Mary’s Adventure, Final Part [FF][FM]

Part 1 is [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/e1nckz/marys_adventure_part_1_of_6_fm/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)

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EPILOGUE – FRIDAY

I woke up slowly, not to any alarm or loud noise, but a gentle realization that I was not alone. Granted, Gina had been with me all night, as far as I knew, but in the morning light, with her warm, naked body pressed against my back, I slowly returned to conversation, as relaxed and, frankly, as happy as I could ever remember being. I laid there for a long while, staring out the window on the sunny paradise that I had been reborn into over the past week. In twelve hours or less, I couldn’t see a clock from where I was, I would be back home, back to housework and dutiful living and…and Frank.

The idea of Frank cast a cloud over my sunny paradise. Of course, I always knew I’d have to face Frank eventually, but here, on the day of, with no more time for wild sexual escapades, I had to seriously consider just how this situation was going to come to a head. I had been hoping throughout the week that he would respond to the messages and pictures and videos I had been sending, that the conversation would have already started and gotten through the nasty bits without me having to actually see the hurt in his eyes. True, my feelings towards my husband had…changed over the past week, but I still loved him. Maybe not in the same way, and maybe he would hate me after my metamorphosis. Maybe I’d get home to find all my earthly belongings in a pile on the front lawn with the locks changed.

What if he asked me to repent? “All is forgiven, Mary, if you ask for forgiveness and never do it again?” For some reason, this thought tied my stomach in knots more than the idea of finding my stuff in a pile in front of the house. Could I go back? Could I stuff this newly discovered Mary back in a box and hide it, go back to a normal, peaceful life as a housewife, doting on Frank’s every need, getting underwhelmingly laid a couple times a month and living for Gina to sweep back into town with her stories about her wild adventures?

No.

HELL no. The thought of going back to that lifestyle nearly made me cry. There were some girls out there who could be perfectly happy with that lifestyle, but not me, not anymore. I sighed and pulled away from Gina, who was still softly snoring. Looking back at her, she looked absolutely angelic, her flawless tanned skin and black hair a sharp contrast to the white blankets on the bed, a sweet smile on her sleeping face. For a moment, I forgot my worries and was so absolutely awestruck that I had been lucky enough to be able to call this gorgeous woman not only my truest friend, but now my lover.
Checking my phone, I was not surprised to find nothing from Frank. I thought about sending him a picture of Gina sleeping, but decided against it. With no more sleeps left before our inevitable conversation, it seemed less than ideal to provoke him. Instead, I took a moment to double check everything with our flight, the weather at our layover, any delays that might have sprung up. Everything appeared to be running on time, and so I sent a very different text to my husband.

“Flights look to be on time today. We’ll be landing at 6 tonight. Can you give us a ride?” Send. I set the phone back down on the nightstand and set about preparing for a shower. Not a minute later, my phone chimed. I froze. It couldn’t be…I picked it up.

New text message from Frank:
Can’t. Tired. Get a cab?

I stared at the phone. A week of messages, pictures, videos, and not one indication that he had seen a one of them, aside from the little “Delivered” notification underneath each one of them, but he almost couldn’t have responded to this one any quicker. Oddly, this made me more anxious than anything. Part of me had assumed that he simply hadn’t seen everything I had sent him, that there was something wrong with his phone, or he had misplaced it. In just five words, though, he had confirmed that everything had gone through, everything had been seen, and, for whatever reason, he had chosen not to reply. Our conversation had just become that much more daunting.

–

“That bastard didn’t!”

It was about an hour later, and I’d spent the entirety of my shower thinking in circles about the Frank situation. About the time I finished, Gina strode in like the angel she was and kissed me softly on the forehead. She was in a supremely good mood until I told her about Frank’s response.

“He did,” I said, raising my voice over the shower spray as Gina stepped in. I busied myself at the mirror, brushing my hair and trying to act like I wasn’t bothered by the whole situation.

“Just ‘Sorry, can’t, bye?’ Casual as anything?”

“Casual as anything.”

“Fucker!”

“Well, to be fair, Gina, I have been cheating on him all week. He doesn’t need…”

“The asshole could have at least told you off or something. Going casual, like nothing happened, is fucking underhanded. Low fucking blow. He could at least give you some indication of what is waiting for you when you get home.” My thoughts exactly. It was nice to have someone else say them out loud. Still…

“Maybe he’s casual about it.” A girl can dream, right? “Maybe…”

“If he was casual about it, he’d have been casually responding all week.” Damn. She had a point. “Besides, you know Frank better than that. I know Frank better than that. Mr. Holier-than-thou is going to Bible thump his point home. He’s going to try and chase you back in your shell and fuck over everything you’ve done this week.”

“Well…” I could feel the doubts of my old self clawing their way back. Home was already getting its hooks into me.

“Well, nothing,” she said, turning the shower off and storming out, glistening in the light. Dear God, was she beautiful. “Think back. Do you regret R?”

R seemed like a long time ago…I remembered the way he had showed me pleasure that I had never known possible there in room 1640. I remembered him melting away the last of my inhibitions with the simple words “This is not romance, M. This is sex.” His fingers, his tongue, his dick, all three had shown me what sex SHOULD be, and had shown me what I could be. Did I regret R?

“No. Not for one second.”

“What about Alberto?”

Alberto. The shy bellboy who fucked like a monster, who used me like an instrument of pleasure, not as a lover, but as a fuck toy. Raw, uninhibited, and capable of keeping up with both me and Gina. Could I ever possibly regret my one evening with Alberto?

“Never,” I said, smiling.

“…And me?”

“No.” I didn’t need to think about that one. Not for a moment. The very idea of regretting anything that Gina and I had ever done was a cold and alien concept. What we had done the night before was as blissful and divine an experience as I could ever hope to experience. I stepped up to her and placed my hands on her naked hips. “I could never regret you, Gina.” She blushed and, for once, was left completely speechless. So she kissed me. It said enough.
We weren’t in love, of course. I wasn’t about to drop Frank to run off with Gina for a life of lesbianic bliss, but as close as we’d been for years, we were infinitely closer for the events of the week.

–

My last few hours in St. Bart’s were, sadly, not spent in sinful company. After that last tender moment, perfectly punctuated, we both seemed to realize at the same instant that neither of us had even started packing. In a blur, we both set about cramming all of our belongings into our respective suitcases, then rearranging everything until they would close. Gina phoned down to the front desk for shuttle service to the airport. In a blur, we were whisked away from the stately hotel in which I had experienced so much, and off to the airport. After the chaos that was checking luggage, airport security, and finding our gate with only minutes to spare, there was barely enough time for me to appreciate the attention we (especially Gina) were getting running through the terminal, much less to have a conversation. It wasn’t until we collapsed in our assigned seats on the plane with our carryon luggage safely stowed, mine under the seat in front of me, Gina in the overhead compartment, that we had time to reflect.

I had cheated on my husband. Repeatedly. And I’d LOVED every moment of it. I didn’t regret it.
But Frank was an ever-growing presence in my mind. As we began to taxi from the gate, the reality of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. I was going home, to Frank, and there was nothing that could stop the confrontation we had to have. No, I didn’t regret what I had done, but I regretted putting Frank in the position he was in. I had cheated on him, and, even sitting on the plane, waiting to take off, I couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t do it again. I liked this new side of me, I liked the fun, naughty, wild, crazy intensity of it all, and to put that all back in a box and hide it away…well, that was almost as horrible a thought as the conversation I was going to be having with my scorned husband in the next few hours. Honestly, while I was still pretty sure I loved Frank, if he gave me the ultimatum, him or this new lifestyle, I wasn’t positive I could just give it all up.

That idea hit me hard. Yes, I was a sexually liberated, awakened, badass woman, but I couldn’t deny the housewife side of me any more than I could deny this newfound side of me. The housewife side of me was horrified by the idea that, maybe, just maybe, I would let this beautiful institution of marriage, with all the years I’d poured into it, all the blood, sweat and tears I’d shed to make sure that we were the happiest, strongest couple we could be, just wash away over some petty sexual desires.
At the same time, watching as the island of St. Bart’s shrank below us until we climbed through the clouds and the place of my sexual awakening was finally fully hidden from view and gone, I knew it couldn’t be an isolated incident. The old Mary was gone, or, at the very least, forever changed. I looked to Gina to find that she had been watching me. She offered me a comforting smile.

“Nervous?”

I sighed and nodded. “I have no idea how our conversation is going to go. I know Frank so well, but we’ve never had to face anything like this before.”

“Well,” she said, leaning back in her seat, “as someone who has been on both sides of similar conversations, I can tell you that beating around the bush will only make things worse. You both know what happened, just take it head on. It’s not easy, but it will get it over with, and you’ll be able to control the pace of the conversation.” I gave out a half hearted chuckle.

“How often have you had to have these conversations?”

“Too often,” she said, matter-of-factly. She didn’t seem to be hurt by the memory. She’d answered as casually as anything, like these conversations were a normal part of life. I shook my head. There was clearly more to my best friend’s glamorous life than she’d ever let on, but that was a conversation for another time.
“Alright, hit it head on. Then what?”

–

The car rolled up in front of my quaint, familiar house. It was late afternoon, and the sun would be setting soon. Gina and I had spent the rest of the flight home hammering out the details of the conversation I was about to have with Frank, but sitting there in the back seat of the Uber that Gina had gotten for us, the plan was fading from my mind and panic was setting in. Gina squeezed my arm.

“It’s going to be okay, Mary,” she said softly. “Remember, worst case scenario, you can call me and come stay with me until he cools off.” I nodded, but didn’t get out. Frank’s car was in the garage, and I was pretty sure I could see a light on inside. Frank was home. My last hope at a delay to the conversation was gone. It was time.

But I couldn’t bring myself to open the door.
“…Do you want me to come in with you?”

“No.” I wasn’t sure what Frank was feeling, but I could be fairly certain that he didn’t want to see Gina right now. “No, I need to do this by myself.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice pure comfort and nurturing, “then go ahead.” I nodded, but couldn’t bring myself to move. Finally, Gina leaned across my lap and opened the door for me. “Mary, it’s time.” Again, I nodded, but this time, I managed to actually move, climbing out of the car. Our driver popped the trunk, and I grabbed my bags before going back to say my goodbyes. When I saw Gina, though, I couldn’t find my words. She reached out and grabbed my hand, kissing it on the palm in an oddly comforting gesture. “You’ll be fine, Ms. Mary. You’re a badass.” I smiled and nodded, though I wanted to cry, and I stepped back, allowing Gina to close the door. She blew me a kiss through the window before saying something to the driver. The car pulled from the curb, and I watched as it drove away until it turned at the end of the street, out of sight. My last avenue of escape was gone. With a sigh, I picked up my bags, one in each hand, and walked up the old, familiar walkway up to the old, familiar house. Juggling my bags a bit, I managed to turn the handle and let it swing open. No turning back now.

“Hello?” Silence. The light was on in the dining room where Gina had told me, one week earlier, about the life changing trip, but there was no one there. I set my bags down softly. I felt like I was in church, like disturbing the silence was somehow forbidden. The house had a feeling of phenomenal stillness. For a moment, I wondered how long that light had been on, but a sound from upstairs, a faint creaking of a floorboard or a bedspring, drew my attention away. Slowly, I made my way upstairs, still, for whatever reason, careful not to disturb the silence. Avoiding the creaky spots on the steps came back to me like second nature, which steps were safe and which ones to step on the outsides to avoid the creaky spots, an old habit I picked up over the years to avoid waking Frank on the weekends while I prepared his breakfast. I couldn’t fully explain why I was doing it now, what I was trying to prevent disturbing, but my body went through the motions easily, and in no time, I found myself at the top of the stairs, my heart in my throat. I was certain I’d heard movement from up there.

“Frank? Are you up here?” The words, though not spoken particularly loudly, shattered the silence. I heard the sound again, like someone adjusting slightly in bed, coming from our bedroom. It was a short walk, only maybe ten feet, but it seemed to take forever. When I reached the closed door, I knew, absolutely, that the direction of the rest of my life would be decided just on the other side. I closed my eyes and thought back to R, to Alberto, to that exquisite night with Gina. No regrets. None whatsoever. I opened them to find my hand already on the simple brass knob. With no further hesitation, ready to face judgment for what I had done, I turned it and let the door swing open.

The blinds were drawn, muting the sunlight, leaving the one lit bedside lamp the only effective source of light in the room. By that light, I could easily see Frank, dear, sweet Frank, sitting on the crumpled blankets, his legs hanging over the side of the bed. He was in his work clothes, but they were rumpled and crooked, like he’d been sleeping in them. His had bed head, too. It was obvious that he hadn’t been to work today, at least not for a full day. He didn’t look at me as the door, swinging on its own, softly hit the wall.

“Hello, Frank,” I said softly, trying to sound warm and happy to see him. I don’t know if I succeeded. It sounded false to me.

“Hello, Mary,” he replied, still not looking at me. He sounded distant.

“Do you mind if I come in?” I waited for a reply, but he gave no indication that he’d even heard me. “Frank…”

“No. I don’t think I mind.” I gently stepped inside. It’s odd, having your own bedroom feel unwelcoming. I didn’t let it show, or at least I tried not to, as I walked to the bed, with the flat quilted comforter that paled in comparison to the lush, luxurious, pillowy comforter from the hotel. I pushed the memory from my mind and I settled on the bed next to my husband. We sat in silence for several minutes.

“Frank, I…”

“Don’t.” His voice was soft, but firm, stopping me dead in my tracks. He looked at me, and I looked at him. Dear God, he looked tired. We searched each other’s eyes for some sign of how the conversation was supposed to move forward. The clock on Frank’s nightstand ticked onward, a sound that used to lull me to sleep every night, but now was becoming increasingly unnerving. There were a million things I wanted to say, to open my soul and pour out to my husband, but my husband had said “Don’t,” and here, in our house, it was hard not to let the housewife part of me take over, meek and mild and demure. With one word, he’d flipped a switch in me. His gaze was intense, piercing through me and making me feel like I was some lab specimen under a microscope. When he finally started talking, it was low and flat.
“I’ve spent a lot of time in this room, thinking about everything you sent me while you were away. When we got married, I imagined what I’d do in all manner of hardships, but the scenario of you cheating on me honestly never occurred to me.”

“Frank, I’m…”

“So,” he continued in the same flat tone, as if he hadn’t even heard me, “I’ve had an awful lot of time to stare at the wall and wonder what to do when you walk through that door. I thought about cursing you, or threatening you, or attacking you. Given what you’ve done, I don’t think any of those things would have been completely inexcusable. I had to admit, though, that I couldn’t bring myself to do any of those things. I couldn’t even bring myself to answer your texts. I wanted to, I really did, but…how? How do you respond to something like that? First, the naked picture, which came out of nowhere, then, hours later, an admission of guilt. I didn’t know how to take it. Part of me wanted to condemn you, part of me wanted to comfort you, tell you that everything would be fine, just to come on home, and part of me…well…

“I spent the next day in a haze. When Jack at work asked why I was so off, I told him that I missed you, and the stress of fending for myself was unexpected. So he got me the rest of the week off. Told me to enjoy ‘batching it’ for the week. I didn’t resist. I hoped, at least, that, with time alone, I’d be able to find the words to tell you. Then you started sending me more, and more, and more, and I didn’t know how to take it. For a while, I was in shock, then I hated you, then I convinced myself you, or more likely Gina, was playing a joke on me, then I…accepted it, I guess, then…well…

“I went out last night. To a bar. After that…video you sent me, I decided that turnabout was fair play. I went out to a bar to…sin. Against you. I suppose you must be stronger than me, or weaker, or whatever it takes to turn on your sacred vows, because I couldn’t do it. I left after ten minutes. I wanted to do something to show you how it feels to have that happen, that realization, but I couldn’t do it. I came back home and sat down here. Right here. And then, in the morning, you texted me about a ride from the airport, and it was the easiest thing in the world to reply. It was like talking to a different person. I knew I was in no shape to drive, and so I said no and sent it without even thinking. I knew I should get some sleep, since this conversation was going to be taxing, to say the least, but I took the time to sit, right here, where I had all night, and try to decide what to say to you when you got home.” And with that, he finally broke eye contact, looking down at his hands. I realized I’d hardly breathed during his entire explanation. This had been the most soul baring I’d seen Frank do since shortly after we’d gotten married. I was stunned, flabbergasted, and…intrigued. I felt selfish. With everything I’d done over the week, most of which I still couldn’t bring myself to feel entirely sorry for, the one thing that stuck for me, that I felt well and truly bad for, was not considering Frank’s side. I’d expected him to fire back in a predictable fashion, but he wasn’t dealing with a predictable situation. I was not acting like the woman he’d married. Of course he’d need time to accept what I’d done and formulate his views and ideas. He’d always been a quiet, thoughtful guy. I’d been too wrapped up in my own head, my own situation, to consider that he had his own view on the subject, one that I couldn’t possibly comprehend.

“Well?” I could barely muster more than a whisper. “What do you want to say?” Get out, fuck you, whore, bitch, cunt, I hope you die, I never want to see you again, rot in hell, any of these would have been entirely justified, excusable answers.

“I’m sorry.”

“…Beg pardon?” The two words didn’t compute. I’d spent a week cheating on my husband three times (twice, that he knew of), and I was getting an apology? How did that work?

“I’ve…not been the best husband. I work too much, I don’t show you I love you enough, and it’s been obvious since early on that your…sexual appetite…is greater than mine. I don’t…condone, I suppose is the right word…what you’ve done, the Bible is very clear on that topic, but I understand. So I’m sorry that, over the past years, I’ve put you in a position where you must have felt you needed to go somewhere else to get what I couldn’t give.”

Silence.

Now I knew how Frank must have felt getting all those text messages from me. I thought I had planned for every possible way this conversation was going to go, but this hadn’t even occurred to me. How the hell was I supposed to respond to my husband apologizing for cheating on me? I, much like Frank when confronted with the truth of what I had done, had absolutely no words for him. He looked back to me, and the ghost of a smile flashed across his face when he saw the look on mine, but then it went serious again.

“Mary, do you love me?”

White noise. My mind was nothing but white noise.

“…I…uh…yes…Yes, I think I do…” He nodded, almost like he’d expected that exact answer.

“Do you…do you still want to…be…with other men?”

White noise, briefly punctuated with flashes of the past week. R. Alberto. Gina. I couldn’t say no. This new part of me was too white hot to bury. It would destroy our marriage if I hid it away. Maybe it would destroy it anyways. Still, telling my husband I wanted to continue cheating on him was not something I was prepared to say.
So I just nodded. Barely, imperceptibly, maybe, but I nodded. Again, the hint of a smile played across his face, and he nodded to.

“Well, we definitely have to figure out what this means. For us.”

“Uh…yeah…us…”

“First things first,” he said, moving to face his entire body towards me, the most he’d moved since I’d been home. “I want you to tell me everything that happened. Skip no detail.”

“E…everything?”

“I need to know exactly where we are if I’m going to help us move forward.” My face flushed. Everything? I mean, doing it had been one thing, teasing him about it had been one thing, but actually laying bare all the details? That was something else entirely. I cleared my throat.
“Well…first off, I never had any intention of being bad…”

–

Frank listened to the entire story, from sunbathing to R complimenting my ass, to Alberto trying to break the couch with me, without a change in expression. I did skip the last night with Gina, worried that it might be a bridge too far for one sitting. I’d ease him into that particular aspect of my sexuality. Through every twist and turn, no matter how graphic I was, he never reacted. He sat there, eyes fixed on me, and listened. When I finally came to an end, with me arriving back at home, he sat and stared, almost like he expected there to be another encounter, as if I had sucked off the Uber driver, or ran into some gentleman caller in the living room. When it sank in that I had nothing left to confess, he sighed heavily and nodded before standing up and walking to the window. The sun was sinking below the horizon, leaving the room in harsh shadow except for the little island of light from the bedside lamp, in which I sat. Frank stood beyond the dim light, leaving himself silhouetted by the light coming through the blinds.

“Are you sorry?” His voice was soft and clear of emotion, impossible to read.

“No.” The answer was almost automatic. “No, I’m not.”

He paused. “Do you want to…continue in this lifestyle?”

“I do.” Again, the response was automatic, out of my mouth almost before Frank was done asking the question. “Sorry,” I added as an afterthought. “So,” I continued cautiously when Frank didn’t say anything for a long while, “how do we…move forward?”

He sighed. “I don’t know, Mary.” He was still facing the window. His voice was clear in the small room, despite the fact that he was speaking lowly. “I want you to be happy, more than anything in the world. But…” he hesitated. After a moment, he turned on the spot, looking surprisingly small. He kept his eyes low, avoiding eye contact. “Mary, I am at war with myself. I don’t know how I feel about you…what you did.” I nodded, but let him have his piece. “I…I hate it. I want to curse you and cast you out. You…spat on our marriage, and there’s a part of me that I don’t think will ever really forgive you.” His words were fair, and they were very much expected. That doesn’t mean they didn’t hurt. I felt a lump rising in my throat and burning below my eyes as I fought back tears. “But,” he continued, temporarily damming up my impending flood, “I do still love you. More than I probably should, given the circumstances. It may sound crazy, Mary, but I want to forgive you.” The words were sweet, but hollow. I knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t done. So, while I wanted to jump up and hug him, and thank him, and shower him with love and affection, I sat still on the bed, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I want to forgive you, but I’m not convinced you want to be forgiven.” Fair. I had said that I wasn’t sorry for what I’d done, and that I wanted to continue. Given the circumstances, expecting genuine forgiveness was a bit of a lofty dream.

“Okay,” I said, scarcely above a whisper. Frank was closing in on his grand point, whatever he’d decided while staring at the window blinds, combined with whatever he’d decided while sitting on the bed for hours, waiting for me to get home.

“Mary,” he said, his voice ever so slightly choked up, the first sign of emotion in his voice since I’d gotten home, “I’m going out to get myself something to eat. I think…I think you should be gone when I get home.” The words hit me like ice water. Without making a conscious decision to do so, I got to my feet.

“Frank…”

“Go stay with Gina,” he continued, as if I hadn’t been talking. “I want you to take another week or two. Decide for yourself if you want to continue this lifestyle, or if you want to come home to me. You can’t have both. If you want to continue sleeping around, being wicked and taking after Gina, I’m not sure there’s a place for you in my life, but if you decide to come home and leave all of this…sinfulness behind you, all will be forgiven.” He stood still for a moment, seeming to rack his brain to make sure he’d said all he wanted, then he nodded and walked to the door.

What the hell had just happened? The conversation had seemed to be going my way for so long. He had apologized to me, and then, in the same conversation, he kicked me out? I could feel rage boiling up inside me, clawing at my brain, telling me to scream, yell, make a scene, throw things at him, let him know who he was talking to.

I felt sorrow bubbling up, too, creeping over me like ice. My husband had looked on what I had become, and had rejected me. He hated it. He hated ME. If he’d been angry about it, that would have been easy. Expected, even. This…cold disappointment, though? It was like a knife through my soul, and it was all my doing…
I felt exhilaration! I was given free reign to do as I pleased! Jubilation! If I wanted to fuck every guy in town for an appetizer, then go one town over for the main course, before crashing a frat party for dessert, I had my husband’s blessing to do so! Sure, it would end in the ruination of our holy bonds of matrimony, but what were a few words spoken in church when I could be catching up on a lifetime of fun that I had been missing out on!

I felt horror, I felt betrayal, I felt horny, happy, upset, confused, bemused, bewildered, and a million other emotions all at the same time, and every one of these emotions crashed together when I heard Frank turn the doorknob. I whipped around to face him.

“Frank,” I called out. He stopped, and I searched the twisted wreckage of all those feelings to find the right words to say. In the end, the only words I could muster were “I love you.” Even I could hear the desperation in my voice. He froze, clearly at a loss for words. Finally, my husband managed a weak smile.

“Prove it,” he said quietly, and then he was gone, and I was left alone to figure out who Mary really was.

—————————

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