The Stranger

"Which one is yours?"

The question -- and the voice that asked it -- startled him. He was pretty deep in thought, mulling over an argument with his wife that they'd had the night before. He turned to face her, but she pointed back at the playground and smiled. "Which kid is yours?"

He was a little taken aback and didn't answer right away.

"One of them is yours, right? I hope you're not just sitting at a playground watching random kids. That'd be creepy." She spoke with the confidence of one who knew he would eventually catch on and who delighted in the discomfort she was causing him.

"All four of them, actually," he finally replied. "My wife said she had an urgent work thing on a Saturday morning, so here we are."

"Vague urgent work thing? Sounds fishy," she said with a playful smile. He only glanced at her now and then -- he was trying to keep his eyes on his kids. Until the Home Owner's Association finally got around to putting a fence around the playground, he couldn't take his eyes off them for more than a few seconds.

"She never lies to me -- I have no reason to question her," he replied with half a smile. He let his comment linger and waited. He didn't know what her game was, but he was willing to wait and see. Her move. She stayed about five paces away from him, to the right and a little behind where he stood. Close enough that she was in his peripheral vision, though just barely. She was positioned in a way that kept her mostly hidden from the playground. Completely hidden if the shadows were just right.

After a minute or two of silence, during which he forced himself not to look her way, she spoke again. "So... you don't know me, but..." He turned and gave her a questioning look. She seemed almost flustered, hands shoved in her pockets. "I mean... we're strangers and all, but I've seen you around the neighborhood. You've probably seen me out here with my kids -- you just don't remember."

He took a moment to look her over. Tight t-shirt partially concealed with an unzipped hoodie. Tight blue jeans. Sandals showing off freshly painted nails. Wavy brown hair swept up in a way that showed off her elegant neck. Healthy curves, top and bottom. When his eyes returned to her face, he saw a smug little smile that told him she knew he had been checking her out.

When was the last time his wife had taken such care to look sexy?

"Anyway," she went on, feeling a little more confident after seeing she had his attention, "my husband promised me anything I wanted for my birthday. A fantasy fulfillment of my choosing." She took a step closer to him and looked down at the ground. Her voice lowered. "I told him that I wanted one time -- a freebie -- with a stranger."

"Why did you ask for that?" he said nervously, ready to back up if she got too close.

"Doesn't matter, does it?"

He shrugged. "Probably matters to your husband."

"Well, that's between me and him," she shot back.

"And what did your husband say?"

She smirked. "He wasn't too happy. Didn't even let me explain." She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "But he knows I love him. He'll come around." She took a few steps backwards while maintaining eye contact with him. "And when he does, maybe I'll see you around here again."

He let the weight of that not-so-subtle suggestion sink in. She smiled coyly as the implications registered. Then she nodded towards the playground. "Better check on your kids... stranger." As he turned to make sure all three of the older kids were still in sight and still mobile and the youngest still asleep in the stroller, she turned and jogged to the sidewalk, disappearing around the corner.

His eyes remained on the kids, but his thoughts wandered far afield until his stomach urged him to call everyone back to the house. He got a text from his wife. Back in a bit. Bringing lunch home with me.

*******

"Sorry to rush out like that," his wife apologized as she pulled food out of boxes and bags and set it on the table.

"No problem," he said pensively, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching his wife move around. Her hair was pulled into a hurried ponytail, and she wore a light sweater than still managed to look frumpy. "Sounded pretty urgent."

"Yep," she replied. "Definitely was." The tension over their argument from the previous night was still present, but slightly dissipated. She was at least talking to him again. "You and the kids have a good time?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered, trying to get a look at his wife's face. Trying to see what she might be thinking. "We went to the playground for a while."

"That's nice," she said, handing him a sandwich. "They need to get out more, especially when the weather's nice." And with that, the conversation was over.

That night, as he lay next to her in the dark, he listened to the steady breathing that told him she was asleep. He had hoped that her friendlier behavior that day had been hinting at an openness to intimacy, but by the time he had gotten the last kid to bed, he arrived at his own bedroom to find his wife under the covers and unresponsive. He lay on his back an looked up at the stars visible through the skylight in their bedroom.

He realized that, despite their six years together, the woman next to him was still a mystery. Not that he didn't know her at all, quite the opposite, in fact. But especially now that the kids and jobs kept them so busy, it was so hard to feel like they were growing together instead of living parallel lives. He longed to roll over, spoon up behind her, and tease her awake. They used to do that -- sometimes. But age and familiarity had stolen most of the playfulness and excitement out of their bedroom.

More often than not, during the past year or two sex had become a chore -- something they did because they were supposed to, because it was bad if you were married and didn't have sex. She accommodated his appetite when schedules and energy levels and kids' sleep schedules allowed. But what man wants to feel like his wife is having sex out of duty? Smiling out of duty. Kissing because she should. Reaching around and touching his bare back because that's what she's supposed to do when he's on top of her. Waiting patiently for him to finish. Planning their grocery shopping while he is inside her.

He had even, on a couple of occasions, faked an orgasm because he didn't want her to feel like she was inadequate or undesirable. But honestly, watching her stifle a yawn while he was fully inside her really didn't make him feel desired. And not being sexually desired by his own wife... it was like a wet blanket, not only on his libido but also on his self-esteem.

He wondered, perhaps for the first time, what she was feeling in the midst of all this. Did she care that sex had become an afterthought in their marriage? Did she know or care that he needed more than civility, bagged lunches, and an occasional hug to feel like he mattered to her? Did he matter? Or were they on a path of accepting the status quo, because it was easier than the alternatives?

His last thoughts before he drifted off to sleep were that maybe he could understand why someone would ask for a freebie -- for one time with a stranger. Just to feel alive again.

*******

Life continued at its usual pace: school, work, playtime, dinner, housework, and so on. His wife had a busy week at the office, and his job required a few extra hours near the end of the week. By the time Friday night rolled around, he had barely seen his wife except in passing. She promised things would slow down soon, and he knew she meant it when she said that. But still...

"Hun?" he asked softly into the darkness that night.

"Hm?" she responded sleepily.

"Maybe we should do something together tomorrow. Like a picnic or a hike or something. The weather's good enough."

"Hm. Maybe," was all she replied before sleep overtook her.

*******

The next morning, he awoke to find a note in the kitchen: Had to run in to the office for a few hours. Let me know if you make any plans for later. Can join you after lunch, maybe.

He rolled his eyes. He was a patient man. But he was still just a man.

*******

"I wondered if I'd find you here today." He almost jumped when her voice over his shoulder startled him. How was she able to just sneak up on him like that? "By yourself again?"

"Just for the morning, I think," he answered, not turning around. Watching the kids at play on the swings and slides gave him reason to not look at her.

"How do you feel about that -- about being left alone again?" she asked, hinting at something.

"I'm happy to support her. I value her work," he answered truthfully.

"I'm sure you do," she said, her voice sounding like a smile. "But that's not what I asked. I asked how you feel."

For a whole minute, maybe two, he didn't say anything. He thought about her question. He weighed the idea of sticking to his original answer. Then, with a small sigh, he confessed, "A little lonely. You can't coast in a marriage. Sooner or later you lose all momentum." Then, trying to shift the topic, he half-turned her direction and asked somewhat accusingly, "Is there a reason you're staying out of sight?" The confidence in his tone petered out as he got a look at her. With the temperature slightly warmer than the previous week, she had doffed the hoodie, leaving her chest prominently displayed by a tight t-shirt with a low neckline. A simple braid of hair trailed over her shoulder and rested just above her cleavage, drawing even more attention to her assets.

"If your kids saw me," she answered, nodding their direction, "they might ask questions."

He nodded in agreement.

"I thought about you this week," she said. "I wondered what you were thinking. What you thought of me. If you thought of me." When he didn't reply, she asked, "Did you think of me?" A slight quiver in her voice betrayed vulnerability.

He allowed a slight chuckle. "Yeah. Yeah, I thought of you."

She giggled. It was musical. "Good."

They stood in silence watching the children. The morning had been cool, but now the arc of the sun brought it just over the treeline and he basked gratefully in the warmth of its rays. He almost forgot she was there.

"My birthday is in two weeks," she stated.

"Hm," he replied. He turned to ask a question, only to find that she had already made her discreet exit. He shook his head and thought, Each woman is a profound mystery.

He texted his wife, asking if she thought they could do a trip to the park that afternoon. He could make some sandwiches, bring a kite...

Feeling a little under the weather, she replied a few minutes later. Another time.

*******

The next morning he awoke to the feeling of a hand on his crotch. His wife was nuzzled up next to him, lazily rubbing his member to a state of stiffness. Once that was accomplished (and it hadn't taken long), she tugged his boxers down, rolled a condom over his cock, and lazily climbed on top of him. Leaning on one arm, she used her free hand to line him up, then slid down with a grunt. She set a moderate pace, keeping her face turned a little to the side. Morning breath.

He knew it was a courtesy fuck -- an action born out of tender duty. It had been a few weeks since they had been intimate, and it didn't look like their evenings were freeing up anytime soon. And with all the kids home for the summer... If he dwelt too long on the motivations and meanings behind the mechanics, he would probably soften inside her. Instead, he called to mind the images of the woman at the park. Her smile, her neck, her tight shirt. He could picture that woman lusting after him, commenting on the feeling of his member pressing inside her. He cupped his wife's firm butt cheeks with both hands and pictured the curves he had seen contained in those tight jeans on the playground. He heard his wife's heavy breathing -- heavy more from exertion than from arousal -- and he imagined moans of pleasure. With a few quick thrusts he was finished. She pushed down hard on him, taking him deep, because he had said once that he liked that. She paused for half a minute while his breathing slowed, then leaned down and pecked his cheek before dismounting. Morning breath.

He had questions. He wanted to connect with her like they used to. She was finishing up in the bathroom as he sat up and pulled his boxers back into place. They had not even spoken since waking up. Just as he was about to speak, the door handle to the bedroom began jiggling. Someone was awake and demanding their attention. Half the time, their attempts at morning sex were interrupted by that same sound. After a quick glance to confirm that they were both sufficiently clothed, he opened the door and scooped up their oldest girl-- rushing towards him in sleepy exuberance. Conversation would have to wait. Again.

*******

On the days when he was home with the kids, he had been out to the playground with them twice, but he didn't see her again. Not until Friday night. He and his wife were home and the kids had just gone to sleep. He had been feeling frisky and suggested that they could retire early. He wanted to taste her, to enjoy her, to see her face, to take their time. She was feeling achy and didn't want to be physically close to him. Could they just watch a show together instead?

He tried not to be upset. He tried not to take it personally. He tried not to interpret her response as a personal rejection. He really tried.

"I'm going out for a run," he stated a little curtly, digging in their closet for his running shoes. "If you're still up when I get back, maybe we can watch something."

"OK," she replied, running her fingers through her hair and looking out the window. There was still a hint of daylight, but that would soon be gone.

In a few minutes, he was out the door and stretching his legs. It had been a while since he had gone running, and his body was taking every opportunity to remind him of that fact. He made it around the block once and then walked a minute before running again. He knew each trip around the block was a third of a mile. If he could at least do three laps...

He loved his wife. He wanted her to be more like... like the stranger. She used to be like that -- playful, confident, delighting in her own sexiness. Physically she had changed very little over the years, and he found her no less sexy. Perhaps more, in fact. But it was as if her self-image no longer had the category of "sexy."

Was it wrong to not just accept the changes life brings? To want to feel alive and vibrant again, to be desired -- isn't that what he wanted? Is this what it would take? Would it maybe change things at home if he-

"Hey, stranger." She was leaning against the trunk of a car at the end of a driveway. She had on a light, silky robe that was held shut only by her clasped hand. The robe went down to her mid-thigh, and he could see nothing below it. He wondered what, if anything, was under it.

He decided he needed to take a break anyway. He paused, gratefully taking the water bottle she offered him. "I saw you out my window," she explained. "I hoped you'd come back around again."

Hands on his knees, he took a few deep breaths before taking a drink.

"You do this every night?" she inquired.

"No," he said, still panting. "First time in a while."

"Something on your mind?" she asked knowingly. He paused to think, but then she didn't give him a chance to answer. "Nevermind. Not my business, right? I'm just a stranger. And I want to keep it that way."

"Oh," he answered, a little confused.

"Because my birthday is next weekend, and my present is one time with a stranger," she said, emphasizing the last word.

He thought about what awaited him at home. He thought of how change seemed so unlikely, and of how hopeless that made him feel. He thought of what it would feel like to be with someone who wanted him, even if it was just once.

"Just one time," she said, pressing her advantage while he was thinking. "No strings attached. Never mention it again."

"Your husband is OK with this?"

"I think I've convinced him," she smirked. "And don't worry, he's not home -- no one is watching us from the window or anything." He looked up at the lighted window on the corner of the house behind her. He also noticed she was holding a baby monitor.

"And I just show up at your place and you're waiting there for me, and-"

"A hotel," she stated. "Saturday afternoon. Say you're in and I'll give you the details. Say you're out and you'll never hear from me again. No hard feelings."

He gave her a dubious look.

"But let me assure you," she continued, lowering her voice and taking a few steps forward until she was almost face to face with him, "It will be good. Very, very good."

"What if Saturday doesn't work. I've got kids, and-"

"You've got a job, right? Just make sure something urgent comes up that day. Your wife will understand."

He squinted his eyes and looked at her. She stared back, her eyes playful and her lips pursed, confident and a little nervous. He had questions. He felt certain she wouldn't answer them. She lifted her eyebrows just slightly.

"I just say I'm in and you'll take care of everything else?"

"If you mean the details, yes. But you will be taking care of me. You'll be taking real good care of me," she purred.

"And afterwards, we never see each other again?"

"Well, I only get one freebie. If you want to convince your wife to-"

"Okay, okay, I get it," he interrupted, stretching his legs a little before the muscles got too tight.

"So are you in?"

"I need to think about it," he said, suspecting he already knew what he would decide.

She cocked her head, as if she hadn't expected that response. Then, after a moment's thought, she said, "Well, I need an answer soon, or else I need another stranger. I'll put the hotel and time on a piece of paper in my mail box. Then I'm going inside and going to bed. If you decide you're in after one more lap, take the paper. If it's still there in the morning -- I'll know your answer is no."

He nodded, took one more admiring look at her exposed legs, and jogged away.

One lap later, he slowed down as he approached her mailbox. The state of arousal she had caused was thankfully receding as he slowed in front of her house. He put a hand on top of the mailbox and stretched a leg back. She had put the flag up. Opening the box, he pulled out the paper and looked at it. It simply had the name of a hotel and a time: 2pm.

He closed the lid, put down the flag, and pocketed the paper. Then he cooled down with a walk around the block, returning home to find his wife asleep in bed. After he had showered -- and used his hand to find some relief -- he curled up behind his wife. She moaned softly as his arm wrapped around her torso. His thoughts wandered about for a while until they merged into dreams.

*******

Saturday.

His wife had gone to visit her parents one afternoon that week, and she had ended up calling to ask to extend her stay a day or two when some important family matter came up. On the days she was home, he had actually been rather busy at work, covering a handful of evening shifts for one of his managers who had caught the flu. Though he had intended to be extra gracious towards his wife that week, they saw so little of each other that misunderstandings and short tempers made for more than a few tense conversations. So once Saturday arrived, he felt more than ready to escape for the afternoon.

Throughout the morning he was nervous that she would be called away. But aside from a quick errand that she ran in the late morning, they had no interruptions. Shortly after lunch, he took a quick shower, shaved, and picked out clothes that would be comfortable. He walked downstairs to find his wife on the phone. She glanced over at him, and he held up his phone. "Call from the shop -- I have to go in."