One Summer in New Orleans

Thank goodness for New Orleans. I badly needed the break and my husband Philip was back in one of his moods leading up to the trip. Which means he wants to talk about "the subject" again and I have shown no interest (well, complete avoidance would be a better way to put it) whenever "the subject" is broached. Every couple of weeks or months the pouting and grouchiness returns. I know why, but I act like I don't. The fire burns out after a few days and everything goes back to normal. Sometimes it's last longer, but it always goes away. Right now the fire was burning and I was very happy to get away from it. Going to NOLA, even if it was for work, couldn't be better timing.

I guess most people can probably guess that "the subject" is sex related. Like most men, my husband Philip has a fetish. I wish it was something more standard like anal sex or feet or something. But no.

He wants me to be a part of this fetish and I am just not interested for a myriad of reasons. Let me explain. To put it bluntly, he wants a "hotwife". His description of being a "hotwife" is for the wife to enter into a physical relationship outside of the marriage for the entertainment of (supposedly) both partners. It typically results in the husband watching the wife and new partner or having her bring home pics or videos or simply sharing the details of the adventure.

I see it as cheating. I dabbled in the idea when we were a younger married couple and it drove a huge wedge between us over time. So much so that we almost separated. It was an ugly time for me and I don't like to think on it. Philip still can't let the fantasy go though. It still comes up over and over. Sometimes we get into a sex phase where things get dirty and we start having sex often with lots of other fun activities included. Inevitably, the stimulation causes Philip to want to go past simple discussion about it and actually reenter this hotwife lifestyle again. We then head into a tailspin and quickly stop having sex when I tell him not only will it not happen, it will never happen again. This is pretty much the cycle for the last 10 years.

Don't get me wrong. I don't mind the attentions of other men. In fact, I greatly enjoy it. But there is a huge gap between flirting around or getting checked out by someone and letting them strip me and having them dive between my legs. It's not like the actual sex was that bad when I used to indulge his perviness. The excitement of a new encounter was also arousing. It was the morning after that made it too much to bare. I never got used to feeling guilty I guess. To me, it's just wrong and I couldn't do it anymore. If that is the life I wanted for myself I would have never gotten married.

Once in a blue moon do I even feel an attraction to another man besides my husband. Even then I wouldn't take that leap. Or so I thought...

Let me add some more context. More than a year prior to this trip I was out one evening with a friend from work. A male friend. A very attractive male friend. Attractive enough for me in my head, but never aloud to my husband, thought "Hmmmm...maybe?"

I had just as fast concluded "yeah, no". Still, he is a blast to be with. He is funny, laid-back and loves to be out dancing and drinking the night away. I think of him almost like my gay boyfriend. Except he isn't gay. Which he quickly reminds me whenever he gets drunk enough. Still, I adore him and we always have a good time. So back to that one evening.

My friend's name is Jay. At the time, we were still working together even though that's not the case anymore. That would make him off limits to me even if I was interested. Anyways, we had gone out to eat and ended up in a restaurant that converts to a small night club in the evenings. Jay was being his usual outgoing goofy self. Dancing and talking with anyone he came across and so was I. We danced a little as well, but then he started drunk dialing my body parts a little too much for my taste. We had been sitting near a group of other people and begin to start up conversations with a few of them. One had caught my attention though. He was a young, tall black man with a beautiful face and a nice body. He was different than the others there as he seemed bored with the scene. At first, while he was attractive, I wasn't attracted. I was more curious as to why this handsome guy was hanging back when he could have scooped up any girl in the room.

We began to joke around and I was giving him a hard time for being "too cool" to be there. He knew he looked good and he knew he could have gone home with anyone as well. Not in an arrogant way though. He exuded confidence and someone secure with who he was. For some reason, he was more attracted to me though. All of these young good looking people and he was interested in the close-to-middle-aged lady with multiple children and a wedding ring. I was intrigued.

Don't get me wrong. I know I am an attractive person. I don't know if it's exactly my looks since I am not so much a fan of that aspect of myself, but I do know people are drawn to me and always have been. I also know I have a pretty decent ass and nice breasts even if I have a few extra baby pounds on me. However I looked, it seemed more than acceptable to this handsome young man which was just fine with me.

His name was Davon (pronounced Day-von; I know. Don't get me started) and he was always the gentleman even though the attraction between us was obvious. His hands never wandered and his words remained very guarded. He knew I was married and he respected that. It kind of drove me a little crazy actually. But there was also a safeness there. I knew Philip would love this little display even though the handsome young man and me would never go anywhere once this night was over. We danced and talked all night which made Jay jealous for some reason.

At the end of the evening (early morning) when last call was given and Jay and I needed to leave, Davon gave me the ultimate compliment. He asked me if he wasn't married would he have had a shot. The answer to that was an unequivocal yes and I let him know. I wondered for a second if he would ask for my number and I wondered what I would say if he did. But he didn't. We said our goodbyes and I spent the rest of the time back to my house rolling my eyes at Jay's drunk advances and wondering what the hell had gotten into him.

I think about Davon occasionally. I wonder about him and what it would be like to run into him again. To be honest I don't need to remember to think of him since my husband Philip brings up the experience every 2 weeks or so with his own questions he's heard the answers to a thousand times.

Philip loves that Davon is black since he thinks it's "taboo" and likes the idea of the seeing the contrasting skin colors interact sexually. I had never thought about it. Men are men and women are women. I suppose there is a certain kink to it. But like most kinks, the idea doesn't really do anything for me. He was a young, cocky hottie that could carry on a conversation and showed genuine interest in me besides just getting laid for the night. That was enough.

So here I was almost a year and a half later getting on a plane to head to NOLA for work. I go quarterly and always have a good time. Typically I have a few coworkers who make the trip with me; but I was riding stag for this trip. Also, none of my usual work hangout buddies who actually live in NOLA would be available this time. I would need to be careful when going out and I was bummed there was no one I could experience Bourbon Street at night and Cafe du Monde in the morning with. Just once I wish Philip could come with me. Having a gaggle of kids ruins this idea most of the time though. My hubby is the cheapest labor I can find for babysitting and it helps he actually loves the little monsters he is watching.

I arrived at Le Pavillon Hotel around 6PM and was "travel tired". It had been an uneventful flight with no connections so I made it in decent time. There is still something about traveling all day that is exhausting. Add to that being in an airplane, which I hate, and you have a recipe for severe fatigue. I didn't have to be in the office until 9AM the next morning so I really had nothing I needed to do but eat and sleep. I went up to my room and unpacked and jumped in the shower to take the edge off of traveling. I felt a lot better (and cleaner) when I got out and put on the cozy bathrobe they provided and fell back on the bed. I had intended to just lay down for a second and then get up and order some room service and then really go to bed.

I woke up three hours later. You knew that was coming.

The room was dark and I felt the lateness of the hour and scrambled around with my hands to find my phone and look at the time. When I saw how long I'd been out, I panicked. I hadn't even called Philip to let him know I was OK. I had texted him when I got off the plane as I always do, but I hadn't let him know I was at the hotel and safe in my room. I called immediately and Philip answered with a "WHAT?!" I heard one of the kids having a fit in the background. Sounded like the youngest. I could tell Philip wasn't looking for a conversation and wasn't too worried at the present time that I had gotten to my room.

I quickly let him know everything was OK and he responded with a snarky "why wouldn't it be?" I cut the call off as soon as I could so he could finish getting the kids in bed and because he was being an asshole. I can't say I blame him though. I have had the annoying phone call when all hell is breaking loose. Still, it hurt my feelings. I was alone in a strange city hundred of miles from home with nothing to do but work and he didn't even care if I was safe. Then I thought about switching with him at that exact moment and was happy to have my nice quite room and some good, overpriced room service. I was being a little dramatic. I wanted to enjoy this time and I needed to make the best out of it.

That's when it hit me. I had just napped for three hours. Not a napper here. Naps totally kill my ability to go to sleep at a decent time. Ugh. It was going to be a rough day at work tomorrow. What else could I do but get drunk and hope it made me tired? Yes, I had to really twist my own arm to make a case for having a drink.

I was in New Orleans though. I couldn't even go down the hotel bar without putting on a little makeup. You never know when you'll see someone for work. After getting all pretty, I got out a cute black top and my "that's a nice ass" jeans, grabbed my room card and cell and headed for the bar.

Le Pavillon is a cool old hotel. It was built some time around the 1920's and still had that same style with a mix of Victorian and Art Deco styles throughout. The bar was plain in a sense, but was made of beautiful ornate wood. I had time to observe all of this because the place was dead. This was kind of unusual for the time of the year. It was mid-Summer and it was hot and as muggy as could be. To me, this only made the city seem more fun and exciting, sexy. For others though, they may be avoiding the heat.

One older lady was sitting at the bar looking like she was waiting for someone while she talked to the bartender. It didn't look like my night was going to get any more interesting than what it was. I ordered my drink (a house red wine if you are interested) and stalked my old high school friends and enemies on Facebook while I decided what to do next. I obviously need something to eat. I knew this wine was going to go through me quick if I...

"Hello there. Do you remember me?" said a deep voice from behind me. "It's Kelly, right?"

I turned around and there he was. Davon. In New Orleans. With me. I knew immediately I was in trouble.

"Kathy, actually. But close! Not bad for over a year. I can't believe you recognize me."

"Your hair is shorter, but I remember you very well. Still wish I had asked for your number."

Wow. Right to the flirting. Subject change. Quick! "So what are you doing in New Orleans?"

He grinned and said he was in town for a music festival. That smile...he was smiling at me as we talked back and forth. It made me feel like a mouse being toyed with by a cat. It's like he already knew something I didn't. Was there something I didn't know? Wasn't I already feeling those familiar butterflies?

Davon's friends had found other activities for the night. He was the only one of the three that hadn't brought a lady friend as company on their road trip. They had already been in town for several days and the festival was over.

It was all about taking in the other sites, sounds, and cuisine of New Orleans for the rest of their time here. Tonight was date night for the rest of them. Davon claimed his reason for smiling so much when I asked was "now I have a date for the night as well". He wasn't wrong.

I consider calling Philip and telling him about the new developments, but two things occurred to me. One is that he would ride me like an old Italian mother-turned-matchmaker and bug me to do something with the guy. Two is that he had already told me it would be sexy as hell to have me withhold information until a later time of my choice as a surprise. Reason one was more than enough to not call and tell him. I knew I could trust Davon and my plan was not to stray too far from the hotel anyways.

We opted to leave the hotel and share an Uber to the French Quarter and find someplace to eat. Thankfully, he loved spicy food as well and we settled for a lively little place for some crawfish and live Blues. We had a wonderful conversation about about life and work and his love life. He asked what my husband would think if he knew what was happening right now. I didn't know what to say..."He'd be over the moon about it"? I opted to say something else:

"He'd be fine. I have other male friends." Ugh. Did I just say that? Does he think I am some sort of call girl now? Course correction: "I have male work friends who I hang out with and he knows he can trust me."

He smiled again, "Yeah, but would he trust me? I mean, if he knew how bad I wanted to keep in touch with you?"

Now I was smiling. And blushing. And the butterflies had returned.

"How about a night swim back at the hotel? I have to run my laps and get my exercise in. It would be cool to have some company" he suggested. Now I was laughing.

"You are not getting me in bathing suit! There isn't enough alcohol in New Orleans for that. Besides, I didn't even bring one."

15 minutes later, we were in small tourist shop looking for bathing suits. I really did put up a good fight. Really. At the end though, apparently there was enough alcohol in New Orleans after all. I was still sober enough to pick a nice black one-piece that hid enough of all the things after multiple kids I wasn't quite willing to share with someone I had known for literally 7 or 8 hours of time.

We headed back to the hotel and went to our respective rooms to change and meet on the rooftop for our swim. 30 minutes later I was heading up on the elevator with my hair up, my bathing suit on, and a towel rapped around my legs to hide whatever else my bathing suit was't covering. The extra 25 minutes was spent drinking two glasses of wine from the bottle I had brought back from dinner, wondering if it was a good idea to do this and if I really wanted anyone seeing me in this bathing suit. I remembered Davon was a gentleman and he wasn't going to force himself on me which, along with the liquid courage, settled me down enough to finally get to the elevator.

When I got to the pool, I was surprised to find that the pool hours on the door said it was closed. I could hear someone splashing in the pool though. I peeked through the door and looked around the corner to the pool and there was Davon swimming. He saw me and called, "Hey there! Come in and lock the door behind you."

It couldn't be a better night. New Orleans had recently gotten in quite the warm front and it was humid and hot even in the late night air.

A little nervous, I entered and turned the deadbolt closed. I turned around and he was getting out of the pool to welcome me. I watched as he walked down the small flight of stairs that come from the pool area. Of course not an ounce of fat on him. All abs and man boobs. He wasn't any sort of weightlifter. He had closer to a runner's body. Whatever it was, it was hot. And wet. His smile was distracting me from admiring his body though. That's good because I was also feeling very self-conscience about my own body looking at his.

"Are those boxers?" I asked smiling as he got closer.

"Hey! You aren't the only one who didn't bring a bathing suit with you." he replied.

"So how is it we are alone in this pool after closing?" I wondered out loud.

"I made friends with a few folks in the hotel and asked if it was cool. They were fine with it when I told them there wouldn't be any kids up here. They did say we only have a little while though. Come on and get in."

The pool area was dark. Only the lights actually in the water were lit. I dropped my towel on a chair as close to the water as I could and dropped in. Davon took the other wall of the pool opposite me and put his arms up over the side with his back to it. The typical small chat ensued. We talked about how amazing it must be to live here and where we would want to live if we did. We talked about me being a wife and mom and how crazy it is with my job. We talked about his work and what it was like to be single and able to go when and where you wanted.

"I still can't believe you are here. I really wanted to ask your your number that night. Would you have given it to me?" Davon asked.

"I honestly don't know. Maybe? There was a moment that night that...never mind." I stopped myself. Maybe a tinge too much liquid courage. The heat and the city weren't helping either. I was feeling very flirty.

"Oh no, you can't do that now. You have to tell me what you were going to say." he laughed.

"Yeah, that's not happening." I said with a smirk. "I'll leave it like this. There were moments that night I would have given you my number. Not sure if it was any of the moments you would have asked though. Women are complicated like that."

"Girl, you don't have to tell me that. There is a reason I am here alone this week!"

The both laughed and then there was an awkward pause and we both looked up to the sky. Davon sighed.

Curious, I asked what he was thinking about.

"I was wondering if there were moments when maybe I could have gotten away with more than just asking you your number."

"Nope. You're a cutie, but you're not that good." I half lied with a grin.

"So which moments was I at my best? When was I close?" he asked. We were both flirting hard now and neither of us could wipe the smile from our faces. "Maybe when we were dancing?"

I looked up at the sky again and laughed.

"So that's it!" he said, pointing at me. "Dancing...so let's dance. Let's see if I can recreate that moment."

"You are crazy! How are we going to dance in the pool? There's not even any music!" I said. I was enjoying this.

Davon turned around and grabbed his phone and put on some older dance music. Did he have this queued up or something? How did he know this was the music I loved to dance to? He swam towards my side of the pool and reached out his hand to me. I let him pull me towards him. And then, right there in the center of a rooftop pool in New Orleans...we danced.

The music amplified off the water making it sound better than it had any business sounding coming out of a cell phone. As we started, we were both laughing at first. But then as the rhythm of the music and the moment began to take over, things were getting much more real. Our bodies got closer. Our arms gripped each other tighter.