I am snooping. Looking for the tidbits and trivia and exciting little details that make for the fodder of my restless imagination.

It is what I do at parties when I have nobody to play with, left alone in a big house, perhaps even your house (be careful what you leave in the open or even well hidden in your drawers and closets or you may find yourself in a story for you know not who I am) or in this particular case the house of my wife's boss and her husband.

It is good to be out of our house, out of our polite fiction and our strained politeness, free to wander the halls of someone else's fiction, to dig around a little and find their truth. My wife to my knowledge does not snoop, but she too seemed unusually glad to come here, to be away from kids and mundane chores and to have at least one evening an audience that has not heard her stories every day for the last twenty years. So glad to be here that she seemed almost at home, which she rarely even seems well, you know, at home.

Gently I tug on each drawer in the bedroom, noting first the position, fully closed or partially open, so that i may return it to its original state when I have concluded my snooping.

The drawers yield little of interest, beyond the usual collections of lingerie, vibrators, handcuffs and unmarked video tapes I cannot watch, all of which tell me that the couple, like most couples, is sexually active, and about as kinky as everyone else.

But it is in the closet that I find what I never expected - a piece of lingerie, a simple white transparent robe with two small rips near the hem, hanging on a hanger.

There are three reasons this find intrigues me:

1) The rest of the lingerie is in a drawer, reasonably hidden from sight and probably only rarely worn. That this one item is by itself indicates that it is somehow different from the rest, perhaps more favored, or belonging to someone else, a frequent guest perhaps.

2) If the wearer is a frequent guest the prominent placement suggests that she is known to both people who share this room, and perhaps even wears it with both of them when she visits.

3) I know the item in question. It was a wedding shower gift of my wife's from one of her college friends, unless someone has managed to coincidentally rip an identical garment in exactly the same two places I ripped it while fucking her on our wedding night.

Which explains why my wife was so glad to come here and acted at home when she arrived. She has been here before, probably many times, on this bed, which I now find myself sitting on, in that robe, which I find myself still staring at, being fucked by her boss's husband while her boss watches, being finger-fucked by her boss while her boss's husband watches, eating her boss while her boss's husband fucks her, masturbating while she watches her boss and her boss's husband. God only knows. God and those unmarked videotapes.

I find myself sitting on the bed, staring at the open closet, wishing I could watch those tapes, squeezing myself as I imagine what might be on them, making no effort to cover my tracks, waiting for somebody else to find me.