Twin Betrayals: (A Reluctant Hotwife)

by Sean Geist

  “Why?”

  “He's having lunch with me.”

  I opened my mouth to say something but Lauren stopped me with a kiss, full on the lips.

  “Morning, lover.”

  I found it odd, but exhilarating, this show of intimacy in front of my brother. To be fair, my wife has always been quick to show her affection, especially after a night of lovemaking, but I couldn't remember her calling me 'lover' in front of another person. It seemed more open than she'd ever been before.

  My surprise was doubled when she walked over to my brother and kissed him, as well, before grabbing a travel mug and filling it up with coffee. Sure Lauren kissed him on his hairy cheek, yet still.

  “You made lunch plans, without me?”

  “I thought you knew, bro.”

  “I didn't.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Calm down, honey. I just wanted to catch up with your brother.”

  I looked from Richard to Lauren and back. He knew better than to open his mouth. Instead, he shrugged and went back to drinking his coffee and looking out the window.

  “Gotta run. Early meeting.” My wife grabbed her briefcase and stashed an unopened pop-tart inside. “Bye, Rog.” Lauren kissed me again, this time on the cheek, in passing. “See you this evening.”

  “B—”

  “Noon, Richard. Don't be late, I only have an hour.”

  “Sure thing, Lauren.” My twin brother turned to face her.

  I accompanied my wife to the foyer. I tried hard to suppress the turmoil shifting round my chest. I knew my wife and brother were just having a simple lunch date. They'd done it before. But after the development of my new fantasy – some might call it a fetish – I couldn't help but wonder. What if?

  What if, what?

  I trusted my wife, without question, but I couldn't shake the feeling something was going on between the two of them. I had no evidence, beyond my own dirty visions, yet I couldn't shake it. And stranger still, I wasn't sure whether I feared it or desired it, more. That's how fucked up I felt.

  So instead of dealing with them, I shoved these thoughts of lust and jealousy back into the closet and quickly caught up with Lauren. I grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around to face me.

  “What?”

  “No, lady. You don't get off that easy. Kiss on the cheek may work for Richard.” My cocked twitched, better chill Roger. “But not for your husband.”

  I pressed my mouth to Lauren's, her lips parted and our tongues tangled together. I loved our deep kisses – was addicted to her taste, this morning augmented with hints of bitter coffee and minty toothpaste, not erotic, mundane, yet arousing none the less. The subtle aroma of her floral perfume plus the feel of her tongue against mine had me hard. I knew our kiss was just a kiss, not foreplay, but my body didn't seem to understand that.

  “So frisky,” Lauren brushed her fingers against my growing erection. “Save it for tonight.”

  “Will do.”

  “Bye.” We both spoke at the same time and chuckled, then Lauren turned and headed down the front steps of our townhouse and I closed the door. Richard had some explaining to do.

  “Were you going to tell me you had a lunch date with my wife?” I tried not to sound mad, I wasn't, I just would have liked to be kept in the loop. Was that wrong?

  “Bro, I would have, but Lauren beat me to it.”

  “Fine.”

  “And it's not a date.”

  Now my brother was getting defensive. Was he trying to cover up something? Why insist it wasn't a date, unless, deep down that's what he thought it was? I could have pulled on this thread, but I figured Richard was just pushing my buttons. I wasn't going to give him the pleasure of riling me up. Instead I changed the subject.

  “So, you know I got lucky last night, how 'bout you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Come on, spill. Was she a blonde? Red-head?”

  What the fuck was I doing, harboring a voyeuristic fetish yet still wanting to talk about our sex lives?

  “Yes.”

  “Jerk.” I shook my head and took a bite from my pop-tart. “Ouch.” The hot filling burnt the inside of my mouth. “Fuck.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I took a drink of milk to try and dull the pain. It kinda helped. “Lauren show you where the towels are?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Will I see you tonight, or will you be out 'til all hours like last night?”

  “My clients play until around eight thirty. I'll want to get a few back stage shots after the show and I might stick around and try to get a few shots of Regina for myself. I should be back by midnight, easy. Remember, it is a work night.”

  “Yeah, right, a work night. Well, I gotta run or I'll be late.” I brushed a few crumbs from my tie. “Later, Richard.”

  “Later, Rog.”

  My brother went to take a shower and I headed off to work, my thoughts haunted with dirty thoughts of him, my wife and, for some reason, a cute little Russian pop star.

  ***

  I didn't get much work done at the office. In the morning I was consumed with dread, anticipating my wife and brother's lunch date. I knew their date was innocent and that my angst was just a product of my overactive and extremely depraved imagination, but I couldn't help but obsess over it.

  I tried to block out thoughts of the two of them, together, while I nibbled on a sandwich. I scanned the patrons at the deli. There were a few couples, some lone eaters, like myself, and a few large groups. I wondered which were office mates, which were mere friends and which were cheating lovers.

  I actually slapped my head as that thought floated through my mind. I'd be an idiot to think my brother and wife were lovers. For fuck sake, I had to get this fixation under control before it ate me alive.

  After lunch, I focused my efforts on my job and was actually able to bore through a handful of tricky issues.

  At around five minutes 'til four my phone buzzed with an incoming message.

  - Be home by 5

  It was Lauren. I looked at the time and figured if I wrapped up the file in front of me I could probably make it.

  I texted back. - Why?

  Her response came back quick.

  -A surprise. Just be here.

  So many possibilities swam through my fertile mind. Foremost, a chance to catch my wife masturbating. It had been a while since I'd indulged myself. My cock started to firm up. Maybe my brother. The thought died there. I would entertain it no longer, despite the extreme erection filling my slacks.

  -I'll be there

  After hitting send I closed up the folder, logged off my computer and headed for the subway.

  The 'surprise' didn't turn out to be anything sexual in nature, but it did involve my brother. When I got home, my wife waved two tickets to tonight's concert at Radio City Music Hall. Richard had given them to her during lunch.

  “Seats are like, six rows back on the left side. Wanna go?”

  I had heard of Regina Spektor, one of the young female singer-songwriters who seemed to be popular these days, and even though I didn't own any of her music I wouldn't change the radio station when she came on. The indie band that hired my brother, on the other hand, was a complete mystery to me. It wasn't a concert I would pay money to go see, but since it was Friday and the tickets were free.

  “Sure, why the hell not.”

  The show started at seven, so we had to rush to get ready if we wanted to catch the opening act. I threw on a pair of black jeans and a pink polo shirt. Very casual and comfortable as hell. I scheduled a Lyft and was about to call up to Lauren to see what was taking her when the words caught in my throat.

  She stood before me – a goddess. Her dress was simple, a white floral print that fell half-way down her thighs. The scoop neck revealed just enough cleavage to tantalize without being vulgar.

  As for me, my attention had always been drawn to her face, the soft curves of her nose and chin, her inviting lips
, her hazel eyes – framed by her long curly black hair. I love to stare at her, to lose myself in her beauty.

  “Snap out of it, Romeo.” Lauren kissed me on the cheek, leaving a cool, clear smudge of lip gloss. “I think our ride's here.”

  Our trip to the venue was uneventful, but I did notice our driver, Evan, eyeing my wife's body when he thought we weren't looking. Lauren didn't seem to be aware – if she was, she didn't let on – but I was.

  Evan's eyes darted to me and opened wide – he'd been caught admiring the way my wife filled out her dress. His pink cheeks started to turn two shades darker. I wasn't upset, just the opposite. My wife was beautiful, desirable. I knew that. I accepted that.

  I gave the man a smile and a nod, letting him know I was aware of Lauren's looks and didn't mind his staring.

  Evan wished us a good night and rushed off to his next fare. I quickly caught up with my wife, who had already queued up.

  “Evan thinks you have a nice rack.”

  “Does he now?” Lauren glanced down at her chest. “It is kinda nice.”

  “Yup.”

  My wife is the absolute best. Sexy and confident and totally self-aware. In a way she was proof there was no karma, no cosmic rewards for right and wrong, because there is no reason on earth why a woman like her was with a guy like me. Especially if she knew of my dark fantasies.

  ***

  Lauren and I enjoyed the concert despite our passing familiarity with the music. The opening act, an emo rock band called Being Descartes, was surprisingly good; four women, expert musicians, fronted by a soulful, dark haired lothario. We found ourselves digging their music and I mentioned to Lauren that I wouldn't be surprised if they ended up headlining a show at the Hall some day in the future.

  Our seats were great, a few rows back from the stage, but we didn't seem to be using them much. The room darkened and a single spot light came up, focused on a tall red-head at her keyboard. Before she was able to tap out her first note, the crowd rose to their feet. We didn't sit back down again until the house lights came up back up.

  A couple of times during the show I spotted my brother in the wings with his big-ass camera glued to his face. At one point, I thought I caught his lens pointing our way and waved at him, but like a true professional, he didn't wave back.

  Even though we liked Being Descartes, I think I enjoyed Regina Spektor better. Forget the fact that she is a beautiful woman with just a slight resemblance to my wife, with her dark hair and striking blue eyes, her skills on the piano blew me away and she could use her voice like it was just another instrument. Plus I actually recognized quite a few of her songs from the radio.

  After an hour and a half of catchy pop tunes, a few slow and somewhat somber ballads, and two encores during which she performed her contribution to the Hamilton mix-tape, the lights came up for a final time and the throng of dancing, humming and singing fans, Lauren and I among them, made our way to the exits.

  “What a show.”

  My wife didn't reply to me, she just kept on humming away to Dear Theodosia.

  “Wanna head home?” I wasn't tired but wasn't sure about my Lauren.

  “Not really.”

  “How about heading over to O'Reilly's?” An Irish hole in the wall we usually stopped at for drinks on date night.

  “I'd feel overdressed.” I doubted that, but sensed she really wanted to go somewhere nicer. She countered with, “how about Bistro Baton Flasque?” That was an upscale French place a few blocks away. I be dropping at least a hundred dollars just for drinks.

  “What the hell, let's do it.”

  Lauren smiled and grabbed my elbow. She leaned into my body as we headed off down the block.

  “I'll text my brother and see if he wants to join us.”

  My wife pulled me close as I fumbled with my phone. It took me a few minutes to get the message across using only one hand, but I was soon able to tuck my phone back into my pocket and enjoy the close with my wife.

  ***

  I love New York, my home town. Each block is a new experience, the city, a vibrant concoction of humanity. On the way to the bistro we passed a street busker, a tall lanky black man, making oral love to his saxophone. The melancholy notes of the Sound of Silence dissipated into the ever present music of the city – cars honking, the constant buzzing of neon lights. Somewhere in the distance a dog began howling for its master.

  The never-ending flow of life fed my soul. There was nowhere else I'd rather live. I held my wife close and basked in the warmth of her love. Despite my recent slide into the fantasy of watching my wife indulge in illicit sexual pleasures, I knew I loved her and only her. I just wanted her to be happy and watching her taken to heights of erotic ecstasy thrilled me to no end.

  No words passed between us but I wanted to believe we both understood the love we shared. I kissed Lauren on the forehead; she sighed. The night was perfect, despite the sharp nip in the air.

  The entrance to Bistro Baton Flasque was a simple affair, a single glass door leading into a small foyer, pictures of Paris and the French countryside hung on the walls. There was a pay-phone in the corner to our right next to the stairs that lead down to the restaurant's bathrooms. Through an open arch straight ahead lay the main dining room. About two or three dozen tables, mostly four-tops covered with red, white, and blue checkered tablecloths filled the room with several larger booths lining the right wall. The foyer opened up to our left into a little lounge area – a bar and six or seven tables capable of seating two people.

  We headed left.

  My phone buzzed.

  “It's Richard.” I headed back to the foyer. “Order me a Stella.”

  Lauren got us seats at the bar while I talked to my brother.

  “Hey, Rich. Where are you?”

  “Bad news, brother. Can't make it.”

  “Blonde or Red-head?”

  “You know me too well.” Actually, I didn't. “Blonde.”

  “Guess, it's not really bad news, is it.”

  “No.”

  “Why don't you two come meet us at Baton?”

  “Love to, but this gig isn't paying me enough for that place.”

  “Come on, Rich. I'll spot you. Lauren and I don't get to see you all that often.”

  “Roger, I love you like a brother, but we already made plans. We're meeting up with the crew for an after party.”

  “Fine. Have fun. And play safe.”

  “Always, Bro. Don't wait up.”

  We said our goodbyes and I turned back toward the bar.

  I froze.

  Lauren was not alone. She was sitting one stool from the end and standing next to her was a tall blond man, his skin a golden hue. He was either from the West Coast or he made frequent trips to a tanning salon. They were chatting, although he seemed to be doing most of the talking. Lauren got a few words in, but mostly she just listened, fidgeting with her hair, occasionally laughing at something he said.

  Whatever the dynamic, she didn't appear to be too bothered and if I had to guess, I'd say she was enjoying the attention.

  I expected her to look my way, to wonder where I was, but she didn't. This ignited a spark of jealousy, yet at the same time I found myself aroused watching my wife losing herself in another man's interest.

  My jaw dropped open when the man lifted his shirt, right there at the bar and she appeared to admire his abs and even run her fingers down his back.

  I found this display both horrifying and deeply thrilling. I fantasized about Lauren taking pleasure with another man, but it was always just that, a fantasy. This was real life and it was frightening.

  I would have liked to stand and watch, see how this encounter between my wife and this strange man played out.

  “May I help you, monsieur?” The maitre d' would have none of that.

  “No. Just heading to the bar.”

  “Très bien.” The man rolled his brown eyes as he turned to deal with another couple that had just entered the bistro.


  “Roger.” My wife finally remembered who she was with as I was sitting down on the end stool next to her.

  “You going to introduce me to your friend?”

  Lauren looked at me and sighed. “Someone's jealous.”

  The man on the other side of her gave a quick chuckle. A primal force within me wanted to lash out and beat the man, but I didn't; spending the night in jail, or the hospital, didn't appeal to me.

  “I'm Peter.” The blond man extended his left hand across my wife's chest. I couldn't be sure, but it appeared he might have brushed against her breast. If he did, she gave no indication.

  “And I'm Roger.” It was awkward shaking hands since I'm right-handed. Lauren had to lean back a little so we didn't grope her.

  “Nice to meet you, Roger. You like the show?”

  “Huh.” My mind had wandered. Blood that had flooded my cock was slowly returning to my brain.

  “The concert. The one we just saw, honey.” My wife shook her head, wondering where mine was.

  “Regina Spektor. Yeah, yeah. It was great.”

  “Been a fan of hers for a while.” Peter pulled out the stool next to my wife and sat down. It looked like he was staying a while. I could have asked him to buzz off, that I wanted to spend time alone with my wife, and I would have if Lauren didn't continue to enjoy his presence. “I remember seeing her a few years ago at a tiny club in Dallas. Amazing how far she's come.”

  We spent the next hour or so getting to know Peter quite well. He was a hedge fund manager who worked out of an office in Trump Tower. He did Cross-Fit, only drank scotch that was at least 20 years old. Overall he seemed indistinguishable from all the other generic white guys roaming Manhattan, kings of the world with little empathy for anyone they deem lesser. And to top it off, Lauren seemed taken by him.

  He did most of the talking while we sat at the bar, sipping our beer and wine and whatever Peter was drinking. My wife's attention was focused squarely on our bar mate and he gave back as much attention as she gave. They weren't overtly flirting, like before, but I still felt like they wouldn't have noticed if I just up and left.