by Ben Boswell
This time she chose a little black number. It was easier to justify this purchase, despite the exorbitant price tag. Every woman needs one. Less clingy than the red dress, it was still very sexy, gauzy, layered, breezy. She wasn’t going to take a risk with panty lines tonight. No need for anything too special, so she picked out a simple black thong. She didn’t really need a bra, not with her small boobies. Gold shoes wouldn’t work, so she picked up a new pair: black, open toed, ankle strap heels that nicely showed off her pedicure.
Halfway back to her room, she remembered she’d forgotten to pick up some makeup. She had some nice color on her cheeks from the sun already, so a little mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick and she’d be good to go.
It was actually a tight fit getting back to the lounge on time. She liked the idea of being fashionably late, making him wait a little, but then she worried that if she was too delayed, he’d just leave without her. She had a strange, fluttery sensation in her stomach. It was a little like she was going on a date rather than meeting up with a friend. But that’s all it was… wasn’t it?
He smiled when she arrived, but then tapped at his expensive watch in mock annoyance. She batted her eyelashes.
“This sort of perfection takes time to achieve.” She gave him a quick twirl.
“You do look good,” he admitted.
“Wouldn’t peg me as a soccer mom anymore?”
He nodded pensively. “I think you’ve graduated to librarian… or maybe an accountant.”
She stuck out her tongue at him and sat down beside him at the bar. She ordered a glass of wine and took a sip when it arrived.
“So any prospects here?” she asked.
She watched him as he spun around on his stool and surveyed the room. He’d dressed down tonight, no suit. Instead he was wearing a pair of lightweight linen pants and a gorgeous black and tan silk print shirt. Even casual, he projected a kind of unforced, confident elegance. And, of course, it helped that he had a great body. Even wearing nothing, he’d….
She stopped herself. Dangerous territory. Suffice it to say, some girl in the resort had a chance to get very lucky tonight.
“Not really,” he replied with a shrug.
Heather was a little surprised. Her own scan of the room suggested at least a couple of women worthy of an approach. She wondered if maybe he was hoping to run into Shelby later and pick up where they left off. The prospect of an evening with that leggy blond was surely enough to make a man extra picky in approaching other women. The idea of it, she recalled, had been enough to get her going too, alone in her room.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“You’re just grinning like an idiot. I figured maybe you’d let me in on the joke.”
“Well, you see Damon, when people are happy, they smile.” He nodded along, wide-eyed at her didactic tone. “There isn’t always a joke.”
“So it makes you happy to be with me?”
“Yes, Damon, the entire world revolves around you. Just like every single woman in this resort is here to serve as your potential sexual partners.”
“Not just the single ones,” he smirked.
“You wish.”
He chuckled. “What makes you think I was talking about you?”
She shook her head. He really was impossible.
“So where are you taking me to dinner?”
“I owe you another dinner?” he asked with mock incredulity.
“My time is very valuable. A quality wingman like me doesn’t come cheap.”
He laughed. “Okay, but I better get laid tonight.”
Heather laughed along, but she couldn’t ignore the flutter in her stomach caused by his words. She remembered the dangerous rush she felt with him out on the dance floor. Her jealousy at the thought of him and Shelby. She knew she was getting too close. They were comfortable with each other now, too comfortable. Something could easily happen. She was tempted to break, run, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay with him, even despite the risk… maybe even because of it?
“I’m not a miracle worker,” she replied. A good comeback albeit delivered a millisecond too late to be really effective.
He smiled. “Okay, so last night you said something about lobster?”
***
Alta Mar was the most expensive restaurant in the resort. Damon didn’t seem to mind. They sat across from each other on the sheltered terrace overlooking the ocean. A salty breeze blew in from the water, keeping the table candles dancing, a citrusy chardonnay played off against the beurre blanc of the lobster perfectly.
They talked about the resort and dinner. About past vacations and places they’d each wanted to visit. They ordered a second bottle just to sip instead of dessert.
“This is amazing,” she gushed.
“The view or the company?” he asked flirtatious.
“I was talking about the food actually, but all three are pretty neat.”
“I think you like me,” he singsonged.
She laughed. “I do. In a completely appropriate, married woman dining with a single man on vacation kind of way.”
“What’s your husband like?”
Heather thought about it. Kind. Attentive. Smart. He’d been handsome as a younger man, was now becoming more teddy bear cute as he got older. Steady. Reliable. A little boring. A good man.
“I don’t really want to talk about him… or my family, okay?”
Damon nodded. “So tell me about life before the husband and kids.”
“Oh jeez, that was a long time ago. I married young. Right out of college.”
“I bet you were a spitfire back in school.”
She laughed. “Oh please, I was always a good girl.”
“Yeah, you said that before. You’ve really never had a one-night stand?”
She shook her head. “Nope. You know what’s more? I’ve only even been with three men in my life.”
“Plus your husband or including?”
“Including.”
He let out a low whistle as if such a thing was inconceivable.
Another chuckle.
“You won’t believe this either,” she continued. “But I’ve only ever had sex a dozen times or so with anyone other than my husband.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, I was still in college when we met. That’s probably a good week for you, eh?”
“A good weekend even,” he smirked.
There was a lull in the conversation. Damon was smiling at her confidently. Heather was feeling increasingly awkward. Talking about sex made it harder to deny her attraction, more painful to think of the dinner ending with them seeking out Shelby or some other slut for him to fuck. She knew it would only get harder though.
“So,” she began as she finished off her wine, “guess it’s time for us to get to work getting you laid, huh?”
“I like you. You always have my interests at heart.”
He paid the bill and they left the restaurant, his hand resting easily on her lower back as they walked out in the breezy evening. Heather gazed longingly out at the beach. Walking in the surf at night was one of her very favorite things, but like eating by oneself, doing it alone reeked of sadness. He seemed to read her mind.
“Want to walk on the sand?”
“I…. Sure.”
They walked up the path toward the water. Heather’s heels awkward on the rough surface. She stumbled. He caught her, his strong hand on her hip to keep her from falling.
“Falling down drunk,” he joked.
“Well, at least I know that means you won’t put the moves on me.”
“No, no, falling down is okay, imminent puking not so much.”
He released her hip, but held her hand to steady her as they walked. Even after she kicked off her shoes before stepping onto the sand, they remained hand in hand. She felt that flutter in her stomach return. Heather didn’t have a lot of experience with men, but she knew this was more than just two new friends wal
king together on the beach. The sand, the surf, the moonlight, holding hands. Somehow this had turned into a date.
She was a married woman. Nothing would happen. Nothing could happen. Yet she was already crossing lines. Had been crossing them for two days now. Buying clothes to impress him. Letting him buy her expensive dinners. The talking, confiding in each other. Now holding hands. It was flirting, all flirting.
So what? There is nothing inevitably wrong about a married woman flirting with a handsome man. A little flirting never hurt anyone. She hadn’t led him on, never hinted that anything more than friendship was on the table. And nothing was going to happen. Well, nothing more than a little hand holding, no matter how tempting it was.
And, God, it was tempting. He was tempting. Handsome, ripped, funny and sarcastic. So different from Jeff. Jeff was nice. Sweet. But then again, Damon wasn’t the kind of man you marry. He was a fling, and not a safe fling, but a dangerous one. He exuded a raw sexuality. She knew, just knew, he’d be good in bed.
They’d been walking in silence for a while now, a silence that bespoke a connection, an understanding. A shooting star streaked across the sky, disappearing as it approached the horizon.
“Did you see that?” he asked.
“Yeah.” A sign from the heavens? Permission to indulge her desire? No, it was just a rock falling from the sky.
“What did you wish for?” he asked.
“You first.”
“Don’t be angry, okay?”
I was wishing I had Shelby’s long legs wrapped around my waist rather than holding hands with you, Soccer Mom.
She braced herself and nodded.
“I was sort of hoping you weren’t married.”
She sighed. She’d wished the same thing. Not permanently, but just for the duration of the trip.
“Don’t say that,” she replied.
He turned to face her, taking her other hand in his as well. She squirmed awkwardly, but didn’t try to shake his grip.
“It’s true.”
“What about Shelby?”
He looked puzzled. “What about her?”
“You’d rather be with her.”
“I would?”
“The blond hair, the long legs, the big tits….”
“The fake laugh, the drunken slurring, the mean girl attitude…”
“She might fuck you.” And I won’t.
“Sex isn’t everything.”
Heather chuckled. “I thought that was the whole purpose of the trip for you.”
“It was,” he acknowledged. “But I’m allowed to change my mind. And right now, I’d rather spend time with you, even if we don’t have sex.”
“But you’d like to have sex with me?”
She knew it was a needy question. She thought she knew the answer, but she had trouble believing it. He was so desirable and she was so… plain.
He chuckled, but then noticed the expression on her face. “You’re serious?”
She nodded.
“Yeah, Soccer Mom, I’d like to have sex with you.” She regarded him skeptically still. “You’re hot, cool, fun to be with.”
She blushed. Hot? Cool? She’d never been the hot, cool chick. She’d always been the cute, nice girl.
He continued, “I know you can’t do that. It’s okay. I respect you for it because I think you’re feeling the same thing I am.”
She nodded. It felt weird to make the admission, even non-verbally, yet it was also a relief. It was now out in the open. They both wanted to have sex, but it couldn’t happen, and they both understood it.
“But, I would like to kiss you.”
Heather sighed. No, we can’t do that. But the words didn’t come out. Instead, she just stared into his eyes. She wanted this so much, so much. And then he was leaning forward. She should be shaking her head, pulling away, but instead, she felt her chin rise to meet him. She closed her eyes and then she felt his surprisingly soft lips kiss hers, gently, tenderly. Just for a moment or two. A small, tentative kiss, but enough that when he pulled away she missed him, wanted more.
“That was nice,” she breathed.
He smiled. “We don’t have to have sex to enjoy each other’s company.”
She shivered. It was getting cooler and she wasn’t really dressed for the evening chill. He sensed that and pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her waist, resting his hand on her hip, as he turned them back toward the resort.
“Let’s head back.”
She nodded. Her mind was racing, but she found she couldn’t speak. After a few minutes, he stopped her, and gave her another quick kiss. Her heart raced. They continued down the beach.
Kissing was okay, she decided. Well, not okay, but it wasn’t sex. It wasn’t cheating. It was, a grey area, still on the flirting side of the line. But God, where exactly was the line? And what was the line even? The line between flirting and cheating? Between understandable and outrageous? Between forgivable and unforgivable? Between right and wrong? So many lines, so many subtle shades of grey. Still, there were red lines, and she knew it.
“What are we doing?” she asked.
“Walking on the beach? Man, you really are drunk.”
She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “You know what I mean, idiot.”
He chuckled. “A couple of little kisses and you get all feisty, huh?”
She blushed, but also realized how much she enjoyed the kidding.
“Seriously, Damon. I don’t want to lead you on. There are things I can’t do.” She wasn’t sure exactly what those things were, but….
“How about a cuddle date?”
“A cuddle date?”
“I’d have thought you’d have that in your playbook, a good girl like you.”
She knew he meant it kindly, but it still got to her. She didn’t want to be demoted back to good girl. She liked it when he called her hot and cool.
“It’s a date,” he explained, “where you agree not to have sex. Just to, you know, cuddle.”
She chuckled. “Sounds like something invented by a woman.”
“Yeah, and I admit, for the most part, guys agree to it because they’re hoping it’ll lead to more. But I’ll tell you a secret. Guys enjoy a nice cuddle too.”
Which is of course what a guy who was hoping for more would say. And yet, the idea was tempting.
“So, where… how?”
“We can sit on the beach, but that’s sandy. We can find a bench, but those are hard. We could lie in bed –“
“Bed, huh?”
“…fall asleep in each other’s arms.”
The thought made her feel warm and fuzzy. Her body pressed against his, kissing gently, talking, until they both fell asleep.
“We keep our clothes on?”
He shrugged. “Clothes on or off, under the cover or above. No rules. Just what feels comfortable.”
“Clothes on, above the covers?” she proposed.
Another few lines crossed, but no major ones. Not one she couldn’t live with, nor ones that Jeff would find unforgivable.
He smiled. “My place or yours?”
“Mine.”
***
They lay close, face-to-face, his hand on her hip, hers on his shoulder. He gently caressed her hip, the small of her back. She let her fingers play over his muscular arm, touching his cheek as they kissed. And the kisses. So gentle, so tentative. Soft lips coming together, just a tiny tease of tongue, but always controlled, restrained.
“Tell me about your husband,” he said as they broke another embrace.
“Damon, no. It’s not….”
“I want to understand you. Why are you here?”
Here. What did that mean? At the resort? Or in bed… or on bed with another man?
“How guilty should I feel about being here with you?” he explained.
She chuckled. “Very.”
She paused. How much did she want to tell?
“He’s my life, you know?”
Damon nodded, bu
t she could see a lack of comprehension in his eyes. I don’t know, he was expressing wordlessly.
“We’ve been together since I was, jeez, twenty. I’ve never been serious about another man. He was always what I knew I wanted.” She hesitated. “What I guess I thought I wanted. A guy who’d love me, maybe put me up on a pedestal, nice, kind, reliable.”
“But?” he prompted.
She shook her head. “No buts. Look, yeah, there are times when the kids make me nuts. When I feel like nothing will ever change. When all I want to do is run away and hide under the covers of my bed. But, it is what I want. What I never want to lose. I don’t expect you to understand that, but Jeff is the man I want to grow old with.”
“I get it. I do. But…”
She smiled, inviting him to continue.
He leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss.
“But, what about the passion, the excitement…” he proposed.
“The drama, the tears…” she countered.
“The thrill of surprise, novelty…”
She kissed him, and then added: “Loneliness, desperation….”
He nodded his head. “You’ve been reading my journal.”
“You keep a diary?”
He laughed. “It’s a journal, Soccer Mom. And yes, black people keep journals sometimes too.”
She didn’t bite. She knew now he was just kidding.
“So why do it?”
“I guess I didn’t find my Jeff.”
Heather laughed. “He’s mine! Keep your hands off him.”
He leaned in and kissed her again. “Deal.”
“No, but seriously, Damon. How is it that no woman has snapped you up?”
He shrugged. “There have been some women –“
She snorted. “Some? Seriously, are you that hard to please? Or what, you have a third eye growing out of your back?”
“I don’t know. Shit didn’t work out. I don’t know. Maybe I was too immature in my twenties, and now it’s like women are too desperate. Give them a smile, and they want to know your views on marriage and kids. It’s… oppressive.”
“I bet you’d make a great dad.”
