No Secrets

I know. I felt for her too. It didn't stop me from smiling.

I squeezed her nipples to say farewell. They didn't respond.

I remembered the bag on the floor just as I was about to leave. I picked it up. It was from a window replacement vendor that we frequently get junk mail from. I could take it with me and leave her a little hope, but, really, it was the perfect thing for her to discover when I left... except the business card within, which I took with me.

I quickly put my bag back into my car, backed out the driveway without turning my headlights on, and sped away around a curve before turning them on.

I drove to a nearby RaceTrac gas station. It was convenient and their restrooms generally are cleaner than most. I always bring an extra change of clothes on my trips, so I grabbed them and my toiletry bag before going in. I didn't care what people might think. I got several paper towels, wetted them and cleaned myself up in a stall. A hit of deodorant and fresh clothes... Better. I tested the smell of their soap and used a little to wash my face, just for a different smell. The soap pretty well softened my fingers, and I brushed my teeth. With my toothpaste.

I was feeling pretty smug. A crappy day ended in the best sex I've ever had, and I outplayed my wife in her own ruse. I checked the time. I could get home right on time, but I wasn't sure I wanted to.

She would have immediately checked her phone to make some sense of the evening, then panicked. She could throw away the signs and put the toys away, but mostly she would need shower time. I didn't want to give her a lot.

I hurried home. When I pulled into the garage, I saw the note still taped to the door about the kitchen floor being wet. It made me smile. But I worried, too, that I had overdone it and might find her a wreck. It couldn't be helped at this point.

I had to unlock the front door this time, and I wheeled my suitcase behind me.

"Hayley?" I asked, loudly.

No reply. I left the bag in the foyer.

I went to where I knew she'd be, in the bathroom. The door was closed, which was unusual in itself. I entered without knocking. She was in the shower stall, bathing, working at the Sharpie likely. We have clear glass shower doors, but they were fogged.

"Hey there!" I said. "Sorry about the time. Want me to join you?"

"Hi honey! But, no," she said, laughing. I suppose that was the only thing that came to mind to avoid an explanation. "Almost done. Just give me a few minutes."

I had hoped that she would invite me in. We could have talked, snuggled, and the truth would likely have come out. I didn't want to hide it from her, but I wanted her to bring it up. My cock was once again hard, somehow, and I was disappointed that I couldn't make love to her in the shower.

I was sympathetic for the mess I had made, and maybe she was sexually worn out. Still, I was curious how long it might be before we talked about it.

"What's up with that sign in the garage?" I asked. "The kitchen wasn't wet."

"Oh, sorry! I did that earlier before I got your messages."

True enough.

I could have changed into something more comfortable while she was in the shower, but I wanted her to know I hadn't changed since I got home. I unpacked my suitcase and then went to the kitchen, poured a glass of ice water, turned on the TV and waited.

She entered just a little later, clean, radiant, her hair wet and... wearing pajamas. I knew why. I got up and gave her a good kiss and a long hug. She smelled so good. I pressed against her with my groin. "It's been a long week," I said. "Is there a pajama strip tease in my future?" I asked, teasingly.

"Maybe," she said, "But not tonight. I don't feel the best for some reason."

Some reason. I gave her a disappointed look because I was disappointed. It meant that, all things considered, she didn't think it was me. Which meant that I could no longer say we had no secrets between us.

I also realized that if I hadn't changed clothes or if I brought the subject up, we'd be having sex in seconds. I was just as much a party to it. But, strangely, I didn't want to give it away. I made sympathetic comments, changed into shorts and a T-shirt, and settled on the couch watching an old action movie on Netflix. We didn't talk much, and after a time she fell asleep snuggled against me.

I picked up my phone and looked at the photos and the videos. They were powerfully erotic, and my cock hardened in no time, though I was in no position to do anything about that. I deleted them all. No, don't worry. I'm not an idiot. I sent them to the cloud first. I also went into the deleted photos folder and deleted them there as well. Hayley has access to my phone. And I have secrets of my own.

If you're wondering, Hayley spent a lot of time the next morning in the bathroom and shower, making noises about "Female stuff." I didn't pry.

Later in the day, she said she felt better, and after dinner, we made love. It was awesome, but it was different. Making love involves giving to each other. The patterns were similar, but Hayley took far more than she gave. As she rode me with her eyes closed, I knew her thoughts were elsewhere. Reliving the night before? Working through possible guilt, maybe? Reassuring herself that everything was okay now? Or, maybe she was just enjoying having control to find her own orgasm. I didn't know. I didn't ask. I love her and was happy to give.

Postscript:

I checked the trash the following morning, and I found the plastic bag with the sales flyer in it. I stashed it near my computer. By mid-week, Hayley still hadn't said anything, so... I scanned the ad. I edited out the company phone number and printed it. It came out looking good enough. I discovered that our printer could also handle a catalog envelope. I printed the logo on that as well.

My handwriting sucks, and therefore it's immediately recognizable, so I took the letter to work where I know someone that just does things without asking too many questions. I told him it was for a practical joke, and he wrote what I wanted without asking any questions. This was good, because I'd be pressed to explain how it was funny.

Saturday was the earliest day it could arrive, and I hoped it would. Otherwise, I'd be at the office Monday when it came. I made sure Hayley got the mail. I watched her through the window as she returned to the house, flipping through the mail. I could see that it had arrived. As is her habit, she took it to the kitchen where she separates the bills and throws out the junk mail.

I was nearby, in the den, but I didn't watch. The envelope was officially addressed to "Resident," but my friend had hand written "The foyer lady" above it. I could hear her part the long envelope edge. At the bottom of the letter was the handwritten message, "I was very happy to look at your door. Let me know if you need me to look at your windows." And it was signed T.J.

Behind that paper was an 8.5" x 11" color print of her in our foyer, squatting on the dildo with cum on her face. I heard a squeak. That pleased me to no end. I heard her approaching and wiped the smile from my face.

She came into the den, took the remote, and muted the football game I had been watching. She didn't look at me, but I could tell her eyes were teary, her face red. "I'll be right back," she said. "We need to talk."

It took her several minutes until she returned, naked, holding the blindfold in one hand and the envelope in the other. This was not at all what I expected. She handed the envelope to me, sat in the recliner opposite me and extended the foot rest. She put the blindfold on, planted her feet, spread her legs, and began masturbating.

"Stay there," she said, "And look at the picture in the envelope. You know I love you."

"But?" I said.

She nodded. "Just look, and I want to tell you a story."

I slipped it from the envelope, but before I could say anything, she said, "I had the most amazing sex last Friday night."

I smiled. There were no secrets between us. Except mine.