The Flirt at the Club


On the way home from the club the other night, Steve was chuckling. “What’s up?” I asked. “Well, I was talking to Karen and she introduced me to her friend. Her friend was very animated and smiley until I mentioned something about “my wife”. When I said that, she looked bummed out.” “Really?” I said. He grinned. “And?” I coaxed. “Well, before meeting her, I had caught her looking at me a few times.” More grins.

“Let me see your hand.” He knows enough to hold up his left hand. “O.K. So, this woman knows you’re married from the obvious ring, but flirts with you anyway. She’s only bummed out when you mention your wife in loving terms because then and only then does she figure she doesn’t have a chance?” I shake my head. The nerve! Hussy!

10 to 1 you can guess my next question….

“Is she cute?” I casually ask. “Yeah, she’s tiny.” What the..? I smacked his arm, “What? Is tiny synonymous with cute now?!” Not so casual anymore: never has anyone nor would anyone describe me as tiny. “If she’s tiny, she must be thin – is that why she’s cute?” I demand.

“Hold on a minute! Wait! I didn’t say that! I just said that she’s cute and then I mentioned that she’s tiny – just to further describe her.” He’s kind of serious and kind of chuckling. “You did not! You’re answer when I asked if she were cute was…..” and so on and back and forth it went until Steve brilliantly told me how I had it all over this chick. I was mollified.

Didn’t end there, though…..I started to take some special care with how I looked when I went to the club. I want to see this tiny, cute, brazen hussy. And I want her to see me (preferably laughing) with Steve, and I want to look good!

Aside: O.K. This is twisted. I don’t want to look good for Steve; to keep his eyes on me and not the tiny one. No, no. I need to look good so that she thinks I’m hot. Crazy? Yep.

I have yet to see or meet her. And believe me, I’ve been surreptitiously studying every teeny tiny blonde woman at the club; glancing in the racquet ball courts, into the classes, on the machines. (Honey, is that her? Steve, is your girlfriend here tonight, etc…)

Anyway, last night we went to work out. I’ve had a tough week – under the weather. I looked haggard. Obviously, I had forgotten about the other woman. Until. I saw this pert young, TINY blonde walking up the steps. Damn! I look like shit. Shit! So instead of quick stepping it over to fawn over my hubby (and to place his hand carelessly on my ass) in front of her, I, ahhh……..went around the corner and….sort of…hid. (I admit to the craziness!) Damn. Damn. Damn. She walked out.

I went over to Steve. “Did you see her? Was it her? Was it!?” He pulled out his ear buds. “Who is who? What are you talking about?” I urgently whispered, “Didn’t you see that cute blonde walk right in front of you? Was that her!!?” “Sorry honey, I didn’t notice anyone walk by.” He went back to his music.


This concludes another view from my married life.