At any rate, Enjoy!
Spicy
The
laundry room is not very sexy. It’s not
that it’s completely off-putting, but it sure as sin is not sexy. That’s where we’d meet, though. Well… where we meet when we’re at my home, it’s
where we were caught. It’s where my
husband found out the truth.
Initially,
the laundry room was not our rendezvous point.
Initially, we spent our time in the minivan. Scandalous?
Yes. Risky? Absolutely.
Frustrating? Not really. I knew that our time in the minivan would
rarely be interrupted… I knew it would never
be interrupted if I put my phone on vibrate. And I used vibrate a lot while we were alone in
the minivan.
It
had never been my intention to go down this road. In my defense, I did nothing wrong. I did nothing out of the ordinary. I did nothing but go to the supermarket.
That
particular day, that first day of discovery and indiscretion, had been
rough. My husband was out of town on a
business trip and had been out of town for five days when I was about to break. I had been home alone with our three
children. Four of those days had been so
bitterly cold that the children and I had been cooped up in our house. On that particular day, I phoned Miss Nelson,
our surrogate grandmother and next door neighbor and asked her to please stay
with the children so I could run to the grocery store without getting them in
the cold. I promised to pick up her
grocery items as well. She eagerly
agreed and I, wearing sweat pants, clogs and a hat on my unwashed hair, set out
to the super market with nothing on my mind but getting a few items necessary
to feed my family and seizing an hour or so to myself without anyone arguing,
yelling, wiping slimy things on me or complaining about boredom.
My
list, in combination with Miss Nelson’s list didn’t amount to more than 20
items. If I had had the children with
me, I could have grabbed those 20 items and been in and out of the store in
under 15 minutes, if the lines had been reasonable. But, I was alone and in desperate need of
some “me-time”, the phrase coined by parenting magazines to help selfish
stay-at-home moms feel better about their extra long yoga sessions at the gym.
Not
that I felt it necessary to take “me-time”.
I felt very fortunate to be able to stay at home with our children. I did, however, miss adult conversation. My husband, though a very thoughtful, kind,
considerate man and gentle lover, was not around as much as I needed him. As much as I wanted him. I sighed as I entered the store; I was almost
ashamed at the amount of self-pity I was feeling.
In
order to make the most of my time out and about, I leisurely strolled down each
and every aisle. I grabbed those things
on mine and Miss Nelson’s lists; I took
my time and compared prices and sizes and brands and, despite my previous
pity-party, I was actually feeling a little bit better about myself. My grocery-store me-time was just what this
at-home-momma needed!
When
I rounded the corner from the boxed-foods aisle to begin my journey down the
chips and soda aisle, I was stopped short.
My breath was caught in my chest.
I blinked several times and without a second thought, I advanced. The view sent me into a fit of desire. I couldn’t believe, for one minute, the site
I beheld in the middle of a grocery store of all places.
I
remembered with great fondness our previous relationship. I recalled the nights I found myself
indulging my craving until I had emptied the object of my affection. I realized that, while this was way before my
husband and I were together, I had missed the wild abandonment our nights alone
had brought us.
Without
a word spoken – without a second thought, I touched. I squeezed.
I licked my lips, and I noticed my breath becoming deeper and faster and
sharper. I pursed my lips together and
knew we had to get out of there. Within
five minutes, I had completed my shopping and checked out. After the bagger had secured my groceries in
the back of the minivan and closed the hatch, I looked over at the passenger
seat. I didn’t want to wait until we out
of the parking lot. I wanted to devour
the desires of my flesh right there in the second parking stall from the
door.
Instead,
I sighed, backed the minivan out and squealed the tires as I sped from the
parking lot into traffic. I remembered a
small lake my husband and I had taken the kids to on a few occasions to
fish. Wordlessly, I made my way down the
country road and found myself parking beside a picnic table. I was certain the frigid temperatures that
had kept me locked in my house for the past three days would keep any intruders
at bay as well. I tuned the radio to the
local rock station and let Steven Tyler set the mood with “Jaded” – the irony
was not lost on me.
I
grabbed at the passenger seat and gorged myself with my rekindled, spicy lust. I didn’t care about the noise. I didn’t care about the sound. I just inhaled this indulgence that was mine
and only mine. When my grocery store
find had been emptied into me, I struggled to catch my breath. And then I opened the glove compartment and
cleaned up the mess with the drive-through napkins I kept stowed there. Never did I think, in all my years of
collecting napkins, never did I imagine I’d use those napkins for this
purpose. I forced myself out of the
minivan and disposed of the evidence in the trashcan provided by the park
authority. The cold jolted me back to my
real life, and I noiselessly traveled straight back home and into my garage.
Miss
Nelson, though she looked tired, didn’t seem to mind that my little grocery
trip took quite a bit longer than I had anticipated. I helped her get her groceries to her home,
careful to not stand too close to her – I didn’t want any tell-tale scents to
give away my tryst. As soon as I was back in my own home, I pushed
a movie into the machine for the children and took a long shower.
My
husband arrived home two days later. I
had spent the previous two days shoveling food into my children so that I would
need to go back to the grocery store in the hopes of another meeting. My husband didn’t seem thrilled to be stuck
at home with the children, but I assured him I could get in and out much
quicker if the children weren’t with me.
This
trip to the grocery store was much different. I sat in the minivan for what
seemed to be hours, but it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. I debated going to a different store but
decided that I deserved to go to my favorite store. Even though I wanted more than anything else
in the world to find my love, what were the chances we’d meet again? After all, it had been years between our
meetings before. Surely this was a
one-time coincidence. But if it wasn’t,
what would I do?
I
debated avoiding the aisle altogether but decided I couldn’t evade it
forever. I debated the ethics of what I
was doing, even using the good ol’ “me-time” argument against myself. Then the phone rang. My husband needed to know if the baby could
eat yogurt. Of course he could eat
yogurt! Surely I was not the only one
who could make decisions about our children!
With that little intrusion, I grabbed my handbag with great resolve and
marched myself into the store.
After
the third call about trivial things that the man should have known about his own
children, I put my phone on vibrate. I
headed to the chip and pop aisle and, with a tingling in my breasts but without
a word being said, I spotted the object of my desires. I secured our rendezvous. As soon as the groceries were loaded, I made
my way to the lake yet again, leaving the evidence behind in the trashcan yet
again and finally driving home full of guilt and remorse yet again.
“Is
your phone off?” my husband accused as I walked into the house through the
garage. I scooted past him to place my
bags on the table and quickly stepped to our bathroom where I brushed my
teeth. I left my phone on silent and
pleaded ignorant to the fact that the ringer was turned off. He did have grounds to be angry with me…
very angry, but I wasn’t ready to give up my guilty pleasure. I deserved this.
Eventually,
after some time passed, I returned to the grocery store and, because time was
tight, I skipped the lake and left that which made me happy in the
minivan. It was incredibly risky, but I
was ready for the risk. I didn’t want to
be caught, but I did find myself becoming excited, tingly, breathless by the
prospect that I could possibly do this right under my family’s noses. And that’s how the laundry room became our
place.
The
children certainly didn’t venture into the laundry room unless I called them
there. My husband absolutely didn’t
frequent the laundry room. Most of his
items were sent to the cleaners anyway.
And the other items were promptly folded and deposited in his dresser at
his request. And now that I had a reason
to be in the laundry room, I didn’t mind obliging.
My
older daughter was the first to discover me in the laundry room. “Mommy!” she screamed. I nearly choked. “What are you doing, Mommy?” she cried as I
shoved my desirous indulgence further into the closet we were hiding in and
slammed the door before she could catch a glimpse of anything that would ruin
our arrangement. I ushered her out of
the laundry room and into the kitchen, where I pulled a large bag of M & Ms
from the cabinet.
“What
mommy does in the laundry room is for mommy only and not for anyone else in the
family,” I spoke softly and sternly, locking my eyes with her little eyes. I wanted her to understand, but I didn’t ever
want her to realize what her mommy was doing.
“Look,” I continued, holding up the chocolate candies, “You can have
this bag all to yourself. You can hide
it wherever you want and it will be YOUR secret. You don’t have to tell anyone where your bag
is hidden and, best of all, you don’t have to share. Deal?”
My precious daughter agreed, albeit reluctantly, and then scampered off
to her room. I didn’t follow. If I wanted her to keep my little secret, I
must let her have her little secret.
I
was feeling very confident in myself and my deceitful parenting. I had no plan as to what I’d do if my husband
ever found out. It wasn’t a scenario I
had allowed myself to even imagine.
I
should have spent at least some time contemplating that discovery, though,
because it was a lot closer than I suspected.
I
had obviously gotten sloppy. I had taken
for granted that the laundry room was my space and my space alone – but the
truth was that it was just an extremity of my house – our house… the house my
family and I shared.
It
was a Thursday afternoon. The two
younger children were napping and my daughter was nibbling on her M & Ms in
front of the television. I found myself
in the laundry room. And without a
second thought, I gave into pleasure. I
was bent over the washing machine, vaguely aware that it was spinning and
off-balance and slightly moving away from the wall – I was that lost in desire!
“What
are you doing?” my husband interrupted my involvement with my lover. I choked and immediately tried to hide my
shame. My actions were in vain.
“Wait,
wait, wait,” I pleaded. “Let’s talk
about this…”
 |
| I write truth the best. Taco Flavored Doritos are the best. That's the truth. |
My
husband’s brows were knit together tight across his forehead. His head was cocked slightly to the
left. “Is that…” he started. “Are those…” he attempted. “Why…?
Why are you eating Taco Doritos in the laundry room?”
I
swallowed the remaining crumbs in my mouth.
I looked down to my season-covered chest then back up into my true
love’s eyes: my husband’s eyes.
“I
just needed them. You know I don’t
normally gorge on junk food, but I just needed them. They gave me some ‘me-time’!” I sobbed as he
enveloped me in his arms. He framed my
face with his strong hands and, looking deep into my eyes, he assured me we’d get
through this. We’d get through this
together.
That evening, after the
kids were fed, bathed and tucked in tight, we lay breathless and naked in each
other’s arms after an evening of sweet, reuniting love-making. He reassured me that my indiscretion was
something we could work through. He comforted me with words of reconciliation
and security and a membership to a gym with child-care, as he put the open bag
of Taco-flavored Doritos between our sweaty bodies.
