Hot Dates: Becoming a Shared Wife

by McCurran, Kirsten

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, sweetheart.”

  Dave said exactly the right thing, as always. Even if I went off with some guy and Dave couldn’t be there to watch, we were still having this experience, not just me. We were doing this as a couple. I was not just going off to have an affair. But I still wanted Dave to have everything he wanted. There had to be a way. Inspiration struck while watching the news.

  Our local news station was doing one of those reports testing local mechanics to see they would treat women differently than men with identical car problems. Of course they did, but that’s beside the point. The station sent a female intern into the garages armed with a camera hidden in a purse so they could capture the liars on video. It worked incredibly well and I wondered how hard it was to find something like that for us. I know nanny cams are everywhere, so finding a hidden camera could not be that difficult. It only took one quick internet search and I was offered all kinds of cameras, hidden in everything from watches to pens to car beepers. And best of all, they were all tiny and promised to be easy to use. I ordered one that looked like a car beeper right away, but kept it from Dave. It wanted it to be a surprise if we got separated.

  I was as prepared as I could be—mentally and technologically—now I just needed to make sure I didn’t chicken out when the time came.

  * * *

  The faux-grungy bar wasn’t as crowded as we thought it would be. It was one of those hipster bars in a gentrifying neighborhood that was supposed to appear like it was still an old neighborhood dive, but really offered a large selection of craft beers, a digital jukebox and free wifi. The huge, scarred wooden bar probably did date from when it was a real neighborhood joint, as did the ancient linoleum floor, but the posters for old local music shows had all obviously been chosen with care, and the LED mood lighting just did not fit. The crowd was probably only about half capacity, which was odd for ten o’clock on a Saturday night, and was mostly people in their twenties—guys with shaggy beards and plaid shirts, girls wearing vintage clothing. I fit in surprisingly well in a snug vintage-looking Red Sox V-neck t-shirt and a ragged, short denim miniskirt with flip-flops. The t-shirt was worn enough that the shadow of my lacy black bra was just visible through it in the right light. I hoped the casual/sexy outfit made me look younger, because most of that crowd was a good ten years younger than we were. I didn’t even know if I’d be able to find a guy in there who didn’t make me feel like I was robbing the cradle. At least the bar was the last place we would be likely to encounter anyone we knew.

  Dave followed the usual plan and came into the bar about a half hour after I did. I was hanging casually chatting with a small, mixed group that didn’t have any good prospects in it. At least the people in the bar were friendly enough. I stuck with the Dani story and told them I was recently divorced and had just bought a rowhome I was rehabbing in the area. Luckily I knew enough about the subject from my husband that I didn’t sound like an idiot when they started asking questions. Dave took a seat on the far side and I could see he was evaluating the guys in the group to see if they were suitable.

  “I think you’re going to like it down here, Dani,” one of the girls was saying as I looked back from Dave. “It’s really becoming a walkable neighborhood. A lot of cute little restaurants are starting to open up.”

  “Yeah, it’s a nice little community,” her boyfriend agreed. “I like the feel. It’s not that cookie cutter suburban bullshit. Everything down here is just authentic.” How would these guys feel if they knew I bought my faux-vintage t-shirt at Target?

  “That’s why I moved. I was just looking for something different, you know? After a while, you get tired of the same old thing,” I said. I took his comments in stride. I loved my suburban bullshit life. I loved that I had a big yard with room for a pool and a vegetable garden and that I felt good letting the kids play outside. Here, I would have had a tiny postage stamp of backyard and the kids would have to walk four blocks to find any semblance of a park to play in. But as I said, these guys seemed nice enough, so I let their disdain for my real lifestyle go.

  The group wanted to move to the back deck to smoke, but I told them I had better stay behind and wait for the date I knew would never arrive. Instead I ordered a second beer and risked a wink at Dave. I leaned over the bar and was pleased when the bartender, a shaggy kid in his early twenties, was not shy about peeking down my V-neck.

  Another hour passed and I was beginning to think the night was going to be a bust. A couple people had talked to me, but no guys had made a serious effort to hit on me—not even any I had no interest in. It seemed that most of the people at the bar were in a little groups and pretty much only interested in their friends. Back in my twenties, I was already with Dave, but I remember that when we’d go out with friends the single guys weren’t shy about going after a girl if they thought they had a shot at getting laid. Maybe the guys in the hipster bar just weren’t interested in an older broad like me.

  “Are these seats taken?”

  I turned to the voice and found a tall, handsome man with a mischievous smile. He was clean-shaven and his brown hair was neat and short, which meant he stood out among his peers. He was wearing dark, plastic frames, which fit the hipster vibe, but they actually made him look even cuter, not like a poser. The baggy rust colored polo and cargo shorts made him look more pretty than hipster, which instantly warmed me to him after being faced with a sea of plaid and raggy old t-shirts all night.

  “No, it’s just me here,” I replied.

  “Cool.”

  The second voice was to my left. The new guy had a friend. He was shorter, maybe average height, and broader across the chest. Although he was only in his twenties, his hair had begun to recede and he wore a neatly-trimmed goatee, but had a warm, kind face. He was dressed similarly to his friend, except that his clothes were rumpled liked they’d been balled up on the bedroom floor before he’d put them on.

  The open seats were on either side of me, and I offered, “I can move.” But the boys insisted I stay in place and they sat on either side of me. Things were finally getting interesting. The guys both looked to be in their mid-twenties, about ten years or so younger than me and normally that would have been way too young for me to ever consider, but the first one, Zach, was hot enough to maybe make an exception. His friend, Josh, was cute too, but honestly Zach had most of my attention. Glancing across the bar, I could see he had my husband’s approval. Dave was probably already picturing me with my legs thrown over Zach’s shoulders. It was an interesting picture!

  I gave the guys my Dani story after they introduced themselves, adding that my perspective internet date had apparently stood me up and that I’d been planning on leaving when I finished my beer.

  “You can’t leave so early,” Josh said, putting his hand on my arm.

  “I can’t?”

  “No. It’s way too early to go home. Besides, you can’t let that jerk ruin your night. What was his name?” Zach said. He sat just slightly closer than Josh, close enough that our bare legs touched and our arms brushed when we moved.

  “Dave,” I replied, the trace of a smile playing over his lips.

  “Dave sounds like an asshole,” Zach said.

  “What’s his deal? What did he say he did?” Josh asked.

  “He’s a cop,” I lied.

  “That’s what he said he does. You can’t trust these dudes on the internet.”

  “No, I’ve seen a picture of him in uniform. I know he’s a cop.” I was making it all up, of course, but I got a tingle below when I thought about Dave in a policeman’s uniform handcuffing me and giving me a pat down. I would have to mention that to him later.

  “He’s definitely an asshole then. Never met a cop I liked,” Zach said with conviction.

  “Oh? Have you had a lot of run-ins with the police?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t say a lot. Not anymore than normal,” he said.

  “Is it normal to have any?”


  “You’ve never been pulled over for a ticket?”

  “Sure.”

  “But you’ve never gotten one, have you?” Josh asked. He smiled, but he seemed a little annoyed by the idea. “You smiled, maybe leaned forward a little bit and you got off, right?”

  I smiled exactly how I would for a cop and leaned toward him. I was offering, so Josh took a nice long look down my V-neck. I hope he enjoyed my lightly tanned and freckled cleavage. He could probably even see the lacy edge of my black bra. “Do you mean like this?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Josh seemed to have trouble speaking.

  Zach took my arm and turned me toward him. “What about Officer Zach?”

  I beamed my smile even brighter for Zach. “What about it, Officer Zach? Should I get off?”

  “That may have to be determined later,” he chuckled.

  “Oh really?”

  “I’ll have to review all of the evidence first.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Zach had a nice, easy nature and his smile came easily. I liked that he showed his interest, but was not pushy about it. I couldn’t help wondering why these young guys were so interested in me, though. Was it because I was the only single female at the bar? Did they think I was easy pickings? Maybe they had some kind of MILF fantasy they wanted to live out. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but as long as Dave and I got what we wanted did it really matter what was going on with either of these guys? If I ended up with Zach tonight it would be to fulfill a fantasy that my husband and I shared.

  Josh ordered another round of beers and I thanked him, knowing I had to slow down. I was beginning to feel that tipsy, goofy feeling that’s the leading edge of getting drunk. I wanted to have fun, but I did not want to lose control—especially after what happened with Pat. If this was the night I was going to fuck another guy, it was going to be a conscious decision.

  The flirty banter continued as we sat and drank together, but I think Josh sensed he was losing the race to his friend because he was trying harder to keep my focus on him. I tried to give him the attention he sought—flirting with both boys was fun—but I also didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. If I was going to be fooling around with either of them later, it was going to be Zach. I learned that Josh was a graphic designer and Zach worked for a small production company that produced stealth viral marketing videos for companies. I asked to see some of his work and he said he really wasn’t supposed to take credit for anything, but then relented and showed me a video clip of a teenager doing crazy, dangerous stunts. It was clever and funny, but I didn’t see how it tied in with any product or company.

  The longer we talked and more we drank, both boys became more hands on, but not in a creepy way. It was the way a guy sort of sneaks up on you to see if you’re interested. If you’re not, you’ll usually stop the physical contact there. It’s the same way we women will use innocent body contact to express that we’re interested. I was certainly doing my share of that, but I had never tried to maintain it with two guys before—or experienced it from two guys at once. Josh kept touching my arm and back. The back touching turned into more of a massage when I didn’t stop him. It felt good. I didn’t want to stop him. Zach used the rings I wear on my right hand as an excuse to hold and caress it. I explained the meaning behind the claddagh ring on my ring finger and the one beside it that looked like a leaf had been folded around my finger. He also complimented the pale green polish on my nails, a detail most men don’t notice. His hands were big and strong, with rough calluses, which didn’t jive with him sitting at a computer all day.

  “I play guitar, too,” Zach said, with false modesty. He knew exactly what playing a guitar did to most women. It was probably the reason he picked it up in the first place.

  “Is he any good?” I asked Josh.

  “He thinks he is,” Josh replied. He’d crabbed his fingers slowly up my back and under the fall of my dark hair and now they danced along the nape of my neck, giving me the kind of chills that made me tingle in other, more intimate places.

  “You’ll have to come over and judge for yourself,” Zach said.

  “Does that usually work for you? Do the girls come over to listen to you play guitar and their panties just drop?” I smiled so he knew I was only playing with him.

  “Only if I do it right.” His cocky smile had me thinking it probably worked more often than not. Just the smile was working on me, and I hadn’t even heard him play a note yet. Zach dropped his hand below the bar and rested it on my leg, just above my knee. The denim skirt was short enough that there was plenty of room for it while I was sitting. He gave a squeeze and my legs parted ever so slightly, as if of their own volition. Did Zach take that as an invitation?

  “Hey, you guys want to go out onto the deck?” Josh asked meaningfully.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Zach replied.

  I thought about going out there with them, but I’ve really gotten to the point where I just don’t even like to be around cigarette smoke. I would wait for them. Besides, it gave me a chance to confer with Dave. I was having so much fun with the boys that I’d nearly forgotten my husband was sitting across the bar watching us. It was a sign that I’d become very comfortable in my role as Dani. When Dave and I first started playing this game I was looking for him every five seconds—looking for reassurance, checking to make sure he was enjoying himself. Now I was confident that Dave would enjoy whatever I did with other men, as long as it ended with me in a compromising position. I chanced a look over to Dave and he looked to be hanging on our every word, even if he could not hear them. I’m sure he enjoyed how familiar the boys had become.

  “I don’t smoke, guys. I’ll just wait here,” I told them.

  “We vape, Dani. It’s way smoother,” Josh said.

  “Vape?”

  “You’ve got try it,” Josh said. He seemed proud he had something to show off to me.

  I didn’t want to seem uptight to these guys, so I said, “Sure, I’ll try it.” Would Dave follow us outside? He might think there was an exit out the back and that I was leaving with the guys. The thought of my husband wondering about that made me smile. He may have even been thinking I was headed for a threesome! Would that enter his mind? That didn’t enter my mind until that very moment. I had no idea if that was something the guys were angling for, but maybe that’s what they did—pick up vulnerable cougars and bring them home for a tag team. It was scary to think about—I’d only just accepted that I was ready to sleep one man outside my marriage—but the image of being thoroughly used by two men flitted through my mind leaving a shiver of excitement in its wake.

  A tight hallway, which also lead back to the bathrooms, opened onto a surprisingly large deck at the back of the building. It probably only held about twenty people at full capacity, but considering how small the bar was, did not think there would be room for anything at all back there. The deck was clearly not part of the original bar and with its high wooden railings it more resembled a deck on the back of a house than it did something attached to a business. There were only four others out there when we emerged into the cool night, but I still nearly gagged on the cloud of smoke that lingered from all the smokers who’d been coming out there all night. Josh led us to a corner opposite the others and as I settled back against the railing, Zach slipped his arm around me.

  Josh retrieved a long cylinder from the side pocket of his baggy cargo shorts. It did not look like any of the e-cigarettes I’d ever seen before, which were mostly the size of a real cigarette. This was thicker and even a little large to be called a vape pen. “Here, I’ll show you how to do it,” he offered.

  “Are these things even safe? I hear they blow up sometimes,” I said.

  “That’s only e-cigarettes when they’re charging. This isn’t like that,” Zach said.

  Josh took a plastic cap from the end and stuck it to his lips. He depressed a button on the cylinder and a bright blue light lit the tip. It looked silly to me. I
could not see this replacing cigarettes based on the cool factor. A rebel in a leather jacket was not going to whip one of these things out. But it was not noxious like a cigarette. When Josh exhaled, it was simply a pale vapor with a hint of sweetness to it. Now that was an improvement on real cigarettes.

  I took the vaporizer from Josh and held it awkwardly until he corrected me. I found it easier to handle with two hands. I bet Josh and Zach enjoyed watching me press the long cylinder to my lips, and I tried to make a show of it. I depressed the button and inhaled deeply.

  “Hold it,” Josh directed.

  It clicked in my brain that these guys were not vaping tobacco. The sweet vapor tasted familiar, but I didn’t immediately place it because it was not quite the same as smoking pot, and besides, I hadn’t smoked a joint in over a decade. I didn’t even know you could smoke pot with these things. I immediately exhaled, but there was none of the coughing or burning sensation that I’d experienced smoking pot in the past.

  “Smooth, isn’t it?” Josh said.

  “That’s not tobacco is it?” I felt stupid for not realizing it before. I was so out of touch.

  “It is fine hash oil suspended in wax,” Josh said proudly.

  Zach took the vape pen from my hands while I stared at Josh. It wasn’t even pot. Hash oil was something I’d only heard about and associated with hippies and Woodstock—all stuff before my time. I thought hash was like pot, but I really didn’t know. It looked like I was going to find out.

  “Hash oil? What does that do?” I asked dumbly.

  “It’s like marijuana,” Zach said, exhaling vapor and handing the device back to Josh.

  “Only stronger and smoother.” Josh took another hit and offered me the pen again.

  I hesitated. I don’t know that I would have knowingly smoked pot, let alone hash oil. But I’ll admit I felt the peer pressure and after a few drinks my judgment wasn’t exactly stellar. I took the vape pen again, but more tentatively than the first time.