My Husband Traded Me

by Laran Mithras

  He shut his eyes suddenly.

  What?

  He pursed his lips and then swallowed. He opened his eyes, a change there she couldn't decipher. "Do you like the color?" His tone was even and controlled.

  "It's all right."

  He sighed. "Do you like flower prints? I think they had some solid colors your size."

  "Flower prints are okay."

  He sighed louder and dropped the skirt down to his side. "I'll pick a couple. Find your jeans."

  Why is he being so mean? Did I say something wrong? She picked out two new pairs in size three. The sick coil in her tightened.

  ~ ~ ~

  She tried on the full-length skirt the next day, deliberately picking the day she would be cleaning the floors. We'll see how this works.

  Blake ignored her while she made breakfast. He said nothing when she put down the plate. He didn't even look at her.

  Did I make him mad? What's wrong? "Is breakfast okay?"

  He looked up with a look of surprise – as if just realizing she was there. The carefully plastered look on his face didn't seem genuine. "Yes, of course."

  She knew there wasn't anything wrong with the scrambled eggs, but his silence was eating at her. She couldn't suffer not knowing what he was thinking. Does he hate me?

  After breakfast, she rinsed the dishes. She could feel his eyes on her. She glanced back and caught his eyes rising from her skirt. Was he staring at my butt? "What's the matter?"

  He ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe the skirt wasn't a good idea."

  "What? Why?"

  "It's a looser material than the blue jeans. It drapes…more…"

  "Drapes? What do you mean?"

  "It…shows more." He looked angry.

  She felt the familiar surge of strange sensations in her bringing a giddiness that threatened to break into a smile. No, I can't smile; that would be bad. But the excitement coursed through her; she couldn't deny it, even if she did deny its expression.

  She bent down to put the dishes in the sink.

  He blew out a loud breath.

  She straightened and he stood at the same time. She leaned back against the counter, watching him with wide eyes. Is he going to blow up? Be mad at me?

  His fingers were twitching, looking as if they were itching to strangle. He took a step toward her and she gasped in a breath.

  Her pulse was racing, beating a staccato tempest in her neck. Does he mean to hit me? Is he that kind of a man? But she knew he wasn't.

  Then he took a larger step forward, coming to her fast. His hands came down on the counter on either side of her and his face was close, looking at her with a mixture of anger and desire.

  Molly tilted her head to him automatically, her lips parted in a silent pant.

  But he was gone – pushing off the counter and away from her. He spun, shoulders tense, and stomped into the mudroom.

  She heard the back door slam. That draining, deflating sensation moved through her, leaving her empty and cold. What did I do? Water rimmed her eyelids and she fled to her bedroom.

  CHAPTER 8

  Molly fretted in her room later that evening. I need to apologize. I don't want to be a problem to him. She glanced at the clock; it was nearing the time he would go to bed. I need to do it now before I miss the chance.

  She flicked off the light, but stood in the darkness of her room. What if he gets angrier? What if I cause him to hate me?

  A movement in the hall startled her. Walking past in front of her in the pitch blackness was a shape. She almost gasped, but kept her silence in the doorway.

  It was Blake, going to his bedroom.

  Darn, I missed him. But maybe I can just go in and say what I need to say before he gets in bed. She knew she would have to hurry. Instead she retreated into her room, doomed by doubts. If he's already mad, can he get any madder? Am I just making a mess of things? She looked in the general direction of the lampstand. Her cell rested there. Would Trent guide me?

  She didn't pick up the cell; she paced. I need to do this. I need to do this. Just do it! "What do I do, Annie?"

  Her doll gave her the silent treatment – listening but not offering.

  Turning on her heel, she moved quickly into the hallway. Do it before I chicken out. Just apologize and get it over with. She paused at his darkened doorway. Years of living alone in an empty house meant he never shut his door. Her fist was raised to knock on the frame. The lamp was already off in his room. No, that would sound stupid in the dark; maybe I'll just call his name.

  But she didn't. She listened for a moment, holding her breath. She heard the shifting of the bed. Darn, he's already in bed. I blew it. Her shoulders slumped and she started to turn to go back to her room.

  Blake gasped lightly. His bed was around the corner of the door to the left and against the far wall.

  She couldn't see him, but she could hear him. She turned back. Is he crying?

  He groaned softly.

  No, not crying.

  In the inky darkness of the hallway, she leaned her head around the corner.

  The light from his old flip digital alarm clock cast a very faint orange glow on the bed. She squinted and tried to focus on the shapes. She opened her mouth to call his name but froze suddenly when she saw the movement.

  He was doing something, moving.

  She realized he was masturbating.

  An icy-hot flush of embarrassment eroded all her will to apologize. Oh my god, I need to leave. How embarrassing.

  His gasp stopped her.

  His groan hooked her and lured her back around the corner.

  She tried to focus again. Movement that could only be his hand drew her nearly blind gaze in. She couldn't see anything, but she knew what was happening.

  Blake was moving faster, panting quicker. "Oh yeah." His whisper sounded loud in her ears.

  Then she heard the words that blew her world.

  He groaned and said, "Yes, Molly. Oh…fuck…" He began grunting desperately.

  Heat flooded her between her legs and she felt her nipples harden. She pulled back away from his door, holding her breath. A few hand-touches to the wall and she was back in her room.

  She was shaking so hard her teeth were rattling. She gripped her wedding ring and held on.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was Saturday, the morning after her discovery of Blake's nocturnal deed. She looked at her other skirt he had bought. She selected it since her jeans were still drying in the laundry room.

  Her underwear was a different story. She scowled at her only clean pair of panties. She had just come off her cycle a few days back and unfortunately had ruined them, even after laundering. I'm not wearing those.

  She crumpled them and tossed them on the bed to dispose of later. Washing hadn't saved them. Good thing he bought the skirts. Can't run around with no panties in jeans.

  She came out of the bathroom later and headed to the kitchen to make breakfast.

  Blake was sitting, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper. The aroma of coffee and leather that permeated the house comforted her soul. He did not acknowledge her.

  That's odd, you'd think he would at least say something after his activity last night… Her mind started to slow, focusing on what she had mostly heard, rather than seen. Would have been nice to see it.

  She blinked rapidly and shook her head.

  He said, "Are you feeling all right?"

  "Um, just need some coffee, I think." She poured herself a cup, her back to him. She moved over and began preparing breakfast – all the while, feeling his eyes on her. She resisted the urge to turn around.

  During breakfast, she stole looks at him while he ate: he did not look at her. Did the thought of me last night disgust him? It didn't sound like it. Why is he so cold this morning? She couldn't figure why he would masturbate thinking of her and then be so distant the next morning. Sort of like high school? Cum and dump?

  She went about cleaning feeling dejected – rejected the next day
after something that secretly had excited her. He was attracted to me but now he isn't? I was sexy yesterday but not today? Maybe he was imagining my torn and worn jeans.

  She was on her hands and knees, cleaning the area behind the sink pedestal in his bathroom when she heard him. She looked back.

  He was blinking and looking uncomfortable. "Maybe you should be wearing jeans."

  She sat up on her ankles, kneeling. "They were drying."

  "You washed them two days ago."

  "Well, yeah, but I didn't think you'd want me to be running to the laundry room in my t-shirt and panties."

  He blinked faster and then pulled on his shirt collar. "Uh…"

  "I'll be wearing them tomorrow."

  He sighed with relief. "Good. I think those skirts are worse."

  She looked left and right for an answer that was hidden nowhere. "Why? They cover everything."

  "But they drape. I would swear you're not wearing panties."

  She blushed, very embarrassed. "Actually, I'm not."

  He pulled on his shirt collar again. With an exasperated gasp, he said, "Whyever not?"

  Her voice dropped low and so did her gaze. "I only have one pair left. They have to get washed."

  He threw up his hands. "Why didn't you say something at the store?"

  "I didn't think it was appropriate to be talking to another man about my panties."

  He chuckled sharp and short. "Uh, well, maybe not."

  "Sorry."

  "You only have one pair left?"

  "And I'll wear them tomorrow."

  He ran a hand through his hair and glanced down at her several times. "I guess I could drive you back to the store and just hand you fifty dollars."

  It seemed so odd to her to be talking about Blake buying her panties. How would she explain that to her husband? Hi, honey. Blake bought me panties. It just didn't seem right.

  He sighed again and pursed his lips. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

  She looked down again. He knows?

  "I'll try not to gawk."

  And that sent the dejection in her soaring into daring; she wanted him to gawk. Why? What is this? Why did Trent dump me here? I got traded for a lousy truck? She fought back tears, not sure if they threatened over this outrageous deal her husband had struck or over Blake's resolve not to look at her. Nothing is going my way; I'm at the dead-end of life.

  She bent back forward and took a savage swipe at the last area of flooring. She felt him watching.

  ~ ~ ~

  Dinner that evening, just a month after she had been dumped off, was a steak and mashed potato meal.

  She felt his eyes on her. What's changed since breakfast? And why didn't he take me to the store like he said?

  She cleaned the plates in the sink and put them in the dishwasher. She could hear him breathing behind her, sitting in his chair and watching her.

  She heard him stand while she rinsed the sink.

  Arms slid around her waist that shocked her to inaction. She froze, tensing, feeling the surge of sensations that erased all trace of rational thinking. Her lips parted and she breathed rapidly through her mouth.

  He hugged her from behind, pressed fully against her.

  Her head swam as his breath blew a hot breeze across the skin of her neck. She closed her eyes and put her hands on his arms as they encircled her. A warmth and buzzing comfort filled her being. She relaxed in his arms as she faced the sink. She could feel his manliness pressed against her butt and a tendril of ache radiated up from her pussy into her inner core.

  Gone were the feelings of dejection, rejection, and consternation. Something comforting flooded her and her heart beat with a joy she had long regarded as fable.

  His one word sent shivers down her spine. "Molly…"

  Her heart responded immediately, beating faster.

  He turned her slowly, not really letting go.

  She allowed it, following his lead, until she was face to face with him, seeing each other with their eyes and something else inside.

  He leaned his head in and she allowed it. No, she welcomed it. Their lips met and his first tentative flick of tongue sent her spiraling to dizzying heights in her mind.

  She kissed him back and he warmed immediately, kissing deeper. Her tongue and lips moved over his and she pressed herself forward against him, wanting to feel all of his strength pressed to her, fortifying her, filling her, and reinforcing her against the coming loss when they parted.

  He pressed forward too, until they were crushed together, man to woman, melded and warm. His hand cupped her head, holding her mouth to his as he explored her intimacy.

  A sound distracted him, and then her. He broke the kiss and she panted.

  She said, "What's that? What's wrong?"

  He said, "I think that's your cell phone."

  In a chilling flash of ice and separation, they were apart. With the flush of guilt, she ran to the bedroom. Trent?

  It was. "Hi, honey." His voice, so familiar, sent the guilt wringing harsher around her soul.

  Her voice shook. "Hi."

  Trent blew out a breath on the other end. "Wow, I'm tired. But it's a good tired. How have you been?"

  She heard Blake in the doorway behind her. She tried to keep her voice from shaking. "Fine…"

  "Sorry I didn't call earlier but these twelve hour days are killer. I get in the camper and just collapse."

  "That's all right."

  "I'll try to call on Sundays; it's my only day off."

  "Oh…what do you do on Sundays?" She tried to talk about anything to drown out the insistent memory of Blake's lips against hers.

  "Do a lot of lottery tickets."

  Disappointment flooded her. "Don't you make enough to not buy them?"

  Her husband's voice got excited, despite the weariness. "That's the thing. We can afford so much more now. We're going to hit the big one, I know it."

  She sighed. "The more tickets you buy, the longer you'll be gone."

  "When we win the jackpot, I can come home right away."

  "How much are you spending?"

  He sounded disappointed. "Not as much as I want. I put half of everything into tickets this last week, but I want to get to the point where I'm investing five grand per month. We can't lose with all those chances."

  Five grand? That leaves three grand per month? "I don't think that's a good idea."

  "Oh, come on, Molly. We've been at the bottom for so long I think you actually like it down there. We can't win if we don't buy the tickets. Someone has to win and I want it to be me."

  She touched her lips, wiping at them and remembering Blake's kiss. The sick coil unwound in her with a ferocity that fueled her desperation. "I want you to come home."

  "I will, baby, I swear. And we'll be rich."

  She sighed.

  He said, "Is Blake treating you all right? How's it working out?"

  She laughed on the edge of sanity and tears. "He's fine. Everything's fine here." She licked her lips. Yes, his kisses are fine, too, dear. Tears rimmed her eyelids.

  "I'll call tomorrow, okay? I'm going to crash."

  "Okay." Her one word was small against the enormity of her plight.

  "I love you."

  She wanted him to know. She wanted her words to bring him back and save her. "I love you, too."

  CHAPTER 9

  Molly clicked off the cell phone and put it down slowly. What am I going to do?

  Blake entered and stood behind her. His hands descended lightly on her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

  She spun and gripped him, the tears rolling freely. She buried her face against his neck and said, "No. No…it's my fault."

  He shook his head. "No, really. I shouldn't be kissing a married woman. And my friend's wife at that. I'm not that kind of man."

  She looked up desperately, searching his eyes. Don't abandon me. Don't do that to me. She kissed him fast, before he could move.

  He resisted, stiff at first
, and then kissed her back. The coil of sickness in her intensified and at the same time, the previous feelings of comfort and satisfaction returned. It was a bittersweet flavor that hinted at something darker and ominous.

  She kissed deeper and more passionately, trying to reclaim what she had felt at the sink.

  He pushed her gently and lowered her to the bed.

  Panic flooded her at the same time as an exploding passion. Her body trembled from the war being waged within her. She pulled on him as he climbed over her, lying on her as their lips met again. It was just a kiss; they were fully clothed. But his weight on her pressed away the worries and submerged her in satisfaction.

  She could feel him trembling, trying to hold back – trying to control whatever drove him to kiss her. She held onto him with her arms, squeezing, seeking to pull at his resistances and uncover what passion he was trying to hide. What are you holding back? And why? Do you hate me? Or do you like me? Is a kiss all you can spare for me because I'm married?

  Her thoughts drifted into something meaningless as his tongue pushed into her mouth slowly. She felt the heat and moisture in her pussy, safely hidden from him, as he warmed her with his solid weight.

  He broke the kiss and looked down at her. His hand stroked lightly at her hair. He was looking, searching her eyes for something.

  She looked back, wanting to know how to provide him the answer for which he desired.

  Then he was off, crawling away with a look of grim determination. He was trembling visibly and his jeans showed a lump where they normally didn't.

  Torn by the excitement of exciting him and the pain of loss at his getting off of her, she half reached to pull him back, but far too late.

  His words and look were stony. "I shouldn't be doing this to you. You love your husband."

  She sat up quickly. "No, wait—"

  But his back was already to her, leaving her room and her alone.

  ~ ~ ~

  Sunday breakfast was a little awkward. Molly had chosen her older jeans that were torn and frayed. She hoped to bring back the Blake she had seen emerge. Was it too late? Had his resolve firmed? Was masturbating about her enough for him so that hiding everything else became easy?