I dress in a pair of nice black slacks and a high-neck red blouse before going to the kitchen to patch together a semblance of a dinner. There’s some macaroni and cheese from the deli, and I make some boxed mashed potatoes as well. I don’t care what anyone says—I love that shit. I toast two piece s of bread, cut up an orange, and call it a day. After I’m done, I wash up the dishes. I used to let them sit in the sink until the flies started circulating, but I turned over a new leaf once I got sick of my own slovenly ways. It’s a little thing, but I admit it makes me feel better when I see the empty sink and the clean counters. I give the cats a few more treats before vegging on the couch for a half hour. Then, I leave to visit Mrs. Yang at the church. Once I’m there, I gird my loins to enter the belly of the beast. Reverend Yang is a malleable man, but I have a hunch that Mrs. Yang will not be as easy to manipulate. I take several smooth, slow breaths before entering the church and heading for Reverend Yang’s office. I hesitate, then I knock on the door. It’s promptly opened, and Mrs. Yang is staring at me with steel in her eyes.
“Come in.” Mrs. Yang holds the door wider and steps backwards. She is wearing a low-cut ice blue blouse and a tight black miniskirt. Her hair is swept up in a high bun, and she looks fantastic. I’m a little puzzled, however, as to why she’s so dressed up. Maybe she’s meeting someone after me, someone of the male persuasion. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t mind about Reverend Yang’s affairs.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Yang.” I step inside and close the door behind me.
“Please, call me Sharon.” Mrs. Yang places her hand on my arm and rubs. I blink at her. If she were a guy, I’d say she was hitting on me. “That’s what my friends call me. Come. Sit down.” She sits on the couch and pats the cushion next to her.
“Thank you.” I sit next to Sharon, but I keep a healthy space between us. “To be frank, I’m surprised you agreed to talk to me after what I emailed you. Why did you? Agree, I mean.”
“Curiosity, more than anything,” Sharon says, her eyes fastened on mine. “I wanted to see Marcus’s latest. See what you had that I don’t.” She looks me up and down, and a slow smile creeps on her face.
“Excuse me?” I say, sure I’d heard her incorrectly.
“You have bigger tits, true, but I think my ass is better than yours.” Sharon’s still looking at me hungrily, and I’m confused as to what she’s trying to do.
“Sharon, you’re misinformed,” I say, keeping an eye on her. She doesn’t seem angry, but that could change on a dime. “Reverend Yang and I are not having an affair.” Sharon starts laughing, and she can’t stop.
“How did I know you’d say that? Can’t you at least be original?” Sharon stops laughing abruptly, and her eyes are cold.
“Sharon, it’s true. I am not sleeping with your husband.” I stare at Sharon, and our eyes are waging a private war. “I don’t poach other people’s property.”
“Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mind that Marcus has his dalliances—it takes the stress off of me. We have an agreement—we both look the other way as long as nothing gets too serious.” Sharon’s eyes shift from cold to seductive. “I can understand his attraction to you. You’re quite different from the hausfraus at the church. I’ve heard that you swing both ways.” She leans forward and plants a kiss on my mouth. It’s not unpleasant, but I have no interest in her. OK, that’s not completely true, but I don’t want to complicate the matter even further. Then she places her hand on my tit, over my shirt, and I remember how much I miss the touch of a woman. She unbuttons my shirt and slips her hand under my shirt and over my bra. When she tweaks my nipple through my bra, I come to my senses.