Chapter 2: A Note Of Deceit

After that first time with Antoine I never stopped.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I didn't fuck Antoine again. The thought didn't even occur to me. Not to me. To him, it sure did. He kept after me for weeks. But somehow I knew that one time was the limit.

It was always that way with the men I fucked. Well, almost always. It is the newness and the firstness that makes cheating special to me.

And acceptable, I guess.

When I look back at my adventures — trysts, flings, affairs, whatever you want to call them — I don't see them as a chain of sleazy sex bouts. Not at all. At some times the sex wasn't even much more than a bonus.

One time there wasn't even sex at all.

I see it as one of those little fan-like booklets you get at a paint shop. A spectrum of colors that runs from blue through green through yellow and red. Each time had a distinct flavor for me. A certain smell or taste can bring them back. Like swallowing an oyster.

A sound can do it too.

The guy I met after Antoine was a concert pianist. He was in his young forties, very attractive. He had fled from Russia and was by now a rather well-known performing artist. His name was Wasilly, "call me Wes." We met through a PR plan I had developed. I organized a series of concerts at the local music hall. We not only added our firm's name to the happenings, we also turned them into culinary events. Antoine did the food.

Oh yes, maybe you forgot.

I work with this catering firm that also has a fast growing chain of delicatessens throughout the state. And beyond. I do marketing and PR.

Wasilly and I met twice.

It was always in the company of the concert hall's producers and my assistant. When we had a drink after the second meeting, he took me aside and invited me to a concert he was giving in Chicago.

I was pleasantly surprised when he had a limo pick me up at the airport. The driver took me to the Drake Hotel, where a suite had been booked for me. It was breathtakingly beautiful with a glorious view of the lake.

At the center of the room stood a grand piano. On it lay a single rose. It reflected in the deep shine of the lacquer. There was also a card telling me how welcome I was. He had excused himself for having to rehearse all day for the concert that night. I was asked to relax. I would be picked up for the concert around 7:30 p.m. He was looking forward to having a late supper with me afterwards.

You see now that it was much more than "just sex"?

I had tea in the gorgeous lobby and I strolled along the Magnificent Mile. Then I returned to my suite to sink into the bath and ponder what to wear.

Well, I wasn't really pondering.

I knew what I'd wear. I just had to work up the courage to do it. You see, before I left for Chicago I had bought this slinky, deep red velvety dress with a daring plunge, front and back. It was ankle-length and hugged my body very nicely.

The point is it could only be worn without a bra.

Another point was that I had never shown myself in public without one. I don't have huge breasts. And they don't really need the support. But they are large enough to do this telltale jiggling when given their freedom. And they have quite spectacular nipples. Nosy little rascals. They love to come out and play when all that jiggling and rubbing wakes them up.

After getting dressed and made up, I walked over to a tall mirror.

I had never seen myself like this. I'd never dared. But I knew I should have. I looked good. Sexy, yes. Sexy from my shining red lips down to my cleavage. From the curves of my hips down to the slit that showed a leg and the stiletto heels that made me stand tall.

But it was a high class kind of sexy. Subtle and tasteful. Classy enough to make me swallow my fear. "Damn, you look good, Anne," my voice whispered in a breathless way.

The sound made my nipples swell.

Did I feel guilty? George had never seen me like this. I had never dressed for him this way. Yes, of course I felt guilt. For two seconds, to be precise. And it annoyed me. For this wasn't for George. It wasn't even for Wasilly.

It was for me.

My cell phone rang.

"Honey?"

"Yes, darling, me too. So glad to hear your voice."

"Oh yes, the journey was good ... no problems."