in southern New Jersey. She realized at the time that her presence wasn’t really necessary. Sure, she took notes of problems and made a few useful suggestions but a phone call from Mike to her in the office would have done just as well.
After several hours of meetings, faxes, and e-mails to suppliers and shippers, they had gone to a local Italian restaurant for lasagna and Chianti. Over salad he’d suggested to her that it was getting too late to drive back to the city that evening. As the meal progressed, the silences had become longer and charged with sexual tension. He’d held her hand and made it obvious that he was interested in more than just business.
At thirty-one she wasn’t a virgin, nor was she naive. During dinner she read all the signs and wondered whether she could do something so totally out of character. But she was lonely. She had few friends and little family. Would this be so bad? Okay, he had a wife, but according to him they didn’t have much of a relationship left. They stayed together for his kids. He told her that he was lonely, that he hoped she understood that he’d never done anything like this before either. “Eve, I know this isn’t fair to you but I want you. I’ve wanted you for a long time. Can I hope that you feel the same way?”
They went to a local hotel and he got them adjoining rooms. They never used hers. Had he planned it that way? She never asked. They went directly to his and he was gentle and tender, so loving and patient with her. He’d slowly removed her clothing piece by piece, kissing each part of her overweight body, looking at her as though she were something special, precious. He’d paid particular attention to her large breasts, kissing and sucking. As some point he’d said that his wife was so small. She’d hated his reference to his wife but in the sexual haze she’d overlooked it. They’d made love and she’d enjoyed it. She hadn’t climaxed but she hadn’t minded. It had been fabulous.
The following week Mike had suggested “funch” at a small hotel near the office, and they’d been meeting almost every week since. That had been almost a year earlier. Now, sitting in the 3Cs parking lot, she wondered whether she was making the same mistake as she had sixteen years before. But she wanted him, needed him. Soon she’d be thirty-three and then what? With a deep sigh she started her car and headed back to her apartment.
As Cait pulled out of the community center parking lot she was gratified by her new friends’ reaction to Logan’s job. American Properties was a big name in the northeast and their black, white, and gold signs could be seen in front of all the best houses. It would be nice if it were Johnson Properties, but Johnson was such an ordinary name and when Marshall Johnson, Logan’s grandfather, had founded the company almost fifty years before it had been just after the war and anything labeled “American” did well.
In the fifties, the era of the baby boomers, the real estate business in Westchester soared and American Properties and Marshall became legends, breaking up many of the large estates into half-acre lots, each with a new split level home to be sold. Then Palmer, Logan’s father, took over and branched out into commercial properties. Now Logan was following in their footsteps.
Logan’s business had been keeping him away from the house more and more lately, but although she was a little suspicious, Cait had decided not to think about it too hard. She cared for Logan but slowly it was evolving into a sort of brother/sister thing. She was curious about his life away from her but as long as he left her pretty much on her own, she didn’t really care very much what he did. She had all the money she could spend, all the clothes she could wear, and her computer. As she drove through the steamy streets of East Hudson, she thought about sex. Actually, if she were to admit it, she thought about it a lot these days, and her thoughts seldom revolved around her husband.
She’d known Logan only a few months before he proposed. They’d both been in their mid-twenties and met when she applied for a job at the local real estate office. They were attracted to each other almost immediately. After only a few dates they professed their love for each other and then went to bed together several times before they began to plan the wedding.
Their lovemaking was, at best, ordinary. He’d already be erect, touch and fondle her for a few minutes, then plunge into her and climax quickly. But sex wasn’t everything, and for Cait his marriage proposal was a dream come true. Caitlin Gaffney from Omaha would live on the best street in town. Logan’s parents gave them the house they were still living in eight years later as a wedding present. Maybe it wasn’t the biggest house in the area but it was the one she knew that all the neighbors envied, with a large, heated, in-the-ground pool, a built-in sauna and spa, five bedrooms, and a sumptuous living area created by the best decorator in New York City.
Sex. It hadn’t gotten any better and in the last year it had deteriorated significantly, until now they didn’t make love at all. Even back when they had, it had inevitably been unsatisfying. She used to slip out of bed after Logan was asleep and masturbate in the bathroom.
Then, several months earlier, she’d discovered the Internet. With her new screen name, Loverlady214, she began to prowl. At first, the goings-on were merely a curiosity. Four-letter words flying everywhere, as if by saying fuck and cunt and pussy often enough it made everyone a stud. All the guys were supposedly twenty-five and muscular, all the women were twenty-five and a 34DD. Looking down at her 36B chest was depressing. However, in the anonymous world of the Internet, she didn’t have to be her real self. She could be anyone she wanted to be and Loverlady214 became twenty-five with long raven hair and a large chest.
It soon became addictive. She lurked, staying in the background, and sometimes getting turned on by a snippet of conversation. She’d gone to private rooms from time to time, but had logged off when things went too far. But “too far” had gotten farther each time.
Several months before, as she watched two people discuss what they’d do if they were together, she had slipped her fingers between her legs, and when the talk got hot enough, she’d climaxed. It had been wonderful, and anonymous. She didn’t need Logan, or anyone. It was legal, moral, and so exciting. She wasn’t cheating on Logan since there was no real contact. Cheating for her had never been a viable option, although when things had reached their dullest, she’d actually considered it. No, she admonished herself often, she wasn’t like that, but she needed something and this might just be it. The ’Net filled her bill.
One afternoon while Logan was at work, she had logged on as usual and had been invited into a private room by a guy named JaketheSSSnake. When she lied and told him she’d never actually climaxed on-line before, they’d spent a delicious fifteen minutes driving each other higher and higher. She’d climaxed so violently that she’d been unable to type for several minutes. He’d laughed and signed off. Now she spent most of her at-home time on the computer. She’d researched ways to keep her activities secret by wiping any bits of data and cookies, whatever those were, from her hard drive, and she had purchased a program that did so each time she logged off. She was sure Logan was unaware of what she was doing, and she wasn’t sure whether he’d care anyway.
Lost in thought, Cait pulled into the three-car garage and was surprised that she’d been so distracted that she had to touch the brakes. “Hi, honey,” Logan said, striding into the garage. He was tall, dark, and thick. That was the only way she’d ever described him. His body was well-developed but tended to be straight up and down, with wide hips and narrow shoulders. His dark hair was combed straight back and carefully razor-cut, his moustache and beard neatly trimmed every week by a barber. He wore tennis whites, and she had to admit, didn’t look half bad.
“Hi, hon.” He grabbed her as she climbed out of her car and gave her a bear hug, then rubbed his bristly moustache over her cheek. “How’s my girl?”
“I’m good, Logan,” she said, combing her fingers through her auburn hair. “Where are you off to?”
He released her quickly. “Tennis with Mark Petrie. How about meeting me at the club later for drinks?”
She tried not to sigh. “Sure. That sounds good.”
“Why don’t you wear that new bikini I like so much?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Maybe we can think of something to do later.” His leer left little to the imagination. Maybe they’d actually have