Red Roses Ch. 05 - Blue Roses

Hello, gentle reader, and welcome to the (long overdue) fifth chapter of the Red Roses saga. If you have not read the previous chapters, that's fine; I think there is enough context that this can be read on its own, though the back-story of the characters would make more sense if you read the rest. If you have followed previous chapters, thank you for being patient and I apologize for the long delay between episodes. I will also apologize upfront if I have treated the subject poorly or in error. This is my first time writing in this category. I went back and forth trying to get it right and I'm still not sure it's all the way there.

As always, I want to A) apologize in advance for any typos or errors, as I am bad at proofreading, B) thank my dear friends for their feedback (you all know who you are!) and state that any remaining errors are the result of me tinkering after their suggestions, and C) reiterate that I welcome all feedback, whether good, bad, or otherwise. Thank you for taking a look!

#

I sighed in relief as I turned the car into the driveway. Friday afternoon meant a normal release from the workweek, same as always, but we'd slathered the last finishing touches on a major project earlier and bundled it for presentation. My boss was taking it to Tampa on Monday to present it to the military command that was our biggest client. As lead design engineer, I was confident. We'd not only met our production goals but bonus milestones.

That thought brought a grimace to my face. That "confidence" had come at the cost of three months of seventy-hour weeks and far too much time away from my family.

Trish's SUV--last year's model of a Honda Pilot--was parked on its normal side of the garage. The thought made me smile; my wife had been an absolute saint the last twelve weeks, picking up the slack both with taking care of the house and the kids. Not that the kids needed nearly as much maintenance as before. At fifteen and thirteen respectively, Mason and Tabitha were semi-self-sufficient, and trustworthy. Trish and I had done something right; they were teenagers and like all teenagers, they strained at the bounds of independence and got a little mouthy now and again, but at the heart of it, they were good kids, who did well in school and rarely caused trouble.

I parked, hit the button to lower the door, and went in. I half-expected to smell dinner cooking, so I was surprised to see Trish sitting at the kitchen table alone. An open bottle of wine and two glasses, already filled, awaited my arrival.

My eyes took her in. Patricia, my wife of seventeen years, was as beautiful in her early forties as she had ever been. A lifelong-fitness enthusiast, she had stayed in shape and still weighed what she did in college. Her wavy brown hair fell just past her shoulder blades and held not a wisp of gray. Only a few minor lines around her eyes gave even the slightest hint of her age. Every time I saw Trish, I wondered how I had gotten so lucky.

"Uh, hey, babe. What's going on?"

She gazed at me, her expression nothing but nervousness. "Justin..." She looked away, then back to me, and said those four words no husband wants to hear.

"We need to talk."

#

I loved Trish. I had for as long as I had known her. What had started as childhood friends, had progressed to good friends, then to best friends by the time we were in high school. I think we were both deeply in love before we ever admitted it to ourselves, or each other. With Trish's role-playing fantasy, we'd become friends with weird benefits in our twenties, which progressed to lovers, which progressed to spouses. I couldn't imagine being with anyone else.

Our marriage wasn't perfect. What marriage is? I've found that most folks claiming theirs is are either lying or engaged in self-deception, and self-deception is dangerous, because it lets you glide over cracks without acknowledging or fixing them before they become real problems.

And we'd had a few cracks. Her brief emotional affair with her coworker had been a major stress point but we'd fought for our marriage. I'll be honest, at first she fought a hell of a lot harder than I did. We'd overcome it and she'd regained my trust--or, as much of it as she ever could. Every once in a while I had that twinge of memory but in word and deed, she had proved she loved me. She was a devoted, excellent mother. Was I, and were the kids, better off with her than without her? Absolutely. Was I certain she hadn't gotten physical with her coworker? Ninety-nine percent sure. Was I certain she wasn't cheating on me now? Same.

So was I reassured when she said those words, and did all those fears come boiling back to the front of my mind? No, and hell yes.

#

I laid my briefcase on the kitchen counter and sat in my normal chair. Trish watched me pick up the nearest wine glass. I fiddled with the stem. "Where are the kids?"

"With my folks until tomorrow."

I nodded. That in and of itself meant nothing; my parents and hers loved their grandkids and liked to have them stay over about once a month. Both sets of parents spoiled the kids rotten, and Mason and Tabitha never hesitated to go with either pair. "All right, Trish. Go ahead."

"Sweetie, I want you to know I love you very much."

"Okay?"

"But I'm not feeling..." She bit her lip and looked away. "I don't know the right word. Fulfilled? Settled? I feel like I'm in a rut."

Icy panic gripped my stomach but at the same time, the flames of anger sparked right alongside them. I fought to keep my tone even. "Trish, we've known each other far too long to do this dance. Please tell me what you're talking about here." When she didn't answer, I added, "This about our sex life, right?"

She nodded.

With a handful of slow periods due to work or illness, we'd had a robust sex life for our entire marriage. Neither of us had been virgins when we got together; hell, we used to regale each other with stories of our escapades. That's what best friends do, right? But whether making love to Trish, or just fucking her raw, sex with my wife transcended anyone else I'd been with. We connected on a physical, emotional, and spiritual level. And we explored. We both enjoyed going down on the other. Anal happened sometimes. We still did some role-playing, light bondage, and used toys on each other. I had no complaints.

Apparently, she did.

I licked my lips and thought for a moment. We'd fallen from twice a week to maybe three times a month with my recent work schedule. "Is this because I've been working long hours lately?"

"No, I understand about that. I've been happy for what time we got, because I know you were working so hard for us. I knew when the project was over, we'd get our frequency back on track, just like when you had busy times in the past. This has been building for a while--six or eight months, at least."

"Not a quantity complaint, but a quality one?"

Trish smiled. "Justin, you know you are by the far the best lover I have ever had, bar none. It's not even close." Her smile faded. "But I think I want to... change things up."

The words were out before I could stop them. "You want to go fuck someone else, is that it?"

A look of horror crossed her face. Her eyes widened. "Jesus Christ, that's not what I want at all. Why did you leap to that?"

"That's usually where this conversation leads."

"Absolutely not! I'm looking for us buff up our sex life, sweetie, not contaminate it with someone else. I only want you." A glint of anger came to her eyes. "And I certainly don't want you running off and screwing some other woman."

A handful of smart remarks leaped to mind but I restrained myself. Her vehement denials at involving others in our sex life brought me more relief than I wanted to admit. I stared at the wall for a moment, then moved my eyes back to hers. Trish gazed at me, concerned and nervous. I said, "All right. If not that, what then?"

"I... I'm not exactly sure. It's not you." She reached out and squeezed my hand. "I know I love you very much. I am not leaving you or anything of the sort, and I never want to stop making love to you--not until they put us in the ground--so please don't worry about anything like that. This is about me. I feel like something in me is missing, like there's a piece of the puzzle out of place. Like I said, it's been on my mind for a long time."

"All right, so what are you suggesting?"

"I'd like us to, uhm, talk to someone."

"Talk to someone?" I raised an eyebrow. "Like a minister? A marriage counselor?"

"Yeah, the second one, and one who specializes in..." Her cheeks flushed crimson and she looked away, refusing to meet my stare. "In sexual relations."

I couldn't help myself. I started to laugh.

Trish frowned, though she didn't release my hand. "I don't know what's so funny," she said, her voice tart.

"I guess this whole thing seems absurd." I held up my free hand to forestall her protest. "Trish, can you really tell me what this is all about? Or can you not?"

She shook her head.

I took a deep breath. Trish's parents were good people but their religious convictions were extremely strong and they had raised her with a less-than-healthy view of sex. Consequently, despite the fact that Trish and I knew and trusted each other better than any other souls on the planet, she had always had trouble discussing sex with me. It was simply a subject she had a mental barricade around. I had always told Trish she had a far easier time having sex than talking about it.

Trish looked back to me. Her other hand joined the first, both clutching mine. "Please, Justin? If you don't think it's helping or you're uncomfortable, we can stop, but I want to at least try, to see if I can figure out what's eating me. I'll go alone but I'd really like you at my side."

I made a decision. If she wasn't talking about something like hot-wifing or swinging, Trish's request wasn't really unreasonable, and in her roundabout nervous way, she'd asked for my help. I smiled, set down the wine glass, and let my other hand join ours. "Okay, babe. If you think it will help, I'll go."

The smile that put her face would have launched a thousand ships, just like the legendary Helen of Troy. Trish stood and pulled me to my feet. She dragged me to our bedroom.

Three hours and two intense sessions--including one where she rode me like a screaming banshee--I figured I'd made the right call.

#

I wasn't sure what to expect when we sat down in the counselor's office. I'd kind of left it up to Trish to find someone she thought would help. My visualization of the "sex therapist" was pretty dated; I imagined either a little old Jewish lady or a weird hippie-type chick in a tie-dyed poncho preaching free love.

But Brenda Wright was neither of those. She was a prim, professionally-dressed woman in her early fifties, with her brown hair cut in a bob and wire-rimmed glasses. Her office was filled with deep, comfortable chairs scattered around the room and muted, subdued tones that made the whole place feel welcoming.

Brenda dispelled most of my misgivings. She was very quick to point out that while she specialized in the romantic woes of couples, that also she followed her own version of the Hippocratic oath, in the sense that when it came to the relationships of her clients, her first rule was to do no harm.

"In other words, Justin," she said, "I won't suggest anything that I think will harm your marriage. I won't try to talk either of you into something against which you're adamantly opposed."

I nodded, feeling a little more encouraged about the process.

Brenda asked us what we hoped to get out of our sessions. Trish outlined her feelings of being a little unsettled with our sex life, though she stressed that she loved me and thought I was a great lover. She concluded by stating that she hoped counseling would help uncover the root of her agitation.

When the counselor asked me, I thought for a moment before I said, "Really, Brenda, I'm here because Trish felt we needed to see you. I love my wife and want to support her."

"I see." Brenda made a note on her tablet. I watched her, thinking that we'd come a long way from the days of pens and legal pads. Brenda looked back at us. "I'd like to have one individual session with each of you--Trish first, and then Justin. After that, I'd like to bring us all back together, if that would work for the two of you."

Trish and I glanced at each other. I nodded, indicating that I was okay with that. Trish said, "I think that will be fine." We said our goodbyes, made the arrangements with Brenda's receptionist, for appointments the following week, and drove home.

The first half of the drive was quiet. Trish stared at her lap. I watched the road but in my mind, I was still back in the office, wondering if we were really going to learn anything.

"Justin?"

Her soft voice drew me from my musings. "What?"

"Are you mad at me for dragging you in there?"

I smiled, reached over, and patted her knee. "No, sweetie. It's important to you, so I'm happy to do it."

She smiled and her hand covered mine. "Thank you."

"It'll be all right, Trish." I hoped that was true.

My solo session was about a week later, three days after my wife's. Trish had been very reticent about what had happened with hers and refused to discuss it, saying that Brenda stressed I should come to my session without any preconceived notions. I caught her staring off into space several times with a thoughtful look on her face. At other times, I caught her looking at me with the same thoughtful look.

Even the kids picked up on her preoccupation. The evening after her appointment, we sat down for dinner. Trish had made a great chicken casserole but she just kind of pushed her food around. Mason asked her, "Mom, are you okay?"

She blinked and looked at him. "What? Oh, fine. Just a little distracted."

Tabitha sneered, as only a thirteen-year-old girl can. She and Trish had clashed more and more as Tabitha entered puberty. I thought it was because they were so much alike that they both saw in the other aspects of themselves that they didn't like. Trish worried that Tabitha would grow up hating her but I didn't think so. When things were good, they were good, and they were only rough on occasion.

Tabitha rotated her finger by the side of her head. "She's turning into a space cadet. It's what happens when you're senile and old."

I put down my fork and fixed my eyes on her. I kept my voice level but firm. "Tabitha, don't be rude."

She held my gaze for a second before flushing and lowering her eyes. She murmured, "Sorry, Mom."

"It's okay," Trish said. She'd already retreated into her thoughts.

I told the kids she was just caught up in a problem with work--she'd gone back to part-time accounting from home when Tabitha entered elementary school--and that she might be a little distracted. Mason, ever the perceptive soul, privately asked me if there was a problem between Trish and me. I told him there wasn't. I'd been reassuring myself by repeating in my mind that there was no problem, so it was easy to convince the kids. They let it go but I spent a lot of my time wondering what had absorbed so much of Trish's attention.

I arrived at Brenda's office right on time and was shown in. I hate to admit it but I was anxious to discover what had happened at Trish's session. Even as I sat, I had the annoying thought that Brenda would or could not, for professional reasons, share what the two of them had discussed.

Once again, she assuaged my fears. "Justin, before we begin, I want you to know that Trish has given permission for full disclosure for what we discussed at her session. I think it would help if you gave the same permission to discuss yours with her, though you are certainly under no obligation to do so. Or if you are okay with general disclosure but there are specific things you don't want revealed, I will respect that."

"That's fine. I don't want any secrets between my wife and me."

We talked for a few minutes about my upbringing and my job history. She raised her eyebrows when I told her how I had argued to be able to work several days a week from home but had also suggested that I could raise my team's productivity as I did, which I had. When that subject petered out, Brenda read from her tablet for a moment, then placed her tablet on her desk. "Trish tells me you've known each other since you were in elementary school together."

"Yes, pretty much our entire lives."

"So you're fully aware of her upbringing."

Brenda hadn't phrased it as a question. "Sure. Don't get me wrong. Lucy and David are wonderful people. They're kind, generous, and they are absolutely doting grandparents. But they have very old-fashioned views on sex and intimacy. They were so strict that they didn't think it was right that a young unmarried man and woman should ever be alone in the same room with the door closed. They still don't."

"And you know how that affected her outlook on sex and relationships, right?"

"She's... I wouldn't say Trish is inhibited. She's very affectionate and we have--or, at least, I thought we have--a good sex life. I know she's never had an easy time discussing it. She always gets very embarrassed and flustered. It was distressing enough for her that I had to have the 'birds and bees' talks with our children. But when it came to acting, in doing the deed, she's been fine."

Brenda nodded. "Just so you know, Trish fully explained her fantasies the two of you played out before you got married."

Had she asked me in advance, I'm not sure I would have agreed with Trish talking about that. It was slightly embarrassing to stare at a credentialed counselor--not to mention a mandatory reporter--knowing that she knew I had mock-raped my wife on multiple occasions. However, I'd gone into this blind and hadn't laid any ground rules for "off limits" discussions, so I suppose I only had myself to blame for that.

Some of my thoughts must have been plain on my face. Brenda held up a hand. "I'm not judging you at all, Justin. Believe me, by now I have seen just about every permutation of fantasies between couples you can imagine, and I commend you and Trish for working it out in a safe, structured way."

I bit back my irritation. "All right."

"Trish said those 'encounters,' as she called them, appealed to her so much because the control was taken from her."

"She told me that too."

"Why did they appeal to you?"

I smirked, unable to repress the urge to be a smart ass. "What, you mean aside from the chance to fuck a hot girl and do whatever I wanted to her?"

If I had been hoping my flippant remark would throw Brenda off her game, I'd have been disappointed. She merely smiled and said, "Yes, aside from that."

I thought for a moment. "I think the biggest thing is that I wanted to protect her. At the time, we weren't lovers, but she was my best friend. I could tell it was something she really wanted to do, and going to that extreme--to have someone break into her house and pretend to force her to have sex... she could have gotten really hurt with the wrong person. I couldn't let that happen."

"I understand you used similar verbiage when on your honeymoon, when you two engaged in some exhibitionism."

"Did I?"

"According to Trish, you said--" Brenda picked up the tablet and scanned along until she found what she sought. "--you said that if she wanted to let her hair down you would be, quote, 'right there with her the whole time.' Trish took that to mean you wouldn't let anything happen to her, meaning she felt safe enough to do the things she did."

"Okay. I don't remember those exact words but if Trish remembers seventeen years later, it must have made quite an impression."