Seventy-Two Hours

by Stringham, C. P.

  I hefted him up and herded him to the bedroom, my arm around his waist and his arm across my shoulders. Sweat dripping off of me from the exertion. His skin stuck to mine where it met around the tank top and shorts I’d worn to bed.

  The light from the hallway illuminated his room without glaring in his eyes. I unloaded his weight beside the bed and sort of pushed him backwards until he landed on top of it with a definitive bounce. I helped collect his legs while getting him turned long-ways on the bed. Chris ran every morning on our treadmill before getting ready for work. His legs were long and muscular making him an impressive sight in his boxer briefs. Not bad for a 43 year-old man. Almost 44.

  With the A/C on, the room was chilly. He’d need the covers, but he was lying on top of them. I wasn’t going to go through the rigmarole of getting him up and putting him down again. Especially since, by all appearances, he was fast asleep already. I leaned over him, pressing against the heat of his legs, and grabbed the quilt from the foot of the bed to cover him.

  As I started to straighten up, his hand took hold of my shoulder. “While you’re down there, Jenny,” he said snickering over his own idea. “For old time sake at least.”

  “No, thank you,” I replied curtly. “Please let go of me, Christopher.”

  It wasn’t hard to notice the erection pressing relentlessly against the thin stretch fabric. Apparently alcohol consumption wasn’t going to keep a man like Chris down.

  “If you loved me, you’d do it,” he whined sounding more like an adolescent teen than a grown man. “Please, Jenny, like you used to. That’s all I want and then I’ll let you go.”

  He was almost sitting up in order to keep me from standing. I was hovered over his lap. His hand now rested on my neck while I had one hand grasping the blanket and the other propped on the bed to push myself up.

  “We both know it isn’t going to happen so I think it’s best if you let go of me now.”

  “But I want you to do it. Please. I want to feel your mouth on me again. One last time,” he pleaded.

  My anger was rising with his persistence. “No, dammit! I won’t!” I scolded loudly having had enough.

  He released me abruptly and muttered, “Bitch,” under his breath.

  I inhaled deeply attempting to let his comment roll off of me. No need to get into an argument with him in his current state. Not having had experience with Chris under the influence, I didn’t know how volatile his anger could turn.

  “Will you stay here with me?” he asked as I shook the blanket out before placing it over him.

  “It wouldn’t be a good idea, Chris. You aren’t yourself.”

  “Do you know how much I hate you right now?” he asked with more hurt than anger in his voice.

  “Not enough to prevent you from begging me to give you a blow job two minutes ago,” I said snidely.

  “Did you give one to Steve Graves?”

  It was time for me to leave his room. “Good night, Chris.”

  “I bet you did and that’s why he won’t take no for an answer. You’re really good at it you know. I may not have ever told you that, but you are. It’s mind-blowing. So much better than Sela was,” he told me as if brimming with spousal pride. “She kept getting me with her teeth.”

  Failing marriage or not, I didn’t think it was possible to feel any worse, but my heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice while my stomach flipped. I was instantly nauseous. It was silly experiencing the flash of anger, jealousy, and betrayal that went through me in light of what I’d done. I was the one that had the affair and wanted to walk away from married life. I wasn’t supposed to care anymore. But I did.

  I knew who he was talking about. She was his roommate’s angelic, blonde girlfriend during graduate school. I’d met her several times and never once got the feeling something was going on between her and Chris. Apparently something did. Was it before or after we were married?

  While my thoughts were going around in a circle, Chris talked on with, “But you know I’ve always loved your tits. And your ass. I love it when you wear sweatpants. A pair that forms to you just right. It gives me an instant hard-on when I’m walking behind you and can see your ass shaking. Makes me want to bend you over at that moment and fuck the hell out of you.”

  “Did you want to do the same thing with Sela?” I asked spitefully.

  But the scorn was lost on him because he answered, “Hell no. She wanted me to, but I wouldn’t. She used to walk around the apartment half naked when John was there. She knew what she was doing. She’d give me this look behind his back. One time, I got home late and, God, I turned the light on in my room and she was there in my bed. Told me how horny she was and that John had passed out and couldn’t finish her off,” he explained in a rush of speech. “Asked me to do it for her. I told her to go back to John ‘cuz I wasn’t interested.” He was having a hard time staying focused. “And I wasn’t interested. I had you. I loved you so much. But then she started playing with herself in front of me,” Chris said on a loud sigh. “I’m a normal guy, babe. I watched her and I liked it. Was like having a real life porn movie happening in front of me. The next thing I know, she’s got my dick in her mouth.”

  “How could you turn that down, right? I’m sure it made it easier for you to finish her off then.”

  “No. I never fucked her, babe.”

  “Just her mouth.”

  Chris yawned loudly. “It’s not the same.”

  “Did you come in her mouth?” He moaned what I translated to be a positive admission. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. “Yea, that’s not the same,” I said to no one in particular since I could hear him beginning to snore.

  Chapter Fourteen

  November 2, 1991 – East Smithfield, PA

  I had to be the most fertile woman on the planet. Plain and simple. No sense going through a denial phase. No reason to panic. It wasn’t like the first time. Chris and I were married now. I was an adult woman and happily married (for the most part.) It would be different this time. What happened last time couldn’t, well most likely, wouldn’t happen again.

  I blamed myself for the pregnancy this time. I should have insisted we use condoms while we were in New York, but I didn’t. It was as if we were making up for lost time while we were in the city that never sleeps. By the time we checked out of our room on Sunday morning, Chris and I had managed to try every sexual position known between a man and a woman at least twice. We ordered room service when we were absolutely starved and didn’t step outside the door of our room until it was time to leave. Birth control was the last thing to enter my mind. All I knew was I wanted my husband to have me every way possible and he did. The weekend left me completely satisfied and thoroughly used in a good way.

  Chris had just arrived home for the weekend. He was upstairs showering while I finished making our dinner. My parents were at a Halloween party so we had the house to ourselves for once. I appreciated my parent’s generosity by inviting us to live with them, but it was growing old. As soon as Chris was going at his job, we were planning on getting an apartment. It would be nice to have something we could call our own.

  I made a Porterhouse steak for Chris with a baked potato and salad. He was a typical meat and potatoes man. I was only having salad. The mystery surrounding my sudden aversion to all things meat was explained by my positive pregnancy test. I learned from my first time that when it came to food, anything could happen. Brand new likes, dislikes, and having my entire digestive tract revolting at inopportune moments was the norm.

  I set places for us in the dining room complete with linen tablecloth and two taper candles. I figured I’d dazzle his taste buds and set the mood with romance before I delivered the news about our pending bundle of joy.

  “So,” he said as he made his way into the kitchen where I was tossing the salad, “Your parents are gone?”

  I continued working. “Yep. Just you and me,” I said when his arms circled around my waist from the back as he brought me up
against his solid form.

  “Do you remember what we did the last time we were alone together?” he asked as his hands began a slow journey up over my abdomen before stopping at my breasts.

  He was referring to New York. “I do.”

  “I think I’ve finally regained all of my strength back from that weekend,” he said as he moved my hair aside so he could nibble the nape of my neck. “You were a wild woman. I could barely keep up with you.”

  “You hid your exhaustion well,” I quipped.

  “Do you think dinner could wait a little?”

  I set my utensils down and turned in his embrace. “Christopher, as tempting as that sounds, your dinner is done. Your steak won’t taste as good reheated. Besides that, I’m starving.” And I was.

  He took my chin and tipped my head back. His lips met mine with the lightest of pressure before he took my bottom lip and began to gently suck on it as his tongue flicked tantalizingly over it. I was determined to remain strong. Strong. That was the plan even as his hands slid down over my bottom and he pressed his hardness against me.

  When he stopped kissing me, he traced his lips along my jaw line and then stopped at my ear. “Did that kiss remind you of what else I did with my mouth when we were alone together?”

  “Eep!” I squeaked out as my cheeks flamed and my neither region woke up at full attention.

  His tongue invaded my ear with swift, deliberate swipes. His breath hot. “Oh, Jen, the things I could do.”

  I shook it off. I pushed against his chest until he stopped. “Dinner first,” I said sternly as I straightened my apron and fixed my hair. Somehow, I couldn’t recall June Cleaver ever having to fight off Ward in such a way.

  He picked up a piece of tomato and popped it in his mouth. He licked his finger provocatively and winked at me. “Fine,” he said while chewing, “but we’re skipping dessert. I have other plans.”

  His mood would change after we had a chance to talk I thought as I handed him a plate. I fixed a plate of salad for myself as he slit open his steaming baked potato and began loading it up with butter, salt, pepper, shredded cheddar cheese, and finally topped it with a big dollop of sour cream.

  “Aren’t you having steak and baked potato?” he asked as we walked to the dining room together.

  “Just salad,” I replied as I took the seat that shared a corner with his.

  After he sat, he sighed heavily. “Jen, are you dieting or something?”

  “What?” I asked as I drizzled a liberal amount of ranch dressing around the mounded plate of mixed lettuce and sliced carrots, tomatoes, onions, and cucumber. “No.”

  He reached over, taking my hand, and said, “Good, because you’re still too skinny. I like you with more meat on your bones.”

  “How much more meat?” I asked while remembering how big I was by my eighth month the last time.

  His brows came together as if caught in deep thought. “I don’t know. A little more. The way you are now, I’m afraid I’m going to break you when you get all wild like you do.”

  “I see. You don’t want to break me.”

  “Nope. A little more meat will give me a little more cushion for the pushing.”

  I choked on my water. He got up and came around to pat me on my back. I waved him off for fear he’d try the Heimlich. “I’m good. Thanks. Just water that went down the wrong pipe.”

  “You need to be more careful, babe.”

  “I’ll try and do that.”

  Chris started talking about school. A subject he enjoyed. Theoretical Methods and Solid State Science weren’t really to my liking, but listening to him go on about what they were doing in the lab and how what he was learning was cutting edge technology made me hang on his every word. He couldn’t wait to start working for the local glass manufacturing company after graduation. He’d been wise to get his foot in the door by volunteering internships during his first two summer breaks. Chris was always planning ahead that way. I knew he would always be a good provider. An attribute my mother said was highly important in a good marriage.

  I’d finished my plate of salad. Except for the croutons. I saved the best for last. Chris pushed his plate away, thanking me for a great homecoming dinner. It made me smile with pride. I loved how easily we slipped into our “old married couple” routine as if our weeks weren’t spent apart. We’d been together for seven years at that point. A long time. We knew each other so completely. It made me very contented with my life. There was only one thing I wished I could change. It was something no one could change. However, it didn’t keep me from wishing I could.

  We carried our dishes to the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, and then hand-washing the pans used to prepare dinner. I washed and he dried. The task was done in no time.

  Chris looked at the clock and asked, “What time did your folks say they’d be home?”

  I draped the dishcloth over the sink divider to dry. “They’ll be at least another hour or so. Mom and Dad like Dewey and Maureen a lot and then all the kids from church will be there, too. They may be even later.”

  He reached out for my hand and began leading me out of the kitchen. “We shouldn’t waste any time just in case they leave early.”

  “Chris, we’re both adults and we’re married. We don’t need to sneak around.”

  “Yea, I get that, but your dad still gives me that look,” he called over his shoulder. “You know the one. It conveys, ‘I know you’re violating my daughter,’ look.”

  We were on the second floor landing when I said, “I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Okay. Talk,” he encouraged as we entered our room and he turned to close and lock the door.

  “It’s actually pretty important.”

  He waved me on to continue as he reached out and began unbuttoning my shirt. “I can listen and work at the same time. I’m a great multi-tasker.”

  I grabbed both of his hands to keep them still as I met his eyes. “This is serious, Christopher. I need your full attention.”

  He stopped and gave me a troubled look. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

  I dropped my gaze to the floor. “I’m, um, pregnant. Again.”

  “What?!?”

  I met his penetrating eyes and explained, “After my follow-up appointment, Dr. Calder gave me a new prescription for birth control pills. Only I didn’t get it filled. We weren’t having sex anyway so it didn’t really matter. And then we went to New York. I should have said something to you. Told you to pick up condoms or something, but I didn’t. My mind wasn’t really on sex leading up to our trip.” I took a deep breath because I was rambling. “But then we did have sex and, boy, once we got started, we couldn’t seem to stop, could we? So, yes, I’m pregnant,” I ended it with a nervous giggle.

  “You’re sure?”

  I still couldn’t read his expression. “I, ah, took a test yesterday morning.”

  “But you haven’t gone to the doctor’s?”

  “Well, no, but I’ve been through this before, Chris. I know my body,” I told him rather stiffly.

  I yelped when he grabbed me up and spun around with me. “Oh, babe, I’m so happy,” he said as his cheek rested against mine. “This is what we needed.”

  I was going to ask him what he meant, but I didn’t have a chance. His mouth found mine and the moment moved on expediently from there. Within ten minutes, my mind was wiped clean of all coherent thought and I found myself an exposed nerve brought on by sexual delirium.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Present Day

  I didn’t sleep the rest of the night. Instead, I spent it questioning the very foundation my marriage was built upon. Chris had been my first serious boyfriend. I cherished the fact we were each other’s first. First and only lovers. I had never worried about Chris’ fidelity while he was away at college. Not once. His admission earlier changed everything. I wanted to know when it happened and if there were other times and other women. Of all those questions, one bothered me the most;
why did I even care?

  As soon as the sun was up, I took care of Chris’ empties he had scattered around the porch. There were 11 bottles in all. A mix of Amstel Lights and Heinekens. I went to bed at 9:00 which meant Chris returned downstairs sometime after that. I found him shortly after two. At some point, he left to purchase more beer. It took, at the very least, 20 minutes to reach Watkins Glen and the nearest store including a Wal-Mart Supercenter. If I factored in almost an hour for his roundtrip beer run, that averaged out to around three bottles being consumed an hour. He had to have been under the influence when he drove. It was a completely stupid thing to do. Intolerable. A DWI arrest wasn’t something to be proud of, but causing an accident that could potentially kill him or others would have been so much worse. The more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got.

  I decided to get away from the cottage for a while. I’d just go without leaving him a note. It would serve him right to wake up and discover me gone even though I had every intention of returning. Let him worry for the time being about getting a ride home. But I gave in and left a note. It stated, “I’ll be back.” In my mind, that was all he needed to know. It was all he deserved. He was the one that got me there under false pretenses. He was the one putting me through the wringer for being unfaithful when he was guilty of the same thing. His may have happened a long time ago, but it was cheating nevertheless.

  I went through the drive-thru, purchased a greasy breakfast with a large coffee, and headed to the marina. It was early enough that most of the tourists hadn’t ventured out of their vacation lodging. I came across two older men fishing as I traversed the breakers that bordered the marina. They smiled and greeted me kindly. I took a moment to ask them if the fish were biting. The older looking of the two reached down and pulled a metal chain up from the water and displayed two nice sized fish hanging from it. I wished them continued luck and parted ways with them. I found a large, flat rock and sat down with my breakfast.