Eleanor stared in the mirror. At thirty-three, after three children, she was not the beautiful young cheerleader that Stan had met in high school. Was that what this was all about? Swinging? Just the word made her cringe. A swingers' party no less. Not something this soccer mom would have ever thought about.
But what choice did she have? Stan made it perfectly clear...she was no longer enough. He did not want to lie and cheat. If they both knew what was happening, both participated, then it was not adultery, right? Except to Eleanor that argument seemed weak and self-serving.
She went along though because she always had. Because her marriage meant everything to her. Because her vows said...until death do us part. And because she did not want to be alone. Did not want to be a single mother the way her mother had been. She would do anything to avoid that. Even this.
She adjusted the corset that she hoped made the most of her thirty-eight C-cup breasts and wide hips while minimizing the cellulite and stretch marks of three pregnancies in five years. She pinched her cheeks though she probably needed to be slapped to bring any real color into her horrified features. Oh well, if not the cheeks then an extra coat of candy apple red lip gloss would just have to suffice.
She squared her shoulders and held her head high, the last thing she wanted to do in this place. She took a deep breath and turned the knob, throwing the door open upon a houseful of aging couples and a few stray geeky guys. It seemed as if all eyes were on her in that moment.
It was not what she had expected but she had been hiding out in that bathroom for close to forty-five minutes. Stan had knocked on the door four times, each one more agitated than the last. She scanned the room looking for him. She finally found him over by the bar, talking to a slightly older but very well preserved woman and a much younger black guy.
Eleanor made her way very slowly across the room. The ridiculously high heels that Stan had spent god only knows how much upon slowed her progress, but what she did not realize was that they did exactly as her husband had hoped, putting a gentle sway into her lush hips, a siren's call of hidden sexuality that had every male eye and more than a couple of female ones turning in her direction.
It seemed to take forever but she finally managed to make her way through the room with a dozen or so 'excuse me, pleases' that were met with lewd stares and even lewder comments until that color she had despaired of flamed in her cheeks, adding to her allure. Eleanor was fast becoming the fresh, sweet smelling rose bud in this garden of lust.
She forced a smile up at Stan as she joined him. His face was tight and he smelled of alcohol already, "Took you long enough," he whispered when he bent to kiss her cheek. But just as quickly he turned back to the unusual couple that he had been talking with, "This is my wife, Elle," they had agreed it was best not to give anyone their real names, not at first anyway.
Eleanor smiled and held out her hand to the woman. She was tall, an inch or so taller than Stan's five foot eleven, but some of that height came from heels that were taller even than the ones Eleanor wore. Her lips were scarlet red and pursed into a tight smile of distaste that only made the wrinkles around her mouth more pronounced. Her shoulder length hair was dyed an unnaturally blue-black and she wore the tightest red dress that showed off a body that had obviously never born children and spent hours in the gym every day.
Eleanor felt a stab of pain and jealousy as she watched her husband of twelve years fawn over this woman. For a moment she wanted to run and hide back in that bathroom, pretend none of this was happening. She felt the tears begin to cloud her vision but she knew that she could not run in those shoes so she brushed them away, pretending that smoke from the numerous cigarettes had gotten into her eyes.
"Hello, beautiful, I'm Ray and this is Tricia. Your husband has been telling us all about you. Though I see he did not do you justice," the young black man took her hand and brought it slowly to his full lips. She stood mesmerized as she watched the play of colors...her pale finger tips, the bright red nail polish against the deepest darkest rich chocolate brown that she had ever seen. She swallowed the nervous giggle that threatened to erupt from her throat.
His partner shot him a look that could have killed and wrapped her muscular, gym arms about the broadest shoulders that Eleanor had ever seen. "I don't know, Ray. Average soccer mom seems about right to me?"
Eleanor felt that painful jab like the worst of labor pains that threatened to rip her soul to pieces rather than her body. She looked to Stan but he was smiling at the vicious woman and gulping down another drink. She was about to excuse herself when he spoke again, "So pretty lady, would you care for a dance?"
She started to shake her head 'no' but the young man used the hand that he had never released to draw her protectively against his side and maneuver them the twenty feet or so to the make shift dance floor that would probably become a family dining room after the dust cleared tomorrow morning. Eleanor was not certain whether to be angry with the young man for his brash behavior that had drawn even more attention their way...or to be grateful for helping her to escape.
Once they were there, he drew her fully into his arms. She held herself stiffly for a long moment as the music played, uncertain still what to do or how to act in a world that had been tilted upon its axis. "Relax," that deep baritone caressed her mind. She wanted to fight it but something inside of her could not as she laid her head on those wide shoulders and closed her eyes.
She felt him stiffen a bit and did not even want to think about what else she felt stiffening as he began to speak again. "Just lean against me and relax for a moment, pretty lady. You don't belong here and we both know that. If I could I'd take your old man out back and kick his selfish white ass for doing this to a nice lady like you, but that won't help anything either. So you are going to listen to old Ray and we are going to teach that asshole a lesson he will never forget. You hear me?"
She nodded her head against his shoulder but kept her eyes closed. She tried very hard to pretend that she was somewhere else; that it was Stan holding her close like this, but she could not remember the last time that he had.
The song came to an end and she pulled back, but the young man was not letting her go. He bent and kissed away the tear that she had not realized had escaped from the corner of her eye. "Bastard," was all he said as he pulled her back into his arms as the next song, an even slower more soulful one began.
They danced for a couple more moments in silence. Then he spoke again, "Your husband wants in Tricia's pants, but it doesn't work like that with her. That woman doesn't share with no one. She likes to come to places like this to show off, to make herself feel superior...younger and prettier. And to show off her property...me...to all the envious other women."
His hand slipped lower on her back then, drawing her closer against him. She swallowed as she could no longer deny the evidence of what their closeness was doing to him. Or more surprisingly to her, "But your old man ain't got what it takes to get anywhere with that one. Aging high school quarterback?" he asked.
"Yeah," Eleanor answered nervously.
