She glanced at the clock. It was almost noon but she didn’t feel hungry. She was horny not hungry, dammit, she needed sex, a good hard pounding fuck. Even her fingers weren’t enough when she pulled off her panties, lay on the couch and masturbated. Sure, it was a temporary relief, but nowhere near fulfilling.
Bette chuckled to herself, recalling something her sister said to her recently. Maybe she needed a boyfriend. A new man would be an exciting change of pace. Well, her sister should know, that was how she became divorced. But Bette knew she could never cheat on John. Then she remembered another conversation with her sister, one that happened after Bette had wondered aloud if her marital problems were her fault, that she wasn’t exciting enough for John any more. Her sister told her to open John’s computer. All men had porn hidden away, she insisted. It was no longer Playboys in the closet, but locked files on the hard drive. If she could find it, maybe she could discover what John liked in his fantasy women. She kept herself slim; she’d been young enough after their son’s birth to quickly regain her shape, but maybe a change of hairstyle or color perhaps? She could do that. Then she laughed again, what if he had a secret fondness for oriental or black women? She’d be shit-out-of-luck there.
Turning to look toward the den, a pang of quilt shot through her. Could she spy on him? Snoop into his secret harem? How would she explain dying her hair to suit his preference, if that’s what it took? She could say it was her idea, something she wanted to do. Could she go so far as dye her pubic hair to match? That would shock him. It was worth a try. Anything to get back the first-rate sex they once had.
When she sat down and turned on the desktop computer, she was nervous. There was no reason to be, for it was not exclusively his. She paid bills on it. Had recipes stored in it. E-mailed her sister and friends.
Opening some of his files was easy, for the ones that were obviously tagged to his work weren’t locked. The built-in My Pictures folder seemed too obvious; surely he would hide what she was looking for somewhere less visible, less accessible. But she couldn’t resist opening folders within folders there, family pictures, Little Johnny as a baby, and, oh my god, the Hawaiian vacation pictures.