Special thanks to Heather Webb for yet another good reason to post to my blog.
First 250 words of Drinking Scotch with Strangers
Genre: Women’s fiction w/ a few erotica scenes
Telling my husband he could have an affair—no, actually encouraging him to—while he was away on a business trip was probably not the smartest thing I’d ever done. It seemed like a good idea at the time, though. A way to let him know that I felt awful about not wanting to have sex anymore and that I understood he didn’t feel the same way. And I thought I was safe from any blowback since we set rules to make this an entirely safe experiment.
“Don’t have sex with anyone local; anyone who lives within a six-hour drive is off-limits. Deal?”
He raised his bushy monobrow (I wondered if he’d make time to pluck them into two before he left, thinking it would increase his odds of finding a lover) and nodded his agreement.
“Wear a condom.”
“Of course,” he said, as if I’d just asked him to buy milk.
“Well, it’s not like you’ve had to for the last sixteen years.” I was irritated by his cavalier tone. “And be honest when I ask if anything happened while you were away. If I want details, you have to promise not to keep secrets.”
That was really my most important rule since I could accept the love-of-my-life in bed with another woman but I couldn’t stand it when he lied to me. And he had. More than a few times during our marriage.
In a way, giving him permission to have an affair was not only easing my libido-less conscience, it was, I thought, also protecting our relationship from the fall-out that would inevitably follow if he ever did have a secret affair. And I totally expected he would.
Hell, had I been in his boxers, I’d have cheated on me years ago. Not that I’ve been a bad wife, it’s just that I haven’t enjoyed getting naked with James in a few years. Six, to be exact.
But it didn’t start out that way. In fact, when we met, sex with James almost killed my relationship with my best friend, JoAnn.