Chapter 5
I sit by the fireplace finishing off the bottle of wine I opened when we got home. Timmy’s in his room playing guitar. His amp sounds like it’s turned all the way up. I’m fine with it though because it’s keeping us apart. I’m preoccupied and for a change I welcome the distance between us.
The letter with the findings of Mr. Butter’s investigation came. Just as I expected, there’s nothing there. I bet he was disappointed to find that my son is a good kid, and not the behavior problem he was hoping for. I’m pissed that this is going down as a disagreement in which both boys were encouraged to seek guidance from Mr. Johnson after school for conflict resolution.
I flip through channels on the television. Nothing’s on. Nothing that holds my interest anyway. I sip wine from a glass and close my eyes, savoring it as it slides down. I’ve drank enough that my body is relaxed and my head is light and tingly. I’m not drunk. I’m tipsy. Definitely tipsy.
Behind the lids of my eyes, I see him. Chance. Sexy and strong. His image is burned into my memory. The way his eyes danced and mesmerized me. The heat and tingling of his hand on mine. The pull he had on me at the diner.
I brush my hair back behind my ear. My hand slides down the side of my neck, and I imagine its Chance touching me. His hand felt good over mine. Comforting. I wonder how his touch would feel in other places. Places I shouldn’t be yearning to feel him.
I down the rest of the wine in my glass, say goodnight to my son and escape to the privacy of my bedroom. With my door shut, I dim the lights, pull my shirt up over my head, and pretend he’s standing behind me, kissing the back of my neck, and wrapping me up in his arms. I open the hooks on my bra and slide my arms out, letting it fall to the floor. My heavy breasts hang free. Naked. Bare.
If I remember correctly, his hands are a little rough, calloused. I circle my areolas with my thumbs, brush them across the nipples, back and forth until the pink peaks perk up. With my eyes closed, I roll and elongate the nipples between my thumb and fore finger.
I slide my hand down my center, below the waist of my pants. I pretend he’s teasing me, running his fingers along the elastic band of my panties, back and forth. A familiar ache I want to explore presents itself between my legs. An ache bred of need and desire. An ache I’ve been numb to for the past two years.
Before slipping under the covers naked for the first time since my husband died, I rummage through Mike’s clothes on the top shelf of the closet. Hidden, buried under a heavy fleece shirt he liked to wear in the winter, I find what I’m looking for.
Even though I’m alone and have no reason to feel awkward or self-conscious, I do. I never used this on myself. Never explored my body. My face burns hot with the knowledge of what I’m about to do. I know it’s wrong, but it’s been years since I felt that all-consuming release.
Laying on my back, I spread my legs. It’s been a long time since anything long and thick has been near this part of my body. I rub the tip of the toy against my clit, around my opening, using my natural juices as lubricant. Taking my time to open my petals, I press the soft silicone head where I want to feel it most. Where I need to feel it.
I’m tight, and sore and all too aware of how long it’s been since I had sex or foreplay as I continue to work it inch by inch inside me. I stretch around it, taking it in, enjoying the slow torture. It feels good. It hurts, but it’s a pleasurable pain. There’s a tightening in my lower belly as I tilt the toy so that it hits just the right spot. I close my eyes and hold down the power button bringing it to life.
My free hand gravitates to my breast, paying special attention to my nipple as I move the vibrator in and out, and all around in a circular pattern between my legs. In and out, the tension builds. In and out, faster and faster, while a small piece flicks over my clit at a rapid pace,
I’m losing conscious thought of my inhibitions. Losing myself to the pleasure of my dirty thoughts combined with the vibrator. In and out. Faster and faster. My entire body is taut with the need, Desire builds with every stroke. In and out, I’m lost to the pleasure I’m giving myself.
Sweat forms on my skin while my mind is completely focused on Chance. I bite my lip, imagining the feel of his strong muscular chest. His tight round ass. I pretend he’s moving over me. In and out. Harder. Faster. Stroking his cock deep inside, hitting me in that spot. The one that makes me scream. Every muscle in my body clenches tight until I feel wave after wave of release wash over me.
I catch my breath in the aftermath of my orgasm. Embarrassed. Ashamed.
Once my heart slows and I’m breathing normal again, my heart swells with guilt.
Mike.
I haven’t been with another man since we met, and there were only two before him. I’ve only ever used a vibrator with my husband. It feels wrong to think of another man in this way. To have a primal desire for anyone but him.
I miss Mike. God do I miss him.
He was my other half. I don’t feel whole anymore. Thinking that I’ll never see him again still guts me. I’ll never hear the sound of his voice, or my name slipping off his lips. He’ll never sneak up from behind and wrap me up in his arms while kissing the back of my neck. He’ll never touch me. Or make my body respond to him like a musician uses an instrument to make music.
I’m hurt and angry. So fucking angry. It’s not fair. We were supposed to grow old together. We were best friends and partners in every way, and he was just taken from me. Our future, snatched from our hands because some thug wanted money to get high. What I wouldn’t give for five minutes alone with that monster. I’d rip his eyes out and feed them to him.
I can’t believe what I just did. I used the gift Mike bought for our last Valentine’s Day together. It was a toy for “us.” That’s how he got me to agree to use it. We had to use it together. And here I am now, using it to fantasize about another man. I must be the worst wife ever. Climaxing while imagining Chance inside me feels like I’m cheating not only on Mike’s memory, but on him.
Tears pool and spill out of my eyes. I can’t stop them. I don’t want to. The pain of losing my husband is always with me, but right now, I’m drowning in it. It’s suffocating me. I reach for the framed picture of Mike I keep on my night table.
Oh God. I feel like he watched me the whole time. Watched me touch myself. Watch me cum while lusting over Chance Carter.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper through broken sobs. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
He doesn’t answer. He never does. I should be used to it. Only now I’m taking that silence to mean he’s disappointed in me. Disgusted with how I behaved.
I can’t undo what I did, but I could make sure it doesn’t happen again. I feel dirty. Disgusting. It’s all I can do to get myself up and dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. Once I’m clothed, I clean the toy and rebury it in the back of the closet. If I’m lucky I’ll forget it’s there.
Back in bed, I continue my conversation with Mike. Beg for his forgiveness. I ugly cry, muting my sobs as much as I can so that Timmy doesn’t hear.
I cry feeling alone. Empty. I have no one in my life to hold me. No one to soothe the heartache. I cry until my swollen eyes close and sleep carries me to another realm.