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We found the blue door while my wife looked at me with skepticism. Downstairs is exactly what a bar should be, the drinks are very strong. We stayed down there long enough to relax and then went upstairs.
The second floor is the whole reason to come. There’s a sign reading Couples Only, although it doesn’t seem to be strictly enforced. Leather love seats tucked into close little nooks create an atmosphere that is genuinely intimate, like the room itself is keeping your secrets.
We’d been up there maybe ten minutes when a man appeared at the edge of our nook.
“Can I join you?” he asked.
I answered by gesturing to the seat across from us. He sat with his drink and introduced himself.
The conversation started light and my wife sat very still beside me. His eyes were on her the entire time, and I suspect she noticed it, too. But then she laughed at something he said and I could tell she had relaxed.
I leaned close to him. “Do you want to sit with her?”
He didn’t answer with words. He simply stood, moved to her right, and I shifted into his vacated seat across from them and watched.
My wife looked at me with wide eyes the moment she understood what was happening. I gave her the small nod she needed and she turned back to him slowly.
It’s worth saying that it had been a long time since we’d done anything like this. Long enough that I’d wondered if this part of us had quietly closed without either of us officially acknowledging it. My wife is shy by nature, the kind of person who takes a long time to trust new situations. I could see all of that working in her face.
He whispered something, then leaned forward and kissed her. I watched her body go rigid for a moment before something released and she kissed him back. Her hands stayed pressed flat against her seat, as if there was still an uncertainty she hadn’t resolved.
When the kiss deepened she made a small sound I recognized, almost a moan. He moved to her neck and she tipped her head slowly to one side. His hand came up and traced along the neckline of her dress, cupping her gently through the fabric before slipping inside.
From where I sat I could see everything clearly, the way his hand moved beneath the fabric, feeling the full weight of her breasts. The dress pulled tight around his knuckles, the slow rolling motion of his fingers visible through the fabric, and I knew exactly what he was doing.
She was so shy about it. That’s what I keep coming back to. She kept her face slightly turned down, deeply flushed, as though embarrassed by what her own body was doing. This was my shy, naive wife and I was watching her with someone else.
He kept kissing her, his hand moving with less patience now. She said something to him I couldn’t catch, and her hand moved and settled over his wrist. It was then that she looked up and found my face across the candlelight. It wasn’t distress in her eyes, but something closer to being overwhelmed.
I nodded, understanding completely.
I stood and extended my hand to him. He took it without hesitation, like someone who had navigated this before. He asked to exchange numbers and I agreed.
My wife watched quietly and said nothing.
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