Downstairs Helen and Peter were met by their own three children plus Jim Frayne and Honey Wheeler. Trixie held a basket full of chocolate bars, marshmallows, and graham crackers, while Honey held a much longer clear plastic tube that held campfire skewers.

“Look what Brian and Jim gave us for Valentine’s Day,” Trixie said, her blue eyes shining in delight. “It’s all the makings for s’mores. The Bob-Whites are having a bonfire tonight up by the lake. We’re going to grill hot dogs and make s’mores while we tell ghost stories.

The plans weren’t lost on Peter Belden. Cold weather, a bonfire and ghost stories were guaranteed to have Trixie and Honey snuggling close to the boys and tightly gripping their hands. He grudgingly admitted to himself it was a brilliant idea.

“I thought you were going to babysit your little brother while I took your mother out tonight,” Peter reminded her.

“Oh, we are,” Trixie assured him. “He’s going to eat hot dogs with us and while we tell ghost stories, Bobby and Di’s brothers and sisters are going to watch a movie with Miss Trask and Regan. Mart arranged all of it.”

“And the hot dogs as well!” Mart added to the telling, bowing with a flourish. The lovely Diana will receive her basket of hot dogs and fixings in about five minutes.” He picked up a pink and lavender cooler tied with a Valentine’s Day balloon and festooned with ribbons.

There was no doubt, his sons knew how to handle Valentine’s Day better than their father. It made him wonder if he’d really done enough to show Helen the appropriate level of appreciation for how much she meant to him. After a perfunctory kiss on Helen’s cheek, he left for work deep in thought.

Driving down Glen Road he couldn’t get the campfire out of his mind. His own sons had trumped his meager Valentine’s Day plans. Sure, he’d handpicked a card and made plans to take Helen to Fratelli’s, a family-style Italian restaurant they’d been to for Valentine’s Day for the past seventeen years in a row. Oh yeah, they had trumped him indeed.

 

 

By the time Peter arrived at work, he was completely dissatisfied with the evening’s plans. Once he’d taken care of the immediate morning demands, he picked up the phone and called Helen.

“Hello sweetie, are all the kids off to school?”

“Yes, they left right after you did.”

“While driving into work I got to thinking, you know, we don't have to go to Fratelli's tonight.

Helen paused and replied in even tones. “Okay, what do you have in mind?”

He took a deep breath. “Well, I thought you might enjoy a night at a hotel.”

“Oh, of course I would. But would you and the kids be okay?”

Peter took another breath. She wasn’t making this easy on him. “I meant together.”

Helen giggled, sounding more like the teenager he’d married than his wife. “I know that’s what you meant, Peter.”

“Oh.”

She didn’t hear him and continued. “I know. I know. I got it. You and me, alone in a hotel room. Together. Tonight.”

Yes, she definitely got it. Why was this so hard? “So... What do you think?” he asked. “A good idea or not?”

Helen’s response made his cock twitch. “I think you're not getting any sleep tonight. So, you might want to take a nap at work today.”

"I always do.” He replied quickly and then laughed in relief. It was definitely a good idea and the only problem now would be making it through the day without his obvious arousal embarrassing him in front of his employees.

“Peter? Sweetie. As long as we're talking about being a little bit... naughty. What would you say to a little... role playing?” Helen asked.

“Role playing?”

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, her tone husky and filled with seductive allure.

He didn’t hesitate. “I'm in.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Okay, then. I'll set up sleepovers for the kids.”

“And I'll swing by after work to pick you up.”

“No, no.” She protested. “Why don't you meet me in the hotel bar and see if you can pick me up there?”

Damn, he thought. This is going to be the best Valentine’s since, well, since before the kids. He cleared his throat and affected a crisp British accent. “Careful, lady, you're gonna wake up a sexy sleeping giant. Perhaps I'll be Reginald Appleby, an English gentleman in town for a polo match.”

“Peter.”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken.“Or honorable businessman from Hong Kong...” he joked in a mock Asian accent that completely missed the mark.

“Um, Peter,” Helen said as kindly as she could. “You're kinda wrecking it.”

He grinned. “Oh. It's not a big deal, Helen. I just train tigers for a living. Too... no?”

Helen waited a beat. “No.”

“Okay, I need to try and get some work done,” he replied. I’ll see you at the Opus in White Plains.”

He hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. For the first time in many years, he was eagerly anticipating a Valentine’s evening with his wife.

 

 

It felt like the longest day in the history of his career. He found himself looking at the clock, dismayed that only five minutes had elapsed since the last time he’d looked. Finally, it was five and he was on the road to White Plains. His thoughts were on his wife and the role he would play when he arrived at the bar. He’d picked up one of the name tags the banks used for visitor meetings and scribbled the name of an associate from the Midwest that had been in a meeting earlier in the year. At the last minute he decided to make an additional stop for smoking materials, telling himself the cigarillos would lend an air of mystery man to his role playing.

Parking his car in the lot, he made his way to the hotel bar. Stopping in the door he saw Helen sitting at the bar, a drink in front of her. Admiring her trim figure and shiny, carefully coifed hair he paused before joining her. He took a deep break and then did his best.

“Mind if I join you? I'm Clive. Clive Bixby.” He placed his hand on the bar, close to her arm. He breathed in and noticed she was wearing a different scent. Normally, his wife smelled of vanilla and brown sugar. Tonight, she smelled of desire and sex. It was enough to make him even more than ready for the activities of the evening.

Helen turned slightly, taking in her husband’s business suit and the name tag on his lapel. She’d planned for role playing, but not a different name. Clearly if Peter was going with a different name, she needed to as well. “Yes, I can see that. I'm … Juliana. So, Clive, are you in town for a convention, or do you... just forget your name a lot?”

Peter barely managed to suppress a chuckle. Juliana was not the name he’d expected, but it would work. “Pretty kitty has nails. I like that. I'm in town for a trade show. I design high-end electroacoustic transducers.” He faltered, wondering where in the hell he’d come up with that. Realizing he pulled those transducers right out of his ass, he hoped his wife knew less than a banker did about high-tech devices.

Helen lifted a brow. “Wow, that is very... specific.”

Dammit, yes, it was specific. Too specific, but he’d make it work for this little game they were playing. “It's a fancy way of saying I get things to make noise.”

She slowly stirred her cocktail. “Hmmm.” There was nothing left in it but ice cubes. She glanced at him as the ice clinked in the glass, and he wondered if she needed another drink.

Before he could think of a titillating way to ask her the question, the bartender approached them. “Would you like another?” he asked Helen, polishing a glass as he spoke.

“Two, please.” Peter answered. He had no idea what she’d been drinking but it really didn’t matter. The games would continue, regardless of the type of alcohol involved. He finally sat on the bar stool next to her, taking in the well-appointed fixtures of the Westchester bar. He continued the role playing. “So, what's your story? The Miss America pageant in town?”

Her face pinked slightly, and he fleetingly wondered if it had really been that long since he’d paid her a compliment.

She cleared her throat and gave a coy smile. “Well, you're pretty smooth talker, Clive.”

This time the response was automatic. “I'm pretty smooth all over.”

He suppressed a grin as that comeback transformed the pink to a bright red.

“Oh!” Helen replied.

Pleased with Helen’s reaction, Peter reached into his jacket and pulled out the pack of cigarillos he’d stopped to pick up on the way, getting into the character he’d spent all day developing in his head. He was tapping it on the bar when the bartender stopped him.

“Sir, there's no smoking in here.”

The mild admonition yanked him out of character. He had quit smoking the pipe a year or so ago. “Oh, that's fine. I'm not actually a smok...”

It was Helen that rescued him. “You're quite the boy scout, Clive. Tell me, would you be interested in earning a merit badge tonight? Do you know anything about tying knots?”

It was his turn to blush. He had to hand it to Helen, she was really getting into the role playing. He shifted a little. “I probably shouldn't be talking to you. I'm a married man.”

Helen leaned back on the stool and smiled at him. “Ah. Well, I just so happen to like married men. Tell me about your wife.”

Was it a trap? He wasn’t sure so he answered carefully. “Well, she's beautiful, of course.”

Tilting her head, she gave him an innocent look. “Really? Well, if she's so very beautiful, why are you here with me?”

His reply was out of the character as he replied automatically. “Because she's always so tired, and she's always making lists of things for me to do.” He failed to realize his error.

“Maybe if you did them, she wouldn't be so tired.” Her reply dripped with a saccharine sweetness that he failed to pick up on.

“Oh, no, she can make lists for days.” Dammit! He realized his error and moved to correct and get back into character. “But back to your mouth and how sexy it is.”

“Unh-unh,” she answered immediately. “I want to go back to these alleged lists and your nagging wife.”

He gulped. “Helen, um ….” He took a deep breath and tried to correct. “I-I'm not talking about you. I didn't mean that. Can we try this again?”

“Yeah.” She leaned forward to accept the new drink from the bartender. Taking a gulp, she mentally backtracked the conversation to identify the point where the role-playing had gone awry. She tried again. “So, if your wife is so beautiful, why are you here with me?”

It was all going to hinge on this answer. He knew it, and even more, he knew that Helen knew it. “Because...” He had to get it right, the night depended on it. “Because… I respect her too much to do to her what I'm going... to do to you?”

He could tell from her expression he’d gotten it right.

“Oh, jackpot.” She took another gulp of the drink and slid of the bar stool. “I'll be right back, Clive.”

He watched her slink towards the ladies’ room around the corner, appreciating her bare back and swishing bottom in the skimpy black dress, noticing for the first time in a while how well she maintained her figure. And after four kids, he thought. Is that a new dress? He didn’t recall ever seeing that dress on Helen before. Is that the dress she wore she wore to the Wheelers’ New Year’s Eve party? He thought back. She’d looked quite sexy that night, but had he ever told her that? No, I’m sure I never told her. He’d been distracted by the kids and how Jim kept looking at his princess. And then there was Dan. Dammit, Dan had looked at all three of the girls like he could ….. Hell, Dan even looked at Helen and Grace Wheeler like that!

He finished his drink and was waiting on the bartender to finish up with another patron when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Helen standing there. She’d donned her coat, and it was fully buttoned and belted. What’s happening now? he thought. She seemed to be over the pique about the to-do lists. Was she ready to go home… without even going to the room he’d reserved?

“Clive.” She spoke, her voice husky. “I have a little something for you.”

Was she going to stop the role playing? “What is it?” he asked.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a bundle of cloth. “My dress,” she said dropping the bundle on his lap.

“Oh...”

She reached into her other pocket. “My bra.” A lacy black concoction fell on top of the dress.

“Oh, my g...” he couldn’t have stood up if his life depended on it.

“My underwear.” The skimpy strip of what looked like silk fell on top of the rest. Was that all she’d been wearing under that dress?

“My god.”

She leaned forward and whispered silkily in his ear, slipping a hotel room key into his hand. “Yeah. What do you say we take this upstairs?”

He gulped, not at all sure he could even walk. He could only manage one answer. “This is so much better than cheesy garlic bread.”

“Mmm.” She straightened and walked towards the exit, never pausing to see if he would follow.

 

 

The Opus was a large, multi-story hotel. The bar was located off the main lobby along with a five-star restaurant. Designed to host business travelers and conventions, it boasted multiple levels and features. Access to the guest rooms required ascending a set of escalators to the elevator bank, located on the second level. They both stepped on the escalator, sharing the same step. He knew that Helen, or Juliana as he reminded himself, would be able to feel his erection pressed against her ass.

He whispered in her ear. “This is all happening so fast, Juliana.”

She turned to catch his eye. “I know. And I have to be home to my husband by midnight.”

He grinned, enjoying the role playing much more than he’d expected. “Ooh, a twist,” he murmured as he started to step off the escalator.

“Peter! Peter? My coat is stuck!” she said in a panicked tone.

“Who’s Peter?” he asked, maintaining character.

The panic intensified. “No, not now. Seriously, my coat is stuck!” She was pulling tightly on the edges of the coat, doing her best to maintain all the dignity she could muster as the escalator did its best to pull the fabric into the depths of its workings.

Turning to see what was happening his response was automatic. “Oh, honey, take off your coat!”

“Are you kidding me?! Pull it.” She jerked her head toward the emergency button on the end of the escalator.

“Oh, my goodness.” It took him long seconds to react and despite her best efforts the escalator mechanism continued to pull the coat.

The urgency in her voice doubled. “Pull it. Not good. Not good. Not good! Not...” The urgency died as the moving stairs shuddered to a stop. She found she could breathe again. “Okay. Okay. Okay.”

The people behind them on the escalator looked around in confusion as if they had no idea how what to do. Peter did his best, motioning to the other hotel patrons.

“Come on up. Treat 'em like they're regular stairs.” It was unbelievable that the people didn’t know what to do on an unmoving escalator. It took several tries but finally they began to walk up the stairs.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” An elderly lady asked Helen.

“Yes, yes,” she replied, sitting on the top stair clutching her coat. “It's okay.”

Peter glanced at her noticing her acute embarrassment and continued to direct the traffic around his wife. “Come on through.” His hand motioned people forward. “Happy Valentine's Day.” A group of ladies looked at him suspiciously.

“You look lovely,” he told the first lady. “So do you,” he advised the younger girl who was clearly her daughter. Noticing the dirty look from the mother he hastily added. “Not in a weird way. Let me just get in here. Let me get in here.” He moved to stand in front of Helen, intent on helping to pull her coat from the mechanism while protecting her modesty.

“It’s okay, Peter,” she told him after verifying that she had not exposed herself in any inappropriate way. “I’m…” she glanced down at her legs. “Okay.”

His heart dropped as he heard a familiar voice. “Peter?”

He turned and smiled. “Hey, Tim!”

“Hi,” Tim replied.

He forced a professional geniality. “How are you?” He turned to look at his wife. “Honey, Helen, you remember Tim Mickelson from the office, and his wife, Susan.”

She forced a smile, trying to maintain her composure. “Hi. I do. Hey.” She did not dare let go of the lapels of the coat to try and give a small wave.

“Is your coat stuck?” Tim asked politely.

One again she had to force herself to reply politely.“It is. It really is,” she nodded.

“Yeah,” Peter weighed in. “It’s stuck.”

She continued to try to act pleasant and casual. Giving the coat a tug, Peter hoped and prayed that it would pull loose and permit her to finish the evening with a modicum of dignity. “It's in there pretty darn good.”

“I see,” Susan Mickelson said, nodding.

“Why don't you take it off?” Tim asked. “I’m sure the maintenance staff will be able to retrieve it for you.”

There was no way she was telling him the truth. “Um...I'm freezing cold.”

“I see,” he said. “Well, at least let me give it a shot, okay?”

Peter’s blood ran cold. If this got out at the bank, he and Helen might very well have to move.

Helen spoke before he could say anything. “Oh, I don't think...”

“No, no, no, no, I got it. I...” Tim Mickelson said reaching for her coat.

“Mr. and Mrs. Belden?” Peter recognized Mr. Stratton, the principal at Sleepyside’s high school.

“Hey!” he replied, doing his best to sound as if they were greeting their acquaintances in ordinary circumstances. He felt the sweat pop out on his forehead.

“Principal Stratton!” Helen said. Her tone sounded normal to Peter, but he could tell she was working hard to keep the panic at bay. “Hey. How are you?”

“Hi.” He gave a perplexed nod towards Peter. “Who's, uh, Clive Bixby?”

Peter groaned inwardly. “Oh. Uh... He makes speakers.” Crap! Not that schtick. In for a penny. “He's actually in town for a trade show.”

“Peter.” Helen was starting to sound panicked.

“Oh...My. Are you stuck?” Mr. Stratton asked Helen, looking concerned.

Peter was amazed that she sounded as calm as she did when she answered him. “Yeah, I am. A...little bit.”

Peter couldn’t fault the man. It was a logical question, but he cringed when he heard it. “Why don't you take off that coat?”

Helen still sounded calm, perhaps resigned, but calm. “Um, I'm chilly.”

Tim Mickelson’s hand was so close to revealing more than she wanted as he gave the hem of the coat a tug. “It's really jammed in here.”

Peter suddenly wanted to slug the man. How dare he put his hands on his practically naked wife. Not that she was naked, she was only naked under her coat.

“Let me try,” Principal Stratton offered, stepping closer to Helen.

“Oh, no, I think we're okay,” Peter waved his hand. “Really, we’re okay.”

“Mrs. Belden!”

Peter hadn’t thought the situation could get any worse, but it was like Helen was attracting acquaintances like Trixie attracted mysteries.

“Oh! Are you kidding me?” She’d tried to say it quietly, but he could tell the two men overheard her.

“Hi!” Helen said with a forced cheerfulness was obvious to all of them. “This is Bobby’s math teacher, Miss Passwater!”

Peter nodded remembering Bobby telling him about the hot math teacher. "Passwater."

“I tell you what,” he said to all assembled, offering to help. “Let me go uh, let me go get maintenance.”

“That’s a great idea,” Tim told him. “In the meantime, we’ll see what we can do.”

Helen shot him a warning look and shook her head as if telling him not to leave her with the assembled acquaintances. He ignored it and took off.

There was no way he was going to get maintenance, but he only had to give the impression he was. He rounded the corner and confirmed he was out of sight. He leaned his head against the wall and groaned. “Helen is going to kill me.”

 

 

Only two minutes passed before he returned to his stranded wife, but he well knew they were the longest two minutes of Helen’s life.

“We're good! We're good!”He ran around the corner as if he’d run the entire way. “I talked to maintenance. They're... they're coming, so go on ahead.” He panted as if exerted and waved his hands.

“Oh!” Helen breathed in relief.

He leaned over, his head close to hers, his hands on his knees, forcing Tim and Principal Stratton to take a step away. “See you guys. See you later.” He waved them on. “See you at school? Good to see you guys. Maintenance is going take care of it. So we're fine.” He looked at the assembled would-be Good Samaritans pointedly as they slowly walked away. He couldn’t help but hear Susan Mickelson murmur to her husband. “I just don’t understand why she wouldn’t take her coat off. It’s not the least bit chilly in here.” He glanced down at Helen and realized she’d heard the comment as well. Her face was scarlet.

Neither of them said anything until the Mickelsons, Mr. Stratton, and Miss Passwater were all out of sight.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay, how long till they get here?”

Peter shook his head. “I was faking it. No one's coming for us.”

“Peter!” There was no mistaking the irritation now. “Well, then, go and get them! Hurry! That was the most embarrassing moment of my life!”

They both froze when they heard a familiar voice.

“Helen! Peter! Stand by.” It was their neighbors, Matthew and Grace Wheeler. They both groaned.

Peter straightened. “Hey.”

Matthew surveyed the situation. “What? What happened here? Did you get your belt stuck?”

The entire situation was surreal. Just when they both thought it couldn’t get any worse, it had.

Helen smiled. At least she knew Matthew and Grace, and they were friends, not business acquaintances.

“I did. Yeah. Yeah,” she answered, this time sounding resigned.

“Well, take your coat off,” he said jovially. He extended his hand. “Here, let me help you.”

“No, no, Matthew, Matthew...” her voice got a little more desperate as he tugged on her arm.

“Come on, Helen,” he said laughing. “What’s wrong? What are you, naked under there?”

She didn’t have to answer the question. Her expression—not to mention Peter’s reaction—told him the answer. He jerked his hand away.

“Oh, geez.” His face reddened as much as Helen’s.

“It's okay,” Grace spoke up. “I’ve got this.” She stepped forward, forcing the men to move away.

“O...Kay,” Peter said, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Listen, Helen. This can happen to anyone. Follow my lead, okay?” Grace shrugged out of her own luxurious fur coat and held it open. “I’m going to put this around you while you slowly stand. Just trust me, I promise no one will see anything. On my count, okay?”

Helen whispered. “Okay.”

“One,” Grace answered, bending down. “Two. Three.” Helen let go of the black trench coat and before she even realized, she was engulfed in a silk-lined three-quarter length fur.

“Okay. Okay.” Helen said as Grace pulled the belt tight around the coat.

“Wow. Okay. Thank you.” She looked at Grace Wheeler, respect in her eyes.

Grace smiled and nodded. “This may be hard to believe, but it has happened to me before.”

“You’re right. That’s hard to believe,” Helen answered, but Grace just winked.

“It happens to everyone.”

“That was impressive,” Peter said looking at Grace Wheeler as if meeting her for the first time.

Matthew elbowed him. “Take it down a notch, "Clive." You’ve got your own valentine here.”

He looked at Helen. “Are you okay?” he asked solicitously.

She nodded. “Yeah, I'm good. I feel like I just made a miraculous escape from utter humiliation and having to move far away from Sleepyside. I’m not sure even the west coast would be far enough, it may have required Australia. But yes, thanks to Grace, I’m good.”

Peter smiled at their neighbors. “All right. Everything is good now. Happy Valentine's Day.”

“Happy Valentine's Day,” Helen echoed. She looked at Grace. “I’ll get your fur back to you tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

“Not a problem,” Grace replied smoothly. “It’s not that cold tonight. I was only looking for an excuse to wear it tonight, but I’m very glad I did.”

“So am I,” Helen breathed. “So am I.”

“Thanks so much,” Peter said. “We can’t thank you enough, and uh, you won’t be, uh…”

Matthew slapped him on the back. “No worries, Peter. No one will hear about this incident from us.”

“Thanks neighbor, I guess, uh, I guess we’ll see ya around then.”

“Yes, of course,” Grace replied, smoothly moving towards the down escalator that had continued to work. Bye.”

“Good night,” Helen echoed, as the Wheelers departed with huge smiles on their faces.

Peter looked at her. “I guess you’re probably ready to head back to Sleepyside

“You’re kidding, right?” Helen said.

“Did you drive, or …”

She stepped closer, grabbing his lapels. “Listen, Clive,” she said seductively, pushing up against him. “I only have until midnight before my husband expects me to be home.” Her fingers brushed his jaw. “You said there was something you could do to me that you couldn’t do to your wife.”

He felt his cock snap to wakefulness. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life,” she replied. “Let’s go!” She pulled his hand.

Peter moved toward the escalator.

“Not a chance, Clive,” she said. “We’re taking the elevator!”

He grinned at her. “Oh. Sorry,” he said, shifting directions. He stopped as the hotel maintenance team finally arrived to address the stopped escalator. “When you get that coat free,” he told them. “Could you please hold it for us at the front desk. We’ll pick it up there.” He walked with Helen toward the elevator, for once not concerned if the maintenance crew noticed his massive hard-on. “See you guys,” he said with a salute as the doors shut.

 

 

The following afternoon

Peter picked up the phone to call Helen. Despite the misadventure, he counted this year’s Valentine’s night as a success. Hell, his cock was still tingling from the various antics of the evening. He had the most incredible and awesome wife in the world.

“Hi, honey,” Helen said, answering the call.

“Hey, Helen. Hope you feel as great as I do. I just wanted to tell you how great you were last night.” He couldn’t keep the grin off his face, wondering when they could do some more role playing.

“Uh, Peter...” Helen said, trying to interrupt his talk.

“I’m really sorry I got the, um, the oil everywhere, but, hey...”

Helen interrupted again. “Peter, sweetie...”

“But then I got to thinking, who cares? They're not our sheets, right?”

This time she spoke more loudly.

“Peter! Honey, honey, remember when the salesman told us that the new SUV was built with the whole family in mind?”

Why was she talking about the car? “Yeah,” he replied, puzzled.

“Well, the whole family just heard that.” She informed him matter-of-factly.

He was alone in his office, but as her words sank in, he felt his face grow hot. “Uh, well, I guess... I guess the Bluetooth works.”

“Mm.”

“Why did you have oil in the bedroom?” Bobby asked.

He could hear the rest of the kids choking back laughter.

“Because, buddy, we... we were making French fries!” Shit! How lame was that.

Trixie sputtered. “In your room?”

Helen’s voice came through loud and clear. “If you ever want to see a horse again young lady, you will not say another word. Why don't you guys pop in a DVD for Bobby to watch until we get home?”