At the Airport

I feel so much lighter! I could not wait to get out of Dodge.

I sit on the floor typing away in the Atlanta airport, on the way to my conference. Much has transpired, leaving me more double-minded than ever before.

Today is Monday. Hubby was out of town last week, returning around midnight Thursday. I had already had my date with FB Tuesday night. Fun and carefree - just what I needed. We watched a stupid movie, smoked cigarettes, and fucked (not necessarily in that order.)

But, the next day I started to realize that we had family plans for the weekend, then I would be gone the following week. When would I get my next chance?

Thursday after dinner, I ask Mom if she will watch kids so I can get a bikini for my trip. Clever shopper that I am, I find one at the first place I go. So…
Me: Whatcha doin?
FB: Goin to Frank's for a beer. Wanna join me?
Sure do.

I meet him at the bar. While he talks to his buddy, the manager, I get a new companion. Apparently, the hotel nearby is hosting a conference for stamp collectors. This 80 year-old professor orders his vodka martini and perches next to me. I chat him up, which seems to amuse FB. Then, when the prof gets up to go, he decides to chat with us both. One thing about FB that I love is the absolute lack of pretension with strangers. He ends up joking with the man about which of them will get laid that night. Hmm…I wonder.

But when we get back to his place, he decides he wants something he hasn't gotten from me before. Now, mind you, as fun as our naked tussles have been, I have yet to come. The first time it didn't happen, he said, "We'll have to work on that." I let it slide, because I knew something he didn't. The second time, he assumed he'd done his part, and wanted to know what my problem was. I explained that I can come in a heartbeat, just not during sex. So he touched me for, oh, two minutes. I gave up because I knew he wasn't into it. It really wasn't all that important anyway.

But Thursday, it was another deal.
Why should I blow you when you won't even take the time to make me come?
He's drunkenly adamant. He gets what he wants, no negotiating.
So I'm drunkenly adamanter. It's not that I'm against the idea. I can be pretty entertaining when I choose to be. It's that his proposal is fundamentally unjust and unfair! How can I set a precedent where I do whatever, and he does nothing for me?

Then I think, well, maybe if I do it, he'll soften (pardon the pun), and he won't be so stubborn. So I climb on top of him to kiss him. He stops me and says, "Now I don't want you to do this and be all bitter about it." So I pause, sigh, get off, and go home.

Driving...
Me: I could make your head spin if I went down on you. But why can't you do the same for me?
FB: That's the way it is. Goodnight or goodbye.

Tears. Had I made a mistake…

Hubby: Where are you?
Shit. It's 11:45. I'm literally 200 yards from the house.
Me: I'm home. When are you getting there?
Hubby: I'm home. Where are you???
Me: In the driveway.

He steps out onto the front porch as I frantically try to hit "Delete Thread" for, oh, the 2000th time.

But it doesn't work. The fucking phone is messed up and it's not responding when I tap it! Shit! He's watching me! Bang! Bang! Panic. Damn it! Then it works, but instead of hitting "Delete Thread", I hit "All threads". My texts are all gone. But that's better than the alternative.

He's upstairs when I come in. I go into the powder room downstairs and turn on the light. Red, puffy eyes. Shit, shit, shit. What am I going to do?? What am I going to say?? It's almost midnight, I taste like beer, and I've been crying. Doesn't look too good…

I douse my face, pat my eyes, turn off the light, and climb the stairs. I get into bed and stare at the ceiling. He waits, then asks with consternation, "What happened?"

I still don't know. But at the last minute, I decide that a half-truth is less risky than a bold-faced lie.

I sigh, You were right.

"What are you talking about? What happened?" he's starting to sound panicked. My heart is pounding, and I begin to feel like I might vomit. A feeling that accompanies me for the next 14 hours.

I was out with my friends. Mitch and Laura left, and it was just [FB] and me. He asked me back to his apartment.

His mind raced, "Did anything happen?"

No! Of course not. I told him no, and I came home.

The next hour is a sort of blur. He questions, he paces.
He finds my phone.
"Why did you delete all of your text messages?"

Shit.

I didn't delete them. I don't know how that happened. My phone has been freaking out lately.

"Why are you lying to me?"

Okay, I deleted them. I didn't want you to see the text from him.

So my wildly disturbed Hubby calls FB at 1:00 a.m. (or thereabouts, as I said, it was sort of a blur.) He walks away from me as he's talking into the phone. I have no idea what their conversation is.

"He said nothing happened."

Thank God! FB's given me a blank slate.

That's all I remember before Hubby finally gives up and goes to bed. Somehow I have moved from our bed to my 8 year-old's room. It's my default place to sleep when it's Hubby's turn to sleep in our bed. I grab my phone and send three contiguous texts that I don't remember because, of course, I had to delete them after they were sent. Some rambling apology about Hubby finding my phone and that I said Mitch and Laura were with us.

I fall asleep, still nauseated, but exhausted. Wondering what morning will bring.