A Tale of Two Love Affairs

Stella took a deep breath and poured herself a generous glass of white wine. She had done her duty, talked to most of the people at the party, and now had a moment to herself.

Roland was off in the other room, probably still getting his ear talked off by that guy who owned a sailboat. She thought about going in there and throw him a lifeline but she didn't bother. Her husband was a big boy. He could take care of himself.

Stella was more concerned about Alan. Their son never did well at parties. In fact, he never did well with people at all. Especially girls. He was twenty-one and she was sure that he had never had a girlfriend. Never even had a date. Stella doubted that he had ever kissed a girl.

It's hard for a young man to get a kiss from a young lady when he's too shy to talk to her.

When Alan had been in high school, Stella had told herself that he was still young; he had plenty of time to sow his wild oats; he would come out of his shell when he matured a little more.

When he continued to avoid girls in college, Stella had a harder time convincing herself that it was only a matter of time before her son blossomed. He'd stayed in his room and studied hard, earned the highest grade point average in his graduating class, and had been selected as class valedictorian. She was proud of that accomplishment, but she would rather have seen him go out and party on Saturday nights. He could have asked a girl to a movie at least once in four years.

If a boy couldn't pick up a single girl from the estrogen-laden smorgasbord presented by a college campus, what hope did he have out in the real world?

For a time, Stella wondered if her son was gay. Then, when he was in his second year at university, she found the girlie magazines that he kept hidden under his mattress. Not an ounce of beefcake in the pile. After that, she began noting how avidly he looked at girls in short skirts and tank tops walking down hot summer streets. He stared at them with such desperate desire that it almost broke her heart.

He wanted a girl, no question. His problem was that he had no idea how to get one.

Stella had a mother's love but that didn't stop her from looking at her son objectively. He was average looking, not handsome but no uglier than most other boys, especially after the post-pubescent acne that had raged his teenage face had finally given up the fight and the residual damage faded to barely noticeable scars.

His faults were more subtle than simple homeliness.

He was too skinny to be athletic, but he was heavy on his feet for lack of muscle tone. His awkwardness made him gauche without the saving grace of disarming innocence. A decent exercise would fix that.

A more difficult problem was that he was too shy to look anyone in the face so he kept his eyes averted. That gave him the air of someone who always had something more interesting to do somewhere else.

His voice was soft and that made him easily ignored. No matter how clever his remarks, they were wasted if they were not heard. Worse, he spoke in a soporific monotone that scuttled any emotional impact that his words might have conveyed.

His strengths would have outweighed his deficits if any girl made the effort to notice them. He was smart, ambitious, and worked like the devil himself. And he could write like an angel. Google had hired him right out of college as a junior technical writer but he wouldn't have to stay in that cubicle for long. Once his managers had a chance to discover and appreciate his talents, they would find more profitable ways to exploit him.

He would never be fast-tracked, but, given time, he would go far in corporate America.

If he had the right woman in his corner – someone who could make him care about what people thought about him – he would go farther, faster.

As she drained her wineglass, she decided that the time had come for her to stop waiting for nature to take its course and grab the helm with both hands. She loved her son dearly and would do anything to steer him on the right course.

Anything.

She refilled her glass, took another heavy sip of her chardonnay, and drifted toward the family room where the younger people, including Alan, had congregated. Standing a few steps outside the open doorway, she could watch him covertly. He was sitting in the circle like the other young people but, somehow, even when surrounded by exuberant youth, he managed to be alone.

Nobody was consciously trying to exclude him. The banter simply slipped past him because he made no attempt to respond. The smiles and laughter rolled off him without leaving a trace.

When he did smile, he was never synchronized with the others. When someone made a subtle joke, his quick mind caught it before anyone else and his smile came too early; or when someone made a simple jibe, he failed to find humor and he smiled only when he heard the others' laughter, too late to be anything but an observer.

"They're having a good time," a masculine voice said near her ear.

Stella turned to see a man smiling at her. What was his name? Peter something. The host had introduced him when he'd first arrived. Him and his wife and their daughter Candace. She remembered Candace because she had been so pretty. Not beautiful like a model but cute as a button. A pixie in a short plaid skirt and soft red sweater. A lively contrast to Alan's wooden manner.

When they had been introduced, Stella had seen her capture her son's heart with a carefree laugh and casual wave. He'd barely been able to force a soft, "Hello," from his lips before she'd skipped off to find the heart of the party somewhere else.

"Your daughter seems to enjoy herself," Stella replied. "I envy someone who is so at ease in a crowd."

"She does like people," Peter said.

"Is she in school?"

"She was studying history at the university but she dropped out last spring. She was smart enough to do the work but didn't find the academic life as interesting as she'd expected. Now she's working for a year while she decides what to do next. Once she's had a chance to think about it, I think she's going to settle on nursing. It's a practical profession and she has a caring nature. I think she'd be a great pediatric nurse."

Stella looked back into the room where the young people were laughing and flirting. Candace was at the center of the action – the pretty maypole around which the others danced. "I can see that," Stella replied. "She relates well to people."

"You have a daughter in there, too?" Peter asked.

"A son. Alan. He's sitting two over from Candace. In the blue shirt."

"Oh, right. I remember."

She could tell that he was lying. It had been over two hours since he'd been introduced to Alan. Undoubtedly he had forgotten her son as soon as he'd heard the name. Alan never made a first impression on anyone. Not a good impression or a bad impression – no impression at all.

Alan was looking wistfully at Candace but, when she turned in his direction, her glance passed through him as though he were made of the purest crystal.

"I guess Candace has a lot of boyfriends," Stella said.

"She has a lot of dates. I don't think that she's ever had a real boyfriend," Peter replied. "She's not ready to settle down with a boy any more than she could settle down with her studies."

"Maybe she hasn't found the right boy yet."

Peter laughed. "There's no maybe about it. She found a lot of the wrong boys but not a single right one. The only saving grace is that she figures out that they're the wrong boys soon enough and dumps them before she gets hurt. She's smart that way."

Stella smiled. "We all had to kiss a few toads before we found our princes. Or princesses."

"Yeah," Peter replied but his tone sounded unconvinced. "We do find our princess, don't we?"

Stella could hear a bitter tone in his voice that some men reserved for discussing their wives with other women. "Come, now," she said. "Your wife... I'm sorry, I forgot her name¬–"

"Jane."

"Right. Jane. She's lovely. She looks at you like a princess looking at her Prince Charming."

Peter laughed. "Oh, yeah. She's a princess, all right. And it's not just the way she looks. She's a princess to her core." He looked at the drink in his hand.

Stella couldn't tell what it was. Something clear. Gin or vodka, maybe. Might even be white rum.

"Sorry," he said. "I've had a bit more to drink than I should have and I'll bore you do tears if I get started telling you about the princess." He paused, then said, "Jane's not so bad. She's a good mother and she loves me as much as she can in her own way. And she's a terrific designated driver. Let's just leave it at that. Why don't you tell me a little about yourself? That'll be more interesting for both of us."

"I'm not so sure about that." Stella paused to assess the man, then screwed up her courage and said, "I think I need a little air. Would you be a gentleman and escort me outside for a few minutes?"

Peter looked interested. "Sure. You smoke?"

"No." Stella said, and then laughed at the memory that bloomed in her mind. Once when she was a teenager, she'd been on a date and they'd seen another girl smoking in a doorway and her date had said, If she smokes, she fucks. That was her last date with that boy but she remembered what he said every time she saw a woman smoking. If she smokes, she fucks. Of course, that boy had been too young to know that the negative was also true. If she doesn't smoke she still fucks. Every woman, smoking or not, fucks someone sometime. But not every woman fucks every man. Women like Stella, for example, don't fuck men who say, If she smokes, she fucks.

"Do you smoke?" she asked him in return, then thought, If he smokes, he fucks. She laughed again.

"No," Peter said, unsure what Stella was laughing about.

"Good," she said. "Let's go outside and breathe some good clean air."

It was not cold enough to require coats but was cold enough to become uncomfortable after a certain length of time. Stella didn't intend to be out here for that long.

When she was certain that they were out of earshot of the other guests, Stella got right down to business. "I have a proposition for you."

"Oh?" Peter looked interested.

His expression encouraged her. This might be easier than she feared. "Let me be absolutely clear about a couple of things. First. I don't want to break up your marriage. Or my own marriage for that matter. Remember that."

"Okay." Now he looked more than interested. He looked hopeful. It was almost pathetic.

"You can reject my proposition if you want. I won't be offended or hold a grudge or anything like that."

"Of course not," he agreed. It sounded like she was getting close to proposing something wicked.

She took a deep breath. "I think that you can do a service for me. In exchange I'm sure that there's some service that you'll want me to do for you."

"Okay."

She paused again. Despite the glasses of wine that she had drunk to free her inhibitions, she was suddenly shy about actually saying the words to a strange man.

As the pause stretched, it appeared that she was going to chicken out and withdraw whatever proposition she had in mind without ever saying it. He hastened to reassure her. "It's okay," he said. "You can propose anything you want. I'll agree or not. It's that simple. If I don't agree, I'll just pretend that I never heard it. It'll be no problem."

"You can't ever tell anybody," she said. "Agree or not. You'll never tell. Nobody, never."

"Of course not."

Actually, she had already assumed that there would be some gossip, but she'd handle that when the time came. She didn't know if her husband would have to find out everything that she was doing, but if he did, she'd work it out with him somehow.

She screwed up her courage to the breaking point and said, "Here it is. I want your daughter to start dating my son, Alan. Alan's real shy. He's never had a girlfriend, not even a date, so she's going to have to take the initiative. If she asks him to take her out, then he'll do it. He'll be too shy to refuse. But she's going to have to ask him directly. He won't take a hint. He's a nice guy. And he's really focused on his work and being successful. He's a great catch. Candace'll like him once she gets to know him. And if she doesn't like him, then she can drop him. Gently, I hope. When she drops him, he won't be weird or stalk her or anything like that. I can guarantee it. I just want him to have a real date. That's all. Just have at least one normal date with a girl."

"Is he gay? Are you saying that you think my daughter can make him straight?"

"No. No, it's nothing like that. Not at all. He's interested in girls, he's just too shy to do anything about it. That's all."

"Then what is it? You want me to ask my daughter to screw your son?" Peter looked offended.

"No. I mean, she can if she wants. If she likes him enough. That would be okay. But that's between her and Alan. It's not part of the deal between you and me. I'm just asking for her to date him a little. Just go to dinner and a movie. See a concert. Whatever she'd like to do with him. She can tell him where she wants him to take her and he will. Or she can tell you and you can tell me and I'll make sure that he does it. All I want is for him to take her out and they both have a good time. That's all. I'm hoping that they'll go out a few times so that she can get to know him. See what a good guy he is. But if she only wants to go out with him once, that's better than nothing. All I'm asking is for you to get her to go on one date with him."

She paused and waited so see what he would say.

His reaction was predictable.

"My daughter goes out with who she wants. I can't tell her who to date."

"You said that you wanted her to find a better man. That's my Alan. He was at the top of his college class. He was class valedictorian. He works hard and he's ambitious. He was hired as a technical writer for Google as soon as he graduated and he's already got his first promotion. He gets a good salary. He's got a lot of potential."

"I'm sure that he's a great guy but, like I said, I can't tell Candace who she can date."

"I'll make it worth your while."

"You're going to pay me?" he looked puzzled.

"Not money." Stella took a step closer, reached out and stroked Peter's arm lightly. "I have a different deal in mind. As long as your Candace is dating my Alan, I'll have sex with you. That's my offer. Your daughter doesn't have to have sex with my son, but I will have sex with you. I'm not as young or pretty as some other women, but I'm attractive enough and I'm good in bed. Enthusiastic. Having sex with me won't be a big, emotional deal, just good physical fun. I'm not going to be a home wrecker. I'll just be a great piece of ass on the side." She slid her hand down his arm and pulled his hand around to press it against her soft buttock.

He looked at her in shock and she grinned up at him like a child raiding a cookie jar. "I'm going to give you a great time. Convince Candace to start dating Alan and neither one of you is ever going to be sorry. I promise."

Peter felt more than a stirring in his pants. He felt painfully constricted down there. He knew that if he looked, he'd see his fly tented by the rigid pole in his shorts.

He hadn't felt like this since Candace was born. Two decades was a long time to wait for decent sex. Making love to Princess Jane was only one step up from jerking himself off. Not even one step up. Most of the time he had more fun getting himself off than he had when he was making love to her. Jane didn't know the meaning of the word, fun. Not in any context and definitely not between the sheets.

Stella released his hand and he pulled it away from her rear, hoping that no one had happened to glance out the window and had seen what had happened.

What if Jane had seen? What if he had an affair with this woman and Jane found out? There'd be hell to pay. But what the hell? He felt like he was already living in hell. In the devil's icy, frigid dis.

"I'll see what I can do," he said. "I can't promise anything, but I'll talk to Candace tomorrow and see what she thinks about your son. What was his name?"

"Alan," Stella replied.

"Right. Alan. I'm going to have to remember that."

Stella pulled a pen and piece of paper from a pocket and wrote on it for a minute. "This is my email. Tell me what's happening. Even if nothing is happening, send an email and let me know."

He read the paper. "This email. AASBD? Is that a school board email address?"

"That's right. I teach seventh and eighth grade English. I have a spare last period so I get off work at two this semester." She grinned. "I have plenty of free time in the afternoons."

Peter felt himself get harder than he had been in years. Teenager hard. So hard that he feared that something might break from the strain. Too hard to go back in to the party.

"I'd better get back and listen to a man talk about a boat," Stella said. "Send me an email and I'll tell you how Candace can get in touch with Alan."

As she turned away, she let her hand brush across Peter's swollen crotch. He almost creamed himself right there on the Anderson's front porch. Her touch might have been accidental but nothing would ever convince him of that.

It was a half hour before he had subsided enough to appear in civilized company again. It was chilly on the front porch and, by the time he could return, he was shivering despite the heat below his belt.

The party had seemed like fun before hearing Stella's proposal. Now it dragged on and on. Peter wanted to talk to Candace about this Alan lad but had to spend the next two hours making small talk with friends of friends.

It was a huge relief when he could finally drag his wife and daughter away from their conversations and bid their hosts goodnight.

Jane, sober as a judge, drove.

He took the opportunity to ask Candace if she had had a good time.

"Sure. It was a great party."

"Did you meet anyone new?" he asked.

"Of course. I knew Derrick and Allison and a couple of others but most of the people were new."

"What about that boy, Alan?"

"Who?" He couldn't see her face in the dark but he could hear the puzzlement in her voice.

"Alan. He was the boy about your age who was sitting one person away from you on your left."

"Oh, yeah. The one in the purple shirt. He was cute."

"No. The one beside him. The one wearing the green shirt."

"Green shirt? No. I don't remember anyone wearing a green shirt."

"I'm pretty sure that he remembers you."

"Well, I don't remember him."

"Sure you do. He was there in the room with all the rest of you."

"For God's sake, Peter, give it a rest," Jane snapped. "She said that she doesn't remember the boy so that's good enough. She doesn't remember him. Maybe you're remembering wrong. Maybe he wasn't at the party at all. Just drop it already."

Peter wanted to defend himself. Wanted to tell her that he knew the boy was there because Stella had pointed him out. But he couldn't bring himself to mention Stella to Jane. She'd touched his rock-hard dick through his pants. No other woman had touched him so intimately since he had married Jane almost twenty-five years ago. He felt like he was already having a secret affair.

He felt deliciously wicked.

His dick twitched again and he glanced across at his wife. She was staring resolutely at the road ahead, anxious to get home and into bed.

But she didn't want to go to bed for the same reason that Peter did.

That was a foolish thought. He already knew that if he touched his wife's shoulder tonight, she would roll away from him; if he tried to kiss her, she would avert her head; if he asked to make love to her, she would say that she was too tired and he was too drunk.