Knox County Ch. 04

"Settle down, Jenny," he said.

"Fuck you! I won't settle down. I drove up and down this fucking road twenty times. When you didn't catch me, I went there to meet you. Waited there half the fucking night, you prick."

He just shrugged, staring at the ground. "Sorry."

"Fuck sorry. What the fuck, you can't call?"

He shook his head. She'd simmer down in a minute, she always did. He decided to wait her out.

"You can make it up to me, you know," she suggested. She reached her hand out the window to him, but he didn't take it. "What?"

"My wife caught us."

"So? Fuckin' prude. What's she gonna do about it?"

He glared at her. "She's not a 'fuckin' prude.' She's my wife. And I don't know what she's gonna do. But she has pictures, okay?"

"Pictures?" She was freaking now, but he didn't care. She had to get the point.

"Pictures, Jenns. And if she shares them, I'll lose my job. Maybe even go to fucking jail. Understand?"

"Dude, she shares them with my father, jail's the least of your problems. He'll kick my ass, sure. But he'll cut your fucking nuts off. And I'm not bullshitting."

He knew she wasn't bullshitting. Her old man was big, burly, and mean. He owned a series of biker bars in the area, and word in the department was he was a major drug portal for the entire region. Cop or no cop, he didn't want to be on the wrong side of that ruthless bastard.

After a minute, he said, "We're done. Can't do this anymore, okay?"

She nodded. "Gonna suck, though."

"Why?"

"Gonna have to stop speeding so much. Won't be able to get away with it as easily."

He smiled and she drove off. He'd be out of her mind in ten minutes, he thought. She wouldn't even miss him. He wondered if any of the others missed him.

A half hour later, when he had finished checking out at work and handing in his reports, he drove slowly by the house. Their house, he thought, but not for long; it would soon be only her house.

All the lights were off except that in the master bedroom. Maybe she was still up. He decided to find out and turned around, pulling into the driveway and parking. He tiptoed over to the window outside the bedroom and tried to peek in. The shades were drawn. He didn't really want to wake her if he didn't have to. Still--

"What the fuck's wrong with you!" he heard her hiss behind him. She was at the door in a tiny pink silk teddy. Her eyes were blazing, and she was clearly pissed.

"I want to talk," he said.

"Keep your voice down." She shut the door. He stood there for a moment before going in the front door. She was in the kitchen making a pot of coffee.

"I'm sorry," he said to her back.

"You scared the shit outta me." She didn't turn to look at him.

"I just wanted to talk. Drove by, saw the light on, hoped maybe you were awake."

She spun and leaned back against the counter, her arms folded in front of her breasts, pushing them higher. He could see the top of an areola, and his eyes stayed locked there.

"This what you want?" She pushed her breasts up higher until one of the fell over the top of the teddy and rested on her forearm.

He said nothing, breaking his gaze and looking back to her eyes.

"Why didn't you just knock, you wanted to talk so bad? Why prowl around outside my bedroom? Hoping to see something? Catch me with someone?"

Shock came over his face. He'd never considered the possibility she could be with someone else. For Chrissake, she was still his wife.

Seeing the look on his face, the energy went out of her. "Sit down," she said. She reached up to the cupboards and pulled down two mugs. They said nothing until the coffee was done brewing.

She sat at the table with him, sipping her coffee. He stared into his mug, afraid to look at her or say anything. She seemed willing to wait him out, though.

"Maybe this was a bad idea."

"You think?"

"I'm sorry."

She snorted.

He stayed silent, not knowing what to say. This was a bad idea.

Then he heard her sniffling. He looked up and watched her wipe tears from her eyes.

"Why did you do it? With them?"

"I don't know. I just . . . I don't know. Seemed exciting, I guess."

"Yeah, I guess it did. But you never did any of those things with me."

"What things?"

She slammed the mug down on the table, coffee sloshing over the sides and over the tabletop. "You know what fucking things!"

He thought about it. She'd said the same thing the day she'd kicked him out, but they hadn't registered. Now they did.

"Would you have liked it?"

"How do I know," she said through her tears, "I never got to try. You tried on them, but not on me. Not even once." She looked at him, tears spilling down her cheeks, her mouth twisted in anguish. "Why, Tim? Did you think you'd break me?"

"You're my wife. You don't . . . you know . . . wives don't do those things."

She slapped him, hard across the face. He sat there and took it, rubbing his cheek.

"Cynthia Holloway was a wife, you asshole! She was someone's wife, and she did those things."

"But I didn't love her," he said. Didn't she understand? He couldn't do those things to her, couldn't hurt her. It was tearing him up right now, watching her cry and seeing her pain.

"You don't love her so she gets all your best moves? You love me so I get a wham-bam-thank you-ma'am?"

"You seemed to like it, if I remember. I was caring. Gentle, you know? And you almost always got off. I made sure of it."

She laughed at him. "Don't flatter yourself. It was boring. So boring I usually faked it just to get it over with. World to Tim, there's more to the world than missionary. Don't you see that? It was always the same. No spice. Yeah, you made me feel loved. But you never made me feel sexy, desirable. You saved it all for them."

He felt his anger rise. "Yeah, right, like you ever did that for me."

"Bullshit. I did so. Remember that once, last year? I went down on you, you woke up in my mouth. You thought it was fucking disgusting, made me feel disgusting. Like some cheap piece of meat. You pushed me away and barely touched me for a month."

He remembered. The way she looked bobbing up and down as he awoke, pleasuring herself and him at the same time. She was right, he realized. If that had been any of the others, he'd have fucked their brains out. Still, she wasn't the others. She was his wife, and he couldn't get over that.

"But you're not like the others. That's why I love you."

"Wrong, Tim. I'm exactly like them. I wanted to try some of those things, to feel like I still turned you on. Just like they did, maybe because their husbands don't make them feel special anymore. It's not just about love, you asshole. Sometimes it's about more than that. Sometimes it's about feeling sexy, young again, . . . feeling wanted, like I still turn you on so much you can't control yourself. Wake up, Einstein. Wives do those things, and they want to do them with their husbands. This isn't the fifties, and I'm not June fucking Cleaver!"

She pushed herself back from the table, her arm pointing at the door.

"Now get the fuck outta here and don't come back. Ever!"

He did as he was told, more confused than ever.

For the first time he realized that most of them were married women, and they craved what he did to them. Could she really be like that? And were they like that with their own husbands?