On the Side

"I'm just saying, why not find some little honey? You've got the money. Set her up in an apartment. Buy her things. Then fuck her anytime you want."

Dave was slurring, but so was I. Too many drinks to celebrate winning a client we had pursued for months.

"Because it's exploitive. Disgusting. And being married actually means something, you know."

Dave snorted. "Yeah.... blue balls for the past fifteen years."

I swirled the ice in my glass, then signaled the bartender for more. "Just because Katherine and I don't have the same sex drive—"

"Yeah, yours is in overdrive, hers is in reverse. How can you stand it? Back in college you were a machine."

"I was an animal," I said. "Spent all my time in first-year chasing tail. Failed every class. Nearly got kicked out."

Dave chuckled. "Yeah. Then in second-year you were after whassername... Emily? Man, she was pretty. Then finally you fuck her and next thing I know she won't even talk to you. You never said what happened."

"I did. I got carried away."

"Details, man. Details. You're supposed to confide in your best friend."

"Not going to happen." I shook my head, remembering. "God, we were assholes. Womanizing pieces of shit. I had to grow up. Had to get control of myself."

"And atone for your sins by marrying Professor Frigid Giraffe?"

I shoved him. "I'll tell Katherine you call her that. Dave, if YOU ever grow up, you'll realize woman aren't just sex toys. And when you find the love of your life, you expect to make a few sacrifices."

~~~~

The late spring air felt wonderful as I wobbled home. At forty, I was getting too old to drink like that, but it felt good to reminisce and trade insults with Dave.

Katherine was reading some research paper when I slid into bed beside her.

"How did writing go today?" I asked.

"Horrible. The middle chapters still don't flow. I should just stick to academic writing. Fiction is too hard."

"You'll get it, Kate. Your first books still sell well. And as an official beta reader, I can tell you this one's even better."

She smiled. "Though you might be slightly biased, right? Thanks, Hon. You really keep me going."

We kissed, but Kate pulled back.

"Phew," she said. "You stink of scotch. So how's Dave? What did he call me this time... stork, giraffe or stick insect?"

"Heh. You know he's kidding. He just can't admit how turned on he is by your tall, lean body, your regal face, your tight bum..."

Kate smiled and backhanded my chest. "I think you got horny looking at girls at the bar. Were any of them eyeing you? Lots of girls go for handsome older guys. Maybe that's why you're so late... you took some little piece of tail into the alley for a quickie."

When I whacked her with a pillow, Kate pounced, trying to pin my arms. She had always been athletic. Even now past middle age she was strong. We laughed and wrestled until I had her trapped beneath me on the bed.

Kate wriggled against my sudden hardness. "Ooo... someone's excited."

I held her hands above her head while I grabbed the lube and lifted her nightgown.

Kate pretended to struggle as I worked her panties down then greased her up. "Oh no, Mister!" she said mimicking a young voice, "I can't fuck a married man. That would be wrong. Oh! You're sooo big. And so handsome. I guess it'd be okay... just this once..."

As I pushed into her, Kate locked her legs around me.

"Uh, mmm... oh, mister, you're so much better than those

boys

I hang around with. Fuck me! I need it sooo bad. My little pussy needs your cum. Take me, mister. Come in me."

I knew sex did nothing for her, but Kate kept up the act, moaning and clinging. While my sex drive still raged like a teenager's, Kate's had dwindled until it had nearly disappeared. Yet she never refused when I needed to fuck her.

We had started these little fantasies for her, having read it sometimes helped. I role-played as firefighter, biker, hunky student from one of her classes, or the tweed-encrusted professor she had a major crush on as an undergrad.

The games worked for a while, but Kate never got into them completely. Eventually we stopped, but she still loved to weave naughty scenarios for me—one of many ways Kate showed her love.

I fucked her as she moaned, pretending, urging me on.

Kate had said without the distraction of sex, she had more energy for other things. She was probably right: she gained tenure at the university, was an accomplished speaker, and was now a rising author.

Lust began fogging my senses as I got into the fantasy. Then I realized Kate was laying inert, head turned away.

I stopped. "You're not okay."

"Sorry, Hon," she said, anguished. "It's just... the rubbing. The sensation. Tonight, it's just bad. Even with all the lube. I don't know what's wrong with me."

I rolled off and pulled her to me. "Nothing's wrong. They said it's natural, right? I'm sorry to put you through this."

Kate hugged me. "I still like it sometimes. And you should be able to make love to your wife." She paused, then gave me a seductive look. "Can I blow you?"

"It's okay, Kate," I sighed. "It's late. I wasn't really that horny."

Kate was silent, then said, "You know, if you ever need someone else for... relief... I could understand. I know how you get when I don't keep you drained. Kirsten has always drooled over you. Maybe—"

"I am NOT sleeping with your best friend, Kate. Or anyone. We're married. That means something."

Kate slowly shook her head. "Why is it I'm older, but you're the old-fashioned one? In contemporary French and Japanese society taking a lover is common. Almost expected."

"That's your sociology degrees talking, not you. Besides, we're not French or Japanese. How can you be happy with me fucking someone else?"

"I didn't say I'd be happy. I said I could understand. If it's just sex. It's just biological need, after all. Just, whatever you do... don't fall in love. Because your heart belongs to me."

We kissed and switched off the lights.

If there was any way to banish my raging libido and join my wife in her world free of urges, I would have done it. Instead, I waited until she was safely asleep, then quietly jacked off beside her like some drooling teenager.

I pictured the women I'd been with in college—their bodies, their hunger, the joy of making them come. I tried not to think of the tears and their looks of betrayal later... when I cheated or went too far.

~~~~

When I pulled into the driveway the next evening, Amy was waiting on our front step.

She stood when she saw me approach, dusting the seat of her pants.

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. L. Do you have a moment?"

At nineteen, Amy had grown into a lovely young woman. Fresh-faced with shoulder-length hair and a perfect figure.

I remembered six years before when she first knocked on our door—a skinny, bright eyed kid. She breathlessly rattled off a sales pitch about the odd jobs she could do "at an incredibly low price for a limited time only for select first-time customers."

We knew who she was. Everyone did: Peggy Wendler's kid. Her mother had a ratty bungalow three blocks over—party central, with thumping music, drunken brawls and frequent visits from the police.

We let Amy mow that day while we watched from inside in case she needed help. She didn't. That gangly girl wrestled our mower with a vengeance, making strips like a golf green, careful to get every blade of grass.

The next day she was back, offering to paint our fences. We thought that job was too big for a kid, so we politely refused. She returned later with estimates, a daily schedule, and some boards she had sanded and painted to perfection to demonstrate her "fine handiwork and attention to detail." We relented. Amy did an excellent job.

Hand-lettered fliers soon appeared on every telephone pole for blocks: "Amy does anything!" they read, with a caricature Amy drew of her holding a paintbrush and hammer. Considering her mother's reputation, we suggested a better headline. The next day they read "Amy the handy person."

Within weeks, everyone was paying Amy to mow, paint, babysit and do other odd jobs. She stopped by our house often looking for work. We learned it was impossible to say no.

One day she admitted her mother was taking all her money, so together we found ways to hide most of it and even invest some. Over the years we helped her every way we could.

Still, Amy remained distant and professional, with a cordial smile and careful diction, always dressed in her "working professional" attire of crisp khakis and polo shirt.

On our step that evening, Amy was just as stiff, wearing her usual uniform, though this time her shirt seemed tighter, emphasizing her breasts. She also wore make-up, which I'd never seen on her.

"Amy," I said, "you didn't have to wait outside. Katherine would have let you in."

"I can't bother Mrs. L. when she's writing. Besides, I really need to speak to both of you, if that's okay."

I ushered her in and followed her into the living room. Her khakis also seemed tighter, showing off the enticing globes of her shapely ass. A scent of some intriguing perfume trailed behind her.

We sat. "So how's the college going? First year must be almost over."

"Thank you for asking, Mr. L. It's great. One more week until summer break. But I'm continuing through the summer, too. Then I can finish the entire program by December."

I nodded. "I should have known, Amy. You always work hard. Makes sense, too: with your scholarship and living at home, you don't need a summer job. You can just focus on your program."

Amy tongued her lip. "Um, that's what I hoped to talk to you about. My mom is selling the house."

"Oh? You're moving?"

"Uh, well, she's moving to Mexico with her new guy. I'm not invited. She says it's time I stopped mooching off her and found my own guy to take care of me."

"WHAT? THAT MISERABLE FUCKING BITCH!" Katherine had been listening from the doorway. She stormed in and plopped beside me.

Amy looked rattled, ready to bolt.

"Sorry, Amy," said Katherine, reaching over to touch her hand. "It's okay. I shouldn't have said that about your mother."

Amy relaxed, nodding to herself. "I know how she is. What people think of her. They're not wrong."

I said, "So why is she selling your house?"

"She, uh, owes money. And her latest boyfriend's talked her into taking what's left and living it up in Mexico."

"Oh, no..." said Katherine.

"I told her he's just going to blow it all and dump her! But she's convinced it's different this time... like he's not like the 500 other scumbags she's hooked up with. Uh, if you pardon the expression."

"Now, Amy," I said, "That's not fair. There's no way your mom's been with 500 scumbags. By my count it's only been 137 scumbags, 119 hardened criminals and 12 of the criminally insane."

Amy laughed before catching herself.

Kate said, "So if you're not going with her, where will you live?"

Amy straightened her shoulders, assuming her "salesman" posture. Kate and I knew it well. Amy's pitches hadn't changed since she was little.

"Mr. L, Mrs. L?" she said, "As my very best customers, I'd like to offer you the first opportunity to benefit from an innovative new offering. For a limited time, you can have top-quality on premise housecleaning, laundry and property maintenance, 24 hours a day, from your own live-in house and grounds keeper, all for the low, low rate of..."

"Amy..." I said.

"...the low, low introductory rate of..."

Kate held up her hands. "Amy, it's okay," she said, smiling. "You need a place to stay? You're welcome to stay here."

Amy blinked. "But I haven't finished my pitch."

I laughed. "I think we get it." I shared a smile with Kate. "We'd be happy to have you. It wouldn't be any trouble. But wouldn't you rather be with other family or friends?"

"I have a deal to move in with my friend Mary in September, but she goes back home in the summer and already sublet her apartment. So, until then there's... there's no one else."

"Okay," I said, "Our guest room will be perfect. And you've house-sat so many times you know where everything is. But you'd be here as our guest, okay? None of this housekeeper stuff."

Amy stiffened. "No. I'll work to earn my keep. You know I can."

"Please," said Kate. "You've done so much for us over the years. We can return the favor."

"But that was business! And you always overpaid me. I can clean and do laundry. I've done that at home since I was six. And I'll keep mowing the lawn and the other things. I can even cook a little."

I looked at Katherine. She shrugged.

"You can help," I said, "but please... you'd be our guest, okay? Now, when are you moving out?"

"Uh, I'm already out. My mom left two hours ago."

"Oh? Where are your things?"

"We had a fight. They're in the front yard where mom threw them."

"WHAT?" I yelled. "THAT MISERABLE FUCKING BITCH!"

~~~~

We collected Amy's belongings from her yard. Her house was dark and locked.

We set her up in the guestroom across the hall. Amy sat on the double bed, looking around and bouncing slightly. Her delight warmed my heart.

"Such a lovely room you have, Mr. L," she said.

"It's your room now. And this is your home. For as long as you need it, okay? Decorate your room, rearrange it. Whatever you like. And how about you call me Ben now? And Katherine is Katherine. You're not a kid anymore."

"Oh. Uh, okay. I'll make sure I'm out during the day so I won't disturb Mrs., uh, Katherine."

I chuckled. "You'd have to set off a bomb. Once she's in her study writing with the music going, nothing disturbs her."

"Oh. Good. She's pretty famous, isn't she?"

"Oh, a little," I said. "Her first two novels did well. The third is almost ready to hit the shelves. This last one's not coming so easily, though."

"Well, I'll be at the college most of the time."

"What's the program you're in? Jewelry something?"

"Jewelry Arts and Marketing. Custom jewelry is really big right now. You can make a fortune once you're well known."

"I always thought you'd study business, Amy. Hope you didn't get into it just for money. It's important to like what you do."

"Oh, I like it. There's a big business component too. I have so many designs I want to try. See?" She stood and offered a pendant she pulled from inside her shirt.

She leaned over as I held it—an intricate wire wrap with a central stone, warm from her body. Then I realized Amy's polo was unbuttoned and offered a clear view of the tops of her breasts. They looked delicious.

Flustered, I let go. "That's a nice design, Amy. Is the stone jade?"

"It's fake. They let us work with real semi-precious stones later."

Amy stood then tentatively put her arms around me, resting her head on my chest.

"Thank you for letting me stay here, Mr. L... Ben. I'll make it up to you. You'll see."

I hugged her in return, feeling how tense and nervous she was. I found myself rattled by her vulnerability, closeness and that perfume.

"We're happy to have you, Amy. People help each other, you know. It's what people do."

~~~~

When I got home the next night, Amy had cut the lawn in her golf course style. Inside, she had vacuumed, tidied and folded laundry.

Later, Katherine and I lay in bed discussing it.

"If it makes her feel better, let's just let her do it for now," said Kate, "Besides..." She put her hands behind her head and grinned, "...I could really get used to it."

"Oh, come on. It bugs you, too. Feels like we're exploiting her."

"We'll make it up to her. Give her a graduation present. Or she could come with us to New York. She said she's never traveled."

I eyed Kate. "Are we going to New York? Book three is being released?"

Kate grinned. "The publisher said the first run could be in stores next month."

I kissed her cheek. "That's perfect. My busy season will be over then. I love going on your promotion tours. Anywhere but Vancouver."

We laughed, remembering our disastrous first book tour together.

"So," I said, "what about book four?"

"Don't ask."

Kate vented about her problems with the new novel and we debated solutions. Together we found some ideas that worked.

Once she was asleep again I lay there jerking off. I tried thinking of anything else, but couldn't dispel that glimpse of Amy's breasts and the warmth of her pressed against me. I yearned to hold her again. Then thoughts formed of comforting her in other ways.

No! Amy was in my care. I would not think of her that way.

~~~~

Some days later I came home to find Amy trying to cook dinner. Spaghetti was about all she knew, so I called Katherine out of her study and together the three of us turned Amy's basic meal into a passable mushroom spaghetti Bolognese with garlic bread and Caesar salad.

"This is fantastic!" Amy said as we ate. "Thanks for showing me. I'll make something better for you tomorrow."

"Amy," said Katherine, "You already do too much. We can't have you cooking too."

Amy's face fell in disappointment.

"Tell you what," I said, wiping my mouth, "I usually do the cooking. Tomorrow, let's make something together. I'd like the help."

Amy looked to Katherine. Seeing approval, she nodded and beamed.

Amy and I cooked each night when I got home. It was simple things at first, gradually getting more elaborate. Amy learned quickly and soon was whirling around the kitchen, finding ingredients, chopping, stirring, double checking the recipe.

Each day Amy became happier, though she maintained her stiff, formal manner and always dressed in her meticulous polo shirt and khakis. Once she started humming to herself while stirring a sauce, then glanced at me warily after catching herself.

~~~~

Kate had her monthly evening lecture at the University, so for the first time Amy and I were eating without her.

When I got home, Amy greeted me with a guarded smile.

"Since it's just us tonight," she said, "I want to make something special."

She had picked out an elaborate recipe and equally complicated dessert. It would take time, but if that's what she wanted, I would try.

The main course was nearly ready when I heard "OW! OUCH! Oh... FUCKING SHIT!"

A Pyrex mixing bowl fell from Amy's hands and shattered, splashing the carefully prepared sauce over herself and everything.

"Amy, are you okay?"

She was open-mouthed with horror. "I'm sorry! I didn't think it would be so hot when I picked it up." Her eyes darted to the exits.

"Did you get burned? Come run your hands under cold water. Watch where you step." I led her to the sink.

"I'm sorry!" she wailed, holding her hands under the water. "I've ruined your dinner. And I swore."

"What are we, saints? Swear all you fucking want. Anyway, accidents are part of the joys of cooking."

Thankfully, she wasn't burned. We picked up the glass, and I mopped the floor while Amy wiped sauce off the lower drawers and baseboard. She kept glancing at me fearfully.

"Hey," I said, "I like this color. I think I know what to paint the cabinets next."

She smiled weakly.

"So," I said, "what should we order in? Pizza, Greek or Chinese?"

~~~~

Amy changed in her room and came down wearing sweatpants and a loose T-shirt. We sat in the living room and started a movie while we ate pizza.

Amy huddled on the far side of the couch. "You're really not angry?"

"Why?" I said. "I've ruined meals in worse ways. Once I dropped Kate's birthday cake carrying it to the table."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. We were at her mom's place. She has these little dogs—two barking rats. I was carrying the cake to the table and one of the little bastards got underfoot. The cake landed upside-down on the other's back. Both took off, of course. Frosting and bits of cake were all up the stairs, embedded in the carpet, over everything in the linen closet where the little pricks hid..."