Allure of the Vixen (9 page)

Which was what I’d expect Joanne to look, guilty.
Peter must be able to tell, just from the tone of her voice, about me, and about
what his wife had been doing with me.

Yet Joanne looked anything but guilty, she was
totally relaxed, standing tall, that subtle amused look now suffusing her entire
face, a hint of a smile, her eyes moving from me to Peter and back.

My hands were sweaty, or so I thought, but it was
only my drink, I had spilled it in shock. Slowly my senses returned, the buzz
in the room resumed, it had never stopped.

I looked around, everything was as it was before,
people milling around, what eyes that were turned our way were on Joanne only,
not on me. On her because of her beauty, not because her nearness to me had
screamed some hidden secret.

I was shaking, in surprise, and then, in anger.
Joanne had lied to me. She was
married.

I glanced over at Peter, who was frozen, staring at
his wife, in anguish, and now I understood what he had been talking about, or
so I thought, blessed yet cursed with this stunning woman. He didn’t have to
look around the room to know that every man was leering at her, some trying to
hide it as they sipped drinks, or looked over the shoulder of the person they
were chatting with, others openly ogling her.

When Peter had told me about his wife, about how he
felt about men staring at her, and likely fantasizing about her, I never for a
minute thought about Joanne as I tried to picture who Peter was talking about,
which married woman in the office might be Peter’s wife. Joanne wasn’t one of
the married ones.

It seemed I was wrong.

Now Peter looked over at me, and his eyes widened.
My first reaction was that he had seen me staring at his wife, I had done
exactly what he said affected him so much. Even though I was separated from
Joanne by the back of the couch I shifted a little, subconsciously putting a
little more distance between us.

Peter’s eyes returned to Joanne, and instinctively I
turned toward her. She was still a statue, not cold and frozen, but other than
the tiny smile, gave no indication of what she was thinking. Peter’s eyes
flicked back to me, and I met his gaze, trying to keep a poker face, but today,
or maybe because of something I was giving off, his face flushed, his pupils
dilated, his shoulders sagged.

He knew.

Nothing I could say or do would salvage this
situation, not that it was even mine to salvage. This was Joanne’s problem now,
hers and her husband’s. She had made her bed and now had to sleep in it.

Actually, she had made her bed and I had slept in
it.

I picked up a cocktail napkin and dried my drink,
washing my hands of everything that had happened, the conversation with Peter,
learning the truth. Washing my hands of Joanne.

I felt like telling her to go fuck herself, but I
wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing how much her deceit had affected
me. Instead I turned a cold eye on her, making it clear how I felt.

Her reaction was not at all what I had expected.
Defensiveness, evasion, shame, all those responses might have been expected.
Instead, her normally cool demeanor dropped away, replaced by a sadness,
something I’d never seen in her, but I was certain of it. Her eyes melted, she
suddenly seemed lost, uncomprehending of the turn of events, not what she
expected.

Not because of her husband’s witnessing of our
affair, but because of my cold reaction.

Joanne shook her head slightly, not believing. From
her, this small gesture was like a shout, a cry for me to forgive her, to stay.

My face was hard as I walked out the door, no longer
giving a shit who was watching.

In the lobby I stopped at a kiosk and
bought a package of cigarettes. I didn’t even smoke, but this certainly seemed
like a good reason to start. I just needed to do something with my hands,
otherwise I might have punched something, someone.

I pushed through the revolving door, bumping into
people, fighting my urges to lash out at a stranger. I walked three blocks
before I realized it was raining. I still had the cigarettes in my hand and
tossed them into a trash bin.

The cold rain had washed away the usual city smells,
bringing a cleanliness I didn’t feel and didn’t deserve. I was pissed. At
Joanne, for lying to me. And thought it made no sense, I was angry at Peter,
how could a guy let his wife do what she had done?

Mostly I was angry at myself, at the trap I had let
myself fall into.

I had never fucked around with a married woman.
Sure, I’d fantasized about a lot of them, just because they were off limits
didn’t mean I didn’t appreciate their beauty. Not married myself, I always
thought that when I did tie the knot, I wouldn’t want any other guy to have my
wife, and it never occurred to me that any woman I would marry would want to
sleep with anyone but me.

I knew all about swinging, but that was a different
lifestyle, husbands and wives making that decision together. But if it got to
the point where my wife of the future was with another man, that would mean our
marriage was over.

The closest I had come was a relationship with a
woman who had been separated two full years; she told me she hadn’t seen her
husband in over a year, and I believed her. Their divorce was in progress, it
was just taking a while, the state she lived in required a full year of
separation before marriage, and then they had both moved to other states,
complicating everything. She seemed long over him, the marriage at that point a
technicality. We had a normal relationship, our geographical differences ending
it after six months. I didn’t even think of her as being married.

I had never even hit on a married woman either, and
as a result, I had a lot of women friends who were married, I think they must
have felt I was safe, or they were tired of other men always trying to get them
in bed, even the men who were themselves married. So I had plenty of
opportunities, but had not only never succumbed, I had make it a rule not to go
that route. I just didn’t need the complications.

Now here I was, well past the point of fantasizing
about a married woman, beyond flirtation, beyond even talking about it. Joanne
and I had jumped right over the barriers which normally served to keep most
marriages intact, we had skipped any discussion of whether we should become
involved, we hadn’t talked about what was right. We had jumped right to
fucking.

On a corner, the light changed to yellow, and I
waited. Just something like that yellow light, a bit of a warning, might have
avoided all this. I can’t say I know what would have happened if I had known
Joanne was married when she came on to me; I wanted to think I could have
resisted her charms, her beauty. I’d done it before with other women. Joanne
might have been more of a challenge.

Maybe that would have been worse, if Joanne had
seduced me, breaking down my barriers, going to that place I had vowed never to
go. Not only with a woman at the office, but a married one.

I’d never know. By not telling me the truth, Joanne
had taken away my chance to stay true to my rule.

My clothes were soaked, a ruination they didn’t
deserve, much like my ego. I turned for my apartment. I felt miserable enough
without destroying my suit; I wouldn’t need another reminder of what Joanne had
driven me to.

Two blocks later my phone buzzed in my pocket. I
didn’t look at it. I wouldn’t want to talk to Joanne, begging forgiveness. And
I didn’t want to see what my reaction would be if it
wasn’t
her calling
me.

I trudged through the puddles to my apartment
building. I hesitated before going in, it was my place, but it would remind me
of Joanne, of our trysts. I considered taking the train to the country, to my
house, where she had never been.

I shook my head. Screw it. She wasn’t going to take
this from me.

Once inside I stripped off my clothes and took a
long hot shower, losing myself in the hiss of the water. When I was finished I
dropped onto the bed. The missed message light on my phone flashed. I regained
some of my dignity by ignoring it totally.

I hadn’t set the alarm so was surprised to
wake up when it was still a little dark. I had finally drifted off after a few
hours of restlessness, my mind whirling with thoughts of Joanne, of how I had fucked
up. I even thought of Peter. In my dreams he had come at me like an angry bee,
appearing far more of a threat than he had at the office, when he had seemed
rather—I couldn’t describe it. Like he had discovered some secret, but it
wasn’t the one he had expected to uncover.

Maybe Peter wasn’t surprised to learn that his wife
had been cheating, only who she had been cheating with. The guy he was just
talking to. Me.

I thought about skipping the office, I had to get my
head on straight before a chance run in with Joanne. I didn’t trust myself to
just ignore her as I had managed to do last night.

As I started to get up my apartment buzzer snapped
my mind into the present, and I realized it was the angry bee of my dream. Who
the fuck would be buzzing me at this hour?

Only one person.

I sat on the edge of the bed. If I ignored her,
she’d go away.

No such luck. She leaned on the buzzer, a raucous
obnoxious sound, so utterly incongruous an announcement of a woman so refined.

A
lying
refined woman.

I pulled on a shirt and shorts and went to the foyer,
buttoning up along the way. Without thinking I leaned against the very part of
the wall where Joanne and I had fucked. Would this be my fate, to be constantly
reminded of her, even by a blank wall?

The buzzer had stopped, and I thought she’d given
up.

“If you don’t open the door, I’m going to say
something really nasty that your neighbors will hear.” Joanne’s voice was
actually cool and collected, and not at all loud. She was assuming I was on the
other side of the door.

How did this woman know me so well? Was there
something in my semen that gave her an insight into my moods and thoughts?

I opened the damned door.

As she had the first time at my place, Joanne pushed
past me. She was dressed for work, even though it was still almost dark out.
“Going incommunicado is not you,” she admonished.

I shut the door and followed her into the living
room. “You don’t know me. I keep telling you that.”

“Bullshit. You deal with problems. You think this is
a problem. You aren’t the type to ignore it, you face it.”

“I don’t think we have a problem,” I said. “I don’t,
anyway. Not anymore. You on the other hand, probably have one with your
husband.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t know me. Peter and I
don’t have a problem at all.”

Joanne sat down on the sofa without waiting for an
invitation, crossing her elegant legs. I looked in spite of myself, and when I
pulled my eyes back to her face she had that little smile, she had caught me.

“Your legs aren’t going to get you out of this one,
with me or your husband. Actually, I don’t give a shit about your problem with
your husband.”

“I told you we don’t have a problem.”

“That’s not what it looked like to me. I saw the
look on his face, he knew something was going on with the two of us. And before
you showed up, he had just been telling me how he didn’t like going to parties
with you, because he sees everyone checking you out. I bet he’s always
suspicious of you fucking around.”

Joanne’s face was composed, her lips tight, only the
flare in her eyes a clue to her reaction. “I am
not
fucking around.”

“Oh no? What do you call what we were doing?”

“You are my lover. We were fucking, yes. But I
wasn’t fucking around on my husband. That implies I was cheating, and I
certainly wasn’t doing that.”

I shook my head. “You’re not making any sense.”

“You’re a smart guy, you figure it out.”

I don’t think I would have even if I had been
thinking straight. “I’m too tired for games, I’m tired of you. If I let you
explain it, will you just leave?”

“I’ll do better than that. After I explain it to
you, I’ll accept your apology for treating me like shit, and I’ll give you the
chance to stay as my lover.”

Only Joanne could have pulled that off. I laughed
dismissively. “Okay, I’ll bite. I can’t wait to hear this.”

Joanne patted the sofa. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“A long story, is it?” I ignored the sofa and sat on
the lounge chair. Resting my hands on my knees, I leaned forward, dramatically
pretending interest, although I had to admit, she had me wondering.

Joanne pulled her hair away from her face, maybe a
gesture to suggest truth. “You’re drawing all kinds of wrong conclusions. You
seem to think I was cheating on my husband.”

“What do you call having sex with another man while
you are married?
Married
being the operative term, which you never told
me about.”

“We’ll get to that. As for the cheating—it’s only
cheating if he didn’t know.”

My mind had already gone down the path of what she
might say about why she had lied to me, not telling me about her marriage, that
I kind of lost focus. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” Joanne was totally serious, intent.

“Are you saying your husband knows about us?”

“Not you specifically. But he knows I have a lover.
Lovers, actually.”

I was already shaking my head. “I don’t believe it.”

Joanne gave a small shrug. “You can choose to
believe what you want. Do you want me to call him? You can ask him yourself.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would. In fact I’ve done it before. I didn’t
think I’d have to do it for you.”

“So let me get this straight. Your husband knows you
have sex with other men?”

“He’s always known. I didn’t just go out and start—
fucking
around
—as you put it. Peter and I talked about it for a long time, even
before we were married.  I told him I loved him, but I couldn’t be satisfied by
one man. I’d be willing to marry him, but he’d have to accept that I would
always have a lover. Or more than one.”

I had to admit, she had me flummoxed. I leaned back
in the seat. “I didn’t see that coming.” I thought about it for a while. “Wait
a minute. He agreed to this? Before you were married?”

“Totally. And it’s now part of our marriage. I tell
him everything.
Everything,
do you understand?”

“As in details?”

Joanne smiled. “
Excruciating
details. What I
did. What was done to me. What days I’m going to do it. Although he can usually
figure that out, he watches me get dressed, he can usually tell by what I wear.
He knows me very well.”

I was having a hard time wrapping my head around
this story. “Those days when you didn’t wear underwear—he watched you dress
like that?”

“Sometimes he even had a hand in it. That first day
we were together, remember what I wore?”

“The stockings, with the garters.”

Joanne smiled. “I’m glad you remembered, I think I
would have given you a little slap right now if you hadn’t. The garters—I had
Peter clip them on that morning.”

Wow. That was a mind blowing thought. A man dressing
his wife in sexy clothing, knowing she was going to be with another man. Now I
understood exactly what Peter was talking about at the party, his unease at seeing
men ogle his wife, he must have thought they might someday be her lover. Or
already were.

“Why does he put up with this?”

Joanne gave me a little fake pout. “You have to ask
that?”

“It’s a high price, even for you.”

“I still might slap you. You’re drawing the wrong
conclusions again, because you aren’t making the right assumptions. How would
you feel if your wife had a lover?”

“It wouldn’t happen.”

“You say that now. But I’ll accept it, knowing you.
Let me ask it another way. You must know that there are a lot of different
things that turn people on. We’ve talked about some of them. Can’t you open
your mind to the idea that Peter enjoys it?”

I stopped. And I did try. But I couldn’t get there.
It was too farfetched for me. “I can’t, although I accept your point. Shit, I
was pissed that you had another lover besides me, and we aren’t even married.”
Another thought occurred to me. “Why did you marry him, knowing that?”

“You think of me as mean, don’t you?” And now
Joanne’s eyes had that same look I had seen in the office, the one with the
hint of sadness.

“I think it’s mean to cuckold your husband.”

“I wouldn’t have married Peter if it was mean. I
love him too much. You have to keep remembering that. He simply cannot satisfy
me totally. I’ve never met a man who could. Including you.”

“You don’t want me to think you are mean, and then
you say something like that?”

“Please. Your ego is plenty big to take that. I’m
talking about me, not you. You are a wonderful lover. I only have wonderful
lovers, else they don’t stay lovers. I just have too many needs, and I don’t
think one man can satisfy them all.”

I looked away, not quite understanding why I cared
so much. “You never gave me a chance.”

“You’re thinking about the oral sex, aren’t you? You
have to believe me, we could have had all kinds of oral sex, you might be the
best giver of oral sex on the planet, and that wouldn’t be enough.”

“Then what are these other needs you have?”

“You really want to know?”

I wasn’t sure I did. She was talking about a world I
didn’t think even I could be totally comfortable in. Still, she had me
enthralled by this story, it was too complicated, and yet fit the situation so
cleanly, to have been made up. “Humor me, tell me one need you have I can’t
fulfill.”

“You already know one of them. If we were married,
how would you like it if I took another lover, and then came home and told you
everything I had done with him, how he had fucked me, how he had come in me?”

“Is that your need, or his?”

“You’re right, it’s a little of both. My need is to
drive him crazy and arouse him. And I admit, it turns me on, being able to do
what I want, and tell my husband about it. I told you I’m not mean to Peter. I
made sure he was comfortable about this before we were married. It didn’t take
long for either one of us to find out that he was more than comfortable with
it, it actually excited him. I’m just telling it like it is when I say he’s a
nice guy, but he’s just average looking. He has an average cock. He’s a
sensitive but average lover. He’d be the first to tell you all those things. So
having a wife like me, he’s proud that other men want me. You thought he was
jealous, when he told you about seeing other men look at me. He’s not jealous,
he’s
thrilled.
It gets him aroused, wildly aroused. He never thought he
could have a woman like me for a wife. I’m beautiful and sexy, and I’m not
bragging. It’s just the truth. He feels like more of a man when other men want
me.”

“Sounds like less of a man, not more of a man.”

Joanne’s eyes flashed. “I’m telling you this so you
understand, but don’t you ever say anything mean or bad about Peter. He’s not
less of a man. He’s just not the type of man you are. I don’t humiliate him.
How he feels about it is his business, I’m not sure I understand all of his
emotions, they are complicated. But I accept them.” She paused. “What would you
have done if the roles had been reversed, if you had been Peter last night, and
you had seen your wife’s lover?”

“I would have punched him out, then divorced you.”