by C. C. Morian
Just as this whole thing about Marcus was eating at her.
She busied herself cleaning her plates, and was in the kitchen when Richard came in. He gave her a good smile and a kiss on the cheek. “How was your day?” he asked. Genuinely interested, not just a phrase.
Melissa shrugged. “Okay. No disasters at work, which is always good. You?”
He smiled. “Usual fire drills, nothing I couldn’t handle.” He noticed her sticking plates in the dishwasher. “Finish eating?”
“Just. I didn’t know when you’d be home. I can heat you up something, there’s plenty left.”
“No problem, I’ll get it.” He stuck his head in the refrigerator, reached for some containers.
Melissa poured a glass of wine and watched him as he made himself a plate and then tossed a salad. She admired Richard’s independence and his sense of responsibility—she was happy to cook, but he’d never expect her to make his meals, and he often offered to cook for both of them. She had girlfriends who would kill for this kind of man, or who never would even imagine that one existed.
Was this something she wanted to put at risk?
Richard set the microwave and walked into the dining area, reaching for the mail. Melissa drifted after him, second guessing herself again for leaving the reunion notice on top, he was sure to see it. . .
Richard picked up the mail, immediately noticing the colorful red reminder card. He stared at it for what seemed like a minute, his fingers gripping the card. Was his hand shaking? Finally, without looking up, he slid it to the bottom of the stack and distractedly continued on through the mail.
I should say something, thought Melissa. I need to tell him that I’ve decided not to go.
But it was her curiosity that was her undoing. Wondering what Richard would say next. Wondering if he would change his mind. Wondering what she wanted in her marriage, in her life.
Wondering what Marcus was like now.
The microwave beeped, and she jumped.
“I’ll get it,” she said, trying to hide her nervousness.
Richard turned and gave her a faraway look. “That’s okay. But would you mind pouring me some wine?”
Uh oh, she thought. Richard rarely drank wine at dinner, he usually wanted to keep his head clear to work in the early evenings.
“Sure.” Melissa filled a glass for him, then refilled hers, her hands trembling.
At the table she sat across from him, trying to make small talk, the typical nothing conversation of married life. His responses were perfunctory, unfocused, yet his eyes were full of energy, his thoughts elsewhere.
Suddenly he pushed his plate away. “Have you decided?” he asked, his voice flat, betraying none of the emotion he was obviously struggling with.
He didn’t have to explain what he was asking about. The reunion. And ultimately, about him. About their marriage.
Melissa had months of thoughts in her head, things she wanted to say, things she should say. A whole host of plusses and minuses, the stark facts that would appeal to Richard’s no nonsense mind. The kind of mind that had thought of this pragmatic, real world test. A test that would tell her, once and for all, if she was in the right relationship, or, at least, if her relationship with Richard would be enough to make her really happy.
All that seemed silly now, the rational arguments, the weighing of options. “Don’t you see the risks in this?” she said. “We could lose everything we have.”
“I realize that. But let me ask you something.” He held her eyes, unwavering. “Tell me the truth. Are you happy?”
If she hadn’t been concentrating, knowing the importance of this discussion, she might have involuntarily glanced away, no matter what she chose to say. Instead she forced herself to hold his gaze. “We’ve talked about this. My answer is the same. For the most part, I’m happy. What is happiness anyway? Can anyone be expected to be totally happy all the time? That’s unrealistic.”
“I know,” Richard admitted. “Let me ask it a different way. Since all this came up, have you been thinking about it? Have you been wondering about whether you did the right thing marrying me, wondering about whether you should instead be with someone else?”
Now her eyes did slip away. Not because she was going to try to lie, but because she knew that what she said would hurt him.
“Yes,” she said. “Now that you’ve put it in my head—.” Melissa stopped herself, looking back at Richard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest you were to blame for anything. What I meant was, since you suggested the reunion,” she nodded her head toward the mail, as if it were some kind of evil spirit, “I have thought about it, about all of it. But that doesn’t mean anything. Every married person must think about this, about whether they did the right thing.”
“I never did,” he said.
She felt the tension in his voice, the conflict between his admission of love and an undercurrent of accusation.
There was a long silence. “I’m sorry,” Melissa finally managed. She thought of what else she could say, what else might blunt the pain. But all she could do was repeat, “I’m sorry.”
Another silence, then Richard said, “I know.” He took a deep breath. “And I’m thankful for your honesty. I always prefer that we discuss this, try to work it out.”
“I wonder about that, sometimes,” said Melissa. “I wonder if some things are better left unsaid.”
Richard shook his head adamantly. “Never. Not something like this. Not for people like us. It would destroy our marriage, our friendship, eventually, even if nothing was said. I know you too well. I’d realize something was wrong, but by then it might be too late to do something about it. This way,” he pointed to the stack of mail, the unseen participant in their conversation, “we’ll know for sure.”
“It’s just so extreme,” argued Melissa. “What if I do go through with it, but it doesn’t answer the question? What if I see Marcus, and he isn’t interested? And even if he is, and he—offers me something different, but all together, it isn’t perfect with him either? I wouldn’t be any better off. There would still be something missing. What we have—what you give me—is so important.”
“We’re back to square one then.” Richard’s no nonsense practical side had taken over. “Do you have an alternative?”
Melissa thought about the men at the restaurant, checking her out, the thrill she got from it. How excited Richard had been when she had confessed to him about being kissed by Vern.
Perhaps there was a way to spice up their sex life enough so that she’d get what she needed, that dash of the unexpected, the little bit of craziness that she so craved. Yet what Richard had suggested was so—extreme. There had to be something else they could try before resorting to such a risky course of action.
She took a sip of wine. “Maybe,” she said, a little coyly.
Richard frowned, her voice such a shift in tone from their serious conversation.
“What?” he asked.
“Well,” said Melissa, her fingers running around the top of her wine glass, avoiding his eyes.
Richard was alert, leaning forward. “Vern? Did you see Vern again?”
She had actually done what she could to avoid Vern. She hadn’t gone jogging, she had steered clear of his neighborhood, she had skipped the monthly neighborhood pool parties. Although she had wondered, if she had shown up, would Vern have been there? Would he have gone so he could try to run into her?
Or worse, had he forgotten all about her? Was she just what he had said, one of a countless number of housewives throwing themselves at him?
“No,” she said. “I haven’t seen Vern.” Then, as if considering it, she asked, “Would you want me to?”
Richard gripped the table, his eyes widening. She now understood what this was, this complexity of emotions. Inside, his jealousy, mixed with pride, and embarrassment, and anger, but most of all, with excitement, an arousal he could not control.
“If that’s what you want,” he sai
d, trying to keep his voice steady.
Melissa tossed her head back in mock drama. “I haven’t decided yet.” And it might not be my decision, even if I wanted to, she thought. She wouldn’t be the one to decide if she wanted Vern, he would be the one to decide if he wanted her. Just like Marcus would. Damn both of them.
But she knew herself well enough to understand that was part of their attraction. The power they had, the knowledge they could take what they wanted.
Melissa got up from the table, briefly touching Richard’s shoulder as she passed him, heading into the living room. She knew he was watching her, wondering what she was up to.
She was still dressed in her work clothes, as usual, nicely tailored, feminine without being outwardly provocative. Today it was a dark blue skirt with a soft, skin draping off-white blouse. She had taken off the jacket when she got in the house, along with her shoes.
At the couch Melissa slipped back into her heels, turning to look back at Richard. “Do you like my legs?” she asked, as if his opinion on this was the most important thing in the world.
Richard was still frowning, not sure where the conversation was going. “You know I do. You have wonderful legs.”
Melissa twisted her hip, stretching her leg out, looking down, watching her calf muscle tighten, knowing how much Richard liked the tone. “You know,” she said, “I think other men like them too. You told me a few months ago that other men noticed me, checked me out. I was kind of oblivious to that, but ever since you brought it up. . .” She paused, waiting to see how he reacted.
Richard turned in his chair to face her, the frown on his face replaced with curiosity, interest. “What?”
“Oh, you know. I see other men looking at me. At my legs. At my body. Even at my breasts.” She slowly ran her hands up along her thighs, her sides, touching her chest. “In fact—”
Richard was leaning forward like a sailor who had been out to sea who was now at a strip club, seeing a woman for the first time in months. “In fact what?” he prompted.
Melissa dropped her hands. “Oh, nothing. I might have been imagining it.” She walked into the kitchen.
“Melissa!”
She stuck her head around the corner. “Yes?”
“You are driving me crazy!” Richard jumped out of the chair.
“Why?” She asked demurely, clearly teasing and not trying to hide it. This was a game they never played. She had gone along with his fantasies, yes, but for the most part only when they were in the bedroom. “Were you thinking about me turning on other men?”
Melissa didn’t give him a chance to reply, but crooked her finger at him to come forward. She pointed to the couch. “Would you mind sitting there for a minute?”
He mutely obeyed, his eyes never leaving her.
“I have a question for you,” said Melissa, as she walked to the other side of the room. “Let’s say you were in a restaurant, waiting for me. You’re sitting at a table, like you are sitting now. The restaurant is empty, except for you and four handsome men at another table. When I arrive, they hear me coming.”
She crossed the room, briefly entering the kitchen, purposefully making her heels click on the tile, returning to the living room, pretending to look around the fantasy restaurant, as if looking for Richard.
“Got the picture?” she asked.
Richard nodded.
“You see them look up at me. Well, at first one man sees me, he is facing the doorway where I am, he tries to be discreet, but I can tell he is staring at me. I walk across the restaurant, and as I do, they notice me, and they stop and stare. The man whose back is to me, he notices something is going on, even he turns around.” As she spoke she walked across the room, toward the dining room table.
“When I sit down,” she said, turning the chair around, just as she had done in the restaurant that day, crossing her legs, letting her skirt slide up her thigh, “they stop their conversation to look at me.” She looked down at her shapely legs, then up at Richard. “How would that make you feel, if you saw that?”
Richard was clenching and unclenching his fists. “I’d feel—good. Wonderful. I’d know that you were my wife. That I was the one married to you. That I knew what those legs felt like. That I knew what was underneath those clothes. I know that sounds odd, it sounds possessive and maybe perverted, but that’s how I’d feel.”
Melissa was amazed at how quickly Richard had shifted his focus from the reunion, how much power these thoughts affected him, the idea of her arousing other men. “Is that what you think they would be wondering? What was under my clothes?” She toyed with the hem of her skirt, revealing more of her legs.
“Yes. What you looked like. Naked. Or just with your skirt lifted up.”
“Like this?” Melissa pulled her skirt up even higher, showing her thighs, then slowly re-crossed her legs, giving him a good view of her panties.
A sound escaped Richard’s lips, something between a deep breath and a moan.
“I was wondering about that,” she said, trying to sound serious. “You see, something just like that happened, not long ago. The restaurant, the four men. They were watching me. I was wondering what they were thinking, what they might have wanted to do.”
“This really happened?”
“Well, there were a few other people there, and I didn’t quite move my skirt so far up, but yes, it all happened. Except. . .”
Richard’s hand involuntarily went to his crotch. “Except what?”
“Well, I forgot to mention they were closer to me than you are now,” she said. “In fact, they were close enough to reach over and touch me. I was waiting for Julie, and I could have sat anywhere to wait, the restaurant was nearly empty, but I chose to go sit right next to them, at the bar. Close enough to touch.”
“You were teasing them,” said Richard.
“Was I?” Melissa smiled. “I guess I was. I think the hostess thought I was a slut. I made sure she knew I was married. And I practically waved my wedding ring in their faces as they tried to keep their eyes on their food.” She shook her head. “Poor guys. They were having trouble concentrating.”
“What happened?” asked Richard, his voice hushed.
“Well. . .” Melissa milked the pause. “Nothing.” Pretending she was disappointed. “But I was wondering, what would you have thought if it had happened like I said, and you were there, and no one else, and if one of the men had put his hand on my leg?”
“I don’t know,” said Richard, and Melissa could tell he was really into it now, imagining the scene. “I think I would want to see how you’d react.”
“Well,” said Melissa. “And of course this is all hypothetical—” she paused, giving the impression that it wasn’t hypothetical at all, “I supposed I’d need to look over to see if you had noticed anything.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I’d have to decide whether to push his hand away, of course.”
“You mean, if you saw me looking, you would push his hand away?”
Melissa pretended to consider that. “Well, now that you mention it, maybe I’d let him leave his hand there either way. To see how you reacted.” She narrowed her eyes. “How would you react?”
Richard stroked his growing erection through his slacks, which she could see from clear across the room. “Like I’m reacting now.”
“You mean you’d like it? You’d like another man’s hand on me?” Melissa pretended to look surprised. “What if he slid his hand up under my skirt, and I let him? Would you like that too?”
Richard could only nod, his hand now squeezing his firm erection.
“That’s very interesting,” said Melissa. “If I didn’t see you get all upset, and come running over to stop him, I might decide to let things go a little further. Maybe another one of the men would get up, and start to take off my blouse.” She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, looking down, as if she were watching someone else do it.
Melissa glanced over at Richard. “
This isn’t bothering you, is it dear? I mean, you’d be sitting there, watching, and now two men would have their hands on me, and I think it would be kind of late for you to do something now, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” said Richard, his voice far away. “I think I’d have to see what happened. If you stopped it.”
“Or if I went ahead?” Melissa placed her hand on her thigh. “If I stopped his hand here, or,” she let her hand disappear under her skirt, “whether I let him do this?”
Melissa waited, letting it sink in, and then she said, “If I did that, I think I’d have to kiss one of them now, don’t you think? If a man had his hand under my skirt, and another one was touching my breasts, surely they’d deserve a kiss?”
Richard nodded mutely as Melissa closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She pushed her hand against her mound, feeling her wetness, letting go, falling into her own fantasy, and now, for the first time, truly understanding how something like this excited Richard. The unbridled desire of the men, the desire she knew was real, the desire she had felt that day. Yes, they were looking at her as a sexual object, but they were also looking at her as a woman, a woman they wanted.
And this thrilled her.
When she opened her eyes Richard was holding his erect cock, he had unzipped his pants and was staring at her, stroking himself.
Melissa opened her eyes wide in feigned surprise. “My!” she said. “I’m kissing another man, and you are still over there on the other side of the restaurant, and now you are touching yourself? If I saw that, I’d take it I could let them do a little more.” She slid her panties down her legs, slipping them over her heels. “I think one of them might want to take off some more of my clothes.”
Richard began to stoke faster, his body tense, achingly leaning toward her. He seemed torn between listening to her and jumping up to grab her. She spread her legs slowly, as if one of the men were forcing them apart, and she was reluctantly deciding on how far she should go, her hand going back under her skirt, her fingers reaching for her clit.
“And if you let them do that,” she said, “I guess it would be okay to take the next step.”
