No Love, No Tears, No Pain, Etc.

This week's Trifecta Writing Challenge is to come up with 33 words about love gone wrong; however, the piece cannot include the following words:

love, sad, tears, wept, heart, pain

Here are my 33:

Whispers yell
Rumors swell

My past sin
Your chagrin

Passion wanes
Our knot strains

Your mistrust
Breeds my lust

"Lock the door,
Paramour"

You suspect
I deflect

And you stay
While I stray

The Art of Craft

Paul stopped hiding his affairs eventually. Who has time for craft and subterfuge with so many sluts to be had? Catching him last time barely registered a blip on my emotional radar. I despised myself for staying. What could I do? We had kids, a mortgage, a fucking Beagle. 

Clearly, I was dead inside. How else could I continue to let Paul touch me? So when my high school boyfriend found me on Facebook, I was surprised to feel excitement ... lust.

It would be weeks before I wound up underneath Brian. At first we flirted innocently online. When I vented about Paul, he admitted his wife had cheated, too. We commiserated about our shitty marriages via text and phone calls. One day Brian put it all out there.

“They’ve done it. Why shouldn’t we?”

Deciding to cheat on your cheating spouse isn't easy. You’re still violating your vows—however broken they may be.

We deliberated over a covert dinner in a neighboring town. Despite thinning hair and a widening middle, Brian looked fan-fucking-tastic.

“Revenge sex won’t realign the planets,” I cautioned.

“I’m willing to try,” he grinned.

We met during lunch breaks and whenever we could steal away. Brian became a wiz at detaching his baby’s car seat base for backseat quickies.

I’ve forgotten how we ended up there that day, but in Brian's bed we relished the opportunity to be completely naked. His soft chest hairs tickled my breasts, surging heat throughout my body. When the front door opened, Brian froze mid thrust. Discarded clothes marked our path. We hadn’t bothered closing the bedroom door.

With their daughter on her hip, Brian’s wife flung the diaper bag at his head. Then she trained her sights on me.

“Get out of my house,” she screamed. “Whore!”

Her hypocrisy incensed me. I tore into her, spewing highlights of her infidelities.

The room fell silent.

“What the hell is she talking about?” She glared at Brian. He looked down, shrugged.

Shit.

Whore: party of one.

#

This week's Trifecta Writing Challenge: The entry must be 33-333 words and include the word "craft" as defined below:

CRAFT
skill in deceiving to gain an end <used craft and guile to close the deal>

Word count: 333