A Night at the Henderson Hotel Bar

As usual, Kate had been greatly looking forward to the fundraising event at the posh Henderson Hotel in downtown Atlanta that Friday evening.

As a TV news reporter and part-time anchor for a local network affiliate, she was often asked by the station's community relations department to emcee events like these. Hosting such a gathering was a win-win for Kate: She was giving something back to her community, doing a good deed, and she also got to throw on a fancy dress and shine as the belle of the ball. Being the emcee, she was the center of attention for a couple of hours. And Kate thrived on being the center of attention.

Kate's husband, Mark, however, was less thrilled with these nights. He usually fell into the role of serving as Kate's plus-one. He was left to make small talk with people he didn't know for a few hours while his wife basked in the spotlight.

It wasn't the attention toward his wife that bruised his male ego. It was more that, as a news reporter himself, who had covered a lot of political events for newspapers and magazines, he had attended hundreds of such affairs over the years -- the "rubber chicken circuit," it was called. He didn't exactly dread this night, but he would rather have just gone out to dinner or a movie.

Still, Mark knew how much these events stroked his wife's ego and boosted her self esteem, and so he went along as the Good Husband does.

The truth is, Mark and Kate's marriage hadn't been on the strongest footing. As often happens in long marriages -- they were in year 17 -- the flame had dimmed. Stressful careers, parenting a couple of kids, illnesses and deaths of elderly parents, and just living together for so long -- these matters had taken their toll on the couple's romantic passion for one another. Their sex life once cruised down the highway at 80 miles per hour, but was now in a school zone, moving at 20 mph, if that. Sex was infrequent and when it did happen, it could be rather rote, lacking passion.

Mark mostly missed the physical sex; Kate missed the intimacy and attention of her husband.

This particular fundraiser was for an inner-city nonprofit that worked with young men whose precarious lives could go wrong with one bad move, and often did. It worked in conjunction with the Atlanta police. Kate was seated up front between the nonprofit's executive director and a deputy police chief for community relations, who was on the nonprofit's board.

As the evening progressed, Kate introduced a number of speakers who lauded the merits of the nonprofit organization and subtly asked the well-heeled crowd for donations. The square-jawed deputy chief, Curtis Johnston, appeared handsome and masculine in his dark navy blue, crisp police uniform. He delivered a powerful address about how he had risen from Atlanta's poorest neighborhoods to serve the city as a police officer -- thanks, in large part, to role models working at this nonprofit. He offered a highly compelling personal narrative.

Mark had heard a lot of public speeches as a journalist, and he could sense how the officer's address had captivated the audience. His talk also clearly stirred his wife Kate, too.

"Wow!" she said, after stepping to the podium upon his conclusion. "I am rather speechless," she confessed, gazing at Curtis as he took his seat, waving a hand to the audience, which applauded heartily.

For the remaining half-hour of the event, during the final keynote speech, Mark watched from a table as Kate and Curtis talked and smiled at one another up at the front. At one point, she leaned over and put her hand on his arm and laughed heartily at something he said.

"This dude clearly has some magnetism, and he's a total Alpha male," Mark thought. "I could see him running for public office one day."

But in the meantime, he took notice that his wife was undoubtedly enamored with Curtis. And judging by their interactions, Curtis seemed interested in her. After all, she did look lovely and alluring, wearing a rather tight-fitting, black evening dress that displayed her bare shoulders and curves. And the bonus for any man: She was on TV, something of a local celebrity.

When the event was over, the nonprofit's director invited a small group of board members, as well as Kate, to the hotel bar for drinks. Mark and Kate sat in a booth near the back of the spacious bar area. Kate was not much of a drinker, but the nonprofit's director came by the table and insisted she order something, saying it was on the agency. Working long hours and crazy deadlines, Kate loved coffee -- and she settled on a coffee-based White Russian.

Moments later, Curtis came by the table. To Mark's surprise, Kate invited him to sit with them for a drink. She scooted over and patted the booth with her hand, and Curtis took a seat.

Kate told Curtis "what a wonderful speech" he had given and "what a fascinating" childhood and law enforcement career he'd had.

Curtis insisted he was now a "boring, divorced, suburban dad."

Kate smiled and put her hand on his shoulder. "You, my friend, are anything but boring!" she said.

The conversation that ensued among the trio involved Curtis' police and community work, Kate's television reporting, a bit of Mark's writing for newspapers, and then marriage and family life. Along the way, the group ordered a couple more rounds of drinks. Mark could see his wife was getting a bit tipsy -- she was unaccustomed to that much alcohol. Yet it was kind of fun to see her loosen up a bit like this, Mark thought.

But Mark could also see that Kate was attracted to Curtis. She giggled at his jokes, repeated how "fascinating" his life had been, and kept touching his arm in a flirty manner. Mark wasn't sure what to make of this, but he had wine at dinner, had downed a few IPAs in the booth, as well as a shot of bourbon, so he, too, was tipsy and feeling good. His wife was happy, the conversation was interesting.

So "what the hell," he thought, "enjoy the moment."

Mark drank a number of the hoppy, high-alcohol beers, and for a man in midlife, that meant one thing: bathroom breaks. As Mark excused himself for the second time for the restroom, he noticed that neither Curtis nor Kate acknowledged his departure. They were each engaged in some kind of chat with each other.

"Hmmmm," he thought.

So, as Mark neared the restroom door across the bar area, he hesitated before stepping in and glanced back at the table. He saw Kate scoot toward Curtis.

"Oh man -- what is that about?" he thought. So he used the restroom and as he came out, he stood for a moment and looked across the room at Curtis and Kate. He could see that Curtis's right arm and hand were now beneath the table, slightly veered toward Kate, who now was seated very close to him.

Mark returned to the table with his heart beating fast and his mind racing.

"Is what I think is happening -- is that actually happening here?" he thought to himself.

If so, he had two choices: He could intervene and tell Kate that it was time to go, or he could just sit back down and see what transpires. For some inexplicable reason, Mark chose the latter.

He sat back down, and he even said to Curtis and Kate, "Don't let me interrupt... whatever."

Mark then steered the conversation toward boring family events, talking about a trip to California that he, Kate and their kids had taken that summer. He was telling this story primarily to Curtis because Kate had become rather distracted and appeared to be losing concentration. She'd respond here and there.

"Santa Monica pier was crowded, yeah" and "traffic was terrible," but she was not engaged mentally in the conversation. She would lower her head into her hands and just appeared out of it. Mark thought the White Russians had probably gotten to her. Mark was mostly just talking to Curtis, who appeared interested, or at least feigned it well.

Still, Mark couldn't help but notice that Curtis' arm and hand remained under the table, and in the direction of his wife. He needed another bathroom break.

On his way there, he texted his wife: "does his hand feel good?" He turned backward to see if she got the text.

She picked up her phone and punched her fingers on the screen. "maybe????" was the response on his phone.

Mark's mind was now spinning. The way he had asked that question.... and she responded with "maybe????" With that kind of question, anything other than a "no" should be considered a "yes," he thought.

"Damn," he said to himself. "This is fucking crazy. This dude has his hand on my wife's leg, or has it somewhere!"

Weirdly enough, reading this, he could feel a stir in both his stomach and his balls. This was arousing to him, at some level.

"What the hell?" he thought.

Mark returned to his seat in the booth and said something about, "Where was I? Oh yeah, California."

Curtis responded, "Yep, talking about that beach."

Mark returned to recalling how he and Kate walked this scenic beach south of LA, about midpoint to San Diego, where the cliffs beautifully overhung the sand.

As he was describing the high cliffs, Kate leaned forward and put her head into her hands.

"Oh my god," she said, her voice just above a whisper. "Oh my God."

Mark stopped mid-sentence and looked at her. Curtis remained silent, too. Kate then leaned sideways and fell into Curtis' shoulder.

Her head resting on the side of his shoulder, she muttered in a low voice, "Fuck, oh my fucking God."

At this point, Mark looked at Curtis, who responded with a devilish grin. About 20 or 30 seconds of silence passed when Kate sat back up and put her head in her hands again.

Mark leaned toward her and asked, "Did you just do what I think you did?"

She looked up at Mark, then Curtis. "I did," she said. "I sure did."

Mark felt a rush of conflicting emotions. He was now physically aroused, and even had a full hard-on, but he also felt completely confused. Here, right in front of him, in this public bar area, this charismatic, Alpha-male police officer had just given his wife an orgasm.

"Good God," he thought to himself. "That was either the dumbest thing I have ever allowed to happen or it was the hottest."

Either way, that night had changed Mark and Kate's marriage in a dramatic way. Nothing would be quite the same after.