Honestly Unfaithful: #1 Page 2

  “I'll see you tomorrow, Dr. Jackson. Can't wait.” As she finishes walking out the door, she looks over her shoulder at me and winks.

  Tossing my car keys into the passenger seat of my car, I take a moment to collect myself. What in the hell just happened in there? Luckily, he hired me to do the internship; I need it badly. But he … Wow.

  I was fortunate enough to get an interview on short notice, only a day after speaking with my advisor. Dr. Jackson’s secretary led me into his office and I was instantly drawn to him.

  He robbed me of breath, my lungs resorted to short shallow breaths in his presence. In my short twenty-one years of life I had yet to feel something like that, until now.

  I was intimidated at first, but immediately drawn to him. Chemistry as strong as what I just felt doesn't just happen with anyone. Normally, I would just take what I wanted. Professor be damned, I’d just go after him. However, before I left, I allowed myself to linger a moment. I took his office in, inspecting it to learn whatever I could about him.

  If I had to intern under him, I wanted to know something about the guy, and usually you can tell that by looking over the office that he spends half his life in. He had pictures scattered throughout, had two kids by the looks of it. Was a professional ball player at one point. I say at one point because obviously he’s a professor and a doctor now.

  If he was still pro, I doubt he’d be teaching college students, even if it's at a prestigious university such as Duke.

  Dr. Jackson kept his office clean and orderly, so I would go so far as to guess that he's an organized person, maybe even disciplined. I also discovered that he’s married, judging by the wedding band on his left ring finger. Despite the ring, he had no pictures of his wife. I wonder why have a ton of pictures of his kids but none of his wife.

  He saw that I saw, that I was looking to see if he was married. Realizing that I had been caught made me nervous, so on my way out, I winked at him.

  Hopefully, I made him a little nervous too.

  I still feel like I have butterflies in my stomach. His touch was warm; he was so kind to me. I felt it. Hopefully I made him a little nervous and he felt it too.

  ***

  “It’s about time you called; I was starting to get worried, your father and I have been concerned with how you’re doing.” my mother says worriedly into the phone.

  “I’ve been here three days so far. You know where I am, so relax. I had to settle into my dorm room, lots of fun that was. Coming here well past the beginning of the second semester wasn't a great idea, Mom.”

  “What happened?”

  “They never assigned me a room so I had to wait three hours for them to figure something out. It wasn't all bad, though, because I did manage to score a room all to myself. I even have my own bathroom.”

  “I was holding my breath there for a second. Thought you were going to tell me they had to put you in the male dorms or something.”

  I laugh out loud, because it's just like my mom to over-analyze and worry about stuff like that. It seems that with everything that happened between Jake and me, she worries tenfold. When I managed to run out of my apartment, my bags in hand and on the road, I called my mom so that she’d know where I was. I made her promise she’d only tell Dad and that's it. If anyone else were to ask, she’s to say she knows nothing.

  Telling someone that could possibly inform Jake of my whereabouts isn't a risk I’m willing to take. My parents don't want to take that risk, either.

  No one saw Jake’s complete personality change coming, but my parents believed me. They never questioned the truth of my breaking point with him. Initially, they wanted me to press charges, but I had already left and I pleaded with them to just let me get over it.

  I convinced them that I just wanted to put it behind me.

  “You're awfully quiet,” my mom comments.

  “Yeah, sorry. Lot on my mind, lots to do.”

  “You’ll get it all done, after you tell me everything else.”

  “After getting settled in the dorm, I had to go to admissions to go over my transcripts and get my schedule for classes. After talking to my advisor, I was informed that if I wanted to graduate on time I had to complete an internship. Thankfully, there was one available. I had the interview today and was hired. Here I come, May! I’ll be graduating if all goes well.”

  “That's good, real good, honey. I know I haven't said it enough, but I am so proud of you, Maggie. You're a strong young woman who’s aware of who she is and what she deserves. You can do anything you set your mind to. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Mom. Send Dad my love also. I’m going to spend the rest of today hunting for a job that’s an on-call situation. The internship is going to be demanding but it doesn't pay so I have to find something that will add some money to the bank.”

  “Will do, and I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding that job.”

  I put my cellphone in my purse as I open the door to a bar not more than a short walk from campus. I saw it the other day on my way in—it seemed as if it was the local college bar. The Coop. I’m hoping that maybe I can convince whoever does the hiring that they need me.

  I could be a back-up bartender, someone on call for when other employees call-in, which I’m sure is quite a bit because, let's face it, we’re all college students. Bartending even one night a week has the potential for a decent income, enough to buy some food and pay on my cell phone bill.

  I don't have any experience working in a bar, but I do have the experience of confidence.

  I could fake it with the best of them.

  “Who does the hiring around here?” I ask, leaning over the bar counter, yelling over the noise in the face of the current bartender who's in the middle of mixing a drink.

  “The owner,” she states, disinterested.

  “He around?”

  “Yeah, just let me finish making this drink and I’ll grab him for ya. Just a warning, we aren't hiring right now so if you're in need of a job quickly, I would start searching elsewhere.”

  “Thanks.”

  Five minutes later, a guy not much older than me approaches the bar. “Are you the one looking for a job?”

  “That would be me.” I smile.

  He smiles back. “Sorry we’re not hiring.”

  Conversation over, in his opinion, and he begins to walk away.

  “Wait!” I yell to get his attention.

  He pauses and turns back around facing me. “We’re not hiring at the moment.”

  “I get that,” I plead, “I do, but I need a job. I’ll bartend, hell, I’ll do whatever you want around here. I just need a flexible part-time job. I’m not asking you to take hours away from other employees just to hire me. I can be on-call, someone calls in sick, you call me and I’ll come in if I’m free. I have this internship and it's promised to be demanding, so I can't just go out and get some normal job around campus. I need one that will work with me. If you do, I promise I’ll work my ass off every minute I’m here.”

  He was so close to walking away that I had no choice but to launch into a half-crazed long-winded rant hoping he’ll hire me.

  “Have you ever been a bartender?”

  “No, but I’m a fast learner.”

  He sighs. “I’ll give you a chance. It's not a promise that the job is yours permanently. I’m just saying I’ll feel ya out. If it works, it works. If it doesn't, I’ll let you know, and you'll have to find employment somewhere else. Deal?” He holds his hand out.

  I accept his hand and shake it. “Deal.” I leave my number with him to place behind the bar near the phone—anyone calls in and I’ve got the hours.

  Dorm room: check.

  Class schedule: check.

  Internship: check.

  Job: check.

  What’s next?

  5:00 PM

  “All right, guys, class is over, make sure you read the next three chapters tonight. You must be able to give me feedback when we openly discuss the
amount of force it takes for a pitcher to throw the baseball at eighty-five miles per hour. I want good, intelligent answers; you should be able to give details like speed and strength from the hand, distance to the shoulder, and the proper angle at the elbow. As well as the amount of force propelled from the knees and hips rotation, okay? If I'm not getting an intelligent answer, that's an automatic F as a quiz. My last class of the first day.”

  Yes, I am a hard teacher. Homework and reading assignments on the first day, of course. Besides, these are my graduate students—they need to be pushed.

  Phone rings as always at 5:07 PM which is annoying. Why can't Denise call at a convenient time? It’s 5:07, can you not wait until I least have time to walk to the car?

  “Hey, sweets,” I hear in a familiar soft voice, “the kids and I were wondering if you had any more glue in the garage?”

  “Glue?” I ask.

  “Yes, Marshall, the boys want to know if they can use your glue kit to put their cars and planes together. I bought them some new ones they been asking for after I picked them up from school.”

  “I don't know, Denise, you'll have to go down and look. We should have enough left over for that.”

  “Okay, is there anything you want for dinner tonight? I am thinking of just doing some pork chops with spaghetti and peas. Does that sound good to you?”

  “Yes, Denise, that's fine. I'll be home in about thirty minutes.”

  Our conversation ends in typical fashion, saying our “I love yous” as most married couples do.

  “See you tomorrow, Dr. Jackson, can't wait,’’ Margaret said as she left her first day of internship.

  The memory starts replaying in my head as I drive home. I don't know why I'm thinking of this; I mean, I'm married, and my wife is great to me for the most part. I love my kids. Besides, it's not like I haven't had female interns before, hell, probably hundreds of them. So why does this mid-western girl stick out in my mind today? I have had several female interns look at me. Even making complimentary remarks toward me. This one just looks at me weird and here I am all distraught.

  She does have pretty eyes, and very well-kept hair. For a petite woman, she has quite a few assets considering her size. What am I doing? I can't be thinking like that, that's even worse.

  “See you tomorrow, Dr. Jackson, can't wait.”

  And then she fucking winks at me, what does that mean? Is she trying to hit on me? I just … What if … No … I can't. Wait, that was my exit! Damn it, I missed my turn. I drove too far all because I couldn't stop thinking about her. It'll be an hour before I get home. Shit.

  ***

  “Hey, sweetie,” I greet Denise as I walk in, the same routine for eleven years now.

  “Hey, Marshall.” The continued unemotional disconnect slaps me hard every time I hear her say it.

  I drop my briefcase in the study and turn the lamp on. The boys are upstairs brushing their teeth, getting ready for bed, and more than likely excited for their first day of school tomorrow. God, I wish I was young again. Those were the days. I decide to walk upstairs to see them for a minute.

  “Drop it right now, Josh,” I hear Ryan tell his younger brother.

  “But I want to play with it. Please? Yours is cooler than mine.’’ Josh whirls the F-14 model jet fighter through the air, re-enacting his favorite scenes from Will Smith's Independence Day. Josh has always loved planes and building them.

  “Hey, Dad,” Ryan says as he catches me peeking around the doorway.

  “Hey, champ. You boys ready for bed?”

  “Yes, sir,” they both reply simultaneously.

  “You both have brushed your teeth, put your toys away, and got your clothes laid out for school tomorrow?”

  “Yes, sir. We are good kids, right, Daddy?” Josh says with an overly joyous big grin on his face.

  “You're the best sons, now let's say our prayers and tell God what we’re thankful for. Our father who art in heaven …” As the boys say their prayers, I always end up watching them and listening to them learn the same traditions that my brothers and I learned from our father. As we finish, I get up and kiss them both on forehead and tell them good night.

  “Will you pick us up tomorrow like last year from school, Daddy?” Ryan asks as I get to the doorway.

  “Some days I can, son. Daddy has evening classes twice a week, so Monday and Wednesday I won't be able to. But I will the other three days. Now get some sleep; you both got a big day tomorrow.”

  Water is running in the sink when I get downstairs. “Denise,” I call out.

  “In here,” she replies.

  I walk into the kitchen as she is handwashing the dishes. She pre-washes the dishes before sticking them in dishwasher. Which I think is silly because isn't that what the dishwasher is for? “Do you still love me?’ I randomly ask without thinking. I don't know what made me blurt it out just then, but I did.

  She stops washing the dishes, turns the faucet off, takes a deep breath, and slowly turns to face me. “Yes, Marshall, why would you ask me that?”

  I stand against the corner of the counter in the middle of our kitchen, my hands dropping into my back pockets. Nervously, I take my hands out and begin tapping my fingers on the counter tirelessly before I reply, “I guess I just worry about the routine with us.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks tiredly.

  “Well, I mean, we haven't just been bouncing on each other, have we? We're only thirty-two and thirty-one, don't you think we should be more excited around each other or even passionate?”

  Denise stands there for a minute contemplating my question. “I guess it has been a while, when I think about it. I quit thinking about it so much after we had Josh. I figured you just weren't as into me because of the kids.”

  “Denise, it hasn't been about the kids. I don't know what it is, but I am worried about us, about our marriage. This hasn't bothered you at all?” I ask, exasperated because she doesn't seem to be concerned with where our marriage has been heading.

  “Well, Marshall, I work in the office all day, cleaning teeth. Then when I come home, I have to cook dinner, get the boys ready for bed, and then I'm washing dishes before I begin washing laundry. I mean, pleasing your limp dick isn't high on my to do list.”

  At this point, I’ve really touched a nerve. Scared to push it further, I just apologize for even bringing it up. I know it isn't her fault alone. I can tell she’s pretty upset, so I just hug her for a minute then kiss her on her head and walk to my study to think.

  “See you tomorrow, Dr. Jackson, can't wait,” I hear Margaret’s voice call out to me. I turn and look to see that she is in my doorway.

  “Shit, no, I can't,” I say.

  “You can't what?” Denise asks. Not wanting to get into a fight, I don’t reply to her. I realize that I am alone. There is no Maggie lingering in my hallway, and I am scared to stay in here and have her haunt my thoughts. I don’t need this now. Shaking my head, I continue on into the bedroom to get ready for bed. Hopefully a long hot shower will shake the uneasy feelings I have.

  ***

  As I begin to lie down, Denise enters, preparing to use the shower. She begins to undress in front of me as always. I sit on the corner of our bed in my boxer briefs and gym shorts. As I watch, I begin thinking, Wow, she's a beautiful wife. I start trying to think of her sexually, that maybe this is why I am having thoughts of my intern. Because I'm not letting my wife satisfy me sexually.

  Denise is wearing my favorite underwear, high-waist cotton panties briefs, they're my favorite. Followed closely by lace boy shorts. Sadly, though, Denise hasn't worn lace in years. As she lifts each leg, pulling them out of her panties and slowly removing her socks, I suddenly see the glow of light off her feet from our lamp that then trace up her shins then her knees, thighs, and waist.

  She reaches up, removing her shirt and then unsnaps her bra. For some reason tonight it’s happening all in slow motion. Like she’s purposely teasing me, but I can tell she isn't paying me
any attention at all. She hasn't even noticed I am even looking at her. She walks into our bathroom, leaving the door open, and turns water on. She slowly steps into our marble stone shower, which is very spacious.

  “I'm hard,” I say to myself.

  I look down and notice I have a fully erected statue coming through my briefs. Not being able to help myself, I start touching and rubbing my cock. Before I know it, I’m fully stroking it, and it feels so fucking good.

  What am I doing? My wife is in the shower, sexy and naked. Why am I sitting here jerking off? I spring up, and go to the shower door. Denise’s back is to the door when I slowly wrap my hands and arms around her. Ready to give her what she and I both need.

  She sighs as she feels my dick pressed up against her. “What are you doing, big boy?”

  “Mmhmm, you know what I'm doing, Momma, I think it's time. It's been way too long.” We start picking up on the role play, as if we haven't gone years without sex. Denise leans her head back on my chest and to the side, opening her neck to be kissed and nibbled on by me. I know she loves that as much as I do.

  She begins to sigh. Her hands reach around behind her, her fingertips pressing on my thigh and hip. My hands go from her breasts down her stomach to her hips and slowly to her clit.