They say when you’ve been together for a while, things slip.
It starts off innocent enough. For us, it was little things. A new dress I missed on her. A haircut she missed on me. Things insignificant at the time, but ones that built to the larger ones. Answering calls from work on days we swore we’d take for each other. Little things like that. When I told her that work wanted me to go to Sweden for a few months, she just shrugged.
“Guess you gotta do what they tell you,” she said. She had been playing on her phone at the time. An idle thought strayed my mind at the time. An affair? Could she, would she? Did I care really either way?
I told myself that Sweden would make or break us. We were distant, sure. But not dishonest. Even with things so close to the edge, we kept that quality at least. The fact we could tell each other damn near anything. I packed my bag, and we went to bed. The morning I was suppose to leave, I got up. I got dressed, grabbed my bag and passport. I stood there, patting myself down to see if I’d forgotten anything. It was this nagging little thought. Another small thing.
Then it hit me. I’d forgotten to say goodbye to her.
I went into our room, fully expecting her to be up. To at least give me a half hearted smile, something. But she was still asleep on her side of the bed, the covers pulled high. I hovered over her cheek for a moment. I went in to kiss her.
Her eyes fluttered, then widened as she saw me. I froze as she jilted back, hauling herself up.
“Uh. Hey,” I said.
“Hi,” she said back.
The silence was pregnant as we stood there, two familiar strangers. I tilted my head towards the door, and gave a laugh. “I uh, I’m off. Plane leaves in a bit, so-“
“Oh, right. You’re leaving,” she said, then quickly added “for a bit,”
I’m thankful she couldn’t see just how low my heart sank in that moment. I forced a smile, and nodded.
“I’ll call you when I get to my hotel. It’ll be pretty late-want me to shoot you a message instead? Facebook, discord or-“
“Oh, just whatever,” she said. She gave me a smile no less fake then my own.
Then we leaned in and hugged. That was that. I made it to the terminal. I was patted down and turned out. Then I was in the air, our home, our town, our state a mosaic in earth tones below us. I closed my eyes as my ears popped.
When I woke up, I wasn’t there anymore. I wasn’t me anymore, either. Just another company flunky. I made it to the hotel they had opted to shove me in. It was a little hostel nestled right out of town. The room was comfy enough, with a mini fridge the size of a brick. The bed was stiff, shoved into a corner beneath a window. The whole damn place smelled like weed. As I was unpacking, I found a split open condom wrapper in a drawer.
Just a bunch of little things, ghosts of what used to be.
At least the internet worked. I pulled up my Chromebook (careful not to grab my company computer), and opted to send Sharon a message on Facebook. I told her the plane landed, told her about the room. Then I typed “I miss you, I miss us,”. I wasn’t sure if I meant it at the time, though I told myself I did. I hit send, and made my way over to the bed. I laid down, the mattress hard beneath me. I remember wondering if all the Swedes slept like this. They seemed way too happy to stand it. Maybe that was the key, though.
I dozed off, and didn’t check Facebook for another few days. Only when I got a notification. When Sharon finally answered, and shot me a brief paragraph back. She’d been busy, she said. She missed me too. We did this back and forth. These messages that pony express could have delivered faster. Casual remarks beneath casual greetings. I finally worked up the will to call her one time. The phone rang and rang, and I almost hanged up. I figured I’d fat-fingered something with an international call. But then Sharon finally answered. Out of breath, panting. She said “Hey Rodger, you there?”
I hung up.
I didn’t call again.
And so it all went, right up until I found myself right back at the terminal.
@@@
I don’t know what I’d expected.
Maybe for her to come clean about an affair. Maybe an empty house, anything. But what I hadn’t been prepared for when my Lyft dropped me off was the box I found at the curb. It was a massive thing, impossible to miss next to our trash can. I tilted my head, and glanced at the label.
Gold’s Gym Total Workout Weight Bench.
I raised an eyebrow, and peered at the front door of the house. The hackles on my neck rose as I stood there, my grip tightening on my brief case. It wasn’t that Sharon wasn’t the sporty type. She did yoga, and went for walks. It was just that her exercises weren’t what you would call “intense”. She did yoga because her friends did. She went on walks when we’d get in arguments. Then just to get out of the house. The box, the yoga, the walks.
Little things.
Little ghosts of what we used to be. Except for the box. This big, massive thing that stood out like a neon sign in front of our house. I wasn’t afraid-I was just too damned exhausted to face what it meant. But I gave a sigh, and made my way to the front door.
The thing they never tell you about relationships? Well, it’s the little things that trip you up. Sure. And they build into big things, sure. But those big things, you always avoid them. Even right up until the last minute. I stood there on our brick entryway, my hands on my keys. I don’t know how long I waited. Three minutes, ten. But when I finally lifted my key to the door, I almost jumped as it swung open. There was Sharon alright-sweaty, panting. Just like she had on the phone. But the woman that stood before me wasn’t the one I’d left behind. Four months, it’s not so long. Not really. But it had been long enough for her to shed the tummy she had held on to since the wedding. Long enough for every inch of her to shed it’s smooth, soft tones. In it’s place was chorded muscle, taught and pulsing and alive. I must have finally showed the emotion I’d held in check for months. Sharon, she laughed and reached forward. Her warms wrapped around me, and picked me up. She squeezed so tight my spine began to pop.
“Rodger! Oh god I missed you. I missed you so fucking much,” she said. Still with that same, soft voice I’d fallen in love with. I tried to laugh, but all that came out was a gurgle. Sharon finally put me down, her hand at my shoulders. Her smile was wide and genuine, something I’d not seen in months.
“Well? What do you think?” she said, taking a step back. She twirled, her skin tight athletic gear practically painted on. I’d always thought Sharon beautiful-even with a tummy. But this?
My heart was pounding, tongue rolling useless as I tried to find the words.
“D-did you uh, did you get a trainer?”
She turned, her smile still beaming. She shook her head, and said “Nope! All me. I cleared out the junk room, bought some equipment. I mean-I needed something to do, you know? You weren’t here, and. Well. I wanted you to have something to come home to,”
I met her gaze then, and held it firm. Even as I let go of my luggage, and stepped inside our home. Even as I gripped her hips, pressing them to mine as our lips met. She gasped, then her tongue was against mine. Our clothes met the floor, and soon Sharon wasn’t the only one sweating.
The handle to my luggage was cold by the time I finally brought it in.
@@@
These little things, these moments that build. They can be deceptive. They’re ghosts, but like ghosts you can’t always pinpoint the reason for the haunt. So you roll with it, you hope for the best. You pray it all works out.
Don’t get me wrong. I was ecstatic she wasn’t having an affair. The last month, I had been mentally preparing myself every which way. But there was still a part of me, buried beneath it all, that wanted her. Turns out I wasn’t alone. Not even in the slightest. Sharon wanted me alright-more than she had even before the wedding.
She wanted me on the work bench, her cunt tight as she straddled me. She’d gasp, adding another plate as my arms wavered. Her hands would splay across my chest as she bucked, her eyes rolling all the while. “Rodger, just like that,” she’d say. “Pump more for me baby, just one more rep okay?”
The treadmill she purchased? She attached this sex toy to it. It was this soft plastic sleeve she filled with lube. She say, “Let’s go for walkies, okay?” and lead me in there. Her hand, her mouth would take me. Just as I got hard, she’d come up behind me. She’d grip my cock, and guide it right into that sleeve as she turned the machine on. Then I was running, my heart threatening to give as she watched from the side. Her fingers bulging the front of her shorts as she watched. “Just another mile baby,” she’d say. “You can do that for me, can’t you honey?”
The weight bench? Her version of strength training. The treadmill, endurance training. You don’t want to know what her take on resistance training was. That’s before we get to the sparring, the wrestling, all the rest. Nothing stopped her. No amount of work, no amount of begging or pleading. I’d crawl into bed at the end of the night, balls aching. She would slip in beside me, cooing as she whispered about how well I did.
I’d like to say we had a talk about it. Or, that we talked about anything besides sex and training. We rarely left the house anymore.
To tell you the truth though, I didn’t really mind.
Sharon and me, what we had before was unhealthy. It was destroying the heart of who we were. But now-god, an affair seemed inconceivable. So far out, so damned unlikely that I couldn’t help but laugh. Every rep, every bead of sweat and lift?
It destroyed the old us. It burned and tortured them. But the people that came out, they were happy.
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