The night before I leave for an outstation trip we meet up with a buddy before heading to a bar for drinks. They hug when he arrives. They always hug. She likes it. She likes him. They always hug, long and deep hugs in which he almost always reaches down and playfully starts his hug around her waist. He lifts her up so her feet come completely off the ground by about a foot. She is suspended there with her waist above his and her shoulders easily above his and he almost face-to-face with her breasts. She giggles and wraps her arms locked around his neck.

He captures the opportunity for a complete, full contact hug as she eagerly allows herself to be held there by him. Sometimes he twists himself back and forth playfully swinging her body lightly from side to side as she slides downward.

I notice her breasts pressed and sliding across his upper chest. It seems so friendly, somewhat harmless as he treasures her there held securely with the tips of her toes helpless to touch the ground. I look away as proof to the two of them that I am not troubled by their very personal contact.

But I do sometimes feel a little awkward, even conflicted, fully watching. I want to see her feeling happy and having fun, yet it seems, at least to me, to be a somewhat obvious and relatively bold display of the personal and physical attraction they have for each other.

I don’t know if they want me to see and yet they don’t seem to care. So occasionally I risk being caught watching it all. Mostly though, I turn away from watching directly to avoid feeling too uneasy. Besides, they do deserve at least the tiniest amount of privacy. In spite of all this, I never turn so far I can’t see and watch, catching glimpses out of the corner of my eye. My mind's eye impatiently fills in the rest. It’s no matter, it seems I’m just invisible to them anyway.

After a moment, he slowly and gently lowers my wife as he leans back I guess so she doesn’t just bounce to the floor.

I notice again she is in full contact of his chest, stomach and waist as she slides down his body and her tiptoes just touch the ground. After being swung about, she has ended up with her legs slightly parted and on both sides of his leg. I see her chest and stomach pressed to him and her pelvis crushed against his leg still just ever so slightly suspended there. After what seems like minutes, he allows her release from their close clinging moment. She gives him a simple but very close hug ending with her giving him a very friendly, soft and warm kiss. They always kiss.

At the bar, we all talk, they flirt and we all have a great time as I join in on their conversation and watch. After two hours, several beers for me and my buddy, and she with her four glasses of wine, we are a bit buzzed and ready to leave. On the way out of the door, I offhandedly suggest he take her to dinner the next night while I’m out of town to keep her company and have some fun. He grins a bit and says nothing. Then again, without thinking, I share my suggestion with her as we have now made our way out of the door to the sidewalk and in front of the large window of the bar.

Upon hearing my idea she chimes in, “Oh yeah, that would be great. We will have some fun.” With a flirting smile, she slowly walks towards him, opens her arms, taking control, offering him another hug opportunity. He takes it.

He picks her up again and this time she seems suspended in the air for moments on end, swaying back and forth in his arms. As he allows her tiptoes to touch the ground, I see her legs have parted again and she is completely pressed tightly against him. But this time, it’s different. She seems to be pushing herself against him. She kisses him again and it lingers a second or two longer than usual and then we are all off for our separate homes.

The next evening I’m on the road at 8 p.m. We talk on the phone and she asks about him coming to our home, "While you’re gone, just to keep each other company over a few drinks and pizza and have some fun." I wonder why she decided not to go out. I tell her to call and make her arrangement with him and go ahead and have some fun. Texted.

She: 8:30 p.m. I don’t have his number.

I have given it to her many times and I know it is easy to find it in my computer contacts. I am confused by the odd phone call and text. I guess she just wants my complete permission and approval again and is reminding me again that I did suggest they should be together tonight.

Me: 8:34 p.m. Sent the contact info by email from my phone.

She: 8:35 p.m. Thanks.

Then I hear nothing from her for hours. She almost always goes to bed early at about 10:30 p.m. every night even when we have friends over. Even when he is there. When I’m out of town, sometimes earlier. We always talk at night when I’m gone to catch up. She usually makes the call. But tonight, nothing.

I decide not to call because she is almost always in bed when I call this late. So I risk a text just in case she is asleep.

Me: 11:30 p.m. Hey you… How’s it going.

I get no text or phone call for almost an hour or so. I stop thinking about my text and assume she is asleep. Finally I notice at 1:06 a.m. that she has sent a text about 20 minutes ago.

She: 12:47 p.m. Good. He just left. Watched snl.

But that show is usually over at 11:30 p.m. I am amazed she was still up this late. The math raced through my head. She texts me around 8:30, I text back, she calls him and I guess he gets there at 9 and she texts me almost four hours later. Plus I wonder about the hour and seventeen minutes after the show ended.

So I venture an innocent but curious enough text. I’m so anxious to know more but afraid to come right out with it.

Me: 1:09 a.m. Have some.

It’s at that point that I accidentally hit SEND. I sit there stunned at my fumbling fingers and what I had just texted her. I worry about what she must be thinking about what I meant by those words. I could not believe I made this mistake. My fingers tremble as I try to decide what to do.

After a couple of minutes, shocked and worried I had waited too long to follow up, I add a finish to my message hoping to cover up for my error. I decide since she had not yet responded, she must be waiting to see what I would say next.

Me: 1:11 a.m. Oops... fun?

She: 1:15 a.m. I did. Heading for bed. Early day tomorrow.

So there it was. “I did.” Not a simple yes but “I did” and she took four minutes to say it as if hesitant to present her passive, yet artfully aggressive, long-distance admission. But she did and wanted me to know she did. I still wanted to know more. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to hear anything in her voice that further reinforced what I suspected was clearly the meaning of “I did.”

I hurried another text still trying to ask innocently for more information.

Me: 1:16 a.m. Sorry I didn’t see you texted back. Want me to call?

She: 1:17 a.m. No. Going to sleep. Call you tomorrow.

It was clear to me now. Whatever had happened was none of my business other than to send her a message with clear and torturous implications. I could see it all, from the big hug to his eventual full conquest of my willing and flirtatious wife. I know her. She’s clever, yet perfectly pliable. More likely, she had carefully positioned her arrangement precisely knowing she would fall prey to his conquest, accept his physical offerings and play it out for herself, and for him, and now for me as if I was standing right there able to half-watch it all happen.

Finally, it is the possible and undoubtable likelihood he was still there that weights my mind. It is perfectly clear to me now. For the next few hours, I try to sleep and I eventually do sleep four hours later after reading and rereading the text messages over and over again still deeply convinced and yet exhausted and intoxicated with conflict, wonder, and doubt.

The next day, she does not call. She sends a few text messages to keep me up on what is happening during the day. But that’s all. We always talk when I’m driving home. I get home at about 10:30 p.m. that night. I come in, I get a nice little kiss and hug. I start chatting about my trip and begin to talk about her “fun” evening, without noting the lateness of it all or that he was there for almost four hours. She interrupts me and says she’s really exhausted and is going to bed.

After several days, she has neither mentioned anything about his visit nor what happened in the four hours they spent together. But I am still rapt around it. A few weeks go by. Everything seems normal. Until one night, she asks if I have spoken with him. She openly asks where he is and when he is coming for a visit again. She repeats her ask three days in a row eagerly wanting him to come visit next weekend. She knows I have another trip out of town. She has his number. She could call him herself. She could keep it private. So I conclude, she must want me to participate again in making her arrangement.

So I did. I call him for her. We talk and catch up on various things. I drop in a comment about my schedule. I casually mention in the conversation that she would like his company again during my absence. He doesn’t address it directly but implies he might be up for some fun again. I can practically hear him smile over the phone. I tell her later I did make the call. She asks “Will he come and visit?” I tell her about the conversation. I tell her he did not confirm precisely but he did say he might be up for some fun again. I tell her I’m sure they’ll have fun if she calls him and makes her arrangement again.

It’s 9:30 p.m. She is in her night clothes. She smiles approvingly, comes over and softly presses herself against me. She asks “Do you think he’ll come for me?” I practically melt. She briefly allows me to get my hands under the sides of her night shirt and slide my hands along her soft skin from her waist, to her ribs, to the swells of the sides of her lovely large breasts. As I try to go farther, she slowly pulls away. She thanks me for calling him and offers me a flirting yet controlled little smile and heads to bed saying, she’s too tired.

Two days later, she calls on the road to ask when he is coming over to keep her company while I’m gone. I clearly know she has his number. I tell her again to call and make her arrangement with him and go ahead and have some fun. I am completely captured by this fog of innocence that clouds this charade. But it is clear that she really wants me to know, be involved and approve. So this time without texting me she comes right out and says, “I don’t have his number.” I am so shocked at her blunt denial, I am speechless for about ten seconds.

Then I tell her “I’ll send it to you again.” I worry that my comment is too bold. But she ignores my acknowledgement that I know she has it. She simply just says, “Thank you, honey.” I look at my watch and notice it’s 9:30 p.m. But I can not believe she wants this evening with him to begin this late into the night. I am torn but I did finally send his contact information again, just as she asked.

Me: 9:54 p.m. Sent the contact info by email from my phone.

She: 10:15 p.m. Thanks.

My mind races into high-speed and I assume he gets there by 10:45 p.m. But I guess I do hope they have “fun”. I wait again for her evening call. I wait, nothing. So finally I send the same text as I did weeks ago.

Me: 11:30 p.m. Hey you… How’s it going.

I wait for hours, nothing. I can not sleep, I can only imagine. Finally, I hear my phone ping.

She: 2:48 a.m. Very good. Too much wine.

It’s four hours again and I never imagined she would be up until almost 3 a.m. There is no pretense of watching snl. I know how she gets when she is up late drinking. She lets go. She gets so flirty and conversations get so physically close. Some times she lets her top fall open enough to accidentally show most of her breasts. With him around while she’s drinking she loosens up, plays and she just teases him till she is flush pink. He often sits back and casually enjoys her little flirt. But it’s obvious he enjoys it and shows his interest by listening to her every comment and engaging her in close conversation and helping her with beverages in the kitchen while I wait in the living room.

It seems that on these nights, those hugs become so much more. So tonight I wonder after having “too much wine” where did the flirting lead, where did the hug lead? I answered so fast, it was within a few seconds that she sent her message. I guess now she knows I was waiting up for her text alone miles away in a hotel room.

Me: 2:48 a.m. Had some fun? Want me to call?

She: 2:51 a.m.: We did. In bed. Not now.

“We did,” not “I did.” This time no mention of him leaving at all. And her words paired with “In bed” seemed so very, very clear to me. But with so many facts, I am left with no real clarity. I am barely able to contain myself from what I think I know. I am stunned at the late hour and the implied admission of his four hour stay. She hasn’t even tried to say he has left at all. I wanted to answer immediately, but I was so caught up in this new message and read it over and over again.

I suddenly realized I had waited almost 20 minutes.

To be continued here

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