He graced her dreams like some less nefarious incubus, leaving her so astonishingly satisfied she shook when she woke and walked about dazed, yearning after him with the recognition that this was no platonic crush.
If she could have him, she knew, her husband could have another woman. Their shift into polyamory would be complete. The hesitant back and forth tippy-toed dance they were locked in--mostly because she had been, up to this point, unable to imagine opening herself to anyone else--could end. There would be certainty, and new challenges, but with them new foliage in the tree that was their marriage.
But could she have him? Was he accessible outside her wistful dreaming? She had left messages in his Facebook inbox, spoken to him in the office flirtatiously. At first, he had warmed to her, but he drew back. He knew she was married. She had complimented him maybe once too many times and he had voiced shock at her audacity. She responded that she was married, not blind. And there was trust in her marriage. She could look. And she could compliment when she saw something she enjoyed.
She did enjoy watching him, how he removed his jacket, the way his muscles flexed beneath the smooth, thin fabric of the long-sleeved tees he wore, his hair when he ran his fingers through it- the way it stuck straight up. She wanted to put her hands in his hair. She knew he wasn't the trendy sort of handsome, but she thought he was beautiful.
Let me know what you think! If you like this storyline, it will be continued . . .