Last Thanksgiving, I found myself a bit embarrassed by locking eyes with an exotic young woman who sat across from me at the dinner table. Not once, not twice, but at least three times. The second time, her smile was subtle and shy. The third time, her smile was almost a smirk, and I could have sworn slightly flirty. I couldn't help but fix my gaze on her yet again.

If you saw Niharika's eyes, you would understand.

Niharika Sabharwal is a work acquaintance of my wife, Cheryl, someone whom she had mentioned several times in the prior few months. Cheryl and I live in a fairly large metropolitan area, and she works at a university, specifically in the office that handles international student affairs. In her work, she comes in contact with graduate students from all corners of the world who come to the United States to pursue master's and doctoral degrees. Some are from Latin America and Europe and Africa, but the majority are from China and India seeking degrees in Computer Science and the Medical field. Cheryl oversees a few work-study students each semester, so she gets to know a few of them better than the majority who correspond via email or drop in for a one-off visit for questions or to resolve issues.

Niharika was one of Cheryl's “work-studies” last Spring, assisting with office work a few hours per week and even helping to run some social events. The two kept up with each other through the Fall semester, having lunch together and attending campus events a few times.

For several years in a row, Cheryl has invited three or four student workers or even teaching assistants to our house for Thanksgiving dinner. We don't do anything elaborate, but it's a great way for her to introduce American holidays to people from other countries, and to cordially give the opportunity to hang out in a social setting to people whose families may be on another continent and would otherwise be alone.

Last Thanksgiving, our guests were a Nepalese gentleman who was a student worker during the Fall, a Chinese woman who was a Cloud Computing teaching assistant, and Niharika, who is from India and currently working rotations in a local hospital as the practical experience required for her final year of medical school.

My mother and father have passed away, and my brother and sister live in other states and this wasn't one of the holidays we worked out to get together, but Cheryl's mom and dad were on hand, as well as her sister and her husband and toddler. Not a madhouse, but a decent-sized group. I'm not a particularly outgoing person, so I don't plan or organize these sorts of things, but I think I'm quite sociable, so I was up for the event and tried to be an integral part of our guests' feeling welcome. And I'm a pretty good cook if I do say so myself, so my contribution was material as well as social.

I've actually forgotten the Nepalese man's and the Chinese woman's names. They spoke decent English and interacted somewhat, though a bit uncomfortably, but there wasn't anything particularly memorable about them. Niharika, on the other hand, is quite outgoing, personable, and has a relatable sense of humor. The first time I met her was when she came to the door and Cheryl and I answered it. She didn't blow me away with any kind of stunning beauty, but when she took off her coat, I did admire the way she was dressed, in flats and snug dark slacks with a very colorful, flowy top. She is slim and fairly tall, maybe five-foot-nine, “attractive”, but not someone I found myself “attracted to”, if that makes sense.

Not for the first hour, at least. But as the afternoon progressed and we had a drink or two and conversation before the big meal, I felt myself drawn to her. She has an allure that grew on me, her excited expressions and exotic accent, her long, swishing, black hair, her pretty white teeth behind her striking red lips, all combined to slowly arouse my interest. Her hand gestures and the way she shifted her slight weight on her slim legs made her seem to almost dance during conversations.

And those eyes.

Bright, expressive, and artfully made-up, Niharika's big brown eyes were complimented by long, thick lashes and darkly-shadowed lids which seemed to sweep hypnotically up and down, almost in slow motion, when she would blink. By the time we were into our dessert (pecan pie, and cherry-topped chocolate-crusted cheesecake homemade by yours truly), I found myself once again sheepishly breaking eye contact with her, hoping she wasn't finding find my stares too creepy.

Niharika wasn't overly flirty in general, but a few responses to some of my comments were a little more intimate than one would expect between people from different cultures who had just met. And when all the guests were saying their goodbyes late in the afternoon, her inhale, exhale, and two-armed embrace with me were much deeper than the handshakes and side-hugs exchanged between us guys and the other ladies.

I'm sure Cheryl didn't notice. If she had, she would have said something, because she's not one to keep her feelings to herself if she takes issue with the way someone speaks or behaves. By the time I joined her in bed that night, and we had had several mini-conversations about the afternoon and the guests, including Niharika, Cheryl hadn't mentioned anything out of the ordinary. So, I guessed there hadn't been anything outwardly noticeable about our alluring Indian guest's good-bye, but I had definitely felt her being a bit more than friendly. Felt physically, tangibly, I mean, not in the “I have a feeling” way.

After snuggling up to Cheryl, caressing her hips and thighs, and kissing her neck for a bit, our bed became still, as was the norm. And as was the norm, my thoughts wandered to what it might be like to share a bed with a partner who responded to intimate advances. Of course, I couldn't help but fantasize about whether Niharika may be such a partner.

Some may judge me. I get it. Am I a pervert, or a creep, a philanderer who can't keep his cock in his pants, neglectful of my wife's needs, looking to cast aside my marital vows whenever a desirable young woman crosses my path? Not in the least. Little did I know, a discussion about just that topic wasn't too far off.

A few weeks later, in mid-December, my phone dinged in the fourth minute of the football match one Wednesday night. Unlike most Americans, but like the rest of the world, I call soccer games football matches. Trying to be a good world citizen, I record at least one UEFA Champions League match per week during the group stages, watching in the evening after work.

Cheryl's text message came in from halfway across the country: “You remember Niharika from thanksgiving?”

My reply: “Sure. From India, your work-study friend, right?” I masturbated thinking of her a few times, but not within the last week or so. I didn't type that part, though.

Cheryl: “She's going to return our dish maybe tomorrow”

Cheryl really is a good hostess, and a thoughtful people-person in general. Every Thanksgiving, she offers for the guests to take whatever food they want with them, usually in plastic containers, but she sent Niharika on her way with a glass baking dish containing an assortment of leftovers, expecting to get it back at work within a few days.

My reply: “okay.” I was going to ask details, but I hate having long conversations via text message.

Cheryl: “she'll leave it by the front door if you're not home”

Me: “when?” I'd like to make sure I'm here when she arrives! I didn't type that either.

Cheryl: “dunno”

Me: "okay, I'll keep an eye out." For her, I added in my head.

After a few minutes with no more messages, I went back to watching my match. Later that night, I masturbated, sprawled naked on the couch in the living room, thinking about my wife's alluring Indian friend. Cheryl was gone for a few days, having been sent on a 3-day conference in Tampa, so I could do such things, as I had the house to myself.

My phone rang during work the next day, a call from a number I didn't recognize.

I answered right away, hoping. “Hello?”

“Hello, Sebastian?” It was Niharika.

“Yes,” I replied in an upbeat tone.

“Hi, this is Niharika.” Fun. A nervous person, or a young single woman calling a married man, would usually add something, like “friend of your wife's”, “remember me from Thanksgiving?”, something like that, but she said nothing of the sort, as if we were the ones who were friends.

“Yes, hello, how are you?”

“Fine, thank you. We're crazy busy here at work but I'm on my break. How are you?”

“Doing well. Busy at work, but certainly nothing urgent like I imagine you deal with.” My day trying to find ways to decrease website page load time by one more percent or customize a product data update automation was objectively less impactful than her day no doubt dealing with life-threatening injuries, overdoses, terminal illnesses, and the like.

“Ha, well, I do what I can. Did Cheryl tell you I plan on dropping by tonight?” More fun. A young single woman who was nervous about sending the wrong message to a married man would usually have clarified by adding “to return the dish I borrowed,” but she didn't mention that.

“Well, she said you would be dropping off the dish you borrowed, but didn't know when.”

“Yes, tonight, if that's okay. My shift ends at seven, so, maybe seven-thirty, I'm sure before eight.”

“That's great. I sure could use the company. Cheryl is out of town for a few days.” I laughed, hoping she would get the humor and wouldn't be put off by it.

Her response included a little chuckle. “Yes, she said she's in Florida.”

I managed to formulate and execute a little plan on the fly. I decided not to ask her the obvious question, why she didn't just wait to return the dish when Cheryl was back in town. The less we said on the phone now gave me more opportunity to have a conversation with her when she arrived, maybe to invite her in rather than to just have a quick exchange at the door and for her be on her way. I told her no worries if she's late, that I stay up late anyway, but that she could call if anything crazy comes up. We chatted for a few sentences about her work being more exciting than mine, and her confirming that it was stressful but rewarding. From the time we hung up all through the evening, I couldn't help but stack up a whole bunch of things to tell and ask her, hoping that we could have a meaningful conversation for more than a few minutes when she arrived.

At 7:17, my phone dinged.

From a phone number that was evidently Niharika's: “Leaving now. See you in a few! :)”

Yes, there was an exclamation point and a smiley. Remembering the more-than-friendly hug she gave me when she left on Thanksgiving, I really wanted to take her communication nuances toward me as flirting, but was nervous that if I flirted back, things would go sideways.

My nervousness persisted, but turned to excitement, even arousal, after Niharika showed up. When I opened the door to respond to her knock, her bright, friendly face greeted me with a lively “Hi, Sebastian! Nice to see you!”

I stepped back, opening the door wide. “Hi, Niharika. Come on in.”

Carrying the glass dish she was returning, she stepped into the entryway, and right up to me, sliding her free arm around my shoulder for a warm hug. I hugged back with both arms.

“You can call me Rika,” she said, detaching from me, smiling and giving me the slow, sweeping blink with which she had bewitched me a few weeks earlier. “Niharika is so... formal. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?” As I closed the door, she made her way toward the kitchen. I would have loved to see her hips sway, but her bulky coat was preventing any such view. But her long, silky black hair did swish around her shoulders as she turned back toward me to give me another smile before she proceeded.

“Not at all, Rika. Definitely nothing exciting going on around here.”

“Ha, well, you did say you could use some company. Hey, what are you talking about? This is exciting.” She set the dish on the dining room table, on the edge that wasn't covered with a thousand jigsaw puzzle pieces. “Wow, that's beautiful,” she remarked, picking up the box that displayed a picturesque Norwegian harbor. We made some small talk about travel, which had been a big topic of conversation between Rika and Cheryl when they worked together last Spring.

When I took the dish to the kitchen, she called in after me, “Thank you for letting me borrow it. I washed it, of course.”

“And thank you,” I replied. I put it in the cabinet beside the stove with other similar bakeware, returning to her within a few seconds. “Just out of curiosity, why didn't you wait and give it back to Cheryl at work? She'll be back Monday.”

“I'm leaving myself next week. Going back home to India to visit with family for three weeks, till after the new year, till right before the next semester starts in January.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Besides, you needed some company, right? You said so on the phone.” We both laughed.

“Oh, that's true. I'm not complaining of course, just wondering.” Her smiling eyes held my gaze for just a second longer than necessary.

Before long, we were sitting back in our chairs at the puzzle table, chatting about work and hobbies and such. She had taken her coat off, and I couldn't help but admire her form. She doesn't have voluptuous curves, large breasts, a bubble butt, an hourglass figure, or any of those attributes most guys give their fantasy chicks. But she is just generally nice-looking, with long legs and narrow hips. Her snugly-fitting burgundy pullover showed the small but defined breasts I hadn't had the pleasure of seeing at our first meeting; her skinny jeans nicely encased the slim build she attributed to yoga and a vegetarian diet. (I know what you're thinking; a vegetarian at Thanksgiving dinner? Even though she didn't have turkey or ham, there were plenty of vegetables, breads, sides, and desserts.)

When the subject of food came up again, we reminisced about the dinner we had at Thanksgiving and the leftovers she devoured, including the cheesecake she said she couldn't get enough of. I offered to exchange recipes with her, telling her I loved the rice dish she brought.

I took a chance. “Okay, now I'm getting hungry. I'm assuming you haven't had dinner yet, have you?”

“No, just got off work. Pretty much starving, though.” A young single woman who was nervous about being alone with a married man, who was concerned about sending the wrong signals, would have followed that up with “So, I'd better get going.” But she didn't say that. It's like she had been giving me opportunities to intentionally spend time with her. That emboldened me.

“Well, I made some pasta last night, but don't want the same thing tonight. I was going to go get something.” As if to impress her with my healthy eating habits, I added, “I'm not one for fast food, but there a couple of places close. Chinese. A pizza place, not fast-food pizza, but like artisan pizzas. A sandwich and salad place. You want to join me?”

“Better than eating alone for both of us. My roommate Mari is working tonight as usual.” I remember her saying that she shared an apartment with another young lady, Maricela or Marisol or something, a restaurant manager who worked a lot of closing shifts.

Rika and I decided on a Mediterranean place right outside the neighborhood, sitting right against each other, touching, as we browsed their menu and placed our orders online. As I drove us to pick up the food, I joked with her about the Mediterranean place being the right choice, since Cheryl and I don't know anyone there. We know the guy who owns and runs the Warrior Wok, so it would certainly raise some eyebrows if I brought another woman in there.

It was well after eight thirty by the time we finished our dinner. We shared some hummus and pita bread, so we saved half of her falafel entree and my gyro plate, with their generous servings of basmati rice, as leftovers. I offered Rika some coffee, but she declined, making fun of me for drinking caffeine at night, which she didn't do. I found some green tea in the pantry and decided to have a cup with her.

“Not complaining, it's not bad,” she told me, indicating that the name-brand mass-produced stuff we were drinking was inferior to what she was used to. “But I'll have to turn you on to some really good tea I get from an Indian market.” So, you already don't consider this our last time hanging out together? I kept that thought to myself.

Before our tea was gone, Niharika had wandered to the dining room table. “I used to do puzzles with my family, big ones like this. But it's been a while with school and working. And no place to spread one out in our little apartment, either.” She looked interested, surveying the progress that I had made so far. The edge was assembled, and I had about a hundred or so inner pieces filled in at the bottom where the boats were. I invited her to work on putting in a few pieces if she'd like, half expecting her to say no, that she had to leave, since she had just worked a twelve-hour shift and had another starting at seven the next morning. But she stayed.

When our arms touched occasionally grabbing for puzzle pieces over the next few minutes, we both knew we weren't avoiding the contact. When we were chatting earlier, and having dinner, my mind was getting aroused by the thought of getting frisky with Cheryl's fun and flirty friend, but now as we had been actually touching, I began to believe that the chances were moving from fantasy to possibility. As a result, there was now physical arousal, a stirring in my shorts. (Yes, I wear shorts around the house in the wintertime, and had just pulled on a sweatshirt to make the dinner run.)

When I took our empty tea mugs to the kitchen and then returned, I stood behind Rika, imagining myself running my hands through her hair and around the front of her to cup her breasts. She pretty much invited me to touch her by stretching her arms up and twisting side to side, making a comment about stiff back and shoulders.

Her shoulders weren't the only things that were stiff. My boner was more than half developed by now, lodged uncomfortably sideways in my shorts.

“You could use to relieve some tension,” I offered, and actually placed my hands on her, swiping her long, silky hair aside, the movement of the air releasing the alluring scent of whatever product was lingering on her skin or hair. When I began to massage her shoulders and neck, I realized I was in way over my head, since I know nothing about massaging and had no idea whether I was relieving or contributing to her discomfort.

After ceasing her puzzle-piece hunting and dropping her head for a few seconds, Niharika surprised me by standing up. I expected her to cut this off, you know, because I'm married to her friend and all. When she turned around to face me, though, she was standing close, holding her head sideways a bit, inquisitively. Her lips had the trace of a smile, and her big brown captivating eyes were locked with mine.

I slid a hand over her hip, leaned my face into hers, and kissed her.

It wasn't a quick peck. As our wet lips settled into each other, adjusting two or three times, she slid her hands and forearms up around my neck and I hugged her into me around her waist.

When we separated with a subtle wet smacking sound, she was smiling. “I wondered if that's where this was going.”

“I've wanted to,” I replied. “I guess it got to that point.”