Firstly, I am not bored. I work full time running my own jewellery making business and I do very well. Several glowing write ups in the high end glossies helped me establish my business years ago and now I have a waiting list of actual bored housewives clamouring for my uniquely decadent pieces. I have enough work to keep me busy 24-7 and enough money to ensure I could easily spend my days doing pretty much whatever I want to.
Older... is 33 old? Sure, if you’re 16 I probably seem ancient but 33, I’m still a young vibrant woman. I work out, mostly running and swimming but I’ve been known to hit the weight room from time to time. My hair is long and glossy chestnut brown. All my own. No greys yet. A hint of a crinkle around my eyes when I laugh. Nothing out of the ordinary. A slight curve to my tummy, full hips and breasts that thanks to my plastic surgeon stand full and perky. I can still turn heads, maybe not as frequently as I did but I still got it.
The married part... that’s difficult to excuse I guess. Sure enough, 11 years ago I stood in Church and vowed to love, honour and obey my husband. And I still do... love him that is. Sleeping with a younger man whilst he serves as an Army medic continents away would probably negate the honour and obey vows. I used to tell myself that I was just scratching an itch with these guys because yes, I have done this before. That I have needs too, and with Adam being away so much I couldn’t be expected to power down my desires just because my husband wasn’t there to sate me.
Not that I blame him at all. When we met at 17 I knew of his dreams and he was already serving when we married. I wasn’t naive enough to think we’d be together all the time, but I never imagined he’d be away so fucking much. Heartbroken and lonely I threw myself into my work which is probably why I’ve become as successful as I have. Adam is so proud of me, of my determination to succeed, my work ethic, my drive. Almost as much as I am proud of him, looking after our heroes as they Serve and Protect.
I adore him, but it doesn’t keep me warm at night, or stave off the loneliness I feel when he deploys. A Skype call once a week keeps his face clear in my mind and our letters, often full of our desire for each other, well they provide us both with plenty of masturbation material. But my hands are no substitute for his. I want to feel him inside of me as he whispers his dirty fantasies in my ear, not read them on regulation blue Army paper.
For 6 years it was enough. I would count the days until he returned to me, filling my days with work and my evenings with writing him long passion filled letters. He’d come home and those short forays into togetherness were perfect. We were never apart, Adam would sit with me in the kitchen as I cooked, I’d go with him to the gym. And we’d make love... in the kitchen, at the gym, anywhere and everywhere. It took barely a look from my husband and I was wet and aching for him, desperate to feel connected to him again. A few weeks of screwing and he’d be off again, leaving me bowlegged and satisfied for a while before the cycle would start again.
Each passing day the memories would fade a little more and the loneliness would creep in to replace them. Our letters segued from romantic wooing to explicit requests and our Skype calls would have taken a very different turn if he hadn’t been in a public place when he called. As it was, I’d always dress as provocatively as I felt I could get away with without embarrassing us both. Adam’s beautiful face would flush as his eyes caressed my cleavage and I ached to touch myself for his pleasure. And soon enough, he’d be home again and he’d touch me exactly as we both desired, filling me, covering me, loving me. Until he had to go away again.
It first happened when I was 27. I was showing at a small expo in California, thanks to an up and coming actress mentioning me in a red carpet interview. High on adrenaline I’d packed up everything I had made and mingled like crazy, introducing myself to everyone. Buyers, designers, the who’s who in the industry. Three long days of PR and selling and I’d had a slew of business cards and promises to get in touch. As a reward for my efforts, my last night in town I’d dressed up, wearing a simple black sheath and my most dazzling statement necklace and treated myself to a slap up dinner in my hotel.
Looking back, I probably looked like I was trawling but at the time... I just wanted to feel like a woman. Usually clad in yoga pants and one of Adam’s tees, it was glorious to have an excuse to wear heels and put on make up. As I sat at the bar, sipping a glass of champagne I toasted my work and said a silent prayer for Adam’s safety and surveyed the opulence before me. Art deco elegance , the aroma of wealth in the air. A world away from my real life. I’d got flustered and suddenly felt out of my depth and between the adrenaline, the surroundings and the champagne I almost fainted.
His name had been Michael. He told me he was 26, a Cali native and a wine maker in town for business but I’ll never know if any of that was true. He’d caught me as I fell and ordered me a glass of water. Water turned to dinner, dinner to more champagne and the champagne led to sex in his hotel room. I’m not going to lie, the sex was delicious, hot, sweaty, up against the wall dirty back breaking sex. I’d been on my own for months, working so hard that I’d been too tired to masturbate when I eventually feel into bed. Horny wouldn’t begin to cover it. Sitting across the table eating crème brulee and sipping Moet, Michael had told me I was beautiful and that he wanted to kiss me. Stunned, I’d signalled for the cheque, charged it to my room and stood, walking away from him towards the elevator.
And then I did it. Something totally out of character, something I never would have believed I’d have the courage to do. I turned my head and saw Michael still seated, watching me walk away with a sad look of resignation on his face. So like the mask of frustration that I saw weekly on Adam’s face on our computer as we talked. Michael’s dark green eyes focused on me, as green as Adam’s became when he thrust inside my weeping body. And Michael’s dark brown hair, it looked almost black in the ambient light of the intimate dining room, almost as dark as Adam’s shorn regulation military haircut.
I’d winked at him, a smile curving on my glossy lips and in a second he was beside me, his hand warm in mine as he led me to the lobby. A perfect gentleman. Inside the elevator, we smiled at the elderly couple as they exited and as the doors closed, Michael took me in his arms and kissed me. Hard. His lips had covered mine and his tongue invaded my mouth, his hands bunching my dress up around my thighs. I’d thought I would spontaneously combust as he pressed me against the elevator wall, his warm body thrust against me, his erection butting against my tummy.