What I Did to Make My Husband Happy — That Involved Another Woman

I had to have a private room where she could change into her outfit, what little there was of it. The performance area had to be closed off from the neighbors, and of course, no one under 18 was allowed to be at the party.

My closest friends knew Nina was coming to strip. When I began covering our picture window with blankets — as we had no curtains at the time — most of our guests began to get suspicious.

I was going to either pass out illicit drugs or have a slumber party.

We had two sets of friends at this party: my coworkers and the Little League parents whose children were coached by my husband. They clustered in their respective groups around the room.

You can imagine how I felt. I was nervous Nina wouldn’t show up. I was nervous that she would show up! My stomach jumbled with butterflies.

Several of the Little League moms were very prudish. Would I be ostracized to the end of the bench during baseball games? Others were more open-minded. Still, I worried about their reaction. I thought most of the dads would be surprised but would definitely enjoy the show. I downed a few glasses of wine and then some. And waited, constantly checking outside for Nina’s arrival.

Eventually, she pulled into our driveway with her entourage. There were only two bodyguards, but it seemed like a lot more due to their size.

As she walked through the living room into my husband’s office to prepare, I watched the faces of my friends. My coworkers beamed with anticipation. The Little League moms watched Nina’s every move, whispering amongst themselves. The dads merely seemed curious.

With everyone forming a circle around the living room, Nina entered from the hallway. She oozed sexuality. Her blond hair framed her pretty face. Her petite body was well toned, with firm calves and thighs. I had not had a body like that in years, if ever.

She looked at my husband as if he were the only man in the room. And he was hers.

One of her bodyguards hit play on her boom box and she started dancing. And stripping. When she brought out her “toys,” I thought a few of the moms were going to have a coronary attack. One or two left the room for the kitchen, jabbing their husbands to follow.

They didn’t.

It was like having an X-rated movie in the middle of our living room. This was definitely outside my comfort zone, but my husband was having the time of his life.

My coworkers whooped and hooted as Nina went around the room, dancing in front of each of us, and giving everyone special attention. Even the Little League moms, those who hadn’t vacated to safety, started smiling. I relaxed and fell into the rhythm of the room. Nina was a class act.

After her performance, Nina beckoned my husband into his office where she posed with him while a coworker took photos. They are very tasteful shots that still hang on his office wall.

Later that night, as we got ready for bed, my husband confessed that he had known Nina was coming to the house. One of his friends had called from Michigan, three hours ahead of California, asking how he liked the show. I’m thankful my husband had the foresight to keep that a secret from me until only the memory of Nina remained. It didn’t change the excitement of the evening. Although when he told me, I did want to strangle his friend.

Once my husband fell asleep, fully satisfied, I put my afterglow energy to use and cleaned the house. As I poured wine down the sink, dumped half-eaten slices of pizza into the trash and wiped spills off the carpet, I could hear the claps and cheers from earlier. A few gasps lingered in the air. But mostly, the echoes of laughter filled the room.

As it turned out, I did not lose any friends over this party. In fact, I gained a bit of admiration from some of the Little League fathers.

To this day, my husband says that was the best birthday party he’s ever had. And there have been decades of birthdays since then. I can’t say that I make him happy every day. But I sure did that night.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.