The Adulterer's Unofficial Guide to Family Vacations, A Novel

by Langtry, Leslie

  There was an unmistakable glimpse of recognition in those glowing green eyes that made me remember how much I used to love gazing into them. For some reason, we could not look away from each other. Something passed between us in code, something beyond the camaraderie of two single parents braving the Magic Kingdom together. Something older and more primitive.

  “May I take your order?” The waitress interrupted us, pad in hand, pen poised in mid-air as if taking our order was the most brilliant thing she’d ever done. I gave her the once over, wondering if she was a spy.

  Okay, so I was feeling guilty. Nothing had even happened and I was afraid I was being watched. The weird part was that I wondered if Mike would even care that I was on a date with another man.

  Alan spoke first and I realized I hadn’t looked at the menu yet. Suddenly, I wasn’t even hungry. “I’ll have the salmon, and the lady will have the petit filet mignon.” He snapped his menu shut and smiled at me, “You ordered that for my fraternity’s spring formal, remember?” The waitress nodded as if she heard that every day and left.

  “How could you remember that? I barely remember that!”

  “I guess I remember more than I knew.” Again, the charming smile. Damn him and his full lips . . . white teeth . . . succulent tongue . . . (succulent tongue???)

  A tingling sensation began in my heart and I turned away. Old emotions were having their way with me like the wenches on the Pirates ride.

  Alan studied me for a moment then reached for my hand, “Laura,” he spoke so quietly, yet it resounded in my ears, “Let’s pretend, just for tonight, that there are no kids, no spouses, and no world outside this one. Pretend we are having a reunion of sorts.” Did I imagine it or did his thumb gently stroke my hand?

  In college, he would stroke my hands, driving me into his bed effortlessly. I knew my arousal was beginning to show. Don’t look down, I cautioned myself. The dress was thin and there was no doubt certain parts of me were on display.

  I didn’t remove my hand, instead gripping his firmly, and took a deep breath, “That sounds like a good idea.”

  The food was excellent, but the conversation was better. Funny, I didn’t remember the things we had talked about all those years ago – he was not the sparkling conversationalist he now appeared to be. We talked about ourselves, carefully avoiding the subjects of family. To my surprise, it wasn’t that difficult to do.

  “New York is alright,” Alan continued, “It’s just starting to wear a little thin.” He frowned as he looked out the window, a little distracted.

  I was supposed to avoid mentioning the kids but I suspected they were part of the reason. “Couldn’t you write your plays from anywhere?”

  “Yes. But there’s an energy in New York as far as the theatre goes.” He returned to slice his salmon, “I would want to live in a city that at least had a professional theatrical company.”

  I wondered at that. Alan was never an actor or musician. He disliked being on stage. I didn’t even know if he could act or sing. But he’d always been interested in the human condition. He liked to throw two people in an arena and see where it would take them. Of course he’d want to be somewhere he could make a living writing plays.

  I watched him cut his fish, those long, slender fingers that half an hour ago stroked my hand. Those same fingers that half a lifetime ago stroked my body . . .

  “Laura?” I looked up and realized he had asked me something. He must have seen me staring at his hands. How weird is that?

  “I’m sorry, I . . . uh, was lost in thought.” Not a good cover. Damn.

  Alan looked down at his hands in puzzlement. I was sure he was thinking of a number of things. His smile caught me off guard. He knew! He remembered! My skin flooded with heat from head to toe. I must have glowed like a red beacon.

  “You know,” his voice was low and husky, “we did explore a lot together.”

  There were two choices. I could melt in a puddle of humiliation or rise to the challenge. I chose the latter, “That is something I will never forget. Two virgins fumbling through it all.”

  Alan laughed, “Do you remember the first time?”

  I choked on my wine, “How could I forget? In that AMC Green Hornet you borrowed from someone.”

  It was his turn to look impressed, “So it was. I almost forgot about that car!”

  Memories crashed around me like waves, “Remember in the winter we had to sneak blankets into it?”

  “That didn’t last long. When we hit that rock and split the oil pan, coasting back into town just as the engine blew out.”

  “Oh my God!” Now, there was a memory I couldn’t forget, “Your friend was so cool about that. I still cannot believe you tried to convince him we hit a steep curb.”

  Alan leaned back in his chair. He looked so amazing, “Well, he would have bought it if he hadn’t seen the rumpled blankets spread out in the back.”

  We laughed together and it felt good. Either the wine or the affection was making me all gooey inside. These were the kind of memories that made us the people we are – but not the kind of memories you can share with your family.

  The check came and Alan waved me off, insisting on paying. I let him. As we walked outside a cool breeze skipped across the lagoon and draped around my shoulders. Without a word, Alan slipped his arm around me and I let him do that too.

  We walked in silence for a while. His hand on my shoulder was warm and his grip firm. Just for tonight, we belonged to each other – making more memories that we wouldn’t be able to share with anyone.

  The plaza was humming with people, but the crowd was faceless. No one would recognize us and spoil this moment. I certainly wasn’t going to spoil it by thinking of the kids, my husband or his wife. They weren’t with us, after all. I slid my arm under his and around his waist. His muscles tensed for a split second, then relaxed and he pulled me closer.

  Several bars were just on the other side of the bridge, beckoning. A deceptively small arrangement of nightclubs lay before us, it was easy to drift in and out based on the song. We settled for a club devoted to music from the eighties. It seemed more appropriate.

  The crowd was sparse. Obviously eighties music didn’t have much staying power. Not hard to believe when you contemplate the depth of Karma Chameleon. We found a small table for two near the dance floor. A schmoozy, young waiter stopped by, making jokes and imagining some familiarity with us.

  “I’ll have a Becks in a bottle,” cold beer seemed to fit better than wine and things were definitely heating up. The waiter asked if I needed a glass.

  “No, because it comes in a glass,” I replied. He responded by making the motion of a beating heart and told me I was a woman after his own heart. Alan smiled a bit guardedly and ordered the same, and I realized he was responding possessively. My insides turned to liquid.

  “Hey,” I needed to cut the tension a little, “did we have a song?”

  A puzzled look crossed his face, “I think so. I’m sure we did.”

  “Well, what was it?” How could I forget something like that? Everyone had a song when they dated, didn’t they?

  “It must have been something by The Police, right?” I couldn’t help but laugh. Alan was obsessed with Sting in college – once even bleaching his hair and speaking with an English accent. He rose with a mock look of disapproval and disappeared. Within moments he returned.

  The song that started playing clicked in my brain, rusty gears beginning to turn, reminding me that we did, indeed, have a song. The beginning strains of Every Breath You Take began to play. Alan stood beside me with his hand out. Without a word I took it and followed him to the dance floor.

  Alan pressed his body to mine and slowly began to move. His dancing had improved. I rested my cheek against his – dancing like we did in the eighties was out – we were adults now. My palm rested against his, our fingers interlaced. I could feel his other hand slowly stroking my back. Could he feel my heart pounding against his? My breathing became
shallow. And yet we were not transported back to a dark bar with a checkerboard dance floor, interlocked, oblivious to the others around us. We were here. It was twenty years later. And I felt just as consumed as I did then.

  The music was flowing toward it’s heartbreaking conclusion. I forgot about the dance floor, the club… everything. My body moved, willing the song to go on forever. He smelled so good. Soft lips brushed my cheek and I felt my fingers twining through his soft, brown hair. We were completely lost in time. His lips swept past my ear and he pulled me hard against him.

  “Oh Laura,” he murmured in my ear breathlessly. Our palms became moist, our fingers clutched so tightly as if we were afraid someone would try to pry them apart.

  Alan’s hand slid up and down the length of my back. I pulled my head back to look at him and our eyes locked in a passionate embrace. The intensity of his gaze sent gooseflesh rippling across my skin. Yet I could not look away. Our history held us. This history was based on a primeval lust that asserted itself. There was no use fighting it. And I suspect that neither of us wanted to.

  The song was ending but we still held each other, gazing into each other’s souls, afraid to blink. At that moment I realized that I wanted him.

  Another song started but we didn’t move. I couldn’t even recognize if it was fast or slow or if anyone was even within two miles of us. My heart was beating like it would explode. But there we were, holding each other, overwhelmed by what passed between us. It was then I realized that we had stopped dancing, that we were just standing there in the middle of the dance floor.

  Loud music trickled into my ears until I awoke from my trance. Couples were moving all around us to wild rhythms. I smiled weakly and started to pull away, but that look of fire still burned in his expression. After a second, Alan relaxed and smiled, following me off the floor. Wordlessly we agreed to go outside. Maybe some cooler air would dampen this growing sense of need.

  Music beckoned from the outdoor stage and we wandered up to the crowd. In spite of the blazing rock music, Alan came up behind me, wrapping me in his arms and together we swayed slowly, as if the band were playing a simple ballad. He was taller than me, and I pressed the back of my head into his shoulder. It felt good.

  I don’t know how long we were like that. His lips would occasionally kiss my ears and neck but we said nothing. Alan’s arms felt good against my breasts. His hands didn’t wander but I wanted them to. My arms reached behind me and I placed my hands on his hips. I could feel his muscles tighten as my fingers gently traced small circles. He moaned in my ear and I was engulfed in a wave of desire. Alan pressed against me and I discovered that he was also aroused. At any minute we would be in danger of violating a number of decency laws.

  “Good night everyone!” The lead singer clapped for himself and waved us away. I turned to go but Alan pulled me around to face him. Once again, his expression was hungry. Both hands slid up to my face, his fingers tangled in my hair. He looked at me like he did all those years ago when we would make love as often as possible in a vain effort toward satisfaction.

  “Alan,” my voice had dropped an octave, dilated with lust. In a swift movement he pulled my face to his and kissed me. I could feel years of pent up regret boiling inside me. Years of “what if” became smoldering kisses. His lips moved over mine, covering them, pulsing, needy. I wrapped my arms around him, crushing his chest to mine. “Oh, Alan,” I moaned with pleasure between kisses, my hands running over his back.

  “My God, Laura. I want you so badly,” his lips found mine again and I was lost.

  The bus was waiting for us and we climbed aboard, finding an isolated bench in the back. After a few minutes, the interior lights dimmed and the noise of the other revelers died. I felt him reach for me and gave in willingly. This time as he held me, his hands moved over the landscape of my body.

  The motor on the bus drowned out the drunk and sleepy conversations ahead of us. We didn’t speak. His fingers silently slid along my arms and traced the outline of my breasts. They moved hesitantly at first, as if waiting to see if I would protest, but hell itself couldn’t make me do so. I thought I could feel him smile in the darkness as he cupped my breast. His hand paused for a moment when he realized I wasn’t wearing a bra, and then traveled with abandon. I slid my arm between his thighs, barely brushing his erection. Lightly, my fingers trailed his inner thighs.

  Alan’s breathing became more ragged but he didn’t speak. While his left hand continued to stroke my left breast, his right hand traced up and down the length of my neck. He remembered that erogenous zone. I remembered too and my fingers dipped between his legs, lightly caressing the growing bulge beneath his pants.

  I felt like a kid again, desperately groping in the darkness in public places because I didn’t have a place of my own. And if felt pretty damned good. My nipples were completely erect beneath Alan’s expert strokes and I could feel my labia swelling with expectation.

  The bus came to a stop in front of the hotel and the lights blazed. I couldn’t look at him as I stepped off. If I did, he would know how much I wanted him.

  “Stop thinking,” he growled in my ear, as if reading my thoughts. I nodded and pushed all reason from my mind. He easily read my feelings. With a smile, he took my hand and held it firmly as we walked back to our room.

  “Such lovely children!” Martha gushed as Alan paid her, “You must be very proud of them.”

  He smiled, “Can you watch them for us again tomorrow night?” I shot him a quick glance, and then turned to hide my own grin.

  Martha nodded and left. All four kids were in one bed in Alan’s room. He put his finger to his lips and led me into my room. Once inside, he carefully closed the adjoining door.

  I was trembling with anticipation. It wasn’t the idea that we were doing something wrong, because that thought never actually entered my mind. All I wanted was for him to look at me again the way he had on the dance floor. Please touch me…please!

  Alan continued to walk the room, turning on the radio and closing the curtains. A Melissa Etheridge song came on, steaming up the room. He stopped in front of me. There could be no mistaking his intentions. His chest rose and fell dramatically and his eyes burned into mine. I couldn’t remember ever being wanted like this.

  Our hands met first. His strong fingers stroked my palms, teased my fingers and drove me to a state of madness, all the while never taking his eyes from mine. I wanted to close the gap between us, tear his clothes off, throw him onto the bed, but I hesitated. For some reason, it was important to me that Alan would make the first move. If only I could wait for it.

  Alan took one step closer to me, still holding my gaze. His hands left mine and reached up to my face, stroking my chin, my neck and shoulders, tracing the outline of my quivering body without looking away. It was as if he was sending me every ounce of emotion he had.

  Slowly, his hands returned to my shoulders and slipped under the thin straps of my dress. Running along the length between the straps and my skin, his fingers lingered where they met the velvet neckline. His index fingers then dipped a fraction of an inch and traced until they came together at my trembling cleavage. I thought I was going to lose control.

  Just when I thought I would collapse, his hands traveled upward, entangling the fingers in my hair. He brought my face to his so very slowly, looking into my eyes, driving deeper into me than I thought possible. Our lips met and something exploded inside. How did he know to do that? I’d never experienced such intimacy and it had a terrifying effect on me.

  He kissed me, making love to my lips with a firm touch. I moaned and he became ferocious, hungrily tasting my lips, my tongue, my breath. My hands stroked his back, slipping below his waistband just enough to touch his skin. A guttural cry tore from his throat and his thumbs slid under the straps of my dress and eased it downward.

  As the velvet slipped from my breasts he stepped back and studied what he uncovered. “You know,” his voice was husky, “all those times in
a dark car or your dorm room, I always told myself that next time I would look at your body.” I gasped at this revelation, and his hand rose to my cheek as if to comfort me. Once again, he looked into my eyes, “You are so beautiful. I wish I had seen that then.”

  Warm tears trickled down my cheek as I kissed his hand. Fingers wet with my tears slowly trailed down to my breasts. I closed my eyes. I didn’t have to see what he was doing. Those strong hands circled each nipple, finally caressing them with his palms. Alan kissed my tears, and then returned to my lips while his hands very slowly slid the dress over my hips. I began to unbutton his shirt, pulling it out from his pants.

  Alan’s hands lingered over my hips, slipping beneath my waistband to slide my panties down with the dress. I stepped out of my shoes and nearly ripped his shirt off. My shaking fingers fumbled with the belt and fly but soon his clothes joined mine on the floor. As my hands reached his cock his kisses became fierce, his breathing unsteady. My fingers encircled the taut, smooth skin and began to stroke slowly. He cried out as if in agony and I pushed him onto the edge of the bed, kneeling between his legs.

  “No, no,” he started to protest but I was determined to take him into my mouth. I needed to suck on his swollen head, my hands still stroking. Alan’s protests died away and he gently caressed my hair as my mouth slipped downward and slid back up, almost to the end, then plunging back down again. He was moaning recklessly now. It was clear he thought he would play the seducer. He hadn’t counted on me wanting more.

  “Stop,” he begged, barely able to breathe, “I don’t want to come like this. I have to be inside you, feel you,” his words trailed off as I reluctantly rose in front of him.

  Alan remained seated on the bed and nuzzled my breasts with his lips, teasing my engorged nipples with his tongue. His hands slid over my hips and thighs and one finger slipped around front, finding my clitoris and stroking softly. I involuntarily threw my head back, arching into him. His strokes and nibbles became stronger. My hands gripped his shoulders, my fingers digging mercilessly into his flesh. I was slipping from reality as my climax came in a rush of sensations. As I braced for the orgasm, he slipped another finger inside me. I cried out. He moaned as he felt my muscles contract around his finger and laid me on the bed, climbing on top of me.