Sexual Politics

by Tara Mills

  They visited the on-site café. He left her to hold a small table for them while he went up to the counter to order their beverages.

  He had a small disposable cup in each hand when he returned. “As requested, hazelnut for you. Amaretto for me.”

  “Thank you.” She wrapped her cold fingers around it and sighed. “Normally I avoid caffeine after noon, but some days you have to make exceptions.” She took a taste and moaned with pleasure—delicious.

  Taking the opposite chair he said, “When I was younger, I could drink coffee all day long—or soda. Now I cut myself off early, otherwise my camera isn’t steady when I’m working.”

  “At least with the weekend here, you can freely indulge yourself. Live dangerously.”

  Grinning, he took a careful sip. “I like how you think.”

  “It’s the bad girl in me.”

  He chuckled. “You vixen.”

  That made her laugh. “You’re good company, Sean.”

  “I like hanging with you too, Justine.” He frowned in thought. “Justine. You can’t really shorten that. Did you ever have a nickname?”

  “No,” she admitted. “Even my parents called me by my name. No ‘peanut’, no ‘pumpkin’.”

  “Interesting.”

  “How about you?”

  He smiled. “Only one. My grandfather used to call me Seany Boy in a strange James Cagney voice.”

  She found herself laughing at the image in her mind. “You’re one up on me.”

  Feeling warmth return to her chilly limbs, Justine was excited to get started. They threw away their empty cups then wandered back to the museum’s grand entrance.

  Looking up and around, taking it all in, she admired the beautiful architecture. “I haven’t been here in years. I don’t know why. I’ve always loved it.”

  “I come often. Anything you want to see first?” He locked eyes with her. “Show me what you like.”

  Reading the sexy invitation in his request, Justine felt her cheeks flush with heat. Had she known he was going to lay a line like that on her she could have skipped the coffee. Reaching for a couple of maps, one for each of them, she replied to the question rather than the loaded context. “Sculptures. Classical sculptures are my favorite, but I enjoy it all.”

  I enjoy it all? Oh good Lord, did she say that out loud? How was he interpreting it? Worried about the escalating innuendo, she snuck a peek and caught him smiling. This was awkward and she was rusty. It didn’t help she was insanely attracted to this man. To her relief he shifted his attention to the map in his hands.

  “This looks like the best route.” He pointed it out to her on his map. “We can hit the portrait gallery after that, if you’re interested.”

  “Yes. I’m interested.” Groaning on the inside, she wondered why she couldn’t shut up. She needed to stop with the allusive comments and inappropriate hints right this minute. It was one thing to privately fantasize about what ifs. It was another entirely to encourage them in reality.

  “Have you seen the Pompeii exhibit?” he asked.

  She flipped her map over and saw the advertisement. “No, I forgot it was here!”

  “We should make our way over there. Who knows when we’ll get another chance?”

  That’s where they started. It was beautiful, fascinating, and heartbreaking, especially to see the castings of the bodies captured in their last moments of life.

  She leaned close to Sean as they examined one of the figures and whispered, “Isn’t it incredible? It’s like he was caught mid-fall.”

  Sean nodded gravely.

  She went on. “It makes me sad. This happened over two thousand years ago and still…it moves me.”

  He reached up and rubbed her back in a comforting way. She nearly sank against him, only catching herself at the last second.

  Continuing on to her favorite exhibit, Justine suddenly wished she’d kept her mouth shut earlier. All the things she admired so much about these pieces—the exquisite details, the muscle tone and graceful contours, various facial expressions, and the dramatic poses—was lost in a haze of embarrassment as she stared over and over again at the idealized human form. It didn’t matter that she was in her late thirties and knew the anatomical secrets of men. Like an overly curious pre-teen, she was drawn to every marble penis, every solid scrotum. Where was her self-control? She couldn’t stop herself from looking, though her innate good taste made her shy away just as quickly. Her hormones and head were in a strange, indecent tug-of-war.

  “Like a frightened turtle,” murmured Sean out of the blue.

  Snickering in surprise, Justine muffled her laugh and nodded in agreement before fleeing past some of her favorite pieces without giving them the consideration they deserved. Sean was forced to follow. Spotting a water fountain in the corridor beyond, she headed for it. He caught up with her as she bent for a much needed drink.

  Blotting her lips with her hand afterward, she straightened and turned on him, stifling her giggles. “You’re wicked.”

  He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Someone had to say it.”

  “Was I so obvious?” she asked, cringing with shame, but she needed to know.

  He shook with muted laughter. “You seemed…fixated in there.”

  She covered her face with both hands and gave a painful groan, though she was smiling. “I can’t believe I did that.”

  “Been a while, has it?”

  She dropped her hands and sighed. “Just between us?”

  “Of course.”

  “Too long,” she confessed.

  “I suspected as much.” He arched an eyebrow at her. “There is a remedy, you know.”

  “Not for me.”

  He studied her silently for an uncomfortable beat before he finally nodded. “I see.”

  Frowning, she looked around and noticed the quiet alcove housing ancient pottery behind her. She backed into it and waved impatiently for him to join her.

  Hands on her hips, she stood up to him. “I see what you’re thinking, but I’m married. It might not be the most satisfying or…” She looked around to be sure she wasn’t overheard and dropped her voice. “...ideal arrangement, but that doesn’t mean I can simply ignore my vows. It would be hypocritical to condemn Gary for his indiscretions then do the same thing myself.”

  “I’m not suggesting you cheat on him. I’m suggesting you leave him. Leave him, Justine. You deserve better. You deserve more.”

  She stared into Sean’s eyes and wished it was that simple. If it was, she’d go up on her toes right now and kiss those dusky lips of his. She’d hold him close and bury her nose in his collar. She was barely surviving on the occasional whiffs of his aftershave as it is. Like it or not, Sean drew her like every penis she just stared at in the last gallery.

  He has one of those too.

  Slamming her mental door on that unhelpful reminder, she sagged against the bare wall at her back and helplessly threw up her hands. “I know, but this isn’t a good time to leave.”

  “Is it ever?”

  “I can’t right now. Not until after the election in November. The race is too close. It would weaken him.”

  There was an angry tick in Sean’s cheek she’d never noticed before. “He’s weakened himself.”

  “But Gary’s still the best candidate.”

  Sean laughed in disgust and shook his head. “Doesn’t that just paint a glorious picture of American politics? It always comes down to the lesser of two evils.”

  Depressed, she stared at the toes of her shoes, wishing it wasn’t so. Sean startled her by moving closer and taking her hand. He held it, his thumb making patient circles over the top. Raising her gaze to his, she found a man equally sad and disillusioned looking back at her.

  He seemed to weigh something before saying, “If you ever decide to change your situation, let me know.”

  Hurt, she asked, “You don’t think I will? That I don’t want to?”

  His left shoulder rose ever-so-slightly, and h
e sighed. “I have no idea.”

  Emboldened and annoyed by his doubt, she turned her hand in his and jerked him against her. Cupping his face with her free hand, she stretched up and softly pressed her lips to his. He kissed her back, lingering for a moment, breathing her in.

  He was rolling his lips inward, tasting them when he drew away from her. Then he smiled and stroked her cheek with the back of his index finger. “I’ve wanted to do that myself. I’ve wanted to do a lot more than that. But this can’t happen, we can’t happen, until you decide who you want to be with—for real. I’m not going to settle for appearances. As much as I want to kiss you again, really kiss you, the next move is yours.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled between them as they continued their tour. The portrait gallery was the perfect antidote to her stormy emotions. Grande dames and dour men with stiff collars and full mutton chops had never appealed to her more. The pair walked side by side, sharing an occasional whisper over what they liked or didn’t about the artwork, but they’d drawn a line in the sand. She told him what she couldn’t do. He told her what he wouldn’t. It seemed they were at an impasse, though their bodies responded anyway, as if pulled inward by the same gravitational force. It caused them to lean, to brush, to catch their breath at the slightest contact.

  Tormented and sad, Justine begged off after the portrait gallery rather than go on. She couldn’t look at anything more. Her feet and lower back ached anyway because of the heels she wore. It was a convenient excuse, though her primary reason was the ache in her heart. She just wanted to go home and lick her depressed wounds in private.

  As they climbed back into his car, Sean asked, “Are you okay?”

  Rather than meet his gaze, she idly tugged on the empty gloves in her lap. “Yes, of course.”

  “Okay.”

  Though he sounded unconvinced, at least he didn’t push it. Instead, he threw his arm behind her seat and turned to back out of the parking space. They joined the line of cars waiting to exit at the street.

  Feeling compelled to say something, she murmured, “Thank you for wasting your afternoon with me.”

  Met with a wall of silence, she chanced a furtive peek at him. There was that twitch in Sean’s cheek again. He didn’t look over, but she felt his anger as he stared straight ahead at the bright taillights in front of them.

  Then he spoke. “Don’t denigrate yourself like that, Justine. I wanted to spend today with you. I want more than you can possibly give me. So stop seeing yourself as a shitty consolation prize. It pisses me off.”

  Taken aback, she’d only begun to process what he said when he turned and grabbed her hand.

  Bringing it to his lips, he looked deep into her eyes. “You are the prize.”

  Wow.

  Setting her hand back on her lap, he reached for the gearshift and let up on the clutch, pulling his powerful sports car into traffic.

  Chapter 3

  His eyes closed against the warm shower spray, Sean imagined opening the buttons of Justine’s blouse with his teeth while he slid her skirt up her silky thighs. He pictured her wearing lace topped thigh-high stockings and a skimpy little thong underneath. Something he could easily pull aside—or nose aside. Even better.

  It disgusted him to know a woman as remarkable and alluring as Justine was going unappreciated. Unsatisfied. His body wanted hers, no question, but he sensed a kindred spirit under her polish. She had a yearning heart, a wish to make a difference in people’s lives. Her husband answered none of her needs. She’d had to find emotional and substantive fulfillment outside of her marriage. How much more could she have accomplished with the support and encouragement of the right man in her life?

  But what about her sexual needs? Everyone has those. She didn’t stray like her tomcat husband. He respected her even more for it. Did she find relief in some other way? Was she comfortable enough with her body to pleasure herself? He hoped so. Visualizing Justine squeezing her own breasts, twisting her nipples, stroking between her legs as she pressed into her pillow and gasped for air made him gasp in turn. He shook his head, throwing droplets of water off his hair.

  In his mind he saw two of those perfectly polished nails of hers slide out of her mouth then slowly disappear inside her warm pussy. He’d be grateful just to watch her get off. He wouldn’t even have to touch her, but he’d love to suck those fingers afterward. Breathing fast and shallow, one hand planted firmly on the tile wall, the other pumping hard and fast, he let out a low groan and climaxed to a fantasy that seemed more remote than ever after today.

  He was trembling when he rinsed one last time then shut off the water. Sliding the door open, he tugged the towel off the bar and roughed himself dry from head to foot before throwing it over the top of the enclosure and padding naked to his bedroom.

  The clothing he wore today lay carelessly discarded on the end of the bed. Picking up his pants, he draped them neatly over his valet stand then reached for his shirt, prepared to pitch it into the hamper, only something made him pause. Bringing the garment to his face, he inhaled. His toes curled into the thick carpet and he hummed softly at the barest hint of Justine’s perfume clinging to the collar. Her wrist must have rested there when she cupped his cheek.

  Closing his eyes, he drew her scent into his head, his very body, and held it there, reluctant to release it. Finally forced to exhale, he walked the shirt to the hamper and shoved it roughly inside then slammed the lid. The time had come to bow out gracefully and leave her alone. He didn’t want to add pressure to everything else she was coping with right now, though he was honest enough to admit if he continued to see her, even casually, it was inevitable he’d start to push for more. There were two ways this could go. Only one appealed to him. Rather than wear down her resistance, he wanted her to come to him freely and openly.

  It was time to give her the space she needed and hope she eventually closed the distance between them.

  * * * *

  Justine lowered the washcloth and stared at her bare face in the mirror. With her mascara gone, her lashes were back to their natural deep copper. The color made the green in her hazel eyes pop. Her normally pale cheeks still looked pink even without cosmetics—for good reason.

  She was amazed at her audacity today. She kissed him! The very idea went against everything she believed. She might not be a spiritual person, but she was an intensely ethical one and today she’d committed a huge transgression. A married woman could not be too careful with other men, especially single men. This one in particular. Sean was a temptation she couldn’t afford. He had the power to throw her equilibrium off and make her moral compass go haywire. A wise woman would avoid a man who could make her heart race and her panties damp with a single smile.

  That’s what she would do. Who knew, in eight months, after the election, once things settled down and she filed for divorce, maybe they could work, if he didn’t meet someone else in the meantime. Flaring with unexpected jealously at the thought, she picked up her hairbrush and started counting off her strokes, performing her nightly ritual with far more vigor than she’d ever displayed before.

  It was selfish to want him to wait for her. Sean was free to do whatever he chose. After all, they barely knew each other. No, that wasn’t true. He’d popped up on her radar years ago, and like a smitten fan she kept tabs on his shows and career. Learning about his divorce today was a shock. She always pictured him married. It made their flirtation feel safer somehow, even with the intense attraction rippling the air between them. He could heat her body with a single look. She loved how he made her feel special, desirable, and interesting. Like a dry, abandoned sponge, she soaked it up.

  In stark contrast, with every one of his infidelities, Gary had methodically chipped away at her confidence, as a woman and as a wife. Without uttering a single hurtful word, her husband managed to make her feel like a failure. It was hard to recover from something like that.

  Sean was partially right. She did need to leave Gary, only she shoul
d have done it two years ago, the first time her husband came home stinking of another woman’s perfume. The second time she wondered if it was asking too much that he check his dick for lipstick and long black hairs before coming to bed with her? She’d been devastated—again. At least she’d had the wherewithal to have his belongings moved to the guest bedroom while he was out of town. When he returned he didn’t argue—no, he sent his inner circle handlers to deal with her.

  They didn’t mention his roving eye or how difficult he made their jobs when it came to containment. They talked policy goals, the needs of the state and the country, and the importance of a united front to bolster flagging voter confidence. Who else was going to fight for the people? They’d stressed the fact that her husband was number five on the corporate hit list. They wanted his ass out of his chair and one of their puppets sitting there instead. Was she just going to hand it to them? Hand them whatever they wanted by bringing down a good man for making a mistake? They neglected to mention his other mistakes.

  In the end, she buckled, though it was a given they had to tread lightly with what they asked of her after that. She wouldn’t torpedo his political position now that he’d made it onto the finance committee, but she didn’t have to suffer his presence unless absolutely necessary anymore either. They were both serving the people at this point.

  There were always going to be women drawn to her husband’s power and charisma. She knew it going into the marriage. But just because they threw themselves at him didn’t mean he had to catch them! She’d never faked a headache in her life. If Gary felt frisky when he came to bed and wanted to start things, that was fine by her. So why did he sleep around when he could get sex at home anytime he wanted it? Was he starved for variety? Bored with her? She wished she understood. His infidelities made her feel sexually inadequate and insecure.

  Given her vulnerable emotional state at the time, she wasn’t able to counter the arguments for delaying divorce. Just thinking about splitting their assets and listing her lovely home with a realtor overwhelmed her. All she could focus on was Open Arms, Warm Hearts. Her work kept her going. It was easier to put off the inevitable and agree to continue living parallel lives, sharing an address with her husband but little else. He was gone much of the time anyway so it didn’t seem like a hardship.