Call the bartender

I awoke in a sweat. A dreamless sleep, or one I simply didn't remember - but I remember yesterday, that was vividly burned into my mind.

I feel like I frustrated myself with my own choices. I had the chance, and I chickened out. No more! I could do this, I wanted to do this, I thought, turning to the business card atop my nightstand. The number in scribbled ink sent me chills throughout my body, an eerie, impossibly arousing feeling overwhelmed me. This man wants me to call him up, fuck his wife, damnit!

I had no reservations for the entire day ahead of me, no plans - nothing. The only optional follow-up to my free weekend was whether I wanted to pursue this unreal reality - and if I had the guts.

With a shaky hand, I took the card-stock plaque into my fingers, a wave of doubt passing through me upon it's touch. I whisked my sheets away, and took to my feet on my heroic journey to the living room, where I contain the last landline in existence. A orange glow bleeds through the room's drapes, and as if in a message from a higher power, highlights the corded antiquity on the downtrodden table.

I'm almost scared - excited too, but scared. Is my life going to change, for the better? Truly, never a more narcissistic thought had occurred in pondering the future intercourse with another man's wife, but as I hold the phone in my hand, card in the other, I can't help but feel... divine.

With the plastic headset held to my ear, I punch the numbers into the base unit, and with a turn of my head as the ringing commences, I realize I've made a horrible first mistake.

6:34am.

Fuck, it's really early! It's too late to hang up now, though. The dude's probably working off some deep liquor - what bartender doesn't drink at his job? Within my worry, I hear a click on the other end, followed by a groggy, familiar voice.

"Hello...?"

"I-uh-uh" I stammer on my end, berating myself for not thinking of what to say beforehand, "Hi."

"Who's.... who's this?" the bartender asks, a grimy animosity on his end.

"Uh, it's me," I reply, surely that's enough to clear up the confusion. "From the club, I-you, uh, gave me your business card - for, to your wife?"

The voice on the other end goes silent, a shifting of bed springs can be heard as your words pique the man's interest. "Oh, wow."

Wow.

"To be honest, I wasn't sure you were going to call - so soon, no less!"

Wow!

I stammer, "If-if-if-if this is a bad time, it's early, I can call later-"

"No! God, no!," he jovially exclaims, "If this is the best time for you- God, by all means, come!" I can't help but think of his words as an innuendo.

"I'll let her know you're coming, I'm sure she'll be glad to meet you! I haven't even told her about you yet."

Well, that's interesting. "Sure, sure," I reply, trying to obfuscate my confusion. I look back down at the card and flip it over, before giving a frown to the empty room, and blind headset.

"I need an address."