Straitjackets Magazine: "Thursday Afternoons in Malibu" by Es Cole

They had been colleagues since graduate school. She was planning a career in clinical psychology. Brad was interested in testing and research. They were in several classes together, and found it easier to study
by forming a small group with fellow students.

Nothing happened until a month before graduation. They had all stayed up late, preparing for final exams, discussing papers they were writing. One by one the rest of the group left. She and Brad had stayed. The study room was deserted and quiet. She and Brad sat close together on the couch, and with no thought were in each others’ arms. And in moments, clothes removed, they were in each other. Quick, sweet, wonderful. And done.

One time. One time only. Nice. Period.

They got their degrees. She started her private practice. Brad disappeared into the world of academia. LA is a huge, spread out city, and their paths crossed seldom. Occasionally, at professional meetings or conventions. They’d have coffee together or be part of a large group at lunch. So she knew when Brad married Ellen. Brad knew when she and George finally made it legal after living together for seven years. As married couples, sharing
common interests, their rare times as a foursome was fun.

She and George had decided long ago not to complicate their lives by having children. Brad and Ellen had a daughter, now in college.

She reviewed this history on her drive home. Wondering why now she and Brad crossed the line.

They had been sitting together, listening to a dull presenter, both started to make snide comments, and soon they were suppressing giggles. They had to leave the room before embarrassing themselves and the people around them.

The meeting had barely begun and they were now free for the next several hours. Brad had a hotel room. He could have made the round trip from Malibu to home in one day, but occasionally he treated himself to a night away, missing the dreadful traffic that clogged the coast highway.

The room was bright, colorful, facing the ocean. Private and quiet. They were still giggling when they got to the room. The bar was handy and the
drinks relaxed them. Some, long-ago memory stirred. They hugged, kissed, moved to the bed.

“We’re ridiculously overdressed.” She said, pulling off her top and unzipping her skirt. He watched her, helped unhook her bra, helped slip her panties from her legs. She reached for him, rubbed his penis, pushed down his trousers and leaned over to put her mouth over his erection. His ejaculation was quick. He licked her from toes to ears.

For three hours they played and fucked and fucked and played. Till the room grew dark, and she could stay no longer.

Thus it began.

On the first and third Thursday of every month, she would walk into the seminar, as would Brad. Ten minutes after the lecture started, she would leave, Brad would follow. The hotel rooms changed. They used their afternoons in Malibu to stroke each other, reaching orgasm after orgasm.

And after saying goodbye to Brad, she would stop at the Food Mart to call George.

They
had had four erotic months of Thursday afternoons in Malibu. It had to stop. She loved George, she had no wish to disrupt their marriage. Brad and Ellen were a loving couple. Brad had no desire to put his own relationship in jeopardy. They had to end it. Today.

They dressed in silence. Quietly they left the room and headed for their cars. Brad said he needed to stop at the Food Mart, too. They drove tandem to the grocery store and walked together through the automatic doors.

She pulled out her cell phone. Dialed home. Before she heard George’s voice, she was aware of a phone ringing just ahead of where she and Brad were walking. She glanced up. Walking towards her and Brad were George and Ellen. The four of them stopped, staring at each other. Time stopped. Sound ceased. She knew. They all knew.

Together they turned and walked toward the milk cases.

a short story by Es Cole [warning: sexual content]
illustrated by Vicki Allen-Hitt So many orgasms in a row, she’d lost count. Never dreamed she was capable of such lust. Nor that she could sustain that sensitivity. When he rubbed her clitoris, she was on fire. He had matched her heat, content to pleasure her until his passion became aroused. They’d lain thus for all of Thursday afternoon, until early evening, and then into darkness. Reluctantly, she pulled from the bed and walked to the window. The darkness allowed the fluorescence of the breaking waves to show beautiful, uneven patterns as each broke on the shore. She stared at the sea, listening to sounds she loved, imagining the life and turmoil that dwelt there. She knew her own life could fill with darkness and turmoil after today. His regular breathing stopped. He was awake, and, as she turned from the window, their eyes found each other. Small smiles formed on their faces, but had to fight against the worry frowns. Each face reflected inner concern. “What happens now?” He asked the obvious question, breaking the mood of the previous hours. She looked at him, impassive, trying to assess their connection and where this new path would take them. He was pleasant to look at: not too tall, not too short; still with enough hair to comb and brush, only a few sneaky gray ones peaking through. She knew he kept fit with tennis and handball. She knew a lot about him. They had been friends for years. They – she and her husband, he and his wife. Occasional bridge friends, occasional theater friends. Friends. That’s all. Never a hint of sexual interest. Rare episodes of flirting; she couldn’t remember feeling stirred by him and suspected he felt the same. Friends. And in one afternoon, friend became lover. “What do you want to happen?” She wasn’t being coy, she needed to know if there was feeling behind the act. “I don’t want this to go away. And I don’t want my life to get complicated.” “That’s not possible. We can try to keep up a front – see each other once in a while, but we’ll still be taking risks.” “I’m willing.” “Me, too.” No declaration of love. But the pull was palpable. That afternoon had created a deep connection. It was not sex alone. The hunger unleashed was for more than bodies; for more than gratification; unstated. Necessary. On her way home, she stopped at the Trancas Food Mart, pulled out her cell phone and called home. She was surprised when George answered on the second ring. He didn’t always carry his cell phone with him. He sounded cheerful. She loved hearing his voice. She loved her husband. They were good together, had been for more than a dozen years. “I’m near a grocery store -- do we need anything for tonight?” “Another quart of milk I think.” “See you soon.” Every other Thursday she attended a psychiatric seminar up in Malibu. And, always, on her way home, she stopped at the Food Mart. And, always, phoned George in case she forgot what was on the shopping list. The psychiatric seminar was where she had reencountered Brad. Months before.	They had been colleagues since graduate school. She was planning a career in clinical psychology. Brad was interested in testing and research. They were in several classes together, and found it easier to study by forming a small group with fellow students. Nothing happened until a month before graduation. They had all stayed up late, preparing for final exams, discussing papers they were writing. One by one the rest of the group left. She and Brad had stayed. The study room was deserted and quiet. She and Brad sat close together on the couch, and with no thought were in each others’ arms. And in moments, clothes removed, they were in each other. Quick, sweet, wonderful. And done. One time. One time only. Nice. Period. They got their degrees. She started her private practice. Brad disappeared into the world of academia. LA is a huge, spread out city, and their paths crossed seldom. Occasionally, at professional meetings or conventions. They’d have coffee together or be part of a large group at lunch. So she knew when Brad married Ellen. Brad knew when she and George finally made it legal after living together for seven years. As married couples, sharing common interests, their rare times as a foursome was fun. She and George had decided long ago not to complicate their lives by having children. Brad and Ellen had a daughter, now in college. She reviewed this history on her drive home. Wondering why now she and Brad crossed the line. They had been sitting together, listening to a dull presenter, both started to make snide comments, and soon they were suppressing giggles. They had to leave the room before embarrassing themselves and the people around them. The meeting had barely begun and they were now free for the next several hours. Brad had a hotel room. He could have made the round trip from Malibu to home in one day, but occasionally he treated himself to a night away, missing the dreadful traffic that clogged the coast highway. The room was bright, colorful, facing the ocean. Private and quiet. They were still giggling when they got to the room. The bar was handy and the drinks relaxed them. Some, long-ago memory stirred. They hugged, kissed, moved to the bed. “We’re ridiculously overdressed.” She said, pulling off her top and unzipping her skirt. He watched her, helped unhook her bra, helped slip her panties from her legs. She reached for him, rubbed his penis, pushed down his trousers and leaned over to put her mouth over his erection. His ejaculation was quick. He licked her from toes to ears. For three hours they played and fucked and fucked and played. Till the room grew dark, and she could stay no longer. Thus it began. On the first and third Thursday of every month, she would walk into the seminar, as would Brad. Ten minutes after the lecture started, she would leave, Brad would follow. The hotel rooms changed. They used their afternoons in Malibu to stroke each other, reaching orgasm after orgasm. And after saying goodbye to Brad, she would stop at the Food Mart to call George. They had had four erotic months of Thursday afternoons in Malibu. It had to stop. She loved George, she had no wish to disrupt their marriage. Brad and Ellen were a loving couple. Brad had no desire to put his own relationship in jeopardy. They had to end it. Today. They dressed in silence. Quietly they left the room and headed for their cars. Brad said he needed to stop at the Food Mart, too. They drove tandem to the grocery store and walked together through the automatic doors. She pulled out her cell phone. Dialed home. Before she heard George’s voice, she was aware of a phone ringing just ahead of where she and Brad were walking. She glanced up. Walking towards her and Brad were George and Ellen. The four of them stopped, staring at each other. Time stopped. Sound ceased. She knew. They all knew. Together they turned and walked toward the milk cases.