Third Person Ch. 02

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The affair ends badly.
3.7k words
3.68
42.3k
3

Part 2 of the 5 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 05/14/2002
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I spent most of the next morning on the computer. I had neglected work the day before, as you can imagine, and had a backlog of jobs. I worked at home, doing typesetting and layout and design work in Photoshop and Pagemaker. I did this work for the print shops in town, most of which had been around for generations and consequently didn't have anyone on staff who could do computer work.

This was my career. Not much money, true, but it was engaging and I was good at it. I could set my own hours and, as I was doing now, work in my bathrobe if I wanted to.

Phillip owned a used-book and record store, housed in a building that spanned almost an entire block. He had inherited this, like our house, from his parents. Phillip rented out the extra space to four other businesses, and most of our income was derived from the rent he took in. We weren't wealthy by anyone's standards, but we were comfortable, and the work we did was mainly for ourselves. I didn't have to do the computer work, and Phillip didn't have to run his little shop. We did these things because we liked to.

My mind wasn't on the work this morning, though. The events of the day before now seemed like a dream, even more so because I was engaged in something as normal and mundane as editing Pagemaker documents. The memory tingled. I felt awake and alive. Everything; the warmth of my coffee mug, the terrycloth robe against my body, the feel of the keys as I typed, all took on a sensual quality. After half an hour, it got to be overwhelming. I had to go into the bedroom and get myself off.

After that, it was a little better. I could halfway concentrate on the work, but my mind still wandered. I began to worry that something might be wrong with me. All I could think about was sex. I was horny as a fourteen-year-old boy.

My friend Gloria called at around ten. She wanted to meet for coffee. I was grateful for the distraction.

"Yeah," I said. "Where do you want to go?"

"Jumpin' Java?" she suggested.

That name gave me a chill. It was where I'd met Amanda.

"Sure," I said, hesitating slightly. "Be there in half an hour."

I thought of Amanda as I got dressed. I wondered if she'd be there. I'm sure she influenced the clothes I chose to wear. A loose skirt that didn't quite meet my knees, and a plain black tank top. Underwear? None. I hadn't gone braless in public in years, and as for stepping out of the house without panties- I don't think I'd ever done that. I felt naughty, daring. The lack of undergarments gave me a constant awareness of my body.

Gloria wasn't there yet when I arrived at the coffee house. I got my drink and sat down at the same table I had the day before, scanning the crowd. I wasn't looking for Gloria and was almost disappointed when she showed up.

Gloria was my best friend in this town. She was one of Phillip's tenants, renting the space next to his shop. She sold trinkets and knick-knacks, classy-looking, expensive things, catering mainly to the tourist crowd. I liked her a lot. She was easy-going and funny, about ten years older than us, but very young-spirited.

"Hello, Heath-ah," she always said my name like that. Gloria kissed me on the cheek then sat down with her coffee. "What's new?"

I considered telling her, if only to see how shocked she'd be.

"Oh, nothing," I said instead, trying not to smile too much. "How's business?"

"Oh, you know. It's a slow time of year. That's how I can afford to close up and come drink coffee with you."

It was always a slow time of year for Gloria's shop. She wasn't very concerned, though. She had inherited plenty of money from her husband, who'd died years ago. Like us, she ran the business for her own amusement.

"You look great," she said, grabbing my arm. "Did you do something different?"

That was an understatement. "No," I said. "Thank you, though."

"I'm serious," she said. "You look radiant. You're glowing, Heath-ah. You're not . . ."

"Pregnant?" I laughed. "No."

Gloria laughed with me, shaking her head. "I didn't think so, but from my experience when a woman glows like that, either she's pregnant, or she's been having some seriously good sex."

That was too much for me. I actually blushed. "Well . . ."

"I knew it," Gloria said. "That's great. I am so jealous."

Gloria was between serious boyfriends at the moment. This situation bothered her about as much as the lack of business in the shop. She had a few male friends around town whom she floated between, but she always liked to grumble about her sex life.

"Speaking of that, how's Phillip doing? I haven't seen him in a few days."

"He hasn't been in the shop?" This wasn't unusual. He was always going on sales runs to buy books and records.

Gloria shrugged and adjusted the brim of her hat. "He wasn't there this morning. He might have been there yesterday, but I didn't get a chance to talk to him."

"Phillip is . . . great," I smiled.

"You naughty girl," Gloria scolded. "You're as bad as Francine."

Francine was Gloria's daughter, who lived in Seattle. The two were as close as sorority sisters, talked daily on the phone, and told each other everything. I'd met Francine once when she was down here visiting, and she seemed more like a younger version of Gloria than an offspring.

Gloria began to tell me all the latest dirt on Francine, who was having a fling with a married black man. I could tell that Gloria was thrilled by the fabulous immorality of her daughter's life.

I listened to her without really hearing. I was just watching her. She was a very animated speaker, a very alive kind of person. Her face was lined a little with age, but this gave her dignity and perhaps even an exotic quality. She had European features, though she was born in Connecticut and spent most of her life here in Illinois.

Before today I had not realized how attractive she was.

That was the frame of mind I was in, so aware of my own sensuality that everything I saw seemed to glow with erotic energy. As my good friend talked, I found myself noticing her breasts for the first time ever, and idly wondering what it would be like to kiss them. Crazy crazy crazy.

She must have noticed that I wasn't paying attention to her words.

"Earth to Heath-ah," she said.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "I'm a little out of it this morning."

"I guess so," she said. "Is Phillip to blame for that, too?"

"Partially," I said, then I saw her. Amanda, making her rounds of the patio tables again.

Gloria followed my gaze. "These girls . . ." she said, generalizing with the wave of her hand. "They'd be so pretty if they'd just get cleaned up. Do their hair, wear some make-up, stop shopping at the Salvation Army." Gloria laughed. "Shave their armpits for God's sake."

Amanda either hadn't noticed me yet, or was purposely ignoring me. She was wearing the same dress she had worn the day before. I couldn't take my eyes off her, remembering how she looked without it. I wanted her to talk to me. I didn't even care that Gloria was here.

"Phillip likes that type," I told Gloria.

"Oh, I know," Gloria said. "We've had that talk. These girls come into his shop a lot. Don't worry, Heath-ah, your hubby's as faithful as a German Shepard, but he likes to look."

"So do I," I said, tearing my eyes off Amanda with real effort. I looked at Gloria and smiled.

"I think it's great that you two can be so open and honest about that sort of thing," Gloria said. "My husband was so jealous . . ."

Amanda stood before our table, cutting off Gloria in mid-sentence. She refused to look at me, instead smiling down at Gloria. I felt like a scorned teen-ager, and this feeling made me angry at myself. Such a crazy jumble of emotions.

"Excuse me," Amanda said to Gloria. "Do you have a couple dollars I can have?"

Gloria flashed me an incredulous look. I managed a weak smile.

"Honey," Gloria started. "Do you have a job?"

"A job," Amanda said coyly. She winked at me, and this acknowledgment shoveled about two tons off my heart. I still resented her for this unwarranted power I had given her over myself. "What's that?"

"That's very funny," Gloria said. "What's your name?"

"Amanda."

"Well, Amanda," Gloria said. "I'm going to give you the best advice you're going to hear all day. Tomorrow morning, when you wake up, eat a bowl of cereal instead of hitting the bong, then put a bra on and go around town filling out applications. You're bound to get something. That way, you don't have to bother nice people in coffee shops to get your love bead money."

The condescending tone in Gloria's voice stung me, and I wasn't even it's target. But Amanda was unfazed. She was smiling sunnily, like this conversation was a game she was enjoying.

"I don't have a bra," she said. "But if you give me a couple dollars I could go buy one."

Gloria had to laugh at that. "You've got a lot of nerve, don't you?"

Amanda shrugged. "Not really. So you can't even spare any change?"

"Sorry."

"How about a cigarette?"

"Don't smoke."

Amanda rolled her dark eyes over to me.

"How about you?"

"Sorry," I said.

She licked her lips slowly. I actually twitched at the sight of her tongue.

"Thanks anyway," she said, and then she was gone.

I watched her walk away. It took effort not to chase after her.

"Can you believe that?" Gloria said.

"No," I answered.

"Most of these hippie kids go to the college," she said. "Their parents are all loaded. There's no reason for them to be out here panhandling."

"Mmm-hmm," I agreed absently.

Gloria and I sat out there for another twenty minutes and I can not remember one thing we talked about.

"Hon, you are not with us this morning," she said at one point. "Are you sure you're OK?"

"I'm fine," I said. I was anything but.

Gloria finally left, walking back to her shop, which was only a few blocks away from the coffee house. When I went around back to the parking lot, Amanda was leaning on my car, waiting for me.

"Hi," she smiled when she saw me.

I approached her, heart fluttering. I hadn't been this nervous about seeing someone since junior high school. "Hi," I answered.

"Your friend seems pretty cool," she said.

I nodded, having nothing to say. Wetness dripped down the inside of my leg.

"Can I get in the car?" Amanda asked.

I nodded again. We both got in. I sat down behind the steering wheel and took two deep breaths, but could not calm my shaking heart.

"I think I lost my bracelet," Amanda babbled. I didn't want her to talk anymore, so I kissed her.

She kissed me back, surprised I think at my making the first move. I grasped her breast and held it tight.

Amanda slid her hand between my thighs and found my naked cunt. I opened my legs and her fingers plunged in, squishing because I was so wet. I was getting finger-fucked by a girl in a crowded parking lot in broad daylight. I didn't care if anyone saw us. There was nothing in the world that existed except this girl's hand inside me.

"Jesus fuck," I swore absurdly when I got off about thirty seconds later.

Amanda giggled and pulled out of me with a wet little pop. She traced my lips with a dripping finger. Phillip did that, too. He liked it when I tasted myself. I sucked Amanda's finger greedily, thinking of my husband.

"Can we go to your place for a little while?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, kissing her again. I couldn't get enough.

"I thought about you a lot last night," Amanda told me as I drove home. "I couldn't think about anything else."

"I thought about you, too," I admitted.

"Really? Did you tell your husband what happened?"

"Yeah."

"What'd he say?"

"He didn't say anything. He just fucked my brains out."

Amanda laughed. "It turned him on?"

"Oh yeah," I said. "I'm sure he'd like to meet you. Would you . . . stick around until he gets home?" I didn't have to spell out what I was driving at. Both of them at the same time . . . I didn't know if I could handle it, but I sure as hell wanted to try.

"I don't think that would be a very good idea," Amanda said.

"Why not?"

"Um . . ." Amanda struggled. "It's just that, right now I'm not really into men, you know? Your husband seems like a pretty cool guy, but I just want you."

This explanation rang false, but I accepted it. I got Amanda home and we went straight into the bedroom. We made love for most of the afternoon.

The sex that day was so relaxed. It wasn't the urgent fucking of strangers, but casual and languishing, like it was with Phillip. Like I'd known her for years.

"This is so crazy," I said afterwards, as I held her.

She snuggled closer. "Why is it so crazy?"

"It's crazy for a lot of reasons," I said. "I don't even know you, I'm married, I'm not gay."

"You're getting to know me, your husband doesn't mind, and who cares?" Amanda said, countering my arguments one-by-one.

"I feel like I've known you for a long time," I said.

"Maybe you have," said Amanda.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know," she rolled over and nuzzled me, playing lazily with my breast. "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

"That's not what I mean," I said, a little irritated by this cheap mysticism. "You're really familiar to me and I can't place my finger on why. It's not a past life or anything ridiculous like that. I don't know what it is."

"I feel it, too," Amanda said. Her hand drifted down my belly and I felt her finger find my clitoris. I was worn out, spent, dry as a bone. I grabbed her hand and dragged it off me.

"Don't," I said.

"OK," she said, withdrawing. She sounded hurt. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I tried to soothe her, but my voice sounded cold. "It's just that . . . people weren't meant to have this much sex in a twenty-four hour period."

She laughed at that, but I could sense that the warmth we had generated between us was beginning to cool. I was relieved. It was getting to be too close. Amanda rolled over onto her back again.

"I can't do this much longer, Amanda," I said.

She didn't say anything for a long time. "Why not?"

"I like you a lot, and you're . . . great, but this is turning my life upside-down. My emotions are . . . all out of whack. I'm confused. Can you understand how this all confusing for me?"

Amanda nodded. I thought she might be crying, but when I touched her cheek, my finger came back dry.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't be sorry," she answered. "I know it's confusing. It's confusing for me, too. And it . . . it doesn't have to be. There's a way to make this all clear and normal, but . . . I don't know how to . . ."

She trailed off, not making any sense to me.

"Do you not want to see me anymore?" she asked a few minutes later.

"I don't know," this was the best answer I could give. Right at that moment, I could see very clearly that it was for the best that we didn't continue this, but I knew the reason I was able to see this was because I was quenched. I knew I would want her again. It was unfair to put this girl at the mercy of my desires, but I had to be honest.

"OK," Amanda sat up. "I'm going to go now, but it's OK. I know what you're saying and I understand. I do."

She got out of bed and began to dress.

"Do you want me to drive you back into town?" I offered, although I felt too exhausted to move.

"No," she said. "I need to walk. I need to think."

She came over to me and stroked my hair. "If you want to see me, I'm sure you can find me. If not . . ."

I nodded. Amanda bent over and kissed me. A sweet kiss, full and warm.

"I love you," she whispered.

Amanda stood up quickly. "Oops," she laughed. "I didn't really mean to say that."

Then she was gone. She hurried out of the room and I heard her leave out the front door. Her words still echoed, and I puzzled over a troubling fact. When she'd said that to me, I had almost said that I loved her, too. Automatically, like out of an ingrained habit.

I fell asleep after Amanda left. I was even more exhausted than I had been when she'd left me the day before. It was a heavy, sluggish sleep, as only afternoon naps can be. I dreamed of sleeping. Sometimes Amanda was beside me; sometimes Phillip. Time was as thick as molasses and I felt like I might never wake up.

I think I did wake up fully at one point, though. I can't be sure because it was so much like my dreams of lying in bed, except that this time I was alone. The afternoon sun was seeping through my blinds, while in the dreams all had been darkness. It was strange enough to be a dream, but without that underwater narcotic feeling.

The sound of someone moving around on the third floor was what woke me up. I've heard this before, it was part of the reason why the house unnerved me so much. I had tried to convince myself that it was rats. Big rats. But Phillip had checked it out and had found no evidence of vermin. No droppings or shredded boxes. He joked that it must be ghosts. He himself had never heard anything. I only heard it when I was home alone.

Floorboards creaked. Doors opened. I heard footsteps on a staircase, but the sound seemed not to come from the stairs. It came from somewhere else, deep inside the house.

Today I felt no fear. My half-awake mind seemed to recognize the footsteps. It was either Phillip or Amanda, I thought, and in the state I was in I didn't consider that Phillip wasn't home and that Amanda had left, and that neither could have gone upstairs without me hearing them come into the front door. I was awake for less than a minute, so this perception melted into my dreams and was indistinguishable from them. In the dreams, my husband and my new lover had been interchangeable. Which was which, who was who, one or the other or both made no difference. I didn't think it strange that he/she/them/whatever should be upstairs. I slipped back into sleep and dreams unconcerned.

Phillip came home a few hours later, and I awoke to him standing in the room.

He smiled down at me, naked on the bed. "Did you see your friend again?"

"Uh-huh," I mumbled sleepily.

"Did you fuck her?"

I peeled my eyes open and fixed them upon him. His directness, arousing to me the day before, now struck me as crude and annoying. I rolled over, my back to him.

Phillip sat down on the bed and slid his hand between my buttocks. His fingers searched for my clitoris.

"Stop," I said.

The hand withdrew.

"What's wrong?" he sounded hurt.

"I don't feel like being touched," I said.

"Are you OK?"

"No."

Phillip was silent for a few minutes. I couldn't see him, but I knew he was wearing the stung, confused look he got whenever I was irritated by him. He was like a little kid sometimes, utterly dependant on my approval. This satisfied me. I wanted him to feel like that right now.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" he asked eventually.

"I don't care."

He didn't move, unsure of what I wanted from him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"No."

I lay there for a while, listening to him breathing. I remembered waking up and hearing the sounds upstairs.

"Were you up in the attic this afternoon?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I just got home."

Silence. It pained him and gratified me. I let it drag.

"Why?" he said after a while. "Did you hear your ghost again?"

I could hear the smile in his voice. Like everything else, this annoyed me.

"My ghost? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said.

Another long quiet minute.

"I'm sorry," Phillip said.

"You don't even know what you're sorry for," I challenged.

"I'm sorry that you're upset," he said. "I know this must be confusing for you."

"You don't know anything."

"Yes I do," Phillip said, surprisingly firm. "This is a strange situation for me. Stranger than you can know."

"Why?" I flipped over and faced him. "You got your favorite fantasy fulfilled. Your wife fucking the girl of your dreams and telling you all about it. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

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