My Time in the Affair

by Stylo Fantome

  You first.

  Please, I'm not a sucker.

  She took a deep breath. She wasn't about to flash her vag, that just wasn't attractive, in any sort of lighting. But her breasts were a different story. She kinda liked her boobs, thought they were pretty okay. Tal spent a lot of time on her breasts, so he must have liked them, as well.

  She ran her hand across her chest and dipped into her bra. Her nipples were still sensitive from his ridiculously attentive mouth, and when she touched the tip, she found it was already peaked. She pinched herself and hissed, relishing the feel.

  Maybe this isn't such a bad idea.

  While her breathing picked up, she worked the top half of her dress down. She cupped her right breast with left hand, trapping the nipple between two fingers, and then she took the picture. She didn't even look at it, didn't want to psych herself out, and just sent it to him.

  It only took a minute for him to respond.

  Fuck, you look good. Are you wet?

  Yes.

  Show me.

  You owe me a picture.

  A moment later, and she got one. It was of his crotch. He was still wearing his pants, but they were completely undone, and his hand was down the front, only visible from the wrist up. She panted as she stared at the picture, and then she noticed the caption - “I'll show you mine, if you show me yours.”

  Mischa had never had phone sex. Had never sexted. Had never done anything like that – usually that kind of stuff made her uncomfortable. But with Tal, it didn't. It almost felt necessary. Something she had to do.

  She stood up and faced the mirror. She worked the skirt of her dress up and held the material at her sides, pinning it with her elbows. Then she cupped her crotch, immediately sliding the tip of her middle finger inside her opening. Even she had to admit, it was a pretty sexy picture. Erotic – she was clearly touching herself. Not crude – nothing naughty was actually visible. She took a picture of her reflection and sent it to him.

  Goddamn you're amazing.

  Then she got a picture in return. Tal wasn't as shy as she was; it was a full on shot of his erect penis. But there was something different, and it took her a second to figure out what was going on.

  He's got my panties wrapped around the base of his cock.

  It wasn't easy to keep quiet, and texting dirty words and dirtier pictures with one hand proved difficult, but she managed to come in minutes. She whispered his name to the walls, wanted the foundation to feel what he did to her, even when he wasn't in the room.

  That was amazing.

  You're amazing.

  You make me this way.

  Don't go to Positano.

  Misch was actually washing her hands when the last text rolled in, and she stared at her phone like it was some sort of poisonous insect.

  What do you mean?

  Don't go. Stay here. Stay with me.

  I can't.

  Why?

  Because. My job.

  Fuck your job. Stay with me.

  I can't.

  Why!?

  I'm married.

  Stay with me.

  Why was he doing this to her!? And of all the ways to say that kind of shit, he chose to do it via texting!?

  She didn't answer. She went back out, finished having lunch with everyone. Then she threw herself into work, didn't even look at her phone. It was six o'clock before she knew it, and she was the last one left in the office. She locked up and walked back to her hotel, dragging her feet.

  Tal was waiting in her room.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you'd avoid me all night,” he said as soon as she walked in the door. She glanced at him, then took in the rest of the room. He'd had dinner ordered up for her – gnocchi in a garlic herb sauce, and a small bottle of pinot grigio. Her favorites.

  She felt like she was going to be sick.

  “No, I came here as soon as I got done,” she assured him.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Misch.”

  “Tal.”

  “Cut the shit.”

  One of the things she loved about him, he always “cut the shit”. There was no beating around the bush with Tal, no avoiding the topic or dancing around it. If she was in a bad mood, he demanded to know why. If she was being a bitch, he told her to cut it the fuck out. And whatever she said back, even if it was “go fuck yourself”, he just rolled with it.

  One of the things you love about him. One of the things he loves about you. How many “things” does it take before it becomes the whole thing?

  “I have to go, Tal,” she said, toeing off her shoes before crawling onto the bed.

  “Tell me why,” he demanded. She turned towards him, then laid down and curled into the fetal position.

  “Because I have a job and I have to go where it tells me to. Because I'm married, whether we like it or not, and I owe it to that marriage, to that man, to tell him what's going on,” she answered.

  “Fine, that's all fine. But then come back. Let's finish this,” he urged. She shook her head.

  “I can't. We're going to Turkey after this, to open a new office, remember? I have to go.”

  “Why? You don't even like your fucking job,” he reminded her.

  “But I made a commitment, I -,”

  “Shut up. Just shut the fuck up,” Tal suddenly snapped, and she was shocked.

  “Excuse me!?”

  “You're in a fucking marriage you hate – so much so that you took a job on the other side of the world so you could get away. You're in a fucking job you hate – so much so that you ditch it at every opportunity you get. Your problem isn't that you make bad decisions, Mischa. Your problem is that you're too much of a pussy to fix them,” he called her out.

  Everything he said was right. She knew that, knew it all. She was scared to leave her job, because she didn't know what would be waiting for her. She was scared to leave her marriage, because she didn't know what that would do to Mike. What it would do to her.

  “You're right,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “You're absolutely right. I don't know how I became this person. This … weak person. I wasn't always like this, I don't know what happened. You shouldn't be with me, Tal. Find someone as strong as you.”

  He let out a groan, then knelt on the end of the mattress. He grabbed her by her hip and her knee and dragged her to him, so she was even with him on the bed. He laid down with her, propping himself up by resting his head against his fist.

  “You're strong, Mischa. You've just forgotten how to be that way all the time. So fine, go to Positano, do what you have to do. Go to Turkey, do what you have to do there. But then come find me,” he urged. She sniffled and shook her head.

  “And then what? What if I'm still this weak person? And even if I wasn't, what would we do? I live in a hotel room while you disappear for days on end, doing a job that you still won't fully explain to me? And as hard as it is to believe, Tal, I have a life. I have a home. I have friends, and family. You gonna move to Michigan with me?” she asked. He snorted.

  “Fuck that.”

  She even laughed.

  “Exactly. You're like … this free thing. So free. And I'm just not. It's been nice to pretend for a while, and I'll never be able to thank you enough, for what you've done for me.”

  She was crying in earnest now, not even trying to hide it.

  “If you don't want to be with me, just say that, Misch. I'm a big boy, I can handle it. I don't want to be like Michael, living in your darkness. I wanna hear you say it,” Tal urged. She cried harder.

  “It's not that. I do want you, I do. I just can't hold you back. I already held someone else back, for eight years, and look at how that's ending. I'll never do that again,” she told him.

  “That won't happen to us,” he insisted.

  “Oh really? How? How do you know? How do you know you won't hate me in a year, when I'm still this crying, unsure, unconfident mess? How do we know this is real? What
if in another eight years, it turns out we never really felt this way?” she demanded.

  Tal laid down flat, so they were eye to eye. He pressed his hand to the side of her face. His large, warm hand, with his long, dexterous fingers. They pressed against her head, lightly massaging her skin. He stared straight at her, his black eyes pulling her into him. No one had ever looked at her like that before; it was one of the most intense moments she'd ever experienced.

  “Tell me right now that this doesn't feel real to you. Tell me right now that you're not feeling the same way as me, and I'll walk out that door,” he whispered.

  Mischa cried out and shoved him away before she sat up. She got off the bed and began pacing back and forth.

  “I can't do anything right,” she groaned, her hands going into her hair.

  “What are you talking about?” he looked bewildered as he stood up as well.

  “I had a plan. A goddamn plan! I just wanted to feel special, to feel like someone wanted me. I wasn't trying to have an affair, I wasn't looking for you!” she yelled at him.

  “Are you saying this is my fault?” he asked in a steely voice. She shook her head.

  “No. God, no. You have been the most amazing … everything. You're everything. I'm saying that I'm not good enough for you,” she stressed.

  She was still pacing, and was near the door to the room. He stormed up to her and grabbed her by her arms, forced her against a wall. He glared down at her, and he looked pissed.

  “How about you let me decide what is and isn't good for me, alright? Stop making fucking excuses. If you don't want this, say it,” he snapped. She took a deep breath.

  “I don't want this.”

  His glare grew more severe.

  “Liar.”

  “What do you want me to say!?” she demanded. “I don't trust you to be there! I don't trust myself to follow through! And Mike! God, Michael, I owe it to him to at least be there for him when I rip his heart out. I can't do that if you're in the background!”

  “So that's it!? You just used me, this whole time, for a good fuck once in a while? I'm just 'background' to you!?” he demanded.

  “No, but Mike needs -,”

  Tal slammed his hand against the wall by her head, three times, in rapid succession. She shrieked and ducked a little.

  “Fuck him! I don't want to hear his fucking name!” he bellowed.

  Mischa was blown away.

  “But he's my -,”

  “He got eight years with you. Eight years! Eight years to get it right! Eight years of you all to himself! I've only had this time, and all I ever got was half of you – the other half was always with him. Always. So you know what!? I don't want to fucking hear about him,” he yelled at her.

  “I'm married!” she really was shrieking, slapping at his chest. “I don't know what you want from me, Tal! I'm fucking married! I wish I wasn't! I wish it had been you from the start! I wish everything was fucking different, but it's not! I'm fucking married! Of course he was always there – he's my goddamn husband! I'm married, Tal. I'm married, I'm married to him, I'm married,” she sobbed it over and over. Kept repeating it, hoping it would sink in for him. For her.

  He moaned and wrapped his arms around her waist, ducking his head to press it against her chest. She sobbed harder and coiled her arms around him, holding as tightly as she could. He sank down, and his weight dragged her with him, all the way to the floor.

  “I didn't mean for this to happen,” he told her, wrapping his body around hers.

  “I know. Me, neither,” she was having trouble breathing.

  “I wish I had been there first, too,” he whispered. She cried harder.

  “God, me, too. So much. I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me.”

  “I don't hate you.”

  “Please forgive me.”

  “There's nothing to forgive.”

  “I wish I could stay with you. I really do. I wish we could just disappear, but I already did that to him once,” she breathed, moving so she could push her forehead against his clavicle.

  “No. Now you're just going to disappear on me,” Tal replied. She took a breath. Nodded.

  “Yes.”

  “Before you go,” he began, and his voice was thick with emotion. So low, it made her heart vibrate. “I want you to know something.”

  “Please, don't say anything.”

  “I have to.”

  “It'll make it worse.”

  “It's already as bad as it can be.”

  “Please.”

  “You're one of the best things that's ever happened to me, Mischa. I'm glad I found you.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “Me, too.”

  ~Mischa~

  It hurt. God, it hurt. It hurt so bad. It hurt so much worse. It hurt the most.

  I hurt and he hurt and we hurt.

  Detox is the worst of part of being an addict.

  ~Letting Go … ?~

  Tal drove down a dusty road. The summer had gotten ridiculously hot, even for late May, even by Southern European standards. Everything looked like it had caught fire. They were surrounded by glowing embers, burning gold and orange and red. It was almost like a drought, everything had dried out and turned to sand.

  If that's not an analogy, then I don't know what is …

  He put his elbow on the side of the door, rubbed at his forehead with his fingertips. He had such a fucking headache. A heartache. What the fuck had happened!?

  He could remember the first time he'd gotten a good look at Mischa. She'd been sitting at a high top table, wearing a long sleeved, low cut top and some incredibly short-shorts. And those legs. Goddamn, those legs. Crossed at the knee, one foot swinging idly back and forth. Her hair had been up in a bun, high on the back of her head, and she'd been reading a book. Her posture had been very straight, with her head bent to look down. He didn't need to know her background to know that she was dancer, her body language screamed it¸ and his next thought had been to wonder how she would feel dancing her ass in his lap.

  That's all she'd been to him. Just a hot chick, sitting in a restaurant.

  That first night, in his hotel room, he could admit it – she'd been a challenge. So unsure of herself. She had wanted to run away. He had wanted to stop her. Mission: Accomplished. Holy hot damn, she'd been incredible. So much pent up sexual energy, she'd run rampant all over him.

  When she'd disappeared, Tal had given her space. It was just sex. No big deal. She was gone, probably for the best. No, definitely for the best. He didn't need that kind of complication in his life, not with everything that was going on.

  But he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. The only reason he'd fucked his maid was because he'd had a hard on from thinking about Mischa. Made him sound like a horny douchebag, but he was a guy – and most guys were horny douchebags.

  And he hadn't known her yet. Not really.

  The speed and force with which he fell for her astounded him. Tal was a man's-man – he liked fucking, fighting, God, and his country. Matters of the heart were best left to pussies and women. Mischa was supposed to just be a good time. A challenge, a dare, a dirty secret.

  But she'd turned out to be so much more. She was funny, and smart, and understanding, and … and so much more. He could tell that being with him made her feel like a better person. He knew because he felt the same way; she was making him a better person.

  What the fuck.

  He pulled into an empty field, put the car into park. The sun was setting, burning up the horizon. He felt like shit. He wanted to be with her, wanted to take away her hurts. But he couldn't, because not only was he the one causing them, but he had a job. A job that had called while she'd been crying on the floor.

  How does a person choose between what they know, and what they love?

  Another car came cruising from the opposite direction. Tal shut off his engine and took a deep breath. Well, apparently he'd made his choice. Two weeks lost in an Italian dream didn't ca
ncel a lifetime of work. Didn't change the mission at hand. He had to keep that in mind.

  No matter how much he didn't want to.

  An older model Humvee came racing towards him as he climbed out of his car. The Humvee had long since been decommissioned, from the Italian or Greek army. All the gun mounts had been taken off, and at first glance, it just looked like an old Jeep. It screeched to a stop next to him and Ruiz got out of it.

  “Hey, what's the status?” Tal asked, moving to lean against the front of his Range Rover.

  “The mark is leaving the country. Intel says we have about a week, then we're back on,” Ruiz prattled off. Tal nodded.

  “Alright. What are we supposed to do during the interim?”

  “We're getting pulled out.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. We gotta take all the reports and pictures to HQ for a debriefing, they want to take this break as an opportunity to catch up, so everything will be ready when shit goes to trial,” Ruiz explained.

  Of course, Tal should've known this info first, but he'd been avoiding his e-mail updates. Making excuses, so he could stretch out his time with Mischa for as long as possible. He was the senior person on this mission, he was in charge, he'd been in the business a lot longer than Ruiz. Usually, he reveled in that information, took advantage of it to always be in charge. Now, he just wanted to defer everything to the other man.

  Not enough time. Not enough time. Need more time with her. She's almost gone, why am I here?

  “Fine,” Tal sighed. Ruiz glared.

  “You sure about that?”

  “Did I fucking stutter?”

  “Alright, man, just be at the chopper by 0600 hours,” his partner snapped.