The Married Man
I knew he was married. I knew. I knew it first thing when he walked into the room and caught my eyes and unfortunately my heart.
I saw the ring on his finger and something about him told me there was a touch of a woman, in him, on him, on the carefully ironed shirt, on the pair of lips that let out a deep, rough voice that I was sure could make my knees weak at any time.
But I chose to ignore all that. Ignored the ring. Ignored that woman. Ignored my own conscience and the consequence this would cause the moment he laid his eyes on me and I could swear I had never felt anything like that before.
I was young, and the thing about being young is that, I did what I wanted instead of what I should. Because sometimes what I should wasn’t very clear while what I wanted was so real and beautiful and pleasurable, a grown man who I could see with my naked eyes, touch with my bare hands and kiss with my wet lips.
I really didn’t mean to wreck any marriage. I would never want to be the other woman. I just couldn’t possibly suppress all the desire that kept growing stronger and stronger each time I saw him. For a long time I didn’t cross any line with him, yet I couldn’t deny that I wanted to. I wanted him all for myself. I wanted him to throw me on his desk, lift up my skirt and do whatever he wished to.
And I wanted to know if he was feeling the same.
Though it wasn’t just the physical aspect that drew me to him. It was everything about him really. From adorable details to admirable actions. From his 9 am habits to the things he believed in. His taste in books. His wide knowledge of everything I didn’t know a thing about. His answers to my every question. Even his flaws, the quirkiness that made him him and irreplaceable.
I could find another man to freely fantasize about but not another man like him, not the way he looked at me and made me feel so thrilled and… naked as though I couldn’t hide anything from him. I didn’t have to hide anything anymore. I wondered if it was real or was just all in my head. Did he actually see through me? And if so, did he see what I would do to him the moment I got the chance…?
I wished I could just switch off my feelings and walk away before things got ugly but it wasn’t so easy, especially when we worked in one office. That’s right. He was the visiting professor at my university and I was hired part time to be his assistant, which made this all so cliche.
Well, it may even sound like a porn plot except that we didn’t get to have sex on any couch, at least not yet. Or maybe my whole life is a fucking convenient and overly used porn plot in which I’m always somehow attracted to all the impossible people like the boss, the grossly older man, the married man, the man who will soon leave the country because, duh, this kind of thing is hot and exciting and just so inevitable to the young and troubled like me. Things I’d later call mistakes and write painful essays about yet I’d do anyway. Oh please, I know. I know exactly what I’m doing and I know a joke that is my youth.
One day, as the whole office went for drinks and I had a private moment with him, I felt bold and decided to test the water. After some banter and a few heartfelt personal stories that made my next question appropriate enough, I asked him whether he had ever cheated on his wife.
I could see a sharp change in his eyes yet he quickly hid it and kept his composure. He smiled and said I shouldn’t be drinking so much. I told him I was okay and he could trust me with anything. He asked me why I wanted to know. I said, no reason, and leaned in closer to his face, breathing into his neck, just good to know sir, then left him with an inviting half-smile. He didn’t say a word yet his facial reaction was telling. I knew I had gotten into his head.
Come to think of it, this question was the first ever question he didn’t give me a straight answer to. Though I guess this question wasn’t one any man would be willing to answer unless he was made to.
That’s why I wanted to know. I wanted him and I wanted to know whether he would let me if I placed my hands on his chest and pushed him down his office chair. Whether he would tell me he wanted me too if I revealed to him how many times I had dreamed of him not in a professional way. And whether he was the man I had hoped he was.
The next couple of weeks, I noticed he had become more flirty — nothing inappropriate but definitely flirty. There was more accidental touching, intimate moments that I felt like I could’ve kissed him right then and he would give it back.
Sometimes it was as though he had stayed late on purpose so that we would be the last two people left in the office. I would come over and ask him if he needed anything from me and he would smirk at that question to himself, probably thinking I didn’t know it could sound totally sexual. Well, as if I had ever meant it any other way.
He told me, no, you can go home now, though I could tell he wanted to say yes, yes, please stay, now jump on my desk.
That’s the thing about chemistry. You don’t just feel it on your own. It’s palpably there in the air even when you both try to pretend that it’s not. It’s in the way your bodies move around each other. It’s in the gazes that linger a bit longer than usual. It’s in the firm pat on the shoulder, in the brushing elbows and touching knees that send chills down your spine.
It’s when I actually jumped on his desk and he jerked his head looking at me with slight surprise then he seemed pleased, his eyes flashing the desire I had been wondering about.
It was 8 pm on a Tuesday. We were the only two in the building. We didn’t need to say anything much for what happened next to happen as the attraction and tension was so obvious at this point that resisting it would even be weird.
It felt so wrong yet so right that I bent down to kiss him and him feeling my body then grabbing my ass. His late-forty hands on my early-twenty ass. His beard rubbing my chin, falling into my mouth. His ring caressing my thigh then going inside of me. As soon as I moaned, he covered my mouth with his big hand then continued what he did even more aggressively.
We fucked. And finally, I had my answer.
When the deed was done, we exchanged a satisfied look and quickly got dressed. Although it was already dark outside, he told me to leave the building first to make sure no one could see us going together. I listened to him and made my way home like I would on any average day.
The next morning, I woke up to a caution message disguised as a flirty text from him which made the reality of it all start to sink in. Reflecting on my own action and its consequence, however, I was soon disturbed by the doorbell. I opened the door and found a parcel on my front step.
Inside was a cam recorder.
I turned it on and there was only one clip in it. I played it. I recognized myself in the video, riding the professor at 8 pm the night before.
The whole thing was filmed from outside the window which we didn’t expect to have anyone looking in. His wrinkly orgasmic face was clear while there was no shot that could identify me as only my back was shown.
Wow. It looked like the porn plot had been fucking made into a real porn.
I put the cam recorder back into the box and immediately made a phone call.
Oh, no, no. I did not call him.
I called his wife.
“Job done.” I said confidently, proceeding to send her the video with a bunch of HD photos as requested. The job was accomplished more quickly and easily than I had expected.
Please. Of course it was that quick and easy as I had calculated and set up everything meticulously. Plus, my trusted cameraman was superb as always. Hello, we got skills.
As for my client, I wasn’t sure what exactly she would do with those files but from the look of it, he was pretty much finished. She sounded nuts. I mean, like I’d said earlier, I did mean to ignore her but I couldn’t — this woman was something else. She fucking hunted me down until she got what she wanted, which I liked. Not to mention she did pay me handsomely.
See, things did get ugly, not that I hadn’t warned before. I did genuinely like him. I did want him all for myself and I had hoped he would say no to me then maybe I would tell him the truth and we could start fresh together. But as it turned out, he wasn’t different.
He was just another man who gave in to the temptation and didn’t think he would get caught. He shit on the vows he had made to the woman he married. He also shit on his own integrity. Well, yep. Confirmed. He was a cheater. And in my book, a cheater would always be a cheater, no exception, no fun, no appeal.
One thing though, don’t you think it’s ridiculous how in a marital affair only the other woman, or man, ever gets called homewrecker while it’s apparent that the cheater makes a conscious choice to cheat? — They fucking wreck their own home.
Well, not like I had any right to spit on anyone here — look at what I would do for money…
Anyway, I was just disappointed, and slightly gutted that I had ever given him so much credit.
I thought my dear professor was smart enough to figure me out, that I must have had some other ill intention here as I was totally overqualified to be his bimbo assistant and I was way too young and hot for him. But well, too bad, he didn’t see this one coming, which meant he didn’t really see through me and my brilliant mind either.
Oh hey, he did see through one thing though. He definitely saw through my shirt into my perky tits.