” he says raggedly, and takes my towel off, dropping it to the floor.

  He falls to his knees taking me with him, and then his hands are everywhere, holding me tighter, roughly groping. His face is in my neck, his tongue following a path down to my chest.

  He brings my breasts together so that he can get both nipples into his mouth at the same time and bites them. I hold his head there and cry out, “Shit! Shit!” because that’s all I can say.

  My hips begin to hump him, my sex seeking relief.

  “Owen, please, fuck me, please,” I beg.

  He brings me down to the bath mat hard, where we both work at his belt and he flings off his shirt and pants. He’s inside me then, pounding into me. The mat begins to move across the bathroom floor as he fucks me, and next thing I know my head is banging against the door. I don’t care. This feels too good.

  I look to the cabinet and think of the special lubes we have in there that we can use. Anal sex is so good when I am this aroused. But Owen is fucking me like a lunatic, with an almost crazed look on his face that scares me a little.

  One, I don’t think he’ll hear me if I suggest it. Two, I don’t think I can take him there this hard.

  So instead I open myself to him more and pull on the backs of my knees until my legs are so far back they are touching the door too. He’s so deep I have tears coming out of my eyes from the intensity of it.

  Then something in him shifts, and he flips me around onto all fours and is inside before I know what happened. As aggressive of a lover as he’s always been, I realize this is different. There is desperation in the way he breathes into my ear. His fingers grip my chin almost painfully and he pulls my head back, urging me to arch my back more as he deepens his thrusts.

  “You’re mine, Cris. All mine. Only mine. Say it!” he commands in such a way that it pushes me over the edge and I can think of nothing more than the blinding orgasm I’m under.

  “Yours,” I scream.

  He pulls out as his own climax hits him then and I can feel the heat and wetness of it on my lower back, then we both fall onto the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

  When he’s able to muster the strength, he lifts me to the shower and gets us both cleaned up and to bed.

  Before I drift off, he kisses my cheek and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

  I giggle, and mumble, “For what, silly?” He knows I like it rough.

  “I’m sorry,” he says it again, and it sounds broken. I frown at the sound of it, but I’m so tired that I fall asleep before I can make sense of what he’s trying to say.

  Owen left early this morning for work. I woke up feeling gloriously loved and sore in all the right places. I lay in bed for a long while, letting Mia decide when it was time to get up, and not my pressing chores.

  It’s about seven thirty when the spell breaks and I have to start my day. There is so much to do every day, more so when I have luggage to sort through. There is a lot of cleanup to be done when Owen comes home from a business trip. He always has a large load of dirty clothes and a ton of receipts and garbage that I need to separate.

  That is what I am doing now while Mia is keeping busy playing dress up with my clothes and shoes. It’s going to add more work for me later, having to reorganize everything, but I still smile, loving the normalcy of it. Folding his clothes. Having Mia here beside me yapping away.

  I couldn’t wish for anything more, I think as I dig through the thousand pockets his small carry-on has. Life is good.

  And that is when I see it. That damned yellow sticky note buried amidst a bunch of receipts that had been balled up and tossed in together. Cassandra.

  I stare at the name, momentarily stunned at first. I don’t know how long I look at it, or what it is about it that catches my eye.

  Is it the name? Can a name alone be something to be frightened of? Maybe. It’s just too sexy. Cassandra. It takes a special sort of woman to pull off a name like that. Beautiful, seductive. That is what I envision.

  Or is it something more? Why would I take the time with a little piece of paper like any of the others in the stack? There are always names with phone numbers in his pockets. What does this one matter?

  Is it woman’s intuition?

  I put it to my nose and inhale slightly. It smells like a woman, soft and sweet.

  Even as Mia loses interest in my things and begins to pull at my legs saying, “Play with me, Momma!”, my eyes remain glued to that piece of paper. Cassandra.

  I set this from my mind, because I know that I am being ridiculous. It’s just a piece of paper with a name on it. Probably just one of his customers.

  I laugh and set it aside with the others for him to go through later when he has a chance.

  The day goes by uneventfully. We play with Jess’ kids, go to the grocery store. Cook dinner.

  Owen calls me to let me know he’s running a little late because he is still submitting his expenses and has lost one of the receipts.

  “God, I hope I don’t have to pay for that,” he says annoyed over the phone. “It’s over three-hundred dollars!”

  “I’m sorry, baby. Would the receipt be with the others in the luggage?”

  He remains quiet for a bit, then says, “No, I brought all the ones I need with me. You can throw all that stuff away.”

  “Okay.” I hang up, feeling more than a little irritation that we are going to have to pay for that gas grill he got for his team in Chicago.

  It’s got to be in those receipts, I think. I pull them out again and start searching. I know he got it at an outdoor store the day he arrived. I carefully scan every sheet I see, every line item, searching for that grill.

  That is when I come across his hotel receipt, unfold the sheet, and automatically, because I have been doing it with all the others, scan it line by line. It’s very well itemized.

  -$238 corporate rate @ 3 nights
<
br />   -$52.80 The Line Bar and Grille

  -$19.44 The Line Bar and Grille

  - $22.30 The Line Bar and Grille

  - $120 Room Service

  - Deluxe Fruit and Cheese Platter

  - Bottle House Cabernet (California) @ 2

  - $4.99 In Room Movie

  - Forest Gump

  My first thought is, he spent too much at the hotel restaurant. My second thought is… Owen never drinks wine. As in he hates it. Why would he order it to his room?

  I get chills as the answer blows out of the stack of receipts, yellow and wrinkled. Or maybe it was me that subconsciously pulled it out. I don’t remember doing it.

  The image of this woman begins to form in my head, unwanted and hated. But I can’t help it. I see him, with her.

  The memory of last night comes to me. I’m sorry, he’d said. At the time, I couldn’t imagine what he could be apologizing for.

  Now I do, and I am sorry for it.

  5

  “Okay, what’s wrong? I can tell something’s been bothering you, so just tell me.” Owen is exasperated with me because I’ve barely said a word since he got home from work.

  I shake my head. “We’ll talk later.” I want to talk now, boy do I want to. Actually, I want to scream. But Mia is here, and I have to wait for her sake. This is not a conversation she should hear any part of, even if she’s too little to understand half of it.

  As the night progresses, both Owen and I become more distant, barely looking at or acknowledging each other, though we do work together to get Mia down for the night.

  The moment she is in her bed I walk to our bathroom and he follows me, closing the bedroom and then the bathroom door behind us. There is a reason I have brought him to this room. The lights are the brightest here. All of our rooms are dark in the evenings, with just a few lamps here and there. For some reason, no one ever thought to install ceiling lights except in the kitchen. I want to be able to see his face clearly, every expression.