No Ordinary Affair (5 page)

He wasn’t even going to drive me home. Fancy that.

“I’m fine to drive,” I said. “You stay here.”

“I’ll give him a lift back,” Richard said.

“Perhaps you feel poorly because you’re pregnant,” Marion offered.

“No,” I said more curtly than I’d intended. Mark and I had discussed children and I’d been ready in our second year of marriage. But he always said he wanted to wait until he found a better work situation, although he did nothing but complain about it. And I wasn’t about to have a baby without his full cooperation, so I continued to take birth control pills religiously.

I drove home rapidly, eager to be away, to be alone. At home I went upstairs to the bathroom, ran the tub full and stripped in front of the mirror, sighing nervously as I turned to inspect my bare bottom reflected in the glass.

It wasn’t as red as I expected, which filled me with a strange disappointment. But there were two distinct oval marks, one with a crescent shaped purple edge to it. I traced the mark with my finger, remembering the blow that had left it. It had been the third one, the one that I remember hurting the most - the one that had brought the flood of tears.

Professor Willoughby
, I thought. 
I will not tell falsehoods.

I leaned over the sink, my fin
gers pressing between my legs. 
I will not tell falsehoods. 

I looked back as I worked my fingers against the sensitive bud of flesh,
looked at the marks on my bum. 
I will not tell falsehoods
.

My breath came faster and faster now. “I will not tell falsehoods,” I said
it
aloud
this time, and then
again and again as my clitty stiffened beneath the soaked fingers that worked them, until the spasms came and the words dissolved into moans.

I leaned panting over the sink, waiting, waiting, waiting for the guilt. It didn’t come this time, because I was telling myself now that this wasn’t my fault. It was Mark’s. Because if he knew me and took care of me and gave me what I needed then there would be no need for this. No need at all.

I turned and sunk into the tub, closing my eyes. I felt suddenly and inexplicably exhausted, completely drained of energy and emotion. Spent.

It was all I could do to drag myself from the water and get into my pajama set. And later, when Mark crawled in bed beside me and pushed his hardening cock against my bottom it pressed right up against the mark I’d traced in the mirror and I turned away, feeling he wasn’t worthy to touch me there now.

The next morning I was up early, searching through my closet for my second nicest dress.

“Feeling better?” Mark asked.

“Fine,” I said dismissively as I pulled out a short plaid skirt. Would that be too obviously schoolgirl? Probably so. I put it back and pulled out a white flowing skirt embroidered with little pink flowers. I’d bought it at the end of summer sale the previous year and it still had the tag.

“Perfect,” I said
out loud
.

“Perfect?” he asked. “For what?”

I quickly pulled a pink sweater from the nearby shelf. “Perfect to go with this sweater,” I said, completing my selection with a blouse that had a Peter Pan collar. I also grabbed a
p
air of pink pumps with low, dainty heels.

“Dressing up again?” Mark asked, adjusting his tie in the mirror.

“Dressing up?” I asked, pulling on the skirt and buttoning it on the side. “One outfit as much like any other, Mark. Isn’t that what you told me last night?”

He stopped at looked at me. “Did I say that?”

I pulled the shirt on and began fastening the little pearl buttons. “Yes,” I said, without looking at him. “Yes you did.”

“I don’t remember,” he said.

“No, I should think you don’t,” I replied, unable to keep the hurt out of my voice. “You were too eager to hustle me out the door for dinner with your friends.”

Mark stood and walked over. “They’re your friends too, Mary.”

“Yes, of course.” I dabbed some more lip gloss on my mouth and then stood, dropping the tube in my purse.

“See you later then?” I asked, walking towards the bedroom door.

“Mary,” he asked after me. “Is everything all right?”

I stopped but didn’t look back. “Of course it is, Mark,” I said. “Everything is just fine.”

But of course it wasn’t, and I knew it even if - as I suspected - Mark would have put the whole matter out of his mind by the time he got to work. I arrived early, an hour early to be exact.
Miss Parsham
was already there and looked genuinely shocked to see me.

“Here before you’re set to start work and dressed up again?” she asked, suspicion edging her voice. “Let me remind you, dear, I cannot pay you extra.”

“I’m dressing up because I’m meeting a friend for lunch,” I said calmly. “And I don’t expect you to pay me extra. I’m here because I enjoy the job.”

“How was school last night?” she asked.
Miss Parsham
was never completely comfortable when I said nice things, although on some occasions I could almost swear she was softening.

“We didn’t have it,” I said. “Mark and I went to dinner with some friends.”

“That’s nice,” she said.

“Not really,” I replied. “I wasn’t feeling well so I came home early.”

“Good lord, please tell me you aren’t harboring some contagion,”
Miss Parsham
barked. “I have to drive to Winstead today to look at some aprons from the 1920’s. The last thing I need is to get sick on the road.”

“No,” I said. “It’s not contagious. I promise.”

“How can you be sure?” she asked, looking at me over her glasses.

“I just am.” I walked over to a box of glassware. “Would you like me to price these?”

“Yes,” she said. “I was going to do it myself but I’d probably best be off. I need to run by the bank to get some money for this sale, so please do be extra solicitous of our customers. If they don’t buy some of these things I’ll have no place to put the new acquisitions.”

I silently agreed. I often wondered how
Miss Parsham
was able to keep the place open, given that she bought more than she sold. And although she regularly griped that she could barely afford me, she’d given me two raises over the past year and holiday and birthday bonuses far above what some of my professional friends got from their companies.

Two couples came in as she was leaving – American tourists. I smiled and made myself extremely helpful, pleased to see how delighted they were by our antiques. Two hours later they departed with three shopping bags stuffed with trinkets to help them remember their visit, and left me with a sense of relief at having successfully fulfilled my mission so early in the day.

Waiting on customers was far preferable to what I’d have been doing had they not arrived, which would have been watching the minutes on the huge cuckoo clock over the door edge by. Yesterday Ethan Willoughby had showed up by noon. It was twenty till when another couple walked in, regulars who always spent at least an hour perusing the shelves as they fussily made selections.

I thought for a moment that I was going to cry when the woman exclaimed over a shelf stacked with new things
Miss Parsham
had put out from the previous sale. There would be no lunch break for me today.

And when Ethan Willoughby walked in promptly at noon, I felt myself filling to the brim with resentment towards the couple, who were bickering over the purchase of two nearly identical musty hymnbooks.

“I could make you a good deal if you take both,” I said desperately.

“Probably not good enough,” the old man snapped. “Besides, we’ll only be wanting one.” He slowly turned the pages.
"
We’ll just select the one that has the best songs.
"

I turned away, crestfallen,
fighting down the temptation to snap at them, asking how they would know which songs were the best.  Instead, I
walked over to Ethan Willoughby who was wearing a long black coat and white cashmere scarf. His hair was loose today, and he wore wire-rimmed specs that made him look even more professorial and – if possible – even more attractive.

“I’m sorry…” I began.

“Sorry?” he cut me off incredulously. “Mary, you were supposed to be ready for class.”

I started to say something and faltered. This was a game, just a game. But it felt real as I stood there, grasping for an excuse.

“
Miss Parsham
…”

“Your
aunt
,” he corrected, “was supposed to be informed that you had class.” He sighed and pushed his hands deep into his pockets, his annoyance obvious. “It would appear you willfully neglected to tell her so. Please don’t think I can’t see through your obvious attempt to duck school.”
 
He paused, looking at me and I shifted from foot to foot, looking at my pink shoes.
 
“This will not be tolerated, Mary. You know that. So after you finish here today I expect you to come straight to the school. For detention.”

I looked up, shocked. He wanted me to come up there? After work? How could I when I had class?

“I have school tonight,” I began.

“Indeed you do,” he said. “And you’ll complete all your lessons in detention.” He leaned in towards me until he was whispering in my ear. “And now I must be going, but I expect you in my classroom as soon as your aunt is finished with you. There will be a line on the wall. Write it until I tell you to stop, Mary, and contemplate your behavior as you do. Afterwards I will punish and then y
ou’ll again have a clean slate.
”

“Punish?” I breathed the word, my voice filled with expectation and fear.

“Of course,” he said quietly. “The penalty for a young lady who ducks class is…severe.”

“Miss! Miss!”

I locked eyes with him for a moment before turning back to my customers. The woman was holding aloft an old ring with a blue stone in the center. “Is this a real sapphire?”

“Excuse me,” I said woodenly and turned back to the shoppers. I heard the door click behind me as I did and knew Ethan was gone.

I really don’t know how I got through the rest of the afternoon. My head spun, replaying our conversation over and over. Somehow I managed to help the couple and several other shoppers who came in throughout the day. And when
Miss Parsham
returned to find the antique cash register filled with money from sales she was so pleased she gave me one of her rare hugs and a gift – a lovely cameo brooch she clipped to the center of my collar.

I smiled as she did
that
. Sometimes she
was
like a doting aunt. But she wasn’t my aunt, and I wasn’t a student in Ethan Willoughby’s school. It wasn’t real; none of it was real. I kept reminding myself of that but I was on autopilot now, with no intentions of going to class that evening. All I could think of was how convenient it was that I had evening classes, which would give me the perfect excuse for being away for three stolen hours in my very own Fantasy Come To Life.

It only seemed more perfect when Mark called to say he’d been enlisted to decorate the gymnasium at St. Regis for the upcoming science fair. I tried to sound disappointed that I’d not have the chance to have supper with him before class that night, when in fact I felt no disappointment or all. Nor guilt, for that matter. It should have bothered me, my callousness. But it would not, not till later.

At that moment I was completely consumed with wanting and spent the rest of the afternoon savoring the delicious dread of what the evening was to bring. Detention with a stern professor. Would he use the cane this time? He’d said the punishment would be severe. Part of me wondered if I’d be up to handle that kind of chastisement, even when my nipples hardened and my pussy throbbed at the very thought of Ethan Willoughby lifting my skirt, possibly skimming my panties down…

Would that be cheating, if he saw my bum? I decided not. It wasn’t sex, after all, this, this…whatever it was. It was simply a bit of role-playing, a chance to savor in a simple, undetached, noncommittal way just the sort of thing my husband was not man enough to do. Was it my fault that Mark lacked imagination? No, so why should I have to suffer with want? We only lived once, right? And when this was over I would have a naughty little secret and the memory of experiences I’d have otherwise never enjoyed.

“That’s it then!”
Miss Parsham
handed me an empty box. We’d labeled all the purchases from her latest expedition and by the time I left she was humming happily, and I was wishing every day at the shop could be so successful.

I left
as if
I
were
driving for home and then backtracked around the town square. It was sunny and cool, with the long shadows of late afternoon falling across the meadows as I drove. A flock of black-faced sheep huddled against a stone barn at the farm just ahead of the Drumlin place, and I shifted in my seat, knowing I was getting closer.