The Husband Sitter

By: Jessa Kane

Her face warms. “I really do like you, Astrid.” She sweeps the room in a glance. “I want to protect my comfortable life. It might sound shallow, but I like my friends, my possessions, the ease I’ve become accustomed to. I will do anything necessary to prevent myself from losing what I’ve built. And yes, I did build it. I might come across as the frivolous wife, but I’m equally responsible for getting us here. I plan to keep us here, too.” A beat passes. “If I’m being honest, I’m taking a little pleasure in making this arrangement. It’s strategic and proactive and I’m looking forward to tomorrow when I’m not waiting for a shoe to drop.”

The low hum of relaxation she projects with that final admission satisfies me that she’s telling the truth. With that final piece of the puzzle fitted into place, I let myself sink into the adventure ahead. This one might excite me most of all.


I wait in the pool house for evening to fall. Well, pool house is what Mrs. Red calls the bright, airy duplex overlooking the golf course on one side, an Olympic-sized swimming pool on the other. There are several rooms to choose from and I end up crawling into a circular bed positively covered in throw pillows of every color. After a brief nap, I shower and dress in the clothing Mrs. Red provided, smoothing lotion over every inch of my body.

In doing so, I notice how sexual I feel. Every touch is sensual and meant to stimulate. I press my hips to the bathroom sink and massage lotion into my breasts, slowly grinding myself against the white porcelain. What will Mr. Red look like? Will he be surprised by my presence, or is he aware I’m coming? I like the unknown, though. I’ve surprised myself with my ability to adapt since leaving the compound and I’m beginning to think my mother was correct. It’s possible there is something unique about me that benefits others. I want it to be true so badly. After enhancing the relationships of the Blacks and Blues, I want this to be my calling.

I want them to be my calling.

With hope in my heart, I turn off the bathroom light and look myself over one final time in the full-length bedroom mirror. I’ve never worn shorts like this. Thin, tight. They’re more like underwear, leaving the underside of my butt cheeks showing, the seam riding up like a wedgie. They should be more uncomfortable, but the pressure on all my intimate parts makes me pulse all over. The crop top I’ve been given is loose and hangs from one shoulder, cutting off an inch below my breasts. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to wear a bra, but I leave it off at the last second, feeling daring. Feeling alive and needed.

The only lit up part of the house is the dining room and I cross the yard, entering through the back door, gasping at the size of the table. It could seat a hundred people. Mrs. Red stands at a gleaming sideboard on one end of the dimly lit room, uncorking a bottle of wine. Candles flicker as I walk toward her and she greets me with a nervous smile.

“Normally I wouldn’t be doing this myself, but I’ve given the staff a night off.” She pours wine into three glasses, one by one. “For obvious reasons.” I’m about to respond when a door closes in the distance, the walls of the house seeming to rumble. “The man of the house is home,” she says, taking a giant gulp of red liquid. “Here goes nothing.”

I’m unprepared for the gravity of Mr. Red. His aura invades the dining room before he does, vacillating between gold and orange. Intelligent, fierce, charismatic. And oh so handsome. Mr. Red is older than the other men by more than a few years, his whole head covered in thick, gray hair. He’s not a man who has let his body age, though. This is a man who spends hours keeping himself fit. Everything about his energy tells me what I need to know about his personality. He brooks no disrespect, commands a room…and I know his secret.

I am his secret now.

When Mr. Red sees me, he slows to a stop, impatient fingers pausing in the process of loosening his tie. Obviously he does not expect to find a scantily clad young woman in his home and thus, he can’t keep his reaction entirely schooled. Sharp eyes lose their edge and he makes a jagged sound. “Who is this?”

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