"I'm never that lucky," he said gently. "You're really good."
"Um ... thanks?" I said not knowing how to deal with this, how to react. What was this? What did he want? "And second of all?" I asked.
"Oh yeah. Second of all I wanted to apologize for my bad behavior the other day. It wasn't tactful. It was insensitive and rude to ask you that question."
I laughed lightly. "You don't have to apologize. I’m not that easy to offend," I said.
"Well, I'd like to make it up to you by inviting you for dinner. I don't know anyone in this area and I could really use a night out. Does Wednesday night sound okay?"
I hesitated. I didn't know what to say. I guess he took me off guard once again. I wasn't prepared for this. Plus I didn't understand what he wanted. Was it a date-date? Or just a friend-date because he was lonely in a new area?
"Your pause makes me quite uncomfortable," he continued. He sounded so correct and polite. It was sweet.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to imply that I was reluctant. I’m just a little surprised that's all. Plus we are competitors in a way so I guess I was wondering if there could be an ulterior motive. But of course there isn't. You're not that type. I know. Forgive me. I'm just paranoid, I guess."
"You're rambling," he said.
I laughed. "Yes. I'm sorry. I ... I'm just ..."
"Just a simple yes or no would soothe my unease," he said.
I exhaled.
"Then it is a yes."
CHAPTER 28
MARTIN FRANDSEN WAS A quiet man. He enjoyed the calm days of his early retirement. He liked to read the paper, go for a long walk on the beach or in the forest. He enjoyed a good dinner prepared for him by his wife of forty years, he loved reading a good book, preferable a mystery - while sitting in the quiet corner of the living room with nothing but a lamp lit over his head. He didn't care much for other people. They were noisy and they always wanted something from him. Especially his children and grandchildren. He liked seeing them every now and then, but they disturbed his peace, they interfered with the calmness in his mind that he worked so hard every day to obtain.
And so did his wife. Marianne Frandsen was a very noisy woman and over the years she hadn't exactly become quieter. She always wanted something from him. She wanted him to clean up the garage, fix the sink when it was clogged, and take out the trash. She always wanted something from him and Martin Frandsen found himself often trying to escape her voice by hiding from her either in the bathroom, the basement or the garage. And she always talked. Boy did she talk. The mouth never stood still on that woman. She would talk and talk about everything and nothing; about the neighbor's cat that looked weird because it had grown a lump on the side of its face, their daughter's new job and colleagues that Martin Frandsen would never meet and therefore couldn't care less about. Marianne would try and pick a fight with him just to get him to talk to her. She would nag him about his reading, his quietness and silence that she didn't understand. She would say that he had stalled, that he needed to pull himself out of this. He had even heard her talk to their grown son about him. They asked each other if it could be depression. That maybe Martin had a hard time accepting that he wasn't going to work anymore, that he wasn't needed any longer? Their son who was a doctor had told her that often elderly people became depressed.
Martin Frandsen let them talk. He didn't care much about any of them anyway. He wasn't depressed and he certainly wasn't an elderly man. He was just trying to finally enjoy life, enjoy his retirement and listen to the birds. But he could never get to hear them since there was always someone talking.
Martin Frandsen thought about leaving his wife every day. He wasn't sure he even loved her anymore; it was hard to say that he loved anything at all except for the few quiet moments he stole during the day. Today he considered leaving her more than ever.
After lunch Marianne Frandsen told her husband that she wanted them to try something new. She had the idea that all they needed was to spice up their sex-life. Then everything would be better. She thought that she could get her husband out of this depression-like state of his by giving their sex-life something new, something more exciting.
"Like the couple down the street did. The Jensens. They started going to this swinger-club. Spiced up everything in their life," she said. "The husband became a brand new person. Gitte Jensen told me that it was like getting an entirely new husband."
Martin Frandsen stared at his wife with great suspicion and wide open eyes. "Maybe you need a new husband," he answered slightly hoping that she would take him up on his word.
Marianne Frandsen tapped him on his shoulder with an "Oh you silly old man" and a laugh to match it. Then she stood up and looked at him. "I have arranged for everything," she said. "He'll be here at six."
"Who will be here at six?" Martin Frandsen asked while his wife started removing their plates from the table.
"You'll see," she said with a vicious smile.
That was when Martin Frandsen seriously considered start packing his belongings and moving for good. But where would he go? Who would cook for him while he searched for a quiet moment?
Martin Frandsen sighed deeply and sat in his favorite chair in the corner of the living room. Then he picked up his book and started reading. If his wife wanted to spice up their sex-life then so be it. She could do whatever she wanted. He didn't care. At least she had stopped talking for a little while.
CHAPTER 29
THE DOORBELL RANG at precisely six o'clock. Martin Frandsen exhaled deeply and stared into the darkness outside the windows.
"He here is," sang Marianne as she ran towards the door. She was dressed - well she was hardly dressed at all. She was wearing long stockings that made her look like a fish caught in a net. They were too small for her so the flesh bulged out in all the holes. She had also put her body into some red satin lingerie garment with open front top that didn't cover her breasts but made them stick out and look all puffed and lumpy. The panties were tied across her front and let nothing be left to the imagination.
"Well come on," she hissed at Martin and urged him to get up now from his old brown recliner.
He sighed and put his book down. Then he did as she wanted and got up. Marianne grabbed his arm and held on to him shivering with excitement. "Remember this is for the both of us," she whispered. "Isn't it thrilling?"
"What about dinner?" he asked grumbling. "We always eat at six-thirty. You know I get a headache if I don't eat. When are we supposed to eat?"
Martin never got his answer before Marianne opened the door with a huge smile and a man's face was revealed. He was tall and extremely handsome, almost intimidating for Martin who had never been much of a looker himself.
"Come on in," Marianne said and held the door open for the man.
He moved with long and delicate movements when he walked, he was almost graceful. Martin was startled. He had never seen such a beautiful man and to his surprise he was quite intrigued.
"Isn't he gorgeous?" Marianne exclaimed almost electrified when she stared at his behind in the tight jeans. "It was Linette down at the golf club that put me in contact with him. He does only couples," she said.
Martin stared at the handsome guy who seemed to be lighting up the entire living room with nothing but his mere presence. He still didn't know what this man was supposed to do but he was suddenly very curious to find out. The man smiled and winked at Martin. It caused him to blush like a school girl.
"Do you want to start down here or go directly upstairs?" the man asked, smiling.
Even his voice was God-like. Never had Martin heard such a voice that in no way irritated him, he didn't even wish it would go away. Now this was a voice he could listen to all day long. It was none of all that high-pitched shrill sounds that Martin was used to that were always complaining, nit-picking and fault-finding. No this was a bass. These were low tunes, this was manly and it was calming, almost soothing to Martin's tortured soul.
"Let's go upstairs
," Marianne sang lightly. "We don't want any neighbors to watch through those big windows."
The man smiled. He was an Adonis. If there ever was a God of beauty and desire, he was it, Martin thought. The man took his bag and started up the stairs.
"Are you coming?" he said to Martin.
"He just needs a little time to come around to this," Marianne said and walked ahead of them up the stairs in her black latex extremely high-heeled shoes. "He is a slow starter, if you know what I mean. But at least it's better than a quick finisher. Am I right?" Then she laughed incredibly loudly.
The sound of her voice felt like knives on Martin's skin.
"Come on," the man said to Martin while he reached out his hand toward him. "I won't bite. Not unless you ask me to."
Martin swallowed hard before he could find the courage to accept the invitation. He thought about running away a couple of times. Just back up, go through the front door and start running. But he had been running all of his life, hadn't he? Running from the past, running from the pain, running from pleasure, running from anything that would make him feel. Escaping into the world of books, into the world of killers in his mysteries that did worse things than what he had done. Maybe now it was time. Time to start living again. Martin exhaled deeply and put his hand inside the beautiful Adonis'.
"There you go," the man said and pulled him closer. He even smelled sexy. It stirred Martin up inside.
The Adonis held Martin's hand all the way up the stairs and led him gently through the hallway. In the bedroom Marianne had made herself comfortable. She was lying on top of the bed in an inviting position. She was calling for the man to come in and join her. The Adonis looked at Martin and smiled again. He leaned towards him. His lips touched his ear when he spoke.
Martin felt a chill in his neck that caused his skin to shiver.
"I can tell that you're uncomfortable with this," the Adonis whispered. "That's only natural. Maybe if you go to the bathroom and take a shower to calm you down. I'll take good care of your wife first and then I'll come and join you. Maybe we can all do something afterwards. Okay?"
Martin smiled. It sounded like something he would enjoy. Being alone with the Adonis in the shower, as far away from Marianne's shrieking voice as possible, a voice that would always become worse during excitement and sex. The water would drown any sound coming from the bedroom. Yes that was a really good idea, Martin thought and left the two of them alone in the bedroom.
As he undressed himself in the bathroom revealing his aging body he heard Marianne giggle and laugh. Then there was moaning. He put his ear to the wall. He liked the sound of the Adonis moaning when he entered his wife. Martin imagined how big his sex had to be. Marianne screamed with joy. Oh the pleasure this was going to be. The pictures of the man on top of his wife, sweating, his muscles vibrating under the skin, a vein in the forehead popping up from the exertion, pulsating under the tanned glistening skin. He was rough on her he could hear. The sound of two bodies slapping against each other aroused Martin like nothing had ever done before. The pictures in his head of the man, the Adonis penetrating Marianne hard, riding her, exploiting her, using her body for mere pleasure. Shutting her up with his big sex.
It was exhilarating.
When they went quiet in the bedroom Martin hurried up and turned on the water. He jumped in and let the soft water caress his body. Never had he felt more alive than in this moment. He was frightened, excited, aroused at the same time. The expectation, the waiting for this man, this body that would soon be close to his made him on the verge of explosion. He had to restrain himself.
The door was opened. Martin gasped with delight. This was it. He was in the room. The Adonis was close now. Martin could almost hear his breath. In a minute he would pull the curtain to the shower and be right there behind him, naked, sweaty, the scent of his wife all over him. Martin shivered with pleasure. His sex was hard. He was ready for this, he was ready for him. Oh the wait was unbearable yet so thrilling.
Finally the curtain was pulled aside. Martin closed his eyes. He didn't dare to look at this forbidden pleasure. He was embarrassed by his lust, by his desire for another man, yet he wanted this to happen more than anything in the world.
And he really wanted to see it, to experience it, to remember it afterwards. He wanted to see him, the beautiful man that he felt so attracted to. So he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at this handsome man only to face an ugly truth from his past. One he thought he had managed to forget. A tall woman dressed in a long blue sparkling evening dress was standing right next to him with a scalpel in her hand.
She was giggling like a little girl.
CHAPTER 30
MARIANNE FRANDSEN FELT JOYFUL when she woke up in her bed the next morning. She felt like singing. So filled with pleasure and peace. Birds were chirping outside her window. It was still early but the sun had just begun to rise. She turned over in bed and realized that he was still there. The handsome man who had swept her off her feet the night before. She smiled and laughed to herself remembering all the things they had done. Oh ... all those positions she didn't know were even possible. She had no idea that sex could be so wonderful, so filled with pleasure and desire. With Martin it had always been something that had to be done, like a duty, a wife's duty towards her husband. Martin was so clumsy, so distant, and so indifferent.
But not this guy. This man was all there. He had taken her and made her into the woman she always knew she could become. She stared at his upper arm on top of the comforter. She wanted to touch those muscles. She wanted to feel them. She remembered how they had pulsated under the skin while he was on top of her; how they had held her down while he penetrated her. And those hands, those strong hands. They had held her throat, almost suffocated her when she came, causing the orgasm to be so much stronger, overwhelming and powerful. Then he had let go and she had gasped for air while her body had shaken and shivered and she screamed out her many years of withheld desires.
Marianne sighed and let a finger caress his shoulder. How much time she had wasted on the wrong man, how many years of sexual frustration she had dealt with being with a man who hardly wanted her.
The man in her bed opened his eyes slowly. Then he smiled. Marianne wanted to kiss him, but hesitated. After all they weren't lovers, they weren't even friends. He was just someone she had paid an escort company to send over and to have sex with her and her husband. She had always thought a threesome would spice their sex life up a little. Boy how it had. She had never imagined that he would only do her, though. But now she was kind of happy that it had all been about her.
She had asked him not to go in the bathroom to Martin. Told him that her husband didn't care about it. Then she had ordered him to do her again and again. Then she had fallen asleep, drained, exhausted, and happy. It was selfish. She knew that all too well. But she didn't want to share this guy with Martin. The very thought made her sick to her stomach. No he was hers, her pleasure, and her secret desire. Now she had to find some way to make it up to Martin today. He was probably angry with her. She realized she hoped he was. At least that would be something. At least he was reacting. The worst part about him being retired was the complete indifference towards her and their life that he had displayed. It was like he thought his life was over now that he didn't have his practice anymore. Now that he had given his patients to his son and let go of his old life.
Marianne couldn't believe that the handsome man was still there. She thought she had heard him leave during the night, but he was still there when she opened her eyes. Now he turned his back to her. "I'd better be going," he said.
She touched his arm. "Don't. Stay. Have a cup of coffee and some breakfast. It's the least I can do for you."
"That's awfully nice of you. But it is really time for me to go. I have a rule of not being too social with my clients," he said and sat up in the bed. He looked at her and examined her body. She smiled shyly. "Even if I really liked you."
He remove
d the cover and got up out of the bed. Marianne looked at him with hungry eyes. She wanted another turn, she wanted more. She patted the bed with her hand. "Come back here. I am not done with you."
The man laughed. Then he leaned over and kissed her forehead. "You're very nice, but this is strictly business for me. You hired me, remember? If you want more you'll have to call the agency and ask for me. They have my schedule."
He started putting on his pants while Marianne looked disappointedly at him. She hated to see him go. She didn't want this to end. She never wanted to go back to her reality.
Just before he left he turned and winked at her. "I hope to see you again soon," he said with that low humming voice of his, that smooth voice that could melt even the coldest of hearts.
Then he was gone.
Marianne Frandsen stayed in bed for another few minutes while she heard him walk down the stairs and out the front door. Then she sighed, closed her eyes and tried to bring back the pictures of her and him in the bed the night before. It had been intense. She would probably never be able to sleep with Martin again after this, she thought.
"Can't go back," she mumbled as she walked into the bathroom.
The shower was on and the curtain closed. "You're up early," she said and sat on the toilet. She received no answer. Martin was probably still angry; she thought and chuckled on the inside. She didn't care anymore. She didn't need him. If he wanted to be angry then that was his choice. She flushed and got up.
"I'm making breakfast in a few seconds. Do you want a soft boiled egg?"
Martin was still not answering her. It pissed her off. Okay, so he was entitled to be mad at her, but what about how he had been treating her the last few years? Sitting in that chair of his in silence, never answering when she spoke, never listening to what she said or doing what she told him to. What about that? She was entitled to something too; she was entitled to be angry too, to want something more out of life. She had the right to enjoy herself, to enjoy a little guilty pleasure. It was after all something they had both agreed to. So what if the beautiful man had found her more interesting than an old wrinkled man. So what? Was that so strange? She was a beautiful woman in the prime of her life and if he couldn't see that, if he refused to appreciate that, then maybe there was just nothing more for them to do here. Maybe it was after all time for both of them to move on.