“The nights are full of mystery, secrets, hidden passions, and misplaced trust,” said RedScarlet, a journalist, wife, and mother who romanticized the experiences recounted by her sources as a hobby after work. She met couples in downtown bistros who were introduced to her by a friend who frequented erotic salons. RedScarlet started this hobby to spice up her relationship. She could never have gone as far as the protagonists of her stories, but she was excited by their confessions and reserved that passion for her husband. Sometimes, her conscience would not allow her to reveal certain obscenities, so she had to omit the more salacious details. She wondered how individuals could become the objects of each other’s fantasies without reservation. She was not aroused by this but rather stunned. She focused on couples with less extreme stories, such as a career woman with a boastful husband, a woman who sacrificed herself for her family until rediscovering her sensuality, a young wife in shorts and a top who attracted her neighbors’ attention, and an athlete wife of overwhelming beauty with a wealthy, handsome husband who ended up in the city’s espionage network. These couples were all very similar to her and her husband, which is why she was excited to romanticize their stories. She romanticized the stories she read to make them more appealing, drawing her inspiration from the couples’ experiences. Her first reader was always her husband. That afternoon, she was going to meet her friend, a blonde whose husband was often away on business. Intrigued, she asked her how she managed to hide her betrayals from her partner.
“I never lie to him about money. He believes me about everything else!” her friend admitted candidly.
As RedScarlet rose from her bistro chair to go home, she admitted to herself that she had never lied to her husband about money or anything else, except for a few minor secrets unrelated to her emotional or financial life. She wondered if her husband was as loyal as she was. The doubt nagged at her until she followed him the next morning. She followed him by car to a small villa in the neighborhood where he grew up. She watched him enter the house where she had lived as a child. Shortly after, a tall blonde woman rang the doorbell, accompanied by another man. When she saw the door open, she approached, feeling tense about what she was about to discover. She heard her husband talking to the woman.
“The house must be ready for my wife’s birthday,” her husband insisted. “Next week!” The woman and man confirmed.
Then the door opened, and RedScarlet was overcome with embarrassment. Her husband wanted to surprise her by giving her the house she had grown up in, completely renovated. But she had ruined the surprise.
Her husband realized he had been followed. Perhaps he had been too evasive in recent days.
“Forgive me! I was influenced by the stories I’ve been told!” she apologized.
He didn’t mind, though. After all, the house wasn’t the only surprise he had in store for her. He had planned a romantic evening and night of passion for her birthday, with the children staying with their grandparents. “Will you let me read the reason for your suggestion?” He was excited by her stories, too.
“Sooner than you think!” She hugged and kissed him, saving all her stories of intimate, engaging, and scandalous passions for him.
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