Wear Blue, He Texted

My phone buzzed at precisely 8:00 Monday morning with a message:  <<11a tomorrow. 28 e 63.>>

Not recognizing the number, I nearly deleted it, thinking it was a wayward text meant for someone else. My morning had already been hectic, dropping my husband at the train station and my daughter at school before coming home to a moment of quiet and a cup of tea before I delved into my writing and proofreading projects for the day. My mind quickly moved on to other things.

About half an hour later, however, my mind wandered back to the message. I googled the address, making the assumption it was in the city, and discovered it was The Lowell, one of the most expensive hotels in New York.

“Could it be?” I wondered. Brian had told me he wouldn’t be able to stand it until he had me in his arms again, but I wasn’t sure I believed him. Sex with Brian had been amazing—rushed and unromantic, to be sure—but thrilling and satisfying nonetheless. Yet, once I had come down from the high of our tryst, I figured he would also come to his senses and see that pursuing an affair with his law partner’s wife while still married himself was a dangerous idea.

Now I was curious, though. Nervously I typed, <<b?>>, and hit send.

Almost instantaneously came the reply:  <<what took you so long?>>

I paused, trying to think of an appropriate response when another message flashed:  <<tomorrow. find a way.>>

I had so many questions. How had he gotten my phone number? I assumed he hadn’t just walked up to my husband this morning, clapped him on the back, and said, “Hey, Rich! I fucked your wife in a broom closet on Saturday while you were getting shitfaced at the Arts Gala. Can I have her number so I can do it again?”

More important, though:  Where was I supposed to meet him? The lobby? The bar? And, were we really going to do this, potentially scuttling two marriages in the process? Or was he just planning to let me down easy, in a fancy, public place so I wouldn’t make a scene?

I typed, <<b?>>.

Nothing.

A few minutes later, I typed, <<b?>>, again.

Brian had fallen silent.

I spent the rest of the day attempting to do my work but honestly getting nothing accomplished except fretting about Brian and what he wanted, or didn’t want, from me. I also spent a lot of time thinking about how I had gotten myself into this mess.

I had loved him at the start, but I was married to Rich in name only at this point. He still provided for us, and I took care of everything else, but what desire there had been was long gone. Unlike many couples in rocky situations, we weren’t even invested enough in each other to fight about what had gone wrong. Rich simply came home late, ate dinner, turned on the tv, and downed as much whiskey as he could before passing out. I did my best to ignore him while shielding our daughter from the fact that her father was slowly drinking himself to death.

Rich rarely tried to have sex with me anymore, and was generally unsuccessful in completing the act when he did. Starved for affection, I had even recently paid a “companion,” Sean, to come to the house and give me a good lay, which he most earth-shatteringly did. Before Sean, I might have been content to just serve out my time with Rich—he wasn’t abusive, after all—but now, I wanted more from a man than a business arrangement.

Still, I didn’t know what I wanted from Brian. It had been enormously gratifying to discover that someone desired me—deeply, carnally—if only for a single, illicit act. But, I didn’t know if I wanted to start something with him, and be subject to all of the emotions attached, or if I just wanted someone I could use for a good, hard fucking whenever I got desperate for one.

I pushed my thoughts to the back of my mind as I started dinner. My daughter arrived home on the bus, did her homework, artfully dodged my questions during our meal, and then disappeared into her room. Rich texted that he would get a ride from the train station with a friend who was also working late. I waited several hours before giving up, cleaning the kitchen, and putting his food in the fridge with reheating instructions. Then I went upstairs to bed.

I had yet to decide what to do about Brian, when my phone buzzed again. The message simply read:  <<Blue>>.

<<?>>, I typed.

<<Wear blue>>.

“WTF,” I thought to myself. It was late, I was tired, and I was beginning to get annoyed at Brian’s cryptic, commanding texts. I was also weary of thinking about our situation. I responded, <<I’ll be there if I want to be, wearing whatever I please.>> Then I turned off my phone, and turned over to go to sleep.

I didn’t invite thoughts of Brian into bed with me that night, but they found their way in anyway. The look on his face when I intimated I wanted him. How hard he had gotten as proof he wanted me. The raw neediness of the sex. And his voice, warm and gentle, when he told me he wanted to see me again. Maybe the terseness of his texts simply reflected a man unaccustomed to cheating, afraid to express his true desires for fear of rejection—or discovery. I decided I would go and meet him the next day and quit worrying about what happened next.

I don’t remember much of the next morning. I know I went through the motions I go through every day of getting my husband and daughter off to work and school respectively. I know I dithered an insane amount over what to wear and how to do my hair. I decided to wear a dress—blue, after all—and heels, pulling my hair up into a twist. Better to look like a respectable member of society if I was meeting Brian at The Lowell than to arrive in my standard t-shirt and jeans.

I took the 9:30 train into the city, then the subway from Grand Central to the Upper East Side, arriving outside the hotel a little before 11. I was steeling my nerves to face whatever was ahead of me when my phone buzzed in my bag. <<14B>>, it read. This was starting to get spooky. Was Brian watching me? Did he have someone else watching me?

The doorman held the door open for me, and I walked, as confidently as I could, toward the elevators. When the elevator door opened to the lobby, I got on and pressed the appropriate number. A few moments later, I was on the 14th floor. “Still time to turn back,” I thought, as I looked around me. The Lowell had only a handful of rooms, so it didn’t take me long to find 14B.

Swallowing hard, I knocked gently. A moment of panic flashed through me, “What if I’ve been completely wrong about this whole thing? Whose room is this really?” before Brian opened the door. We stared at each other for a few seconds before he took me by the hand and led me inside the suite, closing the door behind us.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come until I actually heard the knock,” he said shyly.

I looked around my opulent, yet somehow intimate, surroundings. There was a small kitchen to the right of the entry hall, but what really caught my attention was the terrace that opened off of it. Ahead of me was the living area—a real, working fireplace at its focal point—leading to another, larger terrace. It was too warm arm for a fire, but Brian had lit an array of candles in the fireplace, and a bottle of champagne was chilling next to it. Vases of pale pink, nearly white, roses stood everywhere. There was no question now of his intentions for our meeting. He had meant it when he said he wanted to make love to me.

I had never been pursued like this before. The suite had to cost in the thousands, the flowers and champagne several hundred more. Brian was clearly making up for the janitor’s closet in a big way. But why the intrigue?

“Brian, I…I don’t know what to say,” I began.

“I overdid it, didn’t I? I’m sorry, Meghann, it’s just that when I thought about what happened the other night, I wanted to make it right. To show you how I really feel about you.”

“Well, this is certainly an upgrade, but why so cryptic? I feel like I’m on a spy mission.”

He sighed. “I have a confession to make. I have no idea what I’m doing. I went to H.R. and made up some pretense about needing your cell. I’ve never cheated on Sherry before. I wouldn’t be cheating on her now, even though I know she’s going to leave me, if you hadn’t approached me the other night.”

“So you’re going to blame your adultery on me? Nice.”

“No! I mean, yes...but only because I’ve wanted you for years. You have to have to have known that, right?”

I was stunned. I knew Brian and I had a connection, laughing at the same humor, sharing the same interests, and shooting each other looks at firm gatherings over the ridiculousness of it all, but I had never suspected he found me attractive.

When I didn’t respond, he continued, “Well, I have. I’ve fantasized about being with you almost as long as we’ve known each other. Then the other night, when I saw you looking like you did, and giving me hints that maybe, maybe you were willing, something inside of me snapped. I had to have you. And I was too rough. And I’m sorry.” Brian looked miserable.
 
“Brian.”

“Yes?” He looked afraid to hear what I might say next.

“I like it rough.” I smiled, and moved in to kiss him. “Not all the time, though. Sometimes I like it slow and sweet.” I kissed him again.

“Like now?” He put his hands around my waist, and pulled me in tight.

“Like now,” I whispered.
 
His mouth was tender on mine, kissing me gently before he tentatively felt between my lips with his tongue for permission to go farther. One hand slid slowly up my back, coming to cradle the back of my head, while the other wandered the other direction, stroking my backside, and pressing me close against his swelling groin.

I opened my mouth to him, enjoying the sensations his probing tongue was causing elsewhere in my body. “You wore blue,” he said as he started fumbling with the zipper on the back of my dress, “You look so beautiful in blue.”

I reached back and undid the hook and eye holding the neck of my dress closed. “That should make it easier for you,” I breathed into his ear, before using my teeth to nip at his earlobe. I felt his erection surge between us, so I did it again. “Oh, Meg,” he sighed.

Although he had removed his suit jacket, Brian was otherwise still dressed as the Manhattan attorney he was. I began working to loosen, then remove his tie so I could get him out of his dress shirt. Owing to the location and swiftness of our first transgression, we hadn’t undressed each other, and I was looking forward to finally seeing Brian naked, knowing his lean, muscled body awaited me under his clothes.

He was having similar thoughts, it seemed. His hips pushed against me as he slowly pulled my zipper down and then ran his hands up my bare back, pausing to unclasp my bra. He eased my dress off of my shoulders and down my body to the floor, then teased his fingers under the cups of my bra to caress my breasts. The straps fell away loosely from my arms, and I slid them off entirely, leaving me completely exposed from the waist up. I awaited his reaction to my small breasts, hoping he wasn’t disappointed, but I needn’t have worried. “Perfect,” he said, breathing in deeply and bending his head to kiss one while playing his fingers over the other, then reversing his tactics. I let out a little gasp as he took a nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the bud until it rose, then sucking until I let out a low moan. I reached back and removed the pins that held my hair in place, shaking out my curls as they fell around my face.

Not content to be the only one topless, I worked at the buttons on Brian’s shirt, then released his cuff links, placing them carefully on the coffee table. He shrugged it off, then reached down, untucked his undershirt, and pulled it off over his head. “Jesus,” I said, running my hands through his hair, smoothing it back into place, then down to his chest and over his pecs and abdominal muscles. I knew he was athletic, but he was in far better shape than any man of nearly fifty had a right to be.

“Something wrong?” Brian looked amused.

“Definitely not.”

We kissed and fondled each other like a pair of teenagers delighted to discover the pleasures of the human body for the first time. He caressed my pussy through my panties before finally removing my underwear and stroking my clit with his thumb while his fingers worked their way inside me. I traced the outline of his cock from base to tip and back again from the outside of his suit pants.

It felt so good to explore and appreciate each other that we remained rooted in place in the living room for what seemed an eternity. Eventually though, we both knew it was time. As I worked to unfasten his belt, he stopped me, saying, “Patience, Meg. Let’s move this into the bedroom, shall we?”

He picked me up easily, and carried me to the bedroom. Its focal point was an overstuffed king-sized bed, made up in luxurious linens that had been turned down as if anticipating our lovemaking. It also contained even more vases of the pale pink roses that filled the rest of the suite. Brian laid me on the bed, then ran a hand down the inside of each of my thighs, gently spreading them as he moved himself between my legs and leaned over me. “Now you can take my pants off.”

I sat up, and resumed unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants over his swollen member. I pushed his trousers down, and he stepped out of them. His prick pulsed as I slid my hands under the band of his boxer briefs, one hand cradling his balls while the other circled his shaft, and began to stroke. Brian moaned with pleasure and freed himself of his shorts so we were both finally totally naked. “There are so many things I want to do with you right now, I don’t know where to begin,” he said.

“Is one of them this?” I asked, sliding off the bed and onto my knees. Beginning at the base, I ran my tongue up one side of his cock and down the other, making it twitch and jump under my lips. I slid my tongue up again, and kissed away the first drop of moisture that had appeared at the tip. I slowly circled the head, relishing his hardness in my mouth, as Brian twisted his fingers in my hair.

“God, yes,” he said hungrily, “but if I don’t stop you, that’s all we’ll get to, and I want so much more. I want to make love to you, Meg, the way I should have the other night.” He pulled me up, and eased me back onto the bed, this time dipping his head and kissing me on each thigh before licking my pussy, circling my clit with his tongue. I shuddered, nearly coming just from the sudden and unexpected stimulation. “Two can play at that game, you know,” he said with a grin.

Needing him desperately, I pulled Brian down on top of me, lifting my hips off the bed, while reaching for his prick and trying to direct him where I wanted him. I felt like a heroine in a romance novel, suddenly understanding there was truth behind flowery phrases like “burning with desire” and “consumed by passion.” But Brian was determined to take it slow. “No, no, no,” he said. “I think you need to wait a little longer.”

By now, he was fully, solidly engorged, but he continued teasing us both by running his erection up and down my thighs and between the folds of my pussy, nudging my clit, and coming maddeningly close to slipping inside of me before moving away again. I was throbbing and slick with desire, aching for my softness to be penetrated by his hardness.

Finally, when neither of us could take any more, he reached over to the bedside table, opened the drawer, and pulled out a condom. He really had thought of everything. We hadn’t had one available the first time, but I doubted Brian had anything I needed to concern myself with. I was more worried about getting pregnant, far-fetched as that might be at my age, and I was grateful he had thought ahead.

“Guide me,” he whispered when he had finished rolling on the condom.

I couldn’t help smiling, “I think you remember the way.”

“Show me again.”

I reached my hand out to grasp him, and tilting my hips upward, slid the tip of his cock into me. I contracted my muscles to give him a little welcoming squeeze.

He drew in his breath sharply. “That’s right. Now I remember.” Still standing at the edge of the bed, he drew back slightly, then plunged deeply into me, causing me to cry out. I tried to keep myself from moving, but his thrusts were too powerful, and I kept shifting backward on the bed.

Changing tactics, Brian put his arms around me and pulled me to him. Sitting upright on his prick, breasts pressed against his chest, I was able to use the bed frame for leverage and slide myself down around him as he stroked upward into me.

I wanted to stay like that, willingly impaled, moving in harmony, but it wasn’t long before my climax was imminent. Brian thrust, and instead of releasing him, I clenched myself around his shaft, quivering and contracting as my orgasm rolled through me, taking my breath away. Brian waited until I was finished, then eased me back onto the bed and resumed his rhythm, driving deeper and deeper into me, before allowing himself to come. Exhausted, he withdrew his cock, discarded the condom, and collapsed next to me on the bed.

We remained in each other’s arms, quietly kissing for quite some time. “You don’t mind, do you?” Brian finally said.

“Hmm? Mind what?”

“I’m sorry. I guess I was carrying on that conversation inside my head. I was just thinking that I’m kind of a traditional guy, and I wanted you beneath me our first time…and I hoped you didn’t mind.”

“But it wasn’t our first time.”

“It’s how I want to remember it. The first time we made love. Romantic. Unhurried.” Brian reached out and took a rose from one of the vases near the bed and touched lightly it to my mouth. “Taking the time to worship your lips,” he said, drawing the rose sensually down my body, reciting a litany of the places he touched, “and your breasts, and your hips, and your thighs, and especially what lies between…”

I felt him start to harden again. “Impressive for a man your age,” I teased.

Brian blushed, “I confess there may be a little blue pill involved.”

“You certainly didn’t need one the other night.”

“No, I’m generally good to go once, but my turn around time isn’t what it used to be. I wanted to be ready for another round if you were. Um…are you?” he asked, hopefully.

“I could be persuaded.” I winked, and threw my leg over him. “I get to be on top this time, though.”

“I was hoping you’d suggest that.”

Brian and I made love again, then reluctantly acknowledged we needed to part so I could get home before my daughter. As he walked me to the door of the suite, I had one nagging question I needed to have answered. “How did you know when I would be outside the hotel?”

“I looked up the train schedule.”

“But that just let you know when I’d get to Grand Central. How’d you know when I’d get here?”

“I figured you’d take the subway.”

“Because I’m cheap?”

“Because you’ve always been cautious—your behavior at the gala on Saturday notwithstanding. I knew you’d take the least traceable route.”

He was right. I had considered all of the ways to get to the city that day and had decided public transportation, paid for in cash, was the most incognito way to go. Rich had been married to me for more than 20 years, and he never would have been able to discern my thought process.

“Are we starting an affair?” I asked, lingering over a kiss on the way out.

“I think so, but I’d rather call this a prelude to a relationship.”  

 

 








 

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