The Bishop’s Hotwife: Part 5

Some things are not negotiable..

Based on a post by Wendy Trilby, in 5 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

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Chapter 10: So What Happens Now.

That
was the last I saw of Mrs. Barton. Two days after that conversation, I
headed back to Boston to complete my final year of law school.

I had two choices: dwell on the love I had found and now lost or apply that energy into my studies. I chose the latter.

Mrs.
Barton would text me from time to time and even ask if I was coming
home for the holidays. I could have ignored her texts, but instead, I'd
reply with one-word answers.

Busy.

Can't.

No.

I wasn't trying to be rude, but I was still processing this strange brew of deceit and devotion, that had left me so fucked up.

At times, I would masturbate to the memories of our time together, but visions of The Bishop would cloud those thoughts.

I
spent Christmas in Boston, telling each of my friends a different story
about where I would be. Although I had lost control of my life last
summer, I knew that if I focused on my studies, I could gain control
over my thoughts.

But
I could not control my dreams, and nearly every night I'd be with
Mandy. The Bishop was never in those dreams, just she and I. The dreams
were almost never sexual. It would be us spending time together. At
most, we held hands or kissed.

I
knew I should see a therapist about my experience, but I remembered the
threat Mandy said could come to her if our tryst was made public in any
way or form. Time and distance would have to be my therapy.

It was mid-January when I came out of Langdell Hall on the Harvard campus and saw her standing there. She was all alone.

I
assumed I was dreaming. I must have been asleep, but a student on a
Citybike nearly hit me, and I realized I was very much awake.

Her face showed a little weight, but in her winter coat, you couldn't tell she was six months pregnant.

I asked her why she was there. Was everything Okay? Was she okay?

Her answer was unexpected. Everything was fine. Perfect. Except she felt lonely.

She
shared that she had cried uncontrollably every morning since our last
day. She sank into a depression and spent several days at my house,
lying in our bed.

The
Bishop had hired a nanny to cover for her time away from home. None of
this was planned for in the grand scheme and The Bishop had grown angry
with her and livid with me.

I
had so much to say to her. I had rehearsed countless ways to insult
her, to bring her down. She had used me in the worst possible way and
had exploited my father. For eighteen years, she and The Bishop had
manipulated us so that he could appear to be a virile man of the church.
Meanwhile, he degraded his wife to maintain that stature. I was
prepared to unleash my hatred on this woman.

So here she was, and I; didn't say any of that.

She didn't need my semen, my support, my permission. She was here for me.

"Can we talk?" she asked.

We walked through the campus, coming to a quiet place to sit and talk.

"Does The Bishop know you're here?"

"No, I'm in Boston for a physical at Brigham and Women's. A woman at forty, they treat a pregnancy like it's high risk."

"You came to Boston for a physical?"

"I'm at seven months, so I won't be able to travel soon."

"But there's nothing wrong? Nothing that requires you to be here?"

"Yes, there is. You."

She had a difficult time making eye contact and looked at her lap as she spoke.

"I've
missed you. I realized how hurt you were when summer ended. We had so
much fun, shared so much together, and then the truth; "

"Yeah, the truth. That was a hell of a lot of truth."

"I know. I didn't see it coming. It was different with your father,"

"See what coming?"

"My feelings for you. I mean, with your dad, it was fun and comforting, and we never let emotions get in the way."

"Well, I'm not my dad, I guess. I've only impregnated you once."

I
rolled my eyes. That wasn't necessary, and it wasn't what I wanted to
say. I was overjoyed she was here and insulting her wasn't what I wanted
to do. Thankfully, she let it go.

"I
never felt for your father what I feel for you. That's what I came here
to say. I thought this feeling would go away when you left. It didn't,
it got worse."

We sat there in silence. She had, without stating the words, seemingly proclaimed everlasting love for me.

"So, what happens now?"

I
return to Utah tomorrow. In two months, our daughter will be born.
Three months later, you graduate, and hopefully, three months after
that, you'll let me come to you when I'm ready for another child.

"So, nothing changes? This charade continues?"

"Everything changes. I think I made it clear how I feel for you. Do you understand how complicated that is for me?"

She was a master of bringing the story back to herself.

Complicated for her? She had created this world, she chose it; I had been conscripted.

Still,
I did feel for her. I knew how much I wanted to be with her, and if her
desire for me was even a fraction of that, her days were long and
wanting.

She got up to go.

"I have an appointment. But I'm staying at the Copley Plaza if you want to come by and say goodbye or talk some more."

She
stood before me with a glow that only a pregnant woman can achieve. Her
hair was thick and lustrous, her face was full, and her belly was
distended with our child warm inside.

I stood to face here.

"Of course, we don't have to talk," she said, then turned and walked across the quad toward a waiting town car.

It was early evening when I arrived at the Copley Plaza Hotel. I went to the front desk to find her room.

"Can you call Amanda Barton's room for me. Tell her Ethan is here?"

The clerk handed me a room key.

"She said her husband was coming by. Ethan, is it?"

"Yes, Ethan. Her husband," I said, trying to sound sincere. "I'm her husband."

The clerk handed me a room key and gestured to the elevators.

"14 23, and congratulations."

I
smiled and nodded. I was her husband again. Apparently, I was to be
congratulated for that. Oh, wait, he meant for her pregnancy. Okay,
whatever.

I
gently knocked on the hotel room door, but with the key in hand, I
unlocked it and entered. It was a two-room suite, and I could hear the
shower running.

"Ethan?" she asked from the bathroom.

"Umm, yeah. They gave me a room key, so I let myself in."

I
heard the water shut off, and a few moments later, she walked into the
suite's living area wearing a thick hotel robe and drying her hair.

"I might have gone heavy on the coffee today."

"Should you even be drinking coffee?"

"Decaf. Not as much fun, but it turns out the poop effect is the same."

"And so, the shower."

She smiled.

"You know me. Poop and a shower. Some things don't change even if my body has."

I
was trying to visualize her beneath the robe. We had spent most of the
summer naked and in each other's arms, but there was a different body
under that terrycloth, and I longed to see it.

Perhaps my gaze betrayed me.

"You're curious, aren't you?" she said with a mischievous smile.

"Very."

I could tell she was anxious, which was a notable shift from her typically confident demeanor.

She
kept her gaze on me, and she reached for the tie of her robe, fingers
trembling slightly, and then let it slip away, revealing her heavily
pregnant form.

I
noticed