The Venus Of Starbucks





   I stopped on the way to work and ordered a Venti latte.  The girl
operating the register was a typical Starbucks worker, about 22, attractive
without being gorgeous, and slightly challenged by the difficulties of
making change.  I shook my head but smiled as I turned away.



   I walked over to the table with the sugar, napkins, etc, and turned to
look at the barista making my drink.  I stopped and stared.  Behind the
espresso machine was the most beautiful redhead I had ever seen.  Okay,
maybe she wasn't classically beautiful, but she was my ideal of a redhead.
She was tall and lithe, with that classic red hair, pale ivory skin, and a
round face.



   I tried not to stare but couldn't help it.  She was an eidolon, an ideal
come to life.  She was Galatea, a statue of a Goddess come to life.  She
was...  Well, you get the idea: I was entranced.  She put the latte up and
I realized that I had to do something.  I roused myself from my rapture and
moved.  I took the latte and said, "Thanks," with a smile for her.



   She smiled back before picking up the next drink.  I stood for a moment
more before turning and left, still thinking of my red-haired Goddess.



   That night as Megan, my wife, and I were fixing dinner I told her about
the girl.  Yeah, I know.  `You told your wife, you idiot.' Yeah, I told
her. We decided long ago that it was better for me to tell her about my
appreciation for beautiful women than to hide it.  Hiding one thing turns
into hiding many things.  It is a rot in a relationship.  She would rather
have me admit to my wandering eye than turn our relationship sour.



   All guys are going to look.  Women who pretend that their husband would
never look are not even fooling themselves.  The woman who proclaims her
husband wouldn't look at other women if he loved her are merely showing
their own insecurity.  Of course her husband is going to look at an
attractive female.  He's hard wired to look.  Why do you think they call it
attractive, as in attracts his gaze.  He's supposed to look at beautiful
women.



   Anyway, my wife realized early on that it was healthier if I looked and
fessed up.  She sometimes would even point out a woman and ask if I thought
she was pretty.  She wanted to understand what it was that attracted me, to
know me better, not to pretend I was something I wasn't.



   I told Megan about this Goddess.  She could tell that I had really
appreciated this girl.  "Do you know her name?" she asked.



   "Nope, I don't think I'll ask.  Tell you the truth; I'd be afraid to
ask. Afraid that I might actually do something stupid."



   Megan looked at me quite thoughtfully.  "Oh," she said.  She went to
prepare dinner and I helped.  That was the last of the conversation about
the girl.



   That night in bed, Megan was a little distracted.  I knew that it was
about the girl at Starbucks.  So I brought up the topic.  The first thing
Megan asked me was, "Are you in love with her?"



   "What?  Of course not.  Maybe lust but not love," I said laughing.



   "That's supposed to make me feel better," she said.



   I could tell this was one of those things that just can't be
communicated across the gender gap.  She would never understand why I can
be `in lust' with a little tart but it doesn't affect how I feel about her.
Really, love has nothing to do with it.  Women just don't feel that way. 
Their emotions get all mixed up with sex, where for men, sex is sex. 
What's love got to do with it?



   That's not to say that women don't cheat.  I never understand how people
make the ridiculous statement that men cheat more than women, really? 
Women don't think they cheat because they don't want to 99% of the time,
like a man does.  Three things have to be true for a woman to cheat: she
has to be physically separate from her husband (Studies have shown that the
more a woman is physically separate from her husband, the more likely she
is to have cheated); second, she has to be in a fertile part of her cycle;
third, the potential mate has to be genetically superior, as perceived by
the woman, to her regular mate.  If all three conditions are true, a woman
will hop into bed with a guy.  The next day, she is back to her regular
self, having no desire to cheat; it was just one of those things that
happened.  She didn't really want to cheat.



   The big thing is that women don't admit to cheating.  Studies have shown
that women lie about sex, reducing partners, frequency, and cheating by
about half of the real numbers.  But the real numbers are close to men's.
They have to be.



   Unfortunately for men, they never know when a woman will be in one of
those 1% moods so they have evolved to be ever ready just in case she wants
to get in his jeans to share his genes.  Evolution favored the men who were
always ready for that fickle female to choose him.  That makes men seems
like they cheat more, just because they have to be always ready, but they
cheat exactly as often as a woman, one for one.



   But I tried to bridge the gap anyway.  "Megan, I do not love this girl.
I don't want to marry her, I don't even want to date her, or run around or
anything.  I love you."



   "Would you have sex with her?" she asked.



   "Under certain very limited circumstances, yes.  Say for instance, you
and me weren't married.  But that isn't going to happen.  I am not going to
cheat on you," I said.



   "I know about your fantasies," she said accusingly.



   "I assume you mean the two girl fantasies.  Look, Megan, do you want me
to start not telling you things?" I asked.



   "No," she said.



   "Okay.  Then you know I'm telling you the truth when I say I'm not going
to cheat with this girl.  Hell, I'll probably never see her again.  I don't
even know who she is.  She was just a pretty girl in a Starbucks," I said
reasonably.



   "You better keep your hands to yourself," she said.



   I laughed.  "Absolutely.  They'll stay in my pocket."



   "I'm just worried about what they'll do in your pocket," she said
smiling.



   I hugged her and said, "But that way it stays in my pants, even if it is
messy," and got another smile.



   *****



   But there was something about that girl.  She really was my physical
ideal.  Not the ideal woman maybe.  She was more like the ideal of a
Grecian sculpture.  I've been in museums and nearly run my hands over some
classical sculpture.  You just want to run your hands over it and
appreciate the physicality, the existence of something so perfect.



   That night, I dreamt about her.  In the dream I talked to her and
invited her to lunch.  We met and hit it off.  I called work and said I
wasn't coming back.  She invited me over to her place.  Her roommates
weren't to be back until night.  Inside the door I took her in my arms.  We
kissed.  She led me to her bedroom.  Clothes were falling, like discarded
dreams, all the way down the hall.  We fell into bed.  We kissed.  She went
down on me.  It was glorious.  I went down on her and drove her to a
thundering climax.  Then I crawled over her and we coupled like wild
animals until we both had climaxes.



   I woke in the morning with a throbbing hardon.  On the verge of memory
was the dream, the ravishing dream of her.  I tried to hold onto it; the
details were already blowing away like wisps of smoke in the wind, gone.



   *****



   Unbeknownst to me, Megan went down to the Starbucks to check out this
heartthrob.  She was really upset for some reason by this girl.  Over
dinner that night she asked, "What is so special about this girl?"



   I was blind-sided.  "Huh?  What girl?"



   "Don't play that with me.  The Starbucks girl."



   I really hadn't been playing and I think she could tell from the look on
my face.  "Oh, that girl.  Sorry, I really wasn't playing dumb.  I am
dumb," I said.  "That girl.  I can't explain it.  It's just that she looks
exactly like she ought to.  I mean, physically.  I just have this thing
about redheads and she looks exactly like a redhead should.  Does that make
sense?"



   "No," Megan said.



   "I guess it's a guy thing.  I can't explain it better than that." I
could tell this was really bothering Megan.  "Look, it isn't love or
anything like that.  It isn't going to affect how I feel about you.  I'm
not going to fall in love.  It's more just a physical thing, like a statue
that you appreciate for its physical beauty but you don't fall in love."



   "You don't screw a statue," she hissed.



   "But that's just it.  I'm not going to screw her either," I said trying
to sound reasonable.



   "You say you'd like a threesome.  Would you like a threesome with this
girl?" Megan asked.



   "Only if you would," I said.  "And I don't think you would.  I could,
yes.  But I think your insecurities would eat you up."



   "Oh, so you're more mature than me.  You are better able to handle it,
huh?" Oops, I shouldn't have said that.  Now I had to dig myself out.



   "No.  I think it's just different for a guy.  A guy is just built
differently.  A guy could have sex and not have love be important.  Women
have love and sex intertwined.  They can't separate them." I said.



   "So, if I could separate the love and sex I'd understand?" She asked.  I
nodded.  She continued, "So, if I did that it would be okay if I had sex
with someone?"



   "Yes, and I could do the same.  As long as we both agreed.  But if we
don't both agree then it would be wrong," I said.  "That's the important
thing.  I ain't going to do nothing as long as you don't want me to.  I
love you, and only you." Megan wasn't happy but at least I had mollified
her.



   *****



   I saw Miss Redhead every few days at the Starbucks.  My reaction was the
same every time.  I couldn't say anything, she was so beautiful.  I started
to see a glint of recognition in her smile.  I didn't say anything more
than, "Thanks."



   Megan brought up the subject a couple times.  I thought she was checking
up to see if I had crossed any lines with the girl.  She asked about the
idea of why it would be okay if I had sex with the girl.  I explained it
would work only if we both agreed.  Megan was trying to get me to admit
that I wanted to have sex with this girl, but would feel differently if it
was her.  She asked me if it would be okay if she had sex with the girl. 
Would I feel okay about that as long as she didn't fall in love?  I knew
Megan and she wasn't about to try it.  Hell, just the idea of another woman
in the same bed drove her crazy.  No way would she do the deed with another
woman.  I knew she was trying to get me to say no, so that she could say no
as well.  Trying to get her to see that I really did think it was possible,
I said, sure, it would be fine.  It would be fine for her just like it
would be fine for me.  She needed to understand if I had sex with this girl
it wouldn't mean anything.  It would just be a pleasant romp and it
shouldn't bother her just like it wouldn't bother me.



   I admit that having these conversations, arguments, kept the idea of a
romp with the redhead in the front of my mind.  The fantasies kept rolling,
me and her doing it every way possible.  I admit I hoped Megan would let me
have a try at the girl, hopeless as that might actually be.



   *****



   A couple of weeks later, on a Saturday morning, Megan told me that we
were having a guest for dinner and she wanted help getting the house
immaculate.  This included changing the bed.  I wondered about that.  Why
did everything on the bed need changing for a dinner guest?



   Saturday was a whirlwind of cleaning.  Megan drove me hard.  Finally, at
four she let me relax as she started dinner.  I went in and played on the
computer to relax.  I surfed the net for a while and I started dreaming of
my Venus again.  The time flew by.  About six, I heard the door chimes.  I
went to open the door.  When I opened it, I was stunned.  It was her, the
redhead, standing on my porch.  I was speechless.



   Megan had come up behind me, "Hi, Bridget.  Come on in."



   Bridget?  I looked at Megan.  She giggled.  Bridget stepped by me and
hugged Megan.  "Bridget, I'd like you to meet my husband, Mike.  Mike, this
is Bridget."



   Bridget extended her hand, "Pleased to meet you."



   I took her hand, lost in some surrealistic fantasy.  Hitchcock never
came up with a story line as bizarre as I felt at that moment.



   "Come on into the kitchen," Megan said.  I followed the two women into
the kitchen still in a state of shock.  Megan turned to me, "Pour us some
wine: white," she said.



   I opened a Chardonnay and poured three glasses.  I handed the first to
Bridget.  Looking up at me she said, "Thanks."



   Thanks.  She had said, "Thanks," to me.  I stared at her, until I could
feel that she was uncomfortable.  I tore my eyes away and took a glass to
Megan and picked up one for myself.



   Megan lifted her glass, "Here's welcome." We all took a sip.



   Megan, for my benefit, said, "Bridget and I met at the Starbucks.  We
started talking one day and hit it off.  So, I invited her for dinner."



   "Oh.  Welcome, Bridget.  Glad to have you," I said.



   "You come in too, don't you?" she asked.



   "Yes," I said.



   "Venti latte, non-fat," she said.



   "Yep, that's me," I said.



   "I thought so," she clapped her hands in delight.  "Never forget an
order."



   They started chattering away as I tried not to stare at Bridget.  She
was so beautiful.  Then it hit me, Bridget was here, at my house.  That
could mean only one thing; Megan was going to let me have a go at Bridget.
My cock started to expand.  I quickly fled from the kitchen, fighting to
get control.



   I went into the computer room and stared at the monitor wondering if I
really was going to get to bed Bridget.  Then a small thought crept into my
mind, expanding to fill my thoughts, what if Megan just wanted to keep an
eye on Bridget and me to see if there was something going on?  That would
be like a devious woman; put the suspects together and watch them to see if
they slip.  Shit!  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that
this was likely what was happening.  That quickly deflated my cock.  Shit!



   Chastened and disappointed, I wandered back to the kitchen.  Bridget and
Megan were chatting merrily, like old friends.  I felt left out, knowing my
dreams had probably been for naught.  I was only half listening to their
chatting, thinking about how I wished Bridget could be mine, even if only
for an hour, when Megan asked me to help get food to the table.



   I jumped up to help, temporarily too busy to think about Bridget.  At
the table, I was sitting between Megan and Bridget.  I was struck, once
again, by her beauty.  A smile lit her face and I was lost, mesmerized.



   Bridget and Megan continued chatting like old friends while I was tongue
tied, unable to contribute anything to the conversation.  Why can a woman
do that so easily to a man?



   After dinner, we all went into the living room.  I went off to get some
wine for the girls; when I returned, Megan and Bridget were sitting,
practically cuddled together on the couch.  I poured them some wine and
settled into a chair.  They chatted, then whispered into each other's ear
while glancing my way and giggling.  Occasionally, Megan would send me for
nuts, or to fill their glasses.  I was practically like a butler.  That's
when I knew what was happening.  All the snuggling and giggling as Megan
bossed me around.  It was the way Bridget was touching Megan, then glancing
at me as she did.  They were teasing me, driving me crazy and they were
doing it on purpose.  Megan was trying to make me jealous and she had
Bridget helping her.  `That little minx,' I thought.  Then I knew that I
was going to get Bridget into bed.  There was no other reason for the show
they were putting on for my benefit.  I smiled to myself, `Play your games,
Dear.  I'm the one who gets to take her to bed.'



   Megan pointed at their glasses, both empty.  I went out to grab the wine
and when I returned, Bridget was whispering something in Megan's ear.  I
poured the wine as Bridget blushed and looked away.  I wondered what she
had been whispering.  I bet it was something sexual as suddenly, there was
a palatable tension in the air.  Bridget excused herself and headed off to
the bathroom.



   Megan smiled at me and asked, "Mike, do you really believe that someone
can have a physical relationship, you know, sexual, and not have it affect
their marriage?"



   "Of course," I said.  "As long as they are honest about it, it doesn't
have to be any big deal." I was trying hard to downplay it.  I didn't need
Megan suddenly getting jealous when I was so close.



   "So you think that there could be sex and we wouldn't have to have any
jealousy or envy or complaining?"



   "Oh yes," I said.  "Believe me, sweetheart.  This won't change a thing
between us.  Like the French say, there is sex pour le amour and pour le
sport.  For love and for pleasure.  We can handle sex for fun."



   Megan nodded and smiled.



   Bridget returned and I felt like I was on fire with the anticipation. 
She was so beautiful.  I desperately hoped that Megan wouldn't back out at
the last moment.  Bridget looked my way and smiled.  I felt it all the way
to my cojones.



   Bridget looked over at Megan who nodded.  "Really?" Bridget asked her.



   "Yes," Megan answered.



   I was on cloud nine.  It was going to happen.  I was going to fuck this
angel.



   Bridget looked at me with a tremendous smile.  I was hard in a second.
"Thank you so much for letting Megan," she said.



   Megan?  I was perplexed and I know it showed on my face.  Megan giggled,
"Honey, Bridget doesn't swing your way.  But I'm glad you convinced me this
would be okay.  I've always wondered what it would be like being with
another woman.  I never would have had the courage to try this without you.
I love you."



   Megan stood and took Bridget's hand.  They giggled together as Megan led
Bridget, hand in hand, off to our bedroom.  I sat there stunned beyond
words.  As they disappeared down the hall, I just kept thinking, `My wife
has stolen my girlfriend.'