Fiction by Milan Smith

Married Women
by Milan Smith

I'd sworn off married women, but I was horny and she was hot, and that's an irresistible combination. So we lay in bed after a bout of wild sex, when I heard the front door open.

"What the hell?" I said.

"Oh god," Sheena said, "he's home early, you'd better go."

"No shit." As I jumped out of bed and snatched up my clothes, I heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall. I opened the back window, holding shoes, shirt and jeans in a ball under my arm. I shoved one leg over the window sill, and teetering, tried to get my butt up and over. While stranded in this embarrassing and delicate position he – that is, the husband – came through the bedroom door.

"Phillip!" Sheena cried out, standing naked in the middle of the room.

Phillip stopped and took it all in, while I froze, staring blankly. Then I was over the sill and beating the ground with my face. I heard a roar of rage and pain.

"No, Phillip. Please!"

I was up and running around the house, across the yard, and down the street on shoeless toes until I reached my car, which sat under a tree snug in the heavy shadows. Phillip followed me out the window, first crashing to the ground, then huffing and puffing behind me. At the car door I dropped everything and rummaged blindly through my jeans pockets, pulled out my keys, and trembling, failed to find the right one. I saw Phillip coming, running like Frankenstein on speed – I found the key – I opened the door – I heard him breathing – I threw in my clothes – I slid in – I heard his feet slap pavement – I jammed the key in the ignition – he banged the hood – I screamed – he ran for the door – the engine turned – he reached through the window – and I hit reverse and screeched down the road.

I drove backwards to the intersection and turned, then shifted straight into second and drove fast. I sped down the road barely making corners and running stop signs, never slowing in case Phillip was following. Six blocks down I turned on my lights and I kept looking through the rear-view mirror. After a few minutes I saw I was free and I slumped in my seat and sighed. I felt good: slick, sated, smug.

As my heart slowed down I turned up the radio and found something hard and fast. I sang along, and I laughed. I was giddy and shaking and I kept laughing, and I laughed so hard I started to weave all over the road and almost had to stop. It was a hell of a story and I felt triumphant. Sex, followed by a near-death experience. What could be better? And then I saw the blue lights.

I was caught, but instead of being angry, I knew the least I should get away with was a ticket, so I sighed and pulled over. As I reached for my wallet I groaned – I was still naked. I turned to the passenger seat, found a shoe and my shirt, but no jeans. I rummaged around the floorboard until I felt them. In mad haste I twisted around to shove my legs in, then the cop shined a light in my face.

"Step out of the car, keep your hands where I can see them." He'd followed me through two stop signs and clocked me at 30 miles-an-hour over the speed limit, at times with my lights off. Enough to arrest me on the spot, which he intended to do.
So I'm standing there naked, he's trying hard not to laugh, and I'm ready to beg. "But I had a reason, officer."
"What's that?" he asked, the light still in my face.

Then I realized that telling a cop you'd been driving naked like a madman because you were running from a jealous husband just didn't sound so good, and I stammered.

"Some woman trouble?" the cop asked. I could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Uh yeah, more or less. You really want to know?"

"Of course, I would. Make it good."

So I did, I played it up for the laughs, stressing my distress, my fear, the husband's hulking approach. The cop laughed hard and long, and so did I, relieved he had a sense of humor.

He arrested me anyway.

So I got handcuffed and fingerprinted and spent six hours in jail, but that wasn't the worst part. The worst came when I called my girlfriend to bail me out. She loves me still, despite my escapades – note the plural form – but I suffered for weeks after that. I guess that woke me up and proved to me my girlfriend was the right woman for me, and I proposed to her the next day, and she accepted. Can you believe it? She accepted! She really accepted!

So, as soon as she gets divorced, we're getting married.

Author bio:

Milan Smith has published short stories in the magazines Lines In the Sand (Sept.-Oct. 2000); PKA's Advocate (Dec. 2000-Jan. 2001), (Oct. - Nov. 2001), (Apr.-May 2002), and (April-May 2007); Enigma (Fall 2001), The Circle (Winter 2002), Cynic Online Magazine (July 2007) and one in a regional zine Mylxine (#15). After Milan got his B.S. degree in business from the University of Florida, he worked in the business world for two years, then got job as a reporter at The Destin Log, in Destin, Florida. He'd written poetry and short stories in his spare time for several years up to then, and finally decided to work at it full-time. Milan now works a part-time job at night and writes during the mornings. He's been working on a novel the past few years and is now back to writing stories.