Audrey and Lawrence spend every Sunday morning together. When Audrey finally works up the courage to ask her lover how he explains his weekly absence to his wife, she’s very surprised by his answer. Audrey always thought Lawrence was an atheist, so why, when he's in bed with her, is Lawrence pretending to be at church?
Unless he’s found a new way to worship…
Warnings: This erotic short features explicit adultery and ecclesiastical pillow talk.
“Lawrence, where do you tell your…” The dreaded w-word. Wife. I couldn’t say it. “…where do you tell her you go every Sunday morning?”
After I’d asked, I gazed up into his face, but he wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was staring at his clothes strewn across my chair, and I worried he was contemplating his departure.
“It’s not a matter of telling, in fact,” he began. I knew right away this would be another of his meaningless rambles. “Really, it’s more a matter of simply doing. Of simply coming, that is. And whatever the beliefs regarding my whereabouts, inaccurate though they may be, I simply choose not to offer any contradiction.”
I beg your pardon? Lawrence ought to quit the library business and go into politics. His ability to convolute even the simplest of statements astounded me.
“What the hell are you talking about, Lawrence?”
Now he was looking at me, a little hurt by my brusque tone, perhaps. His response was somewhat defensive. “I’ve never lied to her.”
I shook my head a little, trying to force that statement to make sense. “So, every Sunday morning you tell her you’re going out to fuck your mistress?”
“I don’t like that word,” he reminded me, as if I’d forgotten. His tone was distant and hard.
“Which one? Fuck or mistress?”
“I’m not a fan of either, in fact.” He let go of my hand just as I removed it from his thigh.
“Don’t try to change the subject,” I warned. Lawrence was a crafty one when he wanted to be.
“Fine,” he snapped like an impetuous child. “What do you want me to say?”
It didn’t even matter. I only wanted to know so badly because he was so set against telling me. “I want to know how you manage to be here so religiously every Sunday without your wife knowing.” I gasped and covered my mouth when I realized I’d said the dreaded w-word… and lived…