‘Hello?’ I stated.

‘Where are you?’ he asked.

He’s not modest. He’s not discrete. He’s quite possessive … Jean Paul.

Where are you? What are you carrying out over there?

He’s not my husband, but sometimes he pretends to become my man. Never like you, John, you are my tolerant, open-minded, liberal spouse.

Jean Paul likes his women to obey him.

‘I have lunch time on the top terrace, at Chez Paulette,’ I said.

‘Jesus, lunch … it’s currently after two o’clock.’

‘I’m free of charge,’ I said.

He thought that was about Hotwife Voyeur decadent. He discovered that restaurant very costly.

Fortunately, I married you and not him, John.

He’s more made to … play with.

Listen!

‘There’s a man peeking at me,’ I told Jean Paul. All of a sudden.

‘What? Where?” he stated.

‘A man who sits opposite if you ask me. He peeks between my hip and legs. ‘

‘Between your legs?’

‘Yes! Or within my tits. Or in the lamp that hangs above my head, I have no idea, he’s wearing glasses. What do you men look at when you satisfy a woman? ‘

‘Is that person in his direction?’ Jean Paul asked.

‘Yes, my face, my bosom, my hip and legs, it’s all on a single aspect with me.’

I had been kidding, but he wasn’t smiling.

He was too excited, angry, jealous, and curious. His respiration changed. His voice became deeper, hoarse, unsteady. I bet his pulse had gone up. I bet he had a boner.

Like everyone else have now, John.

‘What are you putting on?’ he asked.

‘A white tee shirt with buttons …’

‘Below that?’ he asked nervously.

‘A skirt.’

‘Which skirt?’

‘My denim skirt.’

‘Goddamn,’ he said. ‘Are you putting on panties?’

‘No!’

Silence on the other side of the line.

‘Hello?’ I stated.

‘Murielle … Jesus … Fuck.’ he cursed.

‘I am putting on panties,’ I said, ‘I was teasing you.’

A fresh story in the Hotwife Monologue Series.