“But what if it was what I really wanted Ben?” she says, her face right up against my ear, “What if I said I do want to live a little before I hit 40. What if I said wanted to go back up to the VIP area alone and see whether that good-looking young guy approached me?” she takes her drink from my hand and looks at me with a sly smile.
Is she serious? My cock doesn’t know whether to stiffen or shrink in to my belly.
Karen sips her drink and looks at me over the rim of her glass.
“You’d want me to wait here?” I’m almost gulping for breath.
She nods her head slowly; her brown eyes never leaving mine.
“OK,” I gulp.
Karen hands me her drink. She checks her lips and hair in the screen of her phone and smiles at me. Then she kisses my cheek and is gone.
For several seconds I stand with both drinks in my hands watching her climb the staircase. My whole body is trembling. My nerve endings taught.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
I can hardly wander around the club carrying these drinks. But I don’t just want to sit somewhere and wait. How long does she expect me to stay down here while she’s up there with him and his friends?
I down my own drink in three or four quick gulps. My stomach is doing summersaults because of where my wife has gone – and who she’s gone to. What if he doesn’t dare approach her? I mean; he knows she’s come here with me.
To keep my thoughts at least partially in check, I tour every corner of this downstairs level of the club. There are groups of partying girls laughing with each other, checking their appearances in their phones, touching up their lipsticks. Couples in corners kissing. Guys, some unsteady on their feet, checking the girls out, the braver ones wording them up. The less brave just staring at them. Same as I usually did when I was single. Before my sister introduced her friend Karen to me that is.
My eyes bounce from place to place at all these people in their different stages of flirtation and courtship. Then there’s my wife upstairs...
My breathing is short, fast, my skin tingling, sweat forming on my brow. What’s she doing up there?
I’m hovering around a small bar near the cloak room when I do a double take over towards the edge of the dance floor. That looks like Karen. I think it is. With him. My stomach clenches like I’m punched in the gut. My heart racing.
Fuck me. Is he holding her hand?
Dazed but desperate to know for certain, I hurry in the direction of the dance floor. Karen and the boy are lost somewhere now in the sea of writhing, waving dancers. The electronic bass and kick drum pound hypnotically. My wife’s dancing with him.
Almost as if I haven’t even thought about it I find myself in one of the gent’s toilets. I hurry into a cubicle and slide the lock across. My cock is like steel in my fist. I bet he can’t keep his eyes of her tits while they’re dancing. I groan out loud. Has he got his hands on her ass? My buttocks and thighs tighten violently and I’m spurting hard into the toilet. My head thumps, shoulders slumping.
I’m on my way to the stairs to the VIP lounge, to see if I can spot them both on the dance floor from the balcony. Then I see Karen. She’s alone downstairs on a sofa near a bar.
I’m half way over to her to ask how it went, when he appears in front of her with two drinks. She smiles at him and moves her hair around. I shrink abruptly away and head for a dark corner. Somewhere I can hopefully watch from without being seen.
My insides are going crazy, like they’re infested by wasps.
He sits right up close to her. His face pressing to my wife's ear. I have no idea what he’s saying to her but she’s laughing with her hand over her mouth. She's flicking at her hair again. She’s not looking around for me.
Then he’s up and off in the direction of the stairs to the basement washroom. He stops, turns back and gestures to Karen to stay put. She laughs.
Now she’s looking around.
“Enjoying yourself?” I ask without sitting,
“I am actually. Are you OK with it?”
I nod and sit quickly, right on the very edge of the sofa next to her. My heart bangs, mouth dry as a desert. I take one of her hands in mine.
Karen looks over her shoulder then back to me.
“Just go with whatever you feel babe. Don’t hold back. Think of it as a birthday gift from me,” My hand trembles as I stroke her slender fingers. Alongside the smoothness of her wedding band the diamond of her engagement ring is rough beneath my finger tips.
“Are you sure Ben?” her teeth play with one corner of her lips but her eyes are gleaming.
“Yes. Do anything you want with him,”
“Anything?” she looks in to my eyes.
I nod my head, my insides are a furnace.
Karen looks over her shoulder and pulls her hand from mine.
“You better go Ben,” she says.
I think I might pass out. But I don’t. Instead I all but stagger to a bar across the club. My mind whirls like some crazy helter-skelter. Even though I only just jerked-off; my cock pulsates in my pants.
I order a straight cola with ice. I need to try and steady my thinking. All the times I’ve imagined something like this, but now here it is and part of me for some reason, doesn’t want to be near them when they’re together. But I can’t resist.
Skulking again, up against a wall in a dark corner, I watch the guy in the gold shirt’s confident strut, shoulders back as he returns grinning to my wife.
She fingers her hair as he takes his place next to her. What has she told him about me? About where I am now? About the wedding ring on her finger? She’s laughing again. He’s holding one of her hoop earrings, inspecting it. Her hand moves to one of his legs.
Her hand on his thigh. His thigh. Oh my God.
I lean back hard against the wall to stop myself collapsing.
I can’t get my breath. Literally I cannot get my breath.
I should be transfixed, spellbound by this longed-for sight. But I can’t watch. Somehow it doesn’t seem right.
I don’t know how I manage to move, but move I do. Now I’m on a seat somewhere, desperately trying to rearrange my thoughts. Maybe I’m in shock?
My teeth are clenching, my chest and stomach burning. I can’t waste this opportunity to see her like that with another guy. It may never happen again.
Breathing deeply I work my way through the crowds back to where they were sitting.
Gone.
There’s no sign of them around the bar. Shit. Maybe they went back to the dance floor? Or upstairs to the VIP?
I take the staircase two stairs at a time, holding on to the rail to steady myself as I climb. I try to look relaxed as I walk the floor of the VIP room. No sign of them – or of the guy’s two friends.
I grip the side of the balcony hard as I lean over it, trying to make out my wife and the guy in the gold shirt on the dance floor. But it’s impossible to pick anyone out of that crowd now.
Shit. I lean back against the balcony texting her. ‘Where r u? Everything OK?” I order another straight cola over ice and try to think.
No reply from her. Keeping my eyes on the dance floor below I make my way back down the staircase. I push through the party-goers, checking each of the bars and all the seating areas one after another. I know I must look like some sad loner lurking. But she hasn’t replied and there’s no sign of her.
I’m starting to get worried now. Where the hell is she? Maybe she went to the bathroom? I make my way across to the entrance of the nearest ladies WC and stop two girls on their way out of there.
“Excuse me girls,”
“Get lost creep,” one of them curls her top lip at me and they hurry away.
Another girl on her way in there alone is less aggressive. She says she’ll check inside for the woman I describe. But when she eventually comes out, she’s shaking her head and apologizing for taking so long because of the queue in there.
I check the bar areas again and then ma
nage to persuade two girls to check a second ladies bathroom for Karen. Security stops me close to a third bathroom.
“We’ve had reports of someone annoying some of our female customers,” the shaven-headed giant looking down at me yells above the music.
“Annoying female customers?”
“That’s right Sir, trying to apprehend them around the toilets. The management take a dim view of that kind of behaviour I’m afraid,” he stares at me over his fat nose.
“I’m trying to find my wife!” I hold up a hand and point at my wedding band.
“Yeah, well no need to raise your voice Sir. You’ve been warned. Stay away from female customers trying to use the facilities.”
Still no reply from Karen. Maybe she can’t get a signal or she’s dumped him and doubled-back up to the VIP lounge looking for me.
I stumble on the staircase back up to the VIP area while I’m texting Karen again. I must look like some kind of desperate loser trying to find a woman, any woman as I comb the whole upper floor for her. Maybe she’s in the bathroom up here? I can’t chance asking someone to check for me so I just lurk and keep an eye on the door to and from the ladies.
I don’t know how long it’s been since I saw her. How long’s she been with him? I’ve looked everywhere else. They have to be on the dance floor again.
I make my way back downstairs. Maybe I could just weave through the other dancers out there to see if I can spot her. I might be the worse dancer in the world, but I doubt anyone would pay me much attention. Unlike me, they’re all too busy enjoying themselves.
Still no text back from her.
I drain the last of my drink, leave the glass on a high table and feeling like a total tool, try to impersonate someone with rhythm. I shuffle my way in between the writhing and bopping bodies, inhaling the concoction of dry ice, perfume and perspiration.
“Sorry, sorry, excuse me, excuse me, sorry, sorry dude, excuse me miss” No-one gives me a second look and pretty soon I couldn’t give a shit either. I’m just focused on finding my wife.
I can’t see her. Am I going around in circles?
Then the thought hits me.
What if she went outside? If she couldn’t find me; thought I couldn’t handle seeing her with him and that I’d left.
Or what if she went outside with him?
Outside on the street, apart from the odd drunken shout, it’s quieter. But the night has turned cold and I pull up the collar of my sports jacket. I pass a group of people hanging around smoking.
Still no reply from Karen.
I scarcely want to admit this to myself but I’m looking for some kind of alleyway or dark side street somewhere around the club. I’m talking to myself. You don’t seriously think your wife would be somewhere like that with another guy? My heart hammers so loud I’m convinced revellers passing me the street must be able to hear it.
The outside of the nightclub building is joined pretty much on all sides by other buildings. No little side streets or alleyways. What the hell was I thinking coming out here anyway?
I call her phone. It rings out. I call the hotel.
She isn’t back there.
Now what? Think Benjamin. Think.
If she hasn’t left me a message then surely she must still be inside. But where? I’ve checked everywhere.
I’m stopped at the entrance back in to the club.
“Pay in again? I only went outside to look for my wife!” I stare into the set face of the doorman who stops me trying to walk straight back inside.
“Sorry Sir. We get a lot of people saying they only went outside to look for someone. If you didn’t ask for a pass out, you’ll need to pay the entrance fee like everyone else if you want to come in.
For fuck sake. What a disaster this is turning in to.
The entrance fee is almost twice what it was when we first arrived. But what choice do I have? At least I don’t have to queue to get in this time.
Still no message from her. I need to find my wife.
Chapter Six
Back inside the club I do another sweep of all the bars, downstairs and up again on the VIP floor. Nothing.
Now I’m getting seriously worried.
I’m not sure what to do next. I decide to head to the basement toilet where it’s quieter to think for a minute or two and where I can take a quick pee.
Maybe I’m rushing because I’m worried. I don’t know. Whatever it is, I lose my footing on the steps down. I crash heavily onto my ass at the foot of the stairs near the doors to the bathrooms.
Two tanned brunettes with long legs and short skirts burst out laughing before they seem to decide maybe I’m injured.
“You OK?” one of them asks; lacquered fingers over her mouth. She probably thinks I’m some old guy smashed out of my head.
“Yeah, yeah, no problem.” I say, trying to hide my embarrassment while hauling myself to my feet.
The girls wander away, looking back over their shoulders a couple of times and giggling.
I brush myself down and push the door to the gent’s bathroom to get out of their sight. The small of my back aches as I take a quick look at my appearance in one of the mirrors and then head for a pee.
There are a couple of guys holding beer bottles huddled together outside the last cubicle down the far end of the room.
Still no message. Where the hell is she?
I unzip myself at the urinal, racking my brains again about where she could be and what the hell to do next.
Someone down the far end of the room yells something and then there’s laughter. I think maybe someone’s being sick inside there. These young guys just can’t handle their beer. I smile to myself, shake, and zip up my pants.
I’m actually on my way out of the bathroom when I guess it’s the sound of a wolf whistle that for some reason makes me stop. Then there’s a groan. I look back down towards the group of guys.
“He alright?” I yell, holding the exit door half-open and hearing bass thumping from upstairs.
“He’s more than alright buddy.” Someone yells back, “He’s got some slut in there with him,” more laughter.
“Go on Jamie, get her tits out!” someone yells
Holy shit, surely someone’s not having sex in there?
Maybe I should just carry on and walk out of here. But what guy could resist taking a peek? Seriously.
Halfway down the length of the washroom toward the guys baying at the open cubicle door I think I recognise one of them. But it couldn’t be. Could it? My footsteps slow on the tiles. Stomach clenching.
A door bangs, or a wall. I don’t know which. Again. A groan. I reach the guys. One of them seems to do a double take at me. Smell of unknown aftershave and a familiar scent. I peer through and around them into the cubicle.
It takes me a moment or two to recognize the guy inside. Gold shirt unbuttoned to his waist. He’s pinning the woman up against the cubicle wall. One hand coiled through her long brown hair. His other hand fumbling with one of the thin shoulder straps of her dress.
Oh my God. Karen.
I reach out to the dividing panel with the adjacent toilet cubicle to steady myself. My legs are wobbling.
He’s kissing her. Deep. Her eyes closed. Karen. I don’t know if I say her name or just think it.
Her head is moving around, like she’s trying to locate the best position to suck on his tongue. Loud slurping sounds. Big hand sliding her second shoulder strap off. He lets go of her hair. Both hands tugging the front of my wife’s dress and strapless bra down off her chest. Pulling her breasts out.
“Big tits,” someone purrs and the guy inside is mauling Karen’s breasts.
My body is rigid.
My wife with another man. In here. Bare breasts in front of these other guys. My brain is struggling to make sense of what it’s seeing.
He breaks from kissing her. His hand pushes its way down to the front of her dress. Between her legs.
“Lift her dress right up so we can se
e her cunt Jamie,” someone sneers.
Fuck. Part of my head is screaming at me to put a stop to this whole thing right now. What if she’s drunk and doesn’t know what she’s doing?
The guy in the gold shirt twists a hand through my wife’s hair again. She groans. She’s kissing him.
Do something Ben.
One of the other guys next to me I think, says something to me.
My wife’s dress is yanked up over her hips.
“Wow stockings and suzzies!” someone laughs, “What a slut”
“Married too. She’s got a ring on,” someone says with labored breath. The guy who did the double-take at me earlier glances across and smiles anxiously at me.
A confident male hand hoists Karen’s dress further up over her waist.
“Nice,” he murmurs, caressing the pale flesh of her bare hips around her suspender belt.
I’m being jostled for position now. ‘Jamie’ moves his hand down inside the front of my wife’s black lace panties.
Holy shit.
His arm sinks deeper. Karen moans. She raises both her arms, pins them up against the cubicle wall. Bare breasts swelling in front of us, nipples like thick rose-thorns.
“Fucking size of those tits,” one of the guys outside whistles and then laughs.
My face is burning, chest constricted.
Jamie moves his head to suck on one of Karen’s nipples. His arm moving rhythmically. Burrowing. Fingering my wife in front of his friends.
“Nice juicy pussy,” he says out of the corner of his mouth.
Laughter. The guy nearest me takes a swig of his beer and it spills down the front of his shirt. More laughter.
I grip the cubicle wall.
Inside the cubicle fingers slick and click away inside Karen’s vagina. Her hands move off the cubicle wall. Down to the young guy’s pants.
Her hands are on him! She’s fumbling at his belt, his zipper.
“Hey hey, the milf wants cock!” a voice shouts.
Karen opens her eyes and lowers her head to concentrate on his pants. His fingers working away up my wife’s pussy. His zipper quickly hisses down. Her hand inside his shorts.
I’m gripping the side of the cubicle door so tight that it hurts my fingers.
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