Secret Lives of Cheating Wives

by Curtis Bunn

  Juanita caught herself. She wanted to talk about how displeased and disinterested she was in having sex with him, that their love life was less than exciting and that those facts drove her to another man, a man who coveted her body and appreciated her sexual expression. Instead, she held it in.

  “If I were in tune with what, Juanita? Say what you want to say.”

  “I’m saying you did not know I was unhappy about some things.”

  “You weren’t aware that I was unhappy, either, Juanita. So I guess you weren’t in tune to me.”

  “Let’s not make this a tit-for-tat,” Dr. Fields said. “You’re here to understand each other and to build from that knowledge.”

  “And that’s why I had the party,” Juanita said. “I wanted us to do something fun and not the same old same old. I don’t know about for you, but it was great for me.”

  She sat back and crossed her legs—a show of sass Maurice had never seen.

  The rest of the hour-long session was uneventful, with neither Juanita nor Maurice making significant inroads in getting their positions across. And that left Dr. Fields disappointed.

  “I have to tell you,” she said, “I came into this session feeling like we would end on a high note, with you all feeling closer to finding common ground on some key issues. My notes said that. And I felt it. But what I felt most of this session was animosity—or at least discord that should not be present in a healthy marriage.

  “So, this is what I hope you will accomplish by the time we meet next week: Maurice, I want you to make a concerted effort to compliment Juanita at least twice a day. Whatever compliment it is that you feel, share it. I’m asking you to do this because expressing compliments shows that you appreciate her, that you recognize how wonderful you say she is.

  “Juanita, I want you to do the same. Tell Maurice twice a day something you appreciate about him. Not something out of the blue, but something that he does during the course of the day that you might not have acknowledged in the past.

  “The goal here is to help you identify the good in each other, and that can only come from each of you making the other feel appreciated and loved. This is the easiest homework you’ll ever receive. I’m looking for two As from this assignment.”

  Neither of them felt excited about the challenge, but each agreed that expressing compliments would be a nice start to them showing consistent affection. “This will be interesting,” Juanita said.

  “You have time to go to lunch?” Maurice asked.

  “I wish I did. I have to get back to the office,” Juanita lied. She hugged her husband and he went to his job on Capitol Hill and she went the other way. After she saw him drive off, Juanita called Brandon. When he did not answer, she sent for an Uber that would take her to Bethesda to Massage Envy, where he worked as a massage therapist.

  The ride there was torturous. She was worried because she took the rest of the day off and hoped Maurice would not call her office looking for her. What would she do then? But she was mostly worried about how Brandon would receive her showing up on his job.

  She did what she considered the right thing: She made an appointment for a massage. . . under the name Renee Rice—her middle and maiden names. She hoped Brandon got her clue and knew she was coming. But would he be upset that she showed up at his workplace? That was a concern.

  Her biggest fear, however, was that Brandon would reject her. She had never faced rejection in her life. At the same time, she had not put herself in a vulnerable position, either. This was a significant step for her, one that crystalized how much she needed change in her life. It was an indictment against her husband and against herself. And she did not care.

  When she arrived at the business, she walked in with trepidation, worried that Brandon would be in the lobby and shut her down before she got started. It was fifteen minutes before her appointment. The receptionist greeted her with a smile, confirmed her appointment and offered her something to drink as she filled out paperwork and waited for Brandon.

  “He will be with you in a moment.”

  Juanita went from concerned to nervous then. What am I doing? I’m a married woman? I shouldn’t be here.

  But she could not move. The need for passion in her life was overwhelming. She was scared because she did not believe she could get it from her husband. Before she could torture herself with more unpleasant thoughts, Brandon emerged from the massage rooms to the right of the front counter.

  He did not look up. He took the clipboard that had the list of clients to be served. He looked at his watch. Juanita looked on with a mix of excitement and fear. She crossed her legs and straightened her dress.

  “Renee Rice,” he said, without looking up.

  Juanita did not move. Brandon placed the clipboard back on the counter and turned toward the lounge area.

  His eyes met Juanita’s, and they both had a confused look on their faces: Juanita because she was trying to read his look and Brandon because he couldn’t believe she was there.

  “Miss Rice,” the receptionist said, “Brandon is ready for you.”

  Juanita uncrossed her legs and rose from her chair. Brandon scanned the length of her body and finally said, “Miss Rice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Miss Rice?”

  “Yes, I’m Mrs. Rice.”

  Brandon made a small smile, which eased Juanita’s mind.

  “How did you get referred to me?”

  “My husband.”

  “Your husband?”

  “Yes, he sent me here.”

  “Okay, great. Let’s go this way.”

  Believing others could hear, he said, “I see you’re having a deep tissue massage today. We’re going to be in this studio right here. You can get undressed, cover yourself with the sheet on the table and I will come in shortly. Would you like something to drink?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” she said as she walked into the room.

  Brandon went back out to the lobby to examine her paperwork. He also looked around to see if her husband was there. He wasn’t.

  He gave it a few more minutes before knocking on the door and slowly opening it. He closed the door and let out a sigh of relief. He knew the walls were thin, so he spoke in his regular voice and in a low voice.

  She was lying on her back, naked.

  “So, Miss Rice, do you have some areas I need to work on in particular.”

  She pointed between her legs. “Yes... right here needs the most work.”

  Brandon smiled and shook his head. “I can feel the tension.”

  He stood on the side of the table, leaned in and he whispered into her. “So what’s going on with you?”

  “I need your services,” she said. “You wouldn’t call me back so I came to you.”

  “You’re bad.”

  “Why didn’t you call me back?”

  “Okay, let me know if this is too much pressure,” he said in case anyone could hear.

  Then he leaned in and whispered. “Because I saw you with your husband and I felt guilty. It was one thing to do what we did and not know who he was. He was a phantom. But to see him. . . he became a real person. And I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  Juanita was moist the moment she undressed and became more amorous as Brandon stood in front of her.

  “No one’s going to get hurt. But I need you to take care of me.”

  Brandon weighed not sexing her for about ten seconds. Then he said, “Turn onto your stomach. Let me give you a massage—and more.”

  Juanita obeyed his commands and Brandon turned on some soothing “music” that sounded like a bubbling brook. He then lathered his hands with lavender-scented oil and removed the sheet to reveal half of her body. He slowly ran his hands over the left side, concentrating on the shoulder and neck at first and then the center of her back and the small of it. He added more oil and massaged it into her ass, which was exposed. He let his hand “slip” between her legs, where he could feel the heat coming from her insides.
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  Brandon moved along, rubbing oil slowly and firmly down her thigh, to her calf and feet. She moaned at the pleasure of his touch and the anticipation of his passion.

  He covered the side he had finished and took the same, deliberate approach that almost made Juanita climax on the table—from his hands on her body and the anticipation. After he finished the right side, he said, “You can turn over now.”

  When she did, she noticed Brandon’s bulge stretching out his pants. She reached for it and he backed up.

  “Come here,” she said in a whisper. “Please come here.”

  Brandon obliged, and Juanita moved to her side and immediately reached for his belt, which she unfastened. She unzipped his pants and they fell to the floor.

  “Wait,” he said, before stepping out of his pants and locking the door.

  Juanita tossed aside the sheet and got off the table. When Brandon came over to her, she grabbed his erection as they kissed.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For denying myself this dick. I miss it. I need it.”

  Brandon’s ego was stroked, but he worried about what that meant. Was she going to be a pest? Was she going to stunt his social life? Was she going to become a stalker?

  Those thoughts flooded his mind as he looked down on the top of Juanita’s head as she took him into her mouth. She seemed famished, going up and down on it with a passion he had not seen since she used to blow him many years before she was married.

  She gazed up into his eyes as she performed and the contorted look of pleasure on his face excited her—and made her suck harder. Before he could explode, she got off her knees and leaned over the massage table. Brandon eased his way over and she reached back to get a handful of his penis.

  He leaned over and whispered, “I don’t have a condom with me at work.”

  Juanita did not care. “I had my tubes tied.”

  Brandon took that to mean she wanted him inside her, and he went for it, entering her from behind and forcing himself deeper and harder while somehow managing not to sound like two bodies colliding in heat.

  Juanita fought back tears throughout the session. The pleasure and guilt overwhelmed her. When they were done, Brandon held her in his arms.

  “It’s okay, Juanita. It’s okay. Come on. Lay on the table. Let me finish the massage.”

  She got herself together and he moistened towels at the sink so they could clean themselves. He pulled out a can of air freshener to dim the aroma of sex that hung in the air.

  Juanita lay on her stomach, her face in the opening at the head of the table. Brandon lit another candle, washed his hands and covered them in oil. Then he rubbed Juanita’s shoulders and arms and back and legs—meticulously and lovingly. Her body felt reinvigorated—but not from his hands.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  WALKING TALL

  RHONDA

  When she came home, Eric was in the kitchen waiting for Rhonda. And he was not exactly welcoming.

  “Where the fuck you been?”

  This was out of character for him—yelling and cursing. He hardly ever raised his voice, unless at the TV as he watched a sporting event. He was so loud and angry that he scared Rhonda.

  “Why are you screaming at me?”

  “Rhonda, where the fuck have you been?”

  “I told you I was staying at Olivia’s.”

  “Well, you didn’t tell Olivia that.”

  “What are you talking about? I called her several times and she didn’t answer.”

  “Because I told her not to. I didn’t answer your calls, either. I didn’t want to talk to you.”

  “You think that’s okay? To go out and spend the night somewhere and not answer when I call you?”

  “Well, looking back on it, it probably wasn’t right. But at the time, I was pissed off at you and I didn’t have anything to say to you.”

  “You’re not fucking single, Rhonda. Pissed at me or not, you don’t go out and spend the night somewhere and you don’t ignore my calls. If I did that to you, you’d lose your mind.”

  “I told you what I was doing. You didn’t want to accept it. I felt like I needed a break, some time away to think.”

  “That’s not the way to go about it.”

  “Okay, okay. You’re right about that. And I was thinking this morning that I shouldn’t have put Olivia in the middle of our marriage. I apologized to her about that. She doesn’t need to know our business.”

  “Well, she does now. And you made me look like some sucker, not answering your phone and telling her not to answer hers. That’s wrong and rude and disrespectful. What do you think she will think of me now? And look at you. You look a mess.”

  “I told you I had too much to drink. I feel like I need some more rest. I want to take a shower and go to bed.”

  “That’s fine. But don’t ever fucking do that again.”

  “Can you please stop cursing at me?”

  “Fuck no. I’m pissed.”

  “See, that’s not right. That’s—”

  “Don’t talk to me about what’s right. What were you going to say, that I’m being disrespectful by cussing? Well, good. I don’t give a fuck right now. Everything isn’t about you. What you did last night was reckless, disrespectful and you’d better not do it again. Period.”

  Then he stormed out of the kitchen, knocking over a chair along the way.

  Rhonda picked it up and sat in it. She was disappointed that she made Eric so mad, but she did not regret her time with Lorenzo, who made it easier for her by being all her husband was not: attentive, thoughtful, affectionate. She needed that.

  But Rhonda was concerned about how to coexist with Eric so angry. It was two days before they had a real conversation. She came into his man cave as he watched TV. He picked up the remote control and hit “mute.”

  “Look,” Eric said, “I’m not trying to go around here not speaking to you. But I needed some time to process what’s been happening. The bottom line is that you’re not happy, and as your husband, I should take that as a cue to do something about it because I don’t want you to resent me. So I’m going to do better, starting with my weight.”

  Rhonda was stunned. It was as if Eric had read from a husband’s guide on how to communicate with the wife. She appreciated that first, because his pattern of communication had devolved into mostly short sentences and grunts. And his acknowledgment of his weight issues really inspired Rhonda, who, in that moment, decided she could end it with Lorenzo before the cheating picked up any more momentum.

  “Well, Eric, I really appreciate you saying those things. I mean, I really appreciate it. And I’m really sorry about the other night. It won’t happen again. I was mad and hung out with Olivia and I had too much to drink. My car got booted downtown and it was best that you not see me like that. But it won’t happen again. I promise.”

  Eric nodded and Rhonda went over to him and they hugged. She felt grateful that he vowed to make changes, but mostly relieved that he moved beyond her night with Lorenzo. She had moved past it, too, and vowed not to cross the sexual line with him again.

  She had another week off before she had to return to work, and she planned to use her days reading and relaxing and mentally preparing to go back to the job. Rhonda also decided there was no way she would tell Olivia—or anyone—about her night with Lorenzo, so she had to keep her from her house, fearful Eric would ask her about the night she supposedly stayed with Olivia.

  Three days after getting things calmed down with Eric, while sitting at home reading Uptown magazine, Rhonda looked out of her window, only to see Lorenzo on his daily walk. Her mind told her to stay inside, but her legs moved her to the door nonetheless.

  As he looped the cul-de-sac, she walked down her driveway. “Were you going to walk by my house without saying hello?” she asked Lorenzo. She could not think of anything better to say.

  “I’m glad you were here, but I was not going t
o ring your doorbell, that’s for sure. How are you? You know, I texted you the last couple days.”

  “I know. I wasn’t sure if I should stay away from you or not.”

  “I understand.”

  “You do? I’m glad someone does because I don’t. I know it’s wrong. But I know it’s not right for me to deny myself, either.”

  “Maybe we should go inside and talk about it.”

  Rhonda looked around to see if any neighbors were outside. There weren’t. She knew she would be taking wrong to another level by allowing Lorenzo into her home.

  “I want to, but I shouldn’t. Maybe I could come visit you.”

  “Let me know when.”

  He kissed on her on the cheek and continued his walk. “I will call you later,” she said as she watched him strut down the street.

  Rhonda went back into the house and plotted on how she would visit Lorenzo. Seeing him reminded her of their intimacy—and she wanted more. All her notions of dismissing Lorenzo evaporated like steam.

  It became a clear plan when she sat down for dinner with Eric that evening after work. She watched in irritation as he breathed heavily while eating. Her husband had vowed to do better about his eating habits, but until she saw a difference, some things about him continued to bother her.

  After dinner, she told Eric: “I’m going to start walking in the evenings.”

  “Walk? Where? And are you up to taking walks?”

  “The doctors cleared me last week. I’m taking another week off because I can. Gonna walk in the neighborhood.”

  She wanted to ask Eric to join her, but her plan to see Lorenzo was to walk to his house on her evening strolls. So, she washed the dishes, put up the food and changed into a pair of black stretch pants, black razorback top and sneakers. She pinned up her hair and dabbled perfume on her wrists, behind her ears and a little on her cleavage.