It was on our 25th anniversary holiday that the words, "He is the one, Frank," were uttered by my wife, Ann. My stomach flipped in an instant because it had been almost four years since I had made a bargain with Ann, and it would be on this trip that Ann would finally play her chip.
It began a few months after our twentieth anniversary. Ann seemed quiet and distant. Our only son had left for college, and we were newly empty nesters. I tried a few times to get Ann to tell me what was on her mind, yet she denied that there was anything serious.
Our marriage had been a good one. Ann was nineteen and a virgin when we married; I was twenty-four and had experienced a few relationships before we met. Our wedding night was consummated wonderfully, and Ann was happy that she had saved herself for the man of her dreams. Just imagine your wife telling you that on your wedding night.
With Ann's fortieth birthday a few months away, she became even more withdrawn, working more hours at the office than she had in years. While I was worried that something might be going on at work, I did not push the issue with Ann. I remembered how, when I was nearing my fortieth birthday, I had decided that I too often had put my needs after Ann and our son, Derek, who was going into high school at the time.
I had saved far more than Derek would need for college, and decided that a classic 1970 Ford Thunderbird in the driveway was the answer to my midlife crisis. I was now thinking that Ann might be going through something similar, but I decided I would have to wait for her to tell me at the right time. I did not have to wait very long.
It was the third night in the same week that Ann had stayed late at work, until almost eight o'clock. I was in the family room when I heard the front door open, and I had been brooding as to whether to complain to my wife about her behavior. I got up and walked down the hall to greet Ann, but as our eyes met, I was surprised that hers were full of tears.
Ann's arms reached up and around my neck, and I drew her into me, asking, "What's wrong, Annie?" That only caused her to cry even louder, with Ann's tears spilling down my shirt as I comforted her. It took a couple of minutes before Ann could compose herself enough to tell me her story.
"I've done something terrible," she blubbered in between sobs. I felt faint; the muscles in my calves and thighs barely kept my knees from buckling. I almost blurted out the question needed to be asked. Was this the beginning of the end of our marriage?
"Let's sit," I offered, wanting to be supported in the event that things were as I feared. I led us to the sofa, our knees touching and her hand in mine. I spoke softly, "We can get through anything. Just tell me."
I listened as my wife explained that she was going through a period of self-doubt, feeling old, and losing her attractiveness. Ann had naturally gained some weight after Derek was born, and over the years, a few more pounds filled her hips out nicely. I love a woman with some meat on her bones, and Ann's DD cups and flared hips only accentuate her beauty.
"I have felt so ugly. I know you tell me that you think I am beautiful, but look at me. I feel so fat." Ann is 5' 3" and probably a hundred and seventy pounds, but she truly is well proportioned and gorgeous.
"Don't be silly," I countered. "I love you just as you are." These words only brought out more sobs. "Just tell me what is going on."
Ann said that an older guy from work had been paying attention to her, and that the attention he gave her was messing her up. "Did you?" I asked, dreading the worst.
"Oh, no!" Ann's head shook side to side, realizing my overreaction. "No, it's just been an emotional kind of thing. I feel horrible because it felt so good to get his attention, and then I would come home and feel shame. He asked me to sleep with him tonight, and I told him no and came straight home."
I pulled Ann into me and kissed her. "As long as you always come home," I said. Annie's relief was tangible. "Now, how about we go upstairs?" I offered. Her eyes brightened immediately, she wiped away her tears, and we went to bed and had great sex!
As we lay there cuddling post-coital, I asked Ann, "So do you still want to fuck the old guy... what's his name?"
Ann shook her head. "Why would I do that? I have you. Besides, I think some people have already been whispering about Ricardo and me."
"Ricardo, eh? A hot Latino daddy?" I laughed while Ann assessed who I was making fun of--her or my own joke.
"Oh, stop it, Frank. But, yes, he has a sweet accent and a little gray around his temples."
"Okay, so Rrrrrricardoooo is out." Ann playfully slapped my shoulder for rolling the 'r' in Ricardo and singing the rest of his name. "So, is there anyone else who you fancy having raw sex with?"
"No. Not at all. Just you, Frank."
"Well, I would understand if you fantasize about other men. After all, I was with a number of women before I met you. Does that make me any less desirable? I mean, it's just sex. It's not like you would be cheating on me. Not if you were totally upfront about it."
Ann sat still and added, "So, you are telling me that I could choose any guy and you would be okay with me sleeping with him?"
"Why not? I know you will come home to me, so yes, I would be okay with that."
Ann shook her head and said, "You are one special guy. I am way too jealous to offer you the same thing."
"That is my point, I said. "I've been with others. I know that you are enough for me. You haven't been with other guys, so..."
"So all I have to do," began Ann, until I interrupted her and finished her sentence.
"So all you have to do is point to some guy and say, 'He's the one. I want him.'"
"Really? And then I could sleep with him?"
"Sure! I would even help you do it if you needed me to. I think that sowing those wild oats would be a good thing for you."
"Hmmm" was Ann's only reply, and then she got out of bed and said that she was going to get cleaned up. Our conversation was done, and for the next nearly four years, Ann rebounded emotionally, which made our bond even stronger, and the subject was never again brought up.
* * *
And so, three days ago, when we boarded our luxury Danube river cruise ship, Ann and I were introduced to our butler, Xavier. Each couple on the ship is assigned a butler to bring food or drinks, arrange laundering, or supply forgotten toiletries - whatever they might need. Xavier is a tall, slight, but handsome man, fifty-ish, with salt and pepper hair, tanned skin, and coffee brown eyes.
Xavier carried our luggage to our balcony suite, showed us around, and left a number for us to dial any time we needed something between six a.m. and midnight. He was polite and gracious, and he bowed slightly when he left our room.
The cruise line knew we were celebrating an anniversary on the first night. Xavier told us after lunch that he had arranged a special seating for us with the ship's captain, which is an honor not given to every guest. I thanked him for that, and then Xavier said to Ann with a laugh, "Be careful of the captain though. He can be a bit of a scoundrel."
We dined with Captain George in a smaller dining area, which only made the dinner more special. He did regale Ann and me with a few stories from his days piloting the larger cruise ships. It seems that nothing too exciting occurs on the river cruisers. None the less, our first dinner on board was quite enjoyable.
The next morning at breakfast, Xavier inquired which anniversary we were celebrating and congratulated us on 25 years. Ann asked him if he was married as well. "I was, but no longer," he answered, with a hint of a smile. Ann seemed pleased at Xavier's reply. He asked if we were taking the bus tour to a local winery at our first stop, but we had opted to just explore the local culture by walking into town for the day. Xavier recommended a few must-see shops.
Our river cruiser docked just before noon, so Ann and I strolled along the cobblestone streets of a small eastern European town, hand in hand. Ann looked very happy, and told me, "This is such a beautiful way to vacation, Frank."
"I know. Everything is so rustic and quiet, and the buildings are all hundreds of years old." We dipped into a few shops and found a bistro for lunch. Then, Ann and I made our way back to the ship in time for a drink before supper.
Xavier came out of nowhere as we boarded, and had two glasses of our favorite wine in hand. "Impressive," I commented as he handed us our drinks.
"Thank you, Xavier," added Ann, blushing at his broad smile.
He offered, "I am here for your pleasure, ma'am." With that, he nodded and left us on the deck to enjoy our beverage.
While I had noticed his gentlemanly gestures, like pulling out Ann's chair at every meal and bringing a rose to adorn our dinner table, I had also recognized how smitten Ann was becoming with Xavier. I expect that keeping a wife happy is the best way to have a couple return to your cruise company. Even so, I did not think anything of Xavier until that evening.
We were dining and had just finished the delicious Caesar salad that would set our appetites for the main course--a local favorite--stuffed cabbage. I wore a grey polo shirt and dress pants, while Ann wore my favorite outfit--a black mini skirt that always has her tugging the hem down so as not to show off her goods. Her white chiffon blouse left little to the imagination; Ann's breasts billowed over the two top undone buttons. Her thick, large nipples made bullet-like bumps through the nearly shear bra and blouse.
"I love that dress, Annie! You look spectacular tonight."
"I know you do, Frank. Thank you," replied Ann, shyly.
That was when Ann leaned toward me, showing off her ample cleavage, and said, "That's him, Frank."
I did not understand the reference at first. "Him?" I asked, looking around the dining area to figure out who she was referring to. "Who?"
Ann glided her cheek against mine and whispered into my ear. "Xavier." I didn't get it, and after leaning back to examine my curious look, Ann once again approached my ear. She playfully nibbled on it and added, "Xavier. He is the one! I love his charming accent, and he is so sweet."
As Ann leaned back, my right hand reached around the back of her head so that I could pull her in for a long kiss. When we parted, Ann looked again to read my face, but I was way ahead of her. "I will ask," I said, standing and turning toward Xavier. My heart pounded aloud as I neared our butler.
"Yes, Mr. Jones?" Xavier stood at attention as I approached, so as to be ready to respond to my query.
"Can we speak over here?" Xavier walked beside me as we made our way to a quiet place just outside the dining area.
