My Time in the Affair

by Stylo Fantome

  Mischa leaned over and kissed him, working her tongue against his. His fingers clenched into her thigh, then raked their way up to her ass, moving under the edge of her underwear.

  “I think it's real,” she whispered.

  She had to believe that. She had to have faith in that. If she didn't, then she couldn't believe in anything ever again, and her soul would be beyond saving.

  “Whenever you get doubt-y, I'm going to fuck you. That seems to clear your head,” he suggested.

  “Oh, well then, I have lots of doubts. You snore, I don't know if I can be with a person like that. And you do this weird thing when you eat, where you scrape your fork with your teeth. I think my mom will hate you, and I -,” she started rambling. He moved swiftly, rolling her onto her back and pinning her to the mattress.

  “We need to work on your inhibitions. If you want me to fuck you, then just say it. Repeat after me – 'Tal, I want you to fuck me so hard, I won't walk right for a week',” he instructed.

  “Tal, I want you to – wait, for a week!? I wanted to go sight seeing,” she complained, trying not to laugh.

  “Whatever happened to my good girl? Who is this person? That's it, I'm going to teach you a lesson, Ms. -,” his voice stopped, and they stared at each other. He cleared his throat. “I can't call you that.” She nodded.

  “I don't want you to call me that.”

  “Your maiden name,” he said it as a statement, rather than a question, as he sat back on his heels.

  “Duggard,” she responded while he picked up her left hand. She had put her rings back on when she'd gotten to Positano. Tal took them back off.

  “Ms. Duggard, it's lovely to meet you,” he said, setting her rings on a night stand.

  “Thank you, Mr. Canaan, the pleasure is all mine.”

  “It's certainly about to be.”

  *

  Since she was now Ms. Duggard, Tal insisted that they go out on a real date, so he could get to know this woman.

  “I hope she's not as neurotic as the last chick I banged,” he said as he got dressed. His luggage had been delivered late the night before.

  “Oh? And who was that?” Misch asked, leaning close to the mirror while she did her eye makeup.

  “Mrs. Rapaport.”

  She threw a bar of soap at him.

  They went on a day date, out to lunch at a fancy cafe. He got them a table on a balcony that sat over a cliff, looking out over the ocean. Misch breathed in the salty air, glad to be alive. Glad to not be thinking of what the next evening would bring.

  “So, Ms. Duggard – Mischa – tell me more about yourself,” he insisted. She sipped at her tea.

  “What would you like to know?” she asked back.

  “You're very exotic, you know,” he told her. She blinked in surprise.

  “Me? Boring old, insurance agent me!?” she exclaimed.

  “God, you're annoying. You're not just an insurance agent, you twit, you're a woman, with tits and ass and legs for days and a smile that doesn't quit and a wit to match. Do you ever look at yourself?” Tal demanded. She blushed.

  “No. Not really. Not anymore.”

  “See? Annoying. What's your dad like?”

  “My dad? He's awesome. Grew up in Kansas, then moved to Detroit to go to school. Met my mom, and the rest is history. He's my buddy, I love him more than anything,” she answered.

  “What about your mom? Is she awesome?” Tal continued.

  “Yeah, in a mom type of way,” Misch responded, working around the question.

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “We don't quite get each other, you know? She's half Chinese, and her mom was super old school, and very strict. So here I am, this kinda mutt, a little Chinese, a lot German and Dutch, and all American. I wanted to dance and meet boys, she wanted me to study and become a brain stem surgeon, or something. She's super supportive and sweet, but it's kinda like, eh, I'm that kid to her,” Misch tried to explain.

  “Chinese! I was guessing Puerto Rican,” Tal mumbled, his eyes wandering over her face.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your ethnicity. You look amazing, your parents were a good blend – there should be more Chinese-German-Dutch babies in the world,” he commented. She blushed again.

  “Well, what about you, tall, dark, and verbally abusive? What's your deal?” she asked, leaning back as their waiter delivered their food.

  “Me? Just a good ol' boy, raised in New York,” he replied. But she already knew that, from their many conversations.

  “If you're gonna badger me with questions, you've got to give some stuff up, too,” she pointed out. He sighed.

  “I was born in Jerusalem. My family moved to New York – Brooklyn. When I was thirteen, we went back to Jerusalem. When I was eighteen, I joined the Israeli Defense Forces,” he covered everything.

  “So your parents are both from Israel?” she prodded. He shook his head.

  “No. My mother was from New York, she's mostly Italian. Catholic, her parents were not happy when she decided to marry my very Jewish father. They forgave her when I was born, that's why my parents moved back to the states. But my dad hated it, and my mom didn't really care where we were, so we went back to Israel,” he elaborated.

  “Oh. So when was the last time you were back in the states?”

  “Never.”

  “Huh?”

  “I've never gone back. I didn't like it in America, never really had a reason to go back. Both my grandparents died, so there was no one left over there to visit. I was busy with the army, then busy with my job. When you get to see all different parts of the world, America isn't so great,” he told her. She scowled.

  “It's good enough for me. I like it there,” she pointed out. He smiled.

  “You'll like it better in Istanbul. Or how about Tokyo? Ever been there? Maybe I'll take you to Dubai,” he sounded like he was talking to himself.

  “How about I take you to California, so you can see some of the most beautiful coast line in the world? Or maybe New Orleans, probably the most interesting place I've ever been in my life, including the places I've been here,” she responded.

  “Baby, if I'm with you, I'll probably love it.”

  Well, it's hard to keep arguing when he's being cute.

  When they'd been in Rome, they'd already spent a lot of their time together just talking, but usually fun stuff. Favorite foods, movies they liked, books they hated, places they'd been – now it was interesting to get more into the nitty gritty. To hear about his time in the army, about how scary it had been, how secretly he'd been glad to leave it. For her to tell him about how she used to dream of opening her own dance studio, but had long since given up on it, especially after the knee injury. Her body scared her now, she didn't know if she could go back full time.

  “You can.”

  They really hadn't known each other that long – Misch had always known the men she'd dated. They'd been acquaintances or schoolmates or friends. Tal had been sex first, ask questions later, but it seemed to be working. And what she was feeling with him was definitely something she'd never felt before; she wouldn't deny that, and she wasn't even trying to sugar coat her situation. If anything, she'd already spent a great deal of time trying to convince herself that it wasn't real. And she wasn't blinded by lust. It was fact. There was something strong between them.

  Maybe it was fate. A really fucked up, long term play by fate. If I hadn't met Michael, we wouldn't have started dating, which means we wouldn't have gotten married, which means I wouldn't have become miserable, which means I wouldn't have come to Italy, which means I wouldn't have met the most amazing person. But why does my happiness have to come at his expense?

  She asked Tal the same question, later that evening, while they were playing around in bed. They'd gone on a day date because Tal would have to leave early in the morning. Mike was due in the next evening, they didn't want to cut it too close. Tal didn't want to waste time not touchi
ng her, so they went back to her room. Explored each other a little more.

  “Maybe fate's holding out for him, too,” Tal suggested. She was laying on top of his chest, running her hand up and down his side.

  “She's being a pretty big bitch about this whole thing,” Misch replied, and he laughed.

  “She isn't known for being nice.”

  “I don't want him to be sad,” Misch whispered.

  “It's unavoidable now, baby.”

  “It's going to be the hardest thing ever.”

  “Want to back out? Go home with him?”

  “... okay, the second hardest thing ever.”

  “Good girl.”

  *

  Mischa woke up to something tickling her. She batted at her leg and tried to go back to sleep. Whatever it was didn't go away, though, but continued its path up her leg. She was half asleep, and her body couldn't decide whether to wake up and investigate, or sleep and pray it wasn't anything nefarious.

  She clued into the fact that it was fingers right around the time her underwear was yanked down.

  “What are you doing?” she grumbled, shifting her legs around as the material slid down to her feet.

  “Having breakfast,” Tal said simply, his breath hot against her thigh as he moved between her legs.

  “What time is it?”

  “A little after six in the morning.”

  “Jesus, we just went to sleep a couple hours ago.”

  “I know. What a waste of a couple hours.”

  She went to argue with him, but he sucked on the inside of her thigh, hard. She yelped in surprise and he moved farther north, blowing cold air as he went. He always knew how to catch her off guard, and before she could get her bearings, he really was eating her like she was continental breakfast.

  “Oh, wow, what a way to wake up,” she groaned, fisting her hand in his hair, pulling a little.

  “You're usually so grumpy in the mornings, I should wake you up like this more often,” he chuckled at her as he pulled away, replacing his tongue with his middle finger.

  “No one is stopping you.”

  While his finger worked in and out of her, he kissed his way up the side of her hip. Circled her belly button with his tongue. Her shirt covered her chest, and he frowned as he worked to push the material aside.

  “We've got to break you of this nasty modesty habit you have,” he complained, kissing the top of each of her breasts.

  “I've always been this way,” she replied, beginning to pant as his hand worked faster and faster.

  “We're going to change that.”

  Then his mouth was on hers and he was kissing her hard, his tongue imitating his finger. She pushed her body up against his, rubbing her naked chest against his, creating heat. When his finger stroked particularly deep, she gasped and pulled away from him, only to have his teeth sink into her bottom lip.

  “Please, please,” she began to whimper.

  “Please, what?” he asked, looking down the length of her body, watching his fingers move.

  “I want you … inside me … now,” she panted.

  “I am inside you,” his voice was mocking.

  “Not like this.”

  “Like how?”

  “Tal, just fuck me.”

  “Oh, feisty. I love it.”

  He didn't move, though – he seemed determined to get her off on his hand. She was thrashing underneath him, literally begging for his cock, when the hotel phone began to ring on the night stand next to her.

  “Who the fuck could that be!?” she exclaimed, moving her hips back against his hand, now striving to come on his fingers.

  “Probably the front desk calling, asking you to keep quiet,” he teased.

  “I don't care, I can't keep quiet.”

  “Answer it. Let them hear you. Let them hear what I can do to you,” he whispered.

  God, it was so bad. So wrong. So fucking hot. She began to shiver, and she knew an orgasm wasn't far off, so she picked up the phone.

  “Hello?” she breathed into the receiver.

  “Surprise!”

  Mischa sat up so fast, she smacked her forehead into Tal's collar bone. He immediately backed away and grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her in place. She felt like she was going to hyperventilate. Like she was going to pass out. Like she was going to have a heart attack.

  No no no no no no no no no …

  “Mike!?” she hissed, her eyes flying to Tal's. His eyebrows shot up and he stared at her for a second, then began moving. He crawled backwards off the bed and moved quickly around the suite, collecting his clothing.

  “Yeah! I was able to get out on the early flight yesterday, isn't that great!?” her husband laughed.

  “Yeah … great … where are you right now? Naples?” she asked, talking around her bottom lip, which was lodged between her teeth.

  “No, I'm here.”

  “You're at the hotel?” Mischa looked at Tal, who paused in the middle of putting on his pants and looked back at her.

  “I'm outside a room,” Mike replied. Misch nearly fell off the bed.

  “You're at the door!?” she practically shrieked. Tal's eyes moved to the front door of the suite, then he went back to putting on his pants.

  “Yeah, I knocked on the door for like five minutes,” Mike started. Misch scrambled to get off the bed, pushing her shirt back down over her breasts.

  “Knocking? I haven't heard any knock,” she replied, watching as Tal strode towards the door and peeked out the peep-hole. He looked back at her and shook his head.

  “Well, yeah, cause apparently you're not in this room anymore. I tried your cell phone, but you didn't answer, so I called the front desk. They said you'd switched rooms, but wouldn't give me the new number, would only patch me through to the room phone,” Mike explained.

  Oh, thank god.

  “I forgot to tell you,” she let out a deep sigh and pressed her hand to her forehead. “I'm not in that room anymore.” Tal went back to moving around, yanking on a shirt and then shoving the rest of his stuff into his duffel bag.

  “Obviously. Why'd you get moved?” Mike sounded annoyed. Mischa watched as Tal went into the bathroom, and when he came out, he was carrying his toiletries. They all got dumped in the bag, which then got zipped up.

  “Peter had to go to New York to get some stuff, he gave me his suite,” Mischa explained about her boss.

  “Oh, sweet! Upgrade! What's the room number?”

  “Room 1816.”

  Tal finished putting on his shoes, then walked right up to her and kissed her quickly. Before she could respond, he hugged her close and put his lips to her ear.

  “I'm here with you. Be strong. If you need me, come find me.”

  Then he was walking out of the room, not a trace of him left behind.

  “Sounds great, I'll be up there in a minute!” her husband said in a cheery voice. Then the line went dead.

  Misch spun in about three circles, not sure what the fuck to do. Then she ran into the bathroom, ripping her shirt over her head. Tal's fingers had been inside her not two minutes ago. She just … couldn't meet her husband, not while she was stained with another man's skin.

  What the fuck is going on!? How can this be happening!? I'm not ready. I'm not ready. I'm soooooooo not ready. I don't think I'll ever be ready.

  She turned on the water and jumped underneath it, just long enough to run a washcloth over her skin and between her legs. Then she jumped back out and ran around the suite. Slipped on some underwear and a long, sleeveless, jersey knit dress. Very beachy, very non-sexy, very non-confrontational.

  Is there recommended fashion for this? “What to wear when you break up with your husband” clothing?

  She was almost to the door of the suite when she realized she still wasn't wearing her rings. She cursed and ran back to the night stand, and had just slipped them on when there was a knock at the door.

  Be strong. You can do this. Be strong. Fuck. FUCK. I AM SO F
UCKING FUCKED.

  *

  Tal shut the door to the suite behind him.

  And then he waited.

  Waited till he heard the elevator ding, down at the other end of the hall.

  Then he slid his sunglasses on and walked forward, one hand casually in his pants pocket, his bag swinging in his other hand.

  Of course he knew what Michael Rapaport looked like, he had seen plenty of pictures. But seeing someone in person is different, and seeing the husband of the woman Tal had just gotten done fucking, well, that was a whole new realm of different.

  The other man was wearing board shorts and a tank, with hiking shoes on his feet. He was also wearing sunglasses, and he was smiling broadly as he made his way down the hall. Obviously excited. He was quite a bit shorter than Tal, but he was very wiry, and Tal remembered Mischa telling him her husband was a marathon runner, had gone to the University of Michigan on a track-and-field scholarship. It showed.

  “Hey,” Michael said as he passed, smiling and giving a head nod.

  “Ciao,” Tal replied in a low voice, nodding his head as well. He could be polite to the other man, had no reason to be rude at all.

  Fucker.

  They passed each other without saying anything else. Just barely brushed arms.

  Mischa had once told Tal that when she was with him, she felt like time would stop. Like they were in another realm, another dimension, something. “A timeless existence”, she'd called it. He'd written it off as romantic notions from a lonely woman experiencing passion, real passion, for the first time.

  But now Tal understood, because that was exactly how he felt. As he turned to face the elevator, he could still see Michael out of the corner of his eye. Could watch as the other man knocked on the door, could see that door open, and had to witness as Michael immediately pulled Mischa into his arms. Wrapped her in a hug and picked her up off the ground.

  Picked Tal's woman up and touched her body.

  Except she's not yours. Not completely. Not yet.