Tempted (39 page)

On this particular Monday night, I’m all aflutter over Alex.
 
He has been wooing me like nobody’s business
,
and I’m delighted to be under his captivating spell.
 
I hate leaving our videochat, but have to get to the board meeting.
 
Once there, it becomes clear that concentration on the ballet company’s
supernumerary
budget is going right out the window for me.
 
So, I do the n
ext best thing.
 
I chat with Alex
on Facebook.
  By the time h
e has finished ravishing me
with his words
, I
am
unconscious. 

While
taking in his typical
ly
delicious depravity,
I tip
ped
back in my chair, straining not to burst into ecstatic convulsions.  Guess I tipped back too far. 

I
come
to
and
find myself with a mild concussion
occasioned by
toppling off my chair
. 
The school nurse attends to our recording secretary
Ruth
’s – injuries.  Word on the street is, Ruth became part of the collateral damage when my graceless fall sent her notes flying
, and my leg caught her chair, taking her down with me
.
 
The pain in my head is exceeded only by my
abject
em
barrassment. 

At least the fiasco ended the board meeting on schedule for the first
time
in four years.
 
Ah, well. 
All’s well that ends well.

Like a schoolgirl with a crush, I have taken a renewed interest in stalking Alex’s Facebook wall.
 
He is so unlike anyone I’ve e
ver encountered.
 
His wisdom,
depth
and empathy blow me away
,
and
 
I’m awed by him daily.
 
The
poem
I find
on his wall
ensures that today
is no exception.

A poem I wrote last night.

Let us Play

Come play with me 'neath star-jeweled skies

And let us laugh the night away

Dance slow in my arms under candlelight moons

While birdsong heralds the distant dawn

And your love sings my own heart's song.

There were times, I thought I was free

When no one called and no one came.

In the witching hour I roamed the earth

But you slayed my soul, then gave it birth.

Thus bound to you, I'm truly free

Free to live and laugh and grow

Now let me bind yourself to me

So perfect love you'll always know.

Your graceful gifts rain from above

For Heaven smiles on love with love.

Sigh.

Smile.

Sigh again.

He gives me so much and I feel like all I do is take, giggle, wriggle and say thank you.
 
This must change.
 
There must be something I can do to make him feel as special and desired as he does me.
 
Hmm.
 
I think I know just the thing.

* * *

When I go to place the video call, my finger trembles on my laptop touchpad.
 
As directed, Alex is sitting in his leather recliner in his living room, his phone unplugged and computer in sleep mode.
 
He is sweaty and spent from a two-hour wood-splitting session, and he’s the picture of manliness
,
with jeans torn by years of rough use,
beat-up work boots, and a dark h
enley pullover, sleeves rolled up.
 
His hair is straggly and tousled in that rock
star way that is so becoming on him.

To my delight, he’s imbibing from a snifter of Louis XIII cognac, dunking his contraband Montecristo cigar into the amber brandy.
 
He appears calm, controlled and commanding, while I am an awkward bundle of nerves.
 
Steeling myself, I click the play button on iTunes, take a deep breath and get into position.

After a false start, I feel just like Jennifer Beal’s character in
Flashdance
, but not nearly as talented or fit.
 
I hit play again, giggling at my own nervousness, and decide just to have fun.
 
As the intro horns sound, I begin my strut into the vidcam’s field of vision.
 
The pace is almost agonizingly slow, but I do my best to look confident, and wickedly seductive.

I’m dressed in one of David’s suits, heels, a button-down shirt, fore-in-hand tie
–
done in a full Windsor, no less
–
my boxers an
d tank top, a string bikini,
and hat.
 

Joe Cocker croons and I obey, “Baby take off your coat, real slow.
 
And take off your shoes
...
”

My hands shake as I remove the coat and toss it on a nearby chair.
 
I sit on the edge of the seat to re
move my sky-
high heels.
 
This part goes a little better, and I breathe a sigh of relief to know that at least I won’t have to worry about falling off my shoes.
 
As I get up, slowly, something inside me ignites.
 
My kundalini roars, my chakras come alive and all the months of Siren School dance classes and Tantric yoga take over my entire being.
 

I’ve never felt like this.
 
I am the temptress I never dared dream possible, sensual grace, sex in motion.
 
No longer concerned about the flab of my backside, the sag of my breasts or non-existence of my waistline, I am woman
–
all that is soft and self-assured, grateful for who she is
,
and happy to share all the charms she possesses.

I have mandated
that
Alex resist any temptation to touch himself during the proceedings.
 
He is just to watch, and enjoy.
 
And enjoy, he does.
 
I brusquely handle the unfastening of David’s belt as my hips begin a slow circling ami.
 
Once the belt is off
,
I fold it in half, and grabbing both ends
,
pull it taught so that the leather slaps together.
 
I see Alex’s lips part and I smile.

With mounting confidence
,
I drag out the unbuttoning and removal of David’s dress shirt, turning my back to the camera just before pivoting around
again
with the shirt clutched in front of me, dropping it so that I may remove the chopstick that holds my hair up at the base of my neck, below my fedora.
 
Alex chuckles in delight at the sight of me in men’s undergarments, but not for long
,
as I languidly finger the waistband of the boxers, before sliding them down my thighs and tossing them
off with a flick of my freshly
painted toes.

Still wearing the tank top, bikini and hat, I straddle the chair and let the music have its way with me.
 
I run my hands over my body, making love to the chair in every position it beckons, and casually pulling at the top’s fabric, revealing brief glimpses of flesh.
 
Clearly, Alex is having difficulty sitting still, which makes me even lustier.
 
I take a full ten seconds to leisurely pull the tank top up over my waist, my breasts, my shoulders, my head and then off.

I stand and turn my back to him again, my hips swaying and hands enjoying my body, at length casually untying both sets of my bikini top’s strings. Just like in the classic striptease routines of
days gone by
, I cross my hands to cover both breasts and coyly turn to face the camera
–
my face innocent and inviting.

Alex moans his pleasure and takes a large gulp of the cognac.

Wearing only my bikini bottoms now, I take a few small steps back, toying with the strings on either side of my hips.
 
As nonchalantly as I can manage, I pull both strings and let the bikini drop, now wearing only the signature hat.
 
My fingers explore my thighs, inside and out, as I lower myself onto all fours.

As the song winds down
, I crawl toward
the computer.
 
The music fades and I get ever closer and closer to the camera and
,
‘Mwah
,
’
give Alex a playful smooch in closing.

Alex gives me a standing ovation, making sure to emphasize the ‘O.’

David and I bump into each other in the middle of the night.
 
He has awakened to use the restroom
,
and I am on my way to raid the ref
rigerator after a rousing video
chat with Alex.
 
I don’t know how the conversation starts, but there in the hallway, in the dark, I tell David about my depth of feeling for Alex.
 
He very supportively tells me how happy he is for me and that Alex sounds like quite a guy.
 
He then excuses himself, saying that he really does need to get to the bathroom.
 
I grab a spoon and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey, excited to be flirting with ice cream again after a spell apart.
 
Back in bed, as I am scraping the bottom of the carton, I hear a car door close and an engine start.
 
David heads off into the night.
 

I awake early and go out to the driveway to pick up Mom’s newspaper.
 
David bought her an iPad, but she still likes to read the Sunday paper on actual newsprint, and cl
ip the coupons.
 
I frown when I notice
that David’s car is still gone from the night before.
 
A note
left
on my own car catches my attention.

I am really sorry for what I did.
 
I promise, nothing like that will ever happen again. I never wanted to hurt you.
 
I love you.

My heart skips.
 
Mom was right.
 
David loves me.

I just wanted to make a life with you and have you as my own.
 
I realize now that can never happen.

Wait!
 
Don’t say that!
 
What do you mean?

I wish you all the best and hope you are happy with that Facebook guy.
 
I just wanted to say goodbye.

Nooooooooooo David, come back!

Please do not report this note to the police.
 
God told me to write it to you.
 

Love, Geronimo

I stand confused and crestfallen and ashamed for being so, when I hear David’s car quietly approach.
 
He’d already killed the engine and is coasting up the gravel drive.

“Claire!
 
What are you
...
?
 
Good morning.”

“Sneaking in at dawn, eh?” I tease.

“No, I
...
You want some breakfast?
 
I’m cooking.”

* * *

It’s a Monday night, which means poker, pizza and perversion.
 
Mom and David have their weekly card game with the neighbors, and I have my weekly board meeting with Alex sending me salacious messages.
 
It’s his new favorite way to make me squirm inappropriately in the presence of others.
 
And for the first time, I actually look forward to Monday nights.