Dear Husband,
I heard you with her when I got home last night. I walked upstairs and paused on my way to the bathroom because I thought I heard one of the kids mumbling in her sleep. No, the noise wasn't coming from the kids' room. It was coming from your office. It wasn't a very childish sounding noise either, nor was it your usual late night office work noise. I heard no rustling of papers, no profanity muttered under your breath. I did hear the wheels under your desk chair squeaking as they usually do. The syncopation was different, to be sure, but the squeaking was there. Then I heard a gasp. A soft gasp in a throaty feminine voice that couldn't have belonged to you even when you still did voice acting. No, that tender gasp was all hers.
What were you doing, to get her to make noises like that? Was that what I sounded like, back when our love was still new? I don't remember ever feeling quite that free, or sounding quite that earthy. You were grounded in her; your roots had never grown quite that strong with me.
So I listened, rooted to that spot, and began to feel something unfurl. A freedom began to bloom, one that I'd never shared with you. I'd never experienced that blossom in the comfort of my own home, I'd only caught glimpses of it underneath the sticky leaves of the city, when wandering home at night. I'd hear a noise from a window float down the street, a giggle and a skirt flashing down an alleyway, a stray glance searing my insides. It was never a safe feeling, not something a modest lady like myself could ever indulge.
And yet, here it resurfaced, more insistent than ever. I never had to run far to escape it, it always respected the boundaries of the home until tonight. I found myself encouraging it with a negligent caress through the polyester of my pantsuit. I felt it mirroring the cadence and rhythm of her gasping and your moaning, echoing the squeaking of your chair. I wanted to watch you through the crack in the door, but you had it shut so tightly. I didn't want to disturb you, I didn't want you to know I was there. The muffling made what I could hear all the more tantalizing.
I went to bed that night more satisfied than I'd been in years. But next time, please leave the door open.
Love,
Your Wife
I heard you with her when I got home last night. I walked upstairs and paused on my way to the bathroom because I thought I heard one of the kids mumbling in her sleep. No, the noise wasn't coming from the kids' room. It was coming from your office. It wasn't a very childish sounding noise either, nor was it your usual late night office work noise. I heard no rustling of papers, no profanity muttered under your breath. I did hear the wheels under your desk chair squeaking as they usually do. The syncopation was different, to be sure, but the squeaking was there. Then I heard a gasp. A soft gasp in a throaty feminine voice that couldn't have belonged to you even when you still did voice acting. No, that tender gasp was all hers.
What were you doing, to get her to make noises like that? Was that what I sounded like, back when our love was still new? I don't remember ever feeling quite that free, or sounding quite that earthy. You were grounded in her; your roots had never grown quite that strong with me.
So I listened, rooted to that spot, and began to feel something unfurl. A freedom began to bloom, one that I'd never shared with you. I'd never experienced that blossom in the comfort of my own home, I'd only caught glimpses of it underneath the sticky leaves of the city, when wandering home at night. I'd hear a noise from a window float down the street, a giggle and a skirt flashing down an alleyway, a stray glance searing my insides. It was never a safe feeling, not something a modest lady like myself could ever indulge.
And yet, here it resurfaced, more insistent than ever. I never had to run far to escape it, it always respected the boundaries of the home until tonight. I found myself encouraging it with a negligent caress through the polyester of my pantsuit. I felt it mirroring the cadence and rhythm of her gasping and your moaning, echoing the squeaking of your chair. I wanted to watch you through the crack in the door, but you had it shut so tightly. I didn't want to disturb you, I didn't want you to know I was there. The muffling made what I could hear all the more tantalizing.
I went to bed that night more satisfied than I'd been in years. But next time, please leave the door open.
Love,
Your Wife
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