Like many couples who attempt to cultivate an open relationship, my husband and I have all our adventures together. We feel there is something ugly about secret infidelities, and we have always had difficulty understanding when they happen among our "vanilla" friends. It is especially discomforting when it happens within couples who would excellent candidates for alternative lifestyles, but they refuse to admit to themselves that they would like to open their relationships a little bit. For fear they would have to be honest with themselves and their partners about their desires, they end up doing something stupid that destroys their relationship.
We have also acknowledged that there may be temptation out there for both of us. My husband is a very successful man. His great looks, warm personality and sense of humor, not to mention his yacht, and his Mercedes convertible, and the way he wears his success like a favorite comfortable jacket, mean there is no shortage of attention from attractive women of every age, even if it's for the wrong reason.
Even though I have recently crossed over the border into my early forties, I have been blessed by excellent genetics and a lifestyle that keeps me fit. Most people believe that I'm in my late thirties and assume that my husband robbed the cradle. I'm five-foot seven, weigh 130 pounds, have very long slender legs and wear a 34G bra to support the gift my dear Italian mother ever gave me. I work to keep myself fit, and feel blessed (and somewhat embarrassed at times) at the amount of attention I receive from men of every age. Men are, by and large, helpless victims of curiosity when it comes to an attractive well-dressed businesswoman with large breasts.
To makes matters more interesting, I operate as a sales executive in one of the most male-dominated markets that exists anywhere in the U.S. Of the hundreds of executives in my industry, one can count the female executives with the position of vice-president or above on one hand nationwide.
The problem with most of that attention is that it comes from men in whom I would never have any interest. Executive engineers, self-appointed entrepreneurial playboys, a few married men who are very unhappy at home and foolish enough to risk everything for just one night of sexual release is the norm. None of those qualify as my type and I simply act like I don't understand their silly-ass double entendre innuendos.
There are a few very attractive men in the business, and most of them are either happily married to women who understand what they have, or too young and ridiculous to be considered of any real interest. In fact there are about three who border on male model material, but their youth makes them far too unpredictable, perhaps even scary. They are not the kind of people who I would trust with my reputation. So, for me, business trips and national convention attendance is devoted to business, and some pleasant after-hours socializing.
I was enjoying some of that after-hours socializing, sitting with a small group of associates, when I heard my text message signal. I grabbed my cell phone from my purse. It was about that time of the evening when my honey likes to text message me to see if I'm busy, or whether it's a good time to call and tell me he loves me and "Goodnight." I opened the phone expecting one of his cute, imaginative messages. Contrary to my expectations I read the text message from a number shown as "private" which read, "Are u busy? Do u think we could go somewhere talk private?"
I stared at the message, really confused, and more than a little bit pissed. How dare someone ask for a "private talk" and not even let me know who was sending me the message. I quickly responded, "I don't do privates, only colonels and above." Take that, you jerk. "Who is this?"
I waited for a reply, it didn't come. I mumbled "asshole" under my breath and slipped my cell back into my purse. I resumed my conversation with the men at my table, and in about five minutes heard my text message signal. Reaching into my purse I flipped open my cell phone and hit the inbox key.
The text message read, "Please turn your attention to the bar for a moment." The sender was still marked as private. I was starting to get angry, and that is not pretty. I spun around a little in my chair and looked toward the bar. There were about 14 people at the bar all with their backs to me, except one.
It was one of the male model candidates I mentioned earlier. I had known him for about three years, and we had worked together on a number of projects. Carson had just turned thirty, I remembered his birthday party. He was about six-foot-three. He had one of those bodies that was just muscular enough to indicate he worked out regularly, but trim enough to still look very stylish in a double-breasted suit. I had frequently noticed his very strong arms and hands, his perfect chiseled face, his dark slightly curly hair, and his Newman-blue eyes. I had felt drawn to him physically many times before, and he had always been very sweet and very attentive, but I had always dismissed it as ass kissing on his part. As my eyes met his he smiled broadly, and gave me one of those inane chest-high waves. At the very moment he waved I felt a slight tingle between my legs. "That's ridiculous," I thought to myself. "Maybe I need to shave or something."
Another text message followed immediately. "Can you break away?" I simply threw the phone back in my purse. After about five my minutes of conversation, I heard the signal again. One of the men I was sitting with said, "My, aren't we popular tonight?" I smiled, opened the phone to read, "When could you break away?"
I quickly typed, "I'm busy, not now," hit the send button and put it back in my purse. The conversation continued for about 45 minutes, and I caught myself looking over toward the bar several times. The last time I looked that way, Carson was gone. "Good!" I thought to myself, that's over."
As I continued to converse with my associates, I caught myself thinking about that gorgeous young man, picturing his blue suit, his sharply pressed white shirt, and the absolutely charismatic way he smiled. While overtly nodding my head in agreement to a salient point brought up by one of the small group seated around the table, for a split second I had a picture pop through my head of bobbing my head up and down on a hard young cock. I mentally slapped myself back to reality and the situation I was currently trying to participate in. I got caught back up to the conversation surrounding me, everything stayed normal for a moment until my mind drifted off mid-sentence and I could actually smell clean young skin and almost feel my tongue flicking across a nipple on a tan muscled chest. "Stop it!" I thought. I reminded myself that the opportunity had passed and I had missed it. But, it began to distract me to the point that I was losing track of the conversation around me. Rather than be impolite, I said good-night and excused myself.
As I heard the echo of my own high heels clicking across the spacious lobby toward the elevators I thought to myself, "At least I didn't have to make the phone call." See, Mark and I have a remarkable and unbreakable agreement, and it has worked very well during the years we have been married. While we are in the lifestyle and do enjoy being with a few select others sexual partners, as I said before, we never play alone. We agreed many years ago that if either one of us was tempted while we were apart, we would pick up a phone and call the other, while in the company of the tempter or temptress, so that everyone involved understood exactly what was going on, before we actually allowed ourselves to proceed with another person. It has worked very well. I know it has kept me from allowing casual flirtation and a little alcohol allow something to go too far. When confronted with a possible liaison, I have frequently asked myself whether what I was contemplating was worth having to make that phone call. On every previous occasion I decided it was not, and stopped wasting my time with someone I clearly didn't want badly enough. Mark has agreed that it has kept him from doing a few simple casual things as well. However, we have both agreed that if one of us makes the phone call, if confronted with that serious of an attraction, the other will give our blessings.
I can't even express my gratitude for that level of trust, and the brilliance of that idea. And I honestly admitted to myself, that given a little time to explore, another drink or two, a little flirtation, an elegant suite with a champagne bottle in the corner, tonight may have been the night I had to be the first to make the call.
While riding the elevator of to my room on the twenty-third floor, my text signal rang again. I didn't know what to expect this time, reached in my purse, pulled out the phone and flipped it open angrily. The text message surprised me, "I hope you are having a wonderful time in Dallas, miss your sweet kiss goodnight, try not to drive them crazy, all my love, Mark."
A flush of calm and well-being overtook my entire body. The man I love does that to me. He makes me feel warm and cared for. As I smiled at nothing, the text bell rang again.
Expecting a follow-up message from my honey, I pushed the inbox button. The text read, "I have suspected for a long time that you and Mark have an open relationship. Is that true? Is there a chance you and I could talk? Room 2135."
My calm was replaced by a sense of rage. In my mind I shouted, "You impudent little bastard. I am going to take your fucking head off! How dare you?!" The elevator stopped on the 23rd floor. I pushed the button for floor 21 about 22 times. I pushed the "close door" button about ten times, then pushed the "21" button about four more times and kicked the base of the control panel for good measure. Finally the door closed, the elevator dropped two floors, the door opened and I stormed out into the hallway toward 2135. I wasn't certain what I was going to do, but I knew it was not going to be pleasant.
I walked up to the hotel room door, double checked the room sign, "2135", and pounded on the door. I heard a muffled voice reply, "Just a minute. I'll be right there!" As I waited for the door to open I mentally ran through all the ultimatums I was about to deliver to Carson. I don't remember being that angry, ever. The longer I stood at the door, the angrier I got.
I could hear some fumbling with the lock. As the door opened, about 90% of my built-up rage flushed from my body. Standing at the door were six-plus feet of the most seductive looking young man I have ever had the privilege of seeing. The white towel wrapped around his hips contrasted with the dark tan six-pack of his abdomen and the highly defined musculature of his legs. His pectoral muscles, his arms and his shoulders were larger and much more defined than I had remembered. I finally managed to look up at his broad, white, perfect smile. God, this man was beautiful! "Hi, come on in!" he said as he moved out of the way and invited me inside.
