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I wasn’t in the mood, mentally or physically, for sex, but I was going to play the role of a “good wifey”.I greeted my dear husband at the door when he got home from work with his favorite cocktail. Wearing his favorite sheer pink baby doll nightie and some low heels with fluffy pop-poms on the toes, he was favorably impressed, to say the least.To get in the mood, and to dull the soreness between my legs, I had already gotten a head start in the cocktail department. He didn’t mind and seemed to find my resultant silliness attractive.I flirted with him as I cooked our dinner. At one point we held each other and kissed deeply. I whispered in his ear as I placed my hand on his crotch, “I want you to fuck my brains out tonight, my stud man! I love you.” He grinned at me devilishly and moved to grope me! I pulled away, and flashed him a teasing smile. We shared a bottle of wine over dinner. When I knew we were both ready, I led him to the bedroom. I played the inebriated dutiful wifey and. His footsteps echoed toward me down the long marble hall. The halls of justice, I thought bitterly. So much for that. Stanley made the mistake of touching my arm as he caught up. My stare was violent enough to make him let go. ‘I just wanted to tell you, I’m sorry,’ he said sincerely. ‘Thanks, I just don’t want to talk right now, I’ll call you later,’ my words came out in a rush. He nodded. His firm blue eyes weren’t wet like mine, but he was sorry. I knew it. I left behind the image of his pale balding head, his little salt and pepper moustache that always made me think of a jack russell terrier. He wasn’t a classically attractive man. But he was a darn nice guy, and as far as I knew, a good husband and father. I flounced down the courtroom steps, a bit less energetically than I might have before Stanley put a speed bump in my anger. I took refuge on a park bench, not giving a damn that it was 25°, and sat down to let the tears come. Douglas. Why? In all honesty I did not know why..
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