Charlie stood at the window, one side of the curtain drawn back, watching the tiny speck people walking along the white beach.  They were all too far away to see him, but he stayed hidden by cloth and balcony wall, naked, guilty.

He glanced around the little room.  Dead center on the right wall was the bed.  Almost perfectly on the quarter was the dresser, plain, clear pine, uncluttered by any personal objects, holding only a pair of plastic cups and a bottle of dark red wine, open and breathing.  Opposite the bed was a similar entertainment unit, closed now.  Nightstands guarded the bed.  Heavily lined curtains over pale gold sheers covered the window that led onto the balcony.  In the corner sat an upholstered chair and a small, round table.  All the fabrics were tastefully bland sage green and gold flowers.  On the other side of the room was the little hall that led to the closet, the bathroom, and the hotel room door.

His clothes created the only disorder in the room -- his shoes by the hallway, his pants and shirt tossed across the chair, his socks and briefs in a pile by the rumpled bed.  All signs of Todd were gone now, as if Todd had never been, as if he hadn't met the man there just a bare hour before, hadn't looked at him and caressed him and rubbed nakedly against him. He felt tired and sore and very, very scared.  Todd had not kissed him before he left.  He'd risen from the bed like a ghost, slipped in and out of the hot shower water, glided into his clothes and out the door, leaving nothing behind but the crumpled condom on the nightstand.

Charlie wanted to cry.  Instead, he rubbed a bruise on his shoulder, where Todd had bitten him, and wondered what he would say when Alecia questioned him about it.

Todd was certainly beautiful.  There was no doubting that.  Sculpted and tan, blond and muscular, Todd was all about looking beautiful.  He said he was a good fuck when they’d met three weeks ago, but now Charlie wasn't sure.  As much expectation as he'd had -- the surreptitious phone calls, the emails, the planning and waiting and ball tightening anticipation -- this hadn't been what he'd thought it would be.  The feeling of voluptuous surrender had lasted maybe 10 minutes.  Then he'd felt clumsy and shy, and very out of place.  Everything he knew about making love he'd learned from his wife.  None of it had been right for Todd.

No kissing, for a start.

"I don't kiss," Todd flatly said after removing his shirt.  "I don't give head, I don't bottom, and I don't kiss."  Charlie had let the shock of the declaration wash over him.  He was already naked by that time, his penis tugging upward as Todd stripped, his stomach knotting.  He'd let it go by, forgot it, and climbed onto the bed.
Alecia kissed wonderfully.  She was dark and a little chubby, with soft skin and large eyes.  She was usually timid and passive in bed with Charlie, but her lips always welcomed him.  He loved her.

"I love her," he told the specks on the beach, gathered now to watch the setting sun.  "I love my wife."

The specks below moved and paused, moved and paused, their motion mysterious and silent.  He closed the curtain. The room became murky dim. The wine bottle was still full, so he poured some into a plastic cup and drank it.  It was dry on his tongue.

"I don't like wine," Todd announced when he'd offered some.  "Come on, you want this or not?"

The wine settled harshly in Charlie's stomach.  Alecia hadn't liked wine when they'd met, and had been puzzled by his interest in it.  Bottle after bottle he'd brought to her.  He'd spent hours teaching her about bouquet and sediment and the varieties of grape.  Her preference was frankly more for the Kool-aid flavors, but she'd listened and tasted and nodded.  He didn't think she ever drank wine without him.  She rarely drank more than a few glasses.  Wine flushed her skin and made her laugh loose and loud, but he liked her when she was tipsy.

He put down the plastic cup and stared a moment at the dark red ring at the bottom.  She hadn't questioned his story about meeting a friend on this Saturday afternoon.  Usually Saturdays were spent puttering around their little house, working in the yard or attempting one of the dozens of projects always looming.  She could sew and paint and hammer with the best of them.  More often than not, he wished she would do it without his help.  The old house was "quaint" and “cozy” to her, but to him it was just a place to live that squeaked and leaked.

The bathroom light cut a defining line of brightness through the dark hallway.  He peeked around the door.  Both towels were crumpled on the floor in a small puddle. A few blonde hairs clung to the tiled wall and the fake marble vanity.  His reflection in the mirror looked pale and empty.  He turned away and picked up the towels.  The faintest whiff of Todd's cologne still clung to them.  He buried his face in the scented terrycloth, inhaling deeply.  When he was numb to the smell, he folded the towels and laid them across the back of the toilet, then turned on the water.  It would be dark soon, and he needed to be home in time for dinner.