I had known Missy for almost three years. We had met when she first came to work for our company. She was located in our southeastern sales office in Atlanta while I worked out of Chicago. We saw each other several times a year at sales meeting, usually in New York.
I had met her husband Greg once while passing through Atlanta. The three of us had had a nice dinner and a few drinks. He seemed like a nice enough guy. We had talked about getting together again, perhaps me and my wife flying down for the Peachtree Road Race in July.
I have to admit being somewhat attracted to Missy. She was a striking woman with blond hair, lively, bright green eyes, and a wonderful smile. Her shape always appealed to me, the sensuousness of her body came not just from her full breasts, strong ass and legs, but also from the way she moved, the way she carried herself. She was a very sensuous woman who seemed to know it and enjoy it.
She and I were together in the hotel bar, the first full day of sales meetings behind us. We were to be in New York for a week. The entire sales group had had a great dinner in Little Italy. Afterwards, she and I had ended up at a quiet table for a nightcap. She was smiling at me over a glass of wine telling me about her recent weekend in the islands with Greg.
Somehow the conversation drifted into sexual matters, relationships. We both agreed that we were happy in our marriages, lucky, we agreed. We seemed blessed, we thought.
"Ya know," she smiled almost nervously, "There is something though I don’t quite understand."
"What’s that?" I asked.
"Well," she went on, "I’ve never understood why people seem so wrapped up about sex being only for those in committed, loving relationships. I mean, what about sex just for the sake of sex?"
"I’m not sure I follow you," I lied.
"Sure you do, John," she laughed, "I’m talking about engaging in a sexual experience solely for the sake of the experience. Not looking for commitment or love, just great sex."
I only smiled.
"I’ll tell you a secret," she smiled leaning closer to me. "Fantasy, sexual fantasy, is a powerful tool, almost like a drug. Invigorating, exciting."
"You have fantasies?" I asked.
"Of course," she laughed.
"Okay," I smiled back, "Tell me one."
"I’ll tell you THE one," she said without hesitation, "Making love to two men at the same time. Not caring about love, commitment, fidelity, any of that. Just making love with abandon with two men."
I’m not sure I blushed or not when I told her how wonderful that thought sounded.
She smiled at me and held me with her gaze for more than a minute.
You could almost hear the gears clicking in each of our heads.
"Could Greg, your adoring husband, handle that?" I asked with real interest.
"No," she said shaking her head slowly, "He couldn’t. He’s not really the jealous type but it wouldn’t be something he could enjoy. I know, he’s told me so."
"Could you do it, live out the fantasy and never tell him?" I asked.
"I think so," she smiled sipping her wine, "after all, I don’t tell him when I masturbate. Why would I tell him about living out a sexual fantasy? I mean, if it was just for the sex, right? And it was safe, discreet. Harmless, don’t you think?"
I only smiled back at her. She and I agreed on more than I’d ever realized.
"You know," I found myself saying, "I understand completely what you are saying. The sheer excitement of safely, without risk or complication, living out a fantasy could be an experience beyond one’s wildest imagination."
Missy only smiled at me. Her green eyes looked deeply into mine before she leaned over the table and kissed me gently on the cheek. She settled back into her chair and took a long sip of her wine, still holding me with those eyes over the rim of her glass.
"So, John," she began, "now it’s my turn to ask you a question."
"Shoot," was all I could say.
"If I were to ask you to," she almost whispered, "would you make love to me with another man?"
Her question, her smile, the gleam in her eye, her scent, all of it left me with my cock growing even harder under the table cloth. All I could say was, "It would be beyond an honor. It would be goddamn fucking fantastic."
She laughed loudly, then leaned toward me still smiling. "Fucking fantastic? Really fucking fantastic?"
"Really fucking fantastic," I grinned before kissing her softly on the lips. I had planned or expected the kiss to be a quick one, rather symbolic of our little budding conspiracy, but before I could move away from her her hands came up and around my neck holding the kiss. Her tongue sought mine gently, questioningly. And I responded. We broke the kiss only because we were in the hotel bar.
"Tomorrow night," she whispered in my ear, "after dinner tomorrow night, will you have a drink with me again?"
"Of course," I smiled.
"In my room, John," she smiled, "Will you have a drink with me in my room tomorrow night?"
"It would be my certain pleasure," I assured her.
"Good," she sighed. And with that she was up and moving toward the elevator. I was left to wonder just what would happen the following night. And with whom.
All through dinner I tried to not stare at Missy. We were with a group of maybe twenty people crowded into a nice restaurant near the theater district. The food was great, the company fun, but I kept finding myself drifting off with anticipation of what was to come later that night.