They were both anxious and silent on the drive downtown. Tom was taking Betty to Erik's hotel, which is attached to Tom's office tower. He was going to pretend to work in his office. The tension was as high as if they knew lightning was about to strike their car.
The hotel is the city's best. On its sweeping curved staircase, society wedding photos are taken. Betty and Erik were to meet in the lobby coffee shop. She was surprised that she was tingling with excitement. This was, after all, just a business meeting with a friend.
Yesterday, as Tom walked in their front door, she greeted him with a cold, dry martini and an eager kiss. He was relieved to see her happier than she'd been in months. He'd been worried that she was getting bored at home all alone.
"You're in a good mood," he said.
"Erik called today; he might have another modeling job for me," Betty said.
With those words, Erik was on Tom's threat board. Betty had done runway modeling with Erik before he moved away. He wanted to see her in person about a job while he was in town.
Tom and Erik had worked together a few years earlier where they were "friends" and rivals. Erik wasn't as good a friend as Tom thought. Betty recently told Tom that Erik had a crush on her, and sometimes, when Tom was at work, Eric would stop and see her. They'd have coffee, chat, and flirt. It made Betty feel sexy and alive. Erik would leave, and they'd go back to their routine. After he found out, Tom was thrilled that Erik had changed jobs and moved away.
He knew Betty also had a crush on Erik; he'd seen them dance very close and flirt at parties. It wasn't surprising; every woman had a crush on Erik. He's famously handsome and fun to be around.
Betty turned glum when Erik moved away until she learned that he still had occasional business in town. On this trip, he called her and invited her to dinner to discuss the modeling job. She declined dinner but agreed to meet at six o'clock in the hotel coffee shop. Tom hadn't objected to their meeting because she was so happy. He fooled himself into believing there was nothing to worry about.
Erik is a chiseled triathlete and gym rat--a modern-day Viking--he's tall, fair-skinned, and blond. He has a quick wit, a twinkle in his eye, and a gleaming boyish grin. When he leaves a party, he leaves behind a room brimming with pheromones released by the women sitting and squirming in their panties wet for him. After he goes, the remaining men are aroused just by inhaling those female pheromones without knowing why. The women are urgently aroused, but they know exactly why. Erik left many parties, leaving behind a room full of horny guests.
Betty is immune to flattery and propositions, having grown up gorgeous. Being hit on and stared at is as normal as breathing air. She is as dark as Erik is light. Her mass of curly chestnut hair, olive skin, espresso brown eyes, and slender dancer's body is flawless. As a first-generation, U.S.-born Sicilian, her looks would make all of Palermo proud. She is a breathtaking beauty and wicked smart. She is a passionate and sexual woman dedicated to being a good wife.
"What should I wear?" asked Betty.
"You look great in your little black cocktail dress," replied Tom.
"Isn't it too, I don't know, 'eveningy'? it's too sheer, too low cut, and too short."
"For daytime, I suppose so, but in the evening, it's fine."
"It's really candlelight-only revealing; I can't wear a bra under it; he'd see my nipples."
As she said it, her nipples tingled and hardened into the shape of pencil erasers. Tom pretended not to notice. They got hard at the slightest provocation--a slight chill, a fright, being stared at, and always when around Erik.
"He's already seen you wet in your white bikini at the office pool party. Give the guy a thrill." Tom regretted reminding her of his desire to exhibit her perfect body, she let it slide, but she'd noticed.
"That dress needs high heels," she said.
"The lipstick-red, four-inch Italian heels go best with it. You'll be almost as tall as he is," he ventured, not understanding why he encouraged sexy clothes.
"You know those are called 'red, come-fuck-me heels,' right?"
"Really. I had no idea?" he fibbed innocently.
It was approaching six o'clock as they pulled into the parking lot, and the December dusk had already darkened to moonless black. One last check of her makeup in the lighted visor mirror, and then she was on her way.
She arrived at the coffee shop just as the tattooed-goth-girl-with-a-pierced-nose-and-an-attitude barista was closing up shop. Erik appeared a minute later. He was momentarily disappointed but rallied. "OK, if the coffee shop's closed, the bar must be open. Can I buy you a drink?" he asked.
"I'll need to check with Tom," she winced at sounding like she needed permission.
"The coffee shop's closed, so we're going to talk in the bar," she told Tom loud enough that Erik would hear.
"Sure, I can come over and join you if you want," Tom said.
"No, I'll be fine. I can handle it," she said.
"How long do you think it will take?"
"About half an hour, I suppose."
Erik ordered two dirty martinis. As they sat across the comically low and small cocktail table, she saw him sneak a glance at her tits as she bent forward to reach for her glass. It made her tingle remembering Tom saying, "Give the guy a thrill," so she bent often and slowly to reach her drink, allowing her top to gape open, giving a flash of her dark areolas and hard nipples. Sometimes she'd start for her drink and pretend to change her mind, giving her more opportunities to flash her nipples. She was pleased to see the growing bulge in his pants when he wasn't looking. She felt wetness ooze between her legs.
"No problem, I have work to do here," Tom lied, "just call if anything changes."
It had been forty-five minutes since her call, and he'd heard nothing. He had been watching the clock the entire time. After fifteen minutes, he called her phone. It rang five times and went to voicemail. She called three minutes later.
"Erik's in the bathroom; I need to be quick," she slurred slightly.
She felt the alcohol kick in. and felt she needed to confess.
"I had a martini--it must have been a double. You know what a cheap date I am."
"I do. I'll come and get you now, and we can go home."
"No, I'm fine; we haven't even talked business yet, just old times," she abruptly declared, "I want to stay."
"What--why?"
"Because I'm having a nice time talking to a friend and doing something different for a change. It feels kind of sexy to talk to a man over a drink while I'm wearing a revealing dress. It makes me tingle and my nipples hard," she said with alcohol-fueled candor.
He was torn as he sat in his darkened office by the light of his monitor. Red-hot jealousy rose from his neck to his cheeks, but there was a white-hot spark of lust lower down. He wondered how he could feel both at the same time. It was testosterone vs. endorphins at war. He loved this feeling of being so alive, like he'd been shot at and missed.
He recalled Betty's interest in Erik and her sadness when he moved away. Ringing started in his ears, and his hands went numb. He abruptly wanted Betty to let herself run free. He realized that despite his jealousy, lust was winning, and he wanted Erik to fuck Betty, but did she want that?
Tom felt his growing erection. He decided not to push her but let her know he'd be OK with whatever she wanted to do. The verbal chess game was afoot. Each of them wanted the same thing but was unsure what the other wanted.
"Really? How 'different' do you want this evening to be?" He asked in a lilting voice.
He stood to rearrange his hardening cock, which was bent the wrong way and heading uncomfortably down his pant leg.
"I want it to be very different."
"I don't hear anything in the background. Are you still in the bar?"
"No, I'm in Erik's room. He wanted to show me some of the photographer's work, the kind he'd take of me. They're black-and-white nudes like I did in college--no faces show. They're making me horny. I think he's trying to get me drunk and show me photos of nudes to seduce me."
"I don't think so. That isn't Erik's style. He's probably trying to get you buzzed so you'll agree to pose. I'm sure he wants to see those photos. Besides, he knows we're married; he won't try anything." Tom said, hoping to be proven wrong and encouraging her to stay longer. If she hadn't had an IUD, Tom would have gone on a condom run for her.
"Well, it's working. Maybe you should get me out of here before this gets out of hand?"
