Filthy logo

Out of the Blue

Part one

By Josephine RileyPublished 5 years ago 22 min read

At one point that summer my husband looked at me with a sly smile and said, "You know, we've been married almost seven years, think we'll get the itch?"

"Psssh. No. I don't even feel itchy around you. Not after all these kids."

It was a little tongue in cheek, that comment. We did have four kids though. I was 32 then and quite content at the thought of being kid free at 50. I also stand firm on never wanting to take birth control, so celibacy seemed the safest bet. I joked about running away to a convent in europe all the time. But now I know I'd never make good nun.

It was August, and we were on our way home from Boston, the kids all sleeping in the back of our mini van as we headed north in the moonlight. It was a super blood moon and as it rose above the trees I was captivated by its size and strange color. Brian and I were laughing and talking about silly things. We felt so close at that moment, reveling in our inside jokes and holding hands. He was my best friend in the whole world. We loved and fought with lots of compassion, but lately it had turned to more fighting than loving. I pondered his question. Would I ever want to cheat? Would he? I looked over at him, he was smiling and telling me a story. Fuck. I wasn't listening.

"....So I told her, 'I don't know Sarah, maybe if you would have told him about it, he wouldn't have done that!'"

"Crazy... she's so stubborn," I say, hoping that point is relevant.

"Yeah, she's really got to get her shit together."

I looked back at the moon, still thinking about it. It's probably not an issue at all, I told myself. I can't imagine that happening. We are both too shy and comfortable with each other to want to cheat.

But I was wrong.

A few months later, I had started working at a nearby inn and bar, a big beautiful house with a connecting barn that had been remodeled to its current business. It started out as an actual home, a gift for a wealthy man's bride. Her portrait hangs on the wall in the dining room. She's in her wedding gown, its 1897, she is gazing to the right with her chin raised royally. Sometimes I would catch myself thinking about how romantic it was.

I had just started my shift. My sandy blonde hair was up in a french braid and I was dressed in the prescribed manner, solid black. Skinny jeans and a black tank top. I was five months post partum, but my body had bounced right back, like all the other times. I was back to my usual 120 pounds, which looked good on my 5'5" frame. I knew it, and I liked the attention I received at the bar, but was always quick to smile and to say, "Happily married with four kids!" to anyone bold enough to want to say anything. I loved shutting them down.

I lit the candles on the tables and walked behind the bar to open up the register and check what needed to be restocked. Back to the door, I didn't turn at first when I heard it open. It was probably just Steve shuffling in for his afternoon swill. It was not the sound of Steve's shuffle, but a deliberate gait I heard. When I looked up, I saw a pair of brown eyes I can never forget. It took me a few seconds to even register the rest of him.

He was not very tall, dark brown hair, a prominent nose, olive skin.... this must be the Italian guy, I realized. His eyebrows raised and he smiled broadly at me, a little wave from his fingers under his backpack strap. I think I must have smiled. I had no control of my face. I had to look down.

To my surprise, he walked right by and up to his room. Phew. That was weird. What, exactly just happened?

Within a few minutes Steve did come in and sit in his usual chair ordering his usual drink and complaining about the usual things. I smiled and razzed him lovingly about being such a rascally old grump. He would give me attitude, but I knew he liked me and didn't mind.

More people wandered in, a couple at table one, two guys in for baseball and beers. It wasn't going to be a busy Monday night. It never was.

Around 8 o'clock, the Italian guy came back downstairs, showered, and dressed in a jean jacket and jeans. I smirked at him and asked what he would like.

"Ahm..." he leaned over the bar, frowning and sucked air through his teeth, "I'll have a Stella." He sat back and smiled. "Please."

Now I was smiling. He was beautiful. His smile warmed my whole body and I suddenly felt butterflies. I turned and bent to get a Stella, feeling his eyes on me. I looked up and caught him checking out my ass.

I raised one eyebrow at him and popped the top of his beer. "Would you like a glass?" I ask, handing him a napkin.

"Yes, please," he says.

He is here working at the local bottling plant. The company he works for sends guys here all the time. I've never met one before, but damn if I hadn't always had a thing for Italian guys. 'Keep your head on, Jo,' I told myself. 'You're happy married with four kids right? Right?'

I was relieved when my favorite regular came in and sat down, Walter. An old bachelor who lived alone in the hills. No pets, no women, and recently, no booze. After his heart attack, he only had ginger beer at the bar. Two of them, every night starting at 8:30. If he found your company amusing enough he'd sip 'em slow and tell good stories from his rambling days. He smokes a lot of weed still, but that's it. I love talking to Walt. His manner is so subtle, if you pay attention, he is always saying something, usual with a closed mouth.

I settled in the corner of the bar and ignored the Italian as much as I could. I served him dinner and brought him another drink before he finally went upstairs. I was relieved when he left. Walt heard me audibly sigh and raised his eyebrows at me.

"What?!" I said.

He pursed his lips and shrugged, deeply. Grabbed his ginger beer and took a swig laughing as he turned to the TV.

"Whatever, Walt," I said, lifting a box of empties for the back room.

"What, Evah?" he said, looking away, then laughed.

When I got home, it was almost 11. The kids were all sleeping and so was Brian. The house was clean and warm and as I slipped my naked body under the sheets, I thought, my life is so good. Why would I ever give this up? I snuggled up to Brian as the big spoon and kissed his neck.

No, it couldn't get any better than this.


The next night, after opening the bar, I just sat and waited for two hours. No one was coming in. I wondered about the Italian, when did he get out of work? Oh God. I can't be like this. Go find something to get busy on. I turned around and noticed a greasy thumbprint on one of the wine glasses that should have been clean. Gross. I scanned the rows of glasses. They were all greasy looking. I frowned at them and put my hands on my hips. I guess I can wash the glasses.

I washed all of them, dried them and was placing the last ones back when I heard the distinct squeak of the door. Deliberate footprints again. I looked up smiling, and once again, those eyes! They drew me in like a big hug and as he walked closer, I saw his body turn for a second like he was going upstairs, but instead he came and sat directly in front of me.

"What'll it be today?" I asked, handing him a napkin.

"Stella," he said, smiling broadly.

His eyes twinkled and I got him a chilled glass and popped his bottle open.

"So, you're from Italy right?"

He nodded. "Yep. Here to work at the Poland Spring. I have been here since Thursday, working 12 hour days."

"Nice," I said. "I've always wanted to go to Italy, I supposedly have family over there that I've never met, but I've been told I can visit any time."

"Really? Where?"

"Sicily, Palermo," I replied, turning to write something.

"No, no. You must never go to this place. That is a very bad place for a woman like you to go."

"Really? Why? "

"There is a division in Italy. North, good. South, not so good," he said, using his hands to illustrate the line. "It's very dangerous. There are many bad people there. You know our government is run by the mob? Everybody knows it. They killed our last president, but made it look like a heart attack. Those are all people in the south of Italy. No. This is not a good place for you."

I shrugged, "Okay."

He smiled. "What is your name?"

"Jo," I said, extending my hand over the bar.

He took it gently and examined it. "You have very beautiful hands," he said.

I pulled my hand away and studied his face, "Thanks."

"Jo... this is short for Josephine?" His face looked quizzical.


"Ah, bella. This is a beautiful name."

I smiled and walked out to the kitchen. What is wrong with me? Usually they don't get under my skin like this. He's good. I thought. Too good. Fucking Italian stallion, I bet. Slayin' bitches left and right. Not me. I told myself. No way, no how. He hadn't even told me his name. Whatever.

A little while later after taking his order, I realized I hadn't turned the TVs on. I switched them on and looked around.

The bar was empty still except for the Italian. He smiled at me and asked what I do for fun.

"I have four kids," I said.

"Wow. That's a lot."

"Yep," I said, nodding. "It is." I looked over at the TV.

"Have you ever seen the movie 'I, origins'?" he asked.

"Nope," I said, shaking my head.

He smiled. I smiled back, I couldn't help it.

"You should watch it," he said, "I think you will like it."

I brought out his dinner and silverware, and he began telling me about his travels, his life. He had gone back to school a few years before and trained to do his current job. He wanted to travel, see other countries, explore. And he needed money.

"For my ex wife debts," he said, frowning. "I make really good money now, and travel a lot, but it's lonely sometimes." He looked down at his plate. "Do you know any girls I can meet?" He looked up into my eyes, did I imagine longing there?

I smiled, a little sarcastically at him. "Nope. Slim pickings around here, the good ones are already married with kids," I said, with a wink.

He smiled. "I can see."

We must look like a couple idiots, I thought. Smiling and looking at each other like this. I am an idiot, because I'm actually thinking about it... ugh. Shut up, Jo.

The door opened up and in walks Walt. It's 8:30 already?!

I set him up with his ginger beer before he even makes it to the bar. He seems grumpy and doesn't want to chat. So I'm drawn back into conversation with the Italian. He is actually very interesting. His english is really good.

At one point though, he says "...all it takes it pat-yents."

"What?" I ask.

"Aahm, pa-ti-ents?"

"Patience ?" I suggest.

"Yes, thank you," he says sincerely.

I smile.

"Would you like to, smoke a cigarette with me?"

I look over at Walt, he's watching college girls play volley ball.

"Sure. Walt, you're good?"

Walt just looks at me and looks away. "Yep."

As we walked across the room, I felt butterflies. I hadn't felt that in years. It was nice...

He held the door open for me smiling, I walked by and opened to second door for him, making a small mocking bow. He tilted his head and we stepped into the night air.

He handed me a cigarette and offered to light it. I cupped my hand around his, blocking the breeze and inhaled. He lit his own cigarette and smiled at me. "Will I see you again before I leave?"

"When are you leaving?" I asked.


"My next shift isn't until next Monday, so probably not." I took a drag and exhaled looking up at the stars.

"That's too bad."

He was watching me intently, it was making me a little uncomfortable, but I steeled myself against it. We sat in some silence until we were done smoking.

"What is your preferred drink?" he asked.

"Whiskey," I said, with a definite nod. "I always have a shot at the end of the night."

"Would you like to have a drink with me?"


We went inside, and as I went for the bottle of Makers Mark I caught Walt smiling at me sideways.

"What?!" I laughed.

Walt shrugged in his usual Walt way and shook his head, taking his last swig of ginger beer. Placing his customary two dollars on the bar he stood up and brushed off his shirt.

"Goodnight, Jo."

"Goodnight, Walt." I smiled at him, resting my arms on the bar. "See you next time."

He saluted me and walked towards the door.

I poured two shots of whiskey and toasted the Italian.

I shot it down, and he laughed at me, while he took a small sip and rested the glass on the bar. We smiled at each other and I leaned on the beer cooler.

"It was nice to meet you," he said, gazing at me with some intensity.

I looked down and smiled, "You too." When I looked up he was studying my face. He smiled and made a slight nod, saluting me with his shot glass and taking the rest in. He stood up and turned to go. Then stopped.

"Will you reach me? Online, I mean?"

"Um. Sure."

"Do you have..." he made a motion of writing.

I turned and grabbed scrap paper and a pen.

He sat back down and carefully wrote his name. As he handed it to me he winked.

Lord. He must just do this everywhere, I think.

"Have a good night," I said, and turned to the register to z out.

After he walked away I looked down. Massimo Favato. It said. Massimo Favato. It had a staccato ring to it, like a heartbeat and it burned into my brain. I ripped up the paper and threw it in the trash. I'll never write to you. I thought. I'm going to forget about this right now.

But I didn't forget. I never will.


When I got home Brian was still awake, but barely. I took off my clothes and snuggled in his arms. So safe, so warm. We started kissing and he suddenly jerked back.

"Whoa, what has you all horned up?" he asked.

I giggled. "The Italian guy was hitting on me hard tonight."

Brian pulled back and looked in my eyes. I blushed.


"You should go for it," he said, serious.

"No. Ew!" I buried my face in his chest.

He tickled me and laughed. "You like this guy!"

"I do not!"

Ugh, I sounded 12. Kory laughed again.

"Yes, you do. C'mon Jo. This is perfect. I've always wanted you to be with another man, he'll go away and you won't ever see him again. Just don't make any attachments."

Brian had always had a thing about cuckolding. It probably had something to do with how much his Mom cheated on his Dad as a kid. I always was a firm no on it, believing in marriage as a sanction. But now, well...

But could I do this without an attachment? I used to all the time before Brian. Never had a one night stand, more like five or six nights spread over a month or so, then I disappeared. I wasn't good with firm goodbyes. Or keeping in contact.... but I felt on the edge of something, it felt terrifying.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I can't."

"Alright... but, man, it'd be so perfect."

I rolled over, not wanting to fool around anymore. Brian tried to caress me, but I shrugged him off. Nevermind, I thought. The moment is over.


During the next day, Brian continued to talk to me about it. Knowing my religious background, he brought up the story of Hosea, who married a harlot because God told him to. He sent me links to articles about how opening up a marriage can possibly save it. He then outright begged me.

I was taken aback. He really wanted this. When I thought of it, of this Massimo Favato... well, I guess I did want to.

"Alright," I finally texted back. "I can pick up the thursday shift in the kitchen. That's the last night he's here."

"Perfect. I'm so excited!"

I raised my eyebrows and set down the phone. Looking into the living room at my kids playing on the floor, I thought about what could happen, what it would mean... but, Brian wanted it and seemed to think it was fine so... it'll be fine, I told myself. Brian seems to think it'll be fine. So it will be.


By Thursday evening my stomach was in coils. I was breaking out in a sweat just thinking about it. I took a cold shower and shaved my legs, wondering how the night would progress.

Brian walked in the bathroom and poked his smiling head behind the shower curtain.

"Just making sure you shaved. I'm going to pick out your outfit okay?"

"Okay," I said. This feels weird, I thought.

I cut the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around myself. There was a long black skirt and a sleeveless button up top laid across the bed. Brian was rummaging in my underwear drawer.

"You need some new undies, Jo," he said holding up a grungy pair with a hole in them.

"Yeah, I know," I said, waving a hand at him. "Just hand me that black pair."

He pulled out my only pair of sexy undies, black lacey cheeky briefs.

"Nice," he said, "your butt looks really good in these.

"Yeah, yeah." I rolled my eyes at him, "get out of here so I can get ready.

He giggled and wiggled his fingers in front of his mouth. "I feel like your gay best friend Jo. This is so fun. Can't I watch you put on your makeup?"

I looked at him quizzically. Who the fuck is this? I wondered.

"No! Now get out," I said, pointing at the door.

He giggled again and pulled me in for a quick kiss and a hug. Pulling back he smiled and looked into my eyes. "Thank you," he said, very sincerely.

"Uh, you're welcome?"

"Okay, I'll let you get ready then."

He turned and walked out the door, shutting it behind him.

I exhaled loudly out of my mouth, shaking my head. Sometimes, I wonder about that kid, I thought with a laugh. I just wonder...


I was cooking in the kitchen, and Stephanie was working the bar. I was glad I got to hide in the back, but I wanted to see Massimo when he walked in the bar.

Stephanie wanted to try to make pierogi's, so we set up a station in the empty dining room and started rolling out dough and talking.

She was telling me a story and I wasn't listening at all. I had my head down focusing on my task with the rolling pin. I heard the dining room door open and looked up.

He stopped midstep and stared at me.

I smiled wiping my hands nervously on my apron.

"Hi," I said, with a little wave. I was smiling so hard it hurt.

He was smiling too, his eyes twinkled.

"Hi," he said back.

He didn't even look at Stephanie. His eyes stayed on me until he turned to go up the stairs.

I snapped to and started rolling dough again then stopped when I realized Stephanie was just staring at me.


She smiled coyly at me.


I blushed at the table, smiling.

I got an order from the bar and went back in the kitchen.

It wasn't very busy, but busy enough.

When Stephanie brought Massimo's order in, I started sweating again. Gross. What the fuck is happening? Maybe he won't even want to sleep with me. Maybe I made the whole thing up in my head. No, I knew he liked me. I'd find a way to approach him.

I cleaned up the kitchen, hoping he was still sitting in the bar. I mopped the floor and shut off the lights. Turning, I stopped and drew in a breath. Like Brian said, no attachments right? Right. I got this. I walked into the bar and found him sitting at a table alone. He was done eating had just finished an espresso. I walked up behind him and touched his shoulder. He turned surprised, but smiled warmly as our eyes met.

"Would you like to have a smoke with me?" I asked.

"Yep." He stood and grabbed his jacket and followed me outside. It was a little chilly. He took out his pack and then motioned to his car. "It is a little chilly, would you like to sit with me?"

"Sure," I said.

To my total surprise, he opened the door for me, helping me in and shutting the door gently before walking to the other side of his rental. It was nice, a brand new Ford.

He lit my cigarette and rolled down the windows.

Taking a drag he said, "I liked watching you talk to the customers. Your smile is so genuine, you seem like a very genuine person. "

I looked away smiling.

"I try to be."

I gently tapped my cigarette out the window and took a drag.

He was leaning on his car door, watching me. I glanced sideways at him and he laughed and looked down.

I felt naughty all of the sudden. Like a couple kids hiding behind the playground, intent on making out for the first time but too awkward to actually do so.

The door opened and Steve stepped out to have a smoke. He lit his cigarette, looking straight at me. I watched him exhale and squint into the night, trying to see what was going on... He only ever smokes half a cigarette, so he stumbled back inside within a minute.

I had been watching him so intently, secretly imagining the rumors that could spread around town. The stories that might circle out into the community. Massimo reached over and touched my arm lightly.

"Ah!" I jumped.

He laughed nervously.

"I'm sorry," I said.

He reached over and turned on the radio, leaning close to me so that our shoulders almost touched. I felt heat coming off him. Butterflies exploded in my stomach. I took a drag with a little shake in my fingers. No attachments... Right?... Right.

"You have a very beautiful town," he said turning to me. "So clean and so many trees."

"Yes, it is very lovely here."

"When I was in India, you would not believe the trash, the people making their homes out of trash. They treat their women as trash."

I looked into his eyes and saw some passionate fire there. He seems to have a big heart, I thought. But is he advertising something to me? What is he trying to say?

"I am unique because, I have no tatoos," he said with a smile.

I took a drag. That's a random comment.

"Me neither."

"Really? This is rare..."

He turned to exhale, then turned back examining me with squinted eyes.

"Maybe I should check. Just to make sure."

I had put out my cigarette, not knowing what to do with my hands I rolled my skirt nervously in my lap. I looked up into his eyes.

"Okay," I said simply.

He smiled hugely at me raising his eyebrows. "Really? "

"Sure." I giggled.

"Ah." He said, his face suddenly becoming soft.

He reached down and clasped my hand in his, twining our fingers together before looking into my eyes. Reaching over with his other hand, he gently caressed my face with his knuckles. I closed my eyes and leaned slightly towards his hand.

"Mia cara, (my dear)," he purred, as he leaned in to kiss my neck below the earlobe.

I closed my eyes and let out and audible sigh. He brought his face close to mine and when I opened my eyes he was staring intently into me.

"Are you sure?"

I bit my lip and nodded slightly. He closed the gap and as our lips met, he groaned.

"Oh my god."

He began to touch me, my face, my neck, my arms, reached down and cupped my ass.

"Wow," he said, with his eyes rolled to heaven smiling.

He looked back and me and our eyes sparkled at each other. I bit my lip and he leaned in for a kiss. It was gentle and sweet.

"Hmmm," he groaned. "Hmmm?"

He pulled away to look in my eyes.

Holding my face he asked, "Would you like to come up to my room with me?

"Sure," I smiled.

"Okay," he said, closing his eyes and smiling.

He may have intended to open the door again, but I got out before he did. He was shutting off the car and rolling up the windows. Keys jingling, he offered his hand to me, palm up and when I took it he pulled me close with deliberation and held my hand in both of his, kissing my fingertips, eyes closed. We turned and walked to the front door entrance, directly by the stairs to his room.

No one saw us. We smiled conspiratorially at each other. And in that moment, I knew I had stepped over the edge. There was no going back.

fact or fiction

About the Creator

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights


There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.