#TripleX

by Christine Zolendz

  “What in the world is going on?” Christine asked.

  “Nothing… nothing is going on,” I said, trying to steer the car and dial Matt’s phone number simultaneously. The phone went straight to voicemail. I waited for the beep, and then I exploded. “Are you kidding me? Kevin just called me frantic, because our boys are playing Sons of Anarchy… with real weapons… but Kev can’t get ahold of you. Matt if you’re keeping these boys all summer, then you need to answer your Goddamn phone every single time they call… and when I call. I know you have plans tonight, some stupid blended family date, but call me when you get home, you son-of-a-bitch.”

  “Whoa! Looks like we’re drinking our dinner again tonight,” Christine said, wide-eyed and worried.

  “No, let’s just get to Chicago, find a hotel, order room service, and lay low,” I stated. “I want to be somewhere quiet when he calls me.”

  “Nobody… nobody ever should eat that much lettuce,” Christine groaned, rubbing her stomach.

  “I mean, is it really a diet if I ate my entire weight—and yours—in roughage?”

  “Dude, what’s going to happen when all this ‘roughage’ kicks in, and we only have one bathroom in this room?” Christine laughed.

  “Guess one of us gets the sink… or the ice bucket,” I joked. “Is there any champagne left?”

  “No, but I’ll order another bottle,” she offered, grabbing the phone.

  “Chris, sooner or later, Cheater is going to cut off that credit card,” I said, staring at her.

  “Right, and until then, let’s drain the fothermucker,” she cheered. “Take him for all he’s got—and that ain’t much, let me tell you.”

  Looking around, I stated, “I wonder what time it is.”

  “It’s exactly eight minutes later than the time you asked before,” Chris eyed me knowingly. “Just call him. If you want to know if he’s home yet—call him. He is your husband, Angelisa.”

  I swear Matt has a sixth sense about when I’m talking about him or thinking about him. My phone dinged, alerting me to a text message. Grabbing it, I looked down to see a cell phone picture—from Kevin. I opened the thumbnail photo and slid my fingers over to enlarge it. In the picture, at the baseball game, was all six of them, smiling and hugging for the camera. The caption said: “Dad thought you’d like this.”

  Tears trailed down my face. I stared at the picture in disbelief. I didn’t know what was going to happen with my marriage, but I did know that I was beyond relieved. The woman my husband was with looked like she was in her late sixties to early seventies. Clearly, her son was Matt’s age. I had no idea who she was or why they were all together, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt that my husband was not sleeping with or dating the woman in the picture. Thank God.

  Looking over my shoulder, Christine sighed, and said, “Let’s get that other bottle.”

  “Jesus Ang, are you ‘plucking the peanut,’ right here with me in the room?” Christine asked, just as I was about to fall asleep.

  “Of course not… that’s not me,” I screeched. “It’s the girl next door… those are her moans.”

  “Shut up! For real? Turn the TV off,” she ordered, turning the light on and putting her ear to the wall. “Oh my God, you can totally hear everything.”

  “I know, I’ve been listening,” I said. “I can’t believe you couldn’t hear all this.”

  Just then the woman moaned loader and called out “Lyle, yes!”

  “Lyle?” we both said, laughing and trying to cover our mouths.

  “Yeah Lyle, right there… that’s it… yeah…”

  Stuffing my face in the pillow, I shook with convulsive laughter. Hearing people having sex is always strange and uncomfortable, but hearing them so clearly with your crazy best friend right next to you is the crap that sitcoms are made of.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Christine mimicked, loudly. My head jerked up; my mouth wide in astonishment. “Harder… harder… baby,” Christine screamed.

  Laughing, I started bouncing on the bed, making it crash against the wall. “You like that?” I yelled. “Tell me how you like it, you dirty whore,” I belted out.

  “I like it with your Dad,” she screamed loudly.

  “Ooohhh, ooohhh yeah…” the woman cried. “More… more.”

  “Yeah you do… and my plumber too,” I yelled, slapping my hand against my thigh. The pain radiated through my leg, but the sound echoed loudly throughout the room.

  “I love his big pipes,” Christine moaned, pounding her fist on the nightstand.

  Each crash of the bed against the wall was met with an equal or harder slam against the wall. It was a contest of wills—of stamina. Each of our screams out-echoed hers. Each of his groans were met with moans and groans of our own.

  Suddenly, all was silent and still and hushed whispers were heard on the other side of the wall. Christine pounded her hand one more time on the nightstand and yelled, “Fuck me hard, Squidward!”

  I shoved my head into the pillow, muffling my giggles. God, I hadn’t had this kind of fun, this kind of crazy, carefree fun in… in… God, twenty years. Why hadn’t I? Weren’t middle-aged married women with kids allowed to have fun? Who said that once we had infants come barreling down our vagina-slides and out into the world that life as we knew it and loved it had to cease to exist?

  Why did fun have to end with marriage and motherhood?

  It didn’t have to, but for some reason, we as women, allowed marriage and motherhood to end our lives—our social lives, anyway. Suddenly, our lives belonged to our husbands and to our kids, leaving no time for ourselves. That was bullshit. We should be allowed to have both. We are allowed to have both, damn it. Men golf, play Poker, go to sporting events, and fish and hunt all day with their buddies. What do we do? Sit at home, take care of the kids, the house, and the whole family’s daily schedule. Occasionally, we meet up with some girlfriends for a dinner out—just as long as we’re home in time to bathe the kids and put them to bed. Or if we get really crazy, we head out to a midnight showing of our favorite book that’s finally hitting the big screen.

  Who decided that women had to give up everything to be a wives and mothers?

  It’s a stigma that society puts on women that makes us think we can’t have both. Well not anymore. I wasn’t going to listen to society’s version of what a mother and a wife should be. I loved my kids. I showed them what unconditional love was all the time. They never doubted if they were loved. They never wanted for anything. They had it all—and then some. Well now, it was time for me to show myself some unconditional love, too. And no, not by “caressing the kernel.” I was going to have fun, be free—Hell, be me.

  “Did you grab the key?” Christine asked, as we gathered our pool stuff.

  “Yeah, I got it. You have the sunscreen, right?” I asked, looking in my bag. “I promise I’ll do a ton of swimming, just let me read by the pool for a little bit before we have to exercise. I can’t tell you the last time I just relaxed in the sun—alone.”

  “Nope. Exercise first. Read later,” Christine said, walking out the door. Just as we closed our door, the door opened to the room next to us. The hottest couple I’ve ever seen emerged from the room. It turned me on just looking at them. Lyle and the girl looked like they were built for sex, hot, crazy sex. I flushed thinking about it.

  They looked at us; then glanced at each other. Lyle nudged the voice, and she stifled a giggle. Curling her lips in so she wouldn’t laugh, they nodded and walked by.

  “Damn, they’re hot,” I said, after they passed.

  “Shut up, I’m so embarrassed,” Chris said, covering her face with her hands.

  “Why? They were doing exactly what we were doing,” I said, clueless.

  “Right, they think we were going to town… on each other,” she explained.

  Laughing, I said, “You mean, they think… they think we’re…”

  “Lesbians!”

  Twitter: Some interesting facts I’ve learn
ed in Chicago: Hello Kitty is bad, taking candy from strangers is worse, and corndogs are horrible. #TripleX #SlipMeSomeEcstacy #RidingTatum

  I didn’t know what I’d do if I ever saw him again. The whole trip I tried so hard not to think of him, yet he was always there in the back of my mind. His name always on the tip of my tongue. I missed him so much. My life just wasn’t the same without him and acknowledging that overwhelmed me with shame. Disgusted by the control he still had over me, I continuously fought to push all memories of us together away.

  Until I couldn’t.

  Until the moment he was right in front of me again.

  I bumped into him innocently. I was just scurrying down the hallway of the hotel, fresh from the gym. My head was down, eyes following the chaotic designs of the hotel carpet, so I was at fault for not watching where I was walking. I slammed head first into him and when I looked up, my heart just stopped, leaving me gulping for breaths. My palms were instantly sweaty. My chest tingled, and I was completely captivated, which made my thoughts scramble with disbelief.

  Was it really him?

  Was he really there, after all this time?

  God, I was so nervous. I thought I would be able to control myself, but he looked closer to perfection than I had ever remembered him to be.

  Perfection.

  I stepped back, away from him and balled my fists, so I couldn’t lay a fingertip on him. Jesus, why the heck did he have to come back into my life after all this time? Irony? I was just talking about him a few days ago. Why was touching him so tempting? I thought I was getting over him. I mean, yeah, I’m always thinking about him, but I thought… I really thought I could move on from him, that I could shake this hold he had over me. I stepped back again, but there was this strange tethered feeling that pulled me to him that wouldn’t let me move any farther away. One look at him, and I was putty.

  A melted mess of want and yearning.

  “I… I can’t do this,” I stammered. Tears welled in my eyes, “I want you so badly. It hurts. But I just… I can’t.”

  He stared back at me silently. My God, he must have enjoyed my torture. He knew exactly how much I needed him, wanted him, would do just about anything for him. He always knew he was my weakness; he always knew I’d come running back one day. He owned me. Ruined me for all others.

  I took a shaky breath. What I would give for just one more time with him.

  I scanned the hallway quickly to see if we were alone. My belly fluttered with excitement. I didn’t know what to do, I felt… I felt twitchy and heady and Oh God, I couldn’t say no to him, could I? A warm flush surged over my skin as I stepped closer to him. I couldn’t deny it, the strong pull I felt. I wouldn’t deny it. I’m an adult. I can do what I want—what I need. He was mine, and I was his. There was nothing in the world but us, just he and I. It felt right.

  I had to have him.

  Instantly, I was on my knees, and he was in my hands, my body aching for him. I couldn’t stop. I finally felt in control—even while spiraling out of control with need. I missed him so damn much. I tore at him, and my God, he was so beautiful.

  I barely registered how I might have looked if anyone were to find me—find us. I didn’t even care. This was passion, love, primal need… it was everything I thought it would be, everything I was trying so hard to forget, but couldn’t live without. I was addicted to him. I slid my hands all over him, touching every inch. It had been too long. Too long since I felt the chaos he always stirred inside me, the raw primitive desire.

  My mouth watered, my tongue on fire; and then I tasted him. Oh my God.

  Oh, God.

  Ooooh, God.

  So desperately in love with him.

  I was moaning and grunting, purring out the most sensual sounds I’d ever heard myself make. My mouth so full of him I couldn’t speak a word, yet my thoughts were panting for more.

  More.

  More.

  He made me feel complete and wanton all at once. Textures and tastes were magnified. My hands tightened around him as I savored him, devoured him. I could hardly breathe, my heart felt as if it could explode from the intense pleasure that surged through my veins. He let me have my way with him, yet he was the one in control, always my master. I would never have enough of him.

  Never.

  Never.

  Never.

  “What the Hell?” A voice screeched from somewhere to the left of me. My muscles froze, locked in the scandalous state.

  I held back a scream, my heart nearly exploding in my chest. Spikes of hot adrenaline fired off across my chest. I couldn’t let anyone see me doing this. Flutters and tingles swept up the back of my neck and crawled across my scalp.

  “What are you doing?” The voice demanded again, closer this time.

  Slowly, I turned my head, and my stomach dropped. Suddenly, I was appalled at the position I was in.

  Ashamed.

  Humiliated.

  Caught chocolate handed.

  Angelisa was on the other side of the snack machine as I sat in the middle of the crime scene. The half-eaten Snickers bar still wedged in my mouth. Delicious, melted milk chocolate coated my fingertips.

  “You’re cheating! You’re sucking that Snickers like it’s a…” Ang was screaming.

  Wait a fothermucking second!

  I squinted my eyes up at her and zoned in on a curious orange substance that ringed around her mouth. Jumping to my feet, clutching the chocolate orgasm in one hand, I pointed with the other. “You!” I yelped. “You were just on the other side of this damn machine eating something too!”

  Her cheeks turned a bright red. “No I wasn’t. Now hand over the rest of that chocolate bar!”

  A loud gasp escaped from my lips. The inside of my mouth still tasted all chocolaty and delicious. “You just want my chocolate for yourself! What? Those cheesy puff things you ate weren’t enough?”

  “Give me the chocolate!” she demanded, stomping her foot on the floor.

  “Hell no! I haven’t had sugar in three weeks, Ang. You are playing with your life right now. I’m prepared to hurt you!” I hugged the candy bar to my chest, readying myself to fight to the death for the last few bites.

  She grabbed at my candy bar, and I lunged out of the way. I wasn’t fast enough. Her shoulder clipped me, knocking me off balance, and we tumbled to the floor. My chocolate sailed through the air and ended up sliding under the bottom of the snack machine.

  “Okay, fine. You can have the rest of it,” I smirked, thudding my head against the carpet and staring up at the ceiling. I missed his deliciousness already.

  ‘Til we meet again, my love.

  “Then you can have the rest of my cheese doodles,” she chuckled next to me.

  “Did you get to eat the whole bag?” I asked, raising my head to look at her.

  “No,” she sighed, and pulled out the crumpled bag from her pocket. “As soon as I heard you moaning and saw you attacking that Snickers like it was your last meal, I smashed the bag into my pocket. Now it’s all smooshed.” She tilted her head back and opened her mouth to sprinkle some of the crumbs in. I smacked it out of her hand.

  “I hate you,” she said.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah,” I sighed. “Let’s go burn off whatever we just ate.”

  We’d been in downtown Chicago for two weeks, staying at the Hilton. Every morning, we would hit the gym and walk the treadmills for an hour while reading our eReaders. Our goal was to read at least one book from every author that was going to the Vegas signing. Then we’d be tourists and gallivant all over Chicago.

  That day’s tourist plans found us on Lake Michigan renting a bicycle built for two.

  “I’m naming this bike Tatum Channing, so we could both say we rode him on this trip!” I said as I twerked my bottom up against it. The little old lady behind the rental counter pumped her fist into the air.

  “And at the same time,” Angelisa nodded, then grabbed for the front seat, “I want the front. You can be the ass!�
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  Then the witch took off pedaling out of the rental area. Who’d she think she was? Lance Fothermucking Armstrong?

  “Bitch!” I laughed, running after her as she swerved and wobbled the bike madly down the pathway. I ran close enough to grab at the back handlebars, “Please God, don’t let my stupid, old, ass fall and break a hip!” Then, I leapt onto the bike like I was a flying trapeze artist and held on for dear life. The bike accelerated in speed and bounced and bumped over the dirt and stones, and then launched onto the Michigan Lake Front Bike Path. “Tatum is like a freakin’ jack hammer, isn’t he?” My voice vibrated.

  “Don’t…” Angelisa squealed from ahead of me. “Don’t make me laugh, or we’re going to crash. Oh my God!”

  “Let’s ride to the Navy Pier and go on the Ferris Wheel!” I screamed.

  She yelled something back at me, but I couldn’t make out what it was over the incessantly metallic sound dinging out of the bicycle bell that she had on her handlebars. I was all about the shoving of the bell up her ass when she steered us over a bump and both of us screamed and abruptly stopped. The way that seat ended up, I could have had that bike arrested for sexual assault. “I almost had Tatum’s little tricycle babies! Don’t stop again without warning my girl parts!”

  Laughing, we started pedaling again. We headed north, with Lake Michigan on our right, taking up the entire bike path with our crazy zig-zag steering. The wind blew our hair into mad crazy strands, and the sun warmed our skin. We made it to the Navy Pier unscathed, and for the first time along this trip, I realized, I wasn’t out of breath.

  Holy Hell, I wasn’t out of breath.

  Progress!

  I so deserved a cupcake or something.

  Eh, getting there.

  Ang chained the bike up along the racks near the entrance of the Navy Pier Park, and we snapped a few pictures of us in front of the sign. Every night the both of us would talk to our kids on FaceTime and send them photos of all the things we did. I smiled for a moment watching the old-fashioned swing ride and listening to the thrill-filled screams of the people flying through the air. The smell of fresh buttery popcorn and warm salted pretzels drifted softly through the breeze.