The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom (5 page)

“Spencer said that sometimes he touches his butt-hole.”

“Spencer!” I growled. He turned to me, his hand poised above
the blue floral cookie tin Trudy was proffering. “What did I say about that
kind of language?”

“What? It’s not a body function. It’s a body part. And
sometimes I touch it, okay? Jeez.”

“Ewwwwwwwww!” the kids chorused. I think Jane may have
joined in, just a little.

Trudy pulled the tin away. “Maybe you should go wash your
hands, Spencer?”

“You are so disgusting!” Chloe shrieked.

“Go wash your hands Spencer,” I echoed, my face turning
crimson.

“What’s the big deal?” He huffed, as he headed to the
washroom. “It’s a part of my body.”

“Ewwww! It’s where poo and farts come out!!” Emily tittered.

“Emily!” Trudy whirled on her. “We DO NOT use that kind of
language in this house!”

“But mom,” she whined. “Cameron said butt-hole.”

“Cameron was just repeating what Spencer said,” Trudy
expounded. “You know better than to say that yucky word. Go get one of your
toys to put in the naughty-word box.”

Emily sniffled a little, but obediently headed to the play
room. Trudy disappeared into the pantry, soon returning with a cardboard box—obviously,
the naughty-word box. Within a few moments, Emily rejoined us carrying a
battered Barbie doll.

“In the box,” Trudy said sternly. “Now…what word will you
use instead of that naughty one?”

“Pass wind.”

“That’s right. Now, off you go. Your cinnamon bun is on the
table.”

Spencer returned with his hands freshly washed. “Can I have
a cookie now?”

“Sure Mr. Spencer-Bo-Pencer,” Trudy said cheerily. “Help
yourself.”

I decided to follow the advice of Jane’s
successful, goal-reaching husband. It was time to make a list—a Life Makeover
list. I could no longer deny the fact that my life was not exactly going as I
had envisioned it. My son had apparently developed an obsession with bodily
functions; my daughter seemed to have a case of early onset teen hostility; and
my husband, who had been away for four days, had called home only once,
briefly, to say good night to the kids. And that was not to mention the fact
that I suddenly had six glorious hours of freedom each day, and no idea what to
do with them.

With a mug of Serenity herbal tea (the
uplifting blend), I took a pad of paper and a pen to the kitchen table. Taking
a sip of the hot liquid, I inhaled the aroma of orange blossoms, essence of
clematis, and something that smelled a little bit like mushrooms. Then I wrote:

Life Makeover

I underlined it several times with heavy
pen strokes.

Okay… first off, the kids.

1. Do research on internet to learn if Spencer’s fascination
with bodily functions is a sign that he is a deeply disturbed weirdo, or just
going through a phase.

This was obviously a top priority. It was
only a matter of time before this fixation had serious scholastic and social
repercussions. Spencer was sure to call his teacher ‘barf hair’ or something,
and get suspended, if not expelled. And at some point, he was bound to become
know to all his peers as “that weird kid who can’t stop talking about diarrhea.”

2. Find out why Chloe suddenly hates me.

I had absolutely no idea how to go about
this, or whether it was even possible, but I was determined to at least try.
Now, on to my marriage…

3. Resexualize relationship with Paul.

—Wear sexy lingerie

—Initiate mind-blowing sex in room other
than bedroom

—**Multiple positions**

—Increase number of blow jobs given (Two
per month reasonable?)

I took another sip of tea and tapped my pen
on the paper thoughtfully. Surely there was more I could do to rejuvenate our
sex life? It was a little disturbing that I couldn’t think of anything else.
Okay... time to focus on me. What did I want out of life? What would enrich my
existence? What would make me feel more fulfilled as a person? I wrote down
:

4. Bigger boobs

No, I did not think bigger boobs would
enrich my existence or fulfil me as a person, but still, I wanted them. I was
not going to go the breast implant route—too expensive and risky. But there
were exercises I could do to build up my pectoral muscles at least giving the
impression
of bigger boobs. And really… why stop there?

5. Begin rigorous exercise program

—Aerobic exercise to feel great and have
tons of energy

—
Spot exercises: to tone and trim,
ensuring I look very fit and gorgeous

Both of these would undoubtedly help with my resexualizing
efforts—but this was really about me.

6. Find stimulating and creative hobby

—
Feed mind! Nourish soul!

7. Clean and organize household

I scratched off the last one. Cleaning and
organizing was a little mundane to be on a list entitled “Life Makeover”. I
felt better already. Daniel was right. Just putting these goals down on paper
made them more tangible, more achievable. I was determined and energized. I
would tackle item 1, immediately.

Paul had a tiny office tucked behind the family
room, just before the entrance to the attached garage. Sitting in the swivel
chair at his press-board desk, I booted up the computer. I waited patiently as
the machine initialized, feeling confident that, with a little insight, I’d be
able to help my son overcome his problem. When I was finally on my
search
engine’s home page, I paused. The empty white box sat waiting for me to enter
my search topic. Speculating for a few moments, I typed,
young
boys fixated on pee + poo + snot+ vomit.

I clicked Go.

Ewww! I was immediately assaulted with a litany of
pornographic websites that managed to turn my stomach within the span of their
brief, ten-word descriptions.

I tried again.

Compulsive butt-hole touching in young
boys

Oh God! This was even worse! I felt somewhat nauseous—not to
mention paranoid that a kiddie-porn task force was going to kick my door in and
arrest me at any moment. The office phone at my elbow rang loudly in the empty
house. Oh shit! Oh shit! The cops must have been monitoring my computer!

“Hello?” My voice was thin and reedy.

“Hi. It’s Karen.”

“Oh, hi!” I was relieved. “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks. Look… I have a couple of
things I need to talk to you about. Is this a good time?”

My relief was short lived. From her
preface, I could deduce that she was either mad at me for some reason, or she
was about to divulge more details of her earth-shaking sex life. I wasn’t
really in the mood for either conversation. “… Sure.”

“You didn’t tell Jane about me and Javier,
did you?”

“No!” I shrieked. “God, no! I told you I
wouldn’t say anything.”

“Okay… It’s just that… well…”

Her accusation annoyed me. I hadn’t asked
for the role of Karen’s lone confessor, and I didn’t appreciate her mistrust.
“Why did you confide in me then, if you don’t think I can’t keep a secret for
more than a few days?”

“Sorry! I believe you! I believe you. It
was just so weird at Trudy’s house the other day.”

“Weird how?” I was still simmering.

“All that sex talk. We don’t usually talk
about our sex lives around Trudy. It makes her uncomfortable. And poor Carly…
She was really upset afterward.”

“I wasn’t too thrilled either. It was
my
sex life we were discussing.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It just made me wonder
if Jane knew something. She just kept going on and on about sex, sex, sex. She
was relentless.”

“Well… You know Jane.”

“You’re right, I do. I’m probably just
paranoid. Sorry I doubted you.”

“That’s okay.”

“So… how
is
the resexualizing
going?”

“Paul gets home tonight.” I didn’t offer
any more details.

“Well… good luck with it. I’m sure you’ll
be, umm, great.”

“Thanks.” There was an awkward pause that I
knew I was meant to fill. “How are things with…” God, what did I say? Your men?
Your lovers? Or did I use their names—Doug and Javier? Finally I chose “…you?”

“Good,” she said weakly. “Well, not really.
I’m so confused, Paige. I’m really torn.”

“So, you’re still seeing Javier?”

“Of course. I can’t just walk away from
what I feel for him. But then Doug… God, I feel so guilty. He’s been really
sweet lately and talking a lot about having a baby. It just makes it harder.”

“Well… no one said adultery was easy.”

“Apparently not.” There was a slight pause
before she spoke again. “I need a favor.”

“… Okay,” I said, hesitantly.

“I don’t mean to draw you into this, but… I
need you to cover for me tonight.”

“Karen,” I said firmly. “I’m not
comfortable lying to Doug.”

“You don’t have to lie to him! You won’t
even have to talk to him. All I’m asking is that you don’t call for me between
eight and eleven tonight. That’s not so much to ask, is it?

“Well…” I still didn’t feel good about it.

“And if you could just stay inside. You
know, so he doesn’t see you.”

“So, you’re telling him that you’re out
with me when you’ll really be with Javier?”

“Yes, just this once.”

“I don’t like it, Karen.”

“I know, but it’s crucial I talk to Javier.
There are some important…
issues
we need to discuss. I can’t go on like
this. It’s not fair to anyone. I need to have a serious conversation with him
about what the future holds. I’m not even going to have sex with him tonight.”

Sure, like she’d be able to resist his
smoldering eyes.

I heaved a heavy sigh. “I guess it’s okay—just
this once.”

“Thank you, Paige,” she said, almost
gleefully. She sounded awfully excited for someone who was just going to
talk
.

“But if Doug calls here, I’m not covering
for you. I’ll just say I don’t know where you are, which, technically, will be
true.”

“That’s fine. He won’t call.”

“I sure hope not.”

“He won’t.”

I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty
for my small role in Karen’s subterfuge. It wasn’t that Doug and I were close.
Our relationship had always been pleasant, but rather superficial. But I hated
lying. It made me feel like a bad person. Although… I wasn’t actually
lying
,
per se. I was just staying indoors and not calling Karen, which, in fact, was
what I had planned to do anyway. I decided to stop beating myself up over it.

Instead of focusing (again) on my friend’s
dangerous liaison, I would concentrate all my attention on my own plans for the
evening. Because tonight, at 9:00 P.M., my unsuspecting husband would be
landing at the Denver International Airport. When he arrived home,
approximately forty-five minutes later, he would be greeted at the door by his
sexy, lingerie-clad wife, who was fully prepared to ravage him like a horny
teenager—quite possibly right there in the grand entryway.

When the kids went to bed at eight, I began
my preparations. I had bought a do-it-yourself bikini waxing kit, and for the
first time, gave myself a home bikini wax. The result was a rather lopsided,
chicken skin look, but hopefully Paul would, at least, appreciate my efforts. I
then took a hot, lavender scented bath, where I shaved off all other
superfluous body hair. At 8:45, I toweled myself off, put my hair up in a
loose, devil-may-care style, and applied a full face of makeup. By 9:15, I was
seated in the family room, a thick terry robe covering my garter belt, fishnet
stockings and rather too large push up bra. Inexplicably, I felt nervous… or
maybe just excited. This was a momentous occasion after all: the first day of
the rest of our marriage. To relax, I poured myself a glass of syrah, and
flicked on a rerun of CSI.

I watched the entire program. And then, I
watched a VH1
Behind the Music
episode on Mariah Carey. When the late
news came on, I realized something was wrong. Paul was over an hour late. His
plane must have been delayed. Or he’d had car trouble on the way home. Or his
plane had been shot down by terrorists—although, that would likely have made
the news. But a car crash wouldn’t! He could be lying, right now, in the
twisted wreckage! My children could be orphans! It was a momentary panic. I
still felt fairly confident that my husband was simply running late. But there
was one thing I was absolutely positive about: I could not wear this lingerie
for another second.

Upstairs, I gratefully peeled out of the
constrictive gear. An ensemble like this was obviously not meant to be worn for
more than a few minutes, before it was ripped from your body in a fit of
passion. Extended wear could cause irreparable damage; I was lucky to have
survived the experience with everything still intact. That’s when I heard the
sound of Paul’s key in the front door. Damn! I tried to struggle back into the
outfit, but it was too complicated. It wouldn’t be very sexy if he came up here
and found me awkwardly tangled in black elastic and lace. Throwing on the robe,
I scurried downstairs to greet my husband.