I sipped my glass of Chablis. While I grabbed my glass, he took his champagne, and he drank, too. From then on, I knew for sure. He was peeking at me, by taking his glass every time I drank he gave his secret away.

Probably he didn’t care at all.
My phone rang.
Jean Paul's profile pic appeared on my screen.
Shall I take it, I thought.
Hey, John. Do you understand?
Shall I take Jean Paul, I thought. Jean Paul’s call....
One day, I went to the Danish tavern with Jean Paul. You'll never forget that day again, will you John?
That day with Jean Paul, who looks like the coca cola guy in the TV commercial.
Sure I took him.
"Hello?" I said.
"Where are you?" He asked.
He is not modest. He is not discrete. He is quite possessive...Jean Paul.
Where are you? What are you doing over there?
He is not my husband, but sometimes he pretends to be my man. Not at all like you, John, you are my tolerant, open-minded, liberal spouse.
Jean Paul likes his women to obey him.
"I have lunch on the roof terrace, at Chez Paulette," I said.
"Jesus, lunch...it's already after two o'clock."
"I'm free," I said.
He thought that was decadent. He found that restaurant too expensive.
Fortunately, I married you and not him, John.
He is more made to...play with.
Listen!
"There's a man peeking at me," I told Jean Paul. All of a sudden.
'What? Where?” he said.
"A man who sits opposite to me. He peeks between my legs. "
"Between your legs?"

A new story in the Hotwife Monologue Series.