Filed to story: The Husband Sitter by Jessa Kane
Hello, I’m Astrid.
For as long as I can remember, I have been in love with love.
Warm hugs from my mother, her nimble fingers weaving daisies through my hair. My father making the perfect s’more and handing it to me, laughing at the inevitable marshmallow mess. Those were my first encounters with love. My parents and the life they gave me on the compound was full of affection, selfless gestures. Love. It was everywhere I turned.
My mother, father and I lived in a small cabin on the California property we shared with several other families. “Hippies” they called us in town. A cult. If we were either of those things, so be it. My childhood was happy and full, and I never wanted for anything. I never would have left it, either, except my mother decreed that my gift needed to be shared with the world.
So here I am, riding a bus south to Los Angeles, my clothes, a blanket, and a wallet containing five hundred dollars in a satchel at my feet. My fingers fold the hem of my white, flowery skirt over and over, my eyes wide as sights I never expected to see in real life whiz past. Buildings that reach toward the sky, billboards advertising radio stations. Color and noise everywhere.
Why didn’t I refuse to go? Already I miss afternoon meal and the dancing that followed. The hours of reading under my favorite tree, watching the clouds drift lazily above. I should have gone on a hunger strike or tried another crying jag, but my mother insisted there are people beyond the compound who will benefit from having me in their lives. I don’t know if I agree with her.
Around my tenth birthday, my mother started to notice what made me different. When a person expressed an emotion around me, such as sadness, anger or mirth, I matched it. Empathy, she called it. An extreme version.
Once our neighbor received news from Canada that her sister had passed away. She took to her bed and cried for a week. So did I. That sense of loss and regret…I could almost visualize it leaving her and entering me. My knees lost power and I howled into my pillow, trying to combat the pain. It was as though I lost my sibling, even though I didn’t have one and never met my neighbor’s sister.
Weddings at the commune were the happiest days for me, because the love between the bride and groom would reach out and take hold of me. It became so impossible to contain my joy that my mother would have to remove me from the ceremony so I could spin madly in circles and laugh. More than anything in this world, I adore love. I write poems about it, I hold my breath when a child snuggles their dog, my heart goes wild over a kiss on the cheek.
The world needs more love and empathy, my mother said. Go spread it.
My first stop was the Internet café in town. We didn’t have computers on the compound, but the owner was more than willing to assist me. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for in the Wanted section of the online forum, but I’d recognize my calling when I saw it. That turned out to be true. The advertisement staring back at me from the glowing screen was simple:
Wanted: A non-judgmental young woman.
Create a unique, loving community with three families.
Fee negotiable.
I didn’t need to look any further. An email was sent expressing my interest and the response back contained an address in Bel-Air, Los Angeles. The owner of the Internet café helped me map a route to the location. He asked me if I wanted to have dinner, too, but I declined his kind offer in the interest of answering the advertisement. Surely they will be overrun by candidates. I don’t want to miss this opportunity to see if my mother was correct and my empathy is truly a gift.
The bus lets me out at the bottom of a hill and I check the closest house for an address. Relieved that I’m close by, I renew my grip on my satchel and journey up the palm tree-lined road. The mansions I pass remind me of The Great Gatsby, which I’ve read over a hundred times, the copy of my book dog eared and worn. I wonder how many families live inside each of these homes. Surely it can’t only be one family in all that space. Or a single eccentric millionaire. That only happens in books.
A modern-looking home perched on the cliff overlooking the reservoir brings me to a stop. I double-check the address on my printout. This is where I’m to be interviewed? My pulse begins to skitter and race at the thought of going inside and being scrutinized by strangers. What if I’m not what they want?
I close my eyes and think of a brave mountain climber, tucking her feet into crevices and reaching for the next ledge. The act of envisioning someone being brave bolsters me, filling my lungs with air. Brave. I’m brave, too. I center myself with a breath and press the button to the left of the wrought-iron gate. The camera inside of it moves and I can feel it focusing on me, scanning me with metallic zings and whirs. Then the gate swings open, inviting me to walk down the stone driveway that runs the entire massive length of the mansion.
Ahead, the double doors open and a woman appears in the frame, her hip cocked, eyes thoughtful as she watches me approach. She’s around the age of my mother, but much more…strict. Everything is so strict. Her clothes, her hairstyle. Her smile, her energy. She’s beautiful in different way than I’ve ever encountered. It’s borne of power, experience and care.
“Hello,” I say softly, ascending the steps. “I’m Astrid.”
“Astrid.” She taps her painted mouth while looking me over. “Aren’t you a pleasant surprise?”
“Oh…thank you?”
Her mouth twitches. “I’m Mrs. Black. Follow me.”
With that, she turns on a black high heel and disappears into the house. The air conditioning beckons and I walk inside, letting it wrap around me. My mouth drops open at the extravagance of the interior. A chandelier the size of a station wagon hangs three stories above, stopping overhead in the center of the room. Staircases twist on either end of the huge foyer. Polished marble floors gleam so brightly, I worry I’ll scuff them as I follow the woman into a sitting room.
Two other women sit beside one another on an antique couch, and I smile in greeting, taking a seat across from them. The first woman has deep brown skin and a crown of gray braids gathered on the top of her head. She wears a purple silk tunic adorned with gold flowers and holds a quiet dignity. The second woman is blonde and petite with nervous fingers. That jittery energy crawls toward me and I gulp, breathing through the sudden inundation of apprehension. Remember the mountain climber.
“Now then,” says Mrs. Black where she stands in front of a large picture window. “Ladies, may I introduce Astrid.”
They murmur hello.
Mrs. Black clicks toward the couch, laying a hand on the shoulder of the woman wearing purple silk. “Astrid, this is Mrs. Blue.” She indicates the blonde woman. “And this is Mrs. Red.” All three women trade a covert glance and I chew my lip, once again worried that I’m not what they were hoping for. “I think we can all agree we didn’t expect someone, well, so…strikingly beautiful. My dear, where on earth did you come from?”
“A magical place,” I whisper, relieved. “And thank you.”
Mrs. Black smiles. “We have a rather delicate proposition for you.”
“The advertisement said you wanted a unique, loving community,” I say. “I want that, too. It’s…all I know.”
“Yes, we were vague on purpose, Astrid,” says Mrs. Blue, sitting forward. “You see, what we want from you is very unorthodox.”
“We want you to please our husbands,” blurts Mrs. Red.
Briefly, Mrs. Black closes her eyes. When she opens them again, her gaze is sharper. “You see, Astrid, we realized over a bottle of rosé recently that we share a similar plight, although…for different reasons. Let me explain.”
I’m still reeling from Mrs. Red’s pronouncement, but all I can do is sit and listen. My other option is to get up and run from the house. That would be unkind, and these women have been nothing but nice to me so far. Please their husbands? In the way my mother pleases my father sometime in the dark? I barely know what such a thing entails. Once Mrs. Black finishes her explanation, I’ll tell them I’m an inexperienced virgin, we’ll all laugh at the miscommunication and I’ll look for another calling.
“I’m an interior designer, Astrid. A very successful—and busy—one. My husband is much younger than me and I no longer have the energy or time to keep up with his sex drive. We’re devoted to each other, but he needs…an occasional playmate, so to speak. He’ll deny it, but I know the truth. And I’m more than happy to fulfill his need. With you, Astrid, if you agree.”
Mrs. Black nods at Mrs. Blue, who nods and takes over. “My situation is somewhat different. I…” She breaks off, rolling her lips together and chuckling to herself. “I have something of a fantasy, you see. Of catching my husband with another woman. Since my fiftieth birthday is coming up, I’ve decided to embrace this part of my sexuality and…well, I’d like to watch him…take you, Astrid. Very much.”
Something is happening to me. It’s not subtle, either. I’m growing flush from head to toe and moisture is gathering between my thighs. This has never happened before. I long to throw myself into an ice bath, but at the same time, the low tug in my belly is…thrilling. The buds of my breasts tighten and I shift in my seat, trying to get comfortable and failing. What is happening to me? It’s the energy of the women, I know. The act of speaking about their desires—about intercourse—is giving them this hot, lustful feeling and thus, I’m experiencing it, too.
My gift is buzzing out of control.
“A-and you, Mrs. Red?” I breathe.
She opens her mouth and snaps it shut, saying nothing.
“Why don’t we save Mrs. Red’s situation for another time?” Mrs. Black cuts in smoothly. “We have all the time in the world, don’t we?”
Mrs. Blue smiles at me. “Have we thrown you for a loop, dear?”
“Yes,” I admit honestly.
“Of course you’ll be wondering what you get out of this bargain,” Mrs. Black continues, spreading her hands. “We’ll shower you with money and comfort, of course. A place to live. Transportation. Anything you could ever want, my dear.”
That’s a relief, since I don’t have unlimited funds or a place to stay, but I’m more concerned about something else. The reason I came here. “How will we create a unique, loving community?”
“We’re all close friends, Astrid,” explains Mrs. Blue. “We want you to be our friend, too. A special one. All six of us have these…needs. And it’s going to take an extraordinary person to help fulfill them and make our small community of seven happier.” She pauses to wet her lips. “We only ask that you make sure we’re involved or aware of any time you spend with our husbands. To make this work, we have to be honest and forthcoming. That’s the kind of community we’re trying to create. An honest, loving one.”
“I see.” I smooth my skirt down my thighs, and the friction raises goosebumps all over my skin. My pulse pumps and my panties grow more and more sodden the longer I remain in this potent energy. Lust times three, directed at me. I’ve never experienced sexual desire, and I can’t help but be curious if it gets even better. If my own hands excite me, what would a man’s hands feel like? A man whose hunger would transfer to me and make me feel it, too?
I want to know. Am I crazy for wanting to know?
There’s more, too. These women possess love. It’s bright and shimmering around them. Their auras and intentions are pure and honest. I’ve only been in their company for a matter of minutes and I already want to lay my head in their laps and listen to them talk about their friendship. Their marriages. Something important waits here with these people and I don’t want to walk away without exploring it.
“Astrid?” prompts Mrs. Black.
“I want to say yes. A-and my mother did make sure I was on birth control before I left home.” I blush over making such personal admissions out loud to near strangers. “The thing is…I have no experience with men. I’m a virgin.”
Mrs. Black tilts her head. “And you actually think this is a deal breaker?”
“It’s not?”
The three women laugh. “On the contrary,” says Mrs. Blue. “Although we might argue a little over who gets you first.”
A moment later, I’m warmed within three embraces, imbued with the excitement and anticipation of the women. I’m about to embark on an adventure and I don’t know what it holds. But there’s no turning back now.