Husband Turns Gay: Chapter 12

Abstract: The 12th of 16 chapters.
Bradley gives Amy an ultimatum. Amy thinks about Bradley, David, and the decision she needs to make.
\\\\\

Amy blinked awake to the hum of the air conditioning unit, her body still humming from the night's entanglements. The bed sheets were a twisted mess around her legs, carrying the faint musk of sweat and sex. She stretched, expecting Bradley's warmth beside her, but the spot was empty, the pillow dented but cool. A soft glow from the desk lamp caught her eye—Bradley hunched over his laptop, fingers tapping the keys in quick bursts, his back to her in the dim pre-dawn light filtering through the curtains. He wore nothing but boxers, the fabric stretched tight over his ass, and she couldn't help but admire the way his shoulders flexed with each keystroke.

She sat up, the sheet slipping down to pool at her waist, exposing her breasts to the room's chill. "Morning already?" Her voice was rough from sleep and last night's moans. He turned, eyes softening as they landed on her, and he closed the laptop with a click. Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to her lips—gentle at first, then deeper, his tongue slipping in to taste the remnants of tiramisu and him on her breath. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her lower lip, but he pulled back too soon, standing with a sigh. "Need a shower. Breakfast after?"

She nodded, watching him disappear into the bathroom. The water started running, a steady rush that made her bladder twinge, but she stayed put. By the time he emerged, towel-dried and pulling on his flight uniform—crisp white shirt, navy pants, the epaulets gleaming—she'd slipped into her own. The uniform hugged her curves, the skirt ending just above her knees, and she caught him glancing at the way it clung to her hips as she buttoned her blouse.

They headed down to the hotel's breakfast nook, a quiet corner with Formica tables and the smell of overbrewed coffee mingling with scrambled eggs. Uniforms made them blend in with the other crew members scattered around, but Amy felt exposed, like the fabric remembered every thrust from the night before. They loaded plates with yogurt parfaits, fresh fruit, and croissants, settling at a table by the window overlooking the rain-slicked street. She forked a strawberry, popping it into her mouth, juice bursting on her tongue, and slid her foot along his calf under the table. "Last night was... intense. You got better at that tongue thing."

He smiled faintly, but his eyes didn't meet hers, focused on stirring sugar into his coffee. They ate in comfortable silence at first, the clink of cutlery and murmur of Italian conversations filling the space. But as she reached for her second croissant, he set his fork down, the metal scraping the plate. "Amy," he said, voice low and steady, "I can no longer live like this, having an affair with a married woman. It's eating me to my core. We need to separate." The words landed like a slap, her hand freezing mid-air, crumbs tumbling to the tablecloth. He continued, not looking up, "I transferred to another crew and we will no longer be flying together—for now. I want no further meeting, voice, or text communication with you. I'll give you three months to consider your future relationship with your husband. Don't contact me until you're legally divorced."

She stared, the croissant forgotten, her stomach twisting as if he'd punched it. "Bradley, I don't understand? After everything?" Tears pricked her eyes, but he just reached into his pocket, sliding a keyring across the table—keys to his condo near the airport, the one he'd mentioned once in passing, a quiet crash pad for layovers. "I notified management that you'll be staying there. It will give you a place and time to think about what to do next." His tone was final, like closing a cockpit door before takeoff. Amy sat lifeless, the world narrowing to the glint of the keys and the way his jaw set, unyielding. The yogurt turned sour in her mouth, and she pushed the plate away, tears starting to roll down her cheeks, hot and silent.

The cab to the airport was a blur of honking traffic and her stifled sobs, Bradley staring out the window, his hand inches from hers but not touching. At the terminal, amid the shuffle of passengers and the beep of scanners, she pulled him into a hug—desperate, her arms locking around his neck, lips crashing against his in a tear-salted kiss. He responded for a moment, hands on her waist, but then gently pried her off. "Three months, Amy." They went their separate ways, him through security to a different gate, her standing there, keys biting into her palm, the weight of his absence settling like lead.

Amy flew to London to rejoin her crew, then on to Dubai, then Tokyo, before the long trip back home. It gave her three days to think about David, Bradley, and what she was going to do with her life. David lied to her, hurt and betrayed her, but he was good man-strong, steady, and capable. They were closely the same age, had similar upbringings, compatible, sharing similar views of life. Was he truly gay, or was he just sowing his wild oats? Would she remain an important physical, mental, emotional, and romantic partner in his left, or has she been pushed aside, replaced by another man?

Her blossoming romance with Bradley was new and untested. She never before was in love with a much older man of a previous generation. She felt safe, secure and comfortable in being with him, in an almost fatherly way. With Bradley being an ultra-conservative Christian, they did not have much in common, other than the industry they worked in. Her life would be so different should she live in his world. She would most-likely be a member of his church. Although she commanded a certain level of control over their relationship, could she change him to be the person she wants him to be? Would she allow him to do the same?