A Different Visitor

A Different Visitor

Margaret was putting the dishes away. It was 4:00 pm. The postman had already come, and she expected Jake home some time between 5 and 6. The phone rang, and it was Jake.

“Hello?”

“Honey, I've had a development in my project, and I can impress the boss man if I stay late and tie things up tonight, rather than postpone it till tomorrow. Do you want me to blow him off anyway?” Jake was wonderful that way, and she felt like a bitch when she stepped out on him. But those days had ended, and she hadn't talked to Rodney in ages.

Not that he hadn't tried. He had sent flowers, and even a pizza, all delivered when Jake was not at home, but she had softened little. More recently he had sent her a package of Dove chocolate “Promises,” at the P.O. Box they had rented for their use. She had only been checking it so that the proprietor would not notice inactivity, and to make sure it was not overflowing. Rodney had wisely abstained from love letters and texting as well. In fact, she planned to let the P.O. Box lapse when the lease ran out. Still, she ate the chocolates, not because she had forgiven Rodney, but the portions were such that you could stretch it out and be less fattening, and she did not subscribe to waste.

There was a knock at the back door, and she stepped away to answer it. It was Rodney. “Speak of the Devil, and who should appear?” she greeted him.

Margaret still thought him a worm, but time and chocolate deflected the ire that she had originally felt. It had long since occurred to her that Laurel had been enjoying herself, to say nothing of the girl's inviting behavior.

“I have a copy of Microsoft's newest computer Operating System for Julie at school. Have you heard much from her lately?” was Rodney's introduction.

It was not a trivial gift. Julie's education was important to Margaret, and she was touched. Her heart hardened temporarily, and she rebuffed him. She held out her hand for the gift, with the comment, “...and how's Laurel?”

Rodney met her eye directly, and took advantage of such opportunity as this afforded. “Well, Alan and she were married in October, and they have a little one on the way.” It was a lie, but Margaret could only catch him if she revived relations, and truth was a secondary priority. “I didn't attend their wedding, though,” he finished.

Margaret's anger was averted to such a degree that she invited him in. They spent the next 20 minutes catching up, and reviewing Julie's accomplishment's. To take his temperature, Margaret offered him coffee, but he declined. “The only thing I you could tempt me with, would be some ice cream,” he said.

Julie decided to test the veracity of this claim and made up two bowls of vanilla ice cream. They had never talked about Jake, and Margaret did not force it into the conversation. Eventually they ran out of family news, and she satisfied a minor curiosity with politeness. “So how've you been?” she asked.

“I've been reduced to bar visits and bringing take-out meals to the hospital night shift,” he replied. “Doctors make for tough competition.” He looked at the kitchen floor tiles forlornly, shaking his head a little ruefully.

Unspoken it lay between them. It had been a while.

He looked up again. “So, made any Devil's food cake lately?” It capitalized on her opening salvo, and she felt an unbidden rush. She swallowed, and looked back at him.

“It's been forever.”

He felt that he had just qualified for an Olympic event. Thank God he had parked in the back alley. Now all he had to do was avoid offense. “I'm sorry,” he began. From there, he probed her about the ebb and flow of her life, its peaks and valleys. Along the way, he discovered that Jake was due late today, and he strategized as he babbled about nothings. Eventually he contrived the need for a hug, and the embrace eventually led them to the bed.

They had not yet moved past the urgency of initial engagement, and into languid dalliance, when the front door opened and the call echoed through the house, “Honey, I'm HOME.”

Margaret was under two layers, one of lover and one of blanket, but she was rushing furiously to dress as Rodney gathered his clothing and hid in the closet. Moments later, Jake walked in. “Who'd you have ice cream with?” he asked congenially.

“Oh, Mrs. McLaughlin came over. I hadn't seen her in forever, and we did a little catching up,” she lied quickly.

“Honey, you're out of breath. You weren't wacking off, were you?” he laughed.

Margaret grasped at straws. “Be a little more delicate,” she implored. “But in answer to your question, yes... you said you wouldn't be home.”

“Baby, I'm sorry.” His gaze said he was sorry she had felt the need, not that he was sorry for referring to it indelicately. “Let me make it up to you.” He shed his shirt, waiting for a sign of agreement.

Margaret remembered how her last liaison with Rodney had gone, and perceived the opportunity for poetic justice. Rather than distract Jake with some trivial errand, and put their union off until later, she rose to the occasion. “Gawd you're bad,” she grinned, slipping out of her breeches. She preempted any question of him tasting her with a playful, “Don't make me wait.”

The closet door stood open by a crack, and she was pleased at the dark proof that Rodney would be subject to reciprocation. She regretted that there was no opportunity to demonstrate a lingering seduction, but such was the hand she had been dealt. She knew that faking it wouldn't satisfy her need for retribution, so early on she physically invited Jake to excellence, and did not shrink from any of his advances. She combined auditory feedback with haptic, to see to it that Jake was encouraged, without finishing him off prematurely. Eventually, she got “into” it. Jake had been turned on by her physical neediness, and worked unbidden to satisfy her well, rather than contributing the perfunctory effort of boredom and ennui. When she moaned and cried out, her cries were genuine, and he was seduced completely.

To begin with, adrenaline (from near discovery,) had been supplemented by whatever chemical signifies revenge in the blood. Now, shame and self-loathing entered in. Here was Jake, attentive and solicitous, while she had been practically screwing the help instead. In a self-righteous way, she felt like showing Rodney just what he was missing in marriage, and when they turned over, she directed Jake to face away from the closet, both so that he would NOT see, and so that Rodney WOULD. While there was anything left she knew how to do, she did not consider her task done. Her blood chemistry would never be the same... maybe THIS was what it was like to mix “uppers,” and “downers.”

Sadly, biology could not accommodate her ultimate wish. She wanted Jake to rubberize her legs in front of Rodney, but on this occasion she was the aggressor. When she perceived Jake to flag, she made sure that Rodney saw no trace of masculine shortcoming. When Jake was done, so was she.

When they lay together happily expended, she covered several bases at once. “Let's take a shower together, Jake.” she suggested. “It'll remind me of what it's like to do things together.” She hoped to provide Rodney with the opportunity to escape, while at the same time providing herself opportunity to remove incriminating smells. She deterred timid questions by alluding to her lunar cycle.

The myth of the shared shower was not what led Margaret to her suggestion. Rather, she knew from experience that the same affinity that binds ball-teams together, also works on couples, and joint showers take teamwork. Very few shower heads can provide such a copious stream of water that both partners can enjoy it at once, so one must soap, and the other must rinse. She caught a passing glimpse of herself in the mirror. It was someone she would hate for months. If the last time was THE last time, this time would be the VERY last time.

Never again, she swore to herself. Life's too short to spend it despising yourself.