Honey, He Kissed Me

by Laran Mithras

  HONEY, HE KISSED ME

  By

  Laran Mithras

  Background by DepositPhotos.com

  Honey, He Kissed Me is a work of fiction. Names, locations and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2020 - All Rights Reserved

  Over 70% of married women said they would gladly have sex with another man if they knew for certain their husbands approved and it would not be held against them in the future…

  CHAPTER 1

  “Honey, he kissed me!” I gasped in shocked outrage.

  I wasn’t mad.

  However, it paid to act so.

  I was raised the old fashioned way: wives didn’t accept kisses from other men, even if that man was the best man at my recent wedding.

  Hank scowled at his friend. “Benny, if you don’t knock that shit off, I’ll chain you up behind my truck and drag you back to your wife.”

  Benny was all smiles and moved away from me. He was shiftless, without much direction, and married. Also my husband’s best friend and as different from him as night and day. My husband was ultra-focused. Benny always looked dazed.

  I didn’t want to get my husband’s friend in trouble, though. With a mental sigh, I tried to walk a middle ground. “Well, it was just a cheek kiss…”

  Hank gave me a serious look. “Did he hurt you?”

  It was a ridiculous question, but I dared not laugh at the man who was only four months my husband. I didn’t want to go through another divorce. I touched my cheek where the scratch of Benny’s stubble could still be felt. “No.”

  My husband, always so serious that I never knew when he was joking, pointed a dire finger at his friend. “Watch it.”

  Benny looked around for something to catch his attention. “Watch what?”

  He grabbed his friend’s shoulder and spun him around. “Try watching this…” His fist cocked back.

  Stunned by the sudden suggestion of violence, I almost screamed, “Hank! No!”

  They both looked at me as if I was an intruder.

  Except that they both smiled and my husband dropped his fist. Hank muttered, “Was just kidding, Rachel.”

  My heart tapped harshly in my chest. It had looked so real and immediate.

  Hank adjusted his cowboy hat. “Need to run into Dillon and pick up some chicken wire.”

  Benny did not offer to go.

  My husband left our little ranch without any further commentary or suggestion.

  I tried to make nice. I swished my long dark hair back and said to Benny, “Do you think you’ll get back together with Paris?” He was staying with us after having lost his job and been kicked out of his home by his wife.

  Benny’s eyes looked as glazed as always – sort of distant and not all there, but not mentally handicapped in any way. “Nah, I don’t know.” He scuffed his foot in the dirt and shrugged. “She’s a Whitaker. Don’t know what I was thinking. Never should’ve married a Whitaker.”

  I wanted to laugh. It wasn’t like the Whitakers were anything better than middle class, though Paris liked to think of herself as a wealthy socialite. She had even hyphenated her name when she married him: Paris Whitaker-Lee. “She really kicked you out because you lost your job?”

  “My fourth job…” His shoulders shrugged forward and he made a slack face of disinterest.

  “Bring your bags; I’ll show you your room.”

  “Yeah…” He bent to pick up his three suitcases.

  Inside the house, the television was set on a music channel and some upbeat new age song was playing with violins in a western setting.

  I barely paid attention to it all – it was just noise.

  I showed him his room and pointed out the closet shelf with the extra blankets, though it wouldn’t be cold until later in the year. I turned to look at him in the doorway.

  He had set down his suitcases and was leaning absently against the door frame, tapping his fingers on the wood and resting his head against his hand.

  I started to say something but stopped, puzzled by the tapping. His gaze was entirely unfocused, but his fingers tapped a slow rhythm I couldn’t fathom. Also, his chin moved one way, and then gently the other – moving in a counterpoint waltz to his tapping.

  I realized he was subconsciously reacting to the music playing on the television. I said, “Do you like that music?”

  My question seemed to startle him. “Hmm? Music?” His eyes cleared a little. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed. It’s nice, I guess.”

  I blinked at him. You hadn’t noticed? Are you kidding? I pursed my lips shut.

  He looked down. “Sorry, I was thinking…”

  I touched his arm. He was a very nice man and my husband’s friend. “I need to look up something on the internet: our dishwasher isn’t cleaning as well as it should. If you need something, just holler. I’ll be in the other room.”

  “Maybe I’ll just sit out and watch the chickens until Hank gets back.”

  I patted his arm. “Whatever suits you.”

  Through the entire conversation, his fingers did not stop tapping and it wasn’t until I walked away that I heard the deeper underlying bass of the violin song that was ending.

  The timing of the tapping and the bass…

  Curious.

  CHAPTER 2

  I brushed out my long hair. I was unhappy with it and considered dyeing it one way or the other. It annoyingly alternated between black swaths and hints of brunette patches.

  It reminded me of my mother’s.

  I despised my mother.

  She had abandoned the family when I was three. My father raised me. I never knew the whole story, except that she had left us to go be with some sex-control freak.

  Maybe mother would’ve had some advice on my first marriage to the Man of Jealousy and Threats. My ex had never hit me, but he had grabbed me and shook me several times. After the threats turned uglier, I had left.

  What would mother have said?

  My father would’ve told me to study up on it – which is all I ever did when faced with a problem.

  Hank laid his hand on my shoulder. “Are you going to be all right with Benny in the house?”

  My husband was a gentle man sometimes, most especially with me and the chickens. But otherwise, he was blunt, brusque, and brutal.

  I said earnestly, “Of course I’ll be fine. It’s a shame about Paris; she seemed so nice.”

  “That was just what she wanted you to see. I warned him about her.” I saw his frown in the mirror. He said, “The boy can’t keep a job, though. Too unfocused.”

  “You think he’ll work out okay here with the chickens?”

  “For certain. I’ll keep him focused, and the work isn’t something that requires maximum attention. Shoveling and refilling the water containers is mindless work.”

  “Maybe he’ll be the worker you’ve been talking about.”

  His voice dropped severely. “Well, we’ll see.” He changed the subject. “That kiss didn’t really bother you? You sounded panicked.”

  I most definitely did not want to appear that I was setting myself against his best friend. I waved him off. “No, really. I was just surprised.”

  His frown deepened. “I didn’t think much about your ex at the time. I suppose I can understand—”

  I cut him off. “You’re not like him, Hank. Not in any way, shape, or form. I’m… I’m sorry if for a moment I had a flashback to all that jealousy.”

  He squeezed my shoulder. “Easy, girl. It’s all right.”

  I imitated my husband’s method of assertive determination.“Benny Lee is not a problem.”

  A flicker of a smile ghosted my husband’s handsome, rugged feature
s. “He was the best man, after all. I suppose a peck on the cheek is his due.”

  I was relieved.

  For a second, I felt the memory of the brushing kiss across my cheek: the soft lips; the warmth of his breath; and the rough scrape of his whiskers. I reached up and touched my husband’s hand to reconnect with reality. “I fixed the dishwasher.”

  “You did?”

  “The hardest part was finding the right size hex screw driver.”

  “I had one?”

  “Yep, but it was in the smaller tool kit, not your bigger one.”

  He muttered, “Lucky. I thought that smaller kit was useless. I’ll make sure to get some better ones. Eventually.”

  “It’s no rush; it’s all fixed.”

  He squeezed my shoulder again. “Saved us the cost of a repairman.”

  “No reason to spend it if I can do it myself.” All it had taken was a simple YouTube that showed everything. My father had taught me to learn things on my own to be self-sufficient. Was there anything I couldn’t learn?

  Even about my husband’s only real friend?

  CHAPTER 3

  “How’s Benny working out?” I asked my husband a few days later. I lifted my toast.

  “Like he was born to it.” But his expression was disappointed.

  His hesitation made me curious. “What?” I prodded him.

  “It’s like he can do the work fine, but he’s not all there. He deserves something better.”

  I was at a loss. “So… you’re going to tell him it isn’t working out?”

  He scowled. “Did I say that? The boy just deserves better, is all. He can shovel chicken shit just fine.”

  I paled, fearful I might have said something to upset my husband.

  His scowl deepened. “Knock that off; we’re just talking.”

  “What?”

  “Going all pale and shit. You act like I’m about to hit you.” His fist clenched.

  “Why are you making a fist then?”

  He leaned towards me across the table. “Because I’d love to beat the holy shit out of your fucking ex-husband.”

  I wasn’t sure who would win in that fight, but I was leaning towards Hank.

  Benny interrupted us, coming into the kitchen, hair still wet from the shower. “Mmm, smells good.”

  I got up and retrieved his plate out of the oven. “Scrambled eggs and toast.”

  He laughed. “Eggs, again.”

  I explained, “It’s a chicken farm.”

  He nodded. “Right… What are my choices?”

  I blinked innocently. “Well, let’s see: eggs fried; eggs scrambled; hard-boiled eggs with mayonnaise…”

  He chuckled. “Stop. I think I’ll just have some eggs.” He leaned in quick and pecked my cheek.

  My eyebrows shot up and I covered my surprised mouth with my hand.

  Hank growled at his friend, “You son of a bitch, I warned you about that.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Do I have to take you out back and beat you senseless?”

  “Sounds like fun, bro.”

  I paled in panic. I didn’t want to be the one who broke up a good friendship. I stammered, “It was my fault.”

  They both looked at me as if I had four heads and tentacles.

  Benny looked like he was going to laugh, but it was my husband who captured all of my attention. He reddened dangerously and got up from the table. He shoved his finished plate into the dishwasher a little too hard and left the kitchen.

  Benny muttered under his breath, “Ohh… he’s mad.”

  I gasped, “Maybe you shouldn’t be kissing me.”

  “It’s fun.”

  I looked at him aghast. “How can you say that? I’m your best friend’s wife, not some cheap girl at a bar.”

  His face crumpled into hurt.

  I realized I had implied he was cheap enough to go for cheap girls. I swallowed and said, “I’m sorry.”

  He looked away. “It’s no matter.”

  Trying to find the ground between my husband and his best friend was so difficult – considering their differences. My shoulders slumped and I hung my head. I rubbed at my forehead and muttered, “I can’t seem to do the right thing…”

  Benny’s voice turned all sympathetic and soft. “Aw, now, don’t get all down about things…” He got up out of his chair he had just taken seconds ago and came around behind me. His hands landed on my shoulders and began kneading.

  I tensed right up and asked, “What are you doing?”

  He drew breath to answer but paused. Three deep rubs later – enough to drive sensational uncertainty into my knotted muscles – he said, “I don’t know…”

  His uncertainty mixed with mine and I was at a loss to pin him down on anything. I let him rub more and closed my eyes. I let out a sigh and tried to relax. Tried to think of anything except how good this really felt.

  Tingles raced down my back and up my arms.

  His thumbs worked up the back of my neck, pressing at the buried tension reaching up to my head.

  I let out a small, wordless moan of quiet acknowledgement. After my initial reticence at letting my husband’s friend give me a neck and shoulder rub passed, I began to feel the stirrings of pleasure – not sexual – that my muscles were receiving the kind of contentment and satisfaction they needed. Stress and worry slowly melted away.

  I had reacted defensively; maybe it wasn’t so bad letting Benny rub my neck?

  My only warning was the briefest touch of heat against the right side of my neck. His warm lips, moist with sensitivity, touched my neck in a kiss. At the same time, his hands dropped down in front of my shoulders and slid right down over my miniscule boobs. The hot slide of his hands over the fabric of my dress raised my nipples instantly.

  I shot up out of the chair and guarded my chest with my forearm. “What are you doing?” I almost screamed at him, but I was particularly breathless with panic and outrage.

  He answered me with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  I stared at him, astonished and stupefied. How could I tell this man – my husband’s best friend – that he was way out of bounds? I tried, despite my bewilderment. “You can’t be doing things like this. I’m married to your best friend. You’ll wreck everything.”

  He looked for a few seconds like he was going to kick his feet and relent to my obviously valid point. But then he grinned crookedly and said, “Sure is fun, though.”

  I looked up at the ceiling in a huff and stomped my foot. Men! I marched out of the kitchen.

  CHAPTER 4

  I didn’t tell my husband and I didn’t think that was a mistake.

  It wasn’t.

  Surely.

  I kept a cold, stern barrier of will between us over the next couple of mornings and avoided a repeat of the neck incident.

  Keeping my defenses up kept me thinking about it and despite my obstinate and successful refusal to give in to Benny’s advances, I couldn’t help but think about it.

  No, I dwelled on it.

  Incessantly.

  The feel of his grip on my shoulders.

  The impression of his thumbs against the back of my neck muscles.

  The touch of his lips on my neck.

  I couldn’t shake any of it from my mind because I was constantly on guard against anything dangerous with him.

  Fortunately, he didn’t make any moves.

  Had it all been a prank from my husband’s breezy, flighty friend?

  Was I a joke to him? Or did he take me seriously? Over the past few days, he had kept his distance. It looked like he took me seriously. If so, as it appeared to be, was I safe from him now?

  Sunday was a day of rest for us, but in name only for my husband. Nevertheless, he got up much earlier on Sundays to get his work done by breakfast. I was afforded time to lie in bed for an hour or so before getting up at my normal time. Then we would spend the rest of the day together.

  I drifted in and out of sleep.
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  I was blissfully untroubled with not a thought of the tingles Benny’s attempts gave me. I sure had dreams about it all though: the temptation of the forbidden kiss; the terror; the torment. I would fall asleep and wake up with it on my mind.

  I should have been enraged and offended. Disgusted, even.

  Period.

  And I was, except…

  Why did I also get so wet when I thought about it?

  This was all too dangerous.

  I had been there with the jealous husband thing.

  Gawd, no more of that, please.

  But I was married again now and I had my new husband to consider. Hank was a good man: strong; loving; considerate. He had dismissed my previous marriage as a mistake and didn’t hold it against me. He had assured me that it wasn’t me that had failed, but my horrible, jealous ex, Phil.

  Hank was back inside early. His noises were solid and soft, as usual.

  Sometimes he would sit on the bed and waken me with a soft touch.

  The bed sank with familiarity and he leaned over me. His lips nuzzled my ear and sent shivers all down my back and legs.

  Alert enough to remember Benny, I opened my eyes just to make sure the familiarity was indeed my husband.

  Except it wasn’t.

  I scrambled away, eyes wide and heart beginning an all too familiar drumbeat inside my chest. I failed to control my reaction. “Dammit, Benny! What are you doing in here?”

  He winked. “Giving you a wake-up kiss. I saw you and couldn’t resist.”

  “Get out of my room!” I shouted. Then I realized that if Hank was anywhere near, he would hear it.

  Can’t have that.

  I clutched the sheets to my nakedness and bolted from the bed. I grabbed his arm and hauled. “Get out!” I hissed.

  Benny genuinely looked distressed. “I’m sorry…”

  Moving with all the force I could muster, I pushed him out of the room. Even if he was contrite, I wasn’t going to relent. This was just way too dangerous. “Out!”

  He hung his head and went.

  I slammed the bedroom door and turned, leaning back against it so as to try controlling my shaking. I leaned my head down into my hand and rubbed at my forehead.