Female Infidelity

A beautiful morning, daylight coming through the open bedroom window, the children at school, the husband at work and she lying naked on the tidy bed with the neighbor from the third floor between her legs. 'What a tasty stick!' she thinks as she tries to remember whether she put fruit in the boys' lunchbox. No sexy lingerie or makeup: she'd opened the door barefoot and in her pajamas, hairless and with her face washed, right after she'd washed the breakfast dishes. A little over an hour ago, she had kissed me and the children at that very door, wishing us a good day as a devoted mother and loving wife. He came in without a kiss, said "good morning" with a smile and the friendliness of a neighbor. And she took him by the hand, and they went into the chamber, and embraced, and kissed, and undressed themselves, and made love. You mocked and felt him mock. I'd like to feel other men's bodies contracting between her legs, the breath panting down her neck, the stick pulsating inside her. She was not unhappy, on the contrary: she loved her husband, her children, her life... and sex. Three months ago, I was climbing with this neighbor, not every day, but several times a week. I was enjoying having a male like that around, with no wear and tear and no suspicion. He was about fifteen years older and married, had two daughters who were going to college in France, and that's what brought them together one day, by chance, in the elevator: she's a French teacher. The neighbor was polite, but he didn't say much to anyone, so he suddenly let his guard down, and a few days later my wife became the first woman he had sex with besides his wife. She held him between her legs for a while, then he mocked her, and they exchanged a few kisses, and he got up, took off his full condom, and got dressed. She accompanied him to the door and went back to pick up the condom, wrapped it in toilet paper and put it in the bag: she would throw it away on her way to the market. She thought about what she was going to make for dinner, she thought about buying a bottle of wine, and she tried to remember the brand of what we had on our wedding anniversary. She remembered the day, the two of us in bed, hugging and the kids at her grandparents' house and it made her smile all by herself. She wondered if I'd forgive her again if I found out she was screwing that neighbor. She tried to remove that doubt from her heart by remembering that I had forgiven her before. She put the bottle of wine in the cart, left the market and already sitting in the car ready to go home took a moment to send me a message: How's your day, my love? I hope it tastes as good as mine, but if it doesn't, just remember that at the end of the day, you'll be back in the arms of a woman who loves you. Kiss my ass. She sent the text and put the phone back in her purse, next to the condom full of the man's sperm she had sex with that morning.