They end up talking about it for hours. The conversation is returned to time and again over the following days. He wants to know more. Explore her desire. What she was feeling. What she wanted. Why she did it. How it made her aroused. How aroused it makes her now thinking about it. She tells him everything. Unpacking the object of her desire. The fantasy she has of sleeping with another man. The thrill of forbidden sex. How she wants to be wanted. Wants to be lusted over. It feels wrong but that's what makes it exciting. It feels even more wrong that he knows. She is mixed between feeling gratitude and annoyance with him. He should be angry. He should defend her. Protect her. Not let it happen. And then again she feels liberated. Her libido unshackled. She is a warm blooded adult woman, why can't she have desires for other men and if her husband is turned on by it all the better? His openness is to be encouraged not dismissed.
Eventually they move on. Their relationship is stronger for it. But they keep returning to the topic. When they are in bed she brings it up. Directly or tangentially. They end up at the same place.
What if she went back?
They tell themselves it can't happen. They won't let it. Why would they? It would be different now. It would be premeditated. She would be without the get out of jail free card. She would be responsible. What would it say about them? What would it mean? She finds the thought of sex with another man unbearably erotic and he is turned on by her fantasy. And so the thought doesn't go away.
Then a plan starts to form. She will go back. But just one last time. Get it out of her system for good. She says she will tell him everything afterwards. She is overwhelmed with excitement.
The appointment is made a week in advance. Their anticipation grows as the day approaches. She loses her appetite. Then so does he. At one point she gets cold feet. She wants to call the whole thing off. He coaxes her out of it. His hand up her skirt. Reminding her of her obsession. She ends up telling him how badly she wants it.
When the day comes, she gets ready in front of him. Low lamps are lit. Bach on the radio. She sips at a glass of white wine. She is turned on with the prospect ahead of her. She enjoys the sensuousness of getting ready. Preparing her body for another man. She puts on the silver earrings shaped like chamomile flowers that her husband gave to her as a gift one birthday. She puts on makeup. Nothing overblown. Mascara. A nude lipstick. She shaves her legs. She finds lace lingerie. It gives her a thrill the thought of the masseur peeling her out of them. They are the ones she wears for special occasions. The ones she wears when she wants to feel sexy, look sexy. She wears an emerald green thong. She puts it on matter of factly in front of her husband. It gives her an enormous surge of excitement. She knows it must be like a hammerblow to him. Painful. Pleasurable. She admires herself in the mirror pulling on her tights. Lingering. She catches his eye in the reflection. She pouts her lips as if to say this isn't for him. It is for another man. It is then he wants to tell her to stay. But he is too turned on to speak. He can't think. Her obvious arousal has made him unspeakably horny. She feels so sexy thinking about sleeping with someone else. Her stomach has butterflies.
When she leaves he is beside himself. Head in hands he sits watching the clock. Torn up inside. Images of her overtake his every thought. He imagines her pleasure. Her moaning. Fingers slipping in and out her. Her craving another man's penis. He cannot take it. He goes after her. He arrives outside. He hesitates. He can't go in. Then he does. He asks at reception. He gives her name. He gives his name. He tells them he is her husband. He is desperate. They show him the appointment ledger. He is too late. She has already gone in. He slumps down. He wants to cry. He looks hopelessly at the frosted windows into the spa. Should he barge in? Should he wait? Even now she is in there he thinks. Naked. With another man. It eats him up. And yet he can feel the precum in his boxers. He is super excited. He doesn't want to interrupt. He wants it to happen. He has this image of her on all fours spreading her bum. He holds onto that. He wants her to do that. Maybe she is, even now? The conflict in his mind is slowly driving him mad. He loves it. He hates it. He goes home.
She arrives back home much later. Later than planned. She takes off her coat. Closes the door but doesn't lock it. Puts her handbag down, her keys in the bowl. The lights are out. She hadn't expected that. She takes off her chamomile flower earrings and drinks a glass of water. She goes upstairs. He is in bed. She crawls over to him and snuggles up. She can tell he is pretending to sleep. Eventually he stirs.
He looks haggard. Distraught.
She is positively glowing.
'Tell me' he says.
'Ok. Are you sure you want to know?'
He sits propped up on pillows. She pulls his arm around her shoulders. She feels his thigh. She sees the used tissues next to the bed. She is disappointed. Pleased. Upset. He didn't wait. He couldn't wait. It is pitiful. It is thrilling. The power she has.
'It was a different masseur' she tells him. He runs his fingers across her crotch wanting to feel what has happened. The semen in her pubic hair. Her genitals still engorged.
'So what happened?'.
She doesn't answer.
'Why are you back so late?'
'Something happened.'
