For a moment the entire club, the legions of fans trying to look up her skirt, the dark man in the VIP lounge who was going to fuck her, and all the noise and sweating bodies, faded away. It was just me, looking at her, and her, looking at me – a little smile turning up her lips.
[Megyn]: there are a lot of people here I dont think anything will happen
I smiled. Oh, Megyn of little faith in her own charms.
[Me]: I think you underestimate the male libido
She read the message, and turned back, presumably to see where Max had gone. I was just able to make out the shape of his large shoulders and head, close to a group of three other men who were clapping each other on the back.
[Me]: did you let him see you have no panties on?
I had sent the message before the lewdness of it made its way through my conscious mind. I couldn’t believe, I realized suddenly, that I was standing in a club sending messages to my wife telling her to show another man that she had no underwear on.
There was a long pause, while Megyn seemed to consider the question. She tapped her phone to her lips and smiled.
[Megyn]: how do I do that?
I didn’t hesitate. Well, a little, to fight off the auto-correcting on my phone.
[Me]: sharon stone it
Megyn read the message, and turned around, sliding her arms away from her in either direction. Her ass looked great in the dress, I noted. In fact, she easily outshone any of the twenty-somethings here. Not only was her body fantastic, her hair was such a glorious, unusual color that she stood out. She was a woman, and things had come together for her, in a way that none of these glittery little girls had experienced yet. The supreme confidence in her outstretched arms, her long neck held high, her shoulders, relaxed and comfortable, had no match in the young ladies bopping around like animals on the dance floor.
And surely it was this same thing that caught Max’s eyes at that moment. He glanced over at her, meaning to look back at his companions, but a glue seemed to jerk him back to Megyn.
I couldn’t see everything that was transpiring up there, with the shifting lights and splotches of darkness, the distance, the bad angle. But it looked to me like my wife stopped all four of those guys mid-sentence, with nothing more than whatever look it was she was giving them.
And then she was walking away. Away from the balcony and over the couches.
I was so hypnotized by the scene that it took me a few moments to realize: she was also walking away from where I could see her. As her red hair sank down behind the back of a couch, I realized that I was not going to get a chance to see her do whatever she was going to do.
Desperation gripped me. The addict’s desperation.
I looked from side to side quickly, assessing the situation. Up and over the balcony.
There were two sets of stairs on either side of the second floor, which I had been standing there taking for a loft, only on one side of the club. But as I turned around, scanning everything (even the rafters) for a way for me to watch my wife, I realized that I was standing with my back to a second floor behind me.
I looked quickly to the left, where the stairs would logically be, and indeed, there they were, and people who looked not only not very important, but altogether unimportant, were walking up and down them.
In retrospect, it’s a wonder I didn’t get into a fight, or at least get told by someone in passing that I was going to get my ass kicked, because I pushed my way through the crowd like I was Jack Bauer trying to save the world from a bomb. I distinctly remember spilling someone’s drink, the cold of it sinking into my shirt over my shoulder.
Once on the second floor, it was a tougher thing to push out to the balcony right where I wanted to be: across from the VIP lounge. But I managed to do it by just looking stupid.
A guy, pretty young, who looked like he should have been home in bed, actually, turned to me and yelled something. Up on the second floor the music was bouncing around and even more deafening than below.
“Sorry?!” I screamed, pointing at my ears.
“MAX RILEY IS OVER THERE!” he screamed, right next to my ear. He pointed toward the balcony.
I was actually grateful for the excuse to be squinting into the darkness and the striped of undulating lights, across the dance floor, through the miasma of smoke and heat, into the little cluster of figures seated on the couches. I still had a terrible view: Megyn had her back to me, and the couches blocked out everything but Max Riley’s face.
And then, like in a movie, the white light of a strobe splashed right onto his face and lit him up, everything around him dark. His face was caught in a single moment, just for me, and it sent a jolt through my whole body as it burned through my mind: his animal stare, his eyes unmistakably on my wife, his lips in a semi-snarl, a millisecond of him sucking on his teeth in that way that black guys seem to always do in movies when they’re after the female lead.
I nodded at the guy who had pointed him out to me, which seemed to satisfy him and make him turn his attention to something else.
Then I took out my phone.
[Me]: I can’t see you
But there was no answer. Of course there was no answer. Just Max, staring at my wife, my wife doing something I couldn’t see but could easily imagine – lifting her leg to cross it over the other, her skirt opening for the briefest of mementos to show him there was nothing underneath. Nothing standing between his fingers and her smooth, wet pussy.
I wondered what he was thinking of doing to her as he stared at her like that.
Someone jostled me from behind, breaking the spell. I almost dropped my phone.
When I looked back, Megyn was rising from the couch, her body lengthening in all of its splendor. She walked forward and around a table, past Max, evidently saying something to him as she went.
And then she disappeared for a moment into the darkness. Headed to the left.
Heading for the stairs.
I watched her descending, not wanting to lose her. I saw that she had her phone in her hand. I looked back at Max, who hadn’t moved, who was looking at his buddies, but as far as I could see, with a distant expression on his face.
My phone buzzed and I almost dropped it again. My mind felt torn in thousand directions.
[Megyn]: follow me
And then I was pushing through the same people I had nearly mowed down earlier. I practically fell down the stairs. When I reached the turn and was facing the set of stairs that Megyn was descending, I saw that she was moving slowly, like a princess coming down from a tower.
She shook her head, amused, when she saw me scrambling.
I stood up and straightened myself out, psychologically speaking. We descended at the same time, and I started to push through people to get to her on the floor. The stairs were closer to a bar area, but the dance floor was spilling into it, and people were really getting wild. A lot of them seemed to be on a pleasant high, so they didn’t mind my shoving through them.
I saw, after making my way almost all the way across the floor, that Megyn had gotten caught up in a swarm of the appreciative, though fratty-looking guys who had been trying to look up her skirt.
I watched as my wife smiled, said something that was evidently perfect, and sent them away, disappointed.
And then we were face to face. Flashes of light and color splayed over her face. Her skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat, and as I looked at her I realized it was extremely hot in this place. I could feel myself sweating as well.
She winked, and said nothing as she jerked her head to the left. Before I could think of what to say or do, she was sliding into the crowd, slipping between the bodies moving on the dance floor, stopping occasionally to dance seductively with a guy who grabbed her hips as she passed.
She left a trail of disappointment behind her as she went, and I got the stare-down from more than one guy as I followed her a few feet behind. A look that said, don't tell me this is the schmuck with that hot woman.
The atmosphere here was decidedly more sexual: many a couple were pressed against the wall, doing everything but flagrantly having sex right there. Others milled about, passing through. I saw more than one person put something small into another person’s hands.
The people who looked at me did so with wildly black eyes, pupils dilated, some erotic drug coursing through their veins. They were welcoming.
It was hot, but a little weird. I started to get another vaguely bad feeling creeping over my neck.
Megyn was ahead of me, moving with the slow-motion confidence of someone who walked through this corridor all the time.
Then she turned to me suddenly. I almost ran into her. “Wait here,” she said. “He’s coming.”
I felt a little cold when she said this. After all, I wanted Max to come here, and there was nothing I wanted more in the world than for Max Riley to fuck my wife. But this corridor was giving me the creeps a little, and it wasn’t what I had envisioned.
But I stepped backward, my hands in my pockets, trying to look a little more like I belonged there. A guy leaning on the wall opposite me came over immediately to offer me some drugs. I declined by shaking my head, and when I looked back at Megyn, one of the blonde frat boys from below the balcony was swooping in on her. He moved up close to her and put his hand on the wall behind her.
I felt a flare of protectiveness, and I was about to step forward and do something (I don’t know what, grab her by the hand, push the kid out of the way). Megyn didn’t seem disturbed by him; she put a foot on the wall and leaned back on it, shaking her head.
But just before I acted, the dark mass of Max Riley filled the space beside me, moving forward, radiating a dark energy and a sort of unbridled masculinity that seemed to travel all the way to the kid, who was looking toward him before he even spoke. “Cool off, punk,” his low, rumbling voice said.
The kid peeled away from my wife, who looked at Max with an amused and grateful smile as he moved in to take his place. I found the interaction incredibly arousing, so much so that I forgot myself entirely and just stood there staring. My cock was hard, and I was just watching this hulking black man move in on my wife in a public corridor.
Max put his arm up, like the white kid had done, and stood close to Megyn, locking her in against the wall.
This time, though, her body responded by softening, by melting up against the wall, her eyes wild with desire.
Max took a look under his arm, and then in my direction. For a moment he looked right at me, and it seemed like some kind of recognition flickered across his face. A deep fear that I had been caught; that we had been caught, froze me from my toes to my face.
He did this kind of jerk with his head, from the chin up, a gesture that meant fuck off as much as anything he could say. I realized I was staring at them, and I quickly averted my gaze, turning toward the opposite wall, hands in pockets, my face burning, humiliation and fear of getting caught traveling all over my skin like an army of ants.
But nothing else happened, and when I dared to look at them out of the corner of my eye, Max was all over Megyn, leaning in against her, his hand stroking her inner thigh. His arm was long enough that he could just casually work his fingers under her skirt, without really straining to reach down there.
His jaw was moving, his mouth next to her ear.
Then he pushed away from the wall and stood up, and Megyn slid along the wall and turned to walk in the opposite direction. I couldn’t follow where she was going without turning my head, and Max was still there, standing there cool as a cucumber, so I figured I’d have to follow him.
He would lead me to her.
My heart starting pounding, racing, so hard against my chest I was worried I was out of control.
Max waited, standing there, kicking the wall a few times. I was deadly afraid that he would turn to me and ask me what the hell I was doing, or worse yet, hover over me and tell me to leave my wife in his hands.
My phone, I would later recall, buzzed against my thigh during this time. I was so flying high on adrenaline that I noticed it and yet I did not.
But when Max fished his own phone from his pocket and barely glanced at the screen, I became aware of it. I fished the phone out, flicking my eyes back and forth from Max, who was turning now, to the screen, which I knew contained some crucial information I had missed. Maybe I was missing my chance…
[Megyn]: bathroom second stall
But I was already moving along, following Max’s dark presence. He strode in to the bathroom – I didn’t know, looking around, if it was a men’s or a women’s, it was impossible to tell.
All sorts of nefarious things were happening in there, my eyes notified me immediately. People were doing drugs I had never seen and didn’t understand out in the open, cigarette smoke filled the air, a round couch with a plant in the center was heaped with people making out, and just as many women were standing around in there as men.
Huh, I remember thinking.
And while I had been looking at all of this, I’d lost sight of Max.
Gone.
It was loud in there, and dark. A blue light from somewhere cast an eerie glow on the place, mingling with a lone fluorescent light which seemed to be there to comply with the law only. A girl smiled at me and blew smoke from her nostrils, a group of guys and girls laughed to the right.
Bathrooms were not what they used to be.
Second stall.
I scanned the room for the familiar sight of stalls, and found three doors in a row that met the description, only barely. They were made of wood and went nearly to the floor and the ceiling, creating more of a room, with marble on either side of it, than a stall.
And the “second” one was closed. Beneath the fluorescent and blue lights I saw movement on the floor. Black boots, the dark pants of a suit.
Megyn and Max.
Just as I was contemplating my next move, which was to go into the stall next to theirs, on the far end of the bathroom, a couple pushed through the door, lips locked, and shut it behind them.
On the other side of the stall, the door was locked, and from the looks of what was playing out on the floor, it was a similar scene inside.
Desperation squeezed my heart.
This was probably it. My one chance this weekend to actually get close to what I wanted, and it was falling apart. My wife was less than five feet away from me, locked into a bathroom stall with Max Riley, and I couldn’t see anything that was going on.
I moved closer to the stalls, ready to jump in one if anyone relinquished them.
“If you have to piss you gotta use the boys’,” A female voice said in my ear. The same girl, or maybe not, was standing next to me with her elbow in her hand, a cigarette at the end of her outstretched arm. She held a bangle-covered arm up and pointed at the stalls. “People are fucking and doing lines and shit in there.”
She smiled at me, the way kids smile at old people.
Then she shrugged. “Unless, you know… you want to…?”
I shook my head and turned my attention back to the stalls, which seemed to neither faze her nor send her in any particular direction. She was stoned out of her mind.
My heart was pounding in my ears. I stared at the stall door and tried to make out the sounds that were coming from behind it, but there were too many laughing, high, drunk people in the room, which was an echo chamber of marble and glass, laughing and screaming.
I felt certain I heard something every now and then: a moan, a slap, the growl of a man enjoying a woman’s pussy… but it could have come from anywhere.
It seemed to me like hours went by as I stood there in helpless desperation, my eyes going back and forth from one
door to the next, my heart jumping up into my throat.
When the door to the left of the stall my wife was in actually clicked, I jumped at it like a crazy person and pushed my way through the exiting three people, two guys and a girl, who also advised me that if I had to piss I should use the guys’ bathroom.
I closed the door on the angry faces of a couple of people who had evidently been looking forward to going in there, so I was glad there was a lock on the door.
The racket was even louder in there. The stalls were all marble except for the doors and the dividing walls, which were made of wood. About a foot of space yawned promisingly at the bottom of the wall and the top.
I strained to hear what was going on next to me, and couldn’t. I braced myself and climbed onto the toilet seat, desperately praying I didn’t end up in the water.
With my head up close to the gap in the dividing wall, I could hear them better. But not much better. I also couldn’t see much of anything: a flash of black, a glimmer of red hair. Megyn was against the far wall, and Max was facing her.
I knew he was fucking her, I knew he had his cock inside of her right now. And I could only see a fragment of it, hear a fragment of it. Megyn’s breathy moan cut through the din of the bathroom, but it was not enough.
Then I had an idea.
It was risky, dumb, and would probably get me killed, but oh well.
I leaned back on the opposite wall and placed my feet, one by one, on the wall in front of me, pushing back to climb up the wall using lateral tension. My thighs burned, my shoes threatened to slip, but the marble blessedly let my shirt slide easily up.
From this vantage point, by twisting my head off to the side and cramming myself up to the farthest recess of the stall. I could see through the gap from a distance, and so I had a better view of my wife.
Enough to see her face.
Enough to see the way she was bouncing wildly in front of Max’s huge back. Her eyes were closed and she was jiggling there as though bouncing on a machine: he must have had her by the ass and was just pumping her wildly over his cock. Her mouth was open and she started to squeeze her eyes.
Megyn For The Win: A Romantic Hotwife Novel Page 20