Arsen: A Broken Love Story
Page 3
Bruno Radcliff just acquired the hotel where Amy and I work. The chain was known as Dreams Hotels, but now we are part of the bigger and more exclusive Radcliff Conglomerate. So yes, Mr. Radcliff is a big deal in the hotel world.
Amy, my boss, is the director of sales and marketing. She manages all the top accounts and key clients. I’m a sales coordinator, and my job is to support whatever Amy needs help with. I look after clients who want to book their hotels, VIP celebrities, corporate clients, and handle complaints.
Feeling a little nervous. I make my way to the bathroom to touch up my makeup and hair. As I’m running my fingers through my shoulder length blonde hair in front of the mirror, I hear my phone ringing.
“Cathy Stanwood.”
“Hi, babe.” Hearing Ben’s deep voice makes me smile at my reflection. After eleven years together, not a day goes by when he doesn’t call or text me just to say hello and ask how my day is going. Sometimes I wonder if he will ever grow bored with me, with married life, kissing and ha**g s*x with just one woman, the same woman, for the rest of his life.
Does he ever imagine he’s f**king someone else when he’s inside of me?
I don’t have fantasies of other men, but I am bored…so bored. I often wonder when the ticking time bomb of our relationship will explode. If Ben will wake up one day and ask himself what he’s doing with me, and where his life has gone. If he’ll wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t met me, if we hadn’t bumped into each other on that rainy day, if we hadn’t met and fallen in love…
I know I do.
“Hi.” Holding the phone between my shoulder and ear, I take the pocket size perfume I always carry with me and spray it on my body. Rubbing the perfume on my wrists, I’m enveloped by the fruity and citrusy notes of my favorite smell.
“What are you doing?” I say in the flirty voice that he enjoys so much. I rarely use it anymore. When we were young and deeply in love with each other, that voice came out only when I wanted two things: forgiveness or sex.
“Just got home. And I’m petting your pussy,” his deep voice rumbles in the phone.
“What?”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, babe. I would like to, don’t get me wrong, but you aren’t here at the moment, so instead I’m cheating on you with Mimi.” I hear him chuckling as I picture what he’s doing at the moment.
Ben is probably sitting on the leather chair in his office, running a hand through his hair as our cat, Mimi, tries to crawl under his white Brooks Brothers dress shirt. His suit jacket will be thrown carelessly over the old worn out leather sofa that he refuses to get rid of because it reminds him of our first years as a married couple. He even named it.
Having just finished a vigorous round of sex, I laid on the couch with only his unbuttoned shirt on me, revealing my body. With one of my legs hanging off the couch, and the other tucked under my ass, I was exposed for Ben. I felt so sensual and beautiful after each time he made love to me. I didn’t care that I wasn’t perfect like him, or that my h*ps were nonexistent, or my br**sts too small. He made me feel beautiful.
He came back from the kitchen wearing nothing but an I-just-fucked-you-silly kind of grin; it made me smile and my insides felt like they were performing somersaults. Watching him walk towards me in all his na**d glory, I admired his tanned chest, and the way the sweat made his large muscles shine. He had a glass in his hand with only ice in it. His hair was a complete mess from me pulling it…I could only imagine what mine looked like. Sex hair was the best thing in the world; it kind of made you want to give it another go.
A smiling Ben kneeled next to me on the couch as his fingers slowly opened the shirt wider, baring me to him. With my front completely na**d to his eyes, he took an ice cube out of the cup. “I think we should name this couch.”
I laughed and closed my eyes as I felt the ice cube in his fingers hit my warm skin. “Yes? What…are you…um…thinking about?”
I was wondering why it was taking him so long to answer my question, when I felt the heat of his tongue tracing the path of goosebumps the ice was leaving behind. He traced the ice cube around the tip of my nipple, making it pebble. The numbing sensation of the ice made my nipple hurt, but it felt delicious.
Just as I was about to protest, his mouth closed around it, sucking it deep inside. I moaned long and hard. The cold of the ice and the warmth of his mouth were the perfect recipe for disaster; even a nun would have a hard time keeping her legs closed. When I felt the ice cube caress my clit, then move lower, entering me, I opened my eyes.
Wow.
I didn’t know whether I should be shocked or turned on. Smiling, Ben spread my legs open for him as he positioned himself between them. The ice was melting inside of me, making me shiver. I watched Ben’s head lower as his tongue licked his lips whilst withdrawing the ice cube from inside of me and popping it in his mouth.
My limbs trembling, I whispered, “Again?”
“Yes. Again, and again, and again, until you can’t remember your name. And it should be the love couch…” he replied huskily.
My laughter got lost in a moan when I felt his cool tongue inside of me again, licking the mixture of ice water and me.
Yes, those were the days.
Those were the days when the sight of one another would make us so horny and desperate that we would end up making love. Sometimes it was rough; all you could hear were the slapping sounds of our bodies, moans, groans, a lot of curse words too. Other times it was tender and sweet; Ben would hold my hand, our fingers intertwined the entire time he was inside of me, moving, filling me, never looking away.
Ben would whisper in my ear how hard I made him…how much he wanted me…how the world meant nothing to him without me in it. But no matter whether we made love or screwed each other’s brains out, two things remained the same—the couch and our thirst for each other.
However, nowadays our sex life is a complete and totally different story.
Is there even a sex life to speak of?
What happened this morning in the kitchen is sadly not the rule anymore, but the exception to how much sex we have. We’re lucky if we both make it to bed at the same time. Early in our relationship, we lived and breathed for the sole reason of being with each other; spending pretty much every second we were together na**d and ha**g s*x everywhere we could think of, trying to break our own record of how many times we made each other come with our mouths and our bodies. These days, though, I feel adventurous if I wear one of his tees without any underwear on. And, most times, if Ben doesn’t initiate sex, I avoid it.
What is the point?
It hurts to think that we are just wasting our time. I miss the closeness and intimacy sex brought us, but the hoping and waiting that comes after every time we are physically together only chips another piece of me away, of our relationship away, until there will be nothing to put back together. It makes it seem like work.
And it hurts to know that it’s only the two of us, our cat, and my empty womb.
“Cathy, are you there?” Coming out of my reverie, I realize that I had completely tuned Ben out of my thoughts…again. Am I a terrible person because I can’t even pay attention to my husband? God, I really do need therapy.
“Sorry, babe. What were you saying?”
“Daydreaming again, love?”
“You could say that.” Looking down at my watch, I realize how late I am. “Ben, I’ve got to go. I’m running late again. I’ll see you tonight. Not sure about dinner, I guess I’ll have to play it by ear, so if you don’t hear from me assume that I went out with Mr. Radcliff and his family. I’ll text you to let you know what’s going on when I get a chance. Alright. I’ve got to go. Love ya.”
I almost hang up before letting Ben say something back to me.
Almost.
I don’t know why, but sometimes his familiar deep voice pisses me off.
I know women find him very attractive, and almost every intern at his law firm has a crush on him, but sometimes I can’t bear to see his face.
“Babe, is something bothering you?” Ben asks, curiosity in his voice.
Can’t I hide anything from him? Must he always be able to read me like a flipping open book? I want my privacy back. And yes, I sometimes want Ben to stay the hell out of my life and mind his own damn business. Sometimes his niceness drives me f**king insane.
“No…I really have to go. Bye, babe. Love you.”
I hang up before I give him a chance to answer me back, or say goodbye.
Shoving the phone back in my bag, I straighten to leave, looking at myself in the mirror one more time. As I’m about to turn around and head for the door, something catches my attention. Walking back, I look closely at my reflection. Lifting my left hand to touch my lips, I notice my bare ring finger. When I took my rings off this morning to put lotion on my body, I must’ve forgotten to put them back on.
In the six years we have been married, not once has that ever happened.
Until today.
Buildings, people crossing the streets, walking, laughing, living; cars speeding or slowing down as the traffic lights direct them. Shapes blending with one another, creating a blur of color flashing through my eyes. It is beautiful and alive. It is New York City.
After the limousine leaves the Midtown Tunnel behind, escaping into the freedom of the night, we speed through the Long Island Expressway heading to JFK. The Radcliff’s estimated arrival is roughly 8:00 P.M. At first, I thought they’d be flying commercial, but I should’ve known better. They’re traveling on his personal jet. Really, after so many years working in the hotel business, I shouldn’t be surprised by how much money some of these people make.
Ben’s family has a lot of money, too. The kind of money that would afford us to live without working and let us travel the world, but Ben hates the idea of just living off his family’s wealth. He loves his job as a lawyer, and he works because he wants to.
Pulling into the private landing strip, I don’t see a jet anywhere near. I take my cell phone out and dial Amy to give her a heads up. She’ll be happy to know that I got here before them.
After one ring, Amy answers the phone in that breathy voice of hers, “Are you with him?”
I chuckle because she doesn’t bother saying hello. “Nope. They haven’t landed. You owe me big time, you know? I should be having dinner with—”
“Yes, I know. You don’t have to shove the fact that you have sex-on-legs waiting for you at home. I get it. If I were married to that divine husband of yours, I would probably be giving you shit as well, but I need you tonight.”
“Which reminds me, I was about to call you because there has been a slight change of plans. Bruno’s assistant phoned me about five minutes ago, letting me know that only his son and wife will be arriving tonight. Apparently there was an issue with one of his top clients that only he could take care of.” She pauses, and I hear some shuffling on the other end, “Back, sorry. What else…Yes! You need to take the wife and son to dinner.”
Okay, this is so not what I wanted to be doing on my Friday night.
“Ugh, Amy! You’re killing me here! I don’t want to sit with a Stepford wife and an entitled rich child and make small talk when I could be spending it with Ben. You know better than anyone that we haven’t been in the best place lately…”
And we haven’t. Not at all. I mean, sometimes Ben and I are like friendly strangers living under the same roof; we say hello and ask each other about how our days went, but the intimacy ends there. If it wasn’t for the sex, like today’s rare occurrence, we would probably be more like roommates than a married couple. There’s an emotional disconnect growing between us, and on bad days it seems like it’ll be impossible to bridge.
“I know, Cathy. And I am sorry. If I had known this before you left, I would have sent Ryan, but hey, when you get home Ben may want a second round.”
“Seriously, Amy? I shouldn’t have told you why I was late this morning. And it’s not going to happen again. I don’t want it to happen—”
“Cathy, shut up and listen to the HBIC. Go have dinner with these people, get drunk, eat shrimp or something that’s supposedly an aphrodisiac, then go home and f**k your hubby. All your issues are because you are not getting enough at home. If Ben were my husband, I seriously would be hitting that as often as he felt like it which is apparently pretty often. By the way, I didn’t mean to pry into your business, but when you arrived late this morning you looked so flushed that I thought you had a fever. I only asked because I was concerned for my top employee.”
Okay, that was funny.
“That’s because I’m your favorite sales coordinator. And what in the world does HBIC mean?”
“Head Bitch In Charge, luvah…”
We both laugh at that. Amy, the red headed minx, is a spitfire of a woman with no shame. She is thirty-eight years old, twice divorced, and a force of nature. She has the balls that a lot of men lack, curses like a sailor, loves sex, younger men, and she uses her drop-dead gorgeous looks to her advantage...always. Seriously, that woman has perfected that swaying-your-hips-as-you-walk kind of thing.
“Alright, HBIC, should I take them to the Ritz for dinner?” I ask, smiling into the phone.
“Yes, darling. When you get there, let them know that you are Bruno’s party. They should take you right to the best table available. And please, Cathy, play nice and use those green eyes of yours with the wife. She’s probably the kind of woman who whines if her foie gras isn’t cooked properly.”
“Amy, I’ve got this. Why do you think you pay me the big bucks except to do my job, and do it right. I’m sorry I complained before. Too much going on.”
Amy, my boss, is the director of sales and marketing. She manages all the top accounts and key clients. I’m a sales coordinator, and my job is to support whatever Amy needs help with. I look after clients who want to book their hotels, VIP celebrities, corporate clients, and handle complaints.
Feeling a little nervous. I make my way to the bathroom to touch up my makeup and hair. As I’m running my fingers through my shoulder length blonde hair in front of the mirror, I hear my phone ringing.
“Cathy Stanwood.”
“Hi, babe.” Hearing Ben’s deep voice makes me smile at my reflection. After eleven years together, not a day goes by when he doesn’t call or text me just to say hello and ask how my day is going. Sometimes I wonder if he will ever grow bored with me, with married life, kissing and ha**g s*x with just one woman, the same woman, for the rest of his life.
Does he ever imagine he’s f**king someone else when he’s inside of me?
I don’t have fantasies of other men, but I am bored…so bored. I often wonder when the ticking time bomb of our relationship will explode. If Ben will wake up one day and ask himself what he’s doing with me, and where his life has gone. If he’ll wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t met me, if we hadn’t bumped into each other on that rainy day, if we hadn’t met and fallen in love…
I know I do.
“Hi.” Holding the phone between my shoulder and ear, I take the pocket size perfume I always carry with me and spray it on my body. Rubbing the perfume on my wrists, I’m enveloped by the fruity and citrusy notes of my favorite smell.
“What are you doing?” I say in the flirty voice that he enjoys so much. I rarely use it anymore. When we were young and deeply in love with each other, that voice came out only when I wanted two things: forgiveness or sex.
“Just got home. And I’m petting your pussy,” his deep voice rumbles in the phone.
“What?”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, babe. I would like to, don’t get me wrong, but you aren’t here at the moment, so instead I’m cheating on you with Mimi.” I hear him chuckling as I picture what he’s doing at the moment.
Ben is probably sitting on the leather chair in his office, running a hand through his hair as our cat, Mimi, tries to crawl under his white Brooks Brothers dress shirt. His suit jacket will be thrown carelessly over the old worn out leather sofa that he refuses to get rid of because it reminds him of our first years as a married couple. He even named it.
Having just finished a vigorous round of sex, I laid on the couch with only his unbuttoned shirt on me, revealing my body. With one of my legs hanging off the couch, and the other tucked under my ass, I was exposed for Ben. I felt so sensual and beautiful after each time he made love to me. I didn’t care that I wasn’t perfect like him, or that my h*ps were nonexistent, or my br**sts too small. He made me feel beautiful.
He came back from the kitchen wearing nothing but an I-just-fucked-you-silly kind of grin; it made me smile and my insides felt like they were performing somersaults. Watching him walk towards me in all his na**d glory, I admired his tanned chest, and the way the sweat made his large muscles shine. He had a glass in his hand with only ice in it. His hair was a complete mess from me pulling it…I could only imagine what mine looked like. Sex hair was the best thing in the world; it kind of made you want to give it another go.
A smiling Ben kneeled next to me on the couch as his fingers slowly opened the shirt wider, baring me to him. With my front completely na**d to his eyes, he took an ice cube out of the cup. “I think we should name this couch.”
I laughed and closed my eyes as I felt the ice cube in his fingers hit my warm skin. “Yes? What…are you…um…thinking about?”
I was wondering why it was taking him so long to answer my question, when I felt the heat of his tongue tracing the path of goosebumps the ice was leaving behind. He traced the ice cube around the tip of my nipple, making it pebble. The numbing sensation of the ice made my nipple hurt, but it felt delicious.
Just as I was about to protest, his mouth closed around it, sucking it deep inside. I moaned long and hard. The cold of the ice and the warmth of his mouth were the perfect recipe for disaster; even a nun would have a hard time keeping her legs closed. When I felt the ice cube caress my clit, then move lower, entering me, I opened my eyes.
Wow.
I didn’t know whether I should be shocked or turned on. Smiling, Ben spread my legs open for him as he positioned himself between them. The ice was melting inside of me, making me shiver. I watched Ben’s head lower as his tongue licked his lips whilst withdrawing the ice cube from inside of me and popping it in his mouth.
My limbs trembling, I whispered, “Again?”
“Yes. Again, and again, and again, until you can’t remember your name. And it should be the love couch…” he replied huskily.
My laughter got lost in a moan when I felt his cool tongue inside of me again, licking the mixture of ice water and me.
Yes, those were the days.
Those were the days when the sight of one another would make us so horny and desperate that we would end up making love. Sometimes it was rough; all you could hear were the slapping sounds of our bodies, moans, groans, a lot of curse words too. Other times it was tender and sweet; Ben would hold my hand, our fingers intertwined the entire time he was inside of me, moving, filling me, never looking away.
Ben would whisper in my ear how hard I made him…how much he wanted me…how the world meant nothing to him without me in it. But no matter whether we made love or screwed each other’s brains out, two things remained the same—the couch and our thirst for each other.
However, nowadays our sex life is a complete and totally different story.
Is there even a sex life to speak of?
What happened this morning in the kitchen is sadly not the rule anymore, but the exception to how much sex we have. We’re lucky if we both make it to bed at the same time. Early in our relationship, we lived and breathed for the sole reason of being with each other; spending pretty much every second we were together na**d and ha**g s*x everywhere we could think of, trying to break our own record of how many times we made each other come with our mouths and our bodies. These days, though, I feel adventurous if I wear one of his tees without any underwear on. And, most times, if Ben doesn’t initiate sex, I avoid it.
What is the point?
It hurts to think that we are just wasting our time. I miss the closeness and intimacy sex brought us, but the hoping and waiting that comes after every time we are physically together only chips another piece of me away, of our relationship away, until there will be nothing to put back together. It makes it seem like work.
And it hurts to know that it’s only the two of us, our cat, and my empty womb.
“Cathy, are you there?” Coming out of my reverie, I realize that I had completely tuned Ben out of my thoughts…again. Am I a terrible person because I can’t even pay attention to my husband? God, I really do need therapy.
“Sorry, babe. What were you saying?”
“Daydreaming again, love?”
“You could say that.” Looking down at my watch, I realize how late I am. “Ben, I’ve got to go. I’m running late again. I’ll see you tonight. Not sure about dinner, I guess I’ll have to play it by ear, so if you don’t hear from me assume that I went out with Mr. Radcliff and his family. I’ll text you to let you know what’s going on when I get a chance. Alright. I’ve got to go. Love ya.”
I almost hang up before letting Ben say something back to me.
Almost.
I don’t know why, but sometimes his familiar deep voice pisses me off.
I know women find him very attractive, and almost every intern at his law firm has a crush on him, but sometimes I can’t bear to see his face.
“Babe, is something bothering you?” Ben asks, curiosity in his voice.
Can’t I hide anything from him? Must he always be able to read me like a flipping open book? I want my privacy back. And yes, I sometimes want Ben to stay the hell out of my life and mind his own damn business. Sometimes his niceness drives me f**king insane.
“No…I really have to go. Bye, babe. Love you.”
I hang up before I give him a chance to answer me back, or say goodbye.
Shoving the phone back in my bag, I straighten to leave, looking at myself in the mirror one more time. As I’m about to turn around and head for the door, something catches my attention. Walking back, I look closely at my reflection. Lifting my left hand to touch my lips, I notice my bare ring finger. When I took my rings off this morning to put lotion on my body, I must’ve forgotten to put them back on.
In the six years we have been married, not once has that ever happened.
Until today.
Buildings, people crossing the streets, walking, laughing, living; cars speeding or slowing down as the traffic lights direct them. Shapes blending with one another, creating a blur of color flashing through my eyes. It is beautiful and alive. It is New York City.
After the limousine leaves the Midtown Tunnel behind, escaping into the freedom of the night, we speed through the Long Island Expressway heading to JFK. The Radcliff’s estimated arrival is roughly 8:00 P.M. At first, I thought they’d be flying commercial, but I should’ve known better. They’re traveling on his personal jet. Really, after so many years working in the hotel business, I shouldn’t be surprised by how much money some of these people make.
Ben’s family has a lot of money, too. The kind of money that would afford us to live without working and let us travel the world, but Ben hates the idea of just living off his family’s wealth. He loves his job as a lawyer, and he works because he wants to.
Pulling into the private landing strip, I don’t see a jet anywhere near. I take my cell phone out and dial Amy to give her a heads up. She’ll be happy to know that I got here before them.
After one ring, Amy answers the phone in that breathy voice of hers, “Are you with him?”
I chuckle because she doesn’t bother saying hello. “Nope. They haven’t landed. You owe me big time, you know? I should be having dinner with—”
“Yes, I know. You don’t have to shove the fact that you have sex-on-legs waiting for you at home. I get it. If I were married to that divine husband of yours, I would probably be giving you shit as well, but I need you tonight.”
“Which reminds me, I was about to call you because there has been a slight change of plans. Bruno’s assistant phoned me about five minutes ago, letting me know that only his son and wife will be arriving tonight. Apparently there was an issue with one of his top clients that only he could take care of.” She pauses, and I hear some shuffling on the other end, “Back, sorry. What else…Yes! You need to take the wife and son to dinner.”
Okay, this is so not what I wanted to be doing on my Friday night.
“Ugh, Amy! You’re killing me here! I don’t want to sit with a Stepford wife and an entitled rich child and make small talk when I could be spending it with Ben. You know better than anyone that we haven’t been in the best place lately…”
And we haven’t. Not at all. I mean, sometimes Ben and I are like friendly strangers living under the same roof; we say hello and ask each other about how our days went, but the intimacy ends there. If it wasn’t for the sex, like today’s rare occurrence, we would probably be more like roommates than a married couple. There’s an emotional disconnect growing between us, and on bad days it seems like it’ll be impossible to bridge.
“I know, Cathy. And I am sorry. If I had known this before you left, I would have sent Ryan, but hey, when you get home Ben may want a second round.”
“Seriously, Amy? I shouldn’t have told you why I was late this morning. And it’s not going to happen again. I don’t want it to happen—”
“Cathy, shut up and listen to the HBIC. Go have dinner with these people, get drunk, eat shrimp or something that’s supposedly an aphrodisiac, then go home and f**k your hubby. All your issues are because you are not getting enough at home. If Ben were my husband, I seriously would be hitting that as often as he felt like it which is apparently pretty often. By the way, I didn’t mean to pry into your business, but when you arrived late this morning you looked so flushed that I thought you had a fever. I only asked because I was concerned for my top employee.”
Okay, that was funny.
“That’s because I’m your favorite sales coordinator. And what in the world does HBIC mean?”
“Head Bitch In Charge, luvah…”
We both laugh at that. Amy, the red headed minx, is a spitfire of a woman with no shame. She is thirty-eight years old, twice divorced, and a force of nature. She has the balls that a lot of men lack, curses like a sailor, loves sex, younger men, and she uses her drop-dead gorgeous looks to her advantage...always. Seriously, that woman has perfected that swaying-your-hips-as-you-walk kind of thing.
“Alright, HBIC, should I take them to the Ritz for dinner?” I ask, smiling into the phone.
“Yes, darling. When you get there, let them know that you are Bruno’s party. They should take you right to the best table available. And please, Cathy, play nice and use those green eyes of yours with the wife. She’s probably the kind of woman who whines if her foie gras isn’t cooked properly.”
“Amy, I’ve got this. Why do you think you pay me the big bucks except to do my job, and do it right. I’m sorry I complained before. Too much going on.”
