I was sprawled out on my king-size bed when wakefulness came to me through the sounds of chirping birds outside, and the lazy haze of the morning sun peeking between the houses on the far end of the street and into my bedroom window. I stretched out like the poshest of cats, enjoying the rumbling of my muscles deep in my body. Reaching my hand out to my nightstand, I grabbed my tablet and checked the time... 7:13.
Ugh, too early...
My eyes adjusted to the light and I peeked over to the upholstered bench far side of the bedroom; the suitcase my husband was packing the night before was now gone; he left to catch the early morning flight.
That's when a wonderful realization came to me: it was Saturday, and I had the whole weekend to myself. No responsibilities, no appointments, just me alone in a big house in Chelsea.
What am I going to do with myself all day?
My husband had gone to Paris for the weekend — "on business", or so was his cover story. I knew about his mistress, the one he supported every month in a pricey flat with a view of the Champs-Élysées. I didn't mind that he kept a lover on the side, since my relationship with him was purely formal; a marriage arranged by our parents in the old country. We made a good match financially, I guess, though we never built any sort of affection for one another. In fact, all we really ever did together was keep up appearances for the sake of Society.
But these appearances — shallow as they were — had to be kept; neither one of us wanted to manage the scandal of a divorce. So I pretended that I didn't know about his affairs, and I kept my own dalliances out of his sight.
And I had a lot of dalliances.
But my husband wasn't here now, and I felt a surge of excitement. I threw off the covers and dashed to my shoe closet, where I had hidden my throwaway mobile phone: the one not registered in my name, not linked to any email address I normally use, locked with a long string of numbers only I knew, and with the sort of Hello Kitty phone cover that my absent-minded best friend tends to favour, bless her heart. I flipped it open: and tapped my fingers impatiently as it powered on and connected to the network. I saw one new message waiting for me, perfect! It was from Kenji, sent two days ago. Just the thought of him made my tummy somersault. Kenji always knew how to make me laugh. Among other things.
I plopped back down on my bed, crossed my legs, and opened the message. It was a picture of his toned torso, and a hand gripped around his erect cock. Most of his face was outside the frame, his lips were in a sly smirk as he snapped this picture in the mirror. It was one of many naughty pics he'd sent me, and I had catalogued them all.
Kenji: My little friend wants to say hi
I couldn't help but giggle at the caption.
Me: Bring your friend over today, I'd love to give him a proper hello
I chuckled as I pressed Send, relishing the butterflies in my tummy. I took a moment to look through the pictures Kenji had sent to me over the course of our affair (side note: he was so, so cute the first time he asked if it would be all right to send a dick pic!). In each photo he was lithe, with smooth fair skin and spiky black hair that appeared naturally effortless at first but that was actually styled painstakingly each morning (I know, I've seen his routine). I loved running my fingers through it, messing it up, and pulling at it as thrusted into me with that classic look of tortured ecstasy.
Kenji was very expressive, but what really got me about him was his smile. In photo after photo, he always had the prettiest smiles, from toothy grins, to sly smirks, to full ear to ear beams.
The phone buzzed in my hand.
Kenji: Are you alone?
That was fast! I expected him to be asleep at this early hour.
I held off on replying as I browsed through more pictures, coming across one of my favourites: we had taken a post-sex bedroom selfie together, his hand around my hips pulling me close as he kissed me on the cheek. My skin was shiny and golden brown, my dark hair cascaded down to my lower back, and sweat glistened across my body. That one made me bite my lip, as I was suddenly reminded of the intoxicating scent he wore, and the musk of his manhood.
Me: Husband is away for the weekend, so I've got the whole house to myself. Just let yourself in and come find me.
Kenji: <3 <3 I'll be over in twenty. <3 <3
I dashed out of my bed for the shower, hastening to get ready for him. I emerged some time later, feeling refreshed and wearing nothing but my navy blue bathrobe. I ran down the stairs, my footsteps echoing in the empty house, unlocked the front door, then returned to my room to straighten the bed, arrange the pillows, and lay comfortably against them.
My heart was pounding as soon enough I heard the sound of a car enter the driveway, followed by my front door opening and closing. My breath caught and I tried to steady it. I was already wet from the anticipation of him. I unfastened my robe and let the soft fabric part across my naked body, while posing my hand behind my head, which felt a bit over the top - a bit Playboy centerfold, I admit, but I knew Kenji would love it.
