I Left the Bar with a Stranger and Everything Went Wrong

That night we were in a hotel in central Sheffield celebrating a good year for the company. My husband, Daniel, almost never drinks, so after two glasses, most of a bottle of wine, and then the champagne, he was tipsy and talkative in a way I’d rarely seen.

I blame the alcohol for what he said. With a thick tongue, he confessed that night that he missed my former lover. Daniel had been the one who pushed me years earlier toward Marcus, the man who truly taught me what desire was and who, even though there was nothing left between us, still came by every week to see the twins.

The bottle ran dry and I went to the bar to ask for a couple of coffees before heading upstairs. A customer waiting there asked me if I wanted a drink.

—No, thank you, I’m with my husband —I told him.

He followed me back to the table and completely ignored Daniel as he came up to me with a cheekiness that made me uncomfortable. My husband’s expression, however, told me that if I wanted to play along with that man, he wouldn’t object.

I didn’t like the guy much. He was quite a bit younger than me, probably in his twenties, short and nothing special. I tried to be polite, introduced Daniel, and made sure my wedding rings were clearly visible on my left hand in the hope he’d take the hint.

He took it as an invitation to stay. The coffees arrived and he glued himself to my seat. He introduced himself as Vince. He was pushy, yes, but also a good conversationalist. It turned out he had several websites and, since we happened to be looking to promote the business online, we ended up talking about that.

Then the cheeky bastard started stroking my thigh under the table. I made as if to move his hand away, but when I saw the excitement in Daniel’s eyes, I froze.

Encouraged by my silence, he slid his hand higher, to the hem of my skirt. I was just about to object for real when Daniel excused himself to go to the bathroom. I think that was his way of giving him the green light.

As soon as my husband had his back to us, Vince pressed himself against me. He pulled me in with one arm, kissed me on the mouth, and hiked up my skirt enough to slip his hand between my legs.

It was humiliating. People at the nearby tables could see what was happening, and yet, for some reason, my knees spread apart on their own.

This shouldn’t be happening here.

He pushed the fabric aside and began stroking me with his fingers, slow, gauging my reaction. His mouth covered mine, his other hand had found its way under my blouse. I knew what Daniel wanted, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to go that far. Then he pushed a finger inside me and a gasp slipped out of me.

Several heads turned when he said, loud enough for the people next to us to hear:

—This is screaming for a good fucking. Leave your husband and we’ll take care of it.

Lots of eyes followed Daniel when he came back. By the time he sat down, half the bar was already watching us, waiting for the show. Vince turned his head toward him and blurted:

—Stay here. Your wife and I are going to have a little fun.

The shame was so much worse, and at the same time so much more exciting, than the first time I’d gone off with someone else. For the second time in my life I was walking away from Daniel on the arm of a stranger, only this time a dozen or more people knew exactly for what.

My heart was pounding and my stomach was churning as we left the bar. His hand ran over the small of my back with a possessive gesture. The way he treated me made it clear he was not a nice man and, for some reason I still don’t understand, that made me want him in a nearly sickening way.

***

In the room we kissed and touched each other until I was wet and hot. But when I went to unbutton his trousers, he stopped me.

—I don’t use a condom. Any problem?

I told him yes, I did have a problem. He shrugged and walked toward the door.

—Then I’m leaving. You decide whether I stay or not.

I was so turned on that the mere idea of being left frustrated tightened my chest. I asked him not to go. He came back with a smug smile, pulled down his trousers, and fucked me right there, fast and without tenderness.

It wasn’t even half as good as I’d expected. Vince fucked in a hurry, after only his own pleasure, with none of what Marcus had taught me. I didn’t come, I was left frustrated and with a bitter taste in my mouth. Even so, in that moment I convinced myself that repeating it couldn’t do any harm.

I didn’t want Daniel in the room and Vince got nasty when I insisted that he come upstairs. We argued. I got angry, told him I wasn’t leaving my husband outside, and, summoning my courage, I pretended to leave. Only then did he give in and let Daniel in.

The next morning we did it again before leaving. As we rode down in the elevator, with several people watching us out of the corners of their eyes, Vince told me he wanted to see me again. After a quiet talk with Daniel, I offered for him to come to the house the following weekend. I admit I was the one who opened that door. That’s the thing I find hardest to forgive myself for.

***

Marcus took the twins and that first weekend wasn’t all that bad. Vince was charming when it suited him. He spent much of Saturday in the neighborhood pub promoting his websites among the locals, who turned out to be porn sites, and joked in front of several people that I could be his next star. That comment left me with a knot in my stomach that I didn’t know how to interpret.

During the week I talked it over with Daniel. Between us we concluded it was pure bragging, a clumsy way of trying to make himself interesting. I decided to give him one more chance the following weekend and, if he didn’t improve, to cut it off at the root. I sent the twins to my parents’ house.

Saturday was tolerable. On Sunday after lunch everything started to go wrong. Vince ordered Daniel to sit in the bedroom chair and watch while he and I fucked. He was rough, too rough, and when he grabbed my left breast and squeezed savagely I had to bite back a cry.

—Hey, come here —he growled at Daniel with contempt.

When my husband didn’t move, Vince hit me. Hard. The pain cut off my breath. Daniel sprang up and grabbed him by the shoulders.

—That’s enough, Vince. Stop.

What happened next is still hard for me to tell. Vince twisted around, knocked Daniel down with a shove, hit him while he was on the floor, and pulled a knife from his jacket pocket. He held it under his chin.

—Do what I say and nothing bad will happen to anyone. Too bad.

The man who had come into our home as a one-night whim had become a real threat, knife in hand and my husband on the floor. I begged Daniel to do what he asked. I only wanted it to end without anyone ending up in the hospital.

Before leaving, Vince saw the twins’ photo on the dresser, picked it up, looked at it for a few seconds, and put it back in place with a smile that froze my blood.

—Lovely kids —he said.

—Next week you come to Sheffield alone —he added at the door—. Without your coward of a husband. And don’t you even think about telling anyone about this, or I’ll find you.

***

We had never lived through anything like it. We were terrified. We talked about calling the police, but we had invited him ourselves, there were no marks that would prove much of anything, and we were scared stiff that he had friends willing to retaliate. So we stayed quiet. And we started living in fear, which is the worst way to live.

The following Saturday I went alone. As soon as I arrived he met me coldly, looked me up and down, and said “good,” like someone inspecting merchandise. He took me to a filthy, run-down flat, with a bed that smelled of damp and neglect, and there I understood what I had got myself into. He used me again and again, with the least consideration, and when I asked him to stop he got even rougher.

—You’re mine now —he told me—. You’re going to work for me. And it had better pay off.

What came after was a nightmare that dragged on for weeks. He forced me to prostitute myself with clients he chose, sitting in my own car and collecting after each one. He emptied my handbag, took my keys, left me an old box of condoms, and told me that everything I earned was for him. I went along with it out of fear, because of the threats, because of the knife he pulled at the slightest thing. I spent whole cold nights waiting on that street, counting the hours until I could go home.

Daniel sat in the car for hours, helpless, too frightened to call the police and too broken to leave. It cost him dearly: he came home with a swollen face and two cracked ribs, and a weight in his eyes that took a long time to go away. Seeing him like that hurt me more than any blow.

***

I started taking the morning-after pill every time I went back, knowing it wasn’t the correct way to use it, but with no other option. Daniel and I stopped touching each other, paralyzed by fear that Vince would find out about anything. The relationship, what was left of it, had become two frightened people sharing the same dread.

The longer it went on, the worse everything got. Vince started staying from Friday until Monday, always with some friend hanging around, always with a new demand. I came home exhausted, empty, wishing the phone would ring and that on the other end there would be any voice except his.

There was one night when I thought I couldn’t take any more. I had promised myself that would be the last time, that the next day I’d tell everything, that I preferred scandal to going on like that. I cried silently so as not to wake anyone, my face buried in the pillow, telling myself there had to be a way out.

And there was. But that part of the story, what Daniel and I did to get rid of Vince, I’m still not ready to tell.

To be continued…