Arnica Butler - Well-Constructed Affairs

by Unknown

  “Billy?” Lily said, and she rubbed her lips together. “Like, dark-haired guy?” She laughed, a deep throaty laugh. “I know Billy.”

  “Jesus!” Adria said.

  “You should have fucked him,” Lily said, stabbing at some wine that had splattered on her chest. “Me cago en la...this is silk.” She looked up. “Look. What is it you're agreeing with with John?”

  Adria rested her chin on her upturned palm. “It's sort of a loose agreement. It's not...it's not really an agreement at all. Just...I know John. He wants it to be, like, 'our thing,' you know?”

  Lily shook her head.

  “He wants us to plan it together. I think. That's what I think.”

  Lily shrugged. “So tell him you want to fuck this chaval and then ya, no problem.”

  Adria sighed and looked out at the restaurant.

  “Oh,” Lily crowed. “That is the problem.”

  She started blotting her dress again. “Look,” she said, and then she interrupted herself to reach out an arm and grab the waiter – a good-looking guy in his mid-twenties, who was more than happy to be grasped by the lovely Lily. “Honey. Can you get me a glass of ice water? I've spilled wine all down the front of my dress.” She fingered the plunging collar of her dress, where a single drop of wine barely showed on the bright pink, swiping her finger over her chest more than anything. The waiter smiled and stared openly at her tits, before nodding. Lily released him. “John wants this thing, he likes it, you do it. You've done something for him, and he's like, 'oh, I like it when you fuck another guy,' yes? So if he didn't say, especifically, 'don have sex without telling me first,' or something, then you just do it, you have a good time, and you tell him about it later. No problem.”

  Adria stared at her.

  Lily shrugged. She set her napkin down to take the glass of water from the eager, returning waiter. “Or don'. Thank you cariño.” She winked at the waiter. “I don' tell Esteven half the things I do. It's easier, you know?”

  Adria leaned her head back and groaned. “That's just the thing, Lily. I don't want to be doing something that's bad for us, just because it's easier.”

  “Look,” she said, pointing her napkin at Adria. When Adria tipped her head back, a plate of tapas had mysteriously arrived. Lily was already munching on an olive. “He likes watching you fuck another man, right?”

  Adria looked around quickly. “Shh,” she said.

  “Okay,” Lily said, her voice at exactly the same volume. “And you never made any explicit agreement to tell him?”

  Adria made a face. “No.”

  “Okay. So...you've done something for him, now you do something you want to do. It's no good if you tell him, is that what you're saying? You have to be naughty? In order to, you know, get off?”

  “Lily!” Adria jerked her head in the direction of the restaurant. She held her hand up to her temples. “We are in a restaurant.”

  Lily waved a pita around and looked at the people in the tapas bar. “No worries. Nobody here speaks English, cariño.” Then she laughed. “Except the waiter. And he is definitely listening.” She waved at him.

  Then she turned back to Adria. “You want that number now?”

  Adria covered her eyes.

  She did. She wanted it. She knew now that was why she was here all along. She wanted it, and she didn't want to admit that she did. “Oh god. I know I shouldn't do this.”

  “Just take it,” Lily said. “And then I tell you how you do it. And you use it, or you don'.” She began to wriggle her foot wildly under the table, as she looked over at her busy waiter. “Mmmm, papacito, ven aca que yo te como la -”

  “Lily!” Adria said sharply. Adria didn't speak much Spanish, but she knew where that was going, and she could feel half the restaurant turning in their direction.

  15 REAL CALL

  Adria stared out the window of her car, twisting the car Lily had given her in her fingers. It was a white card, with a phone number on it: no more. It was theatrical: printed on fine paper, giving nothing away about the nature of the number. The anonymity hinted at the illegality of what she was about to do.

  Strangely, until Lily handed her the card, she hadn't even considered the legal aspects of the service she was requesting. The fact that it was such an illicit service had her both hesitating and invigorated. She couldn't believe that she was taking the proposition so seriously that she was actually sitting in her car, grateful for the rain that was hiding her from the outside, grateful for the humidity that had steamed up the windows. She was parked in a rock quarry just outside of town, one that wasn't in use. The kind of place teenager went to make out, and maybe late at night the mafia came to beat people up. For all she knew.

  The allure of the seedy, underground nature of things was appealing to her. She could taste it.

  She flipped the card again.

  Her stomach twisted.

  Lily had given it to her with strict instructions. The services were referred to as driving, because under scrutiny, married clientele, who made up a good portion of “Marina's” clients, would look suspicious as clients for an escort-only service.

  Adria took out the phone she had purchased to make the call. It felt so criminal, having a throwaway phone like this. She had felt guilty purchasing it. She had even gone so far as to pay cash.

  The strangest thing, of course, was that she wasn't hiding anything from her spouse.

  Not really.

  Well, she was.

  Weeks had gone by since she spoke to Lily, and in that time, Adria had waited. Day by day she went through her thoughts, deciding it was best to leave things as they were. Not to do anything rash. She reasoned that she had a good marriage, a good relationship, and she and John had done something exciting to keep their marriage fresh and new, and it had worked. There was no reason to go overboard. Not now anyway. She reasoned with herself in the car all the way to work and in the car all the way home. Maybe someday, when the thrill of having sex with strangers while John watched wore off, then she could broach this subject with John. Another thing to do, to put on a bucket list (she hated that term).

  She had avoided Billy Stone, just barely, by taking on another job (and too much work); it kept her rushing through the Bridge Street site at a breakneck pace with a plausible reason to not be waiting around on the third or the eighth floor in the dark, hoping to run into Billy and his rough hands.

  She and John had agreed to wait for a repeat performance of the wedding until the perfect opportunity came up again. Now that she had actually done it, John seemed less fevered, more able to enjoy watching her flirt with a man and then talk dirty to him about it. It was almost as if the fact that they had finally gone through with the idea, and their marriage was still okay, made John less obsessed than he had seemed before. Back when he was really like a man possessed. He seemed more in control of himself.

  John was like that. He was crazy if he hadn't tried something and seen how it worked. After that, he could relax a little.

  But Adria was burning up inside.

  Burning up with guilt. She was possessed now.

  Burning with the desire to get something she wanted.

  Thinking about Billy Stone's hands on her neck. Imagining that Ken hadn't come out of the elevator at that moment.

  And now, John was out of town for two more days. The trip had been unexpected; he was called in to assist on a presentation as a replacement for a sick colleague. Adria had sat on the bed watching him pack, her body being taken over by two forces: one, dread.

  And the other? Even as she sat there trying to control herself, wishing he wasn't leaving, wondering if there was a way to go with him so she wouldn't be tempted...she could feel the excitement burning right through her.

  Back in her car, alone in the city for the fourth night, she pressed the card to her lips.

  She knew what the right thing to do was. That she should tell John about what she was feeling. That he would have to allow her to do what she wanted, ev
en if it wasn't something he actually wanted her to do – because how could he not be? He would be a hypocrite, after all they had done, if he didn't allow it. It wasn't as if there was a danger of not getting him to agree.

  But asking for permission would somehow ruin it. She didn't like to admit to herself that it was part of the thrill, but it was.

  She was back to the same circle of thoughts again. She sighed.

  The main thing she wanted to avoid was having to talk to John about what she really wanted. And how he couldn't possibly give it to her. Thinking about having a conversation like that just made her tired.

  Lily was right, in a lot of ways. John was obviously fundamentally okay with her going outside of their marriage...in fact, he was using her in a way, for his own desires.

  And they had no explicit rules between them.

  And...

  ...and what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

  She tapped the card against her lips a few more times.

  Then, half -surprised at herself, but knowing she had made the decision long ago, she swept her finger over the screen of her phone, and dialed.

  16 ANA'S FANTASY

  “So what are you into, Ana, that made you call Marina?”

  Adria found herself speaking, almost as if she were in a movie and the lines had been written for her. “What makes you think I'm 'into' anything?”

  “Andy” flashed his eyes at the mirror. They were dark, uncompromising eyes. “You don't strike me as the type who has trouble getting a man. And you're married, which means you aren't looking for love. So what is it, then?”

  She looked out the window. And suddenly it was if she wasn't inside of her own body.

  “Let's just say my husband can't quite give me what I want.”

  “Which is?”

  She sighed. She shook her head. “I can't believe I'm doing this,” she muttered. “I think this is a bad idea. Maybe...”

  Andy pulled the car over. He leaned back over the seat. “Let me see if I can guess,” he said. “In my experience, a woman like you is interested in a very certain kind of fantasy.” He moved his head up and down, and Adria followed him.

  “The kind of fantasy your husband can't really make happen?”

  Another nod.

  “Like maybe you're alone, in a hotel room, and a stranger sneaks in, in the dark?”

  She squirmed and looked out the window. But she nodded.

  “Maybe he has a blindfold? Maybe he ties you up?”

  Adria let out a puff of air.

  “And then maybe he has his way with you? Am I on the right track?”

  Her heart was already beating faster. One part of her imagination was already ahead of him, feeling his hands on her throat, the weight of his body on hers, his cock inside of her. Feeling the danger of the dark and not knowing what he would do. The thought of all of it: the fact that she was in a car, telling a male prostitute what she wanted, engaging in such a seedy, filthy fantasy and without her husband's knowledge, both made her a little queasy and turned her on immensely.

  She gave a slightly perceptible nod.

  “So why don't we do this, Ana? Let's go for a drive tonight. I have a document I need you to sign. And then we make a date. You give me the place and the time, and I show up there.”

  “It has to be tonight,” Adria said, in a whisper. She looked out the window.

  Andy pushed a clipboard behind him. “I don't usually do this the same night, so it's up to you. I find it kills the thrill a little.”

  “It has to be tonight.”

  She took the contract and swept her eyes over it. Surprisingly, it made her laugh a little. “This is...can you even write this sort of thing and have it be...I dunno...legal?” The contract contained a list of sexual acts to which she consented. Just reading them off made her face flush with embarrassment, but it also sent a thrill through her as her eyes passed over the words. Choking. Bondage. Anal. Spanking (specify type).

  She looked up at the mirror, and saw Andy's eyes looking back at her. “It's enough to get me off a felony charge, if you know what I mean.” His voice was suddenly hard, and unnerving.

  This sent a chill through Adria's body. “Right,” she said.

  “Initial anything you want.” He seemed to smile, though she could only see his eyes. “Maybe start off light.”

  She looked back at the contract. Was she actually doing this?

  She felt like she could feel his eyes on her, maybe getting wound up as the pen made a noise for each thing she initialed, each devious act she was consenting to let another man do to her. He could almost feel his hands groping her with each scratch of the pen.

  “It says we need a safe word,” she said, and she squirmed in her seat.

  “It's too bad, isn't it?” he said, and sent a shiver through her. She wasn't sure if this was part of his act, or if he was really disappointed by the rule. “Rules are rules, though. Your choice.”

  He added, when she stared at the paper blankly. “Write it down. It needs to be in your own writing. And don't forget it.”

  He pulled the car over next to a downtown hotel. Adria stared at the back of the headrest. Was she actually doing this?

  She moved her eyes over the paper, over her initialed approvals, over her signature. Sweat was forming on her temples. Andy's eyes were unrelenting in the mirror.

  “So what do I do now?” she said.

  “Get a room. Text me the number. I'll be there in...a while.” The corner of his mouth turned up as he turned his head slightly toward her.

  He was good, she could see. Very good. Already he was giving her exactly whatever it was that she craved. Being in control. Dominating. Teasing her with his power over the situation.

  She squeezed the clipboard in her fingers. It was done, once she handed him the clipboard.

  She thrust it at him suddenly. She caught a glimpse of his smile as she scooted out of the car and into the rainy night, where the revolving doors of the Chevere Hotel swung in front of her.

  It was done. She pushed through the doors and strode up to the reception area.

  The next half-hour seemed like a dream. Adria felt as though she were a passive passenger inside of her own body. She watched as she booked the hotel, felt herself moving her legs to walk to the elevator, down the corridor, and into the hotel room.

  She didn't stop herself as her hand took out her phone and sent the text message with the room number and nothing more. She didn't feel as though her thoughts were her own, as she stood in front of the mirror, contemplating her dress and whether or not she should take it off. Deciding, in the end, that because she had so inexpertly failed to bring a change of clothes, it would be prudent to take it off.

  She wouldn't want it to get ripped.

  The thought occurred to her to leave the door open, and she walked to the door and propped it with the chain-lock component – a dangerous and stupid thing to do, in a hotel downtown. She did not feel like she was herself as she did this. More like a puppeteer, moving her own body around but far, far away from it.

  She felt the panic as though in a dream, when for a full minute she could not recall her choice of safe word.

  And then she remembered it, and sat down in her underwear on the edge of the bed.

  She felt as though she were not in her own mind, as she lay down on the bed and turned out the light, and wondered if she should pretend to be sleeping, and how long it would take for Andy to arrive.

  She felt her hand move down to her underwear, and slide beneath the fabric, and find that she was wet.

  She closed her eyes. But her sense were on high, set on fire by what she was about to do. The boxes she had ticked off on the contract swam before her eyes.

  Start lightly.

  She heard the door open, but she pretended like she was asleep. She heard it click shut, and the sound of the metal as he locked it with the chain. The scrape of the metal on the door made her pussy throb, and she felt the liquid heat of her juices
on her inner thigh.

  He moved like a big cat on the plush carpet. The tension almost tore her apart as he moved around the room, around the bed. Waiting. Waiting for him to pounce on her.

  She let herself give over to her imagination, in that moment. Forgot the contract, the things she had signed. And at that precise moment, she felt the bed dip as he crawled onto it, and before she could do much of anything but open her eyes and turn, he was on top of her.

  Heavy.

  Strong.

  His eyes looked different, narrowed and peering at her through a black mask. His hand was on her mouth and he pressed against her, hard, into the pillow. “Shhhhshhhhh,” he whispered hoarsely. “I'm just here to have a little fun. And if you're a good girl, then I won't have to hurt you. Too much.”

  She could feel his cock against her thigh. He was already pushing her legs open, and his free hand went to her wrists and caught them both in one tight, huge grip. He pressed them against the headboard, and she squirmed, testing her ability to actually get free of him.

  But there was no way. Nothing she could actually do.

  And what if she wanted to scream the safe word? His hand was on her mouth and had her clamped down. Barely able to breathe as much as she needed for her racing blood, only through her nose. She let out a small cry.

  He held her like this for a moment, smiling as she squirmed, and then panic finally overtook her, and she attempted to thrash against him. But he weighed too much, and his grip was too firm, and she finally settled down. “Now. I'm going to take my hand off your mouth. But it's going right to your neck. And so if you scream, I'm not going to have much of a choice but to choke you. You understand?”

  She nodded the best that she could.

  “You're going to be good?”

  She nodded again.

  “Good. Because you don't have a choice, do you?'

  She did nothing, and he tapped her cheek firmly with his fingertips and squeezed her jaw. “Do you?”

  She shook her head, and the fearful pleasure of submitting to him in that small way dripped over her.