Chapter 9

Waiting in the chilly car was no easier this time than the last. Consumed with agonizing images of his wife with the dark stranger, he sat unmoving behind the wheel, staring into the darkness, hoping to find an answer there, but finding only more anxiety and pain with each passing minute. "What kind of man allows this?" he argued silently to himself. "What kind of wife does this to someone she loves?" He should leave her - start the car and speed away from this revolting house that held her. A simple act, and the pain would be gone - but only to be replaced with the pain of losing her. "Allow her this, and keep her," his rational side argued back. "One night of physical pleasure, now and then - something that makes her alive, exciting, and loving when she returns to me."

And so the battle raged, silently, in the darkened car - for an hour, perhaps more, until running in circles exhausted him. With each blink, his eyes became more difficult to open again, until finally, he couldn't open them at all.

He sat beside her, ten rows back from the stage in the cavernous opera house. The lights were still up, and the audience murmured with anticipation of the first act. She was as radiant as he had ever seen her - hair swept up as if magically held in complex patterns of shining swirls, each strand perfectly in place. The neckline of the simple black dress exposed much of the rounded globes of her firm breasts in a daring display of flesh. She held her program in one hand while gently stroking his thigh with the other. Finally she looked up from the small print and smiled.

"Thank you for tonight, darling. You know how much I've wanted this."

Her hand moved to his lap. She ran her fingers slowly over the front of his pants until she felt the beginnings of his erection, then gave it a light squeeze.

"Ladies room," she whispered as she lifted herself out of her seat.

She made her way along the row as three couples stood to let her by. Then, just as she reached the end of the row, he watched in horror as her fingers trailed lightly along the obvious erection of the young man standing in front of the last seat. She looked back over her bare shoulder and winked, then quickly disappeared toward the rear of the theater. At first the others seemed not to notice her perverse teasing. Then, still standing, they slowly turned to look at him, faces frozen in blank stares as though waiting for his response.

He stood and worked his way past them. Each of them, one by one, watched him with a blank stare until he reached the wide aisle. As he passed the young man on the end of the row, he brushed against his enormous erection and flinched, quickly pressing into the seat in the next row to escape further contact. But the man kept the same expressionless stare as the others, his bulging cock the only evidence of his wife's playful seduction.

The lights began to dim as he reached the back of the theater. The four sets of double doors that led to the lobby were now closed and he fumbled in the dark to find an exit. Once found, the door opened easily in his hand, almost as if it had been expecting him. The lobby was deserted. Scarlet padded benches that lined its perimeter, only a short while ago laden with guests in all their finery. Now they were empty. A large chandelier burned brightly overhead, each of the hundreds of pieces of sparkling crystal hanging silently as though frozen in time. To the left and right, two wide curving stairways led to the balcony and restrooms.

He climbed the stairs on the right, eager to find his wife, but fearing what may lie ahead. The carpet accepted each footstep, collapsing just enough under his weight, then rebounding, as if impatient to send him on his way. At the top of the stairs, an empty foyer greeted him, silent as a tomb. After pacing in front of the ladies room, he entered cautiously, glanced quickly left and right, only to find it empty. After a hasty retreat, he crossed to the men's room and entered.

"Good evening, sir."

The tuxedoed man standing a mere two feet to his right stood straight and still as a statue. His face was pale and as translucent as tissue paper, and as Steven met his stare, he recognized the same blank, unblinking eyes as the guests downstairs.

"I - uh - I'm looking for my wife."

"In the men's room, sir?"

"No - I mean - well, she left her seat twenty minutes ago, to go to the ladies room."

"Ah, the ladies room is outside, to the right, sir. I suggest you wait for her there."

"But, I have, and she's - well, she's not there."

The man's eyes narrowed, as though trying to peer through Steven.

"Is your wife prone to straying, if I may be so bold, sir?"

"Straying? I - no, no she isn't."

"Well, many women are. My own wife was a prime example. So unpredictable, so strong-willed, such - unquenchable desires."

The man's expression relaxed, his eyes now those of a knowing confidant.

"Look, have you seen her?" Steven asked finally. "Black dress, brown hair, very pretty..."

"Ahh, yes. I do believe I have. But she couldn't be your wife, sir. She was..."

He stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes now drifting upward as he seemed to savor the memory.

"Why? Why couldn't she? What do you mean?" Steven asked in near panic.

"I had a wife once, a very pretty one, much like yours, if I may say so, sir. She had tastes, for, well, certain things I couldn't provide. I returned to our home one day to find her enjoying a ride on a rather well-endowed young man in our own bed."

The man stopped, looking at him expectantly.

Steven, suddenly feeling the urgent need to relieve himself, turned away and stepped up to the nearest of the gleaming white urinals lining the long wall of deep scarlet.

"She wouldn't admit it, at least not at first. They seldom do. But, to be very candid sir, men of size and savagery are what they dream of."

As Steven emptied himself into the white porcelain, he shivered when he noticed the attendant sneak a glance at his exposed penis.

"Men like us sir, civilized men, men born without the, well, sufficient 'equipment' that such women desire, must often stand aside when a lady finds that our sensitive devotion is no match for a good fucking. I'm sure you would understand that, sir."

"Look, have you seen my wife or not?" Steven shot back, now unnerved by the attendant's suggestive banter. The man seemed suddenly older. A mixture of arrogance and amusement filled his eyes, but his face looked tired, aging years in the few minutes they had spoken.

"I'm sorry sir. I must have been mistaken," he answered, with a knowing smile.

Steven pushed by him and fled into the hallway. The warm glow of the wall sconces was now extinguished, leaving him in darkness. Behind him the attendant's laughter spilled from the men's room, booming louder and louder between each gasping breath. A light flickered in the distance where the stairs met the darkened hall. He moved toward it, then quickened his pace, running, running, the plush carpet sucking at the soles of his shoes, his heart pounding, head throbbing, propelled forward only by his terror and the hideous laughing behind him - running, running, his eyes slowly adjusting to the flickering light ahead, until finally he reached it and stopped, panting, dizzy, and swimming in sweat.

Below him, hidden by the bend in the winding stairway, music was playing, but not the lush music of an opera. It was thin and nasal, as if made by an old Victrola. He took the first few steps cautiously, then, driven by curiosity, descended until he could see into the lobby below. The chandelier was gone, the dim light now coming from a few flickering gas lamps clinging to the far wall. The room was filled with Victorian furnishings - satin armchairs, sofas and loveseats trimmed here and there with fringe and lace, all arranged atop an intricately decorated oriental carpet that stretched away into the darkness.

"Ahh, there you are. I've been waiting for you. You're very late."

A woman stood at the base of the stairway. She looked up at him with a slim, bare arm outstretched, her fingers beckoning. Suddenly the room was filled with women, as though their flesh was precipitated from thin air during a blink of his eyes.

"Come, come, mon amour - I won't bite. Unless you want me to."

Her voice seemed to penetrate him, her words made all the more intoxicating by an elegant French accent. A sheer black camisole barely contained her lush, heavy breasts, and covered her slender curves only to just above the navel, leaving the slightly parted lips of her sex completely exposed. He was drawn to her, slowly, a step at a time, until he stood before her, close enough to inhale the light scent of perfume carried by the heat of her body. She moved closer, her arms around his waist, her hips thrust firmly against him. Her face was oddly familiar; sparkling green eyes set above a perfect, delicate nose, full red lips with a hint of mischief at the corners of her wide mouth, and flowing loose brown curls dancing over her bare shoulders.