Working Late

You came into the bedroom as your wife had just finished getting dressed for work. "Salmon for dinner?" you asked her.

"Sweetie, remember I'm working late tonight," she said.

"I don't know, ten maybe. Remember we have that meeting next week, my boss wants to go over the presentation."

"Ten? That's too late to take the train home," you said, "I'll come get you."

"I can grab an Uber," she said with an odd tone.

"At ten? Maybe. Listen, I'll just get you, it's no big deal to drive downtown. I insist."

She frowned. "I...I won't be downtown," she said.

"What do you mean? I thought you were working late?"

"I...we...we are," she said.

"So why won't you be downtown?"

"I...I'm going to be at Mark's house," she said, looking down.

"Mark's house? Why?"

She reached for her skirt, hiked it up. You saw a dark welt, the ends of garter straps, a hint of her milky thighs.

"You...you're wearing stockings," you said, not connecting it yet.

"He's got a thing for stockings," she said. 

"How will he know you...oh my god, Megan..."

"I...I didn't know how to bring it up," she said.

"Megan!"

"We were flirting one day and one thing led to another and I kind of blurted it out."

"Blurted it out?"

"You fantasy," she said. "He was flirting, stopped, apologized. He looked like he felt bad and it wasn't his fault so I just kind of blurted it out. You know, like, 'my husband fantasizes about it' or something like that."

"Fantasizes about it?"

She laughed. "That's what he said, too. I was like, me with another man. He was like, 'what kind of man' or something. I was like, a strong, masculine man."

"Megan..."

"Will you pick me up at his house?" she asked.

"You're serious?"

She nodded. "If you want it to be more than fantasy, yes."