My thoughts, my truth, my words

Me and Mrs. Jones

Chemistry can be a very dangerous concept.

Sometimes it’s more than chemistry, like breathing fire spot from Drogon meeting up with a rolling gallon of gasoline, it explodes into a flurry of crazies. Passion, desire, fire, insatiable hunger are often used to describe it; you think fireworks and shooting stars are the only things that lights up the heart? You’re wrong.

They say stolen waters are indeed sweet, illogical to the sane mind. But that forbidden fruit doesn’t make your mind sane anymore, like the lactose intolerant person you yearn and yearn for that one thing you shouldn’t have. Is it the illicit pull? The passion, desire, and insatiable hunger for what you shouldn’t have? You are not sure how you will act until you are in that position. I have been in that position. Or should I say I am.

I really don’t like to use the words “Brain and beauty” because I think it’s sexist and limiting, but as I try to employ it here I see that it is grossly inadequate to capture the persona of Mrs. Jones. Yes, Mrs. You think I’m crazy, that I have lost my mind and rationality. I’d love to argue but I can’t, I have become so enchanted that I’m now within her clutch. She is a vision of beauty, face like a model and body like a bottle. When she walks, it’s with grace, elegance, and class. Her eyes flashing fever, her lips will make you quiver. You look at her hips and be like “Mercy me!” and don’t get me started on her chest; built with grace and abundance. Like a set of stubborn twins, they always pop out. A true blessing to the world.

She had me at the hello shortly over a year ago. A small childlike smile that gradually widened, showing off well catered for set of teeth, parted mildly in the middle by a graceful gap. I couldn’t help myself thinking about her thigh gap. But then I stopped myself because Mr. Jones was there. I shrugged, but then I’ve seen people drive cars that looks bigger and better than them, life isn’t known for balance. I knew we would see again, and we did at the café not far from where we live; yes, we’re neighbors. And we had discussions about everything, religion, sports, finance, sexuality, spirituality, philosophy. In fact, I discovered that we had the same world view about subjective morality. We connected deeply on so many levels, it was unreal! She has an explosive way of expressing surprise at new knowledge, it was beautiful to watch. Half the time I was looking at her beautifully carved out body and she caught my eyeballs in her chest a couple of times, but she was graceful to hand them back to me.

Gradually and naturally a connection built. We started seeing at the same place, same time every day once her husband went out. It was inevitable. And the first time we touched; I could feel a charge run through her spine. It was raining and we had to share an umbrella. It brought to bare our talks about holding hands on a beach in the middle of the night, with nothing around us other than moonlight, ocean breeze and some wine. We touched, I held her close. Partly because I didn’t want her to get wet by the pouring February rain, but mainly because I wanted to feel her heart beat close to mine. It was a moment of pure magic, staring into those beautiful sage eyes, looking at her sharp pointed jaw and having her small arms tangled in mine. I wanted to kiss her.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was compelled to stay, compelled to disobey. But inside my head, her lips had sunken into mine, hot passionate kissing as I hold her tiny waist close to my body and we grind our bodies to the rhythm of the rain. The thought was beautiful, the execution would have been if it had happened. It didn’t happen that, but eventually it did.

Which brings us to now. In many ways this has made me an unfree man. I yearn for her everyday, one kiss is not enough, one cuddle is not enough. I want it always, the heaviness in her breath when her lips drew near, the longing look in her eyes when we drew apart after we kiss. But she belongs to another man, she is a queen in another kingdom while I could only peep from the outside. Yet we have this strong connection, this strong pull to each other.

It’s too late to run away from it. I don’t even want to run from it at all. I know I should not do it, it is wrong morally, but my morality has broken into a fragment of dust at the altar of passion and desire. It will not last, it should not last, but I can’t let go. But for now, it’s me and Mrs. Jones.

He entertained the thought; he felt that was his only offence.

Blows of cold air from the air conditioner hit him over and over again on his bare sweaty chest, sending chills through his body as the sweat trickled down to his round belly. He’s been fed to stupor by his wife, as evidently shown by his cylinder shaped belly. He clutched his head in his trembling hands with groans and moans from deep inside, wishing it was just a dream, wishing he’d never been there, wishing he had the balls to have never been there.

A bit of a workaholic, a bit of a snub, David relished the challenges that came with being a young successful consultant in one of the Big 4 financial institutions. He gets his dopamine released by overtime working and his unwavering ambition to rise to the position of a managing partner was his driving force. He wasn’t the type that relished the company of women, he married out of compulsion. And despite having a beautiful wife, still finds the allure of work to be more pleasing than the bosom of his wife; his sole importance was attached to his career ascension. At a point, the visage of his office excites him than the curves of his wife, and she was spoilt for curves; she was a trophy wife, a beauty he won with money like a memento on the wall. He didn’t mind, didn’t care, his mother wanted him married and he did just that so she’ll stop nagging him.

With a smile it started, with sweetened cups of tea it continued, and ultimately convoluted with the skirts getting visibly shorter and disturbingly tighter. He waved it off as an unnecessary distraction; he kept waving it off but his mind was being fed; one spoonful of detail at a time. The new receptionist would sashay her way across the hall, and from his desk he could see through the glass as her bulbous behind rolled in symphonous turns and he felt a literal thirst drying up his throat. “When did this one come? Who is this new girl and why is she walking that way” he thought to himself, as she was always only serving him his tea. Then he entertained a thought, he pictured her holding his glass desk with her slim long hands while he washed the window panes like he had never done before. He shook it off, “I don’t have time for distractions”. But she never failed to greet him with a smile; never.

On a Wednesday evening, he checked his time, saw it was 5:07PM and decided to work a little bit more when he heard a tap on is door.

“Are you going towards Maryland sir” Stella asked in a brisk wasp like voice, peeping with the door half open: Her cleavage peeping with her.

“No, I still have some documents to work on with the new project” was what he should have said.

“Oh yeah, you’re going towards there? I’m ready now” was what he said

He grabbed his car keys and walked a bit fast to his car, opened the central lock; then the devil stepped in: Stella too.

Every single move was sultry and seductive, from her pulling up her skirt to reveal the cleanest thick thighs he’d ever seen, to pulling the seat belt as the anchor slid slowly down her fair skin chest, splitting them into two as they struggle-lessly peeked out of her red camisole. His head was blocked, his mind was blanked, his blood pumped faster than it should; it flowed downstream.

David didn’t check the traffic condition of the road before hitting the road towards Maryland, a place he had no business in. There was a heavy traffic lockdown on his way and he was weary of it already, but Stella looked unconcerned like she was right at home; all of her extremities benefiting from his well-functioning AC. Next, a thought popped up in his head and he blurted it out “Why don’t we go get a drink at Newcastle and move on when the traffic goes down”

A dozen missed calls later, half from his boss, half from his mum, none from his wife, David woke up on a large white bed, evidently a hotel room and was trying to fill his mind with what could have happened.  Then he got an email, he opened it and saw pictures of the sex he had with Stella. He had no idea someone was taking pictures, his turning and theatrics and herculean showmanship all laid bare. With his mouth unclosable, he looked in shock and terror and saw in the email “Be silent in the face of whatever happens this coming week, and nobody would see these: Kenneth”. Ken was also a consultant, also ambitious, but dangerously unethical. David had suspected him of planning a huge fund fraud that could verge on the company going paraplegic; he planned to blow the whistle. Suddenly, everything made sense, from the sudden appointment of Stella to the timing of the fraud.

He clutched his head in his now sweaty palms as the cold air from the AC hit him on his sweaty chest, filling him with regret, penitence and anguish. He entertained the thought, that wasn’t his only offence; but it led to his undoing.