Work keeps me away from home three weeks out of the month, which was probably the number one reason my marriage failed. Judy, my neglected wife, found someone else's cockles to warm.
With a few divorced years under my belt, the memory of my naked wife underneath a sweaty stranger stopped making me nauseous, because I actually like sex, and now that I wasn't getting any, I liked to think about other people who were. Strangely, I remembered how my high school friends used to brag about watching their buddies screw girlfriends in the backseat, and I'd always envied that. A naturally voyeuristic male, I wanted to witness live sex too. At the ripe old age of 42, it once again became a standard fantasy of mine, as I masturbated alone in my room.
One typical Monday night -- away from home, in a hotel bar -- I met Kurt. The city nightlife catered to an eclectic crowd, so when he sat down next to me and struck up a conversation I wasn't sure of his intentions. My ring finger was empty, but his wasn't. That comforted me some. Men had hit on me before. I was appalled at first. Did I look gay just because I dressed nice and stayed fit? After a few come-ons, I learned to just shrug it off.
Minutes into our conversation about the Monday night football game, Kurt asked if I was married.
"No," I said, and then a heartbeat later added, "divorced," to set my sexual record straight.
Kurt seemed pleased with that, and said, "I'm married -- three years."
The institution of marriage -- its benefits and pitfalls -- consumed the next half-hour. He was a nice enough guy -- funny, intelligent, about six foot two inches tall, a little bigger than me, but not much.
I asked him, "Why aren't you home, right now?"
Kurt grinned, and answered mysteriously, "Pete, I'm on a mission," and then for no apparent reason, asked, "How long are you in town for?"
"I'm here all week -- once a month, same time, same place," I answered, with a decidedly bored tone.
"Maybe I'll see you later," said Kurt, as we shook hands goodbye.
"I'll be here. But I advise you to stay home. You don't want to end up like me."
He laughed. "Thanks for the advice."
The football game was a blowout by the second quarter, so I went back to my room and fantasized about Kurt's wife giving him a blowjob.
Embarrassingly enough, on Tuesday night, and Wednesday night, Kurt found me sitting on the same bar stool. Each time, the conversation turned private and we moved to a booth. I wasn't offended when he quizzed me on quite a few personal subjects and opinions. As a matter of fact it was flattering, like he'd chosen me as a mentor, but it felt more buddy/buddy than a father/son thing.
In the process, I learned a lot about Kurt as well. A month ago, he earned a black belt in karate. He was much more liberal than I. Kurt had a good stockbroker job with advancement possibilities. He and his wife, Cindy, bought a house, but planned on moving back home to Minneapolis as soon as his firm had an opening. Cindy had been his college sweetheart and they planned on starting a family next year. For some reason, Kurt confessed that Cindy was a virgin when they met.
What could I say, but, "Lucky you." He didn't appear happy about it, though.
I enjoyed the hours we sat in the bar, bullshitting. The nightly companionship made it my best week on the road in a long time.
Thursday night was my last night in town. Kurt showed up as expected, but seemed restless and preoccupied. After the preliminary small talk, he said, "I want you to meet Cindy."
I turned and scanned the room.
Seeing my confusion, he clarified, "Not here. She's down the street."
I stared at him suspiciously. "Why?"
He shrugged, and answered, "Big crowd there, less conspicuous."
Adventure was an uncommon commodity in my solitary existence. Intrigued about this mysterious wife, I followed him out.
We walked for a block and stopped outside a packed dance club. Everyone entering was at least a decade younger than me. The bass thumped through the walls, and my head began to throb with the beat. The first thing I thought was, 'I'm too old for this shit.'
For no apparent reason Kurt turned to me, held up his index finger, and said, "Rule number 1: You leave immediately, if asked." His middle finger popped up. "Rule number 2: You cannot come in my wife."
"What?" I didn't hear him correctly. I leaned forward and turned to use my good ear. "Say again?"
Without further explanation, Kurt went inside.
Unnerved, I followed.
Apparently, Cindy hadn't moved since Kurt left, because he navigated right to her location within the gyrating mass of hip-hoppers.
Kurt yelled introductions. "Pete, this is my wife Cindy. Cindy, this is Pete."
I smiled and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you."
Cindy remained silent, gave me a head to toe scan, and smiled in return.
I watched intently, as they spoke privately into each other's ear. Cindy was a hottie, and my heart pounded almost as hard as the music. A few seconds later, she walked away.
"Where's your car?" yelled Kurt, as we followed Cindy toward the door.
"Hotel garage, down the street."
"Get it. We'll be outside in a green convertible."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'll wait 10 minutes. If you don't come out, we'll leave without you."
Suddenly outdoors, Kurt turned away, caught up with Cindy, and they strolled hand-in-hand in the opposite direction from the hotel.
Making a snap decision to live dangerously, I turned around and headed for my car.
Their green Corvette convertible was difficult to follow in my beat up Civic. Kurt drove fast -- squealed around corners and through yellow lights -- to test my resolve, I think.
Eventually, Kurt obeyed the traffic laws. Then I followed easily. When he pulled into the parking lot of the Regency Suites hotel, I instinctively parked far away from them.
Kurt waited alone, outside the hotel entrance. "Discrete. I like that. Good move, Pete." He handed me a room key. "205", he said.
Before turning to go inside, he added, "Just remember the rules, and this will be a fun night -- for all of us."
