From the Author: A relatively quick story about an unexpected relationship that I tried writing in the first person. It contains two married people having sex outside of their marriages so, if that offends, it's probably best if you stop reading here. This story is fictional and any similarities to any actual people or events is unintentional and unlikely but would be freaking awesome.
It was a Tuesday morning when it all started. Craig and I had just moved into the house and, other than the bed nothing had been unpacked, there were boxes strewn around the room. I'd woken up before Craig to put the coffee on and to start breakfast but when I went into the bed room I found him nearly ready to go, just putting the finishing touches on his tie.
I couldn't help it, I'd always thought my Husband looked good when he was looking crisp and clean and fresh for the day. Soon I found myself kissing at his neck.
"Mm, I think you need to call in sick today," I said, taking in a nice deep breath of his aftershave. The idea of staying in bed all day and fucking sounded great to me. The kind of thing we'd done all the time when we had first gotten married but now, three years in, seemed like a less and less frequent occurrence. If I could convince him to stay in, I would. I let my robe open and fall to the ground as I kissed him hungrily on the lips. If it had been a movie, I'd have had a white lace teddy on underneath. As it was flannel pyjamas aren't the most enticing of garments but they can be removed easily enough. My husband, unfortunately, was not as receptive to my advances as I hoped and broke free of my clutches.
"Can't, Hon," Craig said as he went back to his dressing.
"Before work blow job?" I said, trying to sound as sexy as I could. Deep down I knew I probably looked terrible and had morning breath but I was still hoping that I could convince him to stay and keep me from the dreaded boredom.
Craig just shook his head with a laugh. It was a desperate move on my part.
"Anal?" I said, desperately reaching for something to make him stay
"Don't be gross, babe," Craig said, looking in the mirror again after his jacket was on, "And knock it off, someone needs to work around here."
If he was looking for a way to kill the mood, he'd found it by touching on two of the bigger areas of contention of our marriage.
I didn't like the fact that I wasn't working. I had resisted when he'd suggested moving to the suburbs. The idea of being a kept woman didn't appeal to me at all. But moving to little Amberly Drive in the Shady Grove development with it's cookie cutter houses and having a wife who took care of the house was Craig's desire so we'd agreed that we'd try it. I'd quit my job at the gallery and we'd left the big dangerous city for the world of SUV's and soccer-moms.
On-top of that, our sex life had gotten somewhat stale of late. I'd explored somewhat in college with boyfriends before I'd met Craig. They'd gotten progressively more varied and intense as I'd discovered my partner's kinks and a good time was had by all. With Craig it had never developed. There just weren't kinks to find. He liked sex but usually good, old fashioned missionary. Not much else. Even blow jobs seemed to be considered by him to be a wasted effort on my part.
So, mood killed and me reduced in dignity to having offered to get butt-fucked to stave off boredom, I soon found myself all alone in our big, empty house.
And so began my daily quest to find something to do. My first stop was a fruitless one. Leaving the bedroom I passed by my "Art Room" on the left and looked in sadly.
I loved being in our old neighbourhood, full of hundred year old buildings and storefronts and real slices of life. That's what I'd do, street scenes and cityscapes in charcoal. Here, the only things I saw when I looked out the window was other houses that looked just like mine.
So Craig's gift had been sort of him in a nutshell. Very sweet, very considerate but missing the bigger picture. I had all the canvas I could need and nothing to draw.
The den proved little better. Our television wasn't hooked up yet for cable and, even if it were, I wasn't much for day-time talk-shows or soap operas. I warmly thought of the Nintendo 64 I'd been persuaded to give to goodwill before our move and regretted the decision. I knew how to hook it up and, if nothing else, I could have played Mario Kart for the entire afternoon.
I was briefly considering a drive to a local mall to buy a video game system when the doorbell rang. I eagerly went to answer it. Odds were it was something being delivered but even that sounded like a blissful break from the tedium of my day. A quick look through the peephole, however, told me it was nothing quite so exciting. I opened the door, however, curious nonetheless.
Standing on the front-step was a woman. A woman with rich, luxurious brown hair with and sparkling green eyes. She a fairly impressive figure and skin that almost looked golden but had no trace of sun damage whatsoever. There were only the slightest hints of wrinkles to indicate any age.
If I'd have had to guess an age I'd have guessed mid-thirties and if I'd have had to guess an occupation I'd have gone with Stepford Wife. Seriously, it was as if a terribly unimaginative person had gotten some shorthand as to what a suburban soccer mom was supposed to look like and had just built her from directions. An argyle sweater, khakis and even pearls. Everything about her looked expensive, carefully constructed and utterly sterile. In my state of mind it was like opening my front door and seeing exactly what I didn't want to be in ten years staring back at me.
She smiled as she saw me but her wide, welcoming grin soon became a look of embarrassment as she noticed my clothes.
"Oh my goodness, you're not dressed, should I come back?" she said sweetly, in a sort of sing-song voice that just re-emphasized my first impression of her. I reflexively closed my robe and then immediately felt stupid for doing so. I was the kind of girl who used to answer the door for pizza boys in my t-shirt and underwear. Now I felt weird about being in full pyjamas?
"No, no, it's OK, can I help you?" I mumbled
"Oh, it's no problem dear, I just came to welcome you to the neighbourhood," she continued with a laugh. She was, I had to admit, charming, "I'm Monica Sutter, I'm just over in #16"
That I could process. Me and Craig were in #14. That made this woman was my next door neighbour. I returned her smile and opened my door.
"Hi Monica, I'm Jen, Jen Thomas." I said, extending my hand. A surprisingly firm handshake ensued before I decided to give being neighbourly a go, "Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?"
"I'd love one," Monica said with a twenty mega-watt smile as she stepped into my home. As we walked into the kitchen I occasionally caught the twinkling green of her eyes as she seemed surveying both me and my the house. I couldn't put my finger on it but there was something oddly evaluative of the way she was looking at everything. As if she were judging that each and everything were up to some unspoken standard. She kept smiling though, so I assumed I was passing.
"Don't you just love the high ceilings?" she asked. I nodded, genuinely, as the house did have a great spacious feel to it. In the kitchen, coffee was poured and, after I excused our lack of a table or chairs, we sipped our coffee standing at the breakfast nook.
"My goodness," Monica said happily after her first sip, "That's phenomenal. Where do you buy it?"
"Oh, this little organic fair trade place in the city," I smiled, savouring the flavour myself, "I'm kind of a coffee nut and, well, I just got addicted to their stuff,"
"Well, you'll just have to pick me up some next time you're there," Monica said as she took another sip, "So Jen Thomas, how are you liking our little corner of Shady Grove?"
"It's nice," I nodded. I tried to keep my eyes on my coffee. It was odd but Monica seemed to make constant eye-contact. It wasn't something I was used to and it put me a little off. Nevertheless, it seemed as though my eyes may have given something away.
"But a little dull, huh?" she laughed. It was a warm, knowing laugh and I joined in with a chuckle while nodding my head.
"A bit. I'm not used to all of this free-time." I said, taking another sip.
"I know just what you mean, " Monica said as she nodded, "When I married Bill I'd been a PA in an investment firm. Long hours, high stress and then poof! Ten hours a day of nothing to do."
I nodded to that, my smile faded. My current problem being summed up as a shared experience made it no more enjoyable.
"Don't worry though, you'll find something. Everyone does," Monica said, picking up on the shift in my expression, "Stacy Keenan over in #26 teaches ballet, Kelly Anderson in #10 is on the school board and Terry Wilson over in 17? She writes this absolutely screamingly funny blog about her kids. I'll send you the URL"
I nodded, trying to force a smile. None of those things sounded remotely interesting to me.
"And if you're looking to stay in shape, there's an unbelievable yoga place in the Mall, super-intense,"
I cringed a little. I could practically hear the laughter of my city-hip friends at hearing about a super intense Mall yoga session with the suburban mother's club. Still, I had to admit, if that was how Monica stayed in shape it may well have been as advertised. She was slim but strong looking. As I said, I didn't know how old she was but I wanted to look that good when I was that age, whatever it was.
"That sounds fun," I said finally, leading to a big grin on her part.
"Oh that's terrific, we can go together. Make a day of it,"Monica said, patting me on the hand. I had to admit, there was something overwhelming in how friendly she was. She seemed determined to make me like her and it was working, "I go Wednesday nights and Saturday afternoons,"
"Sounds great," I nodded. It did actually. Something to do. Our first Saturday in the house Craig had gone golfing with his father, leaving me with yet another day,
"Do you have any hobbies?" Monica pressed. Again, it seemed less invasive than it did a genuine attempt to get to know me and direct me around my new neighbourhood.
"I draw. I like live music. Art galleries, museums, stuff like that," I smiled
"Hmm, well, there is an art supply place in the mall," Monica said, looking deep in thought, "Not much in terms of art galleries or museums I'm afraid. Not much in terms of music either. Last concert I was at was when Bill took me took me to a U2 concert at the stadium downtown,"
"How was that?" I asked, hoping to find common ground. U2 is a little AOR for my tastes but, well, it seemed about as close as June Cleaver and I were going to get in terms of connecting.
"Oh, Bill enjoyed himself," Monica said, sounding as if she were speaking of a small child, "I've never been much for Rock concerts,"
I looked at her a second in a bit of puzzled disbelief. Monica looked like she was in her 30's but she sounded like she was in her 60's. She was definitely odd. Pleasant, warm and charming but odd.
We kept chatting, making some small talk. She asked about Craig and I told her the story. We'd met in our junior year in college, we'd married after graduation and we planned to start a family as soon as Craig was a little more established at his Father's firm.
"Well, that's another thing. As soon as the first little one comes along you won't be complaining about too much time on your hands," Monica laughed a wise laugh.
"You have kids?"
"Three," Monica nodded, "Daniel and Trent are my twins and Brianna is the baby,"
"Sounds like a handful," I said. It did. I wanted one. Maybe two. Three, including a baby sounded crazy. Still, I had to hand it to her. She was in phenomenal shape for someone who'd had three kids.
"They were," Monica said with a wistful smile, "I'm an empty nester now, though,"
I looked at her in disbelief. She had to be putting me on.
"What? Did you kick them out at 12?" I asked, smiling,
"Aren't you a dear," she said, a wide grin on her face, "No, the twins are 19 and Brianna just turned 18. All away at college. So I'm somewhat in the same boat you are,"
"Christ, if yoga is your fountain of youth I'll be there with bells on," I said, still marvelling at her looks.
"If I didn't know better I'd swear you were hitting on me," Monica said saucily. I looked at her for a second. For someone as strait-laced as she seemed even a vague detour into a sexual topic seemed hilarious. We looked at each other for a second before giggling.
It definitely seemed as though Monica took my boredom complaints seriously. She showed up the next morning for another cup of coffee and a chat. Then again the next day. I don't know why but Monica seemed to be some sort of perfect mix of parent, therapist and girlfriend. She seemed to draw each and every problem out of me and got me talking about it, giving me constructive advice and doing her best to suggest how I deal with things in the confines of suburbia. She was the first person I confided in that I wasn't entirely happy in my new surroundings.
She even turned out to have something of a dirty sense of humour, something I'd never have guessed in a million years. True, it still struck me as odd from time to time that my best friend seemed to be a housewife fifteen years my senior who looked as though she'd never chipped a nail but I was learning not to put too much stock in appearances.
It was that occasional streak of dirtiness that meant our conversation was bound to happen upon sex from time to time, something it did almost by accident the next day.
"I mean, you're twenty-five, gorgeous, at least you and Craig should be doing it like bunnies, shouldn't you?" Monica said after I'd complained to her for about the hundredth time about the boredom of life.
"Yeah, I guess," I shrugged, "It's not infrequent or anything it's just..."
"Just what, dear?" Monica said, seemingly intently interested. I looked at her for a second before realizing that this was also something I'd never said to anyone.
"Before Craig I was kind of...adventurous," I said, trying to find a decent euphemism for it. "There were things I tried and liked and things I didn't try but wanted to and Craig, well, Craig's kind of pretty standard."
"Same thing, night in night out?" Monica nodded, sounding as if she had some experience with the subject,
"Something like that," I nodded, not wanting to say that night-in and night-out implied a greater frequency than I'd gotten used to. My comment held in the air for a minute while Monica looked at her coffee a second before smiling.
"So, what sort of adventures?" Monica said, a sly look in her eyes.
"Oh, you know, stuff," I demurred. I wasn't used to talking frankly about sex with girlfriends. Especially not the stuff I'd kept buried the last few years.
"Go on, shy girl, you can tell me. I watched every episode of Sex and the City, I won't be shocked," Monica said in an exaggerated whisper, "Your secrets will be safe with me,"
I hesitated only for a brief second before answering this time.
"Well, I guess I'm a little...submissive." I said, even as the words left my mouth I could hardly believe I was saying them. Still, Monica was true to her word and didn't look shocked. She looked, actually, like an adult talking about sex, "Nothing crazy like whips or chains or anything just...I like it rough, you know? Getting called a dirty so-and-so while I get it? Some mildly kinky role-play?"
"Maybe a the occasional spanking?" Monica said, as if she were reading my mind. I was starting to believe there was something a little strawberry under her own vanilla demeanour.
"Yes, exactly. My boyfriend before Craig liked it. A lot" I nodded, thinking briefly about my largely awful but sexually thrilling relationship with Jesse. " He was a total ass hole in every other way but he certainly delivered in that area."
"And Craig, not so much?" Monica asked. There was no hint of cruelty though, just sympathy.
"Don't get me wrong. The Vanilla is good. It's good vanilla." I said, wanting to defend my Husband a little, "But I ask for the other stuff and though he tries from time to time, well, it's pretty clear his heart's not in it. My birthday, it's a little funny, he tried giving me a spanking and I had to beg for it harder. Not in a sexy way either. But, like, 'I won't break and this is more of a pat on the butt' sort of way,"
Monica grinned. I did too. And the words kept coming.
"And, and I know you'll think I'm awful, for this," I said, about to say something I'd certainly never said to anyone, not even Craig "But Craig isn't quite as..,equipped as I might like."
"Jennifer!" Monica said, her hand covering her mouth. Again, I jumped to his defence.
"Don't get me wrong. It's perfectly average. There's nothing lacking whatsoever." I said, speaking the truth, "But, again, previous boyfriend was a little more so and that really did it for me."
Monica just kept looking at me. I wasn't sure what to make of the look. At first I thought it was more shock but, after a second, I realized it was more trying to read something off me. Like whether or not I was putting her on.
"You probably think I'm awful," I said, shaking my head. Truth was, I didn't feel awful. I felt honest.
"Oh don't think it for a second," Monica waved my concerns away as she took another sip of coffee, "Everyone has their peccadilloes."
Our sex talk was the last topic of the day, however, as Monica soon excused herself to head back to her place. I nodded and walked her to the door, giving her a friendly wave as she walked away. I admired her for a second. Not just that she was gorgeous, she was though, but the entire package. I felt as close to Monica in three days as I did to any of my other girlfriends. I'd just told her my deepest, darkest sexual thoughts and she'd reassured me, listened and not judged.
More than that, in the conversations I'd had with some of my other neighbours(I'd had many brief stop-bys) my mention of Monica's name often brought similar laudatory reactions. They marvelled at her ability to look as good as she did while doing all she did. I learned that she'd been head of the local PTA, sat on the board of the botanical gardens and had been an Olympic level swimmer in her younger days who still volunteered at the local pool. I'd dismissed her when I'd first laid eyes on her as being a Stepford Wife but I was learning that she was a super-woman. An actual role model.
Standing there, watching her walk away, I felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from me. I'd been really honest and didn't feel guilty about a thing I said. In fact, I actually felt a little turned on. The sex talk had left me thinking about nothing particular exactly but I definitely felt the urge to take a long bath.
As I undressed, I paused to admire myself in the mirror. Monica had made repeated reference to how beautiful I was, how much the men must admire my figure and, as I stripped out of my pyjamas I actually agreed with her for the first time in a long while. I've always been busty, with a slender waist and wide hips but recently I'd begun to doubt myself a little. Looking naked in the mirror, that was gone. I was a babe. Long blonde hair. Bright blue eyes. A face that bordered between classically beautiful and cute and somehow had both attributes working at once. Full, firm D-cups that were still as perky as ever. Long, slender legs that led to an ass that many girlfriends had openly envied. I could have stepped right out of a Playboy centrefold. I even made some sexy poses in the mirror to that effect. Craig was lucky to have me.