taken aback that an actual
conversation about this had already transpired.
“ Although it is a fantasy of
his,” she added.
“ Puh-lease.” I laughed.
“You’re out of your mind.”
“ Oh, come on. Get that stick
out of your ass. I was just teasing, baby.”
Kim had tried to persuade M.D. to send
the helicopter for her at the 34th Street heliport but M.D. had
stood his ground against this. He explained to Kim that even his
wife wouldn’t have asked him for that.
“ My wife may be boring, but
she’s not spoiled rotten like you,” M.D. had said to her. Kim
seemed to think he was just teasing, but I suspected it wasn’t all
a joke.
Kim had told me that M.D. had met his
wife during their freshman year at Cornell, a private college in a
small upstate New York town. He had grown up in an even smaller
town in Wisconsin. He had never been that popular with girls, and
when his future wife admitted to having a crush on him in their
sophomore year, he was overwhelmed. No girl had ever been so
forward with him. Soon after, they began to date.
In college, M.D. was teased for being
skinny, and unathletic. As he aged, his body began to fill in and
his face became better defined, and as he got richer, he attracted
quite a lot of women—younger, older, models, mothers, and others.
He began to employ expensive hair stylists, a personal shopper, and
a personal trainer. In contrast, his wife didn’t change much after
college. They inevitably grew apart and that’s when he met Kim. She
was a contrast to his wife. She was exciting, different, exotic and
unpredictable.
We boarded the 6:00 p.m. luxury Jitney
bus on 40th Street.
Earlier in the day, I had asked Andrew
if I could leave early for the Hamptons.
“ The Hamptons? Why there?
Come on, Isabelle, just tell me where you want to go. Anywhere in
the Caribbean and we can go together. We can even stay in separate
suites,” he said, laughing. “But hey, the Hamptons are okay too. Go
ahead. See you Monday.”
I had looked at him, unsure what to
think. His suggestive comments were becoming more and more
frequent.
“ Okay, thanks,” I said,
trying to avoid eye contact.
I had written a “Have a good weekend.
I am going to the Hamptons” message to Stephen. Within ten seconds,
he called with a barrage of questions: “Who are you going with?
When are you leaving? Can you meet me at MOMA before you
go?”
“ I can’t. I have to go now,
Stephen.”
“ Are you going with a guy?”
I wondered where the sudden urgency about seeing me came
from.
There was a long line for the bus. Kim
had also invited her colleague from work, Jessica, to accompany us.
I looked at their matching designer bags as we got on the bus,
regretting having taken the blue and green canvas bag I had
received as a gift from the Human Resources Department as part of
my employment package. I wasn’t aware that weekend bags could be so
fashionable, and I yearned for one.
Jessica was having an affair with
M.D.’s ten-year trader, Dover (a play on his name Ben and his
affinity for “bending Jessica over”). He had used the same excuse
Eric had to get to the beach.
Jessica was a statuesque blond known
to the small group of traders at the firm as ButterFace, a play on
“Everything’s good, but her face.” Jessica and Kim had started the
analyst training class at Morgan Stanley simultaneously. Although
they had never been great friends in the past, they had recently
bonded over their affairs with married men on the trading
floor.
Kim and Jessica chatted and gossiped
the entire trip about their affairs and spoke of sex in a strangely
precise, almost surgical way.
“ Have you tried a vibrator
to stimulate his penis?” Kim asked. “Use your rabbit on him and see
what happens.”
“ Really? It
works?”
“ Yup. Use it on the
underside of his cock and see what happens. It’s medical. Even men
with spinal cord injuries can orgasm with a vibrator.”
The casualness and decibel level of
their
conversation about this had already transpired.
“ Although it is a fantasy of
his,” she added.
“ Puh-lease.” I laughed.
“You’re out of your mind.”
“ Oh, come on. Get that stick
out of your ass. I was just teasing, baby.”
Kim had tried to persuade M.D. to send
the helicopter for her at the 34th Street heliport but M.D. had
stood his ground against this. He explained to Kim that even his
wife wouldn’t have asked him for that.
“ My wife may be boring, but
she’s not spoiled rotten like you,” M.D. had said to her. Kim
seemed to think he was just teasing, but I suspected it wasn’t all
a joke.
Kim had told me that M.D. had met his
wife during their freshman year at Cornell, a private college in a
small upstate New York town. He had grown up in an even smaller
town in Wisconsin. He had never been that popular with girls, and
when his future wife admitted to having a crush on him in their
sophomore year, he was overwhelmed. No girl had ever been so
forward with him. Soon after, they began to date.
In college, M.D. was teased for being
skinny, and unathletic. As he aged, his body began to fill in and
his face became better defined, and as he got richer, he attracted
quite a lot of women—younger, older, models, mothers, and others.
He began to employ expensive hair stylists, a personal shopper, and
a personal trainer. In contrast, his wife didn’t change much after
college. They inevitably grew apart and that’s when he met Kim. She
was a contrast to his wife. She was exciting, different, exotic and
unpredictable.
We boarded the 6:00 p.m. luxury Jitney
bus on 40th Street.
Earlier in the day, I had asked Andrew
if I could leave early for the Hamptons.
“ The Hamptons? Why there?
Come on, Isabelle, just tell me where you want to go. Anywhere in
the Caribbean and we can go together. We can even stay in separate
suites,” he said, laughing. “But hey, the Hamptons are okay too. Go
ahead. See you Monday.”
I had looked at him, unsure what to
think. His suggestive comments were becoming more and more
frequent.
“ Okay, thanks,” I said,
trying to avoid eye contact.
I had written a “Have a good weekend.
I am going to the Hamptons” message to Stephen. Within ten seconds,
he called with a barrage of questions: “Who are you going with?
When are you leaving? Can you meet me at MOMA before you
go?”
“ I can’t. I have to go now,
Stephen.”
“ Are you going with a guy?”
I wondered where the sudden urgency about seeing me came
from.
There was a long line for the bus. Kim
had also invited her colleague from work, Jessica, to accompany us.
I looked at their matching designer bags as we got on the bus,
regretting having taken the blue and green canvas bag I had
received as a gift from the Human Resources Department as part of
my employment package. I wasn’t aware that weekend bags could be so
fashionable, and I yearned for one.
Jessica was having an affair with
M.D.’s ten-year trader, Dover (a play on his name Ben and his
affinity for “bending Jessica over”). He had used the same excuse
Eric had to get to the beach.
Jessica was a statuesque blond known
to the small group of traders at the firm as ButterFace, a play on
“Everything’s good, but her face.” Jessica and Kim had started the
analyst training class at Morgan Stanley simultaneously. Although
they had never been great friends in the past, they had recently
bonded over their affairs with married men on the trading
floor.
Kim and Jessica chatted and gossiped
the entire trip about their affairs and spoke of sex in a strangely
precise, almost surgical way.
“ Have you tried a vibrator
to stimulate his penis?” Kim asked. “Use your rabbit on him and see
what happens.”
“ Really? It
works?”
“ Yup. Use it on the
underside of his cock and see what happens. It’s medical. Even men
with spinal cord injuries can orgasm with a vibrator.”
The casualness and decibel level of
their
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