There was a time when Cathy Tate knew for certain where her life was headed. Certain that she and her husband Carl would grow old together. Certain their marriage would always be one of commitment and caring. Yes, it was true that the excitement of the early days had waned with the raising of three kids. But wasn't that to be expected? Yes, it was true that Carl had long ago stopped being romantic. Yes, she missed those wonderfully tender things he once whispered in her ear while they made love. But both of them still loved and cared deeply for the other, she had reasoned.
These days she wasn't so sure. It had been during their 26th year of marriage when she had learned of Carl's infidelity. And now, a full year later when she allowed the memory to infiltrate her thoughts, she was amazed at the staying power of the pain. Amazed at it's intensity, after all of the counseling and all of the effort she had put into forgiving her husband his frailties. But when she replayed the memory of that horrible scene of him fucking their Latino maid, the pain and anger in her heart was every bit as intense today as when she had actually walked in on them. The anger had actually grown within her, she thought. The one, most lingering reality of that memory was her husband's unabashed passion. The unbridled desire and force with which he fucked that slut doggie-style, on the same bed they shared every night. It haunted her to this day. She wasn't sure he had ever shown such passion while fucking her. If he had, it was so long ago she couldn't remember.
But Cathy didn't want to have these thoughts tonight. She was tired of feeling that way. Tired of it being there constantly. She needed to escape the whole damn mess for awhile. That's why she had let her friend Pamela Keating talk her into attending her company's annual banquet. It was a chance for her to get away from the pain of her troubled marriage. She could meet some new people and talk about new, uncomplicated things. And, it was also a chance for her to dress up and feel like a woman. She desperately needed to feel that way again.
Even though Carl seemed genuinely sorry for what he'd done, she had been unable to forgive him. Even though he had been trying his best to be tender and romantic, she found herself feeling cold and indifferent toward his advances. In fact, she almost hated him for it. Even though her own pent up sexual desires were becoming a distraction at work and during everyday life, still Cathy had been unable to make love with this man she found herself married to. The silly bastard, why didn't he just take what he wanted instead of all the sweet talk and bullshit? Her neglected needs had become so strong that in recent months she had taken to pleasuring herself while alone late at night, having long since banished Carl to the guest bedroom. Having not touched herself in this manner since her single days, she had been surprised with the frequency with which she indulged in the act, as well as the intensity of her orgasms. But the most surprising thing, and a little disturbing to her, were the types of men and situations about which she fantasized. The men were always large and faceless, the circumstances unfamiliar and remote. There were never any names associated with the men, and very little conversation. Just sex. Urgent, powerful sex, and sometimes even non-consensual. She wondered why these images invaded her thoughts so often, and marveled at their power. They confused her, and she couldn't help but wonder if Carl's indiscretions had unleashed some long-held, deep, dark desires within her. Could his cheating have somehow legitimized their very existence?
Whatever the case, Cathy stood there by herself in the large banquet hall with these thoughts running through her head. She watched Pamela mingling with business associates from a distance. She really liked her friend, and admired her. Pamela was a successful buyer for a chain of department stores. She had also raised two good kids, and navigated them and herself through a nasty divorce from an abusive husband. Not quite forty-five years of age, she was still a beautiful and very desirable woman. Her near flawless mocha skin and those piercing blue eyes were a powerful combination. Couple those features with her warm, engaging personality and it was no wonder that Cathy usually felt a little intimidated in her presence. She had always admired the strength it must have taken for Pamela to fall in love with and marry a white man. Especially during a time when racism was a much bigger, or at least a less-camouflaged problem in America. She guessed that same strength was somehow lost on Pamela's ex-husband, the son-of-a-bitch.
Now she stood watching her friend, noticing again what a beautiful woman she was. Dressed in an elegant off-white evening gown, she was striking. It made Cathy think of her own appearance, and she smiled. She had thoroughly enjoyed the long, leisurely process of bathing and dressing earlier in the evening. It had felt so good, so sexy, pulling each feminine garment across her soft skin. From the quick mist of perfume, to the silver thong panties, it had been an erotic experience. And now remembering those panties she could feel the thin silken string running along the crack of her ass. It made her hot, and she began to think about the new vibrator she had at home.
A little over a year from her fiftieth birthday, Cathy could still turn the heads of men. Although she had three children, she had worked hard over the years at remaining fit. But not in the way so many women go at it these days, starving themselves and attaining a tired, kind of gaunt look. Instead, Cathy carried a few extra pounds that came with her age. But the years of exercise had maintained her deliciously feminine shape. And her femininity was on full display tonight in the low cut, but tasteful blue dress she wore. Over the course of the evening she had been receiving appreciative and lustful looks from many of the men. The looks had made her feel good. And the advances from a few of the more bold among them made her feel even better. But she had politely rebuffed each of them. After all, she was a married woman. No matter the pain, no matter the anger, she was still a married woman.
Yes, that was what remained most important. In spite of her yearnings, she wanted to remain faithful to her husband. She smiled inwardly to herself, realizing this finally. Leading up to this evening, she had not been so sure of herself. She had wondered how she would react to the lustful looks. Wondered what she would do if someone made a pass. Wondered if reserving a room at the hotel was really about not drinking and driving. Wondered why she had worn her sexiest bra and panties. Yes, Cathy had wondered and now she knew. She was still sexually charged from the evening, but relieved, knowing she would not be doing anything impulsive. Just then she thought of Carl. Briefly, she thought of the two of them together sexually. But the image was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. When her mind saw his face, and then the maid's, the anger returned. She felt so betrayed, and completely robbed of her sexuality over the past year.
Looking across the banquet hall at the thinning crowd, she decided it was time to call it an evening. She approached Pamela to say her good-byes. After a few half-hearted attempts to get Cathy to stay a while longer, her friend gave in and said goodnight. With a sly smile, Pamela turned back to the tall, handsome man she had been spending most of her time with for the past hour.
"Well, good for her," Cathy thought to herself, starting for the exit. "If anyone deserves some fun, it's Pamela for sure."
But as she crossed the huge room she concluded that she was due some fun, as well. It was going to have to be fun with her husband, though. She had realized tonight that it just wasn't in her to cheat on him, no matter what he'd done. The vows she had taken 27 years ago meant just as much today, as they had then. This made her feel good, but a little sad at the same time. She was proud of herself for not giving into the desires of the flesh, but sad when she thought of how those desires would go unfulfilled as long as she was unable to forgive Carl.
As she was approaching the door of the banquet hall, she noticed one of the attendants watching her leave. Was it the same young man that she thought might have been watching her before? Could it be, she asked herself. It looked like him, but he was several feet away this time. Earlier, while going to the restroom she had half noticed that one of many young black attendants on duty seemed to be watching her. And then when she returned, he was still in the same area. She was sure of it this time. She could feel his eyes on her ass as she moved past him, and thought maybe that she even heard a low moan of approval. When she had turned to look back at him (not really knowing what she might do if he were still looking at her), he had averted his eyes and returned to his work. But now from this further distance, perhaps he felt he could look all he wanted and not fear reprisal.
She was at the door now and paused briefly there before leaving. She looked his way, squinting as she tried her best to bring his face into focus. He was indeed watching her she now realized. Never taking his eyes off of her, he made his way toward one of the service doors leading out of the hall. He paused there and held her stare until she could no longer continue the impromptu standoff.
"It is him," she concluded, and moved through the door out into the lobby area.
She looked the area over attempting to get her bearings. Where were the elevators? She just wanted to get to her room as quickly as possible. Having that young man watch her so brazenly was very unnerving. Even though she was sure that he would never try anything in a hotel full of people she still felt genuinely scared. She wondered if that was what he wanted. She feared it was, and more. It was so strange, but as she made her way through the crowd she was sure his eyes were watching her still. Looking around frantically, her stomach would tighten each time she saw one of the white uniforms worn by the service personnel. She considered finding hotel management to report the incident, but thought better when she concluded identifying him might be a problem.
