Stealing Romance

Chapter 1

A happily married woman for seven years, that's me, Mary Tillman. A migraine prevents me from functioning at work and I have no choice but to go home. I'm still holding my head in both hands, lest it explode, as I open the door to my bedroom. The sight that greets me makes my headache suddenly irrelevant.

Mark, from the office, who is constantly chatting me up, is on my matrimonial bed, balls deep in my husband. My husband's eyes show fear, followed by acceptance. Mark, on the other hand, wears a smirk on his face. The smirk says that he knows I would be too embarrassed to tell of this episode to co-workers. Mark doesn't know me nearly as well as he thinks.

I close the door, and walk back downstairs. Shoulders slumped, I stumble into the bathroom, before dropping down on the toilet seat. Getting back on my feet might be a better option. The urge to throw up is emerging. The questions that beg answers, push their way past my forgotten migraine, and my urge to vomit.

How long has my husband been in the closet? Is he gay, or bisexual? Is Mark the only bastard that has been invading his ass? Exactly how long has this been going on? Should I be relieved that it was not my husbands dick inside someone else's ass before it was put inside me? Has my husband's dick been inside another man's ass? Deep down, did he want me to find out?

Did he want me to find out? That was the question. Why couldn't he just tell me? Yes, it would hurt to know that I lost my husband to another man rather than a woman, but it would have given me a choice. How would others perceive me after they found out, and they would find out. That was a given. What do I tell my parents? "Hey mom, mind if I crash with you and dad for a week or two? Marriage problems? Yeah. Another woman? No, nothing like that. No mom, he didn't hit me. I don't feel like talking about it right now. Can I come stay with you for a while? Thanks, I'll go pack." In a daze, I leave the safety of the bathroom and pick up the phone from its cradle, next to the TV.

I'm still holding the phone when Mark walks past and out of the front door. The phone hits the floor as I make a dash for the bathroom. Too late. The stream of vomit that erupts from my mouth paints half of the door before any of it reaches the throne. I'm on my hands and knees now, vomit squishing between my fingers and gluing themselves to my kneecaps. The inside of the toilet bowl doesn't smell nearly as bad as I thought it would.

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As I was about to tap out the next sentence, Simon strolled over to my desk.

"Mandy, my love, how's the new book coming along?" asked my wonderful husband of five years. "Can I take a peek?"

"I'd rather you didn't," I said, glancing up from my laptop, my fingers poised to continue typing, 

"What's the premise of this story, the same old undying love between two beautiful people?"

"We authors write what the audience is requesting, not what tickles our fancy."

"So tell me, what does the audience want my lovely wife to write about?"

"Oh, the usual, undercover brothers getting caught in the act, that sort of thing."

Simon burst out laughing. "Never lose that sense of humor, babe. I really must read one of your books some day. Romance is just not my thing, as far as subject matter goes, but I know you're great at it."

"You do?"

"Honey, the brand new Cadillac sitting outside is a testament to your writing prowess. I don't bring in enough money to afford that."

"We're a team Simon, and I'd just as soon not have you read my slushy love stories."

"Afraid I'll throw up?" he laughed.

"Something like that." I turned my head to look at my husband. "You need to wet your hair, same place," I said.

"Sticking up again?"

"Every day," I replied. I licked the palm of my hand and smoothed it down as he bent to kiss me goodbye.

"Oh, that's gross," he said.

"There are other places I could lick," I said, caressing his crotch through his pants material.

"Writing makes you horny, that's why I married a famous author."

"I'm not famous, at least not yet," I straightened up his collar and tie.

"Well, that's what I tell everybody. I'm the most envied broker at the firm, and it's all thanks to you."

"Just don't tell them my pen name, that's all I ask."

"Too late my love," he said, before grabbing his car keys. "I'll take the old banger. You have the caddy."

"You're too kind, Simon," is what I said. Please God, don't let his colleagues read any of my books, is what went through my mind. Lost in my thoughts, I jumped as the phone emitted a shrill ring. It's Judith, my publisher and best friend.

"Is that book finished yet?"

"If you're talking about the first page, then yes, my first draft is complete."

"Read it to me."

I laughed at her suggestion. "If I did, you would be able to feel me blush over the phone."