At the time I was 31 and a hair-on-fire hot shot high tech manager, leading a department full of other bright people, happily married, or at least I thought so, and living a full and rich life.
I never thought of parties as great fun and didn't especially like going to them anymore. This one was a little different. It was only for team members to celebrate finishing an important project. This team was small: there were a dozen of us, so Jack, one of the engineers in my group, decided he'd like to have it at his house. Jack had been divorced for three years; he was an easygoing and charming guy and making the most of being a bachelor. "Not married, but I'm going through the motions (wink wink)" was how he described his life style. His weekend parties were regular affairs: my wife Lois and I had attended some but stopped going about a half year ago. Besides, since I supervised these people maintaining a little distance socially was a good idea. Who wants to fire a friend?
The party was comfortable: we drank, talked, and were pleased with our accomplishments. Even though it was a Friday people began drifting off to their homes early. There wasn't enough drinking going on – most limited themselves to a couple of beers – for me to be concerned about their safety. Finally only Jack, Suzie and Marsha, both of whom were programmers, and I were left. Jack was in a quietly intense conversation with Suzie, and I was having a great time talking with Marsha, learning more about her as a person than I knew about most of the staff. She was married, no kids, a degree in German of all things, and trained in programming. She told me her husband was a bit of a nerd but a really good programmer. That, she explained, was why she understood computers far better than most people with as little experience as she had. There was more to this soft spoken and lovely woman than I realized.
And she learned about me. "Sounds like your life is centered around your work, and your wife's is centered around hers," she said.
I thought for a moment then nodded agreement. "Yeah, Lois and I are career driven."
"You should let your hair down more often; life is too short not to enjoy it."
I agreed. "It looks like you do that," I suggested.
"Pretty much," she said. "The bad news is, my husband is a lot like you. He's really career centered. Even if this party was for team members and their partners, I'd be here alone. What about you, would you be here alone, too?"
The fact was I would have been. Lois had been adamant in not coming to parties any more. "We've come to a few parties here, and Jack had been to our house a couple of times, but we stopped doing that a while ago."
"Too bad," Marsha said. "I guess I started coming about the time you stopped. There's a time for work and a time for play. My husband did come a few times, but he stopped too."
"Maybe I should come more often," I said, thinking I'd have met this charming woman in a relaxed social setting months sooner.
About then Jack, who was sitting across the living room, stood up, and held out his hand to Suzie.
"Tom, Suzie and I are going up to my room. We want some privacy, and if we're up there, you'll have privacy too. Just pull the door closed when you leave, OK? It'll lock by itself."
I was this naive: my mouth fell open as they went up the stairs.
Marsha smiled at my expression. "I guess Jack and Suzie don't think all work and no play is a good idea."
"Uh, I guess not," I said. My whole set of beliefs about Jack had just changed. I mean, Suzie worked for him! This could be big trouble.
"I guess you didn't see the chemistry going on between the two of them."
I confessed I did not.
"That's funny," Marsha said with a little smile on her face. "A little while ago, when I went to the bathroom Suzie was there and she asked if something was going on between you and me. She thought she saw some sparks looking at our body language. I sure knew something was going on between her and Jack: he can be the most charming and sexy man. . ."
"Oh? What did you say when she asked you about us? I mean, I like sitting here and talking with you, but I don't know about sparks or anything. I mean, we're each married and all that."
"Well," Marsha said, "I told Suzie you were being a perfect gentleman. . ."
"Thanks for saying that," I interrupted.
". . . but I had hopes that would change," she continued.
"Wh. . . wh. . .what?"
"Oh, come on, Tom. We're sitting here in a room that's really romantically lit, and I think you're a special guy, just as smart as anyone I've known, and I wondered what it would be like to kiss a man like you. I hoped you wouldn't be a perfect gentleman. Am I being too bold? I guess I shouldn't have said that, but it's the truth."
I was dumbstruck – this was all new to me.
Marsha saw my confusion and mistook it for rejection. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," she said.
"No, no," I started to say, but somehow when she heard my protest she moved toward me, and I toward her, and lips met.
Oh, they were so soft, so gentle, so wonderful.
And they opened, it wasn't just her lips against mine, there was a tongue there too, then two tongues and the intensity went way up, the kiss went from soft and sexy to straight passion, and somehow she turned so she was in my arms, almost sitting my lap. I hadn't kissed a woman like this except for my wife in years. But wait: I haven't kissed my wife like this for a long time, either.
This was wonderful. Why weren't kisses at home as good?
It was easy to kiss at her ear and hear her gasp, then kiss at her neck and feel her lift up against my lips. She was reacting to my kisses – that was new, it wasn't pro-forma, it was real! It was a human response to my clumsy kisses, a positive human response! I hadn't experienced that in it seemed like forever. One part of my mind was wondering just what Marsha meant about Jack being such a sexy charming man, then my intellect turned off and more basic instincts, on.
Our lips parted. "Your husband. . ." I started to say.
"He doesn't mind if I go out alone like this, it gives him time to do what he likes."
"He doesn't mind?"
My question wasn't answered right then, lips got in the way.
A while later she explained: "we agreed we could each do what we wanted, our marriage is just, well, convenient. But, he always asks me what I was doing when I'm out, I think he's a little bit of a voyeur."
"You tell him?"
"Yes, sure, I tell him: I don't sneak around behind his back, and besides, it excites him," she said. "But stop talking, kiss me again. I've kissed other men, but none were as exciting as you are."
So our lips met again, but one part of my brain was still considering what I just heard.
She tells him? It turns him on? I couldn't imagine telling my wife I was kissing another woman tonight, I couldn't do that in a million . . .
. . .but the kiss was too distracting for me to think about that now. I promised myself I'd think about it later, but for now . . . ah, the kiss, the kiss, I was lost in the kiss.
I was supporting her with one arm behind her back, my other one was on her waist.
Marsha was making small sounds, small delicious sounds, and probably so was I, and moments passed, those time warped moments, distorted moments.
"Oh, I love this," she said and as lost as I was in her kiss I felt her hand close on my wrist and move my hand. She moved it across her hip, then guided it across her groin, over her skirt up to her knee, and down along her lower leg until my palm was on skin. I had wanted to do that or something like it but didn't know how, and didn't want to face rejection, or have her feel compelled to let me do what I wanted because I supervised her direct boss. But it wasn't me, it was her, she was leading me! She moved somehow, and my fingers were on the inside of her leg, being moved upward to her knee, her skirt bunching around our wrists. She bridged a little, freeing up the full skirt just enough, and then helped me move my fingers over an incredibly soft and warm thigh, and closer, until I could feel moist heat as I cupped her there. I didn't understand what I was feeling, but loved every sensation, every part of me felt alive in a new way: lips were more than lips, fingers more than fingers, all were connected, all were filling me with new sensations.
Our lips parted, and Marsha moved a little more and her eyes opened, and looked into mine, and she moved closer.
"I love the way you're touching me, it's so sexy, so erotic."
I was having a problem with a weird idea. "You wouldn't tell your husband about this, would you?"
"I tell him everything," she said, and then her lips sealed against mine.
I was never in a place like this before, and didn't know what to do. It would be best to stop. She pulled me closer and was hand against her, pressing it into that warmth.
"Tom, I'm wearing a teddy," she said, both of her arms were around me now: my hand on her center didn't need guidance any more.
I took advantage of her closeness, wanting her lips against mine, not understanding what or why she was telling me about what she was wearing.
She pulled away from the kiss a little, and I saw that her pupils were as large as any I had seen, they were fully dilated. The intellectual side of me noted the room wasn't that dark, so that was most likely a pleasure response.
She whispered "It has snaps down there."
Our lips met again, and I could feel the snaps under my fingers.
Another moment passed and I heard her whisper, "Tom, it's OK, you can unsnap them if you want. I hope you want to, I want to feel you touch me. . ." It was instinctive: there were two little clicks as the garment opened, and then she said ". . . oh, like that!"
She arched against my hand and my fingers were in the softest and sexiest place they had even been, the most welcoming and warmest and lubricated place, and she was moving against me, her body against my fingers, and her lips against my lips.
