Seduction Doubled

In less than an hour, I'm going to seduce someone, who is not my spouse...and I can't wait to get there.

It is difficult to tell a story about seduction, and be truthful, without being able to see how each of them caused or allowed the seduction to happen. A third party cannot tell a real seduction, because that party is not privy to the conversations and interaction between the man and the woman. Nor is the third party present during their most intimate moments. Even if both the man and the woman tell their story to another person, one of both of them may lie, or try to place some of the blame elsewhere, when they should accept responsibility for what they did. However, the reader deserves to know the truth and this is an effort to provide it.

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MARY -- I joined Sue, Carol, and Polly for our usual Tuesday lunch, as we had done almost every Tuesday for the last two years. All four of us usually managed to get an extra hour for lunch and we made the best of the time we had, catching up with what each other had done during the past week. Sue, Carol, and I had husbands, but Polly was single, or rather, she was divorced, which meant she was single. The rest of us were on the watch for all eligible men for her, even though she had no problem finding them for herself.

For the various weeks of our individual vacations, one or more of us would miss the lunch, but if we were not out of town, we were just as likely to make the lunch date. Although there was a wide disparity in our incomes and lifestyles, all of us were about the same age, a year, or a few years, under thirty. We seemed to enjoy the two hours of being confidants and thus confined our conversations to things purely female, meaning women's health issues, emotions, interaction with our co-workers, and the men in our lives, or in Polly's case, the occasional lack thereof.

Sue and Carol were blonde, but only Sue's was natural. Polly was a redhead and exemplified all the things you think about a woman with red hair, freckles, easy temper, and jealousy. I'm a brunette although I occasionally indulged the man who cut my hair and consented to letting him give my hair a light frost, around my face. Most of the things that really made us laugh were jokes or a story having something to do with one or another's individual hair color with the blondes usually suffering from the current most popular blonde joke. If any of us had a joke about a redhead, we waited for a quiet moment to tell it and were prepared to defend the joke teller from Polly's tossed paper napkin, or whatever else she could lay her hand on that wouldn't do permanent damage to the target.

Our favorite restaurant was a steak house, which offered lunch specials and a well-rounded menu with enough choices to please any appetite. If it was available, we liked to sit at one of the corner booths that had a big padded circular bench. It was our usual custom that the first to arrive slid around to sit in the middle leaving room on the ends for the late arrivals.

"My God, who is that gorgeous man over there?" Polly's question caused all of us to look across the restaurant in the direction she was staring. We saw two men sitting at a table against the opposite wall. One man was in his mid-thirties and the other was at least 50, or maybe a little older than that. I have never been very good at guessing a man's age.

"Bob Baer," Sue answered easily, which caused the rest of us to look at her. She shrugged her shoulders and said, "He works with my husband. I think that's his father with him. They look a lot alike and I know they often eat lunch together."

I'm sure all four of our heads swiveled back to the table across the room to see if there was a strong resemblance between the two men. Certainly, there were three, if not four, heads nodding. The shape of their heads was the same, they had the same upright posture in their chairs, and Carol commented that their earlobes were the same, too. We were not close enough to see eye color, but I could tell, just from seeing their profiles, that their noses were a lot alike.

As if Bob Baer knew we were looking, he turned his head, saw Sue, and lifted his hand in recognition. He turned his head back to his lunch companion and appeared to be explaining why he was waving at a woman across the room. Both men looked at us, with the older man giving each of us a good look, probably even our shoes and legs under the table. I knew when he looked at me; he gave me a slight nod. Good grief, I felt myself blush, something I didn't do often, but it wasn't that unusual. I thought he was a very good-looking man.

Loudmouth Carol commented, "Daddy likes you, Mary." She turned to our other table companions and lowered her voice, "Did you see the way he looked at her?"

"Carol," I tried to stop her expounding on her observation, "He looked at you, too."

"Maybe so," Carol agreed. "But not the same way he looked at you. Whooee, I could feel the heat all the way across the room. I bet Bruce hasn't looked at you, like that, since you'll got married."

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JOHN -- My son Bob and I tried to have lunch together at least once a week. His mother died when he was nine years old and I didn't remarry until he was almost finished high school, so we were always a little closer than a father and son usually were.

We had already discussed the possibility that he was about ready to look for another job, if he was ever going to have a chance at advancement. We were sitting with our tickets in our hands and had just agreed to talk on Friday to develop the final details of our plans for a fishing trip on Sunday afternoon. I happened to look across the room to see whom Bob had recognized and waved at, a little surprised to see he was waving at four women sitting at a corner booth. I had thought his recent marriage to Elaine was because he was just tired of waiting to find a woman he could really love and I was not really surprised he would pay attention to four pretty women.

I looked at all four women, trying to figure out which one interested him and immediately dismissed the redhead. I thought it might be one of the blondes, but when I looked at the brunette on the end of the bench seat, I forgot I was looking at them for Bob. I was immediately interested in the brunette, but for myself. I liked her. Oh wow, she was something else.

When I raised my eyebrows about Bob's friendly greeting to a woman in a public place, he explained, "The dark blond in the middle is George Herman's wife, Susan, or Sue."

I tried to ask my question with bit of non-nonchalance, and hoped Bob didn't read anything into my interest, "Do you know any of the other women?"

"No, but I'd like to talk to Sue a minute. Come on," Bob encouraged and was halfway across the room before I could get out of my chair.

Bob said hello to Sue and asked her a question about the new company in town her husband had mentioned might be looking to fill a couple of executive positions. At Sue's invitation, he sat down beside the redhead to finish his conversation. I happily sat beside the brunette and listened as Sue rattled off all the names of her friends, learning the brunette was Mary Benson. It was a little difficult to shake hands with all four women. I ended up with a simple wave to the redhead and the wife of Bob's co-worker, but I did manage to lean over and shake hands with the other blonde, Carol, and I shook hands with Mary. In fact, I held Mary's hand a little longer than I should have and watched her smile of understanding that I was flirting with her as she slid over a little so I could sit on the end of the bench seat.

I'm not really a bold man. I am friendly, often thought of as a harmless flirt who can compliment a woman and leave them feeling good about themselves. But I had to let this woman know I was interested. I kept my thigh pressed to hers, and felt comfortable that she might think I was doing it because of the closeness of all six of us in the booth.

I leaned my head a little closer to Mary to ask, "Do all of you work together?"

She was just as confidential in her response, speaking just barely above a whisper "No, we have lunch together on Tuesdays."

"Every Tuesday?"

Mary turned her head and smiled at me, "Yes, every Tuesday. We all take an extra hour and have a little mid-week fun."

There's no fool like an old fool is an expression that really made me pause for a moment. But I was intrigued by this wonderful woman. She was pleasant, talked easily, listened well, and smelled wonderful, although I only had a few minutes to learn all of that. I will admit that I felt a faint sexual thrill from sitting so close to her, but I was also a married man and not the kind of man who was always looking for his next bed partner, but if Mary was available, I might change my mind.

I knew she watched when I took a business card out of my shirt pocket and put it beside her plate while I picked up the ticket for her meal and put it with mine. Mary looked around the table at her friends, all of whom were paying attention to Polly flirting with Bob, and Mary did not say a word about me paying for her lunch.

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MARY -- As soon as I was in my car, I called the cell phone number on the business card. "John, thank you for buying my lunch, but you shouldn't have done that."

John's laughter was so natural I was surprised when he asked, "How else could I convince you to call me right away? Will you meet me for a drink after work today?"

"Goodness," I had to laugh a little myself. "You are in a hurry."

John's voice grew serious, "Mary, I apologize if it sounds like I'm rushing you. I'll be honest. I just want a few minutes to talk to you and if all we do is have a friendly drink, I will be satisfied."

"Thank you for your honesty. I guess I'm flattered that a man would give me so much attention, so quickly. Tell me where to meet you and I'll be there."

Was I nervous about meeting a man, after business hours, for a drink? Perhaps I was a little apprehensive, although I'd often entertained men and women for a drink or two, even after business hours, as part of my job. But to do so for personal reasons seemed a little unusual. My husband worked out of town most of the week and I had no need to make excuses for getting home later than usual, because there was not a usual time when I was expected to be anywhere at the end of a business day.

It seemed a little unusual that John waited for me to arrive at the small club. But when I recalled that I had waited for other people to arrive about as often as I had met them inside a club, it didn't seem unusual to be escorted into a bar and be seated at a small table. We chatted for a while about my lunch companions and his son and were slowly becoming comfortable with each other. I learned his wife often spent one or two nights a week with her sister, to give the sister a little relief from the full time care of their aging mother.

We had been sitting at a small table for a short while when a booth emptied and John suggested we move. I was not too surprised that he joined me on the same side of the booth. It was a small semi-circular booth and when I moved farther around the circle, he moved with me and put his arm across the back of the seat.

"Don't run away from me Mary, I'm not going to hurt you."

"Oh...I don't...I wasn't...yes, I'm sorry, I was."

"And I'm pushing, for which I apologize." John took a deep breath and smiled, "I don't do this. I've never done this before. I'm nervous."

"I thought I was the only one." I laughed a little, but it was an artificial laugh and I admitted that I was nervous too. "John, I appreciate your honesty. I don't know what you want."

"I'm not sure what I want. I'm a married man. I'm at least twenty-five years older than you are and I'm so deeply attracted to you that I could do something dangerous to both of us in pursuit of you, but I don't want to hurt you."

"Mercy, that was honest." I looked at John and saw the expression on his face. I don't think I've ever seen so much desire on a man's face before. I'm not sure the look on my face was any different.

"Oh my God, I want to kiss you." John looked around our nearly empty corner of the room and then back at me. "How is that for honesty?"

"About as honest as me saying I would let you if you tired."

"Do you know anyone in here?" He asked quietly. I had already determined that I did not know anyone and when I shook my head John put one hand on my cheek and turned my face to him.

When John kissed me, I think I melted. I don't know if it was simply that an older man kisses much better than younger men, or perhaps it is a skill from a time when courtship was more important than it is today. It was a small kiss on the corner of my lips. Then he kissed me a second time, directly on the lips. After that, he put his arms around me, slightly parted his lips, placed them against mine, and just held them there. It was a soft kiss, a little more pressure, then a little less pressure, and then very firm pressure before he lifted his head. I almost felt lonely when he removed his arms, and turned back to the drink on the table in front of him, putting his arms on the table, leaning forward.

"I'd like to do that for at least an hour, or maybe two," John admitted, not looking at me and not moving.

I was breathing much too fast to give a sensible answer. All I could manage was a quiet, "Yes."

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JOHN -- Whew, I could not believe I had been so bold to kiss Mary in a club. The corner where we were sitting was dark and I doubt anyone was watching us, but that wasn't all I wanted to do.

"Would you allow me to do that? Mary, will you go with me, take me with you, or tell me where I can spend some private time with you?"

"John, what are you asking?" Mary placed her hand on mine and looked at me. She wasn't frightened and I don't think she was angry. I believe she just wanted to know how far I was prepared to go to pursue her.

I leaned back against the cushioned seat of the booth and turned my head to Mary, "I'm telling you I want the privacy to kiss you, I mean really kiss you. I want to undress you and make love to you. I want a week or a whole weekend, one whole night, but nothing less than a few hours of private time with you. But I will want more than just one night with you."

"You're talking about..."

"Before I let you make this something I do not intend I will be blunt. I believe I have learned that you are comfortable in your marriage." Mary nodded and did so again when I said I was comfortable with my wife and that I did not care to do anything that would endanger either of our relationships.

"I believe I've also learned that you are not in any hurry to start a family, which tells me you are on some form of birth control and frankly I'm not interested in being an old man with young children. But, by God, I would love to see my child grow inside you and watch that child grow to full adulthood."

Mary's breath caught in her throat. She cleared her throat nervously and spoke barely above a whisper, "At first I thought you were going to ask me if I wanted a...well, a fuck buddy."

"Oh no, my dear," I chuckled and grinned at the idea, "Although, it does sound like fun. I guess, if I had my druthers, I'd like to have at least ten years with you, if I could also return you back to the life you had before I took those ten years."

"Just out of curiosity, as long as we are really being honest," Mary asked, "Do you know of any successful, I guess they are called May/December marriages?" Her question was not purely conversational, not a challenge, but a little more than simple curiosity.

"Yes," I answered her and told her of two that I knew of. One was very successful and the other, although they had their occasional bad moments, both husband and wife seemed to get along very well.

"Is it awkward for them? I mean, the times when they are mistaken for father and daughter?"

"I don't know. I have never heard any of them speak of it. I guess they handle it as well as can be expected." After a very deep breath, I added, "We will not have that problem, much to my regret. If you accept my proposal, we will have to be discreet, but need not necessarily hide from public. I'd like to take you to lunch, maybe an occasional dinner, and perhaps we can appear as two people who choose to spend time together when our spouses are not able to join us for the times we can manage to be together." I did not pause before I asked, "Do I sound as if I have given this a great deal of thought?" When Mary nodded, I told her I had done nothing, all afternoon, but think about how I could see her and admitted I had called an old friend who was more experienced in carrying on an affair of the heart, as a married man.

"Affair of the heart," she whispered. "That sounds so much better than the more modern words I usually hear."

"I will refuse to think of it as anything less than an affair of my heart and want your thoughts to be the same. I do not intend anything ugly or disrespectful, to either of us or our spouses."

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MARY -- I'm not sure what I expected when John asked me to have a drink with him, but it certainly wasn't what happened. I could not believe I was even considering his request. I believe I surprised myself when I asked, "Are you free tonight?"

When John asked, "Are you certain," I nodded. I also explained that if he gave me a chance I would talk myself out of it and might miss out of something beautiful and unexpected.

"Oh Lord," John mumbled. "I was afraid to hope and now I'm simply nervous. I need about one hour."

"That's exactly how long I need to go home and feed a cat so I can meet you where ever you tell me you will be."

John put his hand on the seat between us, where my hand rested. He squeezed it and said, "You know my car, but when we leave here make a mental note of my license plate number. I'll have a room at the Airport Hotel and the room number will be printed on a piece of paper on the dashboard of my car. I'll try to arrange for a downstairs room at the back of the hotel."

With a little trepidation, I went home and fed my husband's cat, an animal I did not care for and the feeling, I'm sure was mutual. He often pissed on the chair where I sit and I'd learned to keep a towel on the cushion when I was not using it. But Bruce and Boots seemed to be a pair and if I was going to accept Bruce as my husband, and take him into my home, Boots came along with the deal. I do not like the fact that I had to leave my bedroom door closed, but I had no choice lest Boots decided to christen my bed as he did with the chair.

There just wasn't time to take a shower, although I really wanted to, but I had agreed to meet John in one hour. Instead, I started to grab a nightgown and then told myself I'd leave it in the car. I walked out of the house with nothing more than my handbag. I was glad I hadn't taken any more time, because by the time I found the hotel and John's car, I was about five minutes late. A tablet on the dash of his car had 1011 written on it and his vehicle was parked almost in front of that door number.

I only needed to knock one time. John opened the door grabbed my hand, pulled me inside, closed the door after me, and then backed me against the door and kissed me. The kiss was exactly like the one in the club. I do not know where this man learned to kiss, but he should give lessons and I would be willing to put my husband's name on the top of the list. Bruce thinks a kiss means he must taste my tonsils, suck a blood blister on my tongue, and chew on my lips. I immediately gave my husband a silent apology and promised I would not make another comparison; I would just enjoy this other man.