Infidelity Began with a Dance on the Floor

Hello, friends. I want to tell you about my first and, so far, only experience with infidelity. What I’m going to tell you happened nine nights ago and I still can’t digest it. Maybe that’s why I’m posting it here, so you can help me understand at exactly what point I lost control of my own life.

***

Marina and I have been together for twenty-two years. I’m thirty-eight; she’s forty-one. Our son turned seventeen in February, so on Fridays we can go out without worrying. We leave him with the console, a frozen pizza, and the key in the lock. At four in the morning we always find him asleep on the sofa with all the lights on.

Marina loves to dance. It isn’t a hobby, it’s physical, a need. She moves her hips as if the music lived inside her. Me, on the other hand, I’m a rhythmic disaster, dead weight she drags along out of compassion. After two songs I retreat to the bar and leave her. She stays. Alone, almost always.

Four months ago, on a Saturday in a club downtown, a guy in his early twenties came up to her. I saw him from the bar and my blood ran cold. I started sweating and a chill went down my spine. I moved toward them to stop it, but two steps away something stopped me. It wasn’t rage. It was something else: an excitement I hadn’t expected and couldn’t name. I stood there, watching, while Marina did two turns around the guy and walked away without giving him any more rope.

I didn’t say anything that night. The next time either. But I discovered I liked hanging back. I discovered I liked imagining.

One dawn, already in the car on the way home, I dared.

—Three guys came up to you today.

—Three? Five. Some people don’t get it the first time.

—And that doesn’t bother you?

—It bothers me when they’re pushy. When they grab. Today one put his hand on my ass and I had to pull it away twice.

—And did you like it?

She burst out laughing, almost offending me.

—How would I like it? He was a twenty-year-old kid. I’m not some cradle-snatcher.

—But you could... play along a little more.

She braked at a traffic light and looked at me with one eyebrow raised.

—What exactly are you asking me for?

—I don’t know. Let them get closer. Dance with them for a couple of songs. That’s all.

—You’re sick —she said, half-laughing—. You’re sick, and if you keep going down that road you’re going to end up a divorced pervert.

I didn’t push it. But the idea had already gotten under my skin and was starting to take root.

***

From that conversation on, every Friday we repeated the same ritual. One song together out of obligation, then the rest of the night she was on her own in her little patch of the dance floor. I moved far enough away not to get in her way and close enough not to lose sight of her. And every night someone showed up: young, older, drunk, sober. Marina put up with them for a couple of songs and dismissed them with a firm smile.

Until last Friday.

***

That night the dance floor was impossible. Reggaeton was playing, Friday-night June heat, too many people packed into too little space. For the first time I didn’t even try the courtesy song: I kissed Marina on the cheek, gestured toward the bar, and went straight to order a gin and tonic.

When they served me and I turned around, I didn’t see her. Her corner by the back column, the usual one, was occupied by a couple eating each other’s faces off. Marina was nowhere to be seen. My stomach lurched. I didn’t know whether it was fear or anticipation. I moved through the crowd with the glass sweating in my hand.

And I saw her.

She was dancing with a man. Not a boy. He had to be around fifty, tall, broad-shouldered, with a blue shirt open two buttons and gray hair cut to the scalp. He had a sharp jaw and arms that showed even under the fabric. Marina wasn’t keeping her distance. Marina was laughing with her head thrown back while he led her across the floor as if they’d been rehearsing it for weeks.

I waited. I was sure that any second she’d pull away, like she always did, but the seconds passed and she didn’t pull away. Quite the opposite. The music sped up and their bodies came closer until they were practically soldered together. He slid one leg between hers. He put his left hand on the small of her back and moved it down until he planted it, with no attempt to hide it, on the curve of her ass. Marina closed her eyes.

My dick shot hard inside my jeans. I couldn’t stop watching them. I moved a couple of steps closer, just enough to see better without her spotting me.

This was no longer a dance. It was a prelude to something else. He slid his right hand up her side until he brushed a breast. He took his left hand down the inside of her thigh. Marina’s cheeks were flushed. She could feel that man’s bulge rubbing against her hip and she did nothing to stop it. Four songs. Five. I lost count.

When the last one ended, he hugged her tightly and kissed her on the mouth. Marina tried to wriggle free for half a second — it was a reflex, instinctive — and immediately gave in. She kissed him back, tangling her tongue with his. He took advantage of it to grab her ass and lift her a couple of inches off the floor.

Then they separated, breathless, and walked toward the private seating area, where the low sofas and dim light invite a different kind of conversation. As they passed by me, Marina spotted me. Her eyes searched for me in the gloom with a crystal-clear question: do I keep going or stop? I lowered my head once. Just once. She nodded and kept walking behind him.

***

I couldn’t go into the private seating without being invited. I stayed on the threshold, watching them sit down on one of the sofas in the back. He sat her astride his lap. Marina’s skirt rode up to her waist. From where I stood I could barely make out their silhouettes, but the movements were unmistakable: she leaned over him, kissed him, stroked his neck. He had both hands buried under the fabric.

I was so absorbed that I didn’t realize a security guard had come up behind me until he put a hand on my shoulder.

—Enjoying the show?

I nearly swallowed my tongue.

—I... she’s my wife.

The guy looked me up and down, without surprise, with the professional patience of someone who’s seen everything in twelve years of overnight shifts.

—And are you going to make a scene?

—No, no. I just want to watch.

—A peeping Tom? A peeping husband?

I shrugged, not knowing what to answer. He sighed, walked over to the sofa, and said something in Marina’s ear. She nodded without looking at me. The guard came back.

—Go on in. But stay still in that corner and no funny business.

I sat where he indicated, on an empty sofa about five meters away. From there I could see them better. The music was softer in that area, so I could hear. And I heard.

I heard the wet kisses. I heard Marina’s restrained gasps when he bit her earlobe. I heard the rustle of fabric when he thrust his hips upward and she let out a long “mmm” I knew too well. It was the sound she made when something pleased her a lot.

I couldn’t see his hands. The dim light and the back of the sofa kept that from me. But the rhythm with which she moved her hips against his lap left no room for doubt. If that man hadn’t been wearing trousers, I thought, he would have been fucking her right there in front of everyone.

I held out for fifteen minutes. Fifteen endless minutes. Finally Marina stood up, tugged her skirt down with a quick gesture, fixed her hair, and nodded her chin toward the exit. He stayed on the sofa, smiling, without getting up.

***

In the car I lowered my belt before starting the engine. I asked her, almost begged her, to suck me off. I was about to burst. Marina looked at me with a strange calm, grabbed my cock with her hand and, instead of leaning down, said:

—First I need to tell you something.

I gripped the keys against my thigh.

—Did you like watching me dance so close to Andrés?

—So that’s his name? —was all I could manage—. Yes. Look at me.

—Andrés wasn’t some clumsy little boy. He could dance. He led me. He directed me. He was different.

Her hand went up and down my cock, very slowly, not letting me come. Each word accompanied by a pinpoint caress.

—When he pressed against me, I could feel he was rock hard. And when he slid his hand under my skirt he realized right away I wasn’t wearing panties tonight. Don’t look at me like that. The clean ones were in the washing machine, I left in a hurry and didn’t think anything of it.

My mouth went dry all at once. She had danced with a stranger with no panties on underneath.

—He grabbed my ass and pressed against me so hard I could feel his dick through his pants. If it hadn’t been for the clothes, he would have put it in right there. I couldn’t take it either. I asked him to go to the sofas.

—When I sat on top of him, at first he was only kissing my neck. But I was sitting right over his fly. And he pulled it down. Took it out.

I nearly had a heart attack.

—It was huge. Bigger than yours. Quite a bit bigger.

She measured the length with her open hand and then separated it by another ten centimeters in the air.

—I wasn’t going to let it in. I swear. I was holding it with my hand so it would stay out. And then the guard showed up asking about you.

I swallowed.

—Andrés heard him. He said, “let him come in and watch.” And when I saw you nod, I couldn’t hold back anymore. He had it hot, hard, right there, against my soaking pussy. I put it in myself. Slowly, so nobody would notice.

—Marina...

—We barely moved. Just enough. But I felt all of him inside me. I’d never had one like that. Never.

She stopped stroking me. She pinched the base of my cock with two fingers so I wouldn’t come yet. She hiked up her skirt and showed me her shining thigh. She was soaked, and not just with her own wetness.

—Will you let me do it again? I’m hot as a bitch.

I came without her touching me. Just with that sentence. A stream hit the roof of the car and splattered the upholstery. Marina laughed, grabbed my cock again, and squeezed it until the last bit came out. Then she lowered her head and licked it clean.

—Mmm —she panted with her mouth full.

***

So, dear friends, that’s the situation. It’s been a week since then and Marina has asked me about Andrés twice more. She knows him. She has his number. She’s just waiting for my green light.

I know perfectly well what’s going to happen if I say yes. She’s going to fuck him without conditions. Probably in my bed. Maybe they’ll let me watch, maybe not. She’s going to suck his cock, let him come wherever he wants. It’s possible she’ll let him sodomize her for the first time, because with me she never wanted to try that.

But if I say no, will she still be faithful? Or will she start seeing him behind my back, during office hours, with her phone on silent? I took the dance floor. I took the sofa. I took the car. But I don’t know if I’m ready for a lover in my own bed. And I also don’t know if I have another option.

Tell me something.