January 10th, 2021
My extraordinary wife represents the epitome of the adage; if you love what you do for a living, you never work a day in your life. Brenda, or Alexa Covetous as she goes by in her steamy romance novels, makes a nice income writing the most sensual erotica ever marketed. Or at least that’s what I gained from the checks she receives because she made me promise never to read her stories.
Yet, from over my coffee cup, the contradictions bring a smile. Brenda exhibits the innocent beauty of an angel paired with the body of a porn star and the mind of a nuclear physicist. Unfortunately, she also possesses the morals of Mother Superior. But we maintain a vibrant sex life if your tastes lean toward vanilla and every week or two in the dark is your thing.
The chirp of her phone interrupts our peaceful Sunday morning. Brenda puts aside her laptop, tucks her legs on the sofa, and says, “Good morning.”
Her head slowly tilts, and her lip quivers. She shoots me a pleading glance before squeezing her eyes closed. Finally, she listens a moment longer and asks, “What did he say?”
“Mom, I’ll call you back after I make airline reservations.”
She stands, drops the phone on the sofa, and says, “Mom's in the hospital.”
I nod, reaching for the phone. “I’ll call Bob to let him know I’m taking some personal days.”
She shakes her head. “As much as I want you beside me,” she smiles through her tears.
“You’re not going through this alone.”
She hugs me. “Thank you. But we can’t afford you missing work for who knows how long.” A kiss and she says, “I’ll call you if things get too much for me.”
***
Two weeks of a long-distance marriage have me climbing the walls. Then, one night after our phone conversation, the idea hit me. I decide to surprise Brenda by remodeling her closet into the one she’s always wanted.
Within ten minutes, I take the stairs two at a time with a measuring tape and notepad. In the inner sanctuary of her closet, I take measurements and make my plans. If I extend the north wall three feet into the guest room, I can transform this modest space into the luxury closet of her dreams with all the bells and whistles.
Half her things are in the guestroom down the hall when I start emptying the drawers. I find a heavier-than-normal shoe box in the back of the closet, in a drawer full of documents. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I peek to see what treasures she’s hidden back here. Inside are three luxurious black books with gold inlay, a leather strap, and a lock.
Inquisitiveness is a terrible thing, I conclude, darting down the stairs. I locate her car keys and, as suspected, find four miniature gold keys on the ring.
On my third try, I open the first book and discover I’ve found the golden grail for information on the woman I married, a diary dating back to high school. I close the book and snap the lock, unable to broach her privacy.
Grinning like a Cheshire cat, I sip coffee in the kitchen, unable to stop thinking about what secrets her diary holds. Did she ever notice me before the summer we came together? Being a virgin when we married, I’m sure her high school years don’t include anything embarrassing.
I prop the pillow behind me and stretch out on the bed. She wrote on the first page that high school started, and I became a woman. My head tilts as I read Bobby Townson snuck into my room tonight. Still not convinced to lose my virginity, I only agree to suck his cock. But after he fills my mouth with his salty seed, I can’t stop. His thrusting into me like a toy dog wasn’t what I expected, and he only lasted a few minutes. But after he left, my dildo and imagination stayed the night.
So much for marrying a virgin, I muse, going downstairs to fix a drink.
She goes into such detail with the next boy she’s with; I stroke my cock as I read about her fucking him in the backseat of his mom’s car. By the end of her freshman year, Brenda’s four boyfriends ensured she had a vibrant sex life.
In her sophomore year, a relationship with Taylor lasted until he caught her fucking the Quarterback on the football team. After that, she got away with the other four guys she hooked up with.
Then, in her junior year, Brenda needs five pages to describe the party with the football team only because she is fascinated with Devon’s ten-inch dick. I stop reading after she tells Devon and his two friends to fill every hole. I need to clean the bed before going to sleep.
***
I had just finished reading how challenging Brenda found portraying the innocent virgin on the night we met when the phone rang.
“Good morning, babe,” she says in a cheerful tone.
“How’s your mother?”
“The doctors are still running tests.”
We continue talking, and I bite my tongue to prevent asking any of the questions on my mind. Then, finally, she says, “I better let you go before you’re late for work. Love you.”
“Love you too, babe.”
The contradictions in the woman I love run rampant as I take another sip and stare at the phone on the table. I took a deep breath and called work.
“Bob, this is Dex. I just tested positive for COVID.”
By lunchtime, I discover how bad she felt portraying the virgin saving herself for marriage with me while playing the fraternity party girl at UCLA. And what a party girl she was. She needed two diaries to list everything.
Two questions still need to be answered on closing the third diary. First, why did she stop writing just before our marriage, and are these stories true or a product of her imagination? The possibility of the answer concealed in our home sent chills through me.
My two-hour search for another diary draws a blank. I pour a scotch and return to the den, where I catch myself an instant before placing my drink on her sacred laptop and putting a coaster under the glass.
Twenty minutes pass before I give up and drain my glass. “Fuck it. I’m going to bed.”
Then, as I stand, the condensation in the groves of the coaster catches my attention at the exact moment a chill shoots down my back. Finally, after twenty minutes of trying every date of importance, pet name, and places she enjoys, I surrender to frustration and try the password, ‘size queen.’ Ten minutes pass before I locate dozens of files containing the videos that answer all my questions.
I randomly select a video and click play. The scene opens with the camera focused on a hotel room bed. In moments, Brenda enters the scene naked with two men. One is a stranger, and the other is Stan, my best friend and best man at our wedding.
Without pretext, the three climb onto the bed to spend the next hour engaged in every form of depravity imaginable. Brenda’s wedding dress displayed on the mannequin in the background removed any question about when and where this event transpired.
Alone and numb, I close the laptop as rays of the morning sun streaming through the window. I lost count of the videos I watched, but it didn’t matter. Something died inside me this night, and nothing mattered anymore.
