Megyn For The Win: A Romantic Hotwife Novel

by Arnica Butler

  Megyn flashed her eyes at me.

  I had another sea-sick moment, and a terrible thought: what the hell was I doing? I should not be pressuring my wife to get involved with a dark, formidable, gorgeous black man, who was rich and famous and obviously smooth and well-liked, and a nice guy to boot, who donated time to charity events in his home town.

  What the fuck had I been thinking?

  The effect was temporary, thankfully, and lasted only as long as Max was standing in front of the audience, charming everyone. As soon as he stood beside my Megyn again and started lathering her up with his charming smiles, I was back in the game. All that I felt as I watched that scene unfold was jealousy, and it was the most delicious kind.

  I enjoy watching movies about con artists, spies, and heists, and this habit finally paid off as I sat down to “blend” into the dinner event. Numerous very important lessons had been gleaned from watching those movies, it turned out, and my mind had helpfully absorbed all of them.

  One was to have a cover story, which I did. The other was to strike up conversation and look like part of a group when you were single. Anyone will do it, if you just keep jabbering at them, apparently.

  It turned out, this was true. I was placed at a table with a gaggle of women from some kind of wealthy, Anglican church-going society. So I planted a few lies, turned on the charm, and very soon had them believing I was a widowed man whose wife had invested heavily in the cause, and that I was here alone in memory of her or some such crap. They ate it up.

  Safely surrounded by the gaggle of women, who all took it upon themselves to be inclusive toward me, I would never be noticed by the few people who might have otherwise been able to identify me. And I was also, thank goodness, seated remarkably close to Megyn and Max.

  But I soon tired of this amusement. I wanted more.

  As I took out my phone to send a message to my wife, a small voice inside of me told me that I was being an idiot. But it was drowned out by my ultimate desire to push Megyn toward this other man, a need so primal now that it was consuming me.

  Don’t get me wrong. I knew that I was taking far too big of a risk with what I was doing. I knew I was putting my marriage on the line, my beautiful wife, and that the chances of things getting screwed up were huge. This was all droning away in the back of my mind as I typed my message to Megyn.

  But I would be lying if I said that I listened to that drone much.

  I was far, far too obsessed with getting what I wanted at that point.

  My fingers only hovered over the screen for a moment before I pressed send.

  [Me]: Turn the heat up a little

  I watched Megyn as she discreetly pulled her phone from her satchel and turned her back a little to Max to read my message. I couldn’t see her blush from there, but I enjoyed imagining that I actually saw her cheeks heat up.

  Would she do it? I wondered.

  Megyn turned on her seat and flashed a glance at me. She shrugged, as if to say that she didn’t know how to do it.

  I sent her another message.

  [Me]: be more flirtatious

  Megyn rolled her eyes as she read it, gave me a dark look, and then typed.

  [Megyn]: How???? I don’t know how

  But really, it wasn’t necessary. I could see that Max was interested in her, that her text messages were making him curious. Oh, sure, he kept talking to the man seated next to him, but he gave Megyn a glance, and just the trace of a frown crossed his mouth.

  [Me]: tell him your husband is texting you and annoying you or something. you’re having a fight.

  [Megyn]: about what?

  [Me]: doesn’t matter

  I was texting under the table, and the slightly older women seated near me hadn’t really noticed. I had been quietly agreeing to what they were saying as I did, and my brain was being drained of blood by the ballooning cock in my pants.

  At this point, I looked up and saw that most of them were looking at me expectantly, as a purple-haired matron finished her sentence: “… don’t you think?”

  I could read from their faces that this, whatever it was, had become a hotly disputed topic, and that half the table expected me to agree, and the other half hoped I wouldn't.

  I cleared my throat. “I think it probably depends,” I said.

  This made two of them happy, one of them roll her eyes, and the woman who asked the question snort. “What on earth would it depend on? This is a question of morality -”

  “Oh, Kathleen, don’t start in on that again,” someone thankfully interjected. “You can’t expect-”

  “Well, if what you’re saying is that morality plays no role in -”

  “I’m not saying that at all, I just think...”

  Relieved, I turned back to my phone, which had rumbled in my hand during this diversion.

  [Megyn]: then what

  I looked up at her, but she had already turned back to Max. She leaned her elbow on the table and brought her pinkie finger to her mouth. Then she bit on it, her eyes distant.

  For a moment, I was so taken with the act that I thought she had the expression on her face in response to me; that she had had enough, and was wistfully wondering if she shouldn’t get a divorce.

  It was only when Max turned to her, and I saw his lips moving, that I realized: my wife was putting on her own kind of act.

  I saw her give a sigh, and her creamy skin rose and fell, bouncing her breasts a little in her black dress. I’m sure that Max noticed, that he enjoyed the pleasant jiggle as much as I did. Megyn turned her mouth down in a frown, ever-so-slightly – a pretty, alluring pout I had never seen her do before. She dropped her hand to her lap and played with her hands nervously.

  I watched her mouth move as she spoke to Max, and then she picked up her phone and waved it in front of him.

  I realized that she was doing exactly what I’d told her to. Oh, I’m just having one of those fights with my husband, you know.

  The only thing was – and this made me go a little cold with intoxicating fear – is that she was doing such a good job of looking vulnerable, a little hurt, a little mad. A perfect concoction of emotions to make a man feel like he could lure her in.

  And I hadn’t told her to do that.

  In fact, she was doing it so well, I almost wondered if she wasn’t actually in a fight with me, and I had somehow missed that part.

  “Thank you,” someone at my table said loudly. It was the women who had just defended me. The conversation had evidently heated up and since been resolved. “For speaking frankly on something, instead of just towing the same old tired line.”

  “Well,” the matronly discussion leader said, patting her lips with a napkin. “I certainly appreciate a different point of view.”

  I smiled warmly and raised my wine glass in a toast. To sharing our views.

  When I looked back at Megyn over my wine glass, she was looking at her fingers, playing with a napkin in front of her. And Max was turned fully toward her, his hand very, very close to hers, and whatever he was saying to her was making her mouth slowly turn up in a smile.

  And then, all of my insides flash-froze as he lifted his pinky finger, and stroked the outside of her hand.

  Plain as day.

  Megyn lifted her eyes for just a millisecond to look at me, and then she turned quickly, almost as though she was startled, to face Max.

  I wondered what she was doing. She looked around, and she was talking really fast. Then she stood up, and walked toward the bathrooms. Max turned back to face the rest of the table, straightened his tie, and began to talk to the other diners.

  I took my phone out and began to type blatantly. ‘I’m so sorry,” I said to my table. “I have a very important business issue that’s come up.”

  I stood up and went in the direction Megyn had disappeared – into a marble corridor that led to the adjacent museum. I knew there were bathrooms somewhere in the hallway. As I walked I typed:

  [Me]: what was that?

&
nbsp; “Psssst!”

  I looked up in response to the sound, and saw that I had walked into a large room at the end of the hallway, that disappeared into shadows on one side, and led off to the museum on the other. A red velvet rope cordoned off a metal detector and a sign advised us not to pass that point. Somewhere in the darkness beyond the detector, a jingle of keys warned of a security guard.

  Then I saw Megyn, who stepped theatrically from behind a column to my right. She had her phone in her hand and was reading my message. She raised her eyebrows and then waved me closer to her.

  We looked at each other for a moment, and heat simmered between us.

  “What’s wrong?” I said finally.

  Megyn smiled. “Nothing. I did what you said.”

  She grinned at me. She was enjoying this just as much as I was.

  “And then?” I pressed.

  Megyn stepped out a little, to give herself an extra two inches of view down the corridor. Then she stepped back and put her hands on my tie, smoothing it down. The brush of her hands against my chest sent an electric pulse down my skin and into my groin. She flashed her eyes at me. “He tried to cheer me up,” she said.

  “That’s all?” Megyn’s fingers moved slowly down my tie, over the material of my pants, grazing my hard cock. She was grinning.

  “Well,” she said. “It wasn’t much, but he touched my hand.”

  “How?”

  The questions were falling out of my mouth almost as if I were a robot. Even though I had seen it, I wanted her to describe it.

  “He just touched the outside of my hand, like this,” she said, and she took my hand and rubbed the outside of my pinkie lightly. “But it was very erotic.”

  This last sentence hit me like a punch in the gut. I exhaled, but I felt like I couldn’t inhale.

  Megyn looked at me, and I could tell that something inside of her had switched. Just a little something. She was getting off on this as well.

  She moved her hand over my cock again, and then she said: “So, I think he’ll probably ask me to go somewhere after this. You know… go somewhere. So I just want to check with you, one last time… you really want me to do this?”

  “Do you?” I said, in my robotic voice.

  Megyn had the flush of excitement on her face that she had back on the day we had gone shopping. “Only if you do,” she said, but I could tell that was merely a concession, a thing she was saying to make it sound like she wasn’t too, too excited.

  Again, I had no air in my lungs. “I do,” I said, but my voice was barely a whisper for lack of air. My cock throbbed an affirmation of my answer into her fingertips.

  “Are there any rules?” she said.

  Her question went through me like a knife. Not because of the question itself, but the way she asked it. Coyly, almost as though she wanted to dare me to tell her yes. Almost like she knew I was off the rails at this point, and she could do whatever she wanted.

  I shook my head. “No rules… about tonight, just.. you know… don’t fall in love.”

  I had meant for this to sound like a joke, but it left my mouth a little more serious-sounding.

  Megyn looked alarmed, but just for a second. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

  There was something unsettling about this statement, though at the time I couldn’t say why. A strange tone to it, almost like… like a teenage girl denying that a boy in class “liked” her; disingenuous, over-fluttery, partly a lie to cover up some inner hope.

  But I wouldn’t understand that until she had already kissed me, said, “Sure?” and then walked away, her heels echoing on the marble floors, after I blindly, stupidly, riskily nodded.

  Yes.

  I should have known it would be no easy matter to follow Max Riley and my wife out of the museum. I didn’t even realize they were leaving until long after my wife stood up and gave me a look. I watched her shaking hands and chatting with a few people on her way to the exit on the opposite side of the room, but the whole time I just sat there, watching her and not thinking. Not thinking about where she was going, or what she was doing.

  When I looked back at Max’s table, he was gone.

  In a panic I took out my phone and found a message from Megyn.

  [Megyn]: downstairs waiting for car, hurry up

  I skidded into the hall where I had seen her leave, and found myself back in the auditorium. Downstairs, downstairs. Downstairs? What did that mean?

  A few caterers were lingering, cleaning up the bar.

  “Did you see a woman come through here? A redhead?” I said.

  One of the caterers looked at me suspiciously, while another paused before lifting his hand and pointing in the direction of a doorway on the other side of the auditorium floor.

  I walked briskly, as though I knew exactly where I was going.

  The fine marble and glass gave way almost immediately upon turning the corner to an obnoxious hum of fluorescent lights and the dark brown, chipped paint of behind-the-scenes corridors for employees only. Though nothing really barred me from entering the stairway, I felt a mild thrill of worry as I pressed on the bar, thinking I might trip off a fire alarm.

  I skipped down the stairs, with no idea whether I was headed in the right direction. I finally had the presence of mind to take out my phone.

  [Me]: wheres downstairs

  I kept walking, and found myself in a hallway with no outlet. I walked along, trying to keep calm in case I ran into anyone, wondering why the security was so lax around here. Finally, a caterer in a white suit emerged from a door. “You lost, buddy?”

  “I’m supposed to meet my wife… I think, yes, I’m lost, I think she’s waiting for a car?”

  The man frowned and pointed behind me to a doorway made of black flaps of plastic. “That’s out to the loading docks,” he said, but said it like more of a question. “But you really shouldn’t be down here.”

  We stood, looking at each other, and then I turned and walked back into the stairwell. “Right,” I said. “You didn’t see a woman come through here?” I was already retreating, just trying to save face.

  The man continued to frown, and shook his head.

  I ran back up the stairs, back through the auditorium, and up to the exit doors, through which I had entered. They were locked.

  “Damn!” I said. I turned around, and the same caterer who had directed me to the stairs was pointing again, this time to a door that had a green exit sign above it.

  “That’s not locked?” I said?

  He nodded, whatever that meant.

  I tried the door, with the same fear I’d had earlier.

  Now I was out, on the busy street. But that was really no better, except I didn’t look like a terrorist planting a bomb anymore. I looked to the left and right, and saw nothing.

  I took out my phone.

  [Me]: where are you?

  But there was no response.

  Panic was rising up inside of me.

  I walked around the building.

  But the while place was closed up, except for the main entrance, and there was no sign of Megyn.

  I took my phone out and called her cell. The phone rang emptily in my ear and went to voicemail.

  For second, I entertained the idea of throwing my phone down on the ground in frustration.

  But that would do no good.

  I tried to calm my breathing, think rationally.

  Okay.

  Why would Megyn not respond?

  I knew there was a rational explanation somewhere below the layers and layers of paranoid, terrible thoughts I was piling up in my mind. I just had to dig to get at it. I had to dig past all of the images of her laughing in the car with Max Riley, telling him she had ditched me, finally, and then grabbing his cock through his tuxedo, finding it so much bigger than she thought that her eyes involuntarily widened…

  But that was what I had wanted, wasn’t it?

  I looked at my phone again, stared at the place where the message icon
should have been, even swiped into the messages just to be doubly sure I hadn’t missed something.

  But why wouldn’t she answer me? Why wouldn’t she send a text?

  I looked up at the sky, at just the right moment to get hit directly in the eye by a splash of rain.

  My phone buzzed in my hand just as one of the women from my table clacked unsteadily down the steps. She was taking some cigarettes out of her purse, a little bit drunk. “Oh hi,” she said, looking at me strangely.

  Another drop of rain.

  I took my phone out and stared at my message.

  [Megyn]: cant now later

  What had I done? What the hell had I done?

  I started to type a message to her, and then I stopped.

  The woman from the dinner walked unsteadily toward me, blowing some smoke up at the sky from the corner of her mouth.

  I slipped the phone into my pocket.

  “Do you have another one of those?” I asked her.

  It was clear to me that I had lost track of my wife, and she was with another man now.

  10: AFTERWARD

  We had arranged for the kids to be at Megyn’s parents’, who by now must have thought we were enjoying a marital renaissance like no other. (Either that, or that we were getting a divorce).

  Rather than send Megyn another text – knowing that it was probably pointless; no matter what was going on wherever it was she had gone with Max Riley, she wouldn’t be able to send any texts about it – I went home and stewed in the darkness.

  My stewing began pleasantly enough. On the drive home, I had given the matter a lot of thought. Riley was famous, and StreetRise was pretty frequently in the news. Almost everyone who mattered in StreetRise affairs knew perfectly well that Megyn was married, so whatever he did with her, it probably had to be pretty private. They wouldn’t have gone out to just any club or restaurant. So even though I had messed up by losing sight of her, there was probably never any real chance of seeing them together in the first place.