Frank stood beside the bed semi-nude, a snow-white hotel towel wrapped around his teeny-weeny waist for a man. When he saw me enter he froze. Obviously he was not expecting company let alone me.
Ever since we made up (for the umptieth time) and he vowed never ever to touch another woman apart from me we had rejuvenated our love and romance. Anne Hooper gives very useful tips on this in her book Dare to… Sex Guide. I was naked beneath my fur coat, my idea of surprising my husband of thirteen years at lunchtime at the hotel where his company was having a trade symposium. What more romantic than belching that company-paid-buffet with hot steamy harried sex before the boring afternoon session?
I dropped my fur coat on the floor and stood naked before my other half. “Isn’t this a nice surprise, babe?” I asked my Prince Charming.
“Hi cutie pie,” he said. I wondered why the hell he called me by food names. Well, I was not complaining so long as it sounded romantic.
Instead of answering, the love of my life, Frank, swallowed so hard that I heard the gurgle. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down his giraffe neck before saying, “Honey, I think you should…”
“Should what?”
I turned towards the voice that Frank’s words were not meant for. It was from the direction of the bathroom that had just opened. Before my very eyes stood a naked, damp, dripping woman; the kind of trophy wife any man would want, with a slender tanned back, perky breasts and Michelangelo sculpted thighs that any model would envy – everything that I am not.
Well, I drag with me about ten pounds or so of fat, my boobs sag a little such that I use push-up bras to look sexy according to men’s dictionary and my butt is kinda symphony of flesh when I walk like a twerking ass. I withered soon after my fairy tale marriage to the man I so loved more than life itself, add a couple of pregnancies (that I miscarried, sadly, thanks to my Frank for the stress he put me through) to that and you get a woman who’s very loved by her husband because she has nowhere else to go.
“Oh my God,” the modelesque woman screamed as she reddened, retreated back into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Just as that was happening, I saw a gazillion stars in front of me. Suddenly I was too heavy for my knees to support my weight (no pun intended). I felt myself do what I had been doing for the past thirteen years – fainting – after realizing (for the umpteenth time) that marriage is an endless circle of infidelity.
Before I succumbed into the haze of unconsciousness I heard myself mumble, oh my God, it’s happening again.
