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It Was Just A Fantasy

By: rpsuch



In keeping with my style, there is very little actual sex, though the theme is decidedly adult.

If someone had suggested to me before I got married even the possibility that something like this could happen, I would have considered it too absurd to even dignify the comment with a response. I can’t pinpoint the time when the whole situation began to develop. I just had an intuition that something was going on, but I didn’t have any real sense of what it was. The first thing I was actually aware of noticing was that Dan seemed to be more enthusiastic about pursuing, and having, sex. When he would come into the bedroom, he would seem to be kind of ready and more involved. The frequency seemed to be picking up as well. It didn’t take my intuition to tell me that this could be a good thing.

I guess it went on for some time before I noticed anything else. Why would I notice anything else? I wasn’t looking for anything. I was just enjoying whatever it was that was firing him up. 

Eventually it dawned on me that he seemed to be in his office before these sessions. His computer was in there. I wondered if he might be getting involved in chat rooms and receiving his inspiration there, from talking to other women. Even though I was the beneficiary, I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. It’s like cheating in a way. Of course, I didn’t know that he was doing it. I had a mystery and a vague suspicion.

Now in a situation like this, a man would be all over my computer the moment I left the house. Would he seek help? No self-respecting man would ever do that. They have to solve every problem themselves. Women, however, are more evolved. I did what any woman would do. I called my best friend.

“So you think he’s cheating on you online?”

“Well, not exactly cheating.”

“No way. Danny would never do that. I’m not just saying it because of what you tell me about him. I know him pretty well myself. He is the nicest man, person, I’ve ever met. He’s sweet. He’s thoughtful. He goes out of his way to do stuff for you without you even asking. He does nice stuff for everybody, for God’s sake.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“Well.”

“Beth! You’re married to the nicest guy in the world and you’re not happy about it?”

“Sometimes it makes me kind of jealous.”

“Jealous? I don’t understand.”

“He’s nice to everybody. Even people he doesn’t particularly like. He’s nice to strangers. He’ll see somebody on the street who needs help, and he’ll help them.”

“The cad!”

“I know it sounds shallow and petty. But if he does those things for strangers, for people who’ve done nothing to earn it, what does it mean when he does it for me? He isn’t doing it because he loves me or because I’ve shown I’m worthy of him being nice. He just does it because he’s a nice guy.”

“Everybody should have such problems.”

“I know, Cheryl. I’m not proud of my feelings. But that’s how I feel. It’s actually even worse. Just one time I think I’d like to see him do something really bad. Be a son of a bitch or something. Do something really mean to someone else. Hell, I think I’d even like it if he did something mean to me. That would bring him down to a level with the rest of us. It’s like he’s a damn saint.”

“That’s really messed up.”

“I know.” I was feeling really embarrassed and didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t just jealousy. I think that seeing Dan as an example of how people could be, how people should be, made me realize that I was deficient. I was too embarrassed to admit that to Cheryl.

She finally tried to cheer me up. “Maybe he is talking to other women online. They get him worked up and then he comes up to you and gives you the benefit of their encouragement.”

“I almost hope so. It would be nice to find at least one chink in the armor. On the other hand, I think I’d be hurt to think he needed other women to turn him on for me.”

“But, from what you’re saying, you would be happy if he hurt you. And if it turns out to be innocent, you’ll be unhappy he didn’t hurt you?”

“I don’t know. I think so. I don’t know. I’m so confused.”

“So maybe Mr. Danny needs help in the bedroom. There’s a weakness.” She said it with delight.

“No. Actually, he’s always been terrific. He’s very patient. Just like he is in everything else he does. He doesn’t even let us get started with him until he’s brought me off at least once or twice. It’s really frustrating.”

“Yeah. Forcing you to submit to all that pleasure. He’s a real monster.”

“Stop making fun of me. I already know it’s ridiculous.”

“So what does he do? I mean to get you off a couple times before he really gets started.”

“That’s more personal than I want to answer.”

“You already told me he gives you multiples before you can even touch him. That’s not personal?”

“No. That’s just another example of his damn good qualities. What we do is personal details. I might be willing to talk about it some other time, but not when I’m feeling so bad about being upset that he’s such a great guy.”

“Only in America.”

“Cut it out, Cheryl. I feel bad enough. So what do I do about his mysterious activities?”

“That depends. Do you really want to know?”

“I think I do.”

“So snoop.”

“Well, but that means I kind of have to not trust him. I mean, am I betraying him by snooping on him?”

“Kind of, I guess. I mean you kind of have to decide which is worse: not knowing what he’s doing or sneaking around his private stuff.”

She had distilled the dilemma. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“So do you have any other serious marital problems we can work on?”

“You can be such a smart ass some times.”

“But you love me.”

“I do.”

“Oh shit! I completely forgot my mother is coming in today and I was supposed to meet her at the airport in 45 minutes. Shit. I can’t believe I forgot. I’ve got a meeting I can’t miss in 10 minutes. What the hell am I going to do? I’m going to have to call the airport and get her a message to take a cab. Shit, shit, shit.”

“Cheryl, you know I have time flexibility here. I can take a few hours and pick her up for you.”

“Oh, God. Would you really do that? That would be so incredible.”

“Of course. In fact, I’m kind of hurt that you didn’t ask me. You know I can move my schedule around.”

“Well, that’s because my mom isn’t coming in.”

“What? You were just messing with me?”

“No. You offered to handle my problem without even being asked. You’re nice too, aren’t you?”

“You, you, I don’t even know the right word.”

“Just say, ‘Thank you.’”

“Thank you.”

Ultimately, I decided that I wanted to know. I am not totally without computer skills. The first thing I tried was Dan’s email. It came up immediately. Not a good sign. If there were anything to hide, he would probably hide it. I read through it anyway. There was nothing of any interest as far as his recent behavior was concerned. I felt pretty guilty reading through it too. Nonetheless, I fired up his Instant Messenger. I couldn’t tell from the nicknames in his buddy list who they were. A message came up.

“Dude, did you see that game Clement pitched?”

Shit. It was as if Dan was online. Whoever was messaging him might ask Dan about it if he didn’t get an answer.

“Amazing,” I typed. I decided to get the hell off before I had to start answering other people. I wasn’t sure that I could answer the way Dan would and someone might get suspicious. Maybe IM wasn’t the way to go right now. I would have to think it through more thoroughly.

If he were visiting chat rooms, it would be in the browser’s history unless he erased it. No. No chat rooms. But he was visiting something called Literotica. What was that, a porn site? Yuk. But it would mean that he isn’t Mr. Perfect. Why does that bother me so much?

It turned out that it’s not exactly a porn site. It looked like he’d been reading stories.

He seemed to focus on stories involving wives committing adultery. Occasionally a husband would be enraged and it would break up the marriage. But in most of the stories, either the husband arranged it or encouraged her. Or, despite being angry and jealous, he would be aroused and allow it to continue. What did this mean? What was it in these stories that would arouse him enough to come up and attack me? Some of the stories he read did have very unhappy endings. Was it adultery that excited him? I started to read some of the new stories in the “Loving Wives” category, the one in which these stories were found. “Loving” seemed a strange word for what these women did.

Reading the stories gave me a better idea of why he would be reading stories with such different endings. You can’t tell ahead of time what the ending will be. The guy is ready to explode in anger. He is going to charge in and beat the other man before he thrashes his wife within an inch of her life and, suddenly, he has an erection. He’s so jealous he could kill, but then all he wants to do is watch and jerk off or maybe join in.

There were so few stories where the men ended up unhappy, that I concluded he must have been reading for the other kind of story. I mean why would you wade through a hundred stories to find one that turns you on?

And the women. The way they were portrayed told me that most of the stories were written by men. They acted like men with female genitalia, ruled by lust, unmindful of the potential consequences. As long as they got good sex, they were willing to throw away their marriages and their children and even their lives. They were thinking with their penises, except that they were women. Is that the kind of woman that interests him? Was he fantasizing about them when he came up to me?

Did he want me to act like that? Was he fantasizing about me cheating on him? I certainly hoped not because I had no intention of doing that. It was unthinkable.

But I thought about it. It repulsed me. But it appealed to me in a way as well. I would never do anything like that. A woman could not act that way if she loved and valued her husband. But maybe it would be all right if I fantasized about it a little. I mean it’s just a fantasy isn’t it? I would never actually bring the fantasy to fruition. Why would this possibly appeal to me at all in any way? The behavior was reprehensible. Perhaps it was appealing because it appealed to Dan and I would do anything to please him.

I’ve read that groups are better at solving problems than individuals; that decisions made by groups are almost always superior to decisions made by the individuals alone. Maybe that research proves the adage, “Two heads are better than one.” I decided to take advantage of Cheryl’s head.

“Hi, Cheryl. I wanted to talk about what’s going on with me and Dan.”

“So you snooped.”

“Yes.” I could probably have said more. I wanted to talk about it and I didn’t.

“You’re not very talkative. Is it bad?”

“I’m ambivalent and I’m confused, so I guess I sound hesitant. Maybe I am hesitant. But I know I’m going to talk about it, so we should just do it.”

“Well, Beth, I really don’t know what to say. You haven’t told me anything, girlfriend.”

“Okay. Here goes.” It wasn’t exactly flowing off my tongue. “He’s reading stories.” This wasn’t easy to talk about.

“He’s what, reading Steel Magnolias and you’re afraid he’s a girly man? What?”

“He’s reading stories about women who cheat on their husbands. They get seduced. Or the husband asks them to do it or sets it up. Sometimes they just decide they need it on their own.” This much I had blurted out. That was actually best, because it would have been torture to try to get it out a little at a time. Cheryl didn’t say anything. I wondered if she too was disgusted with the whole idea. “And however they get to that point, it turns the husbands on that their wives are having other men.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I don’t know how I feel or what to do. I mean I’m just kind of in shock, you know?”

“I can understand being in shock. That’s kind of a lot to absorb.”

“It’s, I don’t know, it’s, it’s awful. How could any man want his wife to do that? It’s sick.”

“Well, it is strange. I can’t really say if it’s sick. I mean some married people do it without ever seeing each other naked. Some only do it with the lights out. Some won’t do anything but missionary. What I think of as normal, healthy sex, they think of as sick. Some people like to be tied up and beaten. Some like one of the partners to put on a tail and be ridden like a horse. If a guy asked me to play horsey I’d put him out to corral. But it’s pretty hard for me to condemn as sick, stuff other people agree to do with each other.”

“So you don’t condemn any behavior at all?”

“Well, Beth, there is a lot of stuff I won’t do. But there isn’t much I’ll condemn other people for doing. I’ll say this, if I had a guy like Danny, I would never, well, I guess I’m not sure what I’d do. I mean I’d like to do whatever he wants as long as it doesn’t disgust me. But fooling around with other guys is so dangerous that I’d rather disappoint him by declining than risk losing him.”

“But what if he wanted it? What if that’s what’s turning him on so much? Wouldn’t you want to help him enjoy himself?”

“Sounds like you’ve already decided to do it.”

“No. It’s just a philosophical discussion. I mean the idea might turn him on, but it turns me off.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“It does. I have no interest. How could he like something like that?”

“You don’t know that he does. Ask him.”

“Then I’d have to tell him I didn’t trust him and violated his privacy.”

“Beth, just ask him why he’s so worked up when he comes to you. Ask him what is turning him on. Ask him why he wants to do it more often. Tell him you love it and you’re curious as to what it is that has benefited you so much. Don’t guess. Ask him.”

“I suppose I could. It would, I don’t know, spoil any chance of surprising him..”

“So you are thinking of doing it?”

“Of course not.”

But I was. It was perverse but also kind of exciting in a strange way. I was thinking about it, but I wouldn’t do it. It was okay to think about it, wasn’t it?

I thought about it a lot. And it was exciting to think about. It wasn’t the air conditioning making my nipples hard.

Would he admit it? Would it be too embarrassing? Would he come up with some lame excuse for reading those stories? Was it even remotely possible that I could do this for him? No. Maybe. No.

He continued to come up to the bedroom with a great deal of enthusiasm. I continued to dwell on the reason.

It was perverse. It was like being a kid again and being told not to do something. Don’t smoke. Don’t shoplift. They carried a subliminal message. “You want to smoke don’t you? Wouldn’t it be exciting to steal something? It’s wrong, but wouldn’t it be fun?” As a kid, the stimulation to do something wrong could be overpowering. But I was an adult now. That didn’t eliminate the appeal.

Maybe I could be cooled down by the voice of reason.

“What is it that makes this so exciting to you, Beth?”

“I don’t know Cheryl. Maybe that it’s forbidden.”

“It might not be forbidden if he wants it.”

“Yeah. But it’s forbidden by society and religion and most codes of morality.”

“But not by Danny. You did talk to him about it, didn’t you?”

I didn’t answer.

“You did talk to him about it? What are you thinking? You’re going to do this without even talking to him? Are you insane?”

“I’m not going to do it. I’m just thinking about it and finding the thought exciting.”

“Well, if you do it without talking to him, I want first crack at him when he dumps you. You know I’ve been aching to find a guy like Danny. And Danny himself, well, it doesn’t get any better than that.”

I was jealous. Really jealous, almost in a fury over what she had said. It was just a joke, I think. At least the part about first crack at him. I knew that if I weren’t in the picture she would go after him with every fiber of her being. But every part of my body tightened up at hearing those words. If I was this jealous over a joke, how would Danny feel if I cheated on him?

“Too close to home?”

“I just, I never thought about it that way.”

“Perhaps you should. Put aside the fact that you love him. Could you possibly find a guy so kind, so thoughtful, so giving? Forget that he’s an absolute hunk and he’s the smartest guy you know. Forget his sense of humor. Could you find such a great guy? Is there somebody else that special out there you could find if you screw this up?”

“God. The way you talk about him, it sounds like you’re the one in love with him.”

“Would that it could be.”

“You are!”

“That’s a surprise to you. You think I’m the only one? If something happened to you he’d have to hide to keep from being crushed by the crowd. Haven’t you noticed at parties how he’s hit on all the time?”

“No. I guess I’m paying more attention to what I’m doing. Who is hitting on him?”

“Who isn’t? Married, single, relatives of yours. Geeze, even guys.”

“Who? I’m going to tear them apart.”

“What for? He blows them all off. As nicely as it is possible to do. Sometimes he flirts back to make them feel good. But it is clear that he is just playing, and that he has no serious intention of returning their interest. He’s devoted to you.”

“Then why the stories? What’s behind that?”

“Ask him. I can’t tell you.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Maybe? You’re still thinking of doing this?”

“It’s not as exciting since I thought about him with somebody else. No. I don’t know. I’m still confused.”

“I’m not telling you what to do. But just think about what you stand to gain versus what you stand to lose.”

“I will.”

But I don’t think I did. I never believed that what I was contemplating would cause Danny to leave me. He wanted it. How could he be upset? God, now I wasn’t just thinking about it, I was contemplating it. I had gone from repulsed, no way, to it’s interesting to think about, to it’s exciting to think about to contemplating. Each change seemed just a small step. And yet here I was actually contemplating. How many small steps were left before the doing? I have contemplated many things I never actually did.

I wasn’t looking for the next step. It just came naturally. The next step was who would I do this with. Again, I wasn’t really planning on doing it, but it was part of thinking about doing it. I mean, if you’re going to do this, it has to be with someone. Who would interest me? If I were to do this, it would have to be with someone I found appealing. The husbands always wanted their wives to enjoy themselves.

I looked at the men where I work. A few of them were very attractive, but this would be a very bad idea. I didn’t really know what Danny had in mind, but whether this would be a one-time thing or an ongoing situation, doing it with someone I work with could lead to problems. It might get out and I would be too embarrassed to continue working there. The man might want more of a relationship than I was willing to offer. We might get fired. The risks were unacceptable.

Where do I find him then? I’m a married woman. I don’t go out to bars looking for guys. I do go out with the girls sometimes. But what would they think if I met a guy and went off with him? They might be my friends, but I’d quickly get a reputation as a complete slut.

They say a girl can get laid anytime she wants. I don’t think it’s that easy unless you have no fear of everyone finding out and judging you.

This didn’t seem like something I could talk to Cheryl about. She had been pretty clear about how dangerous, she thought this might be. I didn’t think she would want to give advice about how to pick out the guy.

So the next small step was switching thinking from who the guy would be to where I would find him. It could be at the market. It could be at the mall. Maybe in the food court while I was shopping. All of this was turning into a fun fantasy for me. Whether I could actually do it was another matter altogether.


It Was Just A Fantasy Ch. 02



Chapter 2: But Whose Fantasy Was It?

I strongly urge you to read "It Was Just A Fantasy" before you read this. Otherwise, this will probably make as much sense as if it had been written in Klingon.

I stood in my bedroom, naked, midlife's semen running down my thighs; alone, not only at the moment but perhaps permanently separated from my husband. I had completely misread the situation. Since he did not want me to be with other men, I had cheated on him; cuckolded him. And I had come home proudly to rub it in his face. No, that wasn't my intention. But that was the reality of it.

He had walked out the door after telling me that I had completely misunderstood and that it was not his fantasy that I be with other men. He had said nothing further. He didn't tell me he still loved me. He didn't say he hated me. He didn't say he did not care about me at all. He just left. I had no idea where he was or where he would go.

It was beyond obvious that he was angry. He had a right to be. Despite my good intentions, I had royally screwed up. If he had done that to me, he would have been lucky to find me only angry. I would probably have been in a near murderous rage. I would have visited revenge on him until he wished he had never met me.

How could I have been so stupid? Cheryl had repeatedly warned me to talk to Danny before I did anything that could have such a serious effect on our marriage. I had ignored her warnings to our detriment. I had no idea how I could even begin to make this up to Danny and I had no idea how to even find him to try to talk it over with him.

Yes, I did. I rushed to the phone and dialed his cell number. It rang several times and I got his voicemail. "Danny, I'm so sorry. Please call me. We need to talk. I'll do anything I can to make this right. I love you. Please call me."

I took the phone into the bathroom with me so I could hear it in the unlikely event that he called me back promptly. I had no reasonable expectation that he would call but I was not willing to take the risk that I would miss his call.

I turned on the water in the shower. I made it very hot. I wanted to wash away whatever I could of what I had done today. All I succeeded in doing was ridding myself of any remaining traces of midlife. I washed thoroughly inside to make sure of that as well.

Happy anniversary to us.

It had taken all my strength to try to keep it together to think of what I might do to start making amends, to make plans to start the process. Nothing remained. I sank to the tile floor and started to sob. I didn't slow down until I became aware that the water was now cold.

I exited the shower and toweled off. Instead of sobbing now, I was shivering.

Being alone is not a terrible thing in itself. Many people are alone and get along quite nicely, thank you. But I was alone after being together with Danny, when I should have been with Danny, and that was a terrible thing.

I went back into the bedroom and put on a sweat suit and sat on the bed, my back against the headboard waiting for a phone call that never came.

It felt like Danny had died and I would be without him forever. No, it was more like I had neglected to get the brakes checked and he had died when they failed.

I felt overwhelming self-pity. It paralyzed me. I couldn't act. I couldn't think. I just sat there and waited I don't know how long.

Eventually I became aware of my hunger. Of course. We had missed our anniversary dinner. Had he gone there? Not the way he was dressed when he left.

I went down to the kitchen and made myself a sharp cheese sandwich. I could barely finish half.

Finally, I was able to string together some cogent thoughts. Where was he? Did he go to a friend's house? Should I start calling around for him? No to that one. Absolutely not. If I started calling around looking for him, all his friends would know something was wrong. Eventually the story of what I had done to him would come out and he would be humiliated in their eyes. I would become a pariah to them. That might happen anyway, but I didn't want to do anything to make it more likely.

Would he go to his parents? I couldn't call them either. Everyone knew this was our anniversary and that we had big plans. Anyone I called would instantly know we were having major problems and, knowing how difficult it is to anger Danny, they would probably assume I had cheated on him. Nothing short of that would cause him to be missing on this day. I would take what I had coming, but I wouldn't do anything that would increase the possibility that Danny would suffer further humiliation.

How dismal were my prospects? I had no way to find him, no way to talk to him and no way to make it up to him even if I could. I was falling into such a deep depression that I didn't even have the energy to think about harming myself, although it was a fantasy I held at the time. The only thing I had the energy to do was to go up to bed and fall asleep.

I awoke at noon on Sunday. I had been asleep for 15 hours. I didn't feel the slightest bit refreshed. All I felt was depressed and sad. I lay there for hours drifting between crying and dozing. Self-pity is hypnotic if not particularly satisfying. Toward evening the phone rang. Finally.

"Hi Beth. Is my son there?"

"No mom. He's out right now."

"Is everything okay? You sound like you've been crying."

"No. Just allergies. I'm stuffy."

"So how was your anniversary?"

How to put this without arousing suspicion? "Memorable."

"Oh, I'm glad to hear that. Well, have Danny give me a call when he gets a chance."

"I'll tell him you called." God, I hoped I would get a chance to tell him that she called. He had been gone for nearly 24 hours without a word.

I put on a CD but it just reminded me of him and deepened my sadness. If I was feeling this bad, how must the victim be feeling?

The phone rang again. This time I didn't get my hopes up.

"Hi mom."

"So did you have a lovely anniversary honey?"

"Memorable." Hopefully other things would become easier as well.

"It sounds like you've been crying. Is anything wrong?"

"No. I just have a little cold and I'm a bit stuffy." My mother knew I didn't have any allergies.

"So, tell me all about it."

"I'm kind of busy right now, mom. Can I call you later?"

"Okay. Your dad sends his love and we both wish you two a happy anniversary. We didn't want to interrupt you love birds yesterday."

"Thanks mom." And thank God there were only two sets of parents to phone us.

Danny hadn't returned or called by Monday morning so I left for work at the appropriate time. I just barely managed to pull myself together for the work environment. It helped that I was largely cried out for the time being. I needed to go to work. I couldn't sit home forever waiting for his call. 

I could call him at work, though, and I did at around 10.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Mitchell. He's not in. He called in sick." Her voice sounded suspicious.

"Oh, he must have gotten sick after I left for work. I'll call him at home."

This was getting very difficult for me to handle alone. I couldn't cope. With great trepidation I phoned Cheryl.

"Hi, Cheryl."

"What's wrong? You sound awful."

How to characterize it... I cheated on Danny and he left me? I did something monumentally stupid? I didn't take your advice? "Danny is gone." That was the most important part.

"What do you mean, 'He's gone?'"

"He, he left on Saturday and I haven't heard from him since. He didn't go to work. He's gone."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't say anything. He just left."

"I think it's safe to assume he's upset."

"You think?"

"And probably angry."

"I'm sure."

"And he didn't say anything?"

"No."

"That's good."

"How is that good?"

"Think about the things he might have said. 'Get out.' 'I don't ever want to see you again.' 'I'm leaving and I'm never coming back.' 'I want a divorce.' 'I hate you.' You get the picture. I'm not saying everything will be fine, but when you don't get the worst possible news, it could be because you're not going to get the worst possible news."

I don't know if I already was, after all, I apparently didn't know myself all that well, but I vowed that I would be, as good a friend as Cheryl had been. She didn't say, "I told you so." She didn't castigate me. She was just being my friend; trying to get me to think as positively as was possible. "Thank you. I needed that. What do I do now? How do I find him?"

"If this goes on a few more days, he may be avoiding you. Okay, that sounds really stupid. I mean he may be avoiding you. If that's the case, I'll try to contact him."

"I owe you big, Cheryl."

"You owe me nothing. That's what friends do." She was right. "Friends also give unsolicited advice. Think about your situation and how you got there and why you got there. Understand those things. Then you can understand why you'll never get there again."

"It's just so hard to get together the energy to think about it."

"Yeah, well, tough. That's what you have to do. If you don't, you'll have plenty of time to wallow later."

I sighed. "You're right. I'll let you know if I hear from him. Thanks Cheryl."

As I started thinking about it, I realized there was something I had to do. I picked up the phone and made the call. I left on my lunch hour at noon.

Ten minutes later I was at my gynecologist's office. The panic in my voice had convinced her to fit me in for an emergency appointment during her lunch hour. I told her I'd been very stupid without filling in the details. She did all the tests but told me that for HIV, it could be six months before anything would show up. I think that revelation would have pushed me over the edge had I not remembered something Danny had told me many times before. "Worrying has no value, Beth. Either you can do something or you can't. If there is nothing to do, worrying won't fix it. But if there is something you can do about it, do it."

On the slim possibility that Danny would take me back, I did something. I stopped at a Rite Aid on the way back to the office and got a package of condoms. Yes, they would be a reminder of what I had done if I got lucky enough to use them. But I would rather suffer that minor humiliation than put Danny at even the slightest risk.

The rest of the day passed very slowly. I did some work. I did some thinking. I waited for the phone call. I went home.

Tuesday passed in much the same way but I couldn't even attempt to call him at his office. How obvious would it have been if I didn't know he had called in sick a second day in a row. I trudged home in a fog.

I didn't much feel like making an elaborate, or even functional, dinner for one. I threw together a tuna sandwich. I wasn't especially hungry but, whatever happened with Danny, there would be a rest of my life.

I was reluctant to go up to the bedroom because it would be a reminder that I wasn't sharing it with Danny. Instead, I chose to spend some time in the den. I put on Norah Jones because the album had a laid back, blue feel and that suited my mood.

Some time into the album I heard the front door close. I hadn't heard it open. I felt a surge of excitement and of fear. Nobody else had a key to our place. It had to be Danny. I felt the urge to rush him and consume him. Instead I remained seated out of fear that he would reject me.

Danny appeared at the door. He looked tired and sad. I didn't want to, I had vowed I wouldn't, but I started to cry. I took deep breaths to push it back and, at least for the moment, I succeeded.

There was so much I wanted to say but I didn't think I had the right. I wanted to stay together with Danny. I would do anything to make that happen. He would have questions, issues. I waited for him to start.

"I suppose you wonder where I've been and why I stayed away."

I nodded.

"I stayed at a motel. This wasn't something I really wanted to share with anybody. It wasn't any kind of punishment or anything. I was angry, too angry to talk. When I was a kid, my father had this saying he read in the paper and it stuck with me. 'Speak when you are angry and you'll make the finest speech you'll ever regret.' I didn't want to regret what I would have said so I waited until I wasn't too angry to talk to you."

I wanted him to have complete control of how this went but I couldn't help myself. "Are you going to leave me, Danny?"

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Of course not. How could --" I guess I knew how he could think that.

"I'll ask you that question again, later, after we've talked. It's not a knee jerk question. It's serious. I've put a lot of thought into this."

"Okay." But I already knew the answer.

"Why did you do it?"

"I thought you wanted it. I didn't want to do it at first no matter what you wanted. But I thought about it and decided that if it would really make you happy, I would go through with it."

"Go through with it. You poor thing. Did you enjoy it, Beth?"

"Well. It wasn't like with you."

"Did you enjoy it?"

We both knew the answer, but I hated to hear myself admit it. "Well, I decided that if I was going to do it, you would appreciate it more if I enjoyed myself."

He seemed ready to say something but I guess he thought better of it. He took a deep breath. "So you did?"

"Yes."

"If I told you that the idea that excited me the most was to see you sexually molest an eight year old girl, that I craved seeing that, would you do it for me?"

"No! That's disgusting. It's sick. I could never do anything like that. How could you even ask?"

"So you're saying that you wouldn't fulfill a fantasy for me if it's something you didn't want to do?"

I was not so quick to answer. That wasn't really the question he was asking me. "I didn't know." Quietly. "I'm so embarrassed. If I'd thought about this better the whole thing could have been avoided."

"Could have been avoided?"

"All right. I wanted to do it for myself. God, this is humiliating to realize."

"Why didn't you talk to me, find out what I was thinking? Don't you trust me?"

"I trust you completely. I was embarrassed about snooping through your computer." I couldn't even sell that bullshit to myself. "No. That's not the truth. I think I was excited at the prospect, even though I wouldn't admit it to myself. If I talked to you, you might tell me it wasn't what you wanted and then I couldn't have deluded myself into thinking it was okay."

"Why did you have to snoop? You could have asked me why things seemed to be going so much better; why the pick up in our sex life."

"I know. I know. I guess maybe even at that stage I thought it might prevent me from doing something exciting if I knew what you were actually thinking. I didn't understand why I didn't just ask you. I had no idea. Really, I didn't."

"Do you have any curiosity about what I was thinking, about what I told you?"

"Of course. But, I really haven't thought much about it. All I could think of was that I'd lost you and how stupid I'd been and how hurt you must be."

"Well, there is still that to deal with after my confession. Like I told you, in my fantasy, I'm the evil heartless prick who seduces married women, gets them to betray their husbands, humiliates them and their husbands, destroys their marriages and walks away without the slightest regret. I guess that sounds kind of strange coming from me. Hell, I guess it sounds strange coming from anyone. I spend a lot of time being nice; it's who I am. Sometimes it isn't easy. It can take a real effort to be nice to someone who has earned just the opposite with his behavior. It takes a toll, and sometimes I wish I could just be a bastard. But, it's not who I am. I would feel terrible acting that way. So I get a kind of catharsis from imagining myself as the evil character in a story.

"Why these kinds of stories? Because it's hard for me to make up a situation in which I'm so wicked. There are a bunch of these stories already out there so that I don't have to create the evil scenarios, I just have to imagine myself as the bad guy. And these scenarios are vile. When I get done reading a story and expressing my dark side, I feel refreshed. And when I'm relaxed and refreshed, I think of you upstairs. And I want to share my refreshed joie de vivre with you. Maybe I should have said something.

"You know, of course, I would never want to live out any of these fantasies. Just imagining myself in that role accomplishes what I need from them. Fantasizing about it makes me feel powerfully evil. Thinking about the reality of it makes me feel nauseous. I could never treat real people that way."

"But I could." I didn't know whether I was asking a question or answering one.

"No. It's different. My fantasy character fully realizes what he is doing. That's why he does it. It wouldn't be evil unless he intended to cause harm. You didn't knowingly intend to cause any harm."

"Not knowingly? How much harm have I caused? I don't mean are you going to leave me. How are you? Will you be okay?"

"I'm hurt. And I'm sad and I don't know." He sighed. "It's still pretty painful. But it is only three days. If I'd gotten a burn on Saturday, I'd still be feeling a lot of pain." There was nothing accusatory in his demeanor. He said it as if he had told me that the chicken was defrosted.

I got up and walked toward him. He didn't move away or even flinch. I put my arms around him and buried my cheek in his chest. "I'm so sorry I did this to you. I'd give anything if I could take it back." I rocked with him in my arms and cried. It wasn't long before he put his arms around me. "What can I do?" I asked.

I could feel him shrug his shoulders. "Nothing. It's over, in the past." He took his arms from around me, grasped my shoulders and moved me away from him. "I know how you feel about it. The question is, what does it mean for the future?"

"I love you. I never want to hurt you again. I want to be with you for the rest of my life."

"Not so fast."

My heart sank. This would be where he told me I made him sick and he didn't want to be with me anymore.

"We've established that the reason you cheated with another man is that you wanted to do it; you wanted to enjoy it." Why was he rubbing this in? I guess he was entitled. "If that is what you want, why would you want to come back to me and have to give that up forever?"

Pretty good question. "Because I love you."

"Didn't you love me on Saturday?"

"Of course."

"So what's different now? You loved me and you cheated because you wanted to on Saturday. Now you still love me. If you still want to cheat, why wouldn't you? What's different?"

Another good question. Does anybody have a good answer for me?

"You don't have to answer now. It doesn't have to be resolved tonight. It's not unreasonable that this might take some time."

"I don't have a good answer. I'm going to have to think about it. Right now I just want to hold you."

"In a minute. There's something else that's bothering me about it. Given that the real reason you did it was because you wanted to, I'm wondering about the timing. You couldn't have picked a more hurtful day than our anniversary. Since your, uh, motivation was subconscious, was there something about your choice of the date? Did you pick it so it would be worse? I mean it just doesn't seem like it could be an accident."

"Oh, God." My legs gave way. I sank to my knees and started to cry. The thoughts had come so quickly after his statement, and I realized the other motivation behind this and I couldn't stand it. He knelt and reached for me. I put my hands out as a signal to stop. "No! Don't touch me!" He backed away. "I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you."

He sat in a chair, his hands folded in front of him and let me finish crying. Then he asked, "Do you want to tell me?"




It Was Just A Fantasy Ch. 02



"Not really," I said through the sniffles. "If I tell you, we'll never get back together."

"If you don't, we'll never get back together."

"I know. Some choice."

"Yeah."

The gaps in the conversation were getting longer, almost as though if I put off saying it long enough, the need to say it would go away. "I meant to hurt you. I didn't realize it, but I meant to do it." This was difficult to explain. "You're so good, so perfect, that it made me angry. That's what I felt. But what it really was... it was that I didn't think I deserved you. If I did something really awful, that would prove I was right; that I didn't deserve you. It would also give you a chance to forgive me, so that would show that if you loved me that much, I must be worthy. But if you could be forgiving after what I did, that would make you even more special, and then I wouldn't be worthy."

"That's seriously fucked up."

"You think?"

"I'm so perfect I had to read painful stories so I could imagine myself causing the pain."

I had no idea how to respond to that.

"How do you think I got to this state of 'perfection'?"

I shrugged.

"I made almost every mistake it was possible to make. When I was in college, I was a definitely not nice person. I cheated on girlfriends because all I thought about was me. One of them caught me. She walked into my room and found me screwing somebody else. I heard her gasp and start to cry. She left. And then later, she never said a word about it, like it never happened. I could see she was hurt, but that didn't stop me. She caught me again. Didn't say a word, even when I tried to talk about it. I realized that she was willing to put up with anything to hold on to me. And I knew that I couldn't be with someone who would let me act that way; who held me to no standard at all.

"I didn't make her that way. She probably went on to find other guys who would treat her that badly, or worse. But I realized that not only did I have the capacity to cause other people pain, I had no qualms about doing it. And it disgusted me. She may not have held me to any standard but, from then on, I did.

"That wasn't the end of my making mistakes. In fact, I'm still not done. I just try never to make the same one twice."

I hadn't noticed him making any mistakes. But then I was focused on other things. "I didn't just make a mistake. I intentionally did the worst thing imaginable to someone who only deserves my best."

"If you think that's the worst, it's just because you lack imagination."

"So you're okay with what I did?"

He laughed. "No. Now that you understand what you did and why, I understand. But I'm not okay with it. I just recognize that you're fallible. Welcome to the club."

"Are... so, are you going to throw me out? I wouldn't blame you."

"Back to my question. If you want other men, why would you want to come back to me and have to give that up forever?"

"I don't want anyone else. I just want you. I don't think I really wanted another man. I just needed him to prove I didn't deserve you. I mean I wanted to do it, but that was the reason."

Danny didn't say anything. I wouldn't have known what to say if I was in his place.

"I know I don't deserve it, but can you ever forgive me? Do we have a chance?"

"Let's see. You fucked up big. You're sorry. You don't plan to ever do it again. Do I have that right?"

"Yes."

"Aren't those pretty much the criteria for asking to be forgiven?"

"Is that it? Is it that easy?"

"No. Not at all. I don't have quite the same level of trust I had a few days ago. I hope you'll talk to me if you're ever thinking of doing anything remotely like this again."

"I won't"

"If you do."

"Okay.

"You know you're still a long way from being forgiven."

"I don't ... okay. I can see that."

"No. I don't think you can. You need to forgive yourself. And you're going to be a lot tougher on you than I've been."

I sighed. "You're right. What I did was inexcusable."

"My point exactly. I've forgiven. You haven't. There is nothing you can do to yourself, well, there's nothing you can do at all, to make it unhappen. You should forgive yourself and put your energy where it can be useful."

"It still seems like I'm getting off too easy. Don't you want to get revenge or something?"

"See. Now you're making new mistakes."

I guess if we could have a sense of humor about this, we had a good chance. "I'll never make that one again."

"Good. Because if you betray my trust again, you'll never get it, or me, back."

"You know, Cheryl is going to be very disappointed."

"That we're getting back together?"

"Yes. She warned me. She told me that if you dumped me she'd be all over you in a heartbeat."

"Good. Now I have a backup plan."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Are we okay?"

"No. But we will be."

"You know, you haven't told me you love me."

He gave me a look.

I understood. "You just show me." I stood and pulled him up with me. I ran my hands along his sides above the waist. "I love you so much I don't think I'll ever be able to adequately express it."

I moved my hands down to his belt and they met in the middle. I slowly unbuckled it. I undid the button and pulled down the zipper. He started to unbutton my blouse. "No. I want to learn to be the one who gets pleasure from giving their partner pleasure. It's a small first step on the way to forgiving myself. We can take care of me later." I pushed the pants down his legs. "Please, just let me do this." I sank to my knees, grasped the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down to join his pants. I smiled. There, throbbing before my eyes with each heartbeat, was the proof that it had not been only words. He did forgive me.



It Was Just A Fantasy Ch. 03



This follows It Was Just A Fantasy and But Whose Fantasy Was It? I think it can be read on its own, but is better after having read those two. Thanks to those who read for me and made suggestions, some of which I incorporated. Thanks especially to Denise whose comments helped me improve it considerably. I put the finishing touches on my makeup and went into the bedroom.

My dress was hung on the closet door waiting for me. It was the final bit of attire to complete my look. I took the wispy, black, spaghetti-strapped dress and slid it down my body, over the black silk bra and black bikini panties. It ended about 6 inches above my knees. The ensemble was completed by my black, three-inch heeled dancing shoes.

It had been almost two years since the anniversary on which I nearly lost my marriage. Six months of therapy had gotten us to a point where it was even better than before the event. The event. Sounds clinical and benign, doesn't it? It wasn't. I had cheated on him on our anniversary and flaunted it. The reasons I thought I had were false and stupid.

I learned in therapy that it was practically preordained by the constant messages I had gotten in childhood of my inadequacy as a person. My parents had not meant to scar me. It was their way of saying, "I think you're so great you can do anything." But it came out, "Why won't you do better? You never live up to your potential. You're a failure." I guess my subconscious started to believe it after the 10,000th or 20,000th time I heard that I was, somehow, not worthy. So I was set on a course to prove them correct.

That was then. Once I understood why I did self-destructive things, the affirmation of my worthlessness lost its power over me. Even if I had done unworthy things in the past, nothing prevented me from avoiding them in the future. At least that was what I hoped. One day at a time.

I looked in the full-length mirror. I was hot! Guys would be drooling tonight. Their dates would be jealous.

I was going dancing at a nearby club that featured Latin music. This was not a bar with music but a dance club with liquor. Maybe the distinction isn't obvious. People go there to dance and happen to drink between dances.

They had a live band, which would play the whole panorama of Latin music. But the highest percentage of the music would be Salsa, high-energy, hip-swiveling, infectious music. The time and money spent on dance lessons would be put to good use.

I arrived just after eight and, while not fully crowded, the place was in full swing. The dance floor abounded with people who had looks on their faces that said, "It doesn't get any better than this."

There was never a guarantee you could find somebody to dance with unless you brought them. People come here primarily to dance, not to pick up members of the opposite gender. But there were usually a few unattached dancers of each persuasion.

As I watched people dancing, I saw him approaching. His blue suit looked like the pattern had been cut for his body, which was solid and well muscled. He walked with a confidence that said, "I can have anything I want." And, he was gorgeous. A shiver ran through me just looking at him. I could suddenly understand why guys have so much fun girl watching.

He held out a hand to me. "Would you like to dance?"

I was so taken with him that I wasn't able to answer immediately. "Yes," I finally got out.

He took my hand and held it all the way to the dance floor.

The band was playing a Salsa. He took my right hand in his left, put his left hand around my back and started moving to the music. He swiveled his hips and moved his body as if this form of dance had been invented just to display his sexuality.

Not only did he look fantastic, he was a superb leader. He would assertively raise my arm to lead me in a turn in either direction. When he wanted me to turn sideways, he would slide his hand from my back to my hip and exert a little rotational pressure backward to let me know. He was completely in charge.

The whole time he was looking at me with those deep brown eyes like nothing else existed or mattered except the two of us and the dance we were doing.

It was more than dancing. There was clearly a sexual component to it. It made me feel uncomfortable, but I liked it.

When the dance ended, he brought my right hand to his lips and kissed it. "Thank you. You are a wonderful dancer."

"So are you..." I didn't know his name.

"Rodolfo." He bowed ever so slightly as if to apologize.

"I'm," I almost said Beth, "Margot."

We walked back to the table area. He still had my hand.

"I see you are married, Margot. Why don't you introduce me to your husband? I would like to tell him what a lucky man he is."

Oh, my. Oh, that requires a response, doesn't it? "He's out of town on business. He left this afternoon." Did I have to supply so much detail?

"If I were married to such a beautiful woman, I don't know if I would want her out dancing with strange men looking the way you do."

Oh, my. It wasn't just the way he said it. It was the intensity of his look. "Well, he, I, he wanted me to have fun. I love to dance."

"I think him on behalf of all the men here. I would worry about letting you go alone."

"Well, he has nothing to worry about. I'm very happily married."

"Of course."

We were up to dance and down to rest for the next couple of hours. We danced more Salsa, Cha Cha and Rumba. He started with basic stuff because he had not had a chance to watch me dance to assess my level. But he was so good: he led so well, and it was so sensual.

If you haven't been Latin dancing, you probably can't understand. The sexual energy in the room was palpable. I was not unaffected. Rodolfo was not doing anything inappropriate or even suggestive. There was just an aura of sexuality about him. He couldn't help it.

"Please, Margot, can I get you a drink?"

"Are you trying to get me a little drunk?"

"Please, Margot. Why would I do that to such an angel?"

Oh, my. "Okay. I'll have a grasshopper." That couldn't do too much harm, could it? "I'll be right back. I'm going to the Ladies' Room."

I checked myself out in the mirror before returning. No wonder Rodolfo was interested. How could he not be?

As I reached the table I saw him say something to the band leader and head back to our table.

We talked as I sipped. Rodolfo would touch my hand or my arm as he spoke. Occasionally he would touch my leg through the dress. I understood the body language. I returned some of it.

Rodolfo was really appealing and it was going to be a great disappointment to have to turn him down.

The band took a ten-minute break. When they returned, Rodolfo asked me, "Do you by any chance dance Argentine Tango?"

"It just so happens I do."

He took my hand, drew me up and walked me to the dance floor. He knew what was coming. I guessed that was the conversation with the band leader.

The tango started and he surprised me from the first step. Before I could gather my feet together, his right foot moved between mine and was sandwiched between them. He shifted his weight to his right foot and moved his left to sandwich my right. We were in what is known as a shared axis, two people trying to occupy the same space at the same time. We weren't close together, there was no space separating us at all. It is impossible to stay in this position very long. Somebody will lose their balance.

He moved his chest forward and I stepped back on my left leg as his left leg moved forward to my right. Then he surprised me again. His chest moved forward and as I prepared to move back with my right leg, I felt his shoe against mine. His foot followed mine, touching all the way, giving the appearance that he was pushing my foot with his. That is the illusion it is supposed to create but it was so unexpected.

He gathered us up in shared axis again for a brief moment and I stepped forward as he stepped back. All of this was in keeping with the slow speed and the emotional content of the music.

He was an excellent leader in Salsa, but in Argentine Tango, he was masterful.

He took me to the cross and then led me to step across his path with my right foot. He continued to turn me around him as if he were the center of the universe. And, at that moment he was, both emotionally and from the point of view of the dance. 

As I moved around him, I knew I was supposed to stay close, both for balance and for the sensual look it created. It would not have mattered if I didn't know that. He controlled me perfectly so that I couldn't wander even slightly off course.

He took me all the way around him and had me step across his path with my right foot again. He stopped me and turned me so that I was positioned to come back across with my left foot. But he didn't lead me to take the step. Before I could take it, I felt his foot against my right foot, blocking me from taking a step.

I felt the slight lift on my back. That was his instruction to stay on my right foot and not take any steps until led. He didn't move at all. He was giving me the opportunity to play in this position before he would lead me across his path the other way. And when he did, I would have to step over his foot, since it was in my way.

So I played. I slowly rubbed my left calf up his leg to the knee, twice. He released the lift and slowly turned his chest to lead me across. I rubbed my leg back up his leg and down the other side before finally finishing the step. At the precise instant I landed, he took all his weight on his right foot. We moved as if there were only one person moving both legs in unison.

The only tanguero with whom I had ever danced who was better than Rodolfo was my instructor. But he never danced with the sensuality or emotion with which Rodolfo led me. It was like making love and achieving a prolonged simultaneous orgasm.

He continued by pulling me into close embrace. We looked like a very thin capital A, leaning in against each other, our breastbones touching, our cheeks touching, my breasts crushed against his chest as he led me. Every few beats of the music I could feel the beat of his heart against my bosom.

The music finally slowed as the song drew to a close. He gave me that lift again. He held me tightly against his chest. He moved slowly back and down, bending his knees. Since I wasn't supposed to take any steps, I didn't. I just leaned further and further forward, his chest the only thing preventing me from falling.

The music ended and Rodolfo straightened his legs, lifting me back into a standing position.

I was flushed and breathing hard. It wasn't from the exertion of the dance.

Then I heard and saw something I had never seen before in this place. People were on their feet applauding for us. If it had been that emotional for them, imagine how emotional it had been for me. While we had been dancing, I had been completely unaware of the existence of anyone or anything but the two of us and the music.

Rodolfo led me from the floor. Was I some puppet, expected to do everything he asked? Apparently.

"We should go," he said. "It won't get better than that."

He had that right. "Okay."

We left and he led me to his car.

"We can't go back to my place. My wife's sister is staying there. Tell me how to get to your place. Your husband isn't home."

I was completely enthralled with him. I couldn't say no. Perhaps I would be able to later.

He held my hand as we drove. I don't know if it was a proprietary gesture. He made no attempt to try anything overtly sexual. I felt a foreboding nonetheless.

It was a very short ride. I let us in and we walked down the hall. He still had my hand.

He drew me to him and put his arms around me differently than when we were dancing. He kissed me and I kissed him back, our tongues exploring.

He ran his hands up my arms. He ran his hands across my shoulders. He ran his hands down my back and up my sides, continuing the kiss the whole time. My hands were not idle either. I was losing control, if I had ever had it. 

I dragged him down the hall toward the stairs never losing contact. He dragged me up the stairs never losing contact. We dragged each other into the bedroom.

I unbuttoned his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. It fell to the floor. As I tried to undo his tie, he bent over and picked up his jacket. He folded it hung it neatly over the back of a chair. I had gotten his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. I stripped it off and unbuckled his belt. A button and a zipper later his pants fell to the floor. He pushed me away, sat in the chair, untied his shoes and removed them. Then he stepped out of his pants, folded them and hung them neatly over the back of the chair. I'm frantic with the urgency of the moment and he's acting like the fucking valet!

Satisfied with maintaining the creases in his suit, he slipped the spaghetti straps off my shoulders and gravity did the rest. I tried to bend over to pick it up, but he gripped my shoulders and led me to the bed. The arrogant bastard could hang up his suit but he left my dress in a heap on the floor.

I had not made a wise choice. But wisdom had nothing to do with it. Rodolfo was spellbinding. I could not help but follow his lead. The few remaining pieces of our clothing quickly found the floor.

He lowered me slowly to the bed and the kissing resumed. So did the touching. It was unnecessary. He was visibly ready and I was drenched. He was between my legs and I could feel his erection against my abdomen. Still he avoided touching anything crucial. 

What the hell was he doing? "Enough," I shouted. "You don't need to seduce me any more. I'm seduced."

"I'm not seducing you my dear, I'm just arousing you."

I grabbed his ass cheeks and tried to pull him into me. He resisted. "I'm aroused. Do it. I can't get any more aroused."

"Sure you can. You're getting the Rodolfo experience."

Nothing extinguishes passion quite like the arrogance of someone referring to himself in the third person. Yet, "Just shut up and fuck me, you bastard."

He could. He was lubricated just from moving around what was leaking from my body. But he wouldn't. He finally made the concession of running a finger around my nipple.

I needed to cum. Hell, I needed to start. I needed Rodolfo. "Please." My hands hadn't been effective on his ass so I reached around, grabbed his dick and tried to pull it into me.

He removed my hand. "No." Then he started to slide it in very slowly, agonizingly slowly.

"I need it hard and fast."

"No."

I grabbed his ass again and tried to pull him all the way in. He put his hands on my hips to prevent it.

He moved in and out so slowly. It was driving me crazy.

On one in stroke, he stayed. I was ready to scream. This was not what I needed. He started to rotate his hips in a small circle. The effect was to press the top of his penis against my clit. The pressure was ever changing but constant. I needed him to be forceful. This was not what I needed. He tilted his hips forward so that, in addition to the pressure on my clitoris, he was massaging my g-spot. He knew better than I did. This was just what I needed.

The frustration, the sensations all came together. The wave was cresting. And then he stopped.

"Don't stop. I need it."

"You need Rodolfo."

"Yes. I need Rodolfo."

"You must tell your husband you need Rodolfo."

"No, you bastard. I'll never do that."

He started to withdraw.

"No. Don't stop."

"Will you tell him?"

"He'll dump me."

"Will you tell him?"

"Anything! Don't stop."

A quick stroke. Rotate. Swivel. Press. He pushed my legs up against my chest and ran his hands up and down the backs of my thighs. He sped up. I was making some kind of continuous noise. I have no idea what it was or how it sounded to him. I was on the edge again and then I was over it.

It lasted a long time. How long I have no idea. Long enough for him to have climaxed as well. I couldn't feel it. I would not have been able to feel an earthquake so violent was my orgasm. He was too quiescent to still have been in need of release.

He rolled off and I continued to feel the aftershocks of my own earthquake. I know it's not possible but I swear I could feel my hair throbbing.

Rodolfo was breathing heavily and contentedly. It had been earth shattering for him as well.

When I calmed down a little, I would want to do this again.

Then I felt him getting up from the bed.

"Where are you going?" I didn't want this to end.

"I forgot to put out the recyclables. I'll be right back."

"Danny?"

"Yeah."

"You need to work on the accent. I couldn't tell if you were Hispanic or Hungarian."

He laughed.

"I've been really nice this last year haven't I, Danny? I mean I've turned into a much nicer person haven't I?"

"Yes, Beth. You have."

"I'm almost as nice as you now, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are."

"Good. Then next time I want to be the heartless bitch who breaks up your marriage." 



It Was Just A Fantasy



Was this just like any other decision? You would think about buying a new car. Next you would set a price range. Then you would think about the body type. Do you want a two-door, a sedan, a hatchback? Perhaps an SUV. What manufacturer do you prefer? What color? You go in to test drive a few of the candidates. Each step takes you a little closer to buying a new car that you might not even need or be able to afford. Until you write a check and sign the financing documents, you’re just enjoying a fantasy. When you sign, you make it a reality.

Perhaps I was picking out the body type and looking at the various models, but I certainly hadn’t gotten to the test drive stage.

I started checking out guys at the market. There wasn’t much selection, and what was on display was not very appealing.

All this time, things were still going great with Danny. How could I possibly be thinking about this? How could I stop thinking about this?

I had avoided speaking of any of this with Cheryl. But, either she was an even better friend than I had given her credit for or she was more of a buttinsky then I realized.

“So, what did you guys decide to do about the other man?”

“What we actually do is too personal to talk about.”

“You didn’t talk to him, did you?” She was also more perceptive than I had realized.

“No. But I didn’t do anything. I’m just thinking.”

“It’s been a couple weeks since we talked. If you’re still thinking about it, you’re more than just thinking about it.”

“Oh come on. You never spent a lot of time deciding whether to do something and then decided not to?”

“So now it’s deciding, not thinking.”

“You know what I mean. It’s just semantics. I’m not deciding whether to have other guys.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

“English major.”

“Slut.”

Of course she was kidding. This was just the normal banter we often engaged in. But they do say that there is an element of truth in every joke.

How could she know if I was really deciding what to do? I didn’t even know if I was deciding.

“One more thing, Beth. On a serious note. Talk to Danny. And if, for some reason, you decide not to do that, talk to Danny.”

Maybe she had a point. I didn’t want to talk about it directly, though. That would require me to admit that I had been snooping at his computer and that I didn’t trust him.

While I was figuring out how to approach Danny, life went on. I was at the mall shopping for a pair of earrings when I discovered it might not be as difficult as I had imagined to find someone to have a fling with.

“Those amethyst earrings would look great on you. They’re perfect for your color.”

I turned to see a good looking man, mid 30’s, dark hair, slim build, dark blue professional suit, maybe a lawyer or an accountant. He had a warm smile, not too big, and a wedding band.

“I would certainly buy them for you if I were your husband.”

“Would you? I wonder if the husband I actually have will buy them for me.”

“If he won’t, I will.”

I placed my right hand on my breastbone, just above my cleavage. “Sir, I don’t even know you.”

“That’s easily remedied.” He held out his hand. “Frank Phillips.”

I shook his hand.  “Beth.” It was only flirting. He didn’t need my last name.

“Beth, a beautiful woman like you should be adorned with beautiful jewelry. If your husband is foolish enough not to do it, I feel honor bound to match the gems with a gem.”

“What would your wife think?”

“I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

“Why Frank, whatever do you have in mind?”

“Nothing other than to do justice to a beautiful woman.”

“If I were a suspicious woman, I might think you have an ulterior motive.”

“If you were a suspicious woman, I might.”

Not that it was difficult to tell just from his conversation, but his body language left no doubt either. If I were to give him the slightest encouragement, he would nail me without a thought. I wasn’t ready for that. “Oh, look at the time. My husband will be wondering what has become of me.”

“What has become of you?”

“I’ve enjoyed the afternoon shopping. Perhaps some other time he will be kind enough to buy me these earrings.”

“You don’t have to go, do you?”

“I’m afraid I do. It was nice meeting you Frank.” I put out my hand.

He took it. He held onto it much longer than was appropriate. He squeezed. “Perhaps we’ll meet again some other Saturday afternoon.” He released me.

“Perhaps.”

I didn’t tell him he was being too forward. I didn’t tell him I was a happily married woman. I didn’t tell him I did not take gifts from strangers. I did nothing to discourage him except to tell him not today. It was only flirting, wasn’t it? It didn’t mean anything.

Finally I steeled myself to have the conversation with Danny.

“Do you think I’m still attractive?”

“Beth, you’re 28. Are we going to be having this same conversation for the next 50 years?”

“You mean you’re going to dump me for a younger woman when I reach 78?”

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“I knew it. I’m losing my looks.”

“You’re not losing your looks. But what difference would it make? I love you for your generous heart. I love you for your kindness. I love you for your adventurous spirit. I love you for your sense of humor, your intelligence. And, of course, you’re dynamite.”

“Sure, you have to say that. You’re my husband.” Generous? Does that mean with my body? Adventurous? I’m willing to try other guys? Is he trying to give me some kind of code?

“Come on. You must have seen other guys looking at you when we go out or when we go to a party. I’m sure you see it at work too.”

“Doesn’t that make you jealous?” This was where I had been directing the whole conversation. Where was he on jealousy? Maybe that would help me figure out what he was thinking.

“Why would I be jealous? It would be selfish to keep such a rare beauty to myself. After all, it’s me you come home to.”

Aha! He doesn’t want to have me just for himself. Or is he just sucking up? “I don’t know. I don’t think most guys feel that way.”

“I’m the luckiest guy in the world just to have you. I can’t get worked up because other guys admire your face or your legs or your butt. Hell, they’d be crazy not to.”

“I think somebody just wants to be a lucky guy tonight.”

“I think you’re right. Any night. You just say the word.” He moved close and put his arms around me. “And the word could just be, ‘Yes.’” He moved in for a deep searing kiss that I felt all the way down to my toes. My legs felt wobbly.

Our mouths separated so we could refresh the air in our lungs. “I’m so glad that you’re not the possessive type.”

“Slavery was abolished some time ago. We’re together because we choose to be. We’re together because we love and respect and trust each other, not because I can tell you what to do. And definitely not because you can tell me what to do.”

“Though this be madness, yet there is method in ‘t.”

“You’ve been talking to Cheryl. I love it when you talk dirty.”

Dan did just fine without using his computer to work him up.

The situation was pretty clear to me. As long as I returned to him, he was happy to share me with other men. And he trusted me to return to him. His trust was well placed. I had no interest in having a life with anyone but Danny.

Our anniversary was approaching and I really had no idea what to get him. I had no idea what he was getting me either. I should have told him about those earrings.

As the day drew nearer I was no closer to coming up with a gift that would please him. There would be no point in getting him any software. Not only did he get whatever he needed, he knew better than I what would be useful to him and what would be fun.

He loves to watch baseball. Maybe I could get him the major league package. Then he could watch several games almost every day of the season. Oops. Bad idea. If he’s watching that much baseball, when will he have time for me?

Maybe I could get him a book. No. He’s already doing plenty of reading on his computer.

My deliberations were interrupted by the phone on my desk.

“Hi, sweetie. I know I didn’t check with you in advance but I wanted to make sure I could get reservations. I booked us at The Rose Tattoo. If that’s a problem, I can cancel and find something else.”

“That is so romantic. You always seem to know what I want.”

“I try to pay attention,” he said.

“Is that good for you, too? We can go somewhere else if that would make you happier.”

“I’ll be with you. Who cares where we go?”

“And I’d follow you to Taco Bell if that’s what you want.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m happy with my reservation.”

“And I’m happy with my reservator, or whatever you call it.”

We had plans but, as yet, I had no gift.

This was serious. Our anniversary fell on a Saturday this year and here it was. I had nothing. I could just explain to him that I hadn’t been able to come up with anything special enough for him. He would understand and be very gracious about it. He would go out of his way to make me feel comfortable about not getting him a present. I’d be damned if I would let him get away with that.

I would go to the mall. I’d see something there as I shopped that would fire my imagination.

But I hadn’t. It was nearly one and I was hungry and frustrated. I suppose that’s why, when I got to the food court, I decided that the appropriate lunch would be Boardwalk Fries. I bought the big cup. By the time I paid the cashier, I had already polished off half a dozen and I was starting to feel better. We often instinctively know the proper medication.

“You’ve got to tell me how you keep that incredible figure eating like that.”

He was rugged looking, dressed like he was ready to go on a hike rather than go shopping at a mall, although the hiking gear was all brand-name. He had dark, wavy hair, kind of long, and sported a roguish smile. I put him at midlife crisis years old. The flashy jewelry definitely didn’t match the outfit.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry. My wife sometimes eats stuff like that and her body no longer looks anything like yours. I was just looking for any pointers you might be willing to share.”

Definitely midlife crisis. But he was good looking and had been working his line long enough that he did it quite charmingly. “Maybe it’s just age. Maybe I’ll spread out when I get older.”

The age reference didn’t slow him down for an instant. “True. I don’t usually get to talk to teenagers about this stuff.”

“You know I’m older than that.” Don’t you?

“Not necessarily.”

He was probably blowing smoke, but he could be sincere.  I chose to believe it. “I’m not that young, but thanks for the compliment.”

“You must get it all the time. You not only look young and svelte, but you’re gorgeous.”

“And you’re very smooth.”

“No. It’s true. Excuse me, sir, is this woman not gorgeous?”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

He had picked out a paunchy man with thinning gray hair who hesitated before speaking, like he was uncomfortable to be put in the spotlight. “She is gorgeous. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone nicer all day.”

“Okay,” said midlife, “Let’s get some more opinions.”

“No.” I stopped him. “I believe you. But, you’re still smooth.”

“Can I join you? We’ll just sit here, have lunch and chat. That way I’ll get to enjoy your beauty just a little longer.”

“Aren’t you laying it on a bit thick?” But I was enjoying the attention.

“You heard chubby guy. You’re gorgeous.”

“Well, just for lunch.” I guess I was getting into this. He hadn’t asked for more but I was implying that he had been implying more.

“I guess you get this kind of thing all the time, guys telling you how fabulous you are.”

“Not all the time. But I am fabulous.” I munched a few more fries.

He had General Tzo’s chicken. He ate it carefully so he could continue his verbal seduction. “Your husband is a lucky man.”

“Yes, he is.”

“But he is a foolish man.”

“Oh? How so?”

“If you were my wife, we’d be spending Saturday in bed, awake.”

“But there aren’t any really good shows on Saturday afternoon.”

“Perhaps. But that’s not the reason the television would be off.”

I blushed. This seemed to be going pretty far. But it was only flirting, wasn’t it?

No one spoke for a while. We just continued eating. But his eyes never left mine. He was really attractive, appealing. Would I have ever thought this, been in this position had Dan not been interested? No. It didn’t even take reflection. I would have dismissed midlife politely but firmly.

“What are you thinking about?” he finally asked. “I know what I’m thinking about.”

“And what would that be?” Was I moving into dangerous territory?

“Making love to your beautiful body all day. As your husband, of course.”

“Of course.” Why didn’t I object? This was way beyond appropriate.

“I have a small confession.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s just possible that I might think it not as your husband, but as a stranger whose name you don’t even know.”

“Just possible?”

“It may be happening as we speak.”

“And how will you find out if it is happening?” It was at that point that I suddenly realized that I had been becoming aroused. I was aroused. I felt a little shiver.

“I guess I’ll have to consult myself. Yes. It’s happening. I can see myself making love to you all afternoon.”

“That’s pretty bold.” But I had given him no indication whatsoever that I wanted him to stop his seduction.

“You don’t have the most fantastic experiences of your life by just sitting on the sidelines and doing nothing.”

That applied to me too, didn’t it? “No, you don’t.”

“This has been a delightful lunch. Could I interest you in an even more intoxicating dessert?”

Would I? Could I?  If someone had suggested to me before I got married even the possibility that I could be unfaithful, I would not even have dignified the comment with a response. It would have been too absurd to address. Was it really unfaithful? Danny wanted me to do it. What better anniversary present to give him than his fantasy?

“I might have some interest in that.”

We got up and he took the lead out of the mall. He didn’t say anything. He was probably honoring the principle that once you’ve made the sale, stop selling.

Mr. Midlife had a red, two-seater Mercedes convertible. When this guy did midlife crisis, he did it all the way.

In just five minutes we were at a motel and he had a key in under a minute. He had done this before. He drove around the back and parked. Ever the gentleman, he quickly bounded around the car to open my door for me.

The room was clean but unremarkable. We weren’t there for the decor.

He took me in his arms and I got the first serious kiss from someone other than Dan since well before we got married. It was different but I liked it. My body liked it.

He slipped the spaghetti straps of my black dress from my shoulders. It dropped to the floor, leaving me in strappy black heels, a black, lacy demi-bra and high-cut black silk panties. The whole thing was exciting, both the forbidden nature of it and the freedom from guilt in knowing that Danny wanted me to do it.

I unbuttoned his shirt and removed it as he unhooked my bra. I let it drop to the floor. My nipples were so engorged they felt as if they might actually burst from the pressure. He ran his fingers over them and my eyes closed involuntarily as I moaned from the exquisite sensation.

I reveled in it for a while before I reached down to unbutton his jeans. I lowered the zipper and pushed them down his legs. It was not sufficient. He moved to the bed and removed his shoes so that he could complete his separation from his jeans, which he placed on the bed beside him. He stood and opened his arms to beckon me. I moved to him.

We started kissing passionately and explored the upper half of each other’s bodies with our hands. When I felt his fingers grasp the waistband of my panties, I slid my fingers into the waistband of his briefs. They slid down easily. My panties were more difficult. They were so wet they briefly stuck to me as he attempted to push them down.

His body was nothing special. It was not well-muscled but neither did it have much excess fat. His penis was nothing special either, though I’m not sure what it would have taken to make it special. At least it was erect. Had it not been, I would have been very insulted.

He reached for his jeans, removed a condom from the pocket and held it up toward me as if to ask if we would be using it. It was not an easy decision. I was on the pill, so pregnancy was not an issue. If he was careful enough to suggest protection with a complete stranger, he was probably doing the same with the others he had surely bedded and was, thus, likely disease-free. Did I want to take that small risk? What would Dan want? I thought back to the stories. The overwhelming majority used no protection. Of course disease never happens in stories. But the main reason was that the husbands liked seeing the graphic evidence of their wives’ indiscretions with other men. I would do it for Dan. I took it from him and tossed it on the floor.

I remember all of this in considerable detail because up to that point I was still being seduced. There was still some small possibility I could change my mind and leave. That possibility was gone now.

In some ways it was not as good as it was with Dan and in some ways it was much better. He paid attention to pleasing me. But it was as if it were important to show his own prowess, rather than to give me a memorable experience. Still, the freshness of his being the first man to use my body since I had met Dan made it terribly exciting.

Midlife did his best to please me, and he was successful. But Danny pleased me to please himself. He was never more excited than he was driving me crazy. Midlife did it because that’s what a good lover does.

I wanted to bring as much of the experience as I could to Dan. I made sure we did it missionary, cowgirl and doggy. We pleased each other orally as well. We spent the better part of the afternoon giving and receiving orgasms. It may sound somewhat clinical as I recount what we did, but it was thrilling and urgent, full of passion and completely free of inhibition.

When midlife was done, he took a shower to remove the evidence that would have gotten him in trouble with his wife. I did not. I wanted to bring it home and share it with my Dan.

He took me to my car and I drove home feeling as satisfied as I had ever been. Despite that, I felt my excitement rising at the thought of sharing my adventure with Danny.

He was in the living room and I extended my hand to ask him to join me.

“Happy anniversary, sweetie,” he said.

He took my hand and I led him upstairs toward the bedroom. “I have a special anniversary treat for you my love.”

When we arrived I pointed a finger at him and twirled it in a circular motion which he correctly interpreted as requesting him to undress. I slid each strap down separately and slowly, giving him my most seductive look. He was not so deliberate. His clothes practically flew from his body. It was much better than midlife. He had no excess fat and he had well-defined muscles, not bulky but well defined. He too had an erection at the ready. It was nice to know that I could arouse him without his having to resort to his fantasies. He had no way of knowing that I had taken care of it for him today.

I let the dress slip to my waist and held it there. I removed the bra. I turned my back to him and let the dress drop. Slowly, very slowly, I slid the panties toward the floor. I looked at him over my shoulder. “Danny, I went out of my way to bring you a very special anniversary gift.” He had a look of lust on his face and I thought he might rush me. “I’ve given you the gift of fulfilling your fantasy.”





It Was Just A Fantasy



His look of lust was gone. It had been replaced by one of confusion. “What fantasy? We never talked about any fantasy.”

“You didn’t tell me, but I confess that I was naughty. I got onto your computer and read your stories.”

“What?” He looked shocked. Wonderful! I had taken him completely by surprise.

“I read the stories and figured you wouldn’t do anything about it so I gave you your fantasy.” I turned toward him and gave him my brightest smile. I could see him looking at the mess making its way down the inside of my thighs.

“How could you not talk with me about this?” There was an urgency in his voice. It wasn’t passion.

“You’re too nice to bring this up with me. I knew the only way your fantasy would ever be fulfilled would be if I did it for you. I would think you would show more appreciation for my initiative.”

“I can’t believe you did this without talking to me. What were you thinking?” His volume was rising.

“I told you. You weren’t going to ask so I had to do it on my own.  Happy anniversary, honey.”

“It was just a fantasy. I had no intention of doing anything to make it happen. I would never have let it happen.”

“I know. That’s why I did it for you.”

“You don’t understand. I –”

“I do understand. That’s why I took the initiative. I love you so much I would do anything for you.”

“No. You don’t understan – ”

“Yes, I do,” I insisted. “Every night you would go down and read those stories and come up to me on fire. I just wanted to give you what you wanted but couldn’t tell me about.”

“It’s not what I wanted. You don’t – ”

“If it’s not what you wanted –”

“Shut up and listen.” That was as loud as he had ever spoken to me.

“Don’t take that tone with me. I really put myself out there for you. It took a lot for me to satisfy your secret desires.”

“That isn’t what I wanted. You don’t understand at all. My – ”

“Stop it,” I told him. “I understand. You don’t have to be embarassed about your desires, your fantasies. You don’t have to be defensive.”

I noticed that he had lost his erection. When had that happened? I noticed it as he started putting on his socks and his boxers.

“I’m trying to tell you –,” he said as he picked up his shirt.

“I’m telling you it’s okay honey. I understand and I still love you.” He put on his shirt and picked up his pants. This was not how I expected it to go. The clothing was supposed to come off, not on.

“You don’t understand at all. I’m trying –”

“Everything’s okay.” He fastened his pants. “ I’m not angry or upset. I –”

“Shut up and listen you stupid adulteress.” I had never heard him shout before. This was also the meanest thing he had ever said to me. It got my attention.

He pulled on his shoes. “It was just a fantasy. I never would have done anything or allowed anything to happen to make my fantasy a reality. That would have been unthinkable.”

“I just –”

“Shut up.” Forceful, but no longer yelling. He knelt down and started tying his shoes. “What you did was not my fantasy. You read the stories. In my fantasy, I’m the evil heartless prick who seduces married women, debauches them, gets them to betray their husbands, humiliates them and their husbands, destroys their marriages and walks away without the slightest regret. That’s my fantasy. Not being the guy whose wife totally betrays him.”

He said it with a measured voice that did not succeed in hiding his rage.

I tried to cover myself with my hands.

He walked out of the room and down the stairs. I heard the front door slam.