Hot Flash!: The Trophy Wife

"It's disgusting," Cheryl growled, staring out the passenger window of the coupe while the street lights of the highway ticked by. 

Don couldn't see her, but he knew the expression she wore. Her lip slightly curled, nose wrinkled, the full Cheryl expression of disapproval.

"I thought she was nice," Don said.

"Nice?" Her head whipped to her husband and she glared at him. "You men are all the same, I swear. The second you hit forty, you think that life is over and you have to fuck some young girl, or marry them in Rich's case. I feel bad for poor Marnie. And her name! Trixie. Jesus wept. She’s just as classy as those gaudy plastic pink earrings she was wearing."

Don took one hand off the wheel, patting the hard plastic container in his pocket. It was like walking around with a loaded gun. He couldn't do it, despite what Rich had told him. It was too cruel. And yet...

"Have you talked to Marnie?"

Cheryl shook her head. "I think she must have gone to Europe or something. Maybe found a trophy husband of her own."

Don nodded. He knew better, of course, but the explanation was so outlandish, so diabolical, he couldn't bring himself to tell Cheryl. Especially when he had the thing in his pocket. He hated that Rich had given it to him.

They pulled into their gated community and eased into the driveway. Don might have been driving especially slow, he wasn’t sure with his mind in a whirl, but he noticed Cheryl looking harshly at him as he slid the car into park.

“I love you, you know,” he said.

Cheryl was already opening her door. “I know, honey. I’m just glad you’re not a child like your friend. Promise me if you have the urge to fuck someone younger, just have an affair like a reasonable person. And don’t ever let me find out about it. Deal?”

“I would never cheat on you,” he said.

Cheryl smiled this time, a genuine and affectionate one. For that instant, Don could see the girl he’d married, the one with the straight blonde hair and freckles on the crests of her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose, the one he’d spent nearly an entire weekend in bed with after they met. They’d ordered delivery and spent the rest of the time in a tangle of sweaty sheets and limbs, pausing in their lovemaking to talk about the life ahead of them. He’d loved her every day since, but time had been cruel to them.

It wasn’t like they visited cruelties on one another. It was the chill in Cheryl’s demeanor that had come as their personal wealth had grown. She had been so idealistic when they were younger, and now she was a frigid queen who ruled her domain with casual disinterest. 

Don watched her exit the car and make her way to the arched entrance of their home. It was big, bigger than either of them needed, but Cheryl had insisted on moving to Fairbridge when one of her acquaintances at the club had done so. She talked up the safety, the beauty of the homes, but it was a drop in status she was afraid of. And so they had moved, tacking an extra forty minutes on Don’s commute each weekday morning, but as long as Cheryl was happy…

He admired her still. She still had an elegance and grace about her, and more than four decades to practice it. She had resisted the lure of plastic surgery, and her small-ish breasts had not suffered the sag of time the way some of his bustier friends’ wives had, but no matter how Don tried, he could not find the girl he fell in love with inside this new version of Cheryl. He still loved her, and he had no urge to cheat on her, other than the animal need for sex. He wondered if he simply hadn’t grown accustomed to the chill of Cheryl’s touch, or lack thereof.

He followed her to the bedroom, sitting heavily on the edge of their wide, luxurious bed while Cheryl prepared herself for bed. He had not so much as removed his suit jacket after dinner. Instead, he held the hard clamshell case in his pocket, closing his eyes in an attempt to talk himself out of this plan, this mad notion to carve out some kind of happiness for himself, no matter the effect it would have on Cheryl.

“I thought we might fool around tonight,” he said, loud enough for Cheryl to hear over the sound of the running faucet. “Prove we don’t need trophy spouses?”

Cheryl leaned around the doorway, a thick white cream covering the bare skin around her eyes and mouth. “Come on, Don. It’s a Tuesday.” And with that, she disappeared again inside the bathroom.

He sighed and removed the case from his pocket, lifting the lid to reveal the pink pastel-colored horn rim glasses inside. They were the kind of stylish retro glasses that he saw a lot of young girls wear, then laughed rather bitterly at the thought. Young girls. Like Trixie. Don imagined telling Cheryl all about Trixie and Marnie and the horrible link between the two. He placed the glasses on the nightstand on Cheryl’s side of the bed, removing her own usual pair of reading glasses and placing them inside the glasses case.

“I don’t say it much, but I’m glad you’re not one of those men like Richie,” she said, entering the room in her silken nightgown. Despite her years, she looked lovely, and it pained Don to think that she would soon be in no position to refuse him anything. Was it really what he wanted? 

He was too late to turn back. Already, she was unfolding the glasses, her phone in hand, staring down at the screen. “Maybe this weekend we can-“

Cheryl froze, her mouth hung slightly open as the glasses were placed on her face, her eyes suddenly wide. 

“Cheryl?”

“I… uh…”

She turned slightly toward him as Don climbed onto the bed with her, still in his suit, fascinated and terrified.

Her eyes, a typically bright green, darkened. He could almost see the colors swirl behind the glasses. They faded until they had settled on a bright and pale blue. 

“Cheryl?” he repeated.

She smiled and tittered, a high and delicate sound that was very unlike Cheryl. Then again, the woman in bed beside Don wouldn’t be Cheryl much longer. As if to prove the truth of Don’s thought, he saw her skin seem to tighten and grow youthful. It reminded him of the hazy filter they used to film older actresses, where his image of Cheryl grew fuzzy and indistinct, and then refocused into the appearance of a much younger woman. Her hair, with its strands of gray at the peaks, grew brighter and more vibrant. He thought he could detect a hint of curl to her hair that had never been there before.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, and seemed to wiggle beneath the expensive sheets. 

She pushed them roughly aside, and Don saw that the changes were still occurring, the top of her nightgown billowing out as her breasts expanded on her chest and began to push together as the top of the gown constrained her. They had to be at least double Ds, Don thought, and found that his previous reticence was fading as his arousal grew, seeing this woman shift and warp into a picture of female desirability.

Her waist had thinned, and even her nails seemed to have grown and become impractical and painted a very bright pink to match the shade of her glasses. 

“Cheryl?” he asked again as the changes seemed to have settled, and the blonde sexpot beside him turned slowly toward him, her ruby-painted lips now fuller and inviting, parted slightly.

“Who?” she asked and giggled, twirling her hair around a long-nailed finger.

“Do you know me?”

“You’re my hubby!” she exclaimed, then surprised Don by throwing her arms around him.

He could feel the weight of her new tits against his chest, and she was cooing into his ear, her hands rubbing up and down his back.

“That’s right,” Don gasped, trying to avoid thinking any more about the erection that was growing. “Do you know who you are?”

“Cherri!” she replied with the same lustful enthusiasm.

Then she planted her lips on his, forcing him back on the bed. He had never been with someone so sexually aggressive, and he found it to be incredibly arousing. When Cherri threw her leg over him to straddle him, Don wantonly pushed her nightgown up, and Cherri obliged, lifting her arms as he freed her from her clothing. He paused to appreciate the fullness of her teardrop breasts and the perky, taut nipples that begged to be licked and sucked. His hands gripped her, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of breastflesh squeezing between his opened fingers. He squeezed, eliciting an “oooo” from Cherri, who had busied herself with unbuckling Don’s belt and releasing his now-hard cock, giggling as her hand wrapped around him.

He moaned, leaning his head back as Cherri rose slightly and then descended, enveloping his sex in her honeyed, wet-hot walls. She was incredibly tight, and Don wondered if this new version of his wife had been remade a virgin. He had little time to consider it as her hips began rocking with him inside her, stroking him from within. 

“Oh my god,” he gasped, drawing another giggle from Cherri.

“Mmmm… I hope you can handle fucking me every day, daddy,” she giggled.

Don drew a sharp breath, arching his back as he exploded inside this younger, sexed-up version of his wife. She came with him, prompted by his own climax, and he held her as they fell against one another, spent for the moment. 

Don was smiling, thinking of all the years ahead of him with this ever-ready, if slightly dim, young wife. Then he felt the hand on his softening cock again, stroking him back to life, though sluggishly.

“Mmmm…” she grinned. “I need more. You ready?”

And then the reality hit him. She would never be fulfilled. She would never be satisfied. Always ready. Always wanting.

As her mouth descended on his cum-slick shaft, Don moaned. In that moment, he could find the line between pleasure and despair.