you're married

he first said it while they were locked in a protracted arm-wrestling battle.

"i want to fuck your brains out."

her concentration faltered, her grip slackened, and he regained what he had lost to her. thrown for only a moment, she refocused her efforts, pressing harder on his arm, as she glanced again at his wedding band. i'm going to pretend he didn't say that, she thought, even as she became aroused by his comment. she liked arm wrestling. it made her feel sexy. and while she never liked to lose at anything, she accepted that men in general were stronger than women, meaning her record in arm wrestling men was probably going to be less than 0.500. but she felt she could win this match.

finally, he let her win. the competition had gone on long enough, and clearly, he had more pressing matters on his mind.

leaning close this time, "i want to fuck your brains out."

she paused, bit her lip (not in a flirtatious way, it was truly a troubled mannerism), looked him back in the eyes and said ruefully, "we can't. you can't."

he was the one who brought it up first, although she had a sneaking suspicion he was the very same matt whose wife and kid had been at happy hour earlier that day. not two mintues had passed since he came up to her at the bar, when the words came out of his mouth:

"i don't know if you know, but i have a wife."

"and a kid," she replied.

why did he say that? she thought later. if he hadn't said that, i could have pretended i didn't know and...and what? and she would have found out later and felt horrible, absolutely and completely morally wretched? maybe if she hadn't seen his beautiful wife, with their infant-child, chatting with enrique over appetizers and beer...somehow, the fact that enrique was obviously acquainted with his wife made it seem to her that not only would she be betraying his wife by sleeping with him, but by friendly association, enrique as well.

"why not?" he persisted.

"you have a wife." she tapped his wedding band for emphasis.

"oh right." pause. "but you're hot. maybe we can, you know, work something out."

she had tried small talk. "do you like the shins? i saw them play recently." but he turned it into a pick-up line. "how about we do our shin-thing now?" she tried humor. "how about...you go get a divorce and then call me?" he laughed, but was not distracted for long. "how about we have sex now?" she tried innocent questions, not caring that her intent to remind him of the cold hard truth was thinly disguised as genuine interest in the answers: "how long have you been married?" but he seemed bothered by the inquiry, and it only served to strengthen his resolve. "a couple of years...give me a kiss."

but, "i want to fuck your brains out" brought the game to a whole new level. it wasn't that she wasn't attracted to him and didn't want him to fuck her brains out. to the contrary, she found him very appealing and desparately wanted to have sex -- with him, that night, right there. but she couldn't. no way. she just couldn't.

she also couldn't believe this was happening to her. this was something you saw on TV or in the movies: married man hitting on another woman. she did not want to be the "other woman." not on a one-night stand. she had just met this guy. she hardly knew him. he seemed drunk, severely intoxicated. what this what he really wanted? was he so unhappy with his marriage that he was driven to cheat on his wife? or was it the alcohol that was behind the wheel of his sex drive?

he asked for another kiss. by now they were standing -- she was trying desparately to get him to come outside, where their friends were, where they wouldn't be alone -- and out of view of the window, but not yet in view through the door. he was very close and the words were still echoing in her head (i want to...). against her better judgement, she submitted to his desire and let herself kiss him, on the mouth, mouth open.

her better judgement soon caught on to what was happening and the kiss was brief. she suddenly realized that the thing to do was to leave, get out of there. she exited hastily and tried to appear nonchalant as she nodded to her friends who were standing outside the bar. he soon followed.

"i think you need to go home with zach now," she said as nicely as she could. "i'm leaving too."

"let's work something out."

"good-bye."

"one last kiss?"

"not out here! i've already kissed you five times. good night."

"can i walk you to your motorcycle?"

motorcycle? "no, thanks, it's in a secret location. good-bye!"

and she left, just walked away, as her body ached with desire and her heart brimmed with rightousness. she unlocked her bike, and with a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure he wasn't following her still, she pushed off towards hom. as she pedaled furiously, perhaps trying to run away from the experience or cleanse herself through physcial exertion, she realized her heart was racing from adrenaline, as if she had barely escaped some danger. a moral quagmire of inebriated lasciviousness, perhaps.

once home, she looked at herself in the mirror. am i that hot? she thought. she looked OK. not fuck-your-brains-out hot, though. nevertheless, as she inspected the way her shirt and jeans lay upon her figure, she grasped that the lusty desire of an attractive married man who had had far too much to drink made her feel good about herself somehow -- enough to cause her to go to bed without her nightly ritual of you-know-what and determined to shave and do sit-ups in the morning. afterall, one never knows what sort of opportunities might present themselves at a bar, and one had to be prepared.