On the Sofa

All day long, I look for a moment when I can finally catch Thomas alone. Only a few minutes. A private conversation, more than just a few words in passing. But Dirk sticks to him like a shadow. Does he know what I'm up to? That I want to give Thomas a choice: me or his best friend? It almost seems as if he's afraid to leave us unobserved.

Afraid? No. I snort cynically. Not Dirk. He doesn't know that kind of emotion.

Or does he just want to control what I say—how I say it—and pull Thomas back to his side?

I bite the inside of my cheek. Either way, I need clarity. Tonight at the latest, when we're in the bedroom.

In the late afternoon, the two of them are sitting in front of the TV, laughing loudly, commenting as if there were nothing more important in the world than this ridiculous sport. I sit in the kitchen, my head on my crossed arms, staring at the grain of the wooden table as if I could find the solution there. But my head is empty. And at the same time, much too full.

My eyes burn. I swallow hard. Not now, I tell myself. Don't cry. Not in front of him.

Thomas' voice echoes through the apartment, unusually loud, commanding. Almost authoritative. I 've never known him to be like this. He's playing a role, I can tell. Just for Dirk. Not for me. He wants to impress him.

“Honey, can you come here, please?”

His voice pulls me out of my thoughts. My heart sinks. What's coming now? Nevertheless, I automatically get up and go into the living room, as if pulled by an invisible string.

Thomas beams at me, unnaturally enthusiastic. Dirk, on the other hand, leans back, a wry smirk on his face, as if enjoying a show whose outcome he already knows. I feel queasy.

“Dirk suggested that we might enjoy an activity together tomorrow,” Thomas says. “Sunday, just the three of us—sounds good, doesn’t it?”

His eyes search for mine. A stern line around his mouth. “Please sit with us, and we can figure out what we’ll do.”

I hesitate, but he pats the sofa. An unmistakable signal to “sit down.”

I know him. He won't rest and will whine until I do what he wants. So I slowly move toward them, with the silent plan of sitting as far away from Dirk as possible.

But before I get there, Thomas moves aside. Deliberately. Calculating. And suddenly there is only this one narrow space left—right between them.

My stomach tightens.

What is this?

I look at Thomas, searching his face for a spark of understanding, for a hint that he realizes how uncomfortable this is for me. But he just smiles, absent-mindedly, almost proud of his “good idea.” Doesn't he get it?

So I sit down.

No sooner am I seated than Dirk leans toward me. Too close. I feel his body heat, his breath, and then—as if it were the most natural thing in the world—his hand on my thigh.

My whole body freezes. Goosebumps run down my back. A stab in my stomach, sharp as a knife.

Thomas continues to smile as if nothing has happened.

Doesn't he see it? Or does he not want to see it?

Dirk's hand slides higher, higher and higher. I know where this is going to end.

I want to lock my legs together. I think about it very hard. But instead, I spread them wider than before. I slide deeper into the cushion.

One last look for help at my husband, who continues talking as if we were just having a harmless conversation. My eyes close, my mouth opens.

His hand has reached its goal. Fingers press into the crotch of my jeans, rubbing, massaging me through the fabric. Moisture spreads in my panties.

I moan softly. My thoughts wander. I can only hear Thomas' voice from afar. Sauna club – private – words that make no sense coming from his mouth. We've never talked about anything like this before. It doesn't suit him at all. I don't recognize my husband anymore. Did Dirk talk him into it?

“So? What do you think?”

It takes a while for me to realize that the question is directed at me. Before I can open my mouth, Dirk answers.

“Yes, of course we'll do it. Jessica will love it.”

Why is he saying such a thing? How does he know what I like?

His fingers give me the answer. He knows exactly what I need, what's good for me. I can feel how wet I already am. My ears burn at the thought of the wetness seeping through my pants and him realizing how much I'm into him.

“Your wife has an absolutely gorgeous body, Thomas. Everyone will admire her.”

“Do you really think so?” I can clearly hear from his tone that the question is not meant seriously, but that Thomas is simply proud that his best friend finds me attractive.

“Absolutely! Show us how hot you look in a bikini, Jessica.”

Now. Now a line has been crossed. Now Thomas has to say stop, I think.

The back of the sofa moves slightly as he sits up.

“Say no. Put an end to this!” I scream in my mind. Do I say it out loud too?