My Wife Slept With a Movie Star

by Charles C. Cole

Some years ago, my wife and I were at a party. The conversation turned to Harrison Ford, at the time People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive. Katey, my wife, said if he randomly offered to frost her cake, she'd say yes without pausing. Someone asked about my reaction. She said, “Chris? He adores the man. He'd probably brag: My wife slept with Harrison Ford.” The events never transpired, but she had a point.

For what it's worth, I was frying an egg when the idea occurred to me. I glanced back at my wife of thirty years, Katey, as she was bringing in the weekly supply of groceries, and I suddenly thought: Pretty woman, I wonder what you look like naked. Then: Why can't I remember? It was time to rekindle the spark.

We liked each other, sure. I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather play house with: we appreciated the same movies, had the same off-center sense of humor, enjoyed the same restaurants. But, at night, due to my chronic snoring, we slept in different bedrooms, which dramatically cut back on spontaneous intimacy, which led to feelings of love withering.

Frederico, a braggart at work whose wife was a former Miss Lahti (think Finland), had apparently married into money. He drove the latest Tesla, had the newest phone, and had the best home-assistance apps. For adding a little spark in the bedroom, Frederico swore by VR goggles with a filter you could use to give your lover the face of a famous celebrity (lawsuit pending, no doubt).

Katey and I were empty nesters who never vacationed and usually replaced one or both of our cars every three years. This year, instead, without discussion, I bought us matching goggles. No reason for me to have the only fun. At the time, it seemed less emasculating to ask forgiveness for buying an expensive sex toy than permission to do so.

After dinner, Katey joined me in our den where I already had some gentle jazz music playing. I was kneeling at a tea table cluttered with an unfinished jigsaw puzzle, biding my time, staring at the pieces but thinking about other, bawdy entertainment.

“Look at you,” said Katey. “Can we give it a rest tonight, Chris? My mind's numb. I'd rather do something physical, like the stationary bike.”

“Something physical sounds fun,” I agreed. There was a tone I hadn't intended.

Katey looked out the window. “Sun's still up. We could go for a power walk around the neighborhood, mingle with the unwashed masses.” I sighed. “Or do you have something else in mind? If you'd rather videogame with your friends, I'd understand.”

“You'd be okay with that?”

“Sure. You know me and technology,” she said. “A cordless phone's my speed. Speaking of, I could use the time to call Mother.”

“I'd rather do something with you,” I suggested.

“Honey, cribbage is just too much math,” Katey countered. “But, if you want to try a new game, my college roommate Ismelda had a wild idea.” Ismelda was a librarian, a classic cat lady who only “dated” men she met at three-day sci-fi conferences in faraway cities. I might have sneered. “Don't judge. She's a single woman who can do as she pleases.” I opened my mouth to interject something mostly polite, not too honest. “Never mind. I thought it'd be fun.”

“I love that you love Ismelda, that you two have managed to stay connected all these years.”

“For the record, and I've never told you, she was the first one to approve of our dating, even when the other girls thought you were too old for me, that you'd just use me and toss me aside.”

“I didn't know,” I said. “So, for Ismelda's sake, bring out the latest movie-themed roll-playing game. I'm all in.”

“You sure?”

“Let's do this.”

“Reach under the couch.”

I kid you not, under the couch were two now-familiar VR goggles.

“You're disappointed,” she said. “They're not what you think. They're...”

“I know exactly what they are.”

“You do?”

“Is there a Harrison Ford filter?” I asked.

She blushed. She remembered. “You know what they are. We don't have to try them. I thought it'd be fun.”

“Is there an Angelina Jolie filter?”

Her jaw almost hit the floor. “Actually, yes. But I thought you might want a certain Academy Award winning British actress.”

“Maybe next time,” I said. “Should we close the curtains?” I asked.

I won't bore you with the details. I won't say we were disappointed. The pretty face was a great inspiration, probably for both of us. We got busy. She was smoother than I remembered, more squeezable and, so help me, flexible.

But dueling goggles were not made for lip-to-lip kissing - which is what we both wanted more than anything.

“I can't breathe,” I said. “And I'm steaming up in here.”

“Can we please take the goggles off?”

“I'll take off yours if you'll take off mine,” I said. And we did, delicately but swiftly. And she was just as I remembered her. The eyes were vulnerable, yet trusting. What happened next was worth the long wait, even if someone suffered rugburns.

Afterwards, she invited me to her bedroom to cuddle. We spooned. She was so warm. Her hair smelled like vanilla.

I couldn't help myself: “After the long wait, how was Harrison Ford?”

“Dreamy. All hands. Surprisingly aggressive. Honey, he was a good warmup act, but I missed your beautiful, familiar face. He got me out of the gates, but I'm glad you were there to take me across the finish line. All the way home. We should do this again some time.”

I couldn't help myself. “With or without the goggles?” I asked.

“Let's give Harrison Ford the night off,” said Katey. “He's earned it,” she teased.

The next time, Mr. Ford stayed in his box. And, speaking for myself, I didn't miss him one bit.

My unopened VR goggles were returned.