Dinner had already been made and as I leaned over to light the candles you entered the room and stretched your arms out to me. I entered your embrace feeling your warmth, hearing the soft music playing in the other room. You kissed the top of my head and ran your hands up and down my back as my head rested on your chest. This was our time. Time away from jobs and family. Time for you and me. After a nice dinner of fillet mignon, baked potato and a salad we sat on the couch in front of the fireplace. Your arms wrapped around me and my head back against you. The cabin was quiet and we could hear the crackling of the firewood. After a while the only words of the night were spoken by you, "Hot tub!" We got up and you held your hand out to me. Reaching out for it I took it as you led us outside. The lights were on and the water was bubbling. There was steam coming up from the water as it touched the cool night air. You turned and looked at me and smiled that smile, the one I had been. It’s a fair question for David though, she thought. It was her husband that hadn’t made a genuinely sensual overture in ten months. There was that one time, after that evening at the Melissa Ethridge concert. She was acutely aware of David’s awareness of the lesbian couple seated beside them, holding each other close, and sharing slow open mouth kisses. Later that night, Martha had interrupted her husband’s coital advance, wondering whether David was mentally air brushing her features over the face of one of those lesbians. Or what if he wasn’t? What if Martha was his vessel, a mere receptacle for the resolution to his fantasy? Martha gave the vibe, David stopped his prodding thrusts shortly after, and finished himself in the bathroom. And she thought, if David wasn’t guilty at all, he would have masturbated right there in bed, at least kissing her in the mean time. So what about me, David? Martha had been asking herself that for months, never once thinking of raising the issue,.
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