The Second Time (One Thousand Moments of Weakness)

My husband returned home from his friend's house at 8:45pm. His dinner on a plate in the microwave went untouched as he flopped onto the bed, mumbling.

I started to bitch and then just gave up as he lay back and began snoring before hitting the pillow. Driving drunk again. Because we could really afford another DUI. Because I had to take the blame for his accident last year to keep his drivers license from being revoked. So his continued refusal to quit drinking and driving did more than annoy me. It made me angry. And since my anger towards him was against the rules, I swallowed it down time and again. Eventually, that anger would burst free in a violent explosion of repressed fury completely irrational for the final straw. And never was it directed to the real problem.

I popped an Ambien, about ready to say "Fuck this day," now that I was good and pissed. It would kick in with 30 minutes, and in my dreams, I wasn't married to a abuser who was also a fat, hateful drunk.

I took a picture of his ashen face, making sure to capture the trail of drool already soaking his pillow. The sour smell of Jack Daniels and pisswater beer emanated from his skin like Pigpen and his dirt cloud. I captioned it "Best Husband Ever!" Added some appropriate emoji and sent the snapchat to him.

Him being the person I'd been growing closer to in recent weeks. The one who would go back and forth with me all day with silly snapchats and Words With Friends. One of the only people who'd ever beaten me at it. He was steadily becoming the one I confided in, and the one I wanted to call first with good news. He was the person I would text every weekend to invite over, he liked to party as much as I did. And even when there was a house full, he and I were almost always the last two standing.

He was also the man who I'd broken my marriage vows with one week before. One of those crazy drunk desert nights. He was handsome, charming, flirtatious, and relentless. He was only 23 years old, 13 years my junior, the grown child of my husbands best friend.

Sleeping with him a week ago was a terrible mistake! Right?

My snap opened a conversation which initiated a dare. Suddenly wide awake, sitting straight up in bed, my husband grunted, rolling towards me and belched, blanketing me in a poison cloud that smelled like a mix of the hospital's geriatric wing and the bathroom at a seedy bar. My stomach turned, repulsed at the noxious odor. My eyes took in his unconscious form, seeing the layers and rolls of my husband's pasty, fat stomach where he had lean muscle. Seeing the wiry, gray, old man hair coming from his nose and ears. Growing on his shoulders, covering his round, white gut. He made my decision for me when he farted.

Quickly scribbling a lie on a post it note which I leave in the bathroom. Sneaking out the front door of the house to avoid alerting the children. Parking on the street instead of the driveway where I usually park. It wouldn't be fitting for his roommates to see me.

I tell him to drive, the Ambien has kicked in, and while I'm not sleepy, my vision is a little wonky and I'm feeling a little fuzzy. Besides, I want to know where he'll take us too.

We've made it to the other end of town in 7 minutes. Passing through one stoplight, and traffic is nearly nonexistent at 9:30 PM on a Thursday night in April. Driving up towards the mountain, the streetlights are spaced farther apart. It's darker, and soon we turn off on a dirt road towards Cherry Hill, a place where the high school kids like to build bonfires and have keg parties. We turn left again, onto a bumpier, more narrow dirt road. Looking out my dirty windshield is useless, my Ambien eyes see nothing out there but swirling, dancing darkness.

He makes an unexpected wide turn and puts the car in park. "This is the circle track," he tells me and I recall stories of his shenanigans in this part of the desert. Every person who ever lived here has at least one good desert shenanigan story.

Suddenly shy, I can't quite meet his eyes now that he's turned his full attention to me. Which is silly, I've known him since he was 18, and I'd already had sex with him a week before. I realize that I'd been brave with whiskey courage last time. Or maybe just realizing that "I was drunk!" might fly as an excuse for last weeks sexcapade. But not tonight.

A million thoughts whirling through my brain. Suddenly silenced when he cupped my jaw and turned my face gently to his. He pressed his soft lips against mine softly, slowly. This kiss was different than last week's urgent, stumbling scramble to shed clothing and maul greedily at each other like starving prisoners of war. This kiss was a tender caress, a reminder that he likes me for more than my face or my body. It's a lesson, he's showing me that his prowess and bedroom skills are varied enough to meet any and every sexual demand. It's a reassurance that I'm desirable, as well as an ego boost that this sexy, younger man who could be with gorgeous girls in their 20's, picks me, wants me, has pursued me. This kiss is a promise to distract me from every ugly, unwanted part of my life that I work so hard to ignore.

Parting my lips, his tongue dancing with mine, pressing a little firmer. I'm pulling his tank top over his tousled blonde head. My hands are sliding along his chest and arms and belly, marveling that a man can have such soft, beautiful skin. The callouses on his hands are the only rough part of him. His hands slide down the straps of my tank top, then gripping, squeezing, kneading my breasts which mold themselves into his hands. A runaway moan when his tongues flicks across my nipple. Immediately, it hardens to a nub which he draws between his lips and suckles with intense deliberation. My other nipple is being rolled between his index finger and thumb, pinching, tugging, teasing, until he leans down again and I jump at the unexpected sensation of his teeth nibbling. And a firework blossoms in my belly and I'm giving in and ripping my shirt over my head and then his and I'm climbing over the passenger seat into the back and he's following and pulling my skirt off in his way.

We're in the backseat of my car and his tongue is in my mouth. His hand in my hair holds my face immobile as his kiss breaks long enough to begin trailing kisses down my throat and back to my breasts. The clear night sky is visible out the back window, a million stars illuminate his face enough to show me that passion has darkened his blue eyes to a dark, intense indigo that makes me squirm under its full attention. But then I'm squirming because his fingers are toying with me and I'm dripping wet, so wet that I'm embarrassed for him to realize my level of excitement. But he's murmuring his approval, and I can feel his excitement growing as his slippery fingers slide in and out, a preview of sorts. He brings that hand up to his mouth and licks the moisture, then he's reaching to me and my lips are parting and I'm sucking his fingers while his eyes are locked with mine. He's groaning as his mouth joins in, until the hand is removed from the equation and it is again my tongue and his, the taste of my wetness mixed with the irresistible flavor of forbidden fruit.

My legs are parting and he's contorting and then he's inside me. I've got one foot flush against the Camry's roof while my other foot is in the drivers seat, ankle draped over the head rest. The top of my head is pressed against the door and I have the fleeting thought that I haven't had car sex since high school. He's moving in and out, slow, deep thrusts that fill me and force a cry from my lips each time he's buried to the hilt. One long, sinewy arm is braced next to my ribs, holding himself over me and he's asking "Do you like that? How's that feel?" And I'm breathlessly gasping my approval with each deliberate, delicious thrust, "it's good baby, it's so good, all the way in, so deep."

And he's moving faster, and I'm squirming beneath him, bracing my foot on the ceiling, lifting my hips to draw him further in, as far in me as he can go. I'm moaning, I'm so damn close to the edge and our breath is heavy and labored.

I'm right there when he withdraws suddenly, then I'm scrambling to bring my legs back to me as he's squirming to slide his shorts lower than mid-thigh where they'd been. He's seated now and I'm climbing on top, straddling him, and he's groaning as I'm impaling myself on his length. All the way, I'm even fuller at this angle and it takes a few seconds before I'm able to take all of him. But then I have, I'm sitting flush on his lap, his hands are on my hips and my left knee is digging into the seatbelt buckle, but I'm uncaring, it is nothing compared to this euphoric sensation as I begin moving. Slow for about 3 thrusts, then faster while his fingers dig into the soft flesh of my ass. His hands spread over my cheeks and he's pulling them apart while I ride, and then I'm bouncing harder. He's watching my breasts bounce, and I lean forward, neck turned to accommodate the Camry's ceiling, and I'm watching his tongue dart out of his mouth trying to catch a nipple like a frog trying to catch a fly. I'm slapping his face with my breasts and he's squeezing my ass harder. The firmness of the backseat makes it easy for me to thrust my weight onto him, I'm moving fast, my entire body is vibrating with tension as I'm working hard to find that O. Then it's there, as his lips finally catch one breast and I tell him to use his teeth, my orgasm rocks my body as his teeth clamp onto my nipple. My cries are loud as the waves wash over me, I'm bouncing up and down frantically, milking him for every ounce of pleasure I can get, using his hard length for my own needs and there's a rush of liquid and its me, I'm cumming so hard, every nerve ending is standing straight up, every cell in my body is alight with fevered passion. "Oh my god" he says, feeling the wetness of my orgasm all over his stomach and thighs, and then his hands are under my armpits, he's lifting me as he begins thrusting upwards, now he's driving into me, his pace furious as his teeth are chewing on my nipple.

I'm encouraging him with a "yes, yes, yes!" I can hear my tone rising as he's bringing me right back to the edge. There's a wet, slapping sound accentuating every thrust, and then I can feel my entire body clench and my scream is caught in my throat, I'm frozen for 3 seconds or 3 hours, my entire body is a hard, tight coil of sexual energy. Then it's released, I'm screaming, every inch of my skin has joined this orgasm, there is another rush like a waterfall and it's not stopping as his fingers are furiously toying with my clit, as he's driving himself deep inside me, as I'm drenching him again with my own juices and then he's cumming with me and it's the most intense orgasm I've ever had.

Breathing hard, legs trembling, weak now, my head resting on the seat rest behind him. We sit there that way for a few moments, breathless after our exertions. Finally, I lean back and as I dismount, our eyes meet. My earlier shyness is gone and I smile at him. He smiles back, and I wonder if he felt the intensity the same way I did. "That was amazing," he said and I have my answer.

Opening the doors, letting the cool night air dry our sated bodies. I find a towel in the trunk that we use to wipe away the evidence of our passion. We smoke some cigarettes, I don't remember how many or what we talked about while we smoked. I don't remember driving back to his apartment, or what we talked about in the car. I remember opening the passenger door and walking to the drivers side, on the street in front of his apartment. I remember being gathered me in his arms, a soft brush of his lips across mine, and a hug before he went inside.

Pharrell is singing about his happiness and I'm humming along with him as I pull in the driveway. Sneaking inside quietly, careful not to wake up the kids. Bare feet padding softly over carpeted floor, turning my bedroom door softly, slowly pushing open, a little bit scared. What if I'm caught?

My trepidation put to rest with the loud snore like a grizzly bear that greets me. I walk the short hallway, glancing into the master bathroom and see my post it note is still where I'd left it. Past the bathroom, his stench hits me like a slap in my face. I shake my head, incredulous that I'd been gone for hours, getting fucked in my own car by his best friends kid, as he lay here, stinking and oblivious.

I wonder if I should feel guilty as I pull on pajamas. I do, a little. But I push that down and focus instead on replaying our second encounter in my mind. I'm climbing into bed with my unconscious husband with the scent and the spunk of another man all over me. And it's thoughts of that other man, and when I'm gonna be able to see him again that lull me into sleep. One time could've been an accident, or a mistake. Two times, not so much. God help me, there's a smile as I drift to sleep. It's going to happen again.