"You're welcome Jamie," Sammy said in a low throaty imitation of Katharine Hepburn. Jamie smiled and went away. "Ohh, your man's so hot Damien! Some people do have it all, you bitch."
I laughed heartily. Jamie was hot, always had been ever since our first date ten years ago, up until our marriage, six years and counting, knock on wood. I could not believe my luck that this Asian hunk of a man fell in love with little me and found time of the day for me, asked me out that first time, and finally asked me to be his lawful wedded husband and partner. Every day I gave thanks, on my knees, with my mouth. Mother did instill good values in me.
Kyle was found belatedly, looking slightly flushed, and he finished his chocolate mousse just in time for the red carpet viewing to start and the stupid "Who's you're wearing, who's you're wearing?" commentary to begin. I climbed to our bedroom to clean up and caught my husband holding his cock inside his black underwear, his hand moving slow and sensuous in that international language, watching someone down below at the pool, that if I bend slightly at my neck I could probably see the person my husband was masturbating to, and just caught a glimpse of strawberry-blond hair against the last of the sun falling on the water. Kyle, I thought.
I let my thought reflect on that and simmer about for a bit as I cleaned up in the bathroom. Kyle, Kyle. Kyle was taller than me, but still shorter than my husband, and his strawberry-blond hair was teased and permed like Blanche Deveraux if she was born 5'9'' and a male. It was an old fashioned look, a calculated look that always drew attention to him because of the color of his hair which was so striking in the light, be it the sun or a lamp. We were work-colleagues, that was how we knew each other, working together for the music publication and blog Blue Notes, blue because of jazz haha. Suddenly I remembered one cold snowy night just after me and my husband were married - a post-honeymoon to our honeymoon - when my husband confided he found blond hair a turn on, which I replied with a guffaw seeing as I was a bonafide brunet.
I watched them hawklike as I played the gallant host. My husband was dressed in his favorite black polo, the one with shimmery mesh-like fabric overlying the shirt, that made him look slinky and tall and dangerous. He was holding his margarita close, sipping it little at a time to not to succumb too early to the alcohol. Kyle was seven out of ten times standing close to my husband, though he masked it with his catering duties. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they laughed, sometimes my husband whispered something in Kyle's ear, his halo of golden hair covering his cusp, and then they would laugh at some inner joke.
On the screen the red-carpet proceedings drew to a close, and there was a pause before the ceremony proper, a lull during which the guests topped up their food. Then the ceremony started, and the guests sat at the many couches and chairs around the pool and beside the house. That was when I realized Kyle and Jamie were nowhere to be seen. I staggered over the hosting duties to Sammy and Joey, and crawled inside the house. I actually really needed the rest, holding up plates and glasses could be tedious work.
The house was dark, in order to make the screen outside more luminous. But now it was almost kind of hard to orientate oneself if one did not have the memory of the placement of furniture and everything else. I made my way slowly across the landing to the stair, up to the second floor. I was almost at the master bedroom's door before a squeak and a moan stopped me in my tracks.
