Damn, she was close.
Tia's shoulders were bare, the milky, abundant flesh pressing hard against the straps of her softball tank top, inches from his sweaty body. But it was the proximity of her irrepressible hips that made Alonso move his linen napkin to his lap in an attempt to cover up the rising bulge there. She wasn't looking at him, thankfully, as she relived the evening's triple play for everyone's amusement at the pub booth. He tried very hard not to look at her. Or at least not to look like he was looking at her.
The Growlers were formed on the internet, like many informal softball teams. Nobody knew each other outside of the team, but they spent a fair amount of time together. Their stories were similar: Athletic types not quite good enough for the pros or even the minors, drawn to office work for the money, yet missing the thrill of the game they had enjoyed in school. Most were married, including Tia and Alonso, but the spouses seldom showed, shooing the weekend warriors out the door while they settled down for a quiet evening of Netflix with no interruptions. That generally suited Alonso fine. Generally.
He had, of course, seen Tia checking him out on a fairly regular basis. This was not unusual, since the other ladies on the team did likewise. His Spanish heritage and strict workout regimen set him apart from the other men on the crew, and indeed from many other men in town, so he was used to that. It helped him get priority status from female business clients, for sure.
But in a lifetime of getting ogled, no one's attention had ever gotten to him like Tia's. Her smile and eyes were bewitching enough, but set atop that voluptuous body, which her clothing struggled to contain, she was a force of nature. He knew enough about her husband to know she'd married for money, and could well imagine that there were unmet needs steaming beneath those thin shorts.
However, Alonso Echeverria was not the man to meet them. He had married for love, eschewing the many opportunities for simple lust that had presented themselves throughout his school days. His wife's mind was a constant source of interest for him, and they often talked late into the night about topics that would bewilder most people. Despite this, their sex life was middling. Not bad, certainly, but not nearly as explosive as the intellectual sparks they threw. The things he did with his wife almost always originated with his thoughts of what he would do with Tia. It made him feel guilty.
To calm his nerves, he ordered another beer. He would never have risked impairing his judgment in such a situation even a few months ago, but it had been a year now, and Tia had never even remotely attempted to break any barriers. He could not blame her for his body's reactions any more than he could blame himself for her eyes' occasional wandering to his muscular backside. They were two members of a mutual admiration society. Adults, thank you very much.
Alonso continued to reassure himself with that thought when he felt her warm hip press against his in the booth. She was laughing now, and paying him no attention as Ray told one of his many goofy coaching stories across the table. But damn, she was close. Her silky shoulder now touched his, and there was no way he could stand up now, not without introducing the entire group to his raging boner. It wasn't her fault, it was a cramped booth, and everyone was caught up in post-game euphoria. Alonso was probably the only one freaking out. He took another pull of cerveza, and told himself to calm the fuck down.
That worked for a few minutes, until he felt something. At first he wasn't sure if it was what he thought it was. Surreptitiously, he cast his eyes down and confirmed the reports from his nerves: Tia's smooth hand had come to rest atop his thigh.
It was not a suggestive move, really. She still wasn't looking at him, and everyone's limbs were all crammed against each those of their neighbor anyway. Alonso writhed inside, cooked by his own private torment. Half of him wanted nothing more than for her to move her fingertips a few inches downward, to discover what her body was doing to him. The other half was mortified at the prospect that any such revelation could occur, and his mind searched frantically for a countermeasure. Desperately, he scooted his own hand between her digits and his aching crotch. It was as close as he could get to chastity belt on such short notice.
Lightning shot through Alonso's nerves when, in response to his move, Tia's ivory hand slid over and very delicately laced its fingers through his.
He was a complete mess now. Just inches to his left, Tia's face betrayed no hint of what she had done. Gesticulating with her free hand, she did an impression of their curmudgeonly umpire, eliciting laughs all around. A big basket of home fries concealed her machinations below the table. Alonso dared not break contact with her flesh, for fear of alerting anyone else to what was going on. He downed the rest of his beer and took deep breaths, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible until they could have a moment alone so he could sort this out. He took commitment very seriously, and was not about to violate his wife's trust.
The check arrived, and one by one, the other Growlers made their goodbyes. As was traditional, Tia stood to give them a big hug as they departed. While grateful to have the tension on his lap relieved, the bubble of her smooth and voluminous ass in his face was now even more torturous than usual. Alonso excused himself to the restroom, and splashed water on his face.
"No," he said to himself. "No, no, no. This is not going to happen. Tell her."
Stepping out, he found Tia waiting for him in the hallway, somewhat abashed. He steeled himself, but she spoke first.
"I shouldn't have done that," she said, notably not with embarrassment, but with sincere humility. "Not without asking."
"Tia, I..."
"I would never, EVER cheat on my husband, Alonso," she said, with surprising firmness. "Even with you."
He was confused now. "Okay, but..."
"It's just that..." she said, with a sigh. "Did you ever play dress-up?"
Now Alonso was totally baffled. "Dress-up?"
"Yeah, like...pretending to be someone else? Playing like something was true even when it wasn't?"
"I mean, sure, but..."
"Why do we stop doing that when we're adults?" she asked, in a perfectly reasonable tone of voice that, in Alonso's estimation, was totally at odds with the situation. "Why do we think we only have to show exactly what is?"
He blew out a breath. "Because in my experience, adults seem to be pretty goddamned terrible at keeping fantasy separate from reality."
Tia laughed, without guile, but causing Alonso's heart to skip a little. "Many adults do, yes," she said, sighing a little as her big brown eyes searched the wall for her next words. "Can I be honest for a minute? Ben and I used to have...well, a pretty crappy time together in bed."
Alonso leaned against the wall, almost fearing to hear what would come next.
"...and I'll be real, I thought many times about getting someone on the side. But I'm very big on promises. Probably too big. Anyway, a few years ago, I went to a costume ball. I dressed as Morticia Addams, and there was a man there dressed as Gomez. Ben couldn't make it, so I danced with this guy all night...it was pretty amazing."
Shifting a bit, Alonso fidgeted with his keys in his pocket. He had the uncanny feeling of being swept downstream, which kept him on edge.
"I mean, the thoughts my mind was spinning as we twirled around that floor...I thought, this is it, this is when I finally crack. But at the end of the evening, the man simply bowed, released me and then took off with his boyfriend. I was gayjacked!"
