Thursday Nights

About mid-morning, Cathy brought me a bottle of water. "Sit down a minute, Baby Doll," I told Cathy after she handed me the bottle of cool water.

She sat down on a wide double tree stump I'd planned to leave in place as a seat, or a place to leave some pots to grow greenery. I started to sit down beside her, but her arms were folded across her chest and she was rubbing her palms up and down her upper arms.

"Hey, Doll, what's happening to us?"

Cathy shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know what you mean, Jerry." She wasn't looking up at me, she was watching the toe of her sneaker as she pressed it down in some soft soil, and then did it again in another spot, watching the mark the bottom of her shoe left in the dirt.

"I'm talking about you and me. Do I need to ask my mom to stay with the kids so we can go away for a long weekend? Do we need some special time to be together?"

Cathy turned her head, looking at the house as if she was trying to decide if she liked the looks of it, sort of tilting her head to one side. She shook her head before she answered. "No, I don't think so. Jerry," She turned her head back toward me, but didn't look up. "Are you unhappy?"

"I'm a little unhappy with why you aren't interested when I want to make love to you."

"I don't reject you, Jerry. I've always enjoyed sex with you. You're a very sexy man." There was a short bark of sound, not really humor just a sound that she wanted me to think was laughter. "Sue thinks you're a very sexy man."

"I could care less what Sue thinks. I want to make love to my wife, not some woman who doesn't interest me. Sue belongs to Barry. I belong to you and I want to show you how much I believe that. Don't you want me anymore?"

"No, Jerry," she paused then looked away. "It's not like that. I want you. I thought we were doing pretty good."

"Cathy, I've made love to you four times in the last six weeks. Did you know that?"

She looked up but quickly looked down again, "That's not enough for you?"

"Not hardly, it's about a fourth of what we had three months ago."

"Really? I guess I didn't realize it was that bad."

I started to ask why she hadn't noticed we'd gone from having sex twice a week to about once every two weeks. Instead, I took a deep breath, "Is there someone else you'd rather make love with?"

Cathy was on her feet, her face red, "What? Why would you ask me something like that? Jerry, how dare you?"

Before I could say anything, Cathy was stomping off, on her way back to the house. I knew she was under a lot of stress at work. Her department was being reorganized to accommodate more computerization. A new supervisor, who insisted on being called Mr. Westland, had been hired and Cathy was afraid she would lose her job or be asked to take a lesser position.

One tree stump was giving me a lot of trouble. The roots had wrapped around a large rock near the surface. I think I worked for another hour then put away my tools and went inside to take a shower. Maybe Cathy and I could have our talk after supper. When I walked back into the kitchen, there was a note on the blackboard, "Gone to the store."

I grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and drank it down, quenching my thirst, just doing anything to put off thinking. I threw the empty bottle at the trashcan, and took a second beer, opening it as I sank into my easy chair.

I'd been sitting down for about fifteen minutes, staring at the blank screen of the television, when my middle child, Becky, came into the family room. "Hey Dad, are you done outside for today?"

"Yeah, I decided to take the rest of the day off. Where are Benny and Tina?"

"They went to the store with Mom." She sat on the couch for a full minute before she asked, "Dad, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Beck, but make it an easy one," I teased her. That I knew of, I was the only person to call her Beck. "Your ol' man is getting old. His brain doesn't work as fast as it used to."

"Give me a break," she scoffed. "I know you're only forty-two. Mr. Hanson is forty-seven. He says a man doesn't start getting old until he's over fifty."

"Oh good, then I have a few more years. What's your question?"

"What's wrong with Mom?"

"I don't know," I pretended ignorance. "Is she getting old, too?"

"That's not what I meant. You remember my tryouts were Thursday?" When I nodded, Becky said, "Mom said she was taking off Thursday afternoon to come to my tryout, but she didn't show up. Last week she didn't go to Benny's troop meeting."

"Really?" This was really strange. Cathy and I usually discussed the children's activities I couldn't attend and I just realized she hadn't mentioned either event. Becky was showing some good soccer skills, which we were encouraging. The last time I'd talked to Benny's scout master, he was really impressed with the leadership skills our son was showing. If I recalled correctly, the meeting Cathy missed was when the scout master had planned to give parents an overview of the troop's summer activities, including a two week camp Benny was looking forward to attending.

"Yeah, she said she was at the tryouts. She said I probably didn't see her, but she didn't know whether I made the team. She told Benny she got held up at one of the stores, but he told me when he called the office they said she'd already called in her time for the day."

"Tell ya what, Beck," I was prepared to strike some kind of bargain with my own daughter, just to keep her from being worried. "Don't bother your Mom about this. I'll talk to her. I know her job has been pretty tense the last couple of months. We may need to give her a little slack."

"Okay, Dad. Thanks." She stood and started to walk across the room, but turned back to tell me, "Oh, I almost forgot. Mrs. Hanson wanted me to ask if Benny, Tina, and I could spend next Saturday night at their house. We're gonna eat pizza and go to a late movie. It's a cartoon movie, but I forgot which one. She said to tell you there will be ten children and four adults. I think one of the other adults is Mr. Hanson's sister or something like that. I guess if I didn't explain it right, you can call her."

"Okay, I'll call her, or your Mom can call."

"Would you do it Dad? Will you call her? I'm afraid Mom will forget what Mrs. Hanson says."

"Okay, Beck. I'll call Mrs. Hanson."

***

Sunday was a very quiet day. I planned to find some time to discuss why Cathy missed the kid's events, plus a few other things, but we probably wouldn't have time for our conversation until the afternoon. I spent a little time across the street talking to Sue Hanson about the children's party. She said it was a rare opportunity and I should take advantage of it. I told her I was way ahead of her. I'd already called the hotel for a reservation.

Cathy took the kids to an afternoon movie and when she got home, she wanted to take a long bubble bath while I got the kids to straighten up the family room and take their baths. After the kids were finally in bed, I took my shower. When I came out of our bathroom with a towel wrapped around my waist, I found Cathy in our bed, with the covers pulled up and tucked under her shoulders.

I walked over to her side of the bed. "Hey, Baby Doll, what are you hiding under there?"

I was playfully trying to lift the sheet, but she had a firm grasp on it. Suddenly, she kicked the covers to the foot of the bed and jerked the towel from around my waist. Every thought about a serious discussion with my wife instantly left my head.

"Oh my God." I couldn't believe it. Cathy had shaved her entire pussy. I'd teased her that I was going to catch her unaware and do it myself some day, just to see if she liked it. My cock popped up, the fastest erection I'd had in a long time.

"Hey little boy," she used her little girl teasing voice, the one that always sent chills down my spine. "Do you wanna come play with me?"

My mind was spinning. Her nipples were already hard and I didn't know which lips I wanted to kiss first. I fell across the bed and started kissing my wife. We didn't get much sleep that night, but neither one of us seemed to care. I know she made me cum three times and I stopped counting her orgasms, I think after about the eighth one. Sometime during that night, I asked her for a date the next Saturday and told her that as part of our foreplay, I wanted to shave her before we had sex in the hotel room I'd reserved.

***

I could barely wait for the kids to leave Saturday so Cathy and I could get dressed for our special date. Even after seventeen years of marriage, when she went to the trouble, Cathy could look almost as good as the twenty year old I'd dated and she could attract the attention of every man in a room. We put a few things, including a change of clothes, in a small bag and checked into the hotel. Then we went downstairs to the club where a small live band was playing a variety of music. It was still a little early so we had a couple of drinks then went to the restaurant for a good meal. Cathy was sitting on the same side of the booth with me. All the time we were eating, she was flirting with me, giving me little touches on my hand, a slow rub along the top of my thigh, and with one leg crossed over the other her swinging foot would come over and tap against my shin.

While we were sharing a slice of cheesecake for dessert, Cathy took my hand and put it under her dress. Good Lord, the woman wasn't wearing panties. Her pussy was bare and she was wet, but no longer smooth. There were bristles like those that a man would have if he didn't shave all weekend. However, her hair was a lot softer. I started getting hard and Cathy patted the crotch of my dress pants telling me I had to wait until later.

We went back to the club and I sat at a corner of the bar while Cathy joined the crowd on the small dance floor. She had always liked to dance a lot more than I did, but I liked to watch her dance. I must have two left feet or I would forget to move while I watched my wife twisting and turning in front of me, so I'm content to sit at the bar and watch while she dances with the crowd. Even the twenty-something guys would get close to her, rubbing on her as they danced. Most of the time she was looking at me, rather than the guys on the dance floor, sending me one of those looks that made my cock hard. That's the same thing she did when we were dating, always letting me know I was the man she wanted. For eighteen years, if she left the dance floor, she would come to the bar and back up between my legs, using my thighs as armrests, while she cooled off or got another drink. Instead of sipping her drinks, she just drank them down, so she could go back to the dance floor. I knew she was getting pretty tipsy, but that was why I was there, to take care of her when she had too much to drink. She wasn't falling down drunk, but she could be a little reckless.

Some of the people in the bar were really having a good time. For a while, the dance floor was so crowded, I lost sight of Cathy, but I was watching another couple, too. For a while they were on the dance floor, really rubbing each other, almost dry humping. She was riding his leg, the light color of his slacks showed the wet spot she left on the top of his thigh. Finally, they went to a booth behind me. I could see them in the mirror behind the bar. They ordered drinks and began making out. He had an arm around her and his other hand was under her dress. I knew what he was doing. Her head was back, her mouth was open, and then she started shaking. She finally slumped forward with her forehead on the table in front of her and rested there for a little while. They enjoyed their drinks and left the booth. They both smiled at me as they went back to the dance floor. It was a hot show and they knew I had watched them.

After that twenty minute show, I again started looking for Cathy. I left my bar stool and walked around the edge of the dance floor. I found her in a dark corner, dancing with a man a little older than the younger crowd on the floor. He was probably in his mid-to-late thirties. When Cathy saw me, she waved and went back to her dance and I returned to my barstool.

When the crowd started thinning out, I finally got Cathy off the dance floor. I had my arm around her as we rode the elevator up to our room. She was blitzed, silly drunk, giggling, and talking baby talk. She could barely help me while I was taking her clothes off.

"I'm going to shave you, Cathy."

"Okay, baby. You just go right ahead. Shave Cathy's pretty little pussy." She giggled as she climbed on the bed and spread her legs. She giggled a little more and said, "Pretty little pussy, little pretty little pussy, pussy little pussy," getting all the words mixed up. We'd always had fun in bed when Cathy had a few drinks. It was the only time she would talk nasty.

I got all my shaving things, including a hand towel I soaked in warm water. I started to wipe her pussy off and noticed how wet she was. I stuck a finger up inside her vagina, planning on a little tickle. I knew exactly what that slimy feeling was.

"Hey, Cathy," I tried to keep my voice neutral when I really wanted to yell at her. I moved my finger in and out of my wife, "Who fucked your pretty little pussy?"

She giggled, "Wayne." She giggled again and wiggled her hips, "Wayne fucked Cathy's shaved pussy." Cathy giggled some more and tried to hide it by putting her hand over her mouth. "Wayne's fat cock's in the pretty little pussy."

"Where did you go to fuck?" I didn't exactly growl, I still wanted to know how my wife had managed to fuck someone when I was watching her all night long.

"Fuckin' in the men's room. Fast fuck in the men's room."

"Who is Wayne?"

"Fuck buddy Wayne. Thursday fuck buddy, buck fuddy, Wayne."

I wasn't sure who Wayne was, but I had my suspicion, although I'd never met the man. So, I asked again, "Cathy, who is Wayne?"

"Boss man Wayne," she answered as my finger moved slowly in and out of her cum filled pussy. "Fat cock Wayne. Fuckin' in the men's room, Wayne."

I was no longer interested in shaving my wife's just fucked pussy. In fact, I seriously considered going back down to the bar to see if Fat Cock Wayne was still there. Instead, I pulled Cathy up to the head of the bed and got her covered up. I brewed the complimentary coffee then sat in one of the chairs and watched my unfaithful wife sleep for a couple of hours.

I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but I knew I wasn't going to be happy, no matter what happened. My wife of seventeen years, the mother of our three children, and the woman I loved, had just admitted that she'd fucked another man. From the words she used, it sounded like it wasn't the first time.

The real reason my wife and I were no longer making love on Thursday nights was that she was fucking Fat Cock Wayne. She had broken all the promises we had made to each other. The number of times we had talked about how much we loved each other didn't seem to matter to her. It takes time for love to grow strong. It doesn't die very quickly, but I feared my love for Cathy was hemorrhaging.

When I was sure Cathy wasn't going to start throwing up whatever was in her stomach, I walked out of the room and closed the door quietly. I wasn't really that drunk. I'd only had a few drinks and I'd eaten more of my dinner than Cathy had eaten of hers. She'd only picked at her food. In addition, I'd had several cups of coffee while I sat around for a few hours. I went down to the restaurant to order a big breakfast, regretting the club had already closed. I might have enjoyed a few minutes with Fat Cock Wayne.

to be concluded in Part 2 ...