Chapter 17 – Mindy
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Defilement derailed
Mindy
I drop by the house and pick up some of the sexy lingerie that I hadn’t worn on our honeymoon and then hightail it to Caro’s for the beautification process.
Several hours later, I pause outside our house. I’d been primped and prodded within an inch of my life by Caroline and Aubrey. My scalp hurts. My feet hurt. But I look like a million bucks.
They’d been right about The Dress. Hell, I want to fuck myself in this dress. And though the shoes are a half-size too small, they do give me supermodel legs.
My hair is in a loose curly updo with several soft tendrils left to hang around my face and down my neck.
I have a few freckles across my nose, but they’ve been camouflaged with some kind of miracle foundation.
Somehow, my eyelashes now tickle my eyebrows, and my eyes look big and doe-like, thanks to Aubrey.
And my lips. Holy shit! My lips are already full, but Caroline applied a deep red lipstick and a plumping gloss that makes them look positively lush.
Taking a deep breath, I adjust my breasts. I’m not able to wear a bra because The Dress is way too low-cut—front and back—so I’m free-boobing it this evening. The slit is cut so high on my leg, the lace top of one stocking is visible. I feel sexy as hell.
Opening the door, I find Roger sitting on the couch with his phone in his hand.
“Hey, babe. You ready?” He doesn’t look up, so I stand silently until he finally does and am rewarded with a dropped jaw. “Mindy. God, you look amazing.” His eyes rove up and down my body as he stands and walks toward me.
Biting my bottom lip, I look up at him through my heavily-mascaraed lashes. “You like?”
“I love,” he says, bending to kiss my cheek. “Every man in the place is going to be jealous of me.”
“You look really handsome, too,” I tell him, running my hands up the lapels of his navy jacket.
This is going to be such a great night.
As we sit in the restaurant, Roger is more attentive than he’s been in years, constantly holding my hand and never taking his eyes from mine. The Dress is working. I’m going to have sex on my actual anniversary this year, and I’m positively giddy.
I flirt my ass off with my husband and feel better about myself than I have in a very long time.
There are only so many times a woman’s sexual advances can be rebuffed before it starts to take a toll on her self-esteem.
Roger is never mean about it, but he always declines when I ask for sex—or even a little affection—on any day but Friday.
Except for the last few Fridays. Rose’s friends have been passing the flu around, so their weekly meetings have been canceled. That meant no sex for Mindy. It’s been a month since Roger’s even kissed me anywhere besides my forehead. But tonight, I’ll be getting kissed exactly where I need.
In the car on the way home, I place my hand high on Roger’s thigh.
He smiles over at me and links his fingers with mine.
It’s amazing how the simple act of holding hands lifts my spirits.
Feeling a little frisky because of the wine and my sexy look, I unbuckle my seatbelt and kneel in the seat, praying I don’t bust out of this extremely tight dress.
“What are you doing, babe? Put your seatbelt back on.”
Leaning over the console, I flick his earlobe with my tongue. “Maybe my husband is too hot for me to stay in my own seat.”
Roger stops at a red light and presses his lips softly to mine. God, that feels good. I miss kissing. “Sit down, sweetheart. I don’t want you to get hurt if we have an accident.”
“Party pooper,” I grumble, plopping my ass back down in the seat for the rest of the drive home.
We enter the house to find that only the living room lamp is on. I grin. That means Rose is already in bed. Time to put this plan into overdrive. I’m literally brimming with excitement as Roger holds my hand on the way to our bedroom.
He goes into the bathroom, and I take that opportunity to remove my dress, giggling when I think of Caroline’s rules regarding penis appearances.
Leaving on the stockings, red lace underwear, and red “whore heels,” I sit on the edge of the bed.
Roger emerges, his shirt halfway unbuttoned as he walks toward me.
Come to momma!
Stroking my hair lovingly with one hand, he bends to kiss my forehead. “That was fun tonight, Mindy. We should go out more often.”
“Yes, we should,” I purr, crossing one leg demurely over the other and leaning back on my hands.
He turns away, removes his jacket, and finishes unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it into the hamper. I jut out my breasts a little more as he removes his pants. Sexxxxx! my inner slut screams, like a zombie hungry for brains.
My forehead wrinkles when my husband opens the top drawer of his bureau and pulls out a pair of pajama pants. Why the hell is he getting pants?
“Roger, why don’t you come over here?” I say in my best come-hither voice. He hithers, but to my disappointment, he puts his pants on before doing so. Grabbing the waistband, I tug him to me. “We don’t need these, now, do we?”
“Wh-what are you doing, babe?”
I slide to my knees, taking his pants down with me and looking up at him with a coy smile. “What does it look like I’m doing?” Moistening my lips, I lean forward and kiss the tip of his cock. “Your wife wants to show you how much she loves you.”
A frown mars his face as he takes a step back, out of my reach. “That’s sweet, babe, but it’s Thursday.”
Jamming my hands on my hips, I snipe, “Is there some kind of law that says a married couple can’t have sex on Thursdays?”
“Don’t be like that, Min. You know…” His voice drifts off, and he raises his eyebrows at me.
Perhaps a more direct approach would be better, as if dropping to my knees to suck his dick wasn’t fucking clear enough. “I want sex, Roger. It’s our anniversary, and I want to have sex with my husband.”
“Okay, baby. We will.” My heart soars. “Tomorrow night when Mom is gone.” My heart plummets.
I feel my jaw begin to tremble as I realize how stupid I look kneeling on the ground for a man who doesn’t want me. Managing to stand without rolling an ankle in these ridiculous heels, I face off with my husband. “So, let me get this straight. I want sex, and you’re saying no?”
“I’m saying tomorrow, sweetheart. I’ll give you all the anniversary sex you want.”
“Whatever, Roger,” I mutter, slipping off the shoes and storming to the bathroom.
I’m equal parts hurt and angry, and the tears begin to fall as soon as I close the door behind me.
Facing the mirror, I stare at the picture of humiliation.
My makeup drips and smears down my face, but I don’t even wipe it away as a small part of me breaks inside.
I’ve never felt so unwanted and unloved in my life. I can’t even remember the last time Roger told me he loved me without me saying it first. Taking a washcloth from the cabinet, I remove all my carefully applied makeup and then blow my nose.
When I finally return to our bedroom, Roger is turned toward the wall, already asleep. I lay down, curl into a ball, and cry myself to sleep.
I’m dragging at work on Friday. At least three of my coworkers ask if I’m sick.
I am, but not physically. My pain is on the inside.
It’s not only the lack of sex. It’s my husband’s unconcerned attitude that bothers me.
The minimal affection. The lack of any authority in my own home.
Hell, Roger asked Rose to redecorate the living room without even consulting me.
I hate that fucking green-and-pink floral couch.
It all congeals into a big ball of something in my gut.
Unhappiness? That’s a new one for me so it takes me a while to realize it.
Other than my grief over my mother and father, I’m generally a happy person.
Always have been. My father called me Smiley Sue as a child because there was a constant smile etched on my face.
He’d loved telling the story of when I had my tonsils removed and woke up with a big grin on my face, despite the discomfort.
But now? Now I don’t feel like smiling at all.
A hand on my shoulder startles me, and I swivel my chair to find my husband. “Hey, babe. I’m headed out a little early today. The guys want to grab a drink.”
Glancing at the clock reading four-thirty over his head, I feel an ache deep in my stomach. Did he forget about tonight? As hurt as I am by his rejection last night, I still want him. Want to be kissed. Want to connect with him while he’s inside me. I need some intimacy with my husband.
“Oh. Okay.”
“I’ll be back in plenty of time, babe,” he says quietly, reading my thoughts as clearly as if they’re imprinted on my forehead.
Rose’s friend group meets for dinner and then drinks afterward from six to about nine every Friday, so Roger and I will still have time to make love if he only has one drink.
Plastering a smile I don’t feel onto my face, I nod. “Okay, hon. Have fun.”
His handsome face crinkles into a grimace. “Not sure how fun it will be. Gabriel’s girlfriend broke up with him, and he said he needed some time with the guys.”
I try not to sigh out my frustration.
I need you too, Roger.
Almost four hours later, I’m sitting on the couch—alone—when Roger stumbles through the front door. “Heeeey, baby! There’s my beautiful wife.”
He’s drunk. Standing from the couch, I plop my hands on my hips and glare at him. “What happened to one drink, Roger?”
He ambles over to me and grabs me roughly by the hips, pulling me into him. “Don’t be mad, sweetie. I thought about you the whole time. In that sexy black dress and those heels last night. Fucking irresistible.”
I roll my eyes. “Though you somehow managed to resist me.”
“Shhh.” He places a finger over my lips before pulling it away and replacing it with his mouth. The kiss is hard, demanding, and exactly what I’ve been craving. I let it go on for a while, our tongues twisting together as he seizes the back of my neck and holds me to him.