Avril Baxter had no idea her marriage of twenty-one years was in serious trouble. Not until the day she read the label on a large box UPS dropped off on her front doorstep.
Covered in plain brown paper, the return address read: Adult Home Entertainment, Inc., and her husband’s name, Harold Baxter, had been typed in bold print right above their home address.
Avril’s curiosity overrode any qualms she might have had about opening her husband’s mail. She usually left his letters and packages unopened on the foyer table. But not this time. Instead, she lugged the cumbersome carton through the garage and directly into the great room.
A twinge of guilt made her momentarily question her intentions, but she shook it off. After all, a marriage was at stake here.
Theirs!
Lately, Harold seemed like a stranger. He no longer behaved like the man she married back in the mid-eighties, when roles were more defined and expectations for a marriage basically met.
After weeks of constant speculation, and wishing Harold would tell her what was going on in his head, Avril had come to the only conclusion she could come to, under the circumstances. Harold, Avril decided, was apparently going through some form of mid-life crisis.
But worse, she suspected he was having an affair, and probably with someone he met while surfing the fucking Internet.
Avril could imagine the type of woman he’d choose for his mistress. A woman with loose morals, willing to provide him with what his wife of twenty-one years would or could not—perverted, kinky, uninhibited sex.
She suspected a problem. And the problem now affected their relationship to the extent Harold spent more time on the computer than with her.
Hell, she’d watched enough Oprah, and Dr. Phil to know what went on out there. Married men cheated on unsuspecting wives, and lived secret lifestyles. Men who would never dare ask their wives to do certain things, even behind closed doors, had no reservation engaging in these activities with total strangers.
Avril turned her attention to the box, tearing off the wrapping like a ten-year-old kid on Christmas morning, determinedly, hurriedly, without thought of consequence or reprisal.
Based on the size of the box, she guessed it contained a large assortment of products that Harold had ordered . . . probably from some X-rated online site—private, intimate, and disturbing.
What could Harold have possibly been thinking? Boxes that came in brown paper packaging shouted, “Pornography!” What if one of their neighbors had seen the delivery? They’d be whispering behind their hands and spreading gossip quicker than you could say, “Penthouse Pet.”
Avril tugged at the outer flaps. Hopefully, whatever was in the box would give her some clue as to what she was up against.
“What the—.” She pried away the bubble packing, exposing the neatly packed items, some in small colorful boxes, others resting conspiratorially against each other.
“Jesus, Mary Mother, and Joseph,” she said, simultaneously made the sign of the cross. She pulled out a detailed invoice tucked on top.
Thank you for ordering our special “Toy Box!” We are sure you will enjoy these selections. If we can be of further assistance please let us know. We value regular customers.
Regular customers? What? They considered Harold a regular?
What else had Harold been ordering ‘regularly’ from these people who catered to the ‘adult only’ clientele?
Avril took a deep breath and dipped her hand into the box. She pulled each item out, placing them neatly around her. When she was finished, she sat back on her heels and studied the wide array of sexual ‘toys’ and devices. Hell, she didn’t even know what half of them were for! She picked up the accompanying brochure and read each description.
