1. Third Thursday


    Date: 9/15/2017, Categories: Cheating, Author: mrotis, Source: LushStories

    It was the third Thursday of the month. I had checked into the hotel alone; she was running late. I headed to the second floor. We always booked the same room on the second floor. Gemma and I had been lovers for more than two years. We had been introduced at a business reception and immediately hit it off. We both found the party boring, so we got really drunk. After leaving to have dinner, we decided we fancied each other and got a room for the evening. For several months, we could not get enough of each other even though we were both ‘happily’ married. The sex was just too good. Eventually, we settled into a routine: the third Thursday afternoon of every month. While we loved each other, we were both comfortable with our respective spouses and families. We did not want to lose each other, but we weren’t willing to risk all that we already had. As I walked down the corridor, I saw the housekeeper arranging linen in the cupboard. She looked up and gave me a big smile. She had seen Gemma and me come to the same room regularly, but she never batted an eye. It was a luxury hotel where the staff were taught to respect the guests, especially regulars. It probably didn’t hurt that Gemma told me each month to leave the maid a big tip because we had “messed up the bed”. "Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you,” the housekeeper said with a pleasing Eastern European accent. “Extra towels, anything at all. It’s no trouble.” I nodded, said thanks and continued down the ...
    hallway. My phone rang just as I was about to slip the key card into the door. It was Gemma, and she was crying. “I can’t see you, Brett, today or ever again,” she sobbed. “I stupidly left the last hotel bill in the waste bin, and Byron somehow found it. God only knows how. I had to tell him everything; he said he would leave me if I didn’t. I had to promise I would never see you again. Perhaps this is for the best. We’ve probably been living on borrowed time. This has to be the end. Goodbye, my love.” The line went dead before I could say anything. I slumped against the still-locked door. My mind was working overtime. Should I call her back? No, her husband could be with her. Perhaps this was for the best. One of our spouses was sure to have eventually found out. But still, could I live without her … without our Thursday afternoons? I felt empty and began crying. The housekeeper heard my sobs. “Here, let me help,” she said, taking the keycard from me and opening the door. She sat me to the bed and then got a glass of water for me. I murmured thanks, but much to my surprise she sat next to me on the bed rather than disappear out the door. I did not have to explain why I was crying; she had already figured it out. “I noticed you and your friend because you came here often and you were a polite, very attractive couple. Both of you always said hello when you saw me; most people don’t give me the time of day. “It’s been six years since I came to this country and started working ...
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