I did not expect her husband to approach me at the party. Sure, we knew each other a little, but it wasn’t the sort of conversation you ever really expect to happen. No matter how many times you fuck other men’s wives.
“I wish we had a fucking balcony,” he said, resting his glass of wine on the ledge. Twenty floors below us, Park Avenue, was eerily quiet.
“Better than a yard?” I asked, casually. Real Estate is always a safe topic in New York.
“Oh, definitely. Just look at the view! If we had a telescope, I imagine we’d catch a few glimpses of people getting into trouble. If you know what I mean.”
“Bit of a voyeur?” I asked innocently.
“Probably,” he said with a hint of a slur. “Don’t tell my wife. Although to be fair, I’d rather watch her, so what the fuck would she have to complain about anyway.”
I tried to mumble something as I looked out over the city, my martini too full for me to pretend I had to run back inside. Susan, the wife in question, was standing inside next to the piano looking decidedly striking. Was he hinting at something or just drunk and chatting? Some men liked to wear their fetishes on their sleeve, but I had to tread lightly — no need to ruin a good thing.
“Well, she is beautiful,” I said as politely as possible.
“Fuck, it’s not fair,” he said, covering his face with both hands. He took a few deep breaths like a diver getting ready to jump and then turned with me to peer over the ledge. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, right now, it’s you and Susan. Not here, obviously. In our apartment. On the couch.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” I said, wondering what the fuck he knew.
“Oh come on, don’t be an asshole. It’s not a big deal, just humor me for a moment. You saw her in there; she’s so hot I can’t believe half the party isn’t all over her.”
“She is hot,” I said as politely as possible.
“Fuck,” he said, wiping his face once more. “I really can’t get it out of my head. I’m picturing you bending her over the back of the sofa. Her dress around her waist as you push her panties down and fuck her hard. Tell me you want her.”
The desperation in his voice almost shocked me into admitting something. But while I was quickly beginning to assume he knew everything, I wasn’t ready to give in. Not all the way.
“As I said, she’s hot as hell. Of course, I’d like a piece of her.”
“Tell me more.”
“I don’t know man; this is awkward. Not to be a dick, but I don’t want to upset you.”
“Nothing you say will upset me. Unless you said you didn’t want her. What a fucking asshole I am. Jesus.”
I patted him on the back and took another sip of my drink. Another few sips and I’d have a ready-made excuse to get the heck out of there.
“It’s not a big deal. Lots of guys are into that. Trust me.”
“Just tell me a little? You don’t have to go into detail. I want to hear you say it. Fuck, I’m wasted, but I’m getting hard just thinking about it. Why the fuck is it so damn hot to think about?”
I took a deep breath, because what else could I do? She had spilled the beans, and he was obviously down with it. I polished off my drink and turned around so I could see her.
“Well, it was pretty amazing if I say so myself. She was desperate for it, no offense. But she invited me in after dinner, and just like you said, a few minutes later I had her over the couch, her panties around her ankles as I fucked her. Christ, I thought she’d at least make me wear a rubber, but your wife wanted all of it. Just the way it is, she told me.
“I don’t even know how long we fucked. I mean, I guess it was only a while on the couch but once we got to the bedroom? My God is she amazing.”
It wasn’t until I stopped that I realized his mouth was open. Both of us were staring at her so blatantly that she eventually noticed us and raised her glass in a toast. I smiled and shrugged, and there was a hint of a question from a raised eyebrow.
“Are you serious? Are you fucking serious?” He asked.
“What the heck do you mean? You told me to tell you the story. It’s not like you didn’t know it.”
“I wanted you to make something up, you asshole! Are you fucking kidding me? You fucked my wife? In my house?”
I looked at Susan, who was now slowly making her way towards the balcony and then back at her husband. His face was read, and his glass shook as he clutched it. Somewhere in the middle, I had seriously misread the situation, but how the fuck was I supposed to know? He told me he wanted to hear about me fucking his wife, so what should I have done?
“Darling, it’s getting chilly out here, and I think I’ve had too much to drink.”
My old acquaintance was still glaring at me as Susan took him by the arm. She hardly acknowledged that I was there, which wasn’t surprising in the least. He looked at me as he trembled, finally allowing her to lead him inside. One glance over his shoulder and all I could do was shrug. What the hell did the bastard expect?
The bartender refilled my drink before I wandered the through the party, the thought of light conversation a pleasant although boring diversion. I guess I fucked that one up, but that’s how it goes these days, even for a guy like him, who clearly loved the idea in theory.
I stepped out onto the balcony an hour or two later to have a cigarette when my phone went off. I took a long drag before bothering to check it, and the cool night air was delicious. Placing my martini on the stone railing, I finally checked my message.
“Thanks, darling,” she wrote. “My husband just fucked me harder than he has in years. See you soon. xoxo.”