Ch. 2 – Just drinks, right?

To fit through the door to the outside, we had to break up our row of three. A light drizzle was falling.

"Maybe we should have waited inside for our Uber," I said, pulling my iPhone out of my pocket to at least order one. Since we’d both planned on having a few glasses of **** to loosen up a bit, we’d left our car at home.

Nora placed her hand on my arm and gently pushed it down. I looked at her, puzzled.

"We were actually planning to wind down the evening somewhere else with a drink or two," she said.

"There’s a bar just around the corner," Marcus suggested. "We’d be dry there, too." The rain had picked up slightly by now.

I shrugged and replied briefly, "Okay." Nora smiled with satisfaction, moved back between us, and linked her arms with ours. And so, we set off.

Outwardly, I appeared relaxed, but inside I felt a bit conflicted. Marcus didn’t exactly fit into our plans. Those plans envisioned another couple, ideally married.

But he was likeable, we’d had a pleasant conversation, and he seemed like an easygoing person. For the moment, it wasn’t hard to push aside my reservations.

I even found it a shame that Marcus was single. From his brief story, I gathered I hadn’t missed much with his crazy ex—the mother of his twins. Then again, women like her could sometimes make for extraordinary experiences in bed. And that’s what this was really about—our sex life needed a fresh spark. Looking at the tall and fit Marcus, I could easily imagine that he might have given Nora a special kind of experience.

Marcus led us to a hotel. As we stepped into the large foyer, I briefly questioned his intentions. However, instead of heading straight for the elevators, we turned right toward the hotel bar. It was surprisingly empty for the time of night. We took a seat along the outer edge, right next to a long window. Nora and I sat side by side, with Marcus across from us.

A waiter approached from the bar to take our order.

"How about some whiskey?" Marcus asked me.

"Sure."

"Two Macallan 18 Years Old for us, then. Nora?"

"I’ll stick to wine," my wife replied.

"Then the Opus One for the lady," Marcus decided on her behalf.

The waiter smiled approvingly and returned to the bar.

"I thought for a moment you weren’t going to stick to our plans," Nora said to Marcus. It was clear from her tone that she shared the concerns I’d had when we entered the hotel.

"Not sticking to what?" he asked. I was fairly certain he was only pretending to be clueless.

"Ending the evening in a bar," I answered for her.

"Ah," Marcus said. "Well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish for a different ending to the evening. You don’t meet a woman this beautiful every day."

His eyes locked on Nora, and she held his gaze. Normally, she was quite immune to compliments. I would’ve expected her trademark exaggerated eye-roll, the one that silently accused the flatterer of wasting his words because, surely, he had no shortage of beautiful, willing women. Instead, she blushed and was the first to break eye contact with Marcus.

I cursed a silent fuck under my breath, brought on by the realization that Nora probably wouldn’t have been entirely opposed to Marcus leading us toward the elevator. Of course, she wouldn’t have gone up with him. She would never betray me. Nora was loyalty personified. Only what we both agreed on would ever happen, of that I was absolutely certain.

The waiter returned with our drinks.

"Charge it to room 708, please," Marcus instructed.

"Of course," the waiter replied.

"Room 708?" I asked. So the elevator topic wasn’t entirely baseless after all. This wasn’t just the next good bar—maybe Marcus had other intentions in mind after all. But if that was the case, we’d have to disappoint him.

"I’ve already bought a permanent place," Marcus replied, "but there’s still some renovation work left to do. Right now, it’s about finishing the interior. Hopefully, it’ll be ready to move into in two or three weeks." Maybe I was overthinking the elevator situation. I wasn’t sure. Marcus raised his whiskey glass. "Cheers."

I followed his lead and said, "Cheers," as well. I took a cautious first sip of the whiskey, letting myself savor it. "Oh, wow."

"Good, isn’t it?" Marcus asked.

"After just one sip, I can already say it’s the best I’ve ever had."

"There are better ones, but Macallan is a solid standard whiskey."

"Are you a connoisseur?" Nora asked.

"Connoisseur might be overstating it, but my job has allowed me to travel a lot. When you spend so many nights in hotels, you end up trying different whiskeys at the bar and eventually discover your favorites."

"This one can be my favorite now," I said, taking another sip.

Marcus rubbed his chin and looked at me with interest. "I’ve been trying to place your accent for a while now," Marcus said to me. "European, obviously, but where exactly?"

"Take a guess."

"I once worked with a Swede who sounded similar."

Nora reacted to his guess with a giggle.

"What?" Marcus asked.

"She’s the one born in Sweden here at the table," I clarified.

"Oh, that surprises me. To be honest, I assumed you were American."

"I’ve always been good with languages," Nora said.

"And you?" Marcus asked, turning back to me.

"Germany."

"Ah, okay… Hm. That’s not what I expected."

"We do sound a little different from the Nazis on TV."

"So, can I set myself the goal of turning you from a beer drinker into a whiskey drinker?"

"Germany and beer is another stereotype, but in my case, it’s true."

As I said this casually, it occurred to me that he wouldn’t get another chance to influence my drinking preferences after tonight. He wasn’t what we were looking for. There’d be no reason for another meeting. But did he realize that?

We chatted about everyday topics for a while. Eventually, the conversation shifted to cars.

"I’ll be glad when I finally get rid of the rental and have my own car again," Marcus said. "A man needs his own ride."

"What are you looking for?" Nora asked.

"I’m not looking anymore. I’m waiting for delivery. Your husband will be pleased to hear it’s a German car."

"I can totally picture you in an old VW Beetle," I replied jokingly.

"Don’t even start. I’ve sat in one before. My dad’s brother still lives in Colombia and used to drive one. We visited him a few times. Admittedly, I was a few heads shorter back then and had no issue with the car’s size."

"What did you end up getting?" Nora asked.

"Mercedes." He pulled out his smartphone, did a quick search, and showed us a webpage featuring his future car.

"Mercedes-AMG GT 63," I read aloud. According to the website, its top speed was over 180 mph. "You’re not really going to unleash that beast on American roads."

"Sadly, no," Marcus said. "Maybe it’s a delayed midlife crisis now that I only see my twins every few months instead of every week."

"I guess everyone handles it differently," I said, unable to suppress a laugh. Marcus and my wife looked at me, puzzled. "I’m just glad we went for the new experiences card. Saved us a hundred thousand dollars."

"Two hundred thousand," Marcus corrected.

"What?" Nora asked, perhaps a little shocked by the amount.

"Two hundred grand is what it’s costing me to revive my manhood," Marcus said with a grin. "As if moving and college for my kids weren’t already expensive enough."

Marcus said it so casually, as if these expenses didn’t really put much strain on him. Nora and I, on the other hand, had spent ten years diligently depositing money into a college fund every month to pay for our kids’ education.

"I’ll be right back," Nora said as she stood up. We watched her as she walked past the bar toward the restrooms. Her hips swayed invitingly with every step.

"You have a beautiful wife," Marcus remarked, repeating his compliment—this time in her absence. He made no effort to hide his admiration.

The first time, I had taken his words lightly. Back then, they had been meant directly for my wife. This time, it was just us men. Even in that context, one would normally be careful with such comments. His words made it all the more clear that he was interested in my wife. He had probably approached her at Artemis for a reason. Of course, that should have been obvious to me. Nobody goes to a meeting like that without a purpose. He was likely looking for a casual adventure.

Marcus reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver case. He opened it, took out a small white card, and handed it to me. It was his business card.

"It’s been a nice evening. I understand that I’m not what you’re looking for, but who knows what the future holds."

I didn’t respond. As he’d already said himself, he wasn’t the kind of experience we were seeking. Nora and I had a very clear agreement, the specifics of which my wife had carefully outlined. At the top of that list was the condition that it had to involve another couple. Deviating from that would only introduce unnecessary risk.

"The card is outdated, of course," Marcus said. "So don’t send me an email, but the cell number is still valid."

"Marcus Morales?" I asked, surprised, as I looked at him more closely. Until now, we’d only used first names.

"My father is from Colombia. The African-American side of my family comes from my mother."

I had indeed thought he was African-American, even though his comments about cars had already hinted at another connection. Perhaps I had expected a bit more fiery language from a Latin American—especially when it came to wooing my wife. The gesture of handing over his business card reinforced once again that he was interested in her. He certainly hadn’t given it to me because we worked in the same industry and he wanted to keep in touch professionally. His interest was clearly in the blonde beauty by my side.

With a sideways glance, Marcus signaled that my wife was on her way back. I followed his gaze and slipped the business card into my pocket.

The waiter came to our table and announced that the bar was about to close. But before they did, we still had the chance to order one last round.

"Same again, right?" Marcus asked before I could reply. I’d already had more than enough to drink that evening. A few beers and two whiskeys might not seem like much to most people, but as someone who became a father at a very young age and took that responsibility seriously, I had never gotten into the habit of drinking regularly. As a result, **** tended to hit me quickly. Before I could object, however, Nora had already agreed, and I didn’t want to be the killjoy.

"Charge it to room 708 again?" the waiter asked as he set the drinks down in front of us.

"Yes, please," Marcus replied.

"No," I interjected. "This time it’s on us."

"Out of the question," Marcus said firmly. "Put it on room 708."

The waiter didn’t seem interested in letting us debate the matter. Without waiting for my next response, he disappeared, leaving Marcus to take care of this final round as well.

We continued our conversation and sipped our drinks slowly. It seemed as though no one was in a hurry to finish their glass and bring the evening to a close. In the end, I was the first to empty mine.

"I’m heading to the restroom, and then it’s probably time for an Uber," I announced.

When I stood up, I felt the effects of the ****. A brief wave of dizziness hit me, accompanied by a slight unsteadiness. Thankfully, it passed quickly, and I made my way to the restroom. Unlike earlier, when Nora had walked this same corridor, I doubted anyone would be paying attention to my backside.

As I turned the corner at the bar, I glanced back. Marcus and Nora were talking. As expected, no one was watching me. Nora nodded and smiled shyly at Marcus. Maybe he was complimenting her again.

Two men occupied half of the urinals. Like many other men, I preferred having the spaces on either side of me free. So, I opted for the stall instead.

In the lead-up to this evening, I had imagined many times how it might unfold. Those imaginings had always involved me in bed with another woman and Nora with another man. Sometimes in a hotel like this one. A room with two single beds seemed like the ideal setup—allowing each of us to have our own experience while still being close to each other, ensuring everything stayed safe and consensual.

Instead, out there sat only Marcus, who could offer fun and new experiences solely to my wife. Before tonight, I had mainly envisioned what it would feel like to touch another woman’s skin. Now, I couldn’t help but include Nora and Marcus in my fantasy. It had already happened once at Artemis. I only knew Marcus in black trousers and a white shirt, but it was obvious that a well-trained body lay underneath. While I struggled to stay below the 220-pound mark, there wasn’t an ounce of excess on him. And whatever additional weight he carried was likely pure muscle.

A man like that—dark-skinned and nearly two meters tall—was expected to deliver an exceptional performance in bed. Even though I was often irritated by stereotypical notions about Germans, I couldn’t entirely shake off my own expectations of someone who was at least half African American in that moment.

What's more, the way Marcus had come across so far that evening, he wouldn't even be focused solely on his own pleasure. He’d make sure the woman wasn’t left unsatisfied.

I looked down between my legs. I had a problem. My stiff cock was preventing me from relieving myself.

Why the hell did a penis always have to develop a mind of its own at the most inconvenient times? Especially since, in recent years, it had made less and less unsolicited appearances and was mostly on standby. It knew its prime time was Saturday night, during the half hour after Nora and I went to bed. Two or three times a month, it got some additional action when I was masturbating.

Perhaps my penis sensed that this evening hadn’t turned out the way it was supposed to. The hoped-for connection with a couple hadn’t materialized.

But that wasn’t it. That alone wouldn’t have caused such a reaction. My trembling shoulders told me there was another reason. It was the images I’d allowed into my mind during my daydream at Artemis, and now they refused to leave: Marcus and Nora - naked on a bed. He between her legs. She sighing with excitement. I couldn't make out any details, but it was clear that he was pressing his cock into her. Nora turned her head and a second bed appeared in my mind. I was sitting on it. However, no longer with the black woman, but alone. No couple meant that there was no playmate for me. My only option was to sit naked on the bed and be content with the role of spectator. I looked down at myself. Over my tummy, I could see my cock. My hand gripped it tightly. I masturbated.

My second daydream ended with this thought. I looked down in real life too. My hand was holding my still stiff cock, just like in my dream. I wasn't masturbating, but a slight back and forth movement couldn't be denied. A warm sensation of pleasure filled me. My hand let go of my penis and recoiled. What kind of man was I to imagine my wife with another man and masturbate at the same time?

Apart from that, I would never be able to relieve myself in this state and the clock was ticking steadily against me. If I lingered on the toilet for too long, Nora and Marcus would undoubtedly ask some embarrassing questions. This meant that masturbation was not an option to get my cock back to normal. I might have been able to squeeze my urine out somehow. But that was an awkward thing to do with a stiff penis. Home wasn’t that far away. I could manage to hold out until then.

I got up and unnecessarily flushed, but appearances had to be maintained. As I stepped out of the stall, Marcus came toward me.

"Paul," he said with a laugh. "I thought you were going to leave Nora alone with me."

His words once again underscored his interest in my wife. My still-hard cock pressed against my pants.

Marcus went to one of the urinals and didn’t seem bothered about standing directly next to another man.

I washed my hands and returned to our table. Marcus had emptied his whiskey in the meantime, while Nora was still sipping the last drops of her wine.

"Hey," she said almost in a whisper, looking up at me. I sat down beside her.

"That was at least one more beer and one more whiskey than I should have allowed myself. I'm not used to ****."

"So you don’t want anything else?" Nora asked.

"You heard the waiter. They're closing the place down."

"Yes, they are,« Nora chuckled softly.

"What?"

"Marcus has ..."

"Marcus has ... what?"

"He suggested we could have a farewell drink in his room."

I took a deep breath—so obviously that my wife couldn’t miss it. "You do realize," I began with exaggerated emphasis, "that he’s hardly just suggesting a casual drink before bed, right?"

"Well… we wanted to… This evening was supposed to…" Nora began to stammer. It was enough for me to see where her thoughts were going.

"You already know what the plan for the evening was," I said, holding her gaze. "He’s only half of what it was supposed to be. Your half."

"A little excitement wouldn’t hurt us, and the evening before him was a bit of a flop. We’ll find your half too. Just not tonight, unfortunately."

I rubbed my forehead. Nora wanted Marcus. That was a suffocating realization. My wife wanted to act on her desire with another man. That shouldn’t have been a groundbreaking revelation, because if we’d found a couple, it would’ve been the same thing. The only difference was that it would’ve involved both of us.

Was this experience so important to her that she wanted it even without me? Was she so dissatisfied with our sex life? I felt confused and disappointed, like Nora was backing me into a corner. At the same time, the images from my daydreams threatened to resurface. And on top of that, my cock was already hard again. Thankfully, the table hid it from view.

She wanted this—and a not-so-small part of me was disturbingly less opposed to it than I expected. There could only be one response to that: a firm no.

"Maybe I should take him on, give him a good thrashing, and punch him in the nose. Where is he, anyway?" I glanced toward the bar and the restrooms. Marcus was nowhere to be seen.

"He’s already gone," Nora replied, ignoring my threat. We both knew I would never follow through on it.

"Gone?"

"He just went to the elevator behind your back."

"And now he’s waiting in room 708?"

In response, she only gave a slight nod. I let out a short laugh. Nora looked at me uncertainly.

"So now it’s up to me?" I asked. "Am I the generous husband or the buzzkill now?"

"It’s not like you shouldn’t get something out of this too," Nora said and leaned against me. She placed her hand on my thigh. My cock was currently on a rollercoaster ride. It was currently flaccid again, but Nora's warm hand on the thin cotton fabric of my trousers immediately made it reconsider this state. If her hand had moved a little further, she could have witnessed the growth live. Fortunately, she didn't and spared me the embarrassment. My renewed arousal confused me enough as it was.

"This isn’t the day … not on such short notice," I stammered.

"Okay," Nora replied, showing no sign of disappointment about my decision.

We should have gotten up and headed home by now. Instead, we stayed seated, silent, each lost in our own thoughts. I wasn’t sure what to say—or how to feel about my decision. Objectively, I’d had no other choice, but as is often the case, once you’ve chosen a path, that nagging feeling sets in: maybe it was the wrong one after all. The grass always seems greener on the other side, doesn’t it?

In our situation, countless possibilities loomed over how this evening might shape our future. Maybe the whole idea of swapping partners would end here—a flop of an evening that didn’t need repeating. Then again, if I’d given Nora the go-ahead for a fling with Marcus, she’d have to grant me my "big day" at some point, wouldn’t she?

Nora was the first to stand. We left the bar in silence, strolling slowly. I pulled out my iPhone and ordered an Uber.

"Five minutes," I finally said, referring to the wait time.

Nora responded with nothing more than a soft hum.

We stood outside the hotel entrance under a small awning, side by side in silence. My eyes wandered down the street. According to the app, four minutes to go. The light from passing cars shimmered in the light drizzle and on the glistening asphalt. Streetlights and the full moon heightened the peculiar mood—like a scene straight out of a bad thriller.

So, I’m the buzzkill.

It’s hard to say which of us had wanted this evening more in advance. It was a decision we had made together, like so many others in our lives. Our marriage and family were built on harmony and consensus. I had also never been someone who handled confrontation well. Moments like that were incredibly stressful for me.

The decision to leave, however, was one I had to make alone. Nora had already chosen to go in a different direction. But this was something we could only do together. It could only happen if we both agreed.

I felt a little shaky, though it wasn’t because of the cold. Fifteen degrees Celsius (or 59 degrees Fahrenheit as Americans like to measure it) was still comfortable for an October night. Once again, it was my nervousness that caused the trembling.

I’m generally a firm believer in making a decision and sticking to it. But there are moments when you can’t stop second-guessing your choice—especially when, as in this case, it was hard to determine which of the two options would lead to a more desirable future.

Maybe tomorrow morning, I’d be lying in bed biting the pillow, convinced that I’d made a mistake. This evening had been an opportunity to usher in a new phase of our lives. A phase where we embraced the freedoms that had been taken from us by an unplanned pregnancy. Not that I would ever want to undo anything. I loved my children. But becoming a father at nineteen throws a critical stage of life completely off course. While my friends were studying and going to parties, I had to earn money and learn what parenting was all about. Neither of us were ready for that. I don’t think anyone is at that age. Sometimes, though, you can’t help but look back and feel like you missed out on something.

Given those circumstances, it’s probably no surprise that we educated our kids early on and made sure they knew: you can still become a parent at thirty.

The app showed two minutes until our Uber arrived. I was still wasting my time on pointless thoughts about the past and endless what-if scenarios. Yet the real question was surprisingly simple: Could I accept that my wife might have sex with another man tonight? Did it even matter to my decision whether I was with another woman at the same time? After all, that wouldn’t change what Nora had done. This wasn’t a Cold War where we both needed an arsenal of retaliatory measures to maintain a balance of terror. The heart of the matter was far simpler: Could I, entirely on my own terms, live with the idea of Nora enjoying herself with another man—Marcus Morales in this case?

A different question crept into my thoughts: Did I, on some level, even want her to do it? In my daydreams earlier this evening, I’d already imagined the two of them together in explicit positions. On the dance floor, I had watched them closely, too. This thought made me deeply uncomfortable—it felt dirty, almost twisted.

That was a mental rabbit hole I had no desire to go down. It was wiser to stick to the original question: Did I want to let Nora have this experience? Did I trust her and our love enough to not feel threatened by it? Finding an answer wasn’t easy, but time was running out.

I glanced at my iPhone. The Uber was just turning onto our street. It would be here in under a minute. Too late to cancel the ride.

"Fuck!" I blurted out. "Fuck." I grabbed Nora’s hand and pulled her back toward the hotel entrance.

"Paul?" she asked, startled.

"Come on," I replied sharply, pulling her through the door toward the elevators while canceling the Uber on my phone.

Nora kept pace with me, so I no longer had to tug her along. I pressed the button for one of the three elevators, and a door opened immediately. We stepped inside.

"Are you sure?" Nora asked as the doors slid shut.

My gaze shifted to the large mirror on the elevator wall. Our reflections stared back at each other. Nora’s expression was uncertain but searching. Her cheeks were faintly flushed.

"Paul?"

Her voice demanded an answer. I held her gaze in the mirror and gave her the most honest one I could: "No." Then I pressed the button for the seventh floor.