the wife and the mistress: what an unusual combination

her ankles are elegantly wrapped

in white lace

hell, maybe not wrapped,

but the lace is most definitely bunched

at the bottom

passed her knees.

the top of her black strapped stilettos

contrast in the light

of the moon that's shining,

shining

through the car window.

his fingers graze

her shoulder where the

skin-tight dress comes down

to hug her breasts.

my eyes watch from the

back seat

as his lips meet

the spot between her shoulder

and her neck

as I wait.

a soft groan

stuck in her throat.

catching glimpses

of his gaze meeting

mine in the mirror.

a smile dances

upon his lips.

I wait my turn

as I sip champagne

and hum to Ellington

in the background.

whether that is with her

or him,

I'm not sure yet.

whether his hands will meet

the top of my breasts

like they did

hers,

or,

maybe my own fingertips

will produce the same goosebumps

on her

skin.

I lean forward

getting a closer glimpse

as her hands make

their way

to his belt.

"the wife and the mistress."

I whisper to myself,

"what an unusual combination."

my red smudged lips

leave a trail on

his ear as I lean in.

either way I'm just an audience member

watching the show take place

in front of me,

waiting for the fourth wall to break.

because after that,

the stage is fair game for all.

it's no longer their story...

I'm no longer a side character...

I'm invited in.

what's more fun

than being taken to bed

by a married man?

being taken in the backseat

by both him

and his wife.