Birthday Blushes

Story Info
A wife feels let down on her 40th birthday.
2.3k words
3.83
60.8k
11
15
Share this Story

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
trevorm
trevorm
272 Followers

It was my fortieth birthday and I'd wanted something impractical, frivolous and feminine: a talisman against old age. But what I got was something quite the opposite...

*

"It's very nice." I tried not to let the disappointment show in my voice. "How thoughtfully practical of you, Don."

I know I should have been thrilled with any kind of birthday present. But this - a shiny new blender, wasn't exactly guaranteed to put the romance back into our lives. I attempted to manufacture some enthusiasm for my husband's efforts; after all, it's the thought that counts.

"I knew you'd like it!" He nodded kind of smugly, confident in the knowledge he'd spent his money wisely on something useful - as usual. It was so much like him, but where oh where was the man I married, that exciting, adventurous, sometimes foolish person of old?

He brushed a crumb off the lapel of his office suit, and stood up. "I must be off." He checked his watch. "Miss my five minute window and the traffic gets impossible. I hate being late for work."

That was a laugh. He hadn't been late for as long as I could remember and before that, no more than a couple of times in our 23 years of marriage. Still, at least he was dependable and kept a roof over our head, and it was his decent salary that enabled us to send our two children to university without too much hardship.

But, hang on... this was my fortieth birthday, one of the big 'Os'. Surely it was special enough for Don to have taken the day off as well so that we could spend it together doing something romantic? But then again, maybe he'd lost that sense of occasion, along with a load of other things he once possessed.

I shoved the blender back into its wrapping paper so it wouldn't sit there reproachfully glaring at me any longer. This year of all years I'd wanted a different kind of present, something completely impractical, romantic and frivolous. Something sweet and silly, like the fluffy white teddy with the big pink bow he bought me the first birthday after we married. Or the single red rose he gave me when Vickie was born. I wanted a talisman, I suppose, against the threat of middle age... something to hold back the tide of time.

I poured myself another cup of coffee and slumped down on a bar stool still surrounded by the breakfast dishes and the litter of cards and packages on the bar top, remembering the old days - the days when Don had still been Donald Givens, an idealistic young architect who was going to revolutionise people's lives.

I sniffed back the tears of self-pity and loaded up the dishwasher. It's a shame all the hints I'd dropped had gone unnoticed. Or perhaps he'd simply chosen to ignore them. I'd hardly been subtle in showing him illustrations from magazines with lingerie in pink satin and wicked black lace, and sentimental meadows full of poppies and buttercups advertising the latest perfumes. I'd even stopped him outside a shop window the previous Saturday afternoon to point out some lilies of the valley, with their heady scent and their frail white beauty. I had to virtually drag him away from a hardware store to look at a dainty silver necklace with my birthstone on it.

But it had all been in vain. Don just didn't see me in satin and lace anymore, or wearing sparkly jewellery. He saw me cooking in the kitchen, doing the ironing, or tidying up around the house.

I had taken the day off from work for my birthday, the first in months. I wouldn't usually be moping around at eight o'clock in the morning in my dressing gown and my precious day of freedom was not going to continue in that vein! I was going to get my hair done, and if Don insisted on being an insensitive pig, I'd treat myself to the kind of present I yearned for. Then, instead of a steak and salad followed by lemon soufflé which I'd planned for our quiet dinner at home this evening, I was going to book a candle-lit table for two at the most romantic restaurant in town I could find. I was determined that at least one of us should make an effort on my big day.

I enjoyed the hairdresser's. I don't usually, having one eye on the clock and the other on my shopping list. But today I was in the mood to indulge myself. I had a manicure and two sinful chocolate biscuits with my coffee, as well as an adventurous colour rinse, and sailed out of the salon feeling ten years younger. I treated myself to some new make-up and a long silky scarf. It was turning into a good birthday after all, I decided, as I walked by the river where Don and I used to canoodle, long ago.

I was looking for the little café near the towpath where he and I used to go when we were courting. I wasn't sure it still existed but I eventually found it, or at least the building that had now replaced it after all those years.

It was now a smart bistro. Standing outside reading the menu I realised I was famished. The prospect of a bowl of tomato and mushroom tagliatelle and a glass of rose was utterly mouth-watering.

I glanced through the window, half-covered by pretty gingham curtains and saw that it wasn't exactly crowded. After all, it was only Tuesday, hardly the busy end of the week. Then I noticed something, someone else...

I felt the colour draining from my cheeks. Don was sitting at an intimate side-table for two, complete with a posy of flowers and a bottle of wine. An attractive young woman, not much older than our daughter, Vickie, was looking attentively into his face.

I felt sick and dizzy as my world began to fall apart. Who was she - this floozy? And what was she doing on my big day with my husband? Suddenly, I wasn't hungry anymore. In fact I felt quite sick.

I wish I'd had the courage to barge in on them and confront them, make a big scene and embarrass them both, such was my anger. Or better still, carry on as normal, as if I hadn't yet known they were there, go in and sit at a table right near their's and...

But I couldn't.

The sheer shock horror of what I had just seen robbed be of any strength and fight and I stumbled away from the bistro, feeling like a child excluded from a party, the one who stands out in the cold and peers in longingly through the window at all the others unwrapping presents, playing games and enjoying themselves.

***

Don arrived home early for once. He found me lying in the darkened bedroom. I said I had a migraine. Somehow I couldn't face him with the truth. My discovery had drained me of all energy and nerve. I suppose, too, that with part of my mind I was wishing and praying that there might turn out to be a reasonable explanation. I didn't want to upset the apple cart if there was the least chance I was jumping to the wrong conclusion.

He was very sympathetic and attentive. When he bent over me a lock of his dark brown hair fell across his forehead and reminded me for a moment how he'd looked in his youth, dashing, almost dangerous. But when I thought of what I had seen earlier, his concern seemed to have a hollow ring. I was torn. It wasn't like Don to hide something. The Donald I knew was an honest and honourable person.

"That's a shame," he said. "I'd lined up a nice little surprise for you."

"Oh?"

"I was hoping to take you out to dinner tonight, but if you don't feel up to it..?"

Now what was I to say? I had feigned migraine, could I suddenly affect a remarkable but believable recovery? And then I thought again of the scene I'd witnessed at lunchtime today.

"Where had you thought of taking me?" I tried to phrase my words in such a way that would still allow his offer to remain open until the eleventh hour. I didn't want to close the book completely. When he said the name of the restaurant I just couldn't believe it. It was the same one where I'd also booked a table for us that evening. But I didn't let on. I didn't want to steal his thunder.

"Can I get you anything, darling," he said. "A glass of water and maybe some paracetamol?"

"No, I've already had some," I fibbed. "I'm sure if I just give it ten minutes it will pass. It's just these damned zig-zag flashes in the corner of my eye at the moment. But they usually pass off after a while."

"Tell you what... I'll go to the bathroom and get myself cleaned-up and if by the time I've come out you're feeling well enough, we'll both get changed and go."

I agreed. When I heard the shower running I began to look half-heartedly at the clothes in my wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear, but not caring too much. I was in two minds. Part of me was bitterly hurt, and the other part still wanted to be indulged on my big day. It would be nice if my birthday wasn't a total disaster. If only there could be a legitimate explanation about Don and that beautiful girl, then things could still turn out fine.

Perhaps it was a colleague, or a client. Trouble was, their meal had looked a far more intimate affair than just a business lunch. I did so want to be wrong. All my grievances of the morning dwindled to nothing. Don could be as dull as ditchwater from now on if he liked and I wouldn't care, as long as he was still mine. I had to admit I was still very much in love with my husband.

All at once I was head-over-heels, a dizzy teenager, not just in love, but dazzled by it. I hadn't felt this way for years, the twin torments of passion and jealousy had suddenly consumed me. I didn't know I was still capable of feeling these emotions. ***

The head waiter was very understanding about the double booking. He also ignored my red-ringed eyes and pale face with professional grace. Somewhere in the middle of the prawn cocktails, I asked Don about his day. His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. He shrugged. "So-so... Much as usual, really."

"Did you go out to lunch?" I pressed, ignoring his slightly concerned frown. He put down his fork.

"What is it, Katy?" He put his hand over mine. "Just something to talk about,"

"I know you. If there's something on your mind, let's have it out in the open. You know I don't believe in bottling things up."

Just then, I felt a tear roll down my face.

"Oh, darling, what is it?" he said, showing instant concern.

When I'd dried my eyes and composed myself I told Don about what I'd seen earlier in the day. Instead of looking like somebody who'd been rumbled, he just smiled, almost as if he was relieved.

"Is that what this is all about? I thought it was something serious by the way you've been acting."

He brought my hand up to his lips and kissed it tenderly. "Today I had to take a client out to lunch. She just happens to be a very attractive young lady. The firm are designing a house for her, a wedding present from her father-in-law to be. I have seen her quite a bit recently, and shall be seeing her more as the building progresses. The father-in-law is very rich and if this project goes okay he could well put a lot of business our way."

"But you had looked so enamoured with each other when I saw you. It wasn't like you were having a business meeting"

"Well, as I said, Kelly Lander is a very attractive young lady, and I guess I was doing my best to impress her. I'm sorry if it appeared any other way."

He kissed and squeezed my hand again, trying to reassure me.

"I like to think I still have a bit of the old charm left."

"Donald Givens," I said. "I didn't think you had it in you. I just wish you'd save some for me now and again."

I decided I had to trust what he was telling me and I'm glad I did. I've since been doing some major re-assessment about us, and about me especially. I was upset about the blender at the time, but what had I given Don last Christmas? A new electric drill. I was just as bad. Did he wonder, like me, what had become of the woman he married? Did he long for romance too?

So I'm trying to make an effort, encouraging us to do some of the things we used to do and got so much fun from. I know the burning passion one gets in one's youth and still has to a certain extent in the early years of marriage mellows with age; but that's no reason we should take each other for granted. With a few slight adjustments and compromises we can still get a lot out of life. Sometimes it's good to have the occasional blip and doubts. It forces you to regroup and focus on what's important. Anyway, with two beautiful children as well as a doting husband, I had a lot to be thankful for - and that is important.

It's Don's birthday next month and I'm determined to buy him anything other than something that's useful and practical. After all, when we got back home after the meal that particular evening Don had another surprise waiting for me, and when I put it on to show him, there was a glint in his eye that I hadn't seen in a long, long while.

THE END

trevorm
trevorm
272 Followers
Please rate this story
The author would appreciate your feedback.
  • COMMENTS
15 Comments
DeanofMeanDeanofMean5 months ago

Wow! A slice of life piece well done. One of the more realistic stories I have seen on here, well written and believable.I had though maybe was a travel agent or party planner but your take is way more realistic

Legio_Patria_NostraLegio_Patria_Nostraover 2 years ago

5++++/5! A real LW story!!!

26thNC26thNCalmost 5 years ago
Good story

No what I expected at all.

Gale82Gale82almost 12 years ago
A genuine Loving Wife story

Nicely written and believable.

AnonymousAnonymousover 14 years ago
a good story. Thanks

Too many stories focus on the sex and on cheating. This did not and I appreciated it. Maybe I need to treat my wife better than just being practical.

Show More
Share this Story

story TAGS

Similar Stories

In Her Eyes A husband doesn't like what he sees.in Loving Wives
Separate Vacations Keeping running shoes under the bed.in Loving Wives
Trying to Reclaim My Marriage Pushed too far and taken advantage of no more.in Loving Wives
That Which You Don't Have... She wanted a divorce. How he reacted was different.in Loving Wives
Oil's Well That Ends Well Husband overhears wife's plans. He takes action.in Loving Wives
More Stories