Three in Harrisburg

Harrisburg is a nice small-city. It sits about mid-way across when crossing Pennsylvania from either the east or the west. I had found most of the people I had met there sort of in the middle, too. I always enjoyed business associates who were natives. Nice people. As a state capital, it’s loaded with offices connected to state government and hosts its share of business travelers. That means lots of hotel rooms–likely more than enough. I found myself in a run-down Holiday Inn bar which, in its former life, had once been a Ramada’s Lounge. I suppose its next incarnation would be a Quality Inn. The décor was eighties disco although it was 2002, but it was the place for the night I engaged in the strangest threesome I’ve ever experienced.

The day had been nonde, even boring, when I strolled across the hotel lobby after having had dinner nearby with a business prospect. With a few already in me, I decided on a simple nightcap featuring people-watching. The place wasn’t crowded at 9:30, and I found a reasonably comfortable chair which afforded a complete view of an uncrowded room. A waitress at least ten years younger than anyone who was in the room took my order sleepily, but she delivered my drink promptly enough. As I raised my eyes to say thank you to her, I realized the bar itself was only five feet to my left. And so was the couple who had come after I had. They were seated on stools almost next to, but slightly behind, my chair. I was quickly at a height disadvantage, but at a clear height advantage to admire her legs—tanned, no stockings, and poking modestly from a bright yellow sundress. A summer sandal dangled from the crossed leg. She spied my evaluation and smiled with beautiful teeth framed by a soft, pink shade of glossed lips.

Caught, I smiled back. But I noticed that he was smiling too. Strange. Certainly unusual.

“My apologies,” I offered moving my attention to each of their faces. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

“No offense taken,” she responded. “I always appreciate attention from a handsome man when my husband is present.” Her flirting continued, “I was actually appreciating my view of you. I’ve told my husband how handsome I think you are. In fact, he insisted we sit near you.”

“Well, thank you,” I said with a smile. And I returned my attentions to people-watching elsewhere as I plotted a quick retreat. I wasn’t so sure how I felt as a people-watcher being people-watched by a couple. I hit my drink often to be done and gone.

But suddenly the husband was standing across my small cocktail table, a partial light-colored drink in one hand and a fresh, dark colored drink in the other. From the smell of the darker one, I recognized the full glass as bourbon, all I ever drank.

Now, when a man hands another man a drink, his voice tends to be strong and friendly. Friends buy each other drinks with camaraderie. I expressed my thanks to this unsure man. His posture was slumped, his eyes down, and his voice gave him away.

“My wife, Angie, would like to join you. Would that be okay?” He didn’t choke on his words but he did stammer on them. It was very quiet—soft like a boy’s voice. When I had first glanced at him at the bar, his smile had been broad and sociable. But this was a different guy. Head down, unsure. He reminded me of a kid sent by his mom to apologize to a neighbor for breaking a window. But she saved his embarrassment as she appeared at my side. She took the other chair at the table, pulling it close alongside mine and taking her seat with great flair. But then she added to it when she spoke to him.

“Be a dear and get another chair for yourself, Robert, and sit across from us,” she directed him.

Two-person tables in a hotel cocktail lounge are not very big. By the time, he had gotten a chair for himself and slinked into it, he might as well have been in another zip code.

“I’d love to know your name so I can address you properly.” Her voice was almost begging. Considering the style with which she had handled my ogling a few moments ago, I found the transformation of her voice fascinating.

“Chris,” I told her.

“Christopher, let me explain. Robert and I were discussing you at the bar. We agreed to approach you about a little ‘scenario’ we enjoy occasionally. You see, Robert is rather well-known about Harrisburg. You could even say he is influential in the local community in his many leadership roles. People listen to him because of who he is. They almost pester him, trying to grab his ear and his attention for their own purposes.”

I paused to sip my drink, and she followed my lead with her own. When I put my glass down, she followed my lead and placed hers on a coaster to resume her matter-of-fact statements.

“And I don’t like his power. So, as I hinted, I occasionally like to take that power away from him. To humble him. To take something important from him. I make him give instead of just taking. I take me away from him; I make him give me to someone else. And I make him watch. He knows that if he interferes, I will threaten to out this little weirdness of ours and make it public. In the circles in which we move, I tell one other wife and it’s everywhere in this city in five hours. With that much to lose, Robert’s silence is assured and I get fucked like I want to be fucked—long, hard, and in the role I choose to play.”

She paused and I reached for my glass again, even if a little unsteadily. I held it up as if to admire it as I processed all this. She said nothing until I put the almost empty glass down. She was right on cue.

“Tonight I want to be an object. You may do everything you’d like to me. I won’t say ‘No’ to anything you want or any way you want to do it to me. We’ll get a room here in the hotel for me to change from this summer-appropriate outfit I’m wearing into something more appropriate to what I want to be tonight. So, are you willing, Christopher?”

I lengthened the pause as I thought about this. I sipped as I thought it through. She wanted to humble him, fulfill a fantasy role of her own, and walk back into her own accustomed life. I reached for my glass and emptied it. It wasn’t a decision I was making. It was how I was going to play my role.

“Bob,” I said. He had been silent the whole while she had talked with me. He looked up. His attempt to hide by looking at the top of my head was evident. “Get me another drink. I’ll tell you what to do when you’ve returned.

“Okay, Chris” he muttered.

“It’s Christopher to you, Bob. I corrected him. “Angela, would you like another?” And she smiled knowing I was in for their game.

While he was off on his errand, I asked her, “No limits? My lead while he just watches me treat you as you’ve described?”

“Yes. It’s what I want. And…no limits either. I’m very open for anything. And you can add anything to it as long as it pleases me and knocks him down. Don’t be mistaken, Christopher. This won’t hurt him. We’ll stay ‘happily ever after,’ but it will remind him by making him remember you and me together. I think you have all you need and all that you can handle. Just be your role.” It was one of the best summaries I had ever heard.

When Bob returned with my drink, I acknowledged him, but very matter-of-factly only. He took his seat. But I called him back sharply before he could take a seat. Having caught him off-guard, he scurried back.

“I want you to do something else. Angela is going to go to the Ladies Room. Wait outside for her. While she is in there, she is going to arouse herself to transfer her scent freshly to her panties. When she has completed that, she’ll remove them, hand them to you, and leave the restroom. Both of you will then return to my table. You will then hand her panties to me. Understand?”

“Yes, Christopher,” he said dutifully. It was given that Angela and I were about to have all the sexual fun, but it also became clear that Robert had something he wanted from his role, too. Angela virtually bolted from her seat.

“Follow me, Bob,” she almost sang in delight.

I nursed my bourbon while Angela and Bob were away. Angela had transformed. The poise and control were gone now. Before reseating herself, she stood before me as though asking permission before doing so. And Bob looked mortified! He simply didn’t know what to do. I motioned him to his chair. Neither of them offered a word. I took control.

“Bob, you have something of Angela’s for me?” I stated coldly.

“Yes, Christopher,” his voice almost a whisper.

“Hand them to me.” And he began to rise as though he were going to walk them to me.

“No, simply hand them across the table to me,” I instructed.

“Yes, sir,” he croaked reaching across the table.