Molly watched from the front door of the townhouse as her husband, Philip, got into his Jaguar XJ. She waved and blew him a kiss. Philip smiled and waved back before backing out of the drive and heading out to the airport and his flight to New York City.
Molly leaned contentedly against the door frame and enjoyed the south Florida morning. It was cool yet, but soon the heat would be building. Their small front yard was ablaze with Lantana and Pentas and two magnificent Bougainvilleas framed the front door and its small porch. The air was rich with their flowery perfume, and butterflies flickered from blossom to blossom.
Molly was an auburn-haired, thirty-year-old beauty with an outgoing attitude and a fiery independent streak. She was a copy editor for a publishing house working primarily with authors of romance novels and other fiction oriented to women's tastes. The advent of modern electronics made it advantageous to work from home so she had converted their townhouse's second bedroom into a very functional office.
Philip and Molly had been married seven years now. Philip was nineteen years older than Molly. Her family and friends had been aghast at the age difference when they married, but as Molly explained to her younger sister and select female friends, the advantage of older men was that they were patient, consummate lovers who knew how to please a woman, unlike some of the young bulls her age with whom she had slept. After all, everyone knows you drink the aged wine and not the new because the old tastes so much better and richer.
It also did not hurt that Philip was wealthy, very wealthy. Philip came from northern money and was, of course, Harvard educated. He had parlayed a family fortune into an even bigger fortune through his highly successful international electronics company. Molly was not a fortune hunter, but still, a girl should be aware of any silver linings her potential suitors might bring to the altar.
Molly came to south Florida from dirt-poor, Kentucky coal-country looking for education and opportunity where none existed back home. She found both. Philip had seen the gorgeous young woman waiting tables at a nightclub while she was finishing her graduate degree in English at the local university. In the inexplicable ways of Cupid, he had been smitten, and they were soon wed.
So in the end, Molly was a happily married young woman who was well laid and pampered while pursuing a career she enjoyed. During the late winter and spring, the couple lived in Florida in their townhouse. In the heat of the summer and in the fall up through New Years, they lived in their main and much larger house near Highlands in the North Carolina mountains. That was quite a mansion with several year-round servants and all the trappings of the truly wealthy. The south Florida townhouse was their private retreat for just them.
Philip's business often required one or two trips a month, typically lasting three to five days, sometimes more. This was not a burden for Molly as she had her work, several hobbies, and was an avid fitness enthusiast. Also, the townhouse was only two blocks from the beach, and a half mile away was also a seaside strip of upscale shops, restaurants, bars, and nightclubs with various live entertainment venues. When Philip was in town, they were frequent patrons, and when he was not, she had no qualms about visiting them stag. After all, she was an adult woman in modern times.
Molly watched her husband disappear on his way to the airport. He was a good man and a fine husband. She, in return, was a devoted and faithful wife.
Well, perhaps that is overstating it a bit. She really was indeed quite devoted to Philip, and they made a magnificent couple together. But she was also a vibrant, young, and very sexy woman with an older husband of another generation. Such a combination sometimes leads to unfortunate complications.
Three or four years ago Molly had begun to surrender to the siren's song of fleshly temptation in Philip's absence. Perhaps she had strayed a time or two over the years. No, no, that isn't quite right, either. Perhaps, it was a bit more than that. Let's just say she was a friendly woman of somewhat easy virtue with a healthy carnal appetite, and we'll let it go at that.
In times past, a husband owned his wife and her treasured physical assets outright. In the modern world, a husband's rights to his wife's physical assets are more akin to a lease rather than a deed. Consequently, when the leasee, the husband in this case, is not available to occupy said premises, it makes good business sense that the leasor, the wife in this case, should sublet her assets to be occupied by another male in the absence of the original leasee. In which case, one might think of Molly's extramarital actions as those of a prudent businesswoman maximizing the return and use of her valuable assets that are in considerable demand on the open market.
In the end, Molly was just a spoiled, young woman, occasionally fooling around for fun and excitement but without serious intent.
Philip was a cosmopolitan, highly-educated man of the world who had a brilliant knack for business. He was a hard-boiled realist and harbored no illusions. He knew men would proposition his sexy, young wife as soon as his back was turned. And his young wife would be sorely tempted by the young studs her own age; how could she not be? It is an ancient tale often spun in literature and acted out in fact.
Philip recognized he had a Ferrari for a wife. Such a treasure was of no value locked in the garage. A Ferrari sometimes has to be allowed to hurtle wildly through the open roads. If one wanted the joy of driving such a magnificent piece of physical art, one must also accept there might be speeding tickets along the way. Philip was tolerant of his young wife's potential sexual peccadilloes.
They had no overt agreement, but he was thoughtful of his actions, and she discreet. Philip kept his wife posted on his schedule and made a point not to pop home unexpectedly. And above all, he did not pry.
Molly, for the most part, limited her dalliances to times he was traveling. Such assignations were also generally limited to the time they were in south Florida. Back in North Carolina there were servants and too many friends and family to be able to be too promiscuous without causing a public scandal. But here in south Florida, they were far away from their normal social crowd, and the area was awash with vacationers and snow birds fleeing winter weather. In this anonymous mass, the pickings were plentiful and easy for a sexy, young thing like Molly.
Molly shifted her gaze down the street towards the beach. Ah, there was Andre coming along at a brisk pace right on time. He was a slim, dark haired, debonair man about her age. She waved enthusiastically and gave a happy smile. Andre waved back.
Andre asked Molly to dance at a nightclub last year, and one thing quickly led to another. He was Parisian and obviously wealthy as every year he took a month off in the spring to vacation in south Florida. He owned a large beach house several blocks from Molly's townhouse, and they periodically rendezvoused there when Philip was out of town and Andre was in. But today Andre was coming to her, anxious to renew their steamy acquaintance from last year. He had just arrived yesterday, and when he called shortly after arriving, Andre was delighted to hear of her husband's departure this morning.
A shiver of excitement ran over Molly. Well, you know what they say about French lovers. She could vouch that their reputation was well earned. Andre imbued the exotic, dark charm of a foreign lover like in the romance novels she edited. His sexy accented English just turned her to mush. Sex with her husband was wonderful; sex with Andre was the spicy, forbidden lust of the unknown and the dangerous. She loved both kinds of sex; they were simply different spheres of sexual experience that did not intersect.
As Andre stepped up on the stoop, Molly reached out and drew him inside and closed the door behind them. She embraced him and smothered him with a deep kiss, passionately thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Andre returned the passion.
Molly broke the kiss, turned and panting with anticipation drug Andre up the stairs to the master bedroom. As they entered the bedroom, Molly began stripping off his clothes while he returned the favor.
The naked couple made their way rapidly to the bed. It was an antique iron bed high enough that Molly had to make a short hop to sit upon the edge. Andre pushed her down on her back and knelt at the bedside. Andre began to delightfully kiss Molly's valuable assets as her legs hung over his shoulders, squeezing, tightening, and jerking erratically as the spasms of pleasure washed over her. Andre's hands began to knead and massage her breasts eliciting happy moans from Molly. She wrapped her fingers in Andre's dark hair and pulled him tighter into her already damp mons.
Then there was the clump of a footstep on the stairs and the fateful call, "Honey?"
With her attention diverted by Andre's ministrations between her thighs, Molly had failed to hear the arrival of her husband's car, the ding of the automatic car door lock, and the opening of the front door.
