“Remind you of someone?” My husband asked as our waiter walked away with the dishes. I blushed.
“What- who?” I managed, raising my wine glass to mask my embarrassment. It was no use, I was caught.
Jim chuckled, “Don’t be coy Allie. The waiter.”
I felt the heat of shame on my face, and that shame soon turned into frustration, mostly over my poor luck. I wasn’t the type of wife who was overly flirtatious, nor the type of woman who got caught ogling random men. The truth was, the waiter did remind me of someone, and I guess I had been staring enough throughout the dinner for Jim to have noticed.
“Mr. Thomas, maybe a little bit.” I reluctantly admitted.
Mr. Thomas, Jim’s boss, was perhaps the one exception to my previous statement. He was in his mid forties, making him roughly ten years older than Jim or I. He was a tall man, with a masculine face, black, bald, and with a goatee that had a mild hint of grey beginning to accent his already distinguished look. He was readily attractive, although not necessarily in an obvious, male-model type way. It was more so in the commanding way that he carried himself. He controlled a respect that most men didn’t, and his charisma was extraordinary. Those things in themselves, however, shouldn’t have been enough to draw my conservative and faithful eye. The catalysts for my budding, begrudging, attraction to Mr. Thomas, were his persistent flirtations towards me, and stranger, my husband’s seeming approval of them.
Jim wasn’t necessarily a shy man. He was confident in his work, confident in social situations, confident in his ability to provide for me, and confident in a number of other areas in his life (like his golf game). However, for whatever reason, reasons beyond your standard employee employer relationship, Jim was noticeably subservient to Mr. Thomas. He was so subservient, in fact, that when his boss would openly flirt with me, Jim would mostly just smile in acceptance. My husbands reactions to his bosses advances were even stranger when I considered how jealous and protective Jim was with seemingly every other man who made a pass at me. Early in our marriage, he even got into a fist fight with someone who hit on me during a night out ice skating.
I used to question Jim on his adulation towards his boss, especially as it related to the complacency he showed when Mr. Thomas would hit on me. “You heard what he said about my dress. Right?” or “He had his hand on my waist during introductions. You weren’t mad?”
Sometimes Jim would be embarrassed, but mostly he was steadfast. He would easily reply with something like, “It’s only Mr. Thomas Allie. I just take it as a compliment.” Thankfully though, Jim would also consider my discomfort, as a good husband should. Sometimes asking, “Do you want me to ask him to stop? Does it bother you?”
At first, it did bother me. I found his behavior inappropriate on a number of levels, professionally, ethically. However, over time, I suppose Mr. Thomas’s charisma began to work it’s charm on even me. Worse, I eventually began to enjoy the previously unwanted attention. I think, subliminally, my husbands overwhelming respect for him rubbed off on me, and I too began to take note of how impressive a man he was. Further, his flirtations towards me increased my own confidence. It was admittedly fun to have the attention of the attractive, popular male, even if nothing was to ultimately come from it.
Why did I have Mr. Thomas’s attention in the first place? Well, that was easier to explain.
I grew up as your typical Jewish American Princess, spoiled and girly. I probably would have been considered attractive starting all the way back in high school, though I didn’t really grow in sexual confidence until college. I’m a classic brunette, and more than a couple people have described me as the ‘girl next door’. I have nice lips, and a delicate, feminine nose. I have hazel doe eyes that tend to draw a lot of attention, or at least they used to when I was younger. Older men tend to appreciate more obvious assets, like my ample curves.
I guess there’s no other way to put it, I have large breasts and a big butt. To be honest, I’m not sure where either came from. My mother is wash board skinny, and none of the women on my dad’s side are particularly curvaceous. I suppose my curves are a blessing, but only recently have I come to appreciate them. Through most of my twenties I actually thought they looked ridiculous on my five and a half foot frame.
I was raised conservatively, as my mother frowned heavily on promiscuity. Even through college, I preferred to maintain a steady boyfriend over the thought of sleeping around. Maybe I’m weird, but I’ve never really considered sex to be all that amazing. My college boyfriends fumbled around nervously, often finishing before I could. Jim too, usually failed to make me orgasm during our love making. I began to believe that I simply wasn’t the type of woman who could orgasm easily, and even when I did, they were very mild. On the positive side, Jim and I had recently decided to work on starting a family, and I did notice an uptick in my libido since dropping my birth control.
“I guess he does look a bit like him.” I heard my husband say. “Maybe I should keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t try to slap your butt.” Jim smiled, in juvenile fashion.
The comment surprised me, “Oh really? So we are joking about that now?” I felt a pang of anger flash through me as I replied.
It was last month, at the company Christmas party. It was customary for company parties to feature copious amount of liquor, but the holiday events were especially loose. Most of the guests had already left the apartment, and Jim, Mr. Thomas, and I were drunkenly cleaning up in the kitchen at around one in the morning.
I remember leaning over Mr. Thomas’s island counter as I wiped the marble with a paper towel. I was suddenly startled as I felt the fabric of my dress being pulled over my rump, the conditioned air of the apartment hitting the bare skin of my butt. Suddenly a large hand gently slapped down on my skin, and gave me a squeeze.
My eyes darted wide, and my heart quickened in a momentary panic. I then heard the deep baritone voice of Mr. Thomas, as he spoke to my husband. “Jim. I hope you are taking care of this beautiful woman. She deserves the absolute best.”
I looked at my husband, hoping he would know what to do. I remember his embarrassed face, and his drunken smile. “I try my best, sir.”
Mr. Thomas’s large hand continued to caress my butt for a few moments longer, moving across the lace of my panties and squeezing the other side of my rear. He then asked of me, “Is that true, Allie? Is your husband taking care of business?”
I couldn’t believe that Jim was willingly watching his boss grope me, worse, he was smiling about it. I could tell he was very embarrassed by the situation, but I could also sense that he didn’t want to say anything to Mr. Thomas to deter him.
Still, despite my anger, I was the ever-dutiful wife, and I replied, “Jim- takes care of me.” I awkwardly chuckled, mortified.
“Good.” Mr. Thomas let my dress fall back into place, and continued to move about the kitchen as if nothing ever happened.
I remember feeling furious, and to be honest, most of my anger was directed towards my husband. My mind raced, I thought harassment, and I thought to scream. I shot the most disgusted look my face could conjur towards Jim, and walked out of the kitchen.
The car ride back to the house was hellfire. I unloaded on Jim as he carefully made his way back to our home.
“That’s it! You are fucking done working for that man!”
“How could you watch him grab me like that!?”
“You just stood there, smiling like an idiot!”
Jim was clearly regretful, red faced and embarrassed, “I’m really sorry babe. We were all drunk, and I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t want to cause a scene.”
“Better to let your boss grope me! God Jim, I cannot fucking believe you!” I rarely cursed, but the situation, and the alcohol, had me inflamed on a level I rarely reached.
“You’re lucky no one else was in the room! What if someone else had seen?”
“He wouldn’t have done it if anyone else was there.” Jim replied.
His response only angered me further. “Oh so no big deal then! Only my husband got to see!”
It wasn’t until later, in the shower, that I managed to calm down a fraction. As the water splashed across my naked body I felt a horrible shot of arousal, my nipples stiffening, and my pussy dampening at the infuriating memory. Yes, I was absolutely livid at my husband, for allowing such an intrusion to take place. Deeper, though, the real root of my anger was myself, because as Mr. Thomas’s momentarily explored my butt, I was taken aback by a terrifying heat that developed between my legs.
I disliked boisterous men, cocky men, arrogant men. Why then, had such a bold, inappropriate move, from such a confident man, turned me on in such a scary way?
When I returned to the bedroom, I mounted my husband, inflamed with arousal. “Shut up and fuck me.” I told him, as he looked up at me in confusion. It was a torrid session of love making, and one of the rare times when Jim was able to bring me to orgasm.
My testy reply took Jim aback, and he fumbled his napkin searching for a save, “No. I just- The sex was good that night.”
I managed to calm down, deciding to let his ill-made comment slide by, “No action tonight, Mr. Stirling. I’m getting past my period.” I threw back the remainder of my Pinot, adding with a smile, “But I will take some dessert.”
A disheartening look appeared on Jim’s face, he was clearly hoping to get lucky tonight. He sighed, “Well. I guess I’ll call Mr. Thomas over here to get us some cake.” He managed a joking smile, looking around for our waiter.
I laughed, “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Mr. Thomas waiting on you for once.”
He smirked, “A man can dream.”
Almost on cue, my husband’s phone rang.
Before he even had a chance to reach for it, I nearly shouted, “Oh no. Not tonight. Jim don’t-”
He looked at me in defeat, “Allie, please. It might be an emergency.”
“No sex for a week if you answer it.” I challenged him, already knowing he would still pick it up.
I leaned back in my chair in disgust.
“Mr. Thomas.” Jim spoke, sitting up at attention as he waited for his boss’s reply.
I watched as my husband nodded, speaking into his phone, “Mr. Parker, I remember him. Yes. Certainly.”
Jim spoke with such overt professionalism when speaking with Mr. Thomas, it was almost comical. He looked up at me. “Okay. That shouldn’t be a problem. Alright sir. I’ll add it to the calendar. Okay. Enjoy your weekend.”
“Is the world ending?” I chided as he put the phone down on the table.
“No, but you aren’t gonna like it.” Jim replied.
“Oh god. What is it?” I braced myself for whatever might come.
“Two weeks from now, dinner at Mr. Thomas’s apartment. Do you remember Mr. Parker?” He gently answered.
I sighed, nodding my head, “Big client of yours. Lives in the same building as Mr. Thomas.”
“His former business partner is flying in, has a ton of money, and is looking for new software for his new business venture. Mr. Thomas would like me there to close the deal, and since Mr. Parker’s wife will also be in attendance, he’d like you there as well.”
“Why do you need to frame it so professionally Jim? I’m your wife, remember? Can’t you just say we have a dinner?”
He blushed, realizing his own odd habits, “Sorry.”
I added, “I just don’t understand why that couldn’t have waited until Monday.”
My husband shrugged, “You know how he is.”
“Yes. I do.” Was my reply.
My day job, and career, was that of a Math Teacher. I loved Geometry, and currently taught it to seventh grade students at the local high school. I was sitting in the teacher’s lounge, the day of the scheduled dinner at Mr. Thomas’s apartment. The local news was on, and the weather report was troubling.
I called my husband, who answered, “Hey love.”
“Hi honey. I’m calling because I’m guessing the dinner tonight is cancelled.” I probed.
Jim was already in tune with what my concern was, “No actually. Mr. Thomas promised that it’ll wrap up early, the storm shouldn’t hit until tomorrow morning.”
I sighed, frustrated. “I really hope so Jim. I don’t want to get stuck in a blizzard.”
“Don’t worry. If it runs long I’ll tell Mr. Thomas that we have to leave, to beat the weather.” He replied.
“Sure you will.” I replied, amused by that idea.
“I will. Look, I gotta go. I’m walking into a meeting.” His voice was hurried.
To say I was angry, would have been a serious understatement. It was already coming down heavily on our drive into downtown.
“This is honestly ridiculous Jim.” I voiced my distaste as we arrived at the valet, the snow was coming down around us as we headed into the lobby. The valet even looked surprised to see a visiting arrival, and made sure to note that services would be shutting down early tonight.
“We’ll be quick.” Jim promised.
“No we won’t.” I knew.
His voice boomed when he opened the door. “Jim, Allie. Thank you for braving the weather, we’ll try to make this quick.”
“No problem Mr. Thomas.” My husband replied, shaking his boss’s large hand.
Mr. Thomas gave me a look with his piercing, dark eyes, adding, “Lovely as always, Allie. Let me take your coat.”
“Thank you.” I replied, both annoyed by, and glad to receive his compliment. I expected to be somewhat angered to see Mr. Thomas again, considering what happened last time. In reality, I wasn’t, and I actually found myself feeling strangely excited to be back in his company. I slowly moved into the large open space that took up the majority of his loft style penthouse. His apartment was always impressive, large vaulted ceilings with an incredible view of the city below. It was beautifully lit, and elegantly furnished, with tasteful finishes on nearly every square inch of the home. The large main space made it an ideal place for the various parties; it also included his bedroom, an office, and a large kitchen.
I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach when I noticed how heavily the snow was already falling outside one of his expansive windows.
The anxiousness only increased when I then felt Mr. Thomas place his hand on my waist, as he casually lead me deeper into the apartment. Jim followed in tow. Once again, my husband was bearing witness to his more assertive boss, and simply followed behind as Mr. Thomas held me by my waist. Why was Jim so willingly submissive in this man’s presence? I glanced upwards at his towering frame, noting his handsome profile. My nose picked up on Mr. Thomas’s patented scent, some kind of cologne that had tinges of vanilla and masculinity. It was hard to describe, but I had grown to love it. I even asked him what it was once, for Jim to use. He chuckled, joking that it was his natural aura.
We passed his free-standing wine cellar, filled with expensive liquors, reds, and whites. It was then that I saw three people sitting around his large dining table, sipping on various cocktails.
“Mr. Parker and Mrs. Parker, Mr. Schneider. I’d like to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Stirling.” The three of them stood from the table, both men were dressed well, and of average height and stature, not unlike Jim, although I did consider Jim to be more attractive than either. Mrs. Parker was a reasonably attractive blonde, maybe in her fifties. All three of them looked very well to do.
“I believe we’ve met.” Jim offered to Mr. Parker as they shook hands, jokingly. They saw each other quite often at the office.
“I believe we have.” Mr. Parker replied, adding, “Thanks for braving the weather, we’ll try to make this quick.”
‘Everyone keeps saying that, but none of you have to worry about heading back in this mess.’ I thought, to myself.
“My, aren’t you absolutely stunning.” The woman offered. Mr. Thomas gently let go of his hold on me, and I moved to shake her hand.
“Thank you.” I paused, noticing her gorgeous red dress, continuing, “You are as well.” I replied, smiling.
“You’re too kind dear. Please, call me Sheryl.”
“Allie.” I replied.
Dinner was surprisingly pleasant. So pleasant, in fact, that my worry over the weather fell towards the back of my mind. The catered meal was delicious, and as with any gathering at Mr. Thomas’s place, the alcohol flowed in over-abundance. The conversation between the men was mostly business, however, throughout the meal I caught Mr. Thomas looking at me with his captivating eyes. It was a common occurrence, and like I previously admitted, I had shamefully come to enjoy the excitement that came along with his attention. Unlike most men, when I would catch his eyes, he wouldn’t balk. He would simply continue to gaze at me, almost predatory in his confidence. It would always cause me to break, and to look away in embarrassment. Worse, it would even yield a fluttering sensation in my stomach, and sometimes even an inexplicable heat between my legs. I would look to my husband for relief, for some kind of safety, but he was distracted with his own conversations, consumed by the business of the evening.
After an hour had passed, and most of the food had been consumed, the three men disappeared into the office to “talk numbers”. I’d probably be better suited for the task, the Math teacher inside of me knew. Sheryl and I remained, wine glasses in hand. Through the dinner we had discussed our various careers, aspirations. Sheryl was an accomplished writer, even penning several plays that made it to screen adaptations. I offered some commentary on education, and arguments for an increase in teacher’s salaries. She was receptive to all of it, and even added her own insight on the matter. Sheryl was also riotous, a legitimate treat to converse with, unabashed, and unafraid to engage in risque conversation as well.
“So, how did you and Jim end up together?” She probed.
I could sense there was more meaning behind her question than the general inquiry of it.
“Well. We met shortly after college, at a technology conference. He was very bold back then, he came right up to me, asked me out. I wasn’t used to that sort of thing from guys who weren’t super jocky. It intrigued me.” I took a sip of wine, continuing, “Turns out we had a lot in common. He’s great at making me laugh.”
“That’s very important.” Sheryl conceded.
I continued, “He asked me to marry him only six months in, and I guess the rest is history.”
She nodded in response.
I added, “Sure he’s maybe not the tallest gu-”
“-I’m sure he’s an excellent catch.” She offered as a saving interruption, not wanting me to embarrass myself with unnecessary reasoning. She added, “He reminds me a bit of Phillip, when he was younger. About the same build, and a similar way about them.”
“Mr. Peters?” I asked, confirming what I already assumed.
We sat in silence for a moment, before I added. “He’s also Jewish, and if I brought home anything but my parents would have disowned me.” It was a joke, well, mostly.
That comment earned a hearty laugh from Sheryl, which contagiously spread back to myself.
We were both enjoying the humor of the moment, when a deep voice suddenly interrupted us.
I looked up to see Mr. Thomas, wine bottle in hand, already filling my glass. “How about a top off for two beautiful women.”
“Why thank you dear.” Sheryl offered.
“Thank you.” I added, once again enjoying his aura and intoxicating scent.
Before he could say anything else, Jim called out from the other room, “Mr. Thomas. Please take a look at this!”