We had known each other for maybe a year, just casual acquaintances at a local dance club I frequented to blow off some steam while my husband watched the kids. The week before, Armando and some other regulars and I were all talking about an upcoming event the club was hosting. I didn’t tend to like these events because they went on well past 2am and I had a long drive home. Nevertheless, my little group of club friends talked me into giving it a try. Get a hotel, stay out late and enjoy the dancing; it sounded wonderful to be honest. And for some reason he seemed particularly excited about the prospects of me staying late for the event. I didn’t pay much mind though the attention and playfulness was fun. I spoke with my husband and we agreed a night out was just what I needed.
The evening came. Winter had just blown in so I opted for a deep red long sleeve turtleneck tucked into a tight pair of black slacks and boots. I arrived and had a great time dancing with my friends though there was no sign of Armando. I figured this was great ammunition for some good teasing once I saw him again. All that prodding for me to go and he’s the one who didn’t show. But then I look across the dance floor and there he is at a table, dressed in a gorgeous, tight button down. I made my way over.
“You’re in trouble,” I teased. I had to lean close to be heard over the music. We were inches apart. He just smiled and took my hand and the next hour was a blur of dancing and laughing together. It was getting late. I told him so and said I needed to leave.
“Wait,” and he seemed strangely resolute.
He took my hand and led me off the dance floor to where we could talk. There was a room tucked away behind the DJ’s booth. I’d never been there but we stepped inside and I took a moment to peruse the place while Armando shut the door behind us to block some of the noise. I had wandered forward a few steps. There was the outcropping of a wall that jutted out, leading to the rooms bathroom.
From behind, I heard, “don’t be mad.”
I turned and then I was suddenly in his arms, his lips against mine, my body pressed back against the wall as he pressed into me with a passion I hadn’t felt from a man in years. It was raw, needing, desperate…for me. He kissed me and I felt my breath catch and my stomach drop from the suddenness. And then all at once reality spun back into focus…
“I’m married,” I breathed.
“I know,” he murmured.
And that was it. Those two simple words and the heat between us. He knew. He knew my love for my husband and my devotion to my family. And yet he had risked a slap or worse. For me. For my lips, for my body. I saw the burn for me in his eyes and felt it in the rise and fall of his chest. He knew and yet there we were in the dark of the room, inches apart with my back against the wall and his hands gripped tight about my waist.
I pressed back into him with a recklessness I hadn’t known since the early days with my husband. All the want for this man, his lips, his touch. My arms wrapped about his neck, our tongues met and we tasted each other, that sweet bitterness of shared alcohol and lust. We kissed for what felt like forever but was only a few minutes before old anxiety reared it’s head and I began worrying about someone walking in on us. I separated reluctantly. He acquiesced graciously. And then we made our way back to a table, flushed and heads spinning.
“Was that ok?” He asked.
“No one can know,” I responded, dead serious. And there was no ‘wink wink’ or childish smirk at the illicitness of it all on his part. He understood. There could be no scandal. He knew.
“We will be discreet.”
“And nothing will come from this,” I added. “I will not leave my husband. There will be no expectations or commitments.”
“No falling in love,” he agreed.
I realized then, looking into his dark eyes, my lips still warm from his kiss, that this was exactly what I wanted, what I’d been missing in my life, what I needed… Our terms set, I smiled and offered my hand for another dance with my friend, my stallion. We danced another hour, sneaking kisses and whispers on the dance floor. And when I left it was with thoughts of his hands on my body, his lips on my own and the thrill of what was next.
“Baby…” I called home on the drive to the hotel. I heard my husband’s tired voice on the other end of the line asking if everything was ok. “I need to be honest with you, especially after our talk and the things you promised I could do, if I ever wanted. Armando kissed me tonight. And I want more.”