A Variable Darkness: 13 Tales

by John McIlveen

  He tightened his grip on the steering wheel to steady his quivering hands. “I probably shouldn’t. Marilyn will be expecting me.”

  “Wednesday night…yoga night until seven,“ Anna said.

  Chet had nothing to counter with. Anna kept his calendar and took his calls; she knew his schedule.

  She patted him on the leg and squeezed gently.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t bite… unless you want me to,” she said, her words so packed with intent and promise their seams were splitting.

  Oh God! Chet couldn’t ignore the stirring itch below. “I guess one drink won’t kill me.”

  “That’s better.“ Anna exited from the car and closed the door. She spent a moment inside the garage, sauntered out, and climbed into her car.

  Chet followed her, fighting the uneasy feelings with illogical reasoning. I can turn around if this starts going too far. I’ve done nothing wrong, yet. Marilyn can’t read my thoughts.

  He recalled the word Mark Houseman often used to describe him when he would refuse Friday night drinks with the staff.

  Henpecked.

  Was it true?

  No, Chet concluded. It was simply that he didn’t like most people on his workforce.

  He parked in the spacious driveway, wishing his car wasn’t quite so unique or so visible, or that he had a nice Kenworth to park behind. Every vehicle that motored past looked like Marilyn’s white Audi, but then it would morph into a green Toyota, a black Mustang, or otherwise.

  I’ve only given her a ride, for Christ’s sake!

  With renewed confidence and purpose, Chet climbed from his Lexus.

  Anna slid from her car and stood beside him as her car gasped and shuddered, finally expiring with a resounding backfire and an impenetrable swirl of inky smoke.

  “It’s an improvement,” said Anna. “This morning it wouldn’t start, now it won’t die.”

  Anna’s apartment was on the second floor. A distinct blend of potpourri and coffee wafted over them when she opened the door. She showed Chet her apartment, room by room. He couldn’t determine if it was what he had expected or not. Several well-tended plants hung before windows, rested on shelves, or grew in large floor urns…many, but not too many. A diverse balance of handcrafted décor added character with an argument of styles.

  “What’s your desire? I have vodka, gin, rum, tequila…”

  You? he thought, then asked, “Beer?”

  “Sam Adams?”

  “Perfect.”

  Chet waited in the den, his favorite of the apartment’s five rooms, he’d decided. A telephone rang in the kitchen and Anna entered the room covering the mouthpiece. “It’s your wife,“ she whispered.

  Dread lit Chet’s spine and the soles of his feet with what seemed like a thousand volts. He stared at Anna in disbelief, wanting to run.

  Anna tried to refrain from laughing but failed miserably. “Oh my god, your face!“ she said.

  “Oh my god, my heart!”

  “I’m thinking a little lower.“ She handed him the beer, coquettishly slipped past him to sit on the couch and patted the cushion nearest her.

  “Come and sit down. I promise I’ll be a good girl.”

  “Then what’s the sense in sitting?”

  “We could lie down.” Anna winked.

  Chet sat beside her, wondering how this came to be, that Anna, so stunning, so brazen, so…young, could be interested in him. He felt adolescent, that the shy and introverted schoolboy he had been, had returned. He sipped his beer, looking around the room, expecting her to pull the rug out from beneath his horny and eager feet.

  After a few minutes of uneasy silence, Anna said, “I guess I’ll get a drink, too.”

  “Of what?”

  “Rum and Coke.”

  “Make it two,” he said, hoping it would settle his nerves.

  Anna returned with the drinks, handed him one over his shoulder from behind the couch, and set hers atop a coaster on the end table. Her hands settled on his shoulders and she started massaging and kneading with practiced skill.

  Anna‘s breath caressed his face as her lips brushed his ear and against his cheek. “You’re so tense. Relax,” she whispered.

  Good hands, Chet thought, good strong hands. The tautness in his shoulders started to recede and he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Anna’s lips tenderly touched the corner of his mouth and her tongue gently traced his lips.

  This is it, he thought. Time to go. But he didn’t leave. He surrendered to her gently searching mouth as she slid her body over the back of the couch and settled in his lap, never taking her mouth from his. She kissed a burning trail along his jaw and gently nipped his earlobe.

  “Want me to stop?” she purred. Chet said nothing, his breathing heavy and becoming rapid.

  Unbuttoning his shirt, Anna worked her way to his neck and shoulder, descended to a nipple, delicately biting and sucking, and effectively driving all thought from Chet’s mind except for the intoxicating woman before him.

  Anna lowered herself to the floor between his legs and worked her hungry mouth lower, to his navel, and placed a hand on his erection, repositioning it to twelve o’clock, so the tip was just visible above his belt. Anna ran her tongue ever so gently over his glans, met Chet’s eyes, and it was all he could do to keep from exploding right then and there. She gifted him with a telling smile, making it clear that she now possessed him.

  Chet moaned his frustration as Anna slowly rose to her feet. She took his hand and led him into the bedroom. Directing him to stay in place, she unbuttoned her blouse and let it drift to the carpet. Her skirt followed, leaving only her bra, nylons, and a confirmation that she wore no panties.

  “Help me,” she mouthed inaudibly, motioning to her legs with a nod.

  Chet knelt down and put his lips against her belly, marveling at the softness and relishing the heat of her skin. Rolling her nylons down with shaking hands, he unveiled her center of desire. Rising, he nimbly unfastened the clasps of her bra.

  “No tan lines,“ Chet said, drawing a sweet and rigid nipple into his mouth.

  “Shhhh,“ Anna hushed him. She steered him to the bed, instructed him to lie on his back, and then deftly removed the rest of his clothing.

  Anna rose up, knelt on the bed, and straddled Chet. Leaning forward, she grabbed onto the headboard and maneuvered upward until her passion and sweet musk saturated his lips. So bold, but for Chet, no single act was more arousing. Anna slowly rocked her hips as he tenderly kissed and teased her most tender spot. After what seemed too little time, Anna’s gentle rocking stopped, she tightened a hand in Chet’s hair and her limbs started quivering ever so slightly. Setting his hands on her hips, Chet centralized his attention, softly flicking his tongue as Anna’s tremors sharpened. Her breathing becoming vocal and ragged and she rewarded him with vibrant bucking as she vaulted into a lingering climax.

  Taking little time to regain her breath, Anna moved lower on the bed, curled like a kitten with her head on Chet’s leg and took him into her mouth. She caressed him with her silky lips, her tongue tantalizing every nerve. He felt the white light of pleasure mounting, summoning him until he felt he would dissolve…and then Anna would stop, denying him release. Remaining completely still, she would ease her hold on him while the sensual clutches ebbed, and then she would resume.

  Again, denying him release, Anna stopped, making him nearly scream in need. She straddled his legs, and slid forward until her core touched the warm firmness of him and she slowly guided him inside, pulling him deeper and deeper. Leaning forward, pressing the heavy warmth of her breasts to his chest, she dug her nails into his shoulders and ground against him.

  She whispered in his ear, “Cum inside me, it’s okay.”

  Those words—the offer, even with its devastating potential—combined with urgent need for release, were beyond resistance…there was no turning back.

  Chet’s climax hit him with the fury of a runaway train, embracing him with paralyzing
paroxysms as Anna rode him, coercing him to a level so intense, he feared for another breath.

  “I got you,” Anna breathed into Chet’s ear. She collapsed atop him, and again she said, “I got you.”

  Chet thought of those words as Anna lay with her head on his chest, and understood their truth. Within minutes, they both surrendered to a welcomed sleep.

  When Chet awoke, Anna was lying beside him, tracing her fingers over his chest.

  “Welcome back,” she said.

  “I may never walk again,” he mumbled. “I need a wheelchair.”

  “Let’s hope it’s turbo-powered, it’s 6:54.”

  “What?” He vaulted upright to look at the clock. “Shit!”

  “I just woke up, too.”

  Chet scrambled out of bed, gathered his clothes, and started dressing. He tried three times to put both feet into the same leg hole.

  “Slow down, you’ll get there faster,“ Anna said, laughing. “Don’t worry, your administrator can attest that you stayed late, working very hard.”

  Finally dressed, Chet gave Anna a quick but impassioned kiss, and then raced out the door. He saw her watching him through the window as he hopped into the car and drove away with a squeal of rubber.

  The drive home was sheer misery. He had cheated on his Marilyn, and while cheating was nothing new, he had never put so much at risk before. He had never given someone so much power as he had just given Anna. The act was irreversible; it couldn’t be undone, you can’t unfuck someone. Discovery and the ramifications that would follow could be devastating. His would no longer be honorable.

  Innumerable thoughts paraded through his mind, landing like marching soldiers with spiked boots. Will Marilyn know? Will she smell Anna on me? Maybe I should have showered! Did Anna leave evidence, like hickeys, nail marks…herpes? Oh God, what if she has something?

  Holy fuck, I came inside her! What an idiot I am! “It’s okay,” she had said. What in the hell did that mean?

  What would Marilyn do if she found out he slept with the woman she recommended to him for a job? Would she leave him, take everything but the shirt on his back? Or broadcast the insult far and wide, costing him his job and his reputation?

  Chet veered to the edge of the road and waited for his hands to stop shaking. Gazing in the mirror, he raked his fingers through his hair, confirming that it bore no evidence of the night’s endeavors.

  Collecting himself, he drove the rest of the way home, but his heart plummeted when he saw Marilyn’s Audi in the driveway.

  “Damn it!” he muttered, urgently searching for a convincing alibi. He scanned the glove compartment and found what he needed: a new 12-pack box of Callaway SR1 golf balls.

  Yeah, you have balls, all right! he thought wryly. Something you may end up lacking if Marilyn finds out. He broke the seal on the box, making sure to tear the flap a little for validity’s sake. Will she check them for scuffing? He wondered, his paranoia swelling.

  “Honey, I’m home!“ he announced from the front door, instantly despising how he sounded … hollow and counterfeit like an inferior actor trying to impersonate Dick Van Dyke.

  “Hello, baby, be right there,“ Marilyn called from the kitchen. He heard the rattle of the landline phone being returned to its cradle. “Did we take the scenic route home?”

  And what a scene at that! Nothing compared to the scene you’d make if you knew, he reflected. “I went to Gormans’ to fantasize over some golf clubs. You’ll be happy to know I controlled my urges, though I couldn’t resist playing nine holes. Time got away.”

  He was surprised at how easily the lies slipped out and his confidence rose a notch. I might be able to have my cake and eat her, too.

  “Shocked and proud.” Marilyn shuffled across the living room on slippered feet and gave him a quick hug. “I still regret that I have to compete with a bunch of woods and irons. Someday you’ll realize that I have an admirable set, too,” she pouted playfully and kissed him.

  “Do I taste chocolate chip cookie?”

  “I might even bake you some, if I don’t eat all the batter.”

  Chet set the box of balls onto the counter, hung up his blazer, and then sprawled on the couch.

  “How‘s Anna working out?” Marilyn asked, catching him off guard.

  Is she testing me, or toying with me? Stay calm, he warned himself.

  Maintaining composure, he said, “She’s working out perfectly.“ The truth would make you shit.

  “That’s good,“ Marilyn said from the kitchen. “How about we take a stroll along the mine trail after the cookies are done?”

  Chet knew what that meant—Marilyn was feeling playful. Whenever they went for a stroll along “The Mine Trail“, Marilyn returned flushed, whimsical, and erotically charged. The jaunts had started as a Saturday night standard for them, but with the passing of years had tapered off to once about every six months. Sex had become rare and perfunctory, at best. What were the chances, the one night in half-a-year Marilyn felt frisky is the night that he is fucked nearly inside out by a woman he’s cheated on her with?

  “It’s Wednesday,” Chet said.

  “I’ll make it worth the trip,“ Marilyn promised.

  Trying to demonstrate his usual eagerness at such an offer, Chet rolled off of the couch and stood up, aware of the tingling numbness that still suffused his groin. “Well, if you’re going to put it that way.”

  “It works for Dunkin’ Donuts. We still have to wait for the cookies, though.”

  Chet stretched out on the couch and pondered how the walk would evolve. Would he be too preoccupied to perform in bed? What if he mistakenly called her Anna?

  I could close my eyes and think of Anna? Chet wondered, remembering the feel of her. There was an awakening below his belt and he thought everything would be all right.

  After their walk, Marilyn and Chet reveled in a fervent lovemaking session. His apprehension about not ‘rising’ to the occasion departed minutes after returning to the house. Marilyn was upon him with a ferocity he hadn’t seen from her in years, and he responded with an intensity generously fueled by the novelty of getting away with having amazing sex with two highly desirable women on the same day.

  He wondered if Marilyn sensed it—smelled her on him, maybe—and, desperate to save the relationship, wanted to prove she still craved him more ardently than anyone else could, or she knew, and in some sordid way it got her juices flowing. Wouldn‘t it have been revealed sooner if she had that kind of kink, not eleven years into the marriage? Was it that eleven years of wedlock had become mundane for her, and this lit a little spark in her? Whatever it was, it intrigued him.

  PART II

  Chet had never seen Anna looking so flawless, and seeing her brought everything back in a flourish: the sensations, the heat, her desire, and her wonderful indulgence in him. The memory staggered him and he knew he wouldn’t give her up. What complicated it more was that he didn’t want the stigma of divorce, either.

  “Good morning, Mister Farner,” Anna greeted, not looking up from her work.

  “Um…hello,” he said, grateful she kept a professional demeanor in the office, even with his inability to do the same.

  “Thank you for the ride yesterday,” Anna said. Her eyes flashed mischievously and then returned to her work.

  “Uh, sure. No problem,” said Chet, embarrassed by Anna’s ability to fluster him like a schoolboy. He had always been confident, if not downright arrogant around women.

  He entered his office and set his workbag on his desk. Anna came in shortly afterward and set a steaming cup of coffee on his desk.

  He looked at her and he gasped comically. “Did I do that?”

  Anna shielded her neck with her hand. “Is it that noticeable?”

  “I don’t remember doing that.”

  “Well, I can’t exactly suck my own neck.”

  What felt so fantastic about the previous day was the youthful and enthusiastic recklessness of such an encounter, the exhilara
tion of discovery, or the rediscovery of passion long forgotten or lost to the automation some suffer with matrimony. It was like venturing into new realms.

  Rubbing the blemish on her neck, Anna said, “According to your calendar you’re free tomorrow night. Come to my place for dinner?”

  It irritated Chet, not that Anna was so tuned to his life schedule, but that his life had become presumably routine and easily forecasted. Marilyn obsessed about schedules: yoga on Tuesday and Thursday, tennis on Wednesday and Friday, grocery shopping on Monday morning. Any deviations made her antsy.

  “You’ll love dessert.” A tantalizing promise.

  Chet knew he should end it, but he couldn’t. Anna was stunningly beautiful, voluptuous, smart, and witty. She seemed too good to be true. The promise of another libidinous revelry with her was too alluring, and knowing that Marilyn would be none the wiser made rejecting it impossible.

  Although he never cared for the game, Chet was suddenly fond of tennis, and then a thought staggered him. What if Marilyn didn’t go to tennis on Wednesdays and Fridays, or Yoga on Tuesday and Thursdays?

  He felt an illogical stab of jealousy with the awareness that Marilyn could also have someone on the side, maybe for years, and it had never crossed his mind until that moment.

  “I’d like that,” he said, feeling unduly vindicated.

  Chet found himself at Anna’s apartment Friday night, while he assumed Marilyn was at tennis, and Sunday while Marilyn thought he was playing golf. Nearly every Wednesday night and Sunday afternoon for the next four months, Anna and Chet spent them together.

  Marilyn never appeared to suspect anything. Did she even think about me? Did she care? he wondered, a little hurt.

  Then came the day Anna said what he most dreaded hearing. They sat on the floor, naked, leaning against the sofa. Anna had just proved that a hassock had far better use than as a simple footstool.

  Anna stroked her hand softly over his thigh. “Chet?”

  “Hmm.”

  “What’s going to become of us?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are we always going to be part-time lovers? Will our relationship always depend on Marilyn’s tennis or your golf? Love shouldn’t be canceled on Sundays because of rain.”