by Johnny Dorsey
(10/08/08)

"Well, hello!"

Surprised, I looked up, then took a moment to place the face and the curly blond hair. "Phil!"

He bowed. "At your service."

"When did you blow into town?" It had been five years since I had seen him.

"Just another fart in the wind, I guess," he smiled.

"Don't say that! I bet you've been away at grad school, right? You were a pretty bright guy, as I remember. Hey, sit down, won't you?"

I was snuggled in the corner of a booth in The Rendezvous, an upscale lounge, nursing my drink and crossing and uncrossing my legs. It's where Bill and I usually come -- when he's home. They know me here, and nobody bothers me.

Phil sat across from me. "You're right about grad school." Back in high school, Phil had been a bit of a nerd; at least, he was no partygoer, and was not afraid to be seen studying even when no exam was pending. Yet he and I had dated once in senior year. Nothing hot and heavy; just dinner and a bit of post-prandial parking. But I had not seen him since graduation, about five years ago. As he spoke, I remembered one thing I liked about him: his rich baritone voice, which resonated like a cello.

"You enjoying it?"

He nodded. "Yep." Of course he would. Reading books, writing papers -- right up his alley. But looking at him, I noticed he was kind of cute behind those glasses.

"How about you, Elle? What're you doing now?"

"I'm married. To Bill Summers. Remember him?"

"Sure. Handsome guy. So how's marriage?"

Without thinking, I said "It's okay."

Phil looked at me.

"I mean, Bill's away a lot. You know -- business." I knew that when he came back, he would be loaded with clothes he had picked out for me. Usually clinging, revealing clothes.

"Oh. So what do you do when he's not around?"

"Survive day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute."

I didn't add that it was pretty much the same when Bill was around. I had married the guy everyone expected me to marry. You know, prom queen marries football captain. But I will say, Bill is a good provider. And for a few months, we had fun.

"Bored?"

"Let's say infected with ennui. It sounds more picturesque."

"No need to be. Life is possibility."

I felt a pained smile forming. "No, it's not. It's necessity."

When the sexy waitress came, Phil ordered a sour. Though she was stunning, he gave her only a glance, then turned his attention to me, studying me. But I didn't see detachment in his appraisal. His gaze was intense -- so intense that I felt a little uncomfortable, but also flattered.

I had to say something. "So I guess you're not married or -- anything?"

"Nothing. Too busy to keep a romance going."

"That's a pity."

"Don't I know."

We continued to chat while downing a couple more drinks. Then, as it got later, we discovered that we didn't want to part so soon. Carpe diem, I guess. Anyway, the upshot was that I found myself in Phil's car, parked at the spot he had taken me that one time we did go out. Back in Springer's Woods, behind the Methodist church, of all places. Above us was a cathedral ceiling of arched oaks, and beyond that a full moon. Only when we parked did I wonder what exactly I was doing here. Yet any discomfort was overcome by a distinct sense of expectancy.

Phil leaned back, opened the window. "Remember this place?"

I nodded, smiling. "Yeah, when we dated."

"I consider that a missed opportunity."

I blushed, but said nothing. The scent of honeysuckle wafted through the window. Then I realized it was that particular odor I associated with Phil, going back to that time five years ago. I closed my eyes.

Phil moved closer, and next thing I knew he was kissing me. After a moment's resistance, mainly because I was surprised, I got into it. Even though he never tried to insert his tongue, it was still a pretty passionate kiss. Maybe he was planning to make up for lost time.

When he withdrew, we looked at each other. "You know," he said, "I've always been in love with you."

My heart popped. "I -- I never knew." His melodious voice made the statement into something profound. I felt myself shiver a little, even though only the slightest spring chill was in the air. It was the merry month of May, just like that first date.

"I was a jerk. Except for that one date, about all I could do was worship you from afar. Even before I met you, I had an image of the ideal girl. And I was struck dumb -- literally -- when I first saw you at school. I was tongue-tied, weak-kneed in your presence, and that's why I never asked you out again." He shook his head. "I was such a clod."

I said nothing, but I did remember his open-mouthed stare when he first saw me. And I thought, That was then; this is now.

He then bent over and kissed my left breast.

I recoiled and pushed his head away. "Hey, I'm married. Remember? So we can't...shouldn't...you know...do anything."

"Okay. But may I see your breasts?" He grinned impishly.

"You're kidding, right? I mean -- you know...I'm married."

"I've already seen them, you know." Smirking.

I cast my mind back to that other night in his car. I remembered clearly that no clothes had come off.

"I don't think so. When could you have seen them?"

"Well, I've seen pictures of them."

"I don't see how."

He smiled. "Did you forget that spread in Men's Mag?"

"Huh? Whoever it was, it wasn't me."

"Well, then, it was a girl who looked exactly like you. Spit 'n' image. And she was named Elle Summers."

A jolt of electricity shot through me as I remembered posing topless for Bill in our bedroom. He had taken pictures from every angle. I buried my head in my hands. "Oh, God," I moaned. "I didn't know."

"I guess your husband..."

I nodded.

"Without your knowledge?"

I nodded again. That son of a bitch! "He told me he just wanted something to remember my by when he was away."

Phil leaned back thoughtfully. With a sudden resolution, I undid my blouse, leaned forward and unhooked my bra. Shedding both blouse and bra, I turned to Phil. "Well, since you're already seen them..."

"Wow!" He was quiet for a long moment. "You know, the photo spread was called 'A Perfect Pair.' But they were only pictures. Wow!"

He leaned over and gently, almost reverently, kissed both nipples. They responded with instant erections. Looking at me, as if for approval, he began to stroke my breasts -- stroke, fondle, and caress. I leaned toward him. We embraced. This time, he did insert his tongue, and I reciprocated.

After a minute or two, we broke apart -- fortunately, I thought. An idea occurred to me. "I didn't think you were the Men's Mag type."

He smiled ruefully. "Remember I told you I had no time for romance?"

Then it hit me. "So you -- pleasure yourself?" I thought of him masturbating as he drank in my C-cups.

"I'm afraid so."

Then another, more devastating thought occurred. Just before he left, Bill had taken nude pictures of me. Stark naked. And 'spread' would be the right word when they were published, as I'm sure they would be. That son of a bitch!

I told Phil about Bill's duplicity. Then I added, "Would you like a sneak preview?"

He replied in a voice I found more and more enchanting -- enchanting and hypnotic, "Of course not! What do you take me for?" He smiled. "Er, do you need some help with your skirt?"

This time I sat up to let him take my skirt off. I noted that he left my panties on. So there I sat, clad in nothing but panties and heels, in the car of a guy not my husband, that son of a bitch! I now began to feel the passion behind Phil's kisses, as his exploratory hands touched all the right buttons -- all except the button.

Small beads of perspiration stood out on Phil's forehead. I looked down at my body. It was glistening. Goose bumps raced across my front. I quivered. I guess being pissed at a sneak of a husband can be a powerful aphrodisiac. But it was more than being pissed. It was disenchantment.

Now Phil began to slide my panties down...with agonizing slowness. As he worked on me, I began to put a few things together, like how Bill always bought me sexy clothes, and took me to upscale spots, where half the men feasted their eyes on me. At such moments, Bill was in his glory. The realization clicked home: I was a trophy wife.

I sat up to let Phil pull my panties down my thighs, then down my calves, and finally off my feet.

"God, Elle, you're so beautiful it hurts." He sat back to get the full effect.

I stopped thinking. I smiled, but said nothing. The truth of the matter is that I'm not bad looking, but I'm no Catherine Deneuve -- or Jenna Jameson, for that matter. I think that his remark was love speaking. I do know how to wear clothes, but of course that wasn't the issue at the moment.

Then everything slipped into slow motion. I watched a cloud sail across the moon. Phil looked at me. "I think you're hiding something between your legs. Perhaps I should investigate."

"Maybe you should launch a probe."

He took me in his arms as his hand covered my crotch, his finger moving up and down on my labia. Then he inserted the finger. I flinched.

I listened to the katydids as Phil knelt in front of me, gently spread my thighs, and buried his face in my crotch. As his tongue flicked my lips, I squirmed. This was new.

I needed something to hold onto, so I gripped Phil's head for dear life. As I did, his tongue entered me, and I felt myself open wide enough for him to put his head in. Without quite knowing what I was seeing, I looked up at the moon, pleasure surging through me. The oak branches formed the arches of a temple -- and I was the goddess being worshipped.

My pulse raced, yet I felt a deep inner peace, a high-pitched juncture of soul and body. Music welled up, but no words came. Instead, I did -- one long, fluid spasm.

I threw my head back and closed my eyes, drained. But the evening was only beginning. It felt right to sit next to Phil, fully exposed, with him still fully dressed. I had always been faithful to Bill, but now some threshold had been crossed. As they used to say in high school, Phil and I were about to "go all the way."

I unzipped him, and met no resistance. He sat up as I stripped down his pants and shorts (which wasn't as easy as it sounds, because of certain physiological reactions Phil was experiencing). I pulled him down on top of me.

His insertion was breathtaking. This was the point of no return. I liked his pacing -- no furious pistoning, only a steady stroking. And I felt him throbbing within me as he stroked. Our lips sealed together. I throbbed too, as I tightened on him. I had found ecstasy. It went on for a long time as the moon sailed overhead.

Afterward, Phil said, "Still think life is all necessity?"

I looked at his face in repose in the moonlight. I watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. I remembered our long-ago date, and inhaled the all-too-real present.

I kissed him. "Yep. And I think this was necessary."

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