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On your lunch?
I often take a working lunch,I texted, toying with him, having fun, the whole point.
Can you slip away on a Friday?
Maybe. But can you wait that long? Sounds urgent, especially if you’re staying with Gale.
Not at Gale’s. Four Seasons. I can wait.Dave Bradford at the Four Seasons sounded like the lunch break of a lifetime. I could not wait.
I can pencil it in for Friday under new business.
The blue dots again. Bated. Breath.
Great. Lk fwd to learning more about your biz.
Oh God. I asked myself if this was something Mother would do. The answer was: not exactly. She didn’t succumb to sexual urges like a regular person. Hers was more of a bloodlust. Money hungry. The con was her lover. Still, when I started to sense one of my wild streakscoming on, I really tried to keep a lid on it, despite my animal instincts. It wasn’t behavior like Mother, but it was Mother-adjacent enough to give me pause. But it had beensolong. The urges hadn’t even really happened since I’d been with Collin, except for the rivalry with Gale, but that wasn’t the same thing. I had found my lack of deviant behavior comforting. Boring, but comforting. I was hoping that side of me had been snuffed because this wasitwith Collin. He was the one. The person I needed to have. To feel safe.
But then I met Dave and now I was salivating over him. This bubbling feeling of just wanting toseewhat could happen if I did step a toe out of line or drive the train off the tracks. I often felt like I could burst if I didn’t go after the bad thing that I wanted. Purely pushing boundaries for pure pleasure’s sake.
The same kind of thing always got Mother going.
I wasn’t proud of it, but the truth was that anytime I took a menacing turn, I never felt more alive. So I had a predilection for erratic behavior? Oh, well. I’m sure I’d inherited it from Mother. But I knew how to manage it.
Mostly.
I wouldn’t actually let him touch me.
Would I?
•••
THE WORKWEEK DRAGGEDon, as I had almost nothing to do except eagerly await Friday. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t a good idea to have all that anticipation built from our last correspondence. There was absolutely nothing in the interim. No chitchat. No confirmation the day before. Just an address in the East Village that came through via text that morning around 10:00. I was instructed to meet him there at 12:30.
A brooding Dave waited for me, just outside the building, smoking a cigarette, looking extremely hot. When I exited the taxi, the left corner of his dirty little mouth curled upward, the cigarette firmly in position on the other side. I wanted to ravage him right there in front of the doorman. Take out your phone and film it, buddy, I didn’t care. Luckily, cooler heads prevailed when I approached him, since I shook his hand instead of mounting him.
“Dave. Nice to see you again.” I smiled.
He didn’t say anything in return. He simply motioned with his head for me to follow him, tossing his cigarette to the side. We didn’t say much in the elevator either, though it was clear our hearts were racing and our loins were quivering. He stood right next to me, our bodies softly touching, a physical heat building between us. It was erotic. Illicit. Mouthwatering. When we finally got to the correct floor and the doors parted, Dave opened his mouth.
“How’s Collin?” he asked me.
Jesus. What a boner killer. If Dave wanted to start a full-blown affair with me, why would he bring up my husband? I was annoyed. “Wonderful,” I replied. “The perfect husband.”
“That sounds like Collin.”
“Does it?”
“Gale’s always thought so.”
“Ha. Ha.” He was teasing me on purpose. He liked that I was married. He liked that I hated Gale. He liked this game we were playing. Truthfully, I did, too. He put a key in the door. I noticed it was the only door on the floor. The penthouse. “So where’s the broker?” I asked him.
“Not here,” Dave said, walking in the door. I followed him inside, elated to be alone. The apartment was stunning. No town house, but nothing to sniff at either. Three beds, three baths, and I wanted tohave sex with him in all of them. Plentiful views through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Lots of concrete and metal and matte finishes. It was harsh and industrial. What we deserved.
“What do you think?” Dave asked me, looking around like an inspector.
“It’s all right,” I said, nonchalant. “Lots of hard edges.”
“No children here. I don’t see the problem.”
