Maybe I Should Tell Him

Copyright © 2004, by Delia Green. All rights reserved. No distribution in any form is permitted without written permission from the author.

[Author's Note:

My second story on this Web site, as some of you no doubt observed, was a continuation of the adventures of the married woman named Angie, who had the lead role in "Married Woman Dates," (accidentally also titled "Angie Dates Charles").]

PART ONE

I realize that it's only a matter of time before Kevin discovers that I haven't been completely faithful to him. What makes it worse is that he's that rare breed of man who has never cheated on his wife—as far as I know. It would be so much easier to tell him about my indiscretions if he had some of his own. Damn! I fantasize about him messing around. In fact, I fantasize about him doing it with my friend Charlotte. But that's not going to happen. He despises her. He thinks she's a bad influence on me. But he's wrong about that. Charlotte didn't ask me to go bar hopping with her. That was all my idea. In fact, she tried to talk me out of it. Not real hard. But she did try. And Charlotte didn't get me to dance with strangers. I love dancing, and Kevin's not into it at all, so I don't need anyone to twist my arm when there's someone around to dance with—whether I know them or not. And as far as what happened after she left me there at the Car Barn, by myself—well, that's just the point: I was by myself. Charlotte didn't corrupt me. I took care of that all by myself.

I was raised to believe that married women only have sex with their husbands. My mother also warned me that men—even married men--often jump in bed with any available "piece of ass," but she didn't prepare me for the possibility that I might be similarly inclined. Now, I'm not saying I'd jump in bed with any available piece of male ass, but I have to say that there are plenty of men who, under the right circumstances, can make me hot enough to … misbehave.

Lately I've been thinking about telling Kevin that I've cheated on him, not out of a sense of guilt, but because if he finds out from someone else, he'll be devastated. Charlotte thinks it's a mistake to tell him. She thinks he's going to be devastated no matter whether he hears it from me or from someone else.

"He won't be able to handle it. I know men like him. He's not going to take it well. Has he ever fooled around on you?"

"Never."

"That's what I thought."

"I still think I should tell him before someone else does."

"Angie, hold off on this. Maybe there's something I can do."

I laughed. "If you're thinking what I think you're thinking, forget it."

"What do you think I'm thinking?"

"Never mind. What's your idea?"

"No, tell me. What were you going to say?"

I laughed again. "Sometimes, I think about Kevin …and you! But, it would never work."

"You're right. He's not exactly my strongest supporter. I think we both know that. But I don't know why. I've never done anything to him."

"He just thinks you're a tramp. He always has. It goes all the way back to the first time he met you."

"At that pool party?"

"So, you remember it?"

"Sure, I was anxious to meet the man you were so in love with. I remember that much. But I don't remember anything I did or said that would have given him a reason to think I was a'tramp' as you so nicely put it."

"Do you remember what you wore?"

"No. A bikini, probably. Why?"

"Well, he remembers. It was a black string bikini."

Charlotte laughed. "Oh, my God! You're kidding me. He remembers what I was wearing that day?"

"Apparently, it made a big impression on him. A big negative impression."

"He said that to you?"

" ‘Any girl who would wear something like that to a family gathering has no respect for herself.' Those wore his exact words. He told me that he was surprised that I even had friends like you."

"What did you say?"

"We had a big fight."

"You've never told me this."

"What was the point? He got over it, and besides I don't like some of his friends; there's no reason he has to like all of mine."

"Well, Angie, to tell you the truth it wasn't me I was thinking about hooking Kevin up with."

"Oh? Who then?"

"I can think of several candidates."

"Well, it doesn't matter. Kevin's not going to cheat on me."

"Wanna bet?"

"Almost."

"I'm going need your help to set something up. Are you in?'

"Charlotte, I don't think this is such a good idea."

"OK. You gotta better one? We'll just tell Kevin everything. Tell him just how hospitable you were to Charles Metzger and how you picked up a guy at a bar—a total stranger— brought him home with you, and fucked his brains out. In your own bed, no less. I'm sure that'll go over real big!"

"All right. All right. You're right. He's going to go nuts."

"You're damn right he is. So, give me a couple of days. OK? Promise me you won't say anything to him—for at least a week."

"All right, I promise."

PART TWO

It was five o'clock east coast time when I got the phone call.

"Kevin? Hi. It's Charles. Charles Metzger. Remember me?"

"Hi, Charles. Of course, I remember you. How ya been?"

"Great! Things couldn't be better. But listen, to make a long story short, how can I reach Angie, that woman you fixed me up with a couple of months ago? (see "Married Woman Dates") I'm having a big party in three weeks and I want to invite her."

"But you're in San Diego, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am. So? Air fare's not that expensive, besides I've got a ton of frequent flyer miles I'll never use. I could send her a ticket."

"Well, I'll see if I can get in touch with her. But you know she's married, and …:

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

"… and it it's been a while since I …"

"Kevin, I knew I could count on you. Henry told me you were The Man."

"Hey, I'm not promising anything, Charles. But I'll see what I can do."

"Beautiful. That's all I'm asking. If I could get Angie out here for this party, it'd be the thrill of my life."

The thrill of your life, huh? Well that's one less thrill for you Charlie ol' boy. There was no way in hell I was going to make the same mistake again. Angie would never hear about this. There was no reason to tell her that … Charles wants her to fly her to San Diego… for what? To fuck her? No thanks.

I tried to put Charles Metzger out of my mind, but he was not going to go away easily. Several days later, at work, my phone rang. It was Diane, one of Henry's assistants.

"Kevin, Henry's been looking for you. Should I tell him you're back in the office?"

"That's OK; I'll just walk down and see what's on his mind."

It hit me, as I walked the length of the long, marble corridor. I hadn't gotten back to Charles and he must have said something to Henry. Shit.

Henry got up from behind his desk and put his arm around me.

"Kevin, I got a call from Charles. He's doubled his order for next year. And, you know, if you hadn't come through like you did for us, I don't think it would have happened. I owe you, big time, my man."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Charles is still raving about that woman you fixed him up with in August. And now he's flying her out to California to some shindig he's putting together, some sort of company anniversary."

"He told you that?"

"Yeah. In fact, he's mailing me the plane tickets for you to give her."

I just stood there, trying to digest this new development. A large lump had formed in my throat.

"Why doesn't he just mail them to her?" Henry asked.

"Beats me. I guess she didn't give him her address."

"Or her phone number," Henry added, looking at me as though I might be able to shed some light on the peculiarity of the whole arrangement.

"Don't look at me. I hardly know Ang—"I caught myself before I finished my wife's name. There was no need giving Henry any more information than he already had.

"Yeah, that's her. ANGIE! Charles did tell me her name, but I forgot it. I should have remembered though. Your wife's name is Angie too, isn't it?"

I congratulated him on his memory. Henry had never met Angie, but I'm sure here name must have come up a few times over the years. I started to excuse myself. But, Henry, his arm still around me, gave me a little shoulder squeeze and told me to let him know if I had any problem getting in touch with Angie.

"The last thing we need to do is disappoint Ol' Charlie. I don't have to tell you, his purchase for next year is easily worth half a million dollars. Net."

"That much?"

"Easily. And that's not counting any referrals we're likely to get from becoming Charles's primary supplier in 2005. Hey, there's no way this Angie's going turn him down, is there?"

"I, uh, sure hope not," I told him.

The rest of the day was one big fog for me. I almost dreaded going home.

"Is anything wrong, dear?" Angie asked me over dinner.

"Just business. Just all the crazy bullshit that goes on at work," I told her, not really knowing what I was going to do about Henry's bombshell.

"You could use some time off, Honey. We could use some time off. What do you think? Doesn't that sound good?"

"It does. It really does," I told her.

"We should go somewhere where we can spend some quality time together," Angie replied, her voice getting all warm and honey-toned.

We went to bed earlier than usual that night. Angie managed to help me clear my head by giving me a full-body massage, rubbing oil and all.

"No boxers. I don't want anything to get in the way of this massage," she told me, playfully.

Angie had me so relaxed—rubbing my neck, my back, as well as my feet and legs--that within about ten minutes I was almost asleep. Then I heard her say something. She was asking me turn over, onto my back. I glanced up. She had shed her nightgown and was standing there in her birthday suit, warming up a fresh pour of oil between her hands. There wasn't much light in our bedroom but I didn't need much to see the mischief in those pretty blue eyes.

"Don't go to sleep on me, Honey. Your massage isn't over yet," she said, delivering her open hands to my chest and stomach.

I've never been to one of those so-called "massage parlors" my friends talk about, but they tell me that the girls there don't leave any part of your body untouched. That's the kind of massage I got from Angie that night. She ran her soft oily hands down my sides, up and down my legs, and back up to my chest, going out of her way to ignore my private parts—at first. Eventually, however, her warm little hands were all over my cock and my balls, sliding up and down me, fondling me.

"See, aren't you glad you stayed awake for this part?"

"Honey, there's no way I could ever slept through this!"

Angie giggled softly, admiring her handiwork. I was standing up tall and proud for her, and ready for anything she had in mind, which, as it turned out, was a ride on my cock. Greased up the way I was, she had no trouble positioning herself over me and then slowly dropping down onto me. Damn! Such sweet lubrication! Between the oil she had coated my dick with and her own natural juices, I was way up inside her instantly. And then she began moving. The sight of her bouncing up and down on me was--like they say at the end of those credit card commercials—priceless!

You know, ever since Angie had that "date" with Charles Metzger she's been as hot as hell in bed. I swear to God, it's like starring in your own porn movie.

PART THREE

I must have called Charlotte every day that week. No news. No good news, anyway. She had asked a couple of friends of hers who she thought might enjoy hooking up with an attractive married man for an afternoon or evening of fun--no strings attached—but no takers. Charlotte was not discouraged, though.

"I haven't even heard from some of my hottest prospects yet, Angie. Trust me. This is gonna work."

I wanted it to work, although if you asked me why, you'd get very mixed signals. Sure, it would make my confession easier, knowing that Kevin would owe me one too. On the other hand, if Kevin was fucking another woman, I could take that as a green light to continue my own fun and games.

I thought about my initiation into sin by Charles Metzger. I loved the two dates I had with him. I wouldn't mind showing him around town again—that is, if he ever showed up again. And then there was my pickup date, Owen. Hmmm. That was an insane night!

As much as I loved Kevin, I was willing to share him. I figured if I was willing to share him had to be willing to share me. That's reasonable, right? But, being a realist, I tried to steel myself for the more likely outcome of Charlotte's web: Kevin would not take the bait and I would just have to come out and tell him the awful truth.

PART FOUR

On Friday of that week, I had a very interesting visitor at work. The floor receptionist buzzed me. "Kevin, there's a woman here to see you. Were you expecting anyone?"

I wasn't, but I wasn't doing anything that couldn't be interrupted for five minutes, so I agreed to see who she was and what she wanted.

"Hi. I'm Meredith Cole. I heard you were considering expanding your unit and might be looking for help."

Before me stood an extremely young woman I guessed to be no more than 21, if that. She looked like a model, in heels and a short business suit that featured an extra short skirt and an unbuttoned blazer open enough to reveal a silk blouse cut lower than is generally seen in an office setting.

"Excuse me. Where did you hear that I might be looking for help?" I tried to keep my eyes on her eyes, but her long, slender legs and that show of cleavage under her blazer made it difficult.

"Could I sit down, please?"

I apologized for not offering her a chair and showed the stunning brunette to the armchair at the side of my desk. I then closed the door and returned to my seat. She crossed her legs and treated my eyes to even more of her young stocking-covered legs.

Before she could say anything else, I asked her again where she got the idea that I might be hiring.

"A friend of mine knows someone who works here. But I can't remember the name."

"Your friend told you I was hiring?"

"Yeah, she said you might be looking for someone on a temporary basis. To fill in for one of your people who might be going on vacation or something."

"On vacation? Did she tell you what kind of work this employee does?"

"General office work, you know, filing, answering phones, going to meetings, stuff like that." As she spoke she very matter-of-factly took off her blazer, as though making herself right at home. Very collected. Very mature for someone so young.

I glanced down at her chest. With her blazer off and her blouse cut as low as it was, her chest presented an invitation to my eyes that I was not able to pass up. She smiled, seemingly pleased that I was admiring her body.

"Meredith, to be honest with you, I have no position like that available, not even on a temporary basis. Whoever told you that was mistaken."

She sat there for a long while, her green eyes studying me. "It's Kevin, isn't it?"

I nodded. "Kevin Crawford."

"I really need to find a job, Kevin. Maybe you know someone who could use a hard worker. I'll do pretty much …anything!"

I returned her gaze. Her shoulders were back, pulling her blouse tight across her chest. She was smiling.

"Anything, Kevin."

"Meredith, I'll keep my eyes open for you. Why don't you leave me a number where you can be reached?" I slid a pad of paper and a pen in her direction; the word "anything" rattled around inside my head.

She scooted forward in her chair and then leaned over the desk. As she wrote down her name and phone number, I treated my eyes to the wondrous attraction of two well-displayed breasts and an equally perfect pair of legs, even more uncovered now that her skirt had crept up her thighs a little more.

Normally I would have gotten up and shown her out, but a totally unexpected condition in my trousers made the prospect of standing up a potential embarrassment.

For at least an hour after Meredith Cole left, her perfume—or hair spray or whatever it was—lingered in my office, reminding me vividly of the flirtatious young thing that had serendipitously crossed my path and made an unmistakable impression on me—and my cock.

PART FIVE

Saturday, before I got around to calling Charlotte, she called me.

"Angie, you'll never guess who I met at the Car Barn Saturday night."

"You're right. I won't. So, tell me."

"Henry."

"The Henry at Kevin's work?"

"The same one."

"He was at the Car Barn? By himself?"

"Yeah, apparently he goes there to pick up women."

"Really? Did he hit on you?"

"He did. Or tried to. I let him buy me a drink. And … and I danced with him."

"Isn't he an older guy, in his sixties maybe?"

"Probably, although he's in pretty good shape. He looked familiar too. I think you may have danced with him that night I took you there."

"Are you kidding me?"

"No. Really. I think you did. Anyway, here's the kicker: He asks me if I know a woman named Angie. Is that crazy, or what? He says she's about my age, married, and very, very hot."

"Get out of here!"

"I'm serious. I asked him how he knew this Angie."

"What did he say?"

"He wouldn't say. Just that he had a very important message for her, something that would probably make her very happy."

"But he never told you any more than that?"

"No, but it has to be about Charles, right?"

"Yeah. What else? He must be coming to town."

"And obviously Kevin's not too anxious for you to know about it."

"Yeah, he probably suspects that my dates with Charles were not all that chaste."

"That's putting it mildly."

"How did you leave it with him?"

"I told him I knew someone named Angie that fit that description, and he gave me his business card. I'm not sure what he expects me to do with it. Give it to you, I guess."

"That's crazy. There must be dozens of 30-year-old Angie's running around town, and he thinks he's going to just bump into the right one?"

"Well, he did, didn't he?"

"Yeah, for whatever it's worth. Hey, how's the hunt for Ms. Jezebel coming along?"

"Coming. Nothing firm. But I definitely have someone thinking it over."

"Great. Call me if you hear any more. I gotta go; I have a chicken in the oven. I'm surprising Kevin with one of his favorite meals."

"Isn't he home?"

"No, he had to go into the office to catch up on some paper work this afternoon."

"I see."

"Talk to you later, Charlotte."

"Bye, Angie."

PART SIX

I've never done anything like this. Agreeing to meet Meredith at my office on a Saturday afternoon, ostensibly to give her some advice on her job search—who was kidding who?

I didn't think for one minute that our "meeting" would be strictly business. And I was sure she was thinking the same way too. The couple of times we talked on the phone were hardly professional conversations. Meredith talked to me like she knew me, like we were already friends, and like we could be more than friends if I wanted that. By agreeing to meet her, after hours like this, I was admitting to myself that "more than friends" was, in fact, something I wanted.

She showed up in a sweater and jeans, but if that's all I told you about her appearance, you'd be grossly under-informed. First of all, Meredith's sweater was scooped out in front, showing me that same glorious cleavage I witnessed the day I first met her.

She wore a bra under her sweater, but it couldn't have been much of one, the way her tits moved around inside that sweater. The sweater, by the way, ran out of material before it ever reached her waist, revealing a couple of inches of smooth, flat porcelain tummy. Then there was the jeans. They were the low-riding, hip-hugging variety--a stretch denim that hugged her in more places than just her hips.