Actions and Consequences Chapter Two: Consequences

Starting to make amends leads to more problems and wrong decisions.

It had been six months since I cheated on my husband. During that time, I had tried to tell him. How do I tell my husband that I had slept with another man, not only another man but a black man? A black man while we were on vacation with our kids, while my husband was in the next room tending to our children.

Every time I got the nerve to tell him, I backed down. I knew it would mean the end of our marriage. Timothy was raised in the Deep South, while I was in what some people called the "city south." 

I still had my country ways, but living in Atlanta was much different from being raised in the "sticks," as Timothy proudly called his low-population hometown.

Now, we were living on the outskirts of Atlanta in a lovely suburban house and were content with how things had turned out. Timothy worked for a prominent construction contractor while I worked in a hair salon.

Our three children went to a lovely school, and things were perfect. That was until we went on vacation. I cheated. I was that woman who slept with another man, let that man fill her inside with his… I couldn't even bring myself to think of it. I had literally begged him to cum inside me.

I sat up in bed and looked over at Timothy. He had his reading glasses on as he read one of his new contracts. I couldn't bring myself to sleep with him. I promised myself that I wouldn't until I told him. 

After being married for the number of years we have been, it was easy to make excuses or make myself unavailable. However, I knew the moment was coming soon. I would have to tell him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Fuck that!" Lexis shouted at me from her spot in the corner.

"I am with her," Natalie agreed as she did her client's hair.

"I owe it to him," I said as I washed out the last of the shampoo from my client's hair. "He is my husband."

"So," my client said. "I have been cheating on my husband and my other boy toys for going on five years," she said as I pulled her head up.

"They cheat on us," a woman said from her chair. "They cheat, they lie and then expect us to accept it because they are men. Get the fuck out of here!"

This was the usual talk that happened in our salon. We knew each other, and most of our clients were regulars. They came in every week wanting the same thing.

"You can't tell me that it wasn't good?" Tonya asked. She was the owner of the establishment.