Irresistible

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  One Friday night, she took Wayne to an underground frolic club in the Bronx with a heavy Latino and black crowd, and the party was hopping when they arrived. She could see things were heating up through the thick haze of cigarette smoke and the overheated spinning colored lights: girls writhing to the hot tropical beat, almost naked, with their breasts exposed and skintight jeans open and guys grinding against them with their pants unzipped and their stiff dicks out in some cases. It was totally freakish. No limits, no rules.

  The longer the party lasted, the more uninhibited things became. She’d always wanted to seduce and screw a man in front of an audience, to ravish him and work everybody watching into a sexual frenzy. Lots of people watching her getting hot and heavy with a man, the center of attention: this was the night for it.

  During a smoldering Machito tune with a Cuban clave beat cooking in the background, she ripped open Wayne’s shirt, popping the buttons, and started sucking his nipples. Drunk on rum, he closed his eyes and let her have her way. She wanted to hurt him with desire. She pressed her lips to his chest, tasting his male scent of sweat and cologne, listening to him softly murmur his joy at having her in his life.

  A wave of gasps and sighs went through the crowd when she kneeled and undid his pants, removing his dick. It was completely hard, sticking straight up. She wondered what it would be like to be a man with a throbbing erection like his, about to pop. One woman yelled, “You go, girl!” The guys were cheering her on, stomping to the lusty rhythms of the music. She held his brown legs, keeping him steady, and sucked him to the shouts and whistles of her audience, the network of veins thickening in his shaft as it plunged in and out between her lips.

  “Oh, damn, baby,” Wayne moaned at one point, his legs sagging.

  She was fascinated with the carnal response of the people watching them, faces in ecstasy; their anguished expressions of near release and bliss. The sexual animal in them stirring with undisguised lust. The women watched imagining they were her, and the men watched wishing they were him. Some of them were now kissing, feeling each other up or masturbating openly. She begged Wayne to enter her right there on the dance floor, throw one of her legs over his shoulder and penetrate her to the hilt.

  The clapping reached a peak when he started trembling, shooting his seed into her mouth, his thighs almost totally enclosed around her bobbing head. Totally aroused, she was sopping wet. She lifted a leg, took off her soiled panties and tossed them into a ring of excited Latin guys. One of them caught the underwear, yelling and pumping his fist in the air. He howled once more and covered his face with the drenched panties.

  Finished, she waved and walked off the dance floor side by side with her lover. Wayne almost left her after that. To this day, he’d never mentioned that decadent night. It was as if it had never happened—but somewhere deep down, she knew it had.

  Her memory of one of her wildest nights slowly faded, and she was back in her sterile married life. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay home?” she asked cheerfully. “We could stay in bed like we used to do, eat snacks, read to each other and fool around. A day alone with just the two of us. No distractions.”

  He was stubborn. “No, baby, I’ve got to go and that’s that.”

  As soon as her husband closed the door, she prepared the coffeepot for the two cups that would get her through the morning, the brew’s rush a necessity for her sanity. She weighed the events of the day so far, fixating on his insistence on going to work. It added up to bad news.

  She quickly called her best girlfriend, Francine, and asked her to drive over. Francine begged her to tell her what was wrong but Joanne wouldn’t give her an answer over the phone. Three hours later, after a hair-raising drive on frozen city streets, her buddy arrived, cold and shivering.

  “So, what’s up, girl?” Francine asked, watching her friend over the rim of her cup. Francine was an attractive plus-sized woman who loved good food, good gossip and good sex. Her best assets were her ample breasts, cute face and saucy lips.

  “Wayne’s fooling around.” Joanne said it like it was a fact.

  “Honey, you’ve got to be kidding me,” her friend gasped, putting down the cup. “How do you know he’s cheating? Did you catch him?”

  “No, not yet, but I’ve got a feeling that something’s going down with him and his perky little secretary. I don’t trust that hussy as far as I could throw her. She always answers his phone with this snide little nicey-nicey thing in her voice like she knows something that I don’t know. She’s all up in his business, girl. Whenever I call there if he has to work late, she answers the phone like she’s the damn wife and I’m nobody. She runs his life. Whenever I get flowers or gifts from him, it’s usually her that buys them. I can’t stand her.”

  “Is that all you’ve got on him?”

  “No, he’s just different, acting different,” Joanne said. “It’s like he’s in love.”

  “Well, I know you told me that you were having problems in the bedroom. Maybe that’s what’s got him crazy. Maybe he’s having a midlife crisis.”

  One weekend, in a fit of anger Wayne had called her frigid when she wouldn’t give him any. Frigid, hell! Her aunt told her there was no such thing as a frigid woman, just men who didn’t know what to do in the bedroom. Lousy lovers. Some of it might be her fault, maybe not. One thing she’d never admitted to anyone, even to herself until a few months ago, was that she refused to give any man sexual power over her. She wouldn’t let any man control her with his dick: no, sir.

  “How do you tell a man that you’re not being satisfied?” Joanne asked aloud. “No man can handle that. Their egos are too big to hear that.”

  “I guess, but I don’t have that problem,” her friend replied. “Henry does the best he can, and I love him, so I work around it. With him, if I didn’t play with myself during sex, I’d never have an orgasm. And there’s toys. That’s okay with me; there’s more to our relationship than sex.”

  Bullshit. Joanne was not hearing any of it. She was determined to catch them in the act. The cheaters. She figured that they would slip up on a day like today, with no one in the office. Her proposal to Francine was to drive into town and watch them, follow them and see what they did. Everything would be revealed.

  “Drive all the way to the city in all this snow so you can snoop on them?” Francine exclaimed. “You’ve got to be kidding, girl. You’re out of your mind. Don’t be crazy.”

  Crazy or not, near lunch time, the two women found themselves parked a half a block from the office building where Wayne worked, sitting in a cold car, shivering. Twice during the drive there, they almost skidded off icy roads and nearly turned back, but Joanne was determined to get there to see what she must see. She was obsessed with catching her husband in the wrong. They would start the engine every twenty minutes and let the car warm up before they switched it off again. The hours passed slowly, and they waited and waited.

  Finally, they saw the pair, Wayne and his secretary, come out of the building, their heads bent down to keep the howling wind and blowing snow from assaulting their faces. As they reached the corner, Joanne ordered her friend to follow them, slowly and carefully. Their car eased along at a creep, keeping their prey in sight until they ducked into a fancy bar two blocks from their job.

  Joanne suddenly jumped out of the car and ran recklessly across the street, with Francine trotting breathlessly behind her. The two women stood outside of the bar, watching the couple sitting at a cozy table, laughing and drinking.

  “See how close they’re sitting to each other,” Joanne shrieked. “Don’t tell me he’s not doing her. I know he’s screwing her. I’ve seen enough. I knew it, I knew it. Let’s go.”

  Back in the car, Joanne continued to rant about how much of a dog her husband was, now caught in the act.

  “I’ll let him have it when he gets home tonight,” she shouted. “I won’t let him make a fool out of me with that slut. I can play rough, too.”

  “But is tha
t little scene at the bar enough to break up your home?” her friend asked. “Don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions here?”

  “Hell, no,” Joanne retorted. “I saw what I saw and that’s enough for me. Take me home. I want him out by the weekend. Gone. I’ll call his lying, cheating ass as soon as I get home. Don’t mess with me. He doesn’t know who he’s fooling with here. Him and that little whore.”

  “What is this really about, Jo?” Francine asked. “Is this guilt? Is this about your little thing with your boss a few months ago? Is your conscience finally catching up with you?”

  “No, that’s different. I didn’t rub his face in it like he’s doing to me. He never even knew I stepped out on him. I kept everything cool.”

  Her affair. Her three-month affair with Michael, her boss at the school. A thirty-year-old brother from Philly with a durable runner’s build who spoke fluent Chinese, Russian, French and Italian. Dark, tan and fine. She recalled her breasts hanging over her lover’s face and his teeth biting her nipples hard, then harder. That almost made her hit the roof. She felt comfortable with him sexually, something she had never experienced with any other man. He complimented her on her smooth, soft behind, her long legs, and graceful swan-like neck. Called her a real thoroughbred. He held her legs up high off the bed and kissed and lapped her lower lips until she screamed and made him stop. She wanted his dick and that alone. He’d thrust solidly into her body, with her hanging half off the bed, her head almost banging against the floor. She loved the sheer male power of him.

  They made love in all kinds of positions, with their bodies in all manner of contortions—against the wall, on the floor, on the sofa, against the sink, on top of the kitchen table, in the shower, even out on the balcony in the night air. She couldn’t get enough of him. Many times she’d start dressing, complaining that it was getting late and that she was expected home, but he’d lift up her skirt, either to kiss her between her legs or to insert a finger. And after that, it was back to bed. Once they finished, they lay there panting and laughing.

  Sometimes he’d eat her or suck one of her breasts hungrily while she called home to tell her husband that she’d be late. Working. Paperwork. Calls to make and last minute odds and ends to clear up.

  Before they drove away from the scene, Francine suggested that they wait and watch what the couple did next. When the supposed lovebirds came out of the bar and returned to work, she asked Joanne if she wanted to go up and really check out what they were doing in that empty office, all alone. Her friend agreed at first but thought better of it upon further reflection. She knew her friend had always been extremely jealous and distrustful of her husband, to a fault.

  It was her Achilles’ heel, her blind jealousy. It was irrational, powerful and the controlling force in her emotional makeup, something she’d fought during all of her relationships—a tendency to believe the worst of any man. Now, when Joanne had the chance to actually see the truth for herself, she balked, wondering what would happen to her if all of her suspicions were confirmed.

  Francine, saying nothing, got out of the double-parked car and crossed the street again. She walked right past the security guard, who quickly asked her to sign in before going up. The signature only took a moment and then she stepped into the wood-paneled elevator for the ride to the tenth floor and Wayne’s office.

  Quietly, she walked down the long hallway, looking for the sign that would tell her that she was in the right place. Halfway down the corridor, she located the door and gently worked the knob until it opened. There was nobody in the office that Francine could see upon entering, but the faint sounds of someone deep in the throes of hot sex caught her ear after a few steps. She tiptoed toward the song of sex, silently easing open the door that was slightly ajar and peered in shock at the sight of Wayne pounding frantically into the wetness between the secretary’s outstretched legs, her head thrown back, eyes closed and hips swaying into his hard thrusts. Thank god Joanne had decided not to come up.

  Francine tried to avert her gaze from the shameful sight but couldn’t. Instead, she found herself standing there in the doorway, unzipping her jeans and massaging herself as the moans and sighs reached an unearthly pitch. Soon she was engulfed in sexual heat and her legs buckled. How could Joanne let some hussy like this girl get her mitts on a gorgeous hunk of male flesh like Wayne?

  As the pair of lovers eventually sagged against each other after a big orgasm, lost in the blissful fog that comes after climax, she stepped back and walked silently out of the office.

  “Girl, they weren’t doing nothing but talking and working on some damn account,” Francine lied after returning to the car and her anxious friend.

  “Really?” Joanne couldn’t believe it.

  Francine wasn’t finished. “But I think something could happen with them unless you step in. Don’t be hasty. You can keep him with no trouble. All you have to do is take care of business between the sheets. Give him an erotic evening he will never forget. You’ve got a good man and there’s no reason for you to throw him out so some woman who doesn’t deserve him can get him.”

  “So they weren’t doing anything?” She just knew he was cheating.

  “Nothing at all. It was all business.”

  “You think I’m crazy for coming out here like this, don’t you?” Joanne asked. “Tell the truth.”

  “No, not at all. But listen to me. You’ve got to stop being so self-centered, so selfish. You’ve got to think about somebody other than yourself. Let that man know that you want him, that you love him. Jo, I’m just saying that you should pay more attention to him at home and then you won’t have to worry about a thing,” Francine said, keeping a straight face. “Not a thing. Turn him out, girl. Rock his world and he won’t look at another woman.”

  “What should I do?” her friend asked, admitting that it had been too long since she’d put together an evening of romance and seduction. “I’m out of practice, Fran. Give me some tips.”

  The women stopped to pick up champagne, scented candles, lotion and bath oil. After Francine went home, Joanne prepped herself for her man’s return and when she heard his key in the door, her heart raced. He called to her once to announce his arrival, then took off his galoshes and heavy coat. His voice was cheery and upbeat.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” Joanne said, walking sexily into the room, carrying an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne peeking out. “I missed you all day. I’m so glad you’re home, honey.”

  He looked at her with a quizzical expression, standing up to give his customary smooch on her cheek. Then he noticed what she was wearing, a new red silk gown with thin spaghetti straps and a low, tempting V-back. Absolutely nothing underneath, from what he could see. As she walked toward him, he enjoyed the enticing jiggle of her breasts under the silk and sensed his dick jump in anticipation. He also felt a moment of extreme guilt, a flashing image of his secretary wiggling underneath him, but quickly defeated it when his wife stepped closer and placed her warm arms around his neck. Her sizzling kiss, all lips and tongue, made his privates stiffen.

  “What is this all about?” he asked. “What naughty thing have you done?”

  “Nothing.” She smiled weakly, passing him a glass of the bubbly. “I thought we should have a nice, romantic evening for once. We don’t have enough of them. I feel like I’ve been neglecting you lately and I want to correct that, starting tonight.”

  “I’m game,” he agreed.

  His mouth met hers before she could get out an answer, and he led her to the bedroom, where his lips and tongue did their bewitching alchemy on her breasts, neck and inner thighs. Her senses were excited beyond limit, toward an all-consuming desire that kept her coming and coming. After she reciprocated by nipping the swollen knob of his engorged dick, she screamed that she couldn’t wait much longer; she wanted to feel him inside her. They switched places on the bed, into a sort of spooning, to sixty-nine each other. Both curled up, lips upon the other’s sex.

  He
stopped the teasing before he reached his peak and righted himself, kneeling over her, rubbing his erect tool between her large breasts, hardening it even more between them. Now overcome with desire, his wife grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him down, her other hand firmly around his dick. She smiled when he put his tool inside her, the echoes of its throbbing deep within her. The way he made love was always so open and thoughtful, and the memory of their secret rhythms pushed her to open wider still to accommodate him farther into the back of her. It slowly became too much, both of them totally lost in the rapture of their gyrations, and then she bit his neck, giving in to the roar of the sexual storm inside her. They clung to each other desperately, their arms locked around each other’s body when the burst of shuddering sensation seized them, compelling them to quiver and shout in its praise.

  After the lovemaking, they lay naked on the bed, holding hands and calmly chatting. She still shuddered from the aftershocks of her orgasms, her skin glistening all over from the afterglow. He sipped from her glass, stroking her hair while watching her.

  “Joanne, let’s start over and recapture what we once had,” her husband said, kissing her eyelids. “We’re still good together. I forgive you for what you’ve done in the past. Your little indiscretions. I haven’t been an angel myself. We’ve both screwed up in our own way, but that’s all behind us. I love you and I want to keep what we have alive. We deserve a second chance. What do you say, sweetheart?”

  Somehow it didn’t matter that Wayne knew about her affair with her boss. It didn’t matter that he had screwed up somehow. What did matter was that he was hers again, completely hers. And nothing would change that or threaten their love again. She took his face delicately in her hands and planted one long, passionate kiss on his lips, feeling the nearness of his body give her yet another rush of desire. They held each other close all night, smug and confident in their new and improved love, and slept like babies until the alarm clock sang its annoying noise.