Innocent Milf

Warning: depictions of non-consent and drug use.

Chapter 28

Chapter 28

I came back from the showers in a fantastic mood--Cary and I would have the whole weekend together, and Aaron was supposed to be gone for both days, so we'd have the room to ourselves. I knew it was technically against the dorm rules, but half of the folks were gone for fall break, and nobody would really care. I was hardly the first guy to sneak a girl into his room for sex.

As long as Cary and I could stay quiet and keep from banging the ceiling again, we should be fine.

I went to open the door with my key, and found it slightly ajar. I pushed, frowning, and immediately felt my heart leap into my throat. Cary was blissfully asleep on the bed, lit by the tiniest sliver of the waning moon and the diffuse outside light from behind the curtains. Her arm dangled off the edge of the bed, gold bracelet catching the light. The sheets still covered her waist and butt like a skirt, but she was naked and lying on her stomach, and her long, beautiful legs were stretched out.

In front of the bed was a tall, dark figure in shadow, reaching hesitantly towards her. I immediately leaped forward and grabbed the arm silently. Fist raised, I suddenly recognized the round, shocked eyes of my roommate, halfway to an Aikido counter himself.

"What the fuck, dude!" I hissed. "That's my girlfriend!"

Aaron gasped like a landed fish, and stumbled backwards, knocking over a pile of his CDs and tapes. Cary woke at the clatter, sat up, and then quickly snatched the sheets over her chest as she noticed another person in the room. "Um, Matt--?"

"My roommate, Aaron," I quickly explained, turning on a desk lamp. Aaron seemed to have been stricken dumb by the events, and was pale as a ghost. "Whosaidhe was going to be gone for the weekend," I added peevishly.

Aaron found his words, stuttering. "Umm--well--I was supposed to. But my ride is going to be an hour late." He was still staring at Cary. "You're--I can't believe you're real. I thought Matt made you up."

"Made me up?" Cary laughed, and the tension was broken.

"You know--'I have a girlfriend. She's super cool and smart and hot and she lives a long way away.'" Aaron went from pale to flushed. "Guys at school used to say stuff like that after they came back from summer camp."

I relaxed, and suddenly realized that I was standing with slighty dripping hair and holding my towel up with my left hand. "She's real," I said to my shell-shocked roommate, who had now turned at least two shades of crimson.

Cary reached her hand down to shake his. "I'm Cary Bernham. Matt's girlfriend. Pleased to meet you. I usually have more clothing on."

Aaron shuffled backwards, suddenly aware of what he had interrupted. "Dude.Miss. I'm sorry. I've heard stories about people walking in on their roommates while they have a girl. I just thought--sorry. The way he talks about you--I figured there was no way a girl as great as you actually--dude, sorry. Sorry. I'll get out of here."

I caught his elbow. "Not your fault, man. I would have hung a sock on the doorknob or something if I knew you were still on campus." Now I felt like a jerk. And also ridiculously proud that my roommate--who had apparently never believed me about Cary--had seen how absolutely smoking hot she was.

Aaron nodded, still scarlet, and shuffled back out, mumbling something about watching TV in the common area until his ride got here. As the door closed behind him, I blew out a breath and ran my hand through my damp hair. "Jesus. I'm sorry. What a doofus." I couldn't decide whether I meant Aaron or myself.

Cary pulled her shirt on, braless, and held her hand out for the key. "I'm going to sneak down to the showers myself. I'll be back in a few." Grabbing a small bag from her suitcase and the extra towel I had brought, she gave me a quick kiss and slipped out of the room, skipping down the hall.

While she showered, I considered the incident. If Aaron reported that I had a girl in the room, I might get in trouble with the RA at the very least. Being here on a scholarship kept me extra sensitive to making sure that I toed the line. I considered heading down to the common area to talk with Aaron, but thought better of it. Given his treatment of girls as something like sexy cryptids, he would probably keep his mouth shut. At least to anybody in charge. He seemed more likely to blab about it to other students.

Cary returned shortly, looking even prettier with her damp ringlets of auburn hair. She dried her hair gently with patting motions of the towel, and pulled one of her new outfits from her suitcase. Cutoff denim shorts, sandals, and a rainbow-striped tube top. I grinned, delighted. I also touched her nipple through the fabric and raised an eyebrow.

She flushed. "Well. I wanted to look like I belonged here. At college. You know, women's lib. 'Burn the bra' and all of that? Do girls still do that?"

I shrugged. "There are a couple of courses in Women's Studies. So maybe there. I don't think anybody will complain, regardless." I pulled her into a deep kiss, and I could feel her curling a leg against me as she sagged into my embrace. After we broke apart, I took her hand. "I've heard of a nice place just a couple of miles away that everybody says does amazing Chinese."

She laced her fingers into mine and we walked down the hall. As we exited, we passed the common area, where Aaron was still sitting. We waved at him, and he gave us a hesitant wave back. Even though there weren't many people around, I noticed a few of them--guys and girls both--giving Cary a long look as she walked past. If she noticed as well, she made no indication. I hoped it made her feel less like she was competing with anybody.

Dinner at Pearl's was great. Not only did it really hit the spot to have something other than the food from the mess hall, but I felt like a prince sitting across from Cary. More than once I noticed other diners looking at us, and I wanted to shoutShe chose me!I told Cary about my fumbling attempts at piano (all music majors and minors had to take a piano class), and promised to play her something when I was good enough. She told me about a series of paintings she had been doing inspired by our prehistoric getaway.

Afterwards, we went to the nearby movie theater and sawTrue Lies. More than once Cary and I gave each other knowing looks as certain scenes reminded us of Ty's graduation party. When Jamie Lee Curtis did a sexy dance and accidentally fell on the floor, I burst out laughing--it reminded me so much of Cary.

We got back into the dorm without any issues, and Cary happily returned to the top bunk. It was a tight fit to squash both of us onto a mattress meant for one college student, but we made it work. Entangled in each other's limbs, we fell asleep. I was truly content for the first time in a month and a half.

The next day, I showed her more of the campus and the town--what little of it I had the time to discover. We also found a nice regional park similar to the ones back home. Out of habit, we found a trail that looped around a few miles and started into the semi-wilderness. We talked happily as we walked, and chuckled about the previous night's incident. "I'm not sure Aaron has ever seen a girl in that sitation before," I said. "We're just lucky he didn't pull out an Instamax and start taking pictures of you."

"We certainly gave him a shock," Cary giggled.

"I thinkyougave him heart failure,mon amour," I replied. "When I walked in, he was reaching towards you. I almost decked him." I tilted my head. "He's not super well-adjusted. I wonder if he really was just trying to see if you were real."

Cary shook her head. "He didn't do anything--he was just surprised. I'd have been surprised too at his age if I had walked into my college dorm room and found a half-nakedguysleeping on the top bunk in my room." She stretched, and the gold bracelet glittered prettily on her wrist in the afternoon light. "Especially since my freshman roommate was such a prude. Besides, I've dealt with worse than a teenager surprising me out of a deep sleep."

I frowned, thinking of her past. "Yeah. As if one psycho in your past wasn't enough then you had fucking Eric."

Several moments of silence followed, and silently cursed myself for mentioning his name. "I think it's time," Cary said hesitantly. I gave her a searching look, and she went on. "I already told you about Adam and my first marriage and what a terrifying disaster that was," she said. "But to really get a sense of what I walked into afterwards and what a piece of crap Eric was--is--you should hear about Valentine's Day."

I sighed. "Let me guess. He managed to ruin that one, too. Worse than your birthday?"

"Much worse." Cary's gaze was distant. "Yeah,muchworse."

I rubbed her arms and pulled her close to me by her hip. "We'll make this next Valentine's Day really good to make up for it," I promised.

She barked a cynical laugh. "It had better be pretty amazing, then."

=====

"Eric and I had been married for nearly two years. I already told you that after Adam, he was a breath of fresh air. He seemed sonormalin comparison. And he was so worldly and sophisticated! He'd been to Europe twice already, and knew all about politics. At least, he certainly hadopinionsabout Reagan and Andropov, and I was too naïve to realize that he didn't need to be informed to have opinions.

I really look down on Eric now as a small, mean, unimaginative, selfish man--especially in bed. But at the time, I thought I was in the throes of love. He would take me to the movies, to dinner, to concerts (if I asked), and I was having the time of my life. I was painting and just getting a foot in the door with a cooperative studio in town. And I didn't think it was odd that Eric always wanted sex--even though after the first few months I had begun to catch on that he never did anything for me without the expectation of "payment."

I had asked about having kids, and Eric always demurred and said we should enjoy just being a couple first. It sounded sensible to me. It was after the first company Christmas party that things started to change. First of all, I noticed that Eric was getting pretty friendly with some of secretaries who were there--and it didn't seem to matter if they were married. Secondly, he noticed that some of his coworkers were attempting to get friendly withme. I didn't let it go anywhere, obviously, but it seemed to make him angry.

On the ride home, he kept asking what I had done to lead them on, and no matter how much I protested that I had just been sitting by the punch bowl and making polite conversation, he didn't believe me.Thatwas when he started asking about what I did with my days--who I worked with, if they were married, and so on.

For Christmas my dad and stepmother came over to visit us--dad was still alive then, but the lung cancer was starting to wear him down. Eric gave me some really skimpy lingerie, and I was mortified opening it up in front of them. And instead of showing any sort of shame or apologizing, he said, "Oh,nowyou're embarrassed? What about at the Christmas party a few days ago?"

He had somehow constructed this narrative in his head that I had been shopping myself around to his coworkers and giving them a view of my body whenever I could. Of course, it was ridiculous--I was so nervous about trying to make a good impression on his office-mates that I was mostly paralyzed with anxiety at the time. AndEricwas the one who had picked out my revealing green dress, even after I had wanted to wear a more conservative sweater.

Anyway, there were little things like that for a few weeks.

One day I came home from the studio after we had been visited by a local business owner looking to commission some illustrations for advertisements at a trade show. He wanted to talk to me and to Pablo--a sculptor at the studio--over lunch. So of course we went. Well, it was a smaller town in the early 80's, and Eric was on lunch, too. He saw me walk into the restaurant with two strange men, and immediately leaped to the wrong conclusion. Theonlyconclusion somebody like him was capable of reaching.

I came home and he grabbed my arms so hard that he bruised me. He started yelling at me, asking how long "the affair" had been going on, and accusing me of "whoring myself out just to try to get my stupid painting off the ground." He was unhinged. I was crying so hard I was nearly hysterical--I had no idea what he was talking about, and he stormed out in a fury.

He came back drunk that night--he had driven himself, of course, and nearly run over the bushes in the front yard. When I tried to talk sense to him, he just started ripping my clothes off and repeating, "You're mine. Nobody else's." It was scary. Luckily, he fell asleep before he could do too much else.

The next morning, he was cool as a cucumber. He gave a half-apology by saying, "I'm sorry we had a fight." As ifIhad instigated anything. But I was so grateful that he didn't keep yelling at me that I let it pass. But for the next month, things started to get strange.

I had received a couple of calls at home from somebody who just hung up when I answered, and from a woman who thought that I was Eric's visiting sister. Even as naïve as I was, I had begun to wonder what was going on: especially when Eric suddenly kept getting "held over" at the office after work every week. My friends immediately suggested to me that he was cheating. A few of them offered advice about how to keep him from straying, but it all made me blush, and I didn't really believe yet that he was having an affair.

As February approached, he told me to clear my weekend and the first couple of days of the week for Valentine's Day--we were going to do something really special. He also told me to start going to the gym more and doing my Jazzercise or aerobics. I was a little hurt at the suggestion that I was letting myself go, but I did as he said.

The Friday before, he surprised me by having a full outfit delivered from Montgomery Ward to the house for me: short pink satin dress, lacy pink underwear and bra, and glossy lipstick. I was delighted--even though it wasn't the sort of stuff I would have picked out for myself, it showed that he was thinking of me and trying to be thoughtful. Or so I thought.

When he got home and I hugged him and said thank you, he seemed genuinely confused. Then he seemed mysteriously angry. After I pressed him on it, he grumbled rather unconvincingly that it was meant to have been a surprise, and I had ruined it. He went back to the office, and said he had a couple of other things to finish.

When I took the dress out of its mylar bag to try it on, I found a packing slip--it had been delivered to the billing address rather than the shipping address. The shipping address was across town, and it was supposed to go to somebody named Katie.

Naturally, I started putting the pieces together. I may have been naïve and trusting, butthiswas too obvious. I didn't call my parents or girlfriends--I was determined that I would handle this myself. Since Eric was out "at work" again, I took the dress and underwear back to Montgomery Ward and exchanged it all for the right size. I had a copy of the receipt stapled to the packing slip, and it was easy to just pretend that my clueless husband had gotten the measurements wrong.

Whoever Katie was, she wasn't going to getthisdress.

When I woke up the next morning, Eric was back and in a much better mood. I told him that I had tried on the dress and underwear and that it was all the wrong size. I played dumb and told him that I just went back and got it in the right size, since I had the receipt it had come with. He looked nervous, but I steadfastly refused to acknowledge the other woman's name.

Maybe he thought he was in the clear, because he didn't try to explain anything. He just went and started watching TV. When I asked what we were doing this weekend that I had cleared my plans for, he just shrugged and said, "It's all messed up now. Do what you want."

So I told him I was going shopping and drove to the address from the packing slip where "Katie" lived. It wasn't hard to spot her--she was a blonde lady with big sunglasses and big boobs. Big enough that the dress would have fit her rather than me. I was furious. I actually got out and talked to her, pretending to be a prospective renter, and curious about the apartment complex. I told her that my husband and I were trying for a baby, and asked how soundproof the walls were. She just laughed and said "Trust me, everybody here has heard louder."

When I went home, Eric asked why I hadn't bought anything while shopping. I told him that I didn't see anything that I liked, and he muttered "That's a first," as if I were some shopping-crazy bimbo. It made me want to slug him. Sunday he went to a bar and told me not to bother "tagging along," as if I wanted to hang around with him in a loud, messy sports bar all day.

When Valentine's Day rolled around on Tuesday, I had determined that I was going to face him. He told me we were going to a fancy restaurant, so I put on the pink ensemble and made myself as pretty as I could--as if I were dressing for the runway. Or a battle. I put on my long coat over it all.

When we got to the restaurant, he said he and his "girlfriend" were here for a reservation under "Sanchez." When we sat down, he immediately ordered a vodka for himself and a glass of wine for me. I sweetly asked who Katie was, and why the dress and underwear had been sized for somebody taller and bustier than me.

Rather than admit to anything, he just got evasive and starting making accusations about how I never made time for him, and was always at the studio--which wasn't true in either respect. He drank his vodka faster than I would have believed possible. I went to the powder room for a moment to collect my thoughts and take some deep breaths. I had been promised a romantic Valentine's Day, and instead I was having navigate the tantrums of a husband who had almost certainly been unfaithful.

By the time I got back a few minutes later, he had ordered more drinks for both of us, despite the fact that I had barely sipped my wine. Well, I was getting angrier and angrier--Eric had clearly been fooling around with another woman. Looking back on the past two years, it was increasingly obvious that nothing I tried to do made him happy enough. He always seemed to want something more than I could give him.

And I had cleared my week forthis? I had dimly hoped that he would make some grand gesture, or at least talk to me. In the back of my mind, I had held onto the hope that this big dinner would be our way of reconnecting. Instead, he was evasive and sullen and just kept knocking back drinks like it was going out of style, and encouraging me to do the same.

You better believe I finished the wine, and downed the martini he had ordered as well. It seemed like everything was falling apart. The last straw was when the waitress came by and asked if we wanted anything else, and Eric not only said, "What areyouup to tonight?" but when the lady said, "I don't think your wife would like that very much," he shook his head and said, "Wife? Hardly."

That did it. I stood up and walked to the bar--a little more unsteady than I would have thought for only having a single glass of Pinot Grigio and a martini. I wasn't ready to leave after getting all dressed up, but I couldn't stand to be around my philandering creep of a husband. So, I went and found an empty spot at the bar and asked the bartender for a drink.