She decided to play it cool. After all, it was rare to have this time away from the children; why spend those precious moments arguing?
"It's okay, I'll get over it. I'm sure you can find a way to make it up to me."
She said this with a light wink in her voice -- thinking that would get Hugh out of the corporate office and over to the hotel lounge just that much quicker. Maybe they'd still have time to have a couple of drinks together before the concert started. She had just about salvaged the situation in her mind when Hugh ruined it again.
"So, yeah.. that's just it. I'll have to make it up to you later tonight. In bed."
The wink in his voice landed like a lead balloon. He may have been shooting for "cool and alluring paramour" but he landed on "expectant and horny spouse". Mary found herself moving past pissed off and hurt to quietly enraged as she listened to him drone on.
"You see, the VP for Operations -- you know, that Tom guy I was telling you about on the plane? -- kind of an asshole, but he holds a lot of sway around here, and it turns out he's going out drinking with the gang tonight. You know I just can't miss this opportunity to present the ideas I've been working on for meshing production and logistics. Okay? Now, I know this is probably going to piss you off, but you have to understand that this is the whole reason we're on this trip in the first place. Right, sweetie? Sweetie?"
She was debating whether to go with Plan A: "Hang up, go up to the room, find a chick flick on the TV and pout" or Plan B: "Launch in to a full-on tirade, unloading the last six months worth of accumulated demerits right then and there" when an inspiration hit. Plan C: "Ah, that's OK, honey. There is plenty to keep me occupied here."
"Oh, ok.. great." Was he really going to get off that easily? "Well, I'll um.. see you later then. I'll try not to be too late, sweetie." Two or three beats and the barb hooked. "Wait, what do you mean, 'plenty to keep you occupied?'" At that point, she quietly ended the call, a slightly self-satisfied smile on her face.
What did she mean, actually? Was there anything behind her improvised baiting? She didn't know herself. "Well, whatever.. that will teach him to blow me off when I'm ovulating" she laughed to herself.
But come to think of it, she did happen to be swimming in a pond full of decent looking guys at the moment. The couple were staying at a nice, somewhat hip downtown hotel, and the lounge crowd was definitely a step up from the pudgy population of washed-out white-collar wage slaves that she was used to seeing the few other times she'd tagged along on one of Hugh's business trips. Instead, around her were seated attractive, nicely dressed, interesting men -- and as always, it was mostly men who were hanging out in the bar later at night -- most of whom looked like they could hold up their end of a conversation. A lot of the guys there were slightly older. Late forties, early fifties, fit. Some sort of upscale professional conference must be in town, she mused. Probably that Sustainable Urban Planning thing she'd seen on the convention centre marquee.
And they didn't seem like the typical corporate types either; those men's men who had an eerie way of making her feel like she was little more than a vagina with a pretty face. Actually, some of the guys in the place looked so cute that she wouldn't mind if they were thinking about her vagina while making small talk, she giggled to herself. "Hell, maybe I'd even show that guy the whole package, and ask him his opinion!"
At this point she realized that this line of thought was a sure sign that she'd had two vodka tonics too many. She was hardly that kind of woman and this mental exercise lay clearly in the finger-fantasy realm. Probably time to initiate Plan A -- with a bit of digital self-stimulation thrown in and a lot less pouting. And yeah, she'd find a way to have Hughmake it up to her, and she'd already begun thinking of how to give him less than he was hoping for in return. Much less. One way or another, payback was going to be a bitch.
Still, she wasn't quite ready for bed -- even if the idea of touching herself was tugging at her elbow a bit -- so why not work out the details of this Plan C a bit? Just as a little thought experiment to get the juices flowing? The thing is, she had noticed that more than a couple of the better looking guys kept glancing vaguely in her direction. In particular, one guy's glances had been a bit more frequent and more than a bit clumsier than the others. He had wavy salt and pepper hair and was wearing a bold rep tie with a beautiful pale grey suit. But it was where he was glancing that may have subtly initiated her current train of thought. She was seated at one of the high tables near the bar and while most of the cast of imaginary suitors had the grace to point their glances in the general direction of her face with perhaps an occasional furtive look at her breasts -- which were not jaw-dropping orbs of middle-manager lust in any case -- this one guy's eyes kept traveling lower. To her bare knees, calves, and presumably what little his fully-activated optic nerves could register of her outer thighs.
She'd dressed for a nice night on the town. A white sheer tank under a dark red tunic, a somewhat gauzy black skirt with slip, and elegant low-heeled pumps. Underneath that, a simple comfortable bra and rather conventional, if low-cut, pair of white cotton panties. Just the kind of panties that many men -- her husband included -- inexplicably found so sexy.
As she did a self-inventory, she considered how her skirt was just the right length to cover most of her thighs, yet had just enough shape to create a perfect tent if she held her knees apart. And then she realized why the man kept stealing glances at her waist line. He was hoping to get a look at a bit more than her knees!
In fact.. hmm.. based on his dedication to continued observation, maybe he already had gotten a decent glance. It was a little awkward getting in to that high stool, and come to think of it, she had had to spread her legs a bit when she wiggled onto it. But a glance at what? Her inner thighs? Could men really be that easy to please?
What was she thinking? Of course men were that easy to please! She ought to know -- she'd married one.
And maybe her admirer -- she decided she'd call him Mr. X -- had seen more than that; the holy grail, a little flash of white? The lights weren't as low in here and the bar wasn't as cave like as many of these places were, and you could see into the shadows under other tables. And she was seated higher, putting her hips not quite at eye level for Mr. X lounging on the couch not five meters away.
She interrupted herself, almost startled at this rather surprising train of thought. She was impressed by how much energy she was putting into the line of thinking; how much she was beginning to enjoy herself. She even felt a stir of awakening beneath the soft material of the target garment; that subtle push of her outer lips against the close-fitting fabric. Pretty face, indeed, she smiled inwardly. And felt herself almost subconsciously open her legs, letting an innocuous little gap form between them.
_ Chapter 2: The Opportunity Assessment_
Mary sat at the small table by the bar in the hotel lounge, reflecting on what she had just done. She felt almost blind-sided by the strength of her mental and physical reaction to this one little action, given what a simple physical gesture it was. She'd simply spread her legs apart by little more than a hand width.
In fact, her not-quite-as-discrete-as-he-imagined admirer could not be getting much benefit from her not-at-all-indecent exposure. Yes, from his seat on the nearby couch Mr. X was at the perfect relative vertical position to see up her skirt as she perched on the bar chair. And he did have the advantage of being able to pretend to be looking at a nearby TV, as though he had suddenly taken a serious interest in championship curling. And there was no doubt that the frequency of his now less and less occasional glances had increased after that innocent little gap had formed between her knees.
But given the direction her legs were pointed she was confident that her private assets were shielded from his wandering eyes. The most her observer could see from his vantage point was an oblique segment of her inner thigh extending perhaps ten centimeters beyond her hemline and underneath her skirt. Just bare skin, and far less of that than he would have been able to see had he come across her lounging by the hotel swimming pool.
Time for a reality check. Where was she thinking this was going to lead? She flashed on an image of Mr. X pounding away at her on a hotel bed while she screamed "take me, take me, you sexy bastard" and almost laughed out loud. Even if she was that kind of woman -- and no, she certainly was not that kind of woman -- how would that work? What was she going to do, flash this random guy, follow him up to his room, and have wild unprotected sex with him? Was there some sort of established communication protocol for that sort of thing, and she'd just never received the memo?
Anyway, likely Hugh would have a thing or two to say about such an event, and who could blame him? Even though their mutual fantasies sometimes swung in the direction of her playing the "naughty wife", there was a pretty fucking deep chasm between a bit of role-playing with her dear husband and an extra-marital affair with a secret lover. Regardless of what she might be feeling in the moment, and how downright infuriating Hugh could be at times, she loved him deeply and could never lie to him, let alone betray his trust. No, she just wasn't going there.
And for that matter, there was no reason to think that Mr. X was looking for anything more than a cheap visual thrill -- mild wank off material to take back with him to his hotel room. Even if she was willing to throw caution -- not to mention her marriage vows -- to the four winds, the likely outcome would be at best mumbled apologies and a bad case of blue balls for him and a few moments of thrill followed by mortified embarrassment and lingering regret for her.
Still, it was fun to think about, and while her husband was off with his co-workers discussing the fascinating ins and outs of logistics and production integration, she could do a little in and out logistical planning of her own. All as a theoretical case study, of course. And it would make a good little story to titillate Hugh with while she set him up for the comeuppance she had planned. "'Make it up to me' indeed", she thought. He'd pay for leaving her hanging in the hotel lounge while he went out drinking with "the team". Maybe she'd even present her planning scenario to him as if it were a real event and see how he reacted!
While she sorted out the various imaginary moves in her mind, examining the feasibility and auto-erotic potential of each, her body seemed to have set itself on a parallel not-so-imaginary course, and she wasn't yet ready to haul down the mainsail. The thing was, every little move she made sent a sweet if subtle wave of excitement rippling from its origin between her legs and radiating out throughout her body. She was definitely aroused now, and was curious to see how much more aroused she might become if she allowed her body to tack down wind a bit further.
And now, her idle imaginings begin to coalesce into a broad strategic outline for Plan C. That alone was exciting, but then she started to think about the tactical nuances. Somehow that got her even more into the spirit of the thing. The self-recognition that she had gone to this level of detail in her planning felt naughty enough in itself, but the detail also made the fantasy seem more real, because she could imagine herself actualizing it.
For example, how might she get herself in a position to provide a better view? Her legs were set at an acute angle ("or perhaps I should say a 'cute' angle?" she thought, wincing at her own jejune pun and feeling slightly giddy) to the interested party, and there really wasn't much of a gap between them. She could spread her legs first, and then turn toward her admirer. Or turn toward him and then spread her legs. Or do both simultaneously. This was getting silly. Okay, spread and turn. If she turned and spread, it would probably be apparent that her somewhat less modest exposure was not completely unwitting -- and the last thing she wanted was to be obvious.
She parted her legs a bit further. Her inner thighs still felt like they were mostly touching each other. Okay, just a little bit further. Now, if someone were looking squarely between her legs and pointing a flashlight directly up her skirt -- there was an image! -- a palm-sized and roughly triangular portion of her panties should be visible.
And so what if it was? She honestly had a hard time understanding the attraction. What was so exciting to men about getting a glimpse at a little piece of fabric? And then she had to admit to herself that she wasn't that much less shallow. What was so exciting to her about the idea that someone might get that glimpse? Was it what was behind her panties that counted, or the bare fact that she was willing to let someone see them? Or the idea that Mr. X might be jerking himself off later that night while visualizing her and her panties? She idly wondered what his penis looked like and how he might stroke it. And then, how it might feel in her hands. Hey, turn about is fair play, right?
