Whore - Short Story

When she walked through the front door to their house, she was the most surprised she had been in their 8 year marriage. Greeting her was a trail of rose petals – red rose petals. She had to catch her breath. ‘What did I do to deserve this?’ she thought. She set her handbag down on the dining table and hung her coat on the rack, then took a look in the mirror, re-touched her make-up and undid the first three buttons on her blouse to reveal some cleavage.

She took a deep breath and with bated anticipation began to follow the spontaneous trail, which as she discovered led to their bedroom. She took another deep breath as she reached the door, and settled her hand upon the handle as her heartbeat quickened at the thought of what was waiting on the other side.        

    

The door swung open. The coming events were not drawer dropping, but jaw dropping. Her eyes settled upon her naked, sweaty husband – who was apparently not naked for her benefit. Then her eyes examined the body beneath his. Skinnier than her, younger than her, and as she quickly noticed more flexible – the question on her lips was why, but by what she was quickly noticing, there was no need to ask.  But that however was all she managed to say, “Why?” at first she said it quietly – not heard over the screams of her husband’s whore. Then she screamed, “WHY?!?”