The stress of it all almost made me faint. Dave commented on how pale I was. I made an excuse to go back in the bathroom and sent a quick text to John—after vomiting in the toilet. As I returned to the main room, I heard John’s incoming text signal sound from the corridor. I felt nauseous again. It was that close.
The next problem was the dress laid out on the bed. John had bought it for me that afternoon and it was in a style that no self-respecting wife would wear when away from her husband. It also clearly signalled I was preparing to go out. Thank fuck, the lingerie John had bought to go with it was still in the bag and not laid out. I thought about what other clothes were in the closet. They’d all been bought by John and none were appropriate. They were the sets I kept at the office. Those and two sets of work uniforms was all I had. As subtly as possible, I returned to the bedroom, pushed the lingerie bag off the bed and kicked it under it. While talking to Dave to distract him, I returned the dress on the bed to the closet and chose the most modest replacement. I put it on in the bathroom and looked at my reflection critically. It showed way too much cleavage. I did up an extra button but that just made it look silly. I took it off again before returning to the main room and begged off going to the hotel restaurant. My explanation that I was feeling sick wasn’t a lie. I could feel reflux burning the top of my stomach.
Gentleman Dave quickly accepted my apologies and ordered room service. When he noted I hardly ate anything, we got in the bed and he cuddled me to sleep. He was gone when I woke the next morning. The terror of the previous night stayed with me all day.
The worry continued into the next evening. I went to the restaurant with John, but made sure we acted like business associates. He wanted to go out dancing, but I wasn’t in the mood. I knew John wouldn’t accept another night away from me, so I had the dilemma of where to sleep that night. If Dave turned up again and John was in my room or I wasn’t, made no difference. I was finished either way. In the end, I rang Dave on our home line from John’s room. I knew it was a ninety minute drive from home to there, so I set my alarm for ninety minutes. You can imagine how relaxing and fun that ninety minutes was. John got off twice, once on my face. I didn’t even come close. I rushed back to my own room and was showering when my alarm went off.
I told John we were finished on the drive home the next afternoon. He took it badly to say the least. Called me a prick-tease that had made him risk his happy marriage and family for what? Somewhat vanilla sex for a couple of months. He laid it on thick about the bonus he’d given me, the dresses and all the other gifts. I knew he’d cut me off emotionally again and that it would hit me hard as usual. Somewhere along the line, I promised him one last, special session. I think the implication was clear. Of course, my plan was to delay that day as long as possible, maybe until I was pregnant and ready to resign anyway. In the meantime, I’d give Dave my last virginity, maybe after we’d ceremonially flushed my pills. I certainly had some making up to do with my husband, that was for sure.