Renata was in a foul mood, although a satisfied smile did curl her lips as she peered at herself in the full-length mirror. She looked damn good, she thought. She knew she had a good body, anybody would. Slim, five-seven, pretty face, glistening shoulder-length black hair, firm not-too-big tits, flat tummy, toned upper body and long, lean legs. She was thirty-nine years old but people often took her for much younger. She knew she was hot.
Her Cleopatra costume showed off her bod tremendously, she thought as she eyed her reflection, which was exactly what she wanted it to do this night. Shiny, metallic crop top, accentuating her sexy cleavage, and its matching headpiece and leggy, slit skirt, and golden sandals. Her bare midriff with sunken navel on full display. Multiple gold bangles on her wrists, and a long, gold asp curled around her upper arm. Cleopatra would be catching eyes like flies tonight. Her husband Owen was dressing up as Mark Antony, but he hadn’t worked too hard on his costume. He looked more like an overage frat boy on his way to a toga party.
Renata and Owen were headed out to a Mardi Gras party, an annual fundraiser hosted by the chief benefactors of a local dance and theater company. It was a popular event that had grown in size and stature over the years, was fun for all concerned, and raised a lot of money in the process. Every year, hundreds would purchase tickets and assemble at the estate home of Samuel and Eloise Hollingsworth, a couple of older, wealthy, artsy-fartsy music and theater buffs. The party was first class all the way, and took place at their large Victorian home, the backyard terrace and pool area, and the tented, torch-lit grounds. There was top-notch music, catered food and drink, and the parties were known to be wild and crazy, a final blowout before lent, for those who observed. Guests had been known to let it all hang out, so to speak, and would sometimes do things they might not normally do, and go farther than they might usually go. Part of the reason for that was the simple party rules: All must wear a costume, and all must wear a mask.
They’d anticipated this evening for weeks, but as they dressed and prepared to leave, Renata and Owen were not happy campers. They should have been looking forward to a fun night, dressing up and partying with friends like Leah, her best friend since high school, and Leah’s husband Luke. But Renata was not in the mood to go anywhere with her husband, and she wasn’t interested in seeing Leah anytime soon, either. She was pissed, madder than she could ever recall, but was determined to go and have a good time despite her husband, and didn’t care if he went to the party or not.
The reason Renata was mad was because of something she’d found out the night before, quite by accident. She and Owen were drinking wine and watching a movie on cable. There was a scene where this couple was making love on a beach and a small plane above was flying low and buzzed them over and over as they fucked. And Owen slipped up.
He said, “You remember that time we were lying on the beach and that 747 did that fly-over right above us at like five hundred feet? Shit, scared the hell out of everybody. We thought it was going down.”
Renata didn’t say anything at first, because she didn’t remember any such thing. But she did vaguely recall an incident years before where the beach town had arranged the fly-over as part of a weekend festival but didn’t get confirmation in time to notify the populace. It had frightened everyone and had them running for cover. There was a big public backlash over it, a lot of blame was thrown around. That had to have been twenty years ago. She remembered because she and Owen were engaged at the time and she’d been perturbed that he’d gone away for the weekend without her. Something with his family, he’d said.
“I don’t remember that,” Renata said. “Must have been somebody else.”
Owen immediately knew he’d stepped in it. His brain was wine-fogged, and he tried to cover for his mistake but he only made it worse. As he stammered along and dug his hole deeper, Renata was thinking back to when they were engaged to be married and later as newlyweds. Owen had raised the prospect of them getting into a swinging lifestyle, and Renata had wanted no part of it. He had mentioned that maybe they could swing with Leah and Luke, since they were all good friends. Renata had told him that if he wanted to swap with them, fine, she’d take Leah and he could go fuck Luke. That had shut him up.
“It was Leah, wasn’t it?” Renata said, interrupting Owen’s babbling. “You were with Leah. You had an affair with her, didn’t you?”
Owen’s reaction left no doubt. He wasn’t getting out of this one. Gradually, it all came out. Through the tears and screams Renata learned that yes, it had been Leah, and it had gone on for some time when Leah and Luke were already married and she and Owen were still engaged. It was not a one-time drunken episode, which might have been forgivable. It had gone on for months and the two of them had kept their secret, and lived their lie, for twenty years. Renata didn’t know who she should be more pissed-off with: Her husband for fucking her best friend, or her best friend for fucking her husband.
“Does Luke know about you two?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“How many other women have you fucked since then?”
“Renata…”
“How many?”
“None. That was the only time. I…”
“Oh, bullshit. Why should I believe that? Cheat once, you’ll cheat again. I’d bet this house it wasn’t the only time. You’ve been lying to me for twenty fucking years."
“It’s the truth. She was the only one. It was wrong, I’m sorry. It happened by accident…”
“Accident? Oh, shut the fuck up!” she shouted at him. “Was it by accident you did it again and again for months? I don’t want to hear any more of your shit.”
“Renata, calm down…”
“Calm down?” she shrieked. “You fucked my best friend, for Christ’s sake! Do you have any idea how much that hurts? Do you have any idea how many times men have come on to me over the last twenty years? Dozens. Maybe a hundred. And I could have fucked any one of them, or all of them, if I’d wanted to. But I didn’t. Know why? Because I was faithful to my husband. And I thought he was faithful to me. I didn’t know my husband was a cheating, lying sack of shit!”
Renata had gone to bed, slamming doors along the way. Owen slept on the couch. She hadn’t spoken to him since.
----
Renata looked in the mirror again. Her costume was killer. She brushed her hair and put on the mask. It was gold and covered her forehead, eyes and cheekbones and curled over the tip of her nose. She was applying lip gloss when Mark Antony tapped on the open bedroom door.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
“Almost,” she said. “You go on ahead, I’m going to go by myself. I’ll see you there.”
“Honey, please…”
“Don’t, Owen. I don’t want to be around you right now. I need time. I’m very angry at you. You cheated on me, you’ve let me down. If you can’t understand that, and how much it hurts, and give me the space I need, then so be it. But I don’t want to be with you. Not now, not yet.”
Without another word, he left. Renata peered one last time at her image in the mirror. She sighed, took a deep breath, and shook her head. She thought of Leah and Owen, trysting, holding each other in bed, kissing, fucking, sucking, screwing, coming, sneaking behind the backs of her husband and his fiancee for months. And for twenty years she hadn’t had a clue. And over those years they had proven to be pretty good actors, and their secret had been safe. Could she trust either one of them again? If she didn’t know her best friend and husband of twenty years any better than that, could she ever really know anyone?
Renata heard a car horn blow. She pulled the window curtain aside and saw the Yellow Cab in the driveway. Right on time. She locked the door and got into the taxi. She didn’t want to drive tonight. She was mad, feeling vengeful, but loose as a goose, maybe a little reckless, ready to have a good time, ready for whatever. She had no idea what was going to happen tonight. She also had no idea what she’d say to Leah if and when she saw her at the party.
----
Renata paid the cabbie and got out of the car. The band was already in high gear, the dance music loud and tight. Instead of entering through the front door she walked around the side of the house, opened a gate and followed the walkway to the terrace out back and made a beeline for the bar. After a short wait, she ordered two vodka martinis, each with two huge olives. She ate the olives first so she’d have some food in her stomach. The first martini went down in three or four swigs, but she nursed the second.
She stood off to the side and scoped out the scene. The lighting was subdued but she could see the terrace was scattered with tables, quickly filling up. People surrounded the pool as well, although no one was swimming. Beyond the pool, on the vast lawn was a large party tent, under which were more tables, more partiers, and a dance floor full of dancers digging the jams of an eight-piece horn band.
She admired the various costumes as the guests moved around. Some were elaborate, some were simpler, some were just simple. But all wore masks, which added to the intrigue and made a person wonder who was behind each one. There was a werewolf, Dracula and his daughter, Morticia and Gomez, Dorothy and the Scarecrow, a cop, a fireman, Beetlejuice, Herman and Lily Munster, Charlie Chaplin, the Flintstones, Tarzan and Jane, an astronaut. Mostly couples. After a few minutes Elvis Presley, wearing huge tinted glasses covering half his face, walked up and started hitting on her, singing ‘Love Me Tender’. She stopped him mid-verse and told him not to get All Shook Up, but she was a Hard Headed Woman and to please take his Hunk a’ Hunk a’ Burning Love elsewhere.
As Renata sipped her martini, she kept an eye out for a bloody nurse and doctor. They would be her ex-best friend Leah and her husband, Luke. If she saw them first, maybe she could avoid a confrontation. If she didn’t, maybe not.
After gazing at all of the costumes and taking it all in for twenty-five minutes or so, her second drink was gone so she went to the bar for one more. The tender had just handed it to her when she heard a familiar voice as she turned to her left.
“Hello, Renata, is that you?” Catwoman said, as Batman handed her a drink.
It was Flo and Joe, a couple who were very active with the theater group. Flo had a part in nearly every production and Joe was involved behind the scenes and directed a show every now and then. There was no doubt it was Flo, despite the cat mask and the painted-on whiskers. Her voice was nasally distinct.
“Yes, hello Flo,” Renata said. “Nice costume.”
“Oh, thank you, dear. Yours is quite nice as well,” Flo said.
“Yes, it sure is,” Joe added, with too much enthusiasm. Renata could see his widened pupils in the eyeholes of his mask.
“Whoa, down boy,” Flo said. “Or I might have to take you back to the Batcave.”
“Thank you, Joe,” Renata said.
“Where is Owen?” Flo asked.
“He’s here somewhere.”
At that moment Renata glimpsed a bloody doctor and nurse emerging from the back of the house.
“Excuse me,” she said to Flo and Joe, and walked off, across the terrace and past the pool.
Renata wanted to avoid her husband and Leah and Luke if possible. She was angry and did not want to create a scene. She wanted to save her confrontation with Leah for another time. So she headed for the tent to get lost in the crowd, the music, and the strobe lights. She wanted to get laid.
----
Renata knew Owen wasn’t much of a dancer so she wouldn’t have to worry about him hanging around the dance floor, he’d rather hang around the terrace near the two bars. She found a spot next to one of the tiki lamps and soaked up the music while she watched the crowded floor. With her sexy body and her revealing costume glinting in the torchlight and moving gently with the groove, she knew she’d get noticed.
It wasn’t long before guys started hitting on her. The Big Lebowski Dude was first. Not her type, but what the hell, she thought, one dance won’t hurt. She didn’t want to shut him down in case other men were watching. They danced one tune but the Dude’s bathrobe kept coming untied and his gut hung over the front of his shorts. When the song ended Renata thanked him and went back to her spot.
A hockey goalie was next. The uniform was loose and bulky, so she had no idea what his body was like. She hesitated, but went along with it. Again, one song. Then an inebriated Mafia Underboss slurred an invitation and she was about to accept when a female police officer came up and arrested him.
“Please excuse my husband,” she said, and took his hand. “I’ll take him back to the slammer so he won’t bother you anymore. Come on, Charlie.” She cuffed him and led him away.
Renata laughed, as did several people nearby, including The Lone Ranger. She’d noticed The Lone Ranger standing there watching her for a while, checking her out, enjoying the show. She admired his costume in the flickering light. White cowboy hat, black mask over his eyes, gray lace-up shirt with collar and matching pants, red neckerchief, gun belt, boots. He had a good body, too, she could see that, because the clothing was snug and molded to his broad shoulders and lean, athletic frame. She could tell he was younger, by how much she had no idea, but thought so what, what the hell, maybe this is the one, it’s a one-and-done anyway. She caught his eyes staring into hers. It felt like time.
She took three steps and was directly in front him. She leaned in and spoke above the music.
“I like your costume, Kemo Sabe,” she said.
“Thanks. I like yours, too,” he replied. “You look tremendous.”
“Thank you. So, where is Tonto?”
“No Tonto.”
“How about Trigger?”
“Trigger?”
“Your horse.”
“Oh. You mean Silver.”
“That’s right. Sorry. Hi Ho Silver. Trigger was Roy Rogers.”
“I put Silver out to pasture.”
“Ah,” Renata said, looking from side to side. “So. Are you really a ‘lone’ ranger tonight?”
“I’m here by myself, if that’s what you mean.”
“So am I. Wanna dance?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’ve been working up the nerve to ask you.”
“Come on,” she barked. She grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor.
She took him all the way to the center of the large cluster of dancers. Renata wanted the camouflage of all the bodies around them in case Owen or Leah or Luke happened to come into the tent looking for her.
Now, what she wanted was to do some dirty dancing with this young man in the Lone Ranger suit. And hopefully, it would be foreplay.
----
The Lone Ranger could cut a pretty good rug, Renata thought, and she was moving pretty well herself, too. The band was hot. The rhythm section was tight, the horns were bright, the drummer was in the pocket, and they played a nonstop set, segueing one upbeat dance number into the next, keeping the dancers on the floor. They danced to five soul and Motown hits in a row, bumping butts and grinding groins more and more with each tune, and worked up sticky sweats in the process. Then the band cooled it down and went into a slow blues. It was ‘I’d Rather Go Blind’, apropos for the two of them, both wearing masks and unidentifiable to the other.
Bodies all around them meshed for the slow dance. They stood there for a moment looking at each other. The Ranger’s dick was hard so he wasn’t going to let Cleopatra get away from him. He took her hand and pulled her into his arms. She nestled in close, wrapped her arms around him and their damp garments and flesh melded together.
The song was not a short one. Over six or seven minutes of searing vocals and guitar and sax solos, they danced closely and firmly, cheek to cheek and mask to mask. Her knee slipped between his legs on occasion and gently brushed his balls. He did the same to her, his knees caressing her thighs and teasing her twat. Renata’s breasts pressed into him and she could feel the rigidity of his prick against her navel.
As the song drifted through a long coda, impulsively Renata pressed her lips onto his and kissed him. She didn’t care who might see. He had virile but supple lips that felt good against hers. She liked that. But what came next almost blew her mind.
A moment after the kiss, as the band kicked into an uptempo dance song, he pulled her to him and kissed her hard with open lips. His tongue was like a launched projectile, propelling through her lips and teeth in an instant, and licking the back of her throat. It was big and strong, filled her, and she wrapped her jaws around it and tongued it back as best she could. What a mouthful. French kissing this guy was like sucking cock.
“Wow,” she said.
“Come on,” he said, and took her hand.
They walked off the dance floor and he led her out of the tent and around to the shadows behind the bandstand. In the darkness, they kissed again. Renata was somewhat ready for his tongue this time. She tried to head it off at the pass as it slithered in, but it was too big, too long, too strong, so she did her best deepthroat. His hands roamed over her back and butt and she slipped a hand between his legs. The kiss was deep and long, and by the time it ended she was wet with desire.
“I wish there was someplace we could be alone,” she hissed, short of breath.
“I know a place,” he said.
“Where?”
“Come with me.” He took her hand again and led the way.
The property extended another fifty yards behind the big tent. They crossed the lawn quickly into the darkness and came to a small building, maybe the size of a one-car garage. It was bordered by a tall hedge.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“It was a music room. It’s soundproofed. So they could practice their music anytime and not bother anybody.”
“How do you know this?”
“I used to be in a band with their grandson and we used to practice in here. Nothing fancy, but private.”
He opened the unlocked door. The light switch didn’t work, but in the dim residual light from the half-moon and the party across the way they could make out a mostly-empty room with storage boxes stacked and a couple of stuffed chairs. Good enough.
“Have you ever fucked with masks on?” she whispered into his ear.
“No,” he said.
“Kiss me.”
He did, another dive bomber, long and hard and wet, scraping along the walls of her mouth and tickling her throat. As they kissed she unbuckled his gunbelt and tore open his pants.
“I want to suck your cock,” she moaned.
She pivoted around and sat on one of the chairs. With his groin in front of her face, she shoved his pants and briefs down to his ankles and latched onto his erection. He was good-sized down here too. Without hesitation, she fed his cock into her hungry mouth. With one hand cupping his balls and the other palming his right butt, she sucked him like a junkie needing a fix.
In an instant, they shifted into high gear. She kneaded his nuts with her wiry fingers, squeezed his tightened butt, and sucked with a vengeance. He helped, holding her head and swinging his cock into her mouth for maximum depth. They fell into a hard, steady rhythm together and in the dark, stark room The Lone Ranger’s ecstatic groans and Cleopatra’s slurpy moans echoed off the bare walls.
He reached down and slipped a hand inside her top and found her bare breast. It was firm and flexible and fit nicely in his hand, and she pushed into it to give him a better feel. The nipple was like hard rubber and she oohed with a mouthful of cock when he pinched it softly between his thumb and forefinger.
She backed off a bit, so that only the head of his cock was in her mouth, and started jerking him with her hand as she continued her power-suck. This lasted only another minute before his midsection quaked and his cock shimmied between her lips. He grunted thunderously with release and he came in a fiery stream.
Renata was amazed at the volume of cum that slung into her mouth. He again had both hands holding her head so there was no escaping. She tasted spears of hot semen, spasm after spasm. She swallowed twice but his slimy seed still coated her tongue and mouth and hung on the back of her throat. He pulled his drippy cock out of her mouth and knelt before her.
He put his mouth against hers, and here it came again, that monstrous tongue, slithering like an electric eel into her slippery, cum-flavored mouth and the top of her throat. She pressured her mouth around it but her jaws wanted to cramp, unaccustomed to such oral calisthenics.
His hands wandered downward and found the open slits in her skirt, and then her drenched panties. He shoved her body back deep in the chair and spread her legs. In the dimness, he saw she wore dark panties that contrasted her light skin. He nosed her crotch and sniffed her dewy funk. Nice. He looped her legs over his shoulders and lifted her soaked cunt to his face, pulling her panties aside. He licked her thighs and the softness surrounding her pussy and tasted her pubes. His tongue tickled her labia and he kissed her clit and gave it a long, wet suck. Then he rammed it inside her.
Renata screeched like a car with bad brakes. Jesus, his tongue again, she thought, it’s amazing, filling her cunt like a torpedo in its tube. She felt new pressure on her buttocks from his clenched hands, and in reflex, her body tightened up and her pussy walls chomped down on his wet, reaching tongue, as it jabbed her in and out. Goddamn, she thought, as she moaned with each cushiony poke. I’ve had cocks in there that never fucked me this good.
After a couple of minutes of relentless tongue-fucking and her hands squeezing the shit out of her own tits, Renata was on the edge of rapture. She didn’t want him to stop but her cauldron was about to boil over. She let out a low-pitched wail when she started to come.
“Oh, God…”
Her body shook wildly. Her pussy unleashed hot, buttery cum that immersed the luscious tongue that filled her. He tasted her tang as he withdrew and it continued its flow onto his lips and chin and the seat of the chair. When her shudders were farther and fewer between he lapped up the leakage on her thighs and rose to kiss her. She sucked his tongue like a cock.
As their mouths frolicked he eased his body up, an uneasy task with his pants and skivvies wrapped around his ankles. Using both feet he was able to get one boot out from the bondage which gave him a little more agility for what was next: Fucking this fine woman. Whoever she is.
His dick was like cured concrete, ready for seconds. He wriggled into position and took her ass in his hands and lifted. One more minor torso adjustment and the angles matched up. He put the head of his dick between her split lips.
“Put me in,” he croaked.
She’d already had it once, with his tongue, strong but pliable, and now she was going to get it again with his cock, long and stiff.
She guided it into her drenched opening and as it filled her twat, his tongue again filled her mouth. He commenced to fucking her. He didn’t hold back.
In a split second, she was getting it two ways at once. The slick, leathery tongue sliding into the depths of her mouth, and the thick, hard penis banging in and out of her vagina, worked together. He grunted as he fucked, and Renata moaned with each big push, as her ass was being body-slammed into the chair and the top of her throat was getting plunged.
After a couple of minutes of that, The Lone Ranger’s gun was about to go off. He grunted even louder and put some extra oomph into his thrusts, and soon came for a second time. Strings of sperm were jettisoned from the head of his cock, into her. He was dripping sweat when he backed out.
“Damn, that’s good,” he rasped. “Turn around.”
He helped turn her body around, rather roughly, so her knees were on the seat of the chair and she was facing away. He opened her skirt slits and yanked her panties down several inches over her thighs. He spread the cheeks of her ass apart and found her asshole with the tip of his tongue and tickled her rim.
“Oh, my God,” she screeched thinly, short of air.
This was a first for Renata, nobody had ever licked her asshole before. At first, she tensed up and pinched it. For several minutes he rimmed her and she moaned into the back of the chair. She could feel the fabric of his eye mask in her asscrack every now and then. Gradually she relaxed, and her unpuckered hole welcomed it, she pushed back and floated on its feathery bliss. Then, without warning, she felt that big old tongue jet all the way up inside her ass.
“Oh, shit!” she bellowed.
It filled her up in an instant with a wet, cushioned pressure, and as a reflex, she squeezed her asshole around it. It felt weird, but wonderful. It went all the way in, then half back out. Again and again. By the time the shock wore off she realized she was being fucked up the ass. By this guy’s big, fucking, magical tongue.
She couldn’t believe the feeling. How erotic it was. How much it was arousing her, and what a turn-on it was that this man was doing it to her. His tongue had been everywhere, she’d had it in all three of her holes, back-to-back-to-back, and it was amazing. He kept at it. She swayed her ass in time. It was almost like a dream. Then she felt the rush.
“Oh, God, I’m gonna come…” she blurted.
She came in a torrent. Her ass bucked and her upper body buckled. Her cum sprayed out of her, coating the chair. She kept shaking as she released, slowly abating for a while as her body relaxed. It was an orgasm like she’d never before experienced. That tongue coming in through her rear had pushed her most intense climax ever out of her front.
They detached themselves from the chair and each other and stood up. She hadn’t said much during their encounter because most of the time she had had his tongue or dick in her mouth.
“That was amazing,” she said. “Thank you.”
She was suddenly afraid. What had she done? She wiggled her panties back in place and straightened her scanty costume.
“I gotta go,” she said, and ran out the door.
The Lone Ranger was left standing there with a red hot boner and his pants on the floor wrapped around one foot. Renata didn’t realize until later that she had left her headpiece behind.
----
A couple of hours later, Renata lay in bed alone. After running away, calling a cab, getting home and taking a long, hot shower, cleansing her body all over, in and out, she now was spent. She’d been bad, but after getting over the shocking realization of what she’d done, she felt damn good.
Reading a book or watching TV was out of the question. All she could think about was her liaison earlier that evening. It was brazen, scary, dangerous. But God, it was exciting. Now she was sorry she’d run out. Her brain was abuzz thinking about it, reliving it. His tongue, that fierce prowler, in her mouth, her pussy, her asshole, like an electric magnet, pulling orgasms out of her like she’d never had before. No man had ever made her come like that, her body out of her control, quivering, melting like heated jelly. It was almost like she’d watched it from above, out-of-body. She shivered, almost came again thinking about it.
Who was that masked man?
----
Owen came home from the party late to a dark house. He slept on the couch again. In the morning he woke to the sound and aroma of Renata brewing coffee. He went into the kitchen and attempted to make conversation.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully.
“Good morning,” she said blandly, her back against the counter. She was barefoot and wore a heavy terry cloth robe, her black hair shiny-wet from a shower.
“I didn’t see you at the party.”
“Yeah, well I wasn’t in much of a mood to be a social butterfly. I didn’t stay that long.”
“Oh.”
The silence was blaring for a long, awkward moment.
“I fucked a guy,” she said, and let it hang there.
Owen stared at her, speechless, mouth agape, unsure of what to say because nothing he could say would make things better.
“You fucked a guy,” he finally uttered. “Are you serious?”
Renata nodded.
“Who?”
“The Lone Ranger.”
“The Lone Ranger? Come on Renata, this is not funny. Who was it?”
“I have no idea.”
“You have no idea?” he gabbled, almost spitting. “How can you have no idea?”
“It was dark,” she said. “We had masks on.”
Owen had to lean on the back of a chair for support. “You had masks on.”
“Yeah. I’d never done it with masks on before. It was very erotic. He had a big dick. I swallowed and I came twice.”
He sat there light-headed, in a daze. He’d come into the kitchen hoping to start the process of bridging the gap that had opened between them, but instead, the gap was widening before his eyes.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I wouldn’t want it to slip out accidentally twenty years from now. In case we’re still together.”
Owen sat there shaking his head. He didn’t know what to say, and even if he did he knew this wasn’t the time to say it. They didn’t talk much longer. Renata asked him to go live someplace else for a while, she needed her space. He didn’t fuss about it.
----
Later that morning, Leah called. Renata let it go to voicemail and listened to the message. It was ‘Hey, Renata, sorry we missed you at the party, it was a blast, hope everything is all right, blah blah blah’. Renata knew Leah well and could tell by the message that she had no clue her twenty-year secret was out. She also knew Leah would call again.
And she did. After their initial hellos, Renata let her have it. She told her no, she didn’t want to see her at the party, and she didn’t want to see Owen, and if she’d seen either one of you, there would have been a major scene. Because now she knew all about the affair Leah had with Owen and their lies and play-acting and twenty-year cover-up, and she couldn’t believe what a cheating sleazeball Owen had been and what a lying, back-stabbing cunt Leah had been to have an affair with him, fucking over her husband and her best friend simultaneously, and if she had seen her and Owen at the party every guest at that party would know about their lurid treachery.
Leah had started crying halfway through the tirade. When she did finally speak there were no denials.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated several times between sobs.
“You’re sorry?” Renata sniffed. “Must be easy to be sorry after lying about it for twenty years. “Does Luke know about this?”
“No,” Leah said softly. “Are you going to tell him?”
“I don’t know,” Renata said. “I could tell him. Or I could fuck him. Which would you prefer?”
“Oh, Renata please…”
“It’s up to you. Let me know what you decide.”
Renata ended the call. She had no intention of telling Luke, and she sure as hell had no interest in fucking him. But at least it would give Leah a little well-earned angst.
----
Renata and Owen had never had children. They’d assumed they would someday become parents, but they were young when they married and decided to wait until they were older to have kids.
They had watched from the sidelines as most of their friends had children, including Leah and Luke, who had a son and a daughter. They also witnessed from afar all of the problems and difficulties their friends had with those kids, and how worn out they seemed from dealing with them. Health problems, behavioral problems, troubles at school, drugs and alcohol, the expenses, and the stress that comes with all of it. By the time they were thirty, they were pretty sure they didn’t want the headaches.
One time they were seated on a bench at a mall waiting to enter the cinema for a matinee when a young couple walked by. Dad was holding the hand of a toddler as they scuffled along beside Mom, who was pushing a stroller with a wailing baby in it. They didn’t look like they were enjoying themselves. Renata and Owen looked at each other, shaking their heads.
“Can you see us doing that?” Renata asked.
“No fucking way,” Owen replied.
They never second-guessed themselves after that. Now, years later, Renata had reached what she believed was a crossroad in her life and marriage. She was glad there were no children to complicate the situation, or be hurt by it.
----
Over the next couple of days, Renata couldn’t get it out of her mind. The Lone Ranger. The sex. The tongue, the taste of it, the feel of it inside her. The orgasms, oh oh oh, the orgasms. Was it possible to be addicted to something after only having it once? She didn’t know the answer to that question, but she knew one thing for sure: She wanted more of it. She needed more of it.
Why had she run away scared? What was she afraid of, after the best sex she’d ever had? Afraid of being caught? Afraid of being embarrassed, or ashamed? She’d made it happen, it was no accident. Was it really the best she’d ever had, or was it the danger, the recklessness, her first new man in twenty years, that made it so intense? She thought about it constantly, while eating breakfast, driving the car, working out, while at work, or lying in bed stroking herself. She decided yes, it was the best she’d ever had. It was his goddamn tongue. It’s like the guy has two cocks.
But she’d run off. And now, how was she going to find him? And did he want to find her?
Ends up he did.
----
Renata wondered how she could find out who he was and try to contact him. She couldn’t call around to people who were at the party. That would be a crapshoot at best and might not look so good. She could run an ad in the local newspaper, but nobody reads the paper anymore. And an ad could attract all kinds of crackpots.
She searched online for ways to find somebody if you didn’t know their name or anything else about them. She found the names of some websites where there were postings of people looking for people. Missed Connections, they called it. Maybe that would work.
First, she went out and bought a disposable phone. She didn’t want to risk releasing her real number out into cyberspace. Too many wackos out there. Then she composed her message. It read:
CLEOPATRA IN SEARCH OF THE LONE RANGER
WE DANCED TO THE MUSIC AT THE MARDI GRAS PARTY, THEN MADE MUSIC OF OUR OWN
LET’S RIDE AGAIN
CALL OR TEXT
123-555-7890
She posted it on four different popular sites and hoped for the best. She kept her burner phone with her all the time, charged up and powered on.
----
Renata had some responses almost immediately, all texts. They were all fakes, guys having fun or hoping to get lucky. There was Zorro, Billy the Kid, Wyatt Earp, as well as a couple of Lone Rangers trying to bluff their way along. On the fourth night, her phone buzzed and they connected.
--HELLO. LONE RANGER HERE IN SEARCH OF CLEOPATRA, the text message read.
Renata stared at it in disbelief for a moment and felt a nervous chill. She responded with:
--HI KEMO SABE. IS IT REALLY YOU?
--YES REALLY ME
--HOW DO I KNOW 4 SURE? I’VE HEARD FROM SOME KOOKS
--YOU KISSED ME RIGHT AFTER ‘I’D RATHER GO BLIND’. THEN WE HAD SEX ON A CHAIR IN THE MUSIC ROOM. I HAVE YOUR HEADPIECE TO PROVE IT.
--AH YES. GLAD I FOUND YOU
--ME TOO. WHY DID U RUN OUT?
--SCARED. I NEVER DID ANYTHING LIKE THAT BEFORE
--ME NEITHER
--CAN WE MEET? START OVER
--SURE. OR WE CAN PICK UP WHERE WE LEFT OFF. IT WAS WONDERFUL.
--YES IT WAS.
They’d both been thinking about that night, about each other. They agreed to meet the following Saturday, 3 p.m. at a bench in the back of the old cemetery behind the abandoned stone church next to the Civic Park. It was nearby, quiet, and private. They would meet with masks on, keep the intrigue a little longer, and they would unmask together, and depending on how well the meeting went, perhaps they would make a night of it.
END OF PART ONE
