The thing, I mean the thing I’d been dreading the most, just happened: running into my ex-husband and, of course, his new girlfriend. Who just happens to be 20 years younger than me. Fuck.
Of course, from her perspective, I’m his past, the one who couldn’t please him. So naturally he’d have to trade up. No one would doubt that, as if it was what men did, so often in fact, that it was nearly commonplace. That’s how you ended up with two generations coming from the same seed, siblings born decades apart, entire families being replaced in favor of the shiny new ones.
At least in my case there was no family to replace. But she would surely give him what I couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. My dad always told me to never do anything I wasn’t sure about. I should’ve listened – I married him anyway. Then, thankfully, I realized I didn’t, and wouldn’t, give him babies. It just wasn’t for me. Not with him anyway. Definitely not with him.
“Debbie,” he said, as we stood there in the international foods section, “this is Anica, Anica Montgomery.”
“Soon to be Lang,” she said. Anica Lang. I said it in my head and fuck if it didn’t sound better than Deborah Lang. I wanted to choke her right there. Why was this so hard? I mean on most days you can take the guy please and here’s cab fare too. But today, I guess I was in a vulnerable state.
“It’s nice to meet you, hon,” I said. Hon. That’s right. Condescend to the bitch.
At least as far as I knew she hadn’t come along before the divorce. But you never can really know for sure about these things.
“Nice to meet you too,” she said, doing the gracious thing and walking on ahead to do some actual shopping.
“You look good. Really good,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said. “You do to. She seems nice. I’m happy for you.” Oh God. No, I wasn’t. Why was it always the man that moved on so quickly? Then I remembered Dan, and Katy, and all my new friends. I guess I really just wanted to eat my cake and have it too.
“Listen,” he said. “I have some things for you, things I think you should have. I’d like to come by with them this week. Can I text you?”
“Um, sure,” I said. I wanted to say that I didn’t want anything from him. But it was sure nice of him to be thinking of me, and being so nice about it, especially after I got a huge payday in the divorce. He did have a caring and dependable side. He was still trying to provide for me, in his own way.
“OK then,” he said. “So good to see you.”
He gave me that look. I could smell it on him. He wanted me. I knew it. After nineteen years of marriage I knew the look, although it had been missing a long, long time. I should have said no, I thought, be the Ice Queen I could be, but I had to admit I was flattered by that twinkle of attraction. No doubt he would unload on Anica later. I also had to admit I wanted him to unload on me right then and there.
Days go by and I’m wondering if he’s going to text me. Fuck. I’m still hanging on, waiting for him. I was beginning to think I imagined him coming on to me, that it was just wishful thinking, that he still had a little bit of a thing for me. Not that I really wanted to go back to him, or that I wanted him around, I guess it was just the desire to capitalize on my jealousy by making him cheat on his fiancé.
Then, finally, I got a text from him.
I can come by tonight after work. Is that OK?
It happened while I was at work, thank god, so I wasn’t able to respond right away. I wanted him to wonder. You know, play hard to get?
Sure, I will be home after 6. See you then.
My heart was in my throat. It had been six months since I’d even seen or talked to him, and here I was still getting all crazy with anticipation over this man. The man I divorced and took to the cleaners. Did that make me a bad person?
Fuck. My place was a wreck and there was no way I could make it presentable for him. So I decided not to sweat it. He’d think I was a slob, that I needed the structure he once provided. Or maybe he’d just think he didn’t care or even be happy that I was comfortable, saw that I was finally living in my way and on my terms. Actually, that was giving him way too much credit.
Part of me wanted to run and hide and not be there when he showed up. I wasn’t sure if it was a good voice or a bad voice that was saying this. Certainly it would be rude to blow him off when, at face value, he was trying to be kind, but it was clear I was also still hooked on being reliable to him, the good wife; yes dear I’ll get you another beer and all that nonsense.
I also thought it’d be smart to have someone else there with me when he got there, but I wanted to see what would happen when we were alone in a room together. Would we fight like we did the last years of our marriage? Or would we get along like old friends?
The doorbell rang and I answered it, having changed into my LOVE PINK shorts and a tank top. Yes, I was trying to show him what he was missing. Anica was skinny and pretty of course but she wasn’t the woman I was. Just a girl, from a generation that has proven, at least up until this point, to be just all wrong.
“Hi, Art,” I said. “Come in.”
“Thank you,” he said, carrying a box inside my second story apartment.
“Find the place OK?” I asked.
“Yes, thanks for the gate code,” he said. “Anyway, I found these pictures and other things, thought you might like to take a look through.”
“Walk down memory lane?” I said.
“Sure, something like that,” he said.
Why this, why all this now? I wondered. Anyway, I decided that it was obvious, that he just wanted to be sure he (we) or I had done the right thing by parting ways. I thought of Katy. Good analysis I could hear her say. He wasn’t sure. I guess it was I who really wanted the divorce and he was too busy to fight it, perhaps felt it was easier just to let go.
We actually had a great time reminiscing, but it was just foreplay. I knew it. He knew it. I wanted his cock and guess what? This girl was going to have it.
“Art,” I said, pulling him in for a hug. “I’m really sorry it didn’t work out. And I’m happy for you and Anica, really I am.”
“That’s awfully sweet of you,” he whispered.
There, in that embrace, was an entire world, a circle of closeness neither of us could deny.
“I am so glad you came over,” I said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. But I should be going,” he said.
“No!” I said, letting my longing, perhaps desperation show. “Don’t, please. I want you…to stay.”
“Deb,” he said.
“Art,” I said. I put my hand on his waist in that spot that I knew all too well. That spot that would make him mine again, at least for the night.
I grabbed his hand and put it on my boobs and said “Do you miss these?”
He grunted something unintelligible.
“Fuck, Arthur, don’t play so hard to get,” I whined. “You’re going to make me feel like a shithead for this.”
“I don’t think you’re a shithead at all,” he sighed.
The next thing I knew he had me up against the wall and was kissing me: my lips, my neck, and then knelt in front of me and kissed my belly and yanked my shorts off. No panties.
“I want you, now!” I panted.
Standing up, I unbuckled him and he was well ready for me. He turned me around, pressing me hard up against the wall and inserted his cock in my hot box. Fuck. Fuck! So good. So good because it was good. But also because it was wrong. Bad. Bad girl Deb. Anica. Fuck! Poor Anica. Oh well, fuck that bitch. Guess what? I am getting fucked by your man. Used to be my man. Is my man right now. Maybe always will be?
I came as my mind felt like it was being put into some Medieval torture device. Fuck. Fuck! Why was this so…I couldn’t say what it was!
He was so hard and deep inside my pussy like he hadn’t been in such a long time!
I knelt before him to finish him off, and finish him off I would.
“Art, Oh God, Fuck!” I said as he covered my face and chest with his cum.
“Deb, Deb, Deb,” he moaned as he eventually stopped dripping.
I was almost afraid to move, to realize it had ended just as quickly as it had begun. I made it to my feet, though, and kissed him.
“You should go,” I whispered. “Before the Mrs. suspects anything.”
We both had a good chuckle at that.
To be continued…