Something to Tell You (An Erotic Story)

A one-off erotic story…

My wife Janet is a good woman and I love her very much. She is patient, and quiet, and loving. She is five foot four and has dark curly hair, and curves she keeps hidden under blouses and pleated skirts. We’ve been married five years, in January. When I met her she was working in administration, but she never liked it much. She quit last year, and now she keeps house. We’re going to have kids in a few years time.

For about the first six months after she quit work, everything was great, and I have never seen her more relaxed or happy. But then, about a month after our anniversary this year, something changed, and I started to feel uneasy. Janet won’t always say what’s on her mind, so there are times when I have to do a bit of guesswork, and this was definitely one of those.

Here’s what had been going on. My evidence, if you like.

First, she’d been distant. Now, she’s normally pretty quiet. Many people would think of her as shy, or even cold, and when we got engaged, a few friends even asked me if she was really my type. But the truth is, when we started dating and I got past her shield, I found a highly sexual woman underneath. And, she would always open up to me, when it was important.

But lately, she hadn’t been telling me anything. Why wouldn’t she share?

Then, there was the sex. We’d been going to bed about four nights a week, same as usual, and it had been OK. But normally with us, there’s a few nights a week when OK will turn into downright spectacular, to the point where I have to put loud music on so the neighbours won’t hear us.

But for the last few months, she’d been quiet, and also…the word ‘dutiful’ springs to mind. She hadn’t been denying me, but, she certainly didn’t seem as into it as normal.

And then, there was the money. And the time.

I’d given her almost two thousand dollars, to do a series of courses on art history and literature, with the aim of her one day becoming a tutor at our local college. This is what she said she wanted, as a career. She was supposed to go every Tuesday and Thursday mornings.

I had seen a lot of books around the house, on her chosen subjects, so for while I assumed she’d been going like she said. But I’d noticed that there didn’t seem to be any mail from the college, receipts, marked essays, or anything like that.

And then one day when I went on the computer to open my e-mail, hers came up instead, and I saw nothing, no e-mails from the school, about any of her subjects.

Was she really going to school? And if not, what had she done with the money? And, what had she been doing on Tuesdays and Thursdays?

And above all – why had it been so long since she said she loved me?

After a few months, I was seriously considering spying on my wife to see if I could catch her out.


I really want to tell Rob. I do.

He’s always said honesty and trust were so important to him. That’s part of why I married him, because he was so straightforward, and so up front about what he wanted. I could see that life with him would be simple. I don’t mean that in a bad way, like he was eventually going to bore me. But I knew he wasn’t the type to play silly mind games, which I have always detested. I knew he’d say what he meant, and I could do the same.

That was in stark contrast to my previous boyfriend, Paul, the only other man I have ever been with. By way of a comparison:

Paul: You haven’t worn that red dress in ages. The one I got you. Is there a problem with it? Is it too short? You said you liked it when we got it.

Me: um….I don’t want to wear it right now.


Rob: Can you wear that red dress I like so much?

Me: Sure.

See what I mean? I could fill pages with examples like that. It’s just so much easier with Rob. He’s not…needy.

There was more to it than that, obviously. Rob has direction, something I haven’t had in a long time. He knew he wanted to work in radio, and he just made it happen. But I haven’t really known what I wanted since I finished High School. I went to college for a year doing science, but I couldn’t focus, and then I quit and started temping, and things just floated along. So when I met Rob, I knew could follow his lead.

He’s like that in other ways too. He’s always known he wanted to have kids, and we talked timelines almost as soon as we got engaged. He knew he wanted to buy a house as soon as possible, and I was initially worried by the size of our mortgage, but then, house prices in our area went up, just after we bought a place. Looking back, we got a total bargain.

In fact, looking back, I got a total bargain. Rob is great.

And the sex. My God. Could it be any better?

That’s why I feel so bad about not telling him. And the longer it goes on, the harder it is to say anything.


I didn’t end up spying on Janet. It just seemed so cheap.

Actually my thought process was more like this:

If there’s something going on and she tells me, we’ve still got a chance. Because at least I‘d know she’s still an honest woman.

But if I catch her out, then, I won’t ever be able to trust her again. Because I know she would have kept on lying if she had the chance.

There could be a variety of reasons for her behaviour. Like, maybe she accidentally got pregnant and doesn’t want me to know what she is doing about it. Or, maybe she is bored and misses work more than she thought she would. Or maybe, there’s something happening in her life I am not aware of, some social thing, or something with her family, and she hasn’t told me about it.

But maybe that is all wishful thinking, and the truth is staring me in the face.

She’s cheating.

The thought of it makes me die inside. I’m so crazy about her.


Rob: ‘Hi, darling.’

Janet: ‘Hi.’

Rob: ‘How was your day?’

Janet: ‘Oh, fine thanks. Really, I should be asking you that. You’ve been at work all day.’

Rob: ‘Work was good. The interview went really smoothly. John Goodman was hilarious actually. Did you get to class OK?’

Janet: ‘Hold up. You interviewed John Goodman?’

Rob: ‘Yeah. I told you that one was coming up. I might have Tom Hanks next month but it’s only on the phone.’

Janet: ‘Wow. I…I don’t know why I didn’t remember that. That’s a great feather in your cap.’

Rob: ‘Hmmm. So anyway, how was your day?’

Janet: ‘Oh, fine. I ran into Margaret and we went and had coffee. She’s really worried about Joe.’

Rob: ‘Was this after class?’

Janet: ‘Uh, yeah. I met her at Lonnie’s. I was doing a bit of shopping. Anyway, she says Joe is really down lately. Just seems to have given up finding another job. I didn’t say anything to her, but, I was wondering if you could help him out, if there’s any work at the station.’

Rob: ‘Oh. I’ll think about it and see what I can do.’

Janet: ‘Thanks. Do you want a drink?’

Rob: ‘A beer, thanks. The house looks nice.’

Janet: ‘…yep. I put a bit of work in this afternoon.’

Rob: ‘No problem. You do a great job around here.’

Janet: ‘Um. Well…’

Rob: ‘Hey, I have to do some reading tonight, some reports on our demographic. But I was thinking we could have dinner tomorrow. Not going out or anything. Just a special meal, to give us a chance to catch up. I’ve been feeling a bit out of touch with you lately.’

Janet: ‘Well, I know you have been very busy at work. But it’s OK. You’re in that phase where you have to put the extra hours in to get ahead. I understand.’

Rob: ‘…right. So anyway, tomorrow night?’

Janet: ‘Sure. What would you like me to make?’

Rob: ‘Whatever you feel like.’

Janet: …?

Rob: ‘OK, can you make Chicken Cacciatore?’

Janet: ‘Fine. What time will you be home?’

Rob: ‘I’ll make sure I’m here at five thirty.’

Janet: ‘Great.’


So, Rob wants to talk.

He doesn’t make dates to have conversations unless it’s really serious. I mean, there was half an hour over dinner last night before he read his reports, when he could have talked to me. That’s what he would have done, if it was something minor.

But obviously, it isn’t something minor.

He must know. Or suspect.

I can tell by the way he keeps asking me about what I’ve done during the day.

Before, when I was working, he never asked me stuff like that. He knew I didn’t like work very much, so he talked about other things.

Even after I resigned, he’d never really asked me what I’d done with my day either, to the point where I had to make up semi-interesting things I had seen or done, to spark a conversation. Like, what I said to my friend Margaret, or something I’d got from a store.

But now all of a sudden its: “How was school? How did you day go? Did you get your paper done? What did you buy when you went shopping?”

It’s not like him to ask that kind of thing.

I mean, it’d be OK if it was. Part of the reason I wanted to go to school is so I could get some independence back, some identity, so maybe he’d find me a little more interesting.

I was scared he was getting bored with me.

Boy, has that backfired. Now I’m too interesting. And for all the wrong reasons.


Late again.

I swore to her I’d be home by 5.30 and here it is, 5.45, and I am only just leaving. Technically, I am only a junior exec at the station, but I do end up running a lot of the main morning programming and the next day’s show all has to be all sorted before I leave in the evening.

I’m driving home, trying to decide if I should call or text, or if I should just be late. Sometimes when I call her, she just thinks it’s me trying to buy more time, so I can be late for the new time I’ve set as well (and this has happened enough times for her to be justified).

But if I don’t call, she might be upset, too.

I decide not to call.

As I turn down into our street, I’m shaking. I know she’s bored. I know she doesn’t have enough in her life. I know that I haven’t been at home enough. It’s all gone wrong. She should never have quit work. I just hope she hasn’t found someone else. Maybe it’s not too late. Or maybe it is. Maybe it’s Joe. Does she secretly go for that kind of guy?

I’m so nervous I am actually sweating.

Finally I get home. She doesn’t seem angry. She just looks pleased to see me. She comes over and kisses me while I’m trying to take off my shoes. She looks ready to go out, in a long satin dress, with heels, earrings, light make up, and the perfume I’d gotten her for her birthday.

Then she says she had something to tell me, and my heart sinks.

I’m right. Something has been going on. I’m going to lose my wonderful wife.


Rob: ‘Wow. You look great. I’ll go change.’

Janet: ‘No need. Just take your coat off, you look hot. And then please come sit down at the table.’

Rob: ‘OK.’

Janet: ‘Rob, I have something to tell you.’

Rob: ‘Oh. God.’

Janet: ‘Darling, it’s not a bad thing. Actually, it is sort of bad, but not that bad.’

Rob: ‘What is it?’

Janet: ‘Promise not to be angry? I hate it when you’re angry with me.’

Rob: ‘That depends on what it is. Is it me? Is it because I’ve been at work so much?’

Janet: ‘No, darling, it definitely isn’t you.’

Rob: ‘Is there someone else?’

Janet: ‘God, no. I love you. So much.’

Rob: ‘Oh. So, what is it, then?’

Janet: ‘I’ve been lying to you about money. The money you have me for the diploma courses. I never actually did them.’

Rob: ‘What?’

Janet: ‘I’m sorry! It was a stupid lie. I should have just told you.’

Rob: ‘So…what did you do with the money?’

Janet: ‘I… Please don’t be angry with me. It’s really not too bad. It’s just very embarrassing.’

Rob: ‘What? Please tell me.’

Janet: ‘All right. Here goes…’

Rob: …?

Janet: ‘…I’ve been hiring a housekeeper!’

Rob: …?

Janet: ‘I hate doing housework all the time! I hate it so much. It’s so boring, it drives me mad!’

Rob: …?

Janet: …?

Rob: ‘So…how long…?’

Janet: ‘For about two months. Her name is Maria. She comes twice a week from nine til one. She does everything, really. She’s amazing. And she’s only fifteen dollars an hour! Can we please keep her?’

Rob: ‘…but why didn’t you…?’

Janet: ‘Because I thought you’d be mad. I thought you’d think I wasn’t pulling my weight. And because…I thought you’d be bored with me, and give up on me!’


Later than night, I am watching Janet, who is lying on the bed. Her hair is down, and spread all over the pillow. There is soft classical music playing, and the air smells of rose water. She is wearing a pink silk camisole, and has nothing on her lower half. I am in an armchair, across the room.

She is gently touching her breasts, putting her fingers in her mouth and then slowly playing with her nipples through the moistened silk.

After about five minutes of this, she raises her knees and begins touching her thighs, gently running her fingers along the inside of her legs and down towards her pussy. She also works her fingers down her stomach with the same delicate motion. In between, her hands go back to her nipples to make sure they are still hard.

Her eyes are closed. She is quiet, and completely absorbed in what she is doing.

Bored with her? Seriously, you’d have to be insane.

I am fascinated by her. I so badly want to say something to her to describe how beautiful she is to me, but we have agreed, this will only work if she can behave as though I am not here.

When she finally seem satisfied that her breasts and thighs and stomach are as turned on as she wants them, she opens her eyes momentarily and reaches for a long, brass-coloured vibrator that I did not know she owned. She turns it on to a very gentle setting, so quiet I can hardly hear the motor, and then she settles back down and gently touches the whirring head of the machine onto her clitoris.

She strokes the machine up and down for a few moments to find the right spot, and then leaves the machine on her clit, on the lowest setting, and relaxes. Only the fingers of her left hand move occasionally, to stimulate her nipples.

And she stays that way, for what seems like ages.

I do not look at my watch, so I do not know how long it really is. My eyes are glued on her, and the slow and subtle changes that are occurring as the inevitable orgasm slowly builds.

Her complexion darkens by a few shades. Her breathing increases, just slightly. Her stomach and legs move, very gently, in time with some inner rhythm that has been set up by the oscillations of the machine. But apart from those small signs, she might as well be sleeping.

And then, after a long but indefinite period of time, she suddenly arches her back and gives a long, slow, animal groan, deep and strong, and all on a single outward breath, while she bucks her hips up and down, twelve, maybe fifteen times.

It is totally unlike the sobbing, frantic orgasms she has with me. And it is wonderful.

And then she sits up very slowly with a satisfied look on her face, almost like a woman who has just done a fine piece of knitting and is very pleased with herself. And she stands up and walks into the bathroom, after putting the vibrator back in its case, and into a drawer.

So: that’s what my wife really does on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. And other days besides.

I just have to say something.

‘Are you finished?’

‘Maybe,’ she replies. ‘Sometimes I have another couple in the bath.’

I follow her into the bathroom, and am entranced by her. She is relaxed and dreamy as she slowly measures out some bath oil.

‘Is this why you haven’t exactly been horny with me, lately?’ I ask.

‘Oh. No. I’ve just been feeling guilty when we make love. I’m sorry. I’m so glad I’ve finally told you.’

I nod. ‘So, after the bath?’

‘I’m not sure. You said to do what I would normally do, so, I’ll do whatever I feel like. Maybe I’ll go swimming. Or do some yoga. I really like it. And meditation.’

I smile. ‘And…that is how you have actually been spending your days?’

She nods, but looks slightly guilty. ‘Um…yes,’ she says. ‘Is that OK?’

I laugh. ‘It’s fine. I’m not bored with you, at all. I just want you to be happy. I just want you to do what you want to do.’

‘That’s such a lovely thing to say,’ she says, the relief plain in her eyes. ‘But the truth is, I don’t actually know what I want to do, Rob. I’m still working it out.’

‘Take your time,’ I say.

And she nods, and says thank you, and climbs into the bath.

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