Dinner

Karen had been gone nearly four hours. I'll admit that I totally lost interest in writing the next chapter of the story, still bewildered and nervous as hell about that night. Twenty-four hours ago, I was scared about our pending divorce when Karen eventually found out about my night with Pauli. And now? Hell, I'd been confused about things before, but not like this! What the hell was going to happen later tonight?

Was this all an act so Karen could meet Pauli and strangle her? At least we don't own a gun, so it would have to be hand-to-hand combat. I didn't think that was her plan, hoped not, anyway. But the alternative was even weirder. Karen hadn't ever even hinted at anything like exhibitionism; she always dressed pretty conservatively. The silver dress a week ago was the most revealing I'd ever seen her wear. Strip poker? With strangers? No way! I guess it'd be easier than with people we know, but still. Impossible was still impossible.

I know damn good and well that she was wet after reading those stories, though. Far as I know, that'd never happened before. And what the hell was she buying?

When she finally did get home, she carried in several bags. I didn't see what store they were from, she went straight upstairs to our room and a few minutes later, I heard her yell down, "Hon, you need to come get the clothes you're wearing."

Okay, I climbed the stairs and went into our bedroom. Karen wasn't in the room and I heard the shower running, so that was obviously where she was. I looked around, hoping to see the sacks she'd brought home, but they weren't anywhere. I pulled some clothes out of my drawer; clean socks, underwear (what kind of underwear do you wear to strip poker?) pair of slacks and a nice shirt out of the closet. Shoes, need shoes. My nicest shoes are a pair of leather boat shoes, so grabbed those as well; then my toothbrush, razor, and a comb.

While I was getting the toothbrush and stuff, I took a little peek through the frosted shower doors at my wife's naked body. She's a little self-conscious about her thirty-five-year-old body, but in reality, she looks damn good. Nice perky boobs, smallish, but sexy as hell; slim waist; coal-black hair, my inspiration for Adriana's hair color; and very 'wholesome' pretty, a lot like I envision Adriana.

I shook my head in wonderment, picked up my things and headed out.

I had to laugh at myself a little, lighten the mood, when I thought about what I had written about Adriana and Tanya, even Michelle in the Robert and Michelle series, how their husbands always had to wait for them to get ready to go. That was a total figment of my imagination as Karen was almost always really quick getting ready. But not this time. She took forever, just like Matt waiting for the fictional Adriana.

When Karen did come downstairs, I was totally blown away, confused, bewildered, perplexed, however in hell you want to say it. I didn't understand. I totally was at a loss for words. Karen was wearing a grey, frumpy-looking, ankle-length dress-thing, almost like a burlap bag, white sneakers, hair in a bun, looking like she was going to a... hell, I had no idea where. She had a small bag with her, about as nondescript as what she was wearing.

"You ready?" the bag-lady cheerfully asked me. That was what she looked like, a homeless, bag-lady. What the hell?

"You're wearing... that?" I asked her.

She looked down at herself, "Uh, yeah, problem?"

No, no problem at all. I don't know what I wanted to say. "No, you're beautiful." Liar! Well, she is, but that... sack she was wearing?

She smiled, "Thank you, I hoped you'd like it. Shall we go?"

What the friggin hell? But I was a perfect gentleman; I opened the car door for her and watched her climb in, scooting that... maybe it was canvas, whatever the hell it was... around so it didn't pinch her butt. At least it didn't have any holes or tears. And was clean. Those were about the only good things I could think of.

Right after we left home, bag-lady suggested we run by McDonald's for something to eat. I didn't think my fluttery stomach could handle a thing, but we stopped anyway. It was almost embarrassing, I was glad Karen, in her gunny-sack or whatever, was on the other side where the cashier-girl couldn't see her, at least much.

Karen ordered her usual chicken sandwich and I suggested maybe we could split it, since she didn't usually eat all of hers and I didn't feel in the least bit hungry. We ordered one diet coke to share, too.

After getting them, I pulled into a parking spot. Karen tore the sandwich somewhat in half and we sat, eating. I did manage a bite and it didn't seem so bad so I ate down the rest of my half, then waited while Karen nibbled on hers. She's infuriating sometimes, how long it takes her to eat. Maybe that's why she manages to keep that figure.

Okay, I'll admit that one evening on my way home from work that week, I'd looked up Pauli's address and driven by her house. Hoped I'd get a glimpse, maybe through a bedroom window or something. But it was only once. Does that make me a stalker?

On the way, after we'd finished our sandwich, I kept looking over at Karen, wondering when she'd call off this charade, tell me it was all a joke, to turn around and go home.

Even when I pulled up in front of her house, I fully expected something to happen, sure as hell not what did happen, though. What did happen was that Karen waited in the car for me to open her door, then together we walked up Pauli's sidewalk and Karen stood in front with her little bag, ringing the door.