wife and my secrets

The Special Club

As the woman took her seat, I couldn't help but steal glances at her. She exuded an intoxicating allure, like a glass of aged red wine with an enchanting fragrance.

"Care for a smoke?" the woman asked, opening a pink clutch with black rims in her hand. She pulled out a box of women's cigarettes and offered me one.

In the dim lighting of the bar, I noticed her slender fingers, fair and smooth, despite the absence of nail polish. I rarely smoked, so I shook my head in response.

She appeared surprised by my refusal but quickly put away the pack, mockingly saying, "It's a good thing I don't smoke. I've thought about it, but I can't quit." She extracted a cigarette between her fingers, retrieved a lady-like IMCO lighter, and prepared to ignite it. Then, she paused, looking at me, and asked, "Do you mind if I smoke?"

The cigarette in her hand was slim and white, and I couldn't discern the brand. With a respectful nod, I smiled, indicating that I didn't mind.

She reciprocated with a smile, skillfully flipping open the lighter's lid and gracefully holding the cigarette between her seductive red lips.

That sight made me quickly avert my gaze, focusing on my drink instead. Many men would have dreamt of being a cigarette butt nestled between those lips.

A soft "swoosh" sound accompanied the dimly lit flame as it flickered, illuminating a spark that soon faded away. The woman gently drew the smoke into her mouth, her tongue playfully grazing her crimson lips, and exhaled a wisp of mist.

Her eyes appeared hazy, the smoke escaping her red lips, as if she were expelling a lifetime of dust. Whether it was the alcohol or her ethereal beauty, she seemed so unreal amidst the smoke that it felt like I was in a dream.

"Can I buy you a drink?" she said, deftly opening the lighter's lid, her words flowing effortlessly as if rehearsed countless times.

I was about to decline, but before I could utter a word, she called out to the bartender and said, "Make this gentleman a Late-Night Elf."

The bartender smiled and nodded, swiftly scanning through the bar's collection. Judging by the bartender's familiarity and respectful response, it was evident that she was a regular and knew the place well.

"Thank you!" I said, unable to refuse the already concocted drink, and turned my gratitude towards the woman.

Soon enough, the bartender placed the mixed drink in a cocktail glass before me.

I had never tried bartending before, and I rarely consumed white wine. As I inhaled the strong scent wafting from the glass, I hesitated while glancing at the beautiful woman sitting beside me.

The woman tapped off the ash from her cigarette, smiled, and motioned, "Go ahead, give it a try."

Beautiful women always have a way of making a man unable to say no.

I picked up my glass, and as I brought it closer, its aroma grew more intense. Just the smell alone made me feel dizzy and nauseous. The liquid within the glass resembled poison; no one knew what would happen after consuming it. I hesitated to take a sip.

"It's made with black rum, ouzo, grenadine, lemon juice, and ice cubes. It's a bit strong, but I love the taste. You should give it a try," she explained.

I was taken aback by her knowledge of wines; she began listing names I had only heard of in passing. She looked at me, slightly encouraging, slightly seductive. Men simply couldn't resist such temptation. I clenched my teeth and drank the entire glass. A fiery warmth surged through my throat and body. I stuck out my tongue and exhaled, feeling the burning sensation in my throat and stomach.

She seemed surprised that I downed it in one gulp, but amusement quickly flickered across her face.

Being able to bring joy to a beautiful woman was something every man would willingly do. I must have looked comical and physically unwell, but seeing her happy made it all worthwhile.

"I forgot to mention, this wine is meant to be savored slowly, allowing your body to acclimate to its strength before fully enjoying it," she said, suppressing a smile, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

I also had a vague sense that she deliberately remained silent, so I cleared my throat gently, attempting to alleviate the heat in my throat.

Suddenly, she switched her cigarette to her other hand and reached out to pat me on the back.

Her unexpected gesture caught me off guard, and as her soft, delicate hands made contact, I froze for a few seconds. I could distinctly feel the warmth of her touch, akin to a soothing autumn breeze capable of healing pain, leaving one entranced. Although my cough subsided, I had an inexplicable desire for her touch never to cease.

Not long after the wine passed my throat, my entire body warmed up, and the alcohol's potency began affecting me, compounded by the beer I had consumed earlier. I shook my head, attempting to regain my senses, but it only made my head spin, as if the world were spinning in that glass.

"This is too strong!" I managed to say through gritted teeth.

She took a drag from her cigarette, exhaled the smoke, and with the mist enveloping her completely, she looked up at the overhead light and said, "The distinct burn of the black rum, combined with the sweetness of the anise liqueur, creates a complex cocktail—like a restless, enigmatic spirit of the night, forever restless, yet haunting."

She seemed to relish vanishing amidst the smoke, becoming invisible, elusive, and giving the illusion of a dream. I surmised that this might be what captivated her about cigarettes.

Her voice was enchanting, and listening to her was a pleasure in itself. I listened attentively, momentarily forgetting about the effects of alcohol on my body.

"Every country has its own folk remedies for curing hangovers. Greeks mix lemon juice with ground coffee powder to find relief. The Yugoslavians rely on sour cabbage or kimchi for their cure, while Brazilians opt for strong coffee. Then there are the Australians who swear by pickled herring, and the Ghanaians who consume beef offal seasoned with plenty of pepper. But if you think about it, once you're drunk, why would you want to wake up?" she spoke at length about wines, and I didn't quite know what to say since I knew so little about them. As she uttered her final words, I noticed a faint smile on her lips, almost mocking or even defiant. I couldn't tell whether it was her beguiling perfume, her hazy eyes, or her captivating voice, but there were so many things about her that intrigued me deeply. I unconsciously engaged in conversation with her, covering various topics such as work, society, and everything in between. Through our conversation, I discovered her unique perspectives and experiences.

Somehow, our conversation shifted to our families. Perhaps we felt comfortable at that moment. I'm not sure if it was due to the wine or something else. Nevertheless, I confided in her, revealing the marital woes I had never shared with anyone, not even my closest friends or my wife who slept beside me every night.

I have a vivid recollection of the moment she uttered those words. Instead of comforting or analyzing, she turned her head and smiled at me. With a graceful gesture, she extinguished her cigarette and called the bartender over to prepare two more cups of old Shanghai.

Considering my previous experience, I hesitated as I looked at the glass before me. I was afraid that if I drank it, I might not be able to find my way back home.

However, she lifted her glass and proposed, "Come, let's have a drink together." Anticipating my hesitation, she quickly added, "As a gentleman, it is very impolite to refuse a lady's invitation."

Though I was already in a half-drunken state, her words compelled me to pick up my glass once again. What man could refuse an invitation from such a beautiful woman?

We clinked our glasses together gently, and the swirling liquid inside resembled my own swirling emotions. I felt as if I was floating, unsure if it was all just a dream or if it was reality.

As she had suggested, this time the drink seemed to have an effect. With familiarity, the liquid coursed through my body, igniting a fiery sensation that made me feel as if I were dripping with desire.

"Not bad, not bad," I managed to stammer. To be honest, my mind was hazy and muddled after consuming that drink.

I could vaguely discern the slight curve of her bright red lips, a smile that seemed to be perpetually present. I knew she was smiling, her smile always carrying a hint of mischief.

"I know a game that can solve your problem. Do you want to try it?" she asked, placing her glass down and allowing her gaze to become hazy.

I once again saw that captivating fascination in her eyes and inquired, "What game?"

In a sudden, seductive whisper, she leaned close to my ear and revealed, "Wife change."