Locked Outside - E. D. James

The low, wet, grey fog clung to the hillside above the house. He glanced around again wondering if any of his neighbors had spotted him. Then he wondered which of them would be least offended if he rang their doorbell and asked if he could come inside while he figured out what to do. Five a.m. was not an hour he generally made house calls. The cold was starting the seep pretty deeply into his skin and the need to come up with a solution was becoming a necessity. It was tough with his brain feeling like a lump of clay. That last glass of port was probably not his finest idea. Neither was the thought that heading outside in his underwear to fetch the paper would set him straight. Before the fog breeze had swung the door shut behind him it had seemed like a fine plan. The cool damp morning air felt great on his skin after a night sweating out the alcohol he’d imbibed. The dinner party was fun but it was always a bit uncomfortable being with Ron and Nancy, seeing as how he and Nancy had been married for twenty years and raised two children together and would probably still be together if she hadn’t snooped through his email and found his correspondences with the various young women he’d befriended. Befriended might be stretching it a bit. None of them kept him company now. Nancy had landed back on her feet quickly. She and Ron had been lovers before her marriage and had apparently maintained a friendship. It was his turn to “maintain the friendship” in the modern adult way that is the fashion in San Francisco. He tended to drink just a bit too much when he had to put that friendship into practice. Now he was locked out of his house at five in the morning hung over and in the new Calvin Klein prostrech underwear that weren’t much more than a ball bag that he thought made his cock look bigger that he’d worn the night before just in case young Alice was at the dinner and serious about the flirting they’d done at the last dinner party at Ron and Nancy’s. No Alice. No key. Five a.m.

Karmic paybacks are hell.