I rolled back onto my back. “It makes me appreciate what I have,” I said. “That's what it is for me. Seeing you with another guy makes me feel like I'm seeing you for the first time, or maybe...I don't know, seeing that someone else wants you as much as...” I stopped.
Kathy finished for me. “As you used to.”
“I didn't mean it like that,” I said, but I did mean it like that.
She closed her eyes. “It's okay. It's just the truth.”
We had talked about this before: how living together for so long had, the way it had on everyone we ever knew, taken its toll on us. That we had become less interested in each other, less interested in sex. The excitement faded between us the same way it had for everyone else. And just like everyone else, we had thought we would be so different. We had talked about it all the time before it happened: how we would always be attracted to each other, how our love was so strong it would never breed disinterest and contempt, like everyone else's marriage.
I know. It's the oldest story in the book. We were never special. It was kind of sad, and Kathy had said it was. She didn't like to talk about it, not because she didn't believe it, but because she felt like we had failed at something.
I stared at her. It was so unusual for her to resign to saying those words out loud. It's just the truth.
She seemed like she was falling asleep. My heart ached as I looked at her.
Then her eyes opened, very silently and heavily, like a doll's.
“That's what I get about this. It's like...it can maybe make everything new again. You know? I felt like...like we used to.”
She turned her head on the pillow and looked at me.
“Is that it?” she asked.
It was mostly it.
Okay...maybe it was part of it. There was definitely an element of “it” for me that was purely sexual. Purely a twisted thing in my own mind that made my cock get hard thinking about my wife fucking another man. There was something animal and base inside of me, and it had very little to do with this particular version of the story that Kathy seemed to want believe.
That's not to say that renewing our passion and love for each other had nothing to do with “it” in my own mind. It was quite possibly the largest part.
Or...say, it was split...60/40.
Something like that.
I smiled for her. We kissed again.
And then we ordered room service.
*
The rest of that convention was largely uneventful. Kate Orel went to meetings and presentations dressed as...well, Kate Orel. She turned heads, but she did it by just walking into the room and sitting down. I enjoyed watching her, watching her draw the attention of every man in attendance right away from the presentation and into their own fantasies about what they would do if they could get their hands on her tits.
She didn't dress over the top that year. She had some skirts that fit a little more snugly. Silk blouses that dipped low across her breasts.
We shared a room that year, and she didn't pick up any more men, I remember that. It was enough that she had gotten so close, enough that our game of her pretending to be another woman seemed to be working.
It was fun, that first year.
But then, on the plane, she had leaned back in her seat and smiled at me.
“So...” she began. Her eyes were full of mischief.
I looked at her, unsure of what to say.
“That was fun,” she said.
I nodded.
She reached for an in-flight magazine. “I'm looking forward to next year.”
My cock pulsed. She was smiling, looking at a picture of hamburgers as though it was fascinating.
Then she slid her hand over and into my lap, where her fingers found the shape of my cock and rubbed along the length of it. “Looks like you are, too.”
I was still staring.
She flicked her eyes over to me. “Maybe we'll have to do something a little more...adventurous.”
She squeezed my cock.
“Um...” I said.
I had the distinct feeling that we probably needed to talk about it a little more. I mean...if we were going to “get more adventurous,” and that meant what I thought it meant.
But that was a year away...
And Kathy was unfolding a blanket over the two of us. With a secretive smile, looking out the window, she unbuckled my pants and pulled my cock out. She began to stroke the length of it underneath the blanket.
I stared straight ahead. Then I gave a quick glance around the cabin. Fortunately, the flight was not full and so the seats across the aisle from us were unoccupied except for an old lady who was asleep. Thankfully.
“Kath,” I breathed, but the roar of the plane swallowed up my voice.
Kathy's handjob was slow, almost to the point of being torture. Her face was awash with amusement as my body grew tenser and tenser next to her. She leaned over, as though she was cuddling me, and switched her hand. But she went on with the same excruciatingly slow pace.
“I really liked you watching me,” she said in a whisper. “I have an idea.”
Her hand moved from the base of my cock to the tip. I clenched the seatrest. Down went her hand. Her thumb remained at the crown and made a lazy circle over my head, smearing my sticky precum over the glans.
I waited.
“What if,” she said, “we just made this a thing. Once a year. And whatever happens, we leave it behind when we get home?”
My torso went cold. Her hand was driving me wild. The tide of my orgasm seemed to just rise and rise, with no relief in sight. Was Kathy actually proposing this?
“Do you mean...” I breathed, when she let a few minutes go by without saying anything. “Do..you...mean...you want to do something more?”
Kathy leaned in to me and placed her mouth very close to my ear. Her breath sent shivers up and down my spine, caressing my earlobe, hot and damp but silent. Teasing. Her hand moved at its steady pace, and I felt myself rising to the tipping point. But oh-so-slowly.
Finally, Kathy's lips moved, nibbling on my ear as she said:
“Yes. That's exactly what I mean, Paul.”
I leaned forward as my cock exploded, pulling the blanket toward my dick to try and catch all of the cum as it burst out of me. Holding back from yelling proved impossible, and I let out a groan.
I felt Kathy patting me on the back. I looked to the side of my lap, and saw a flight attendant's legs. “He's just got some kind of stomach bug,” she said casually. “We knew the flight was going to be like this.”
I looked up. “I'm fine,” I assured her.
Kathy leaned back against her seat and grinned. I sat up, staring at the woman in the seat next to me.
So unlike my wife.
But was I really complaining?
C HAPTER 5
THREE YEARS AGO
“Kathy?”
I stared at the credit card bill in my hand.
“I don't care if you want to or not,” I heard Kathy calling out, as she swished down the hallway, “you have to do it and that's that.” She lowered her voice to a whisper as she walked into the room. “Jesus,” brushing a strand of hair from her face. She was sweating lightly. “Those kids have really turned into lippy monsters overnight.”
I looked at her. “Were you just running?”
She had little droplets of sweat on her forehead.
“Yeah,” she said, pushing her hair from her face again.
The gesture unsettled me, though I couldn't say why at the time.
Kathy put her hands on her hips. “What do you need?” she said. She was slightly out-of-breath. “I have some more reps to do.”
My stomach went cold and hot again. “I, uh...” What had I called her in here for?
Kathy's eyes fell on the paper in my hand.
“Oh,” she said, snatching it from me. “That. This is all paid off. I was going to tell you not to even look at it.”
Her body moved in the dire
ction of the door.
“Kathy, it's almost three thousand dollars.”
“Uh...most of that is just plane tickets,” she said.
I wanted to take the statement back from her. Most of it did not appear to be “plane tickets,” but shops with names like “Laura's Intimates” and “Victoria's Secret.”
She stopped in the doorway and looked back at me. “I had some things I had to buy. For our next convention. Don't worry. You'll get to see what they are.”
I stared at her.
It was May. The convention was in November.
She shrugged. “There were some sales. Look, I have to get back to my workout.”
My mouth was still hanging open.
I couldn't think of a single thing to say.
After she left, I spun around and sat back down in the office chair.
A vague sense of malaise was coming over me. One that was very difficult to put my finger on.
After all, there was no arguing that a vague sense of arousal was also coming over me.
I had gone right along with Kathy's plans on the airplane. I could scarcely believe the good luck I had, that after all these years of fantasizing about Kathy doing this very thing, I had stumbled onto a way to broach the subject.
And she had been receptive.
And she was now going ahead with it.
Full steam ahead with it.
Buying lingerie.
Six months before we were supposed to leave.
I could feel my blood pressure rising. I was breathing quickly. My chest felt like I had swallowed a chunk of ice.
Since we had our “conversation” on the plane, we hadn't talked about the idea at all. It had infused our sex life with passion, and there was no denying that – at least for me – the new, sweaty, wild fucking that we were doing was inspired by what had taken place at the last convention, and our plans to do it again, and take it further. But we didn't really talk about it, not even dirty talk while we were having sex. Sure, every now and then we'd do a little role-playing, but it didn't seem any more serious than the occasional dirty-talk we had always engaged in if we had too much wine.
In fact, it had kind of started to seem like a dream, what had happened before.
And yet, here it was: evidence that it wasn't a dream. Kathy had plans.
And not only did she have plans, she was thinking way ahead.
This was what I wanted, wasn't it?
I sighed. I looked at my reflection in the glass of the office window.
This was my plan, after all. My fantasy. This was exactly the sort of thing I would have jerked off to in the shower a year ago. Finding Kathy's bill for lingerie, lingerie that she planned to wear with another man.
I put my hand to my forehead and found that I was sweating.
If this was what I wanted, why the fuck did I feel so uneasy about it?
I pressed my fingertips to my eyelids and tapped them.
Dark thoughts began to crowd my mind.
And at the same time, I couldn't help imagining Kathy in her new lingerie. A lace black thong nestled between her buttocks, the intricate lace spreading out over the triangle of her sex. Her breasts spilling over the edges of the lace embroidery of a jet-black bra.
Kathy, stretched out on a bed, writhing in liquid, feline stretches while she looked up at another man. A pair of big hands on her hip bones, grazing her skin and sending a ripple of gooseflesh over her stomach. A little spasm on her soft belly as the hands peeled the black lace away from her body...
My cock was rock-hard.
I pushed myself away from the desk and spun the chair around to face the door.
Unease or no unease, I figured I should probably go see if Kathy needed any help with her workout.
C HAPTER 6
SIX MONTHS LATER
“Hello,” Kathy said cheerfully, extending her hand.
I watched her face as I took her hand. She didn't even blink. Cool as a cucumber. No smile, no wink, just a pretty, dolled-up face looking back at me with a pleasant expression that I, like everyone at the table, would have called seductive.
Oh, they all would have loved for this woman to be looking at them seductively.
I stared.
“I'm Kate Orel,” she said, looking around the table. She gave her name tag a little flip as she said it.
I stared at her. Her voice didn't falter for a second, even when she looked right at Mike, who had met her at least ten times before as my wife, Kathy Banks.
Where was this confidence coming from?
And where the hell did her dress come from?
She slid her shoulders out of a silver-gray, knee length jacket, and from that point on I knew where her confidence came from at least in part: she knew that no one here was going to be scrutinizing her face. For one thing, they would be unable to rip their eyes away from hourglass curves tucked into the black dress she was wearing. It was a conservative dress in the sense that it rose to enclose her throat in a tight turtleneck, and showed no flesh on her torso, but non-conservative (especially for Kathy) in the sense that it was plastered to her figure. The fat curve of her breasts could not be ignored, and it was almost more tantalizing to see the teardrop shape of them, unfettered by a bra, shaping the black fabric of her dress, than to actually see them exposed. Black, which had never especially been her color, reacted gorgeously with her platinum hair and set off her eyes. Her generous hips burst from the narrow channel of her waist.
Even I could have been convinced that I had never met this woman before.
The table was silent as she slid into her chair. I could see the flush of pleasure this act was giving her, whether she would admit it later or not.
Everyone was reduced to an awkwardness that felt like high school.
Including me.
“Kate,” Mike said finally. I turned slowly toward him. He was reaching his hand across the table. “I'm Mike Levin. I saw you last year but I never got a chance to introduce myself.”
I shuddered a little. The memory of Kate Orel had stayed with Mike for a year, huh? And last year's Kate Orel had not been nearly as...”Kate Orel” as the woman who was sitting down at the table with us.
Kathy – and at this point, I think I'll start using Kate – extended her hand. “Better late than never,” she purred.
I almost got whiplash of the eye looking back and forth between the two of them. Kate was smiling devilishly and Mike was blubbering like a moron.
And what the hell was my wife doing flirting with Mike, of all people? He wasn't really the kind of person we could just walk away from if she got...involved with him.
This was not what I wanted.
I felt something on my leg. I moved it in confusion, and the thing followed me. More insistent this time. Soft, insistent, rubbing up and down my calf -
Kate's foot.
I shot her a look. She smiled and shook her head ever-so-slightly.
What did that mean?
Her foot moved slowly up my leg, and then darted away. Before I knew it, her toes were sliding along my inseam.
I stared at her. She had a faint smile on her lips, but she was looking at Mike attentively.
“Are you going on the rum tour?” Mike was asking her.
“Hmm,” she said, and her lips parted invitingly. “What's on the rum tour?”
I tried very hard, and probably failed, not to continue staring at my wife openly with my eyeballs falling out of their sockets. Yesterday, we had boarded the plane together and she had been her regular self. She had blubbered for about two minutes talking to the baggage clerk because she had stuck the baggage tag together. She had worn her hair in a bun, loose pants and a plain shirt. No make-up. She had spilled tomato juice on herself and not really wiped it off, and then she had almost fallen into a taxi after tripping on the curb. She kissed me goodbye, looking travel-worn and pale, a little unkempt, and being her usual self.
This woman, purring sexually and asking about rum tours, dres
sed in this killer black dress, was not my wife.
“Do you know Paul?” Mike said.
“We're both out of the Springs,” Kate's sultry voice rumbled. I looked quickly to Mike. Surely that would tip him off, that this was actually my wife? Now, a more embarrassing fear snaked through me: what were we going to say when he put it all together?
But Mike was barely listening. He didn't care how Kate Orel knew me. His eyes were moving lazily over the s-shape of her figure, next to him in a chair. Kate was stretched out and arched in a feline pose.
Only the corner of her mouth revealed her amusement.
“Springs, huh? That's Colorado. I'm Jake Haberman, Minnesota.”
Every guy at the table made an utter fool of himself barging forward and leaning across the table to greet her, while I stared in disbelief.
The day's activity consisted of a team-building activity involving nails and blocks, which was just the sort of thing Kathy would have figured out in ten seconds. Kate, however, leaned on her elbows and purred in fascination at every single thing the vying bucks at the table said or did. I leaned on the table as well, grunting in approval from time to time. I was leaning to attempt to cure the sick feeling in my stomach, to hide my erection, to be closer to Kate's pretty face and ample bosom. I don't know. My stomach was getting tossed around wildly.
Then we sat through some presentations. I stared at the back of Kate's pretty updo. Mike alternated between staring at her tits and her legs. Jake just went for the tits, every time. My neck burned.
The rules we had tentatively discussed clearly stated that she wasn't supposed to sleep with anyone we knew well, I was thinking. So Mike was out. I watched as she leaned over to him at one point during the presentation, close, closer, so close to his ear. Mike smiled at whatever she was saying, and then he stifled a laugh.
Kate Orel twirled a pen in her fingers and looked back down at the notes she was taking. Finally, something my wife did. Some remnant of her inside this other woman.
The presentations (gratefully) ended, and Kate Orel packed up her neat little leather bag, and waved a hand at each of us, before slinking like a cat out of the room.
A Conventional Hotwife Page 8