by Jeff Strand
"Can I see you again?"
Julie shook her head. "Absolutely not. This was a one-time indiscretion. I got it out of my system and I can't do it again."
"Oh," said Kirk, trying not to let the disappointment come through in his voice. Of course they couldn't do it again. That would be ridiculous. He shouldn't have said something so stupid. He didn't want to mess up Julie and Ralph's marriage, even if it was a dysfunctional, weird, and unhealthy one.
"I need to take a shower," said Julie. "Care to join me?"
They didn't have sex in the shower, but Julie emerged with the cleanest breasts in the northern hemisphere.
"Enjoy the rest of your evening," Julie told him as they stood next to her car.
"You too."
Julie got into her car and drove away. Now Kirk had to figure out what he was going to do about Ralph. He was sure he could handle it without any problems.
* * *
Goddamn that had been good.
Best sex of Julie's life. Granted, that wasn't saying much, but goddamn. Talk about surpassing expectations.
She had no idea why Ralphie had paid that guy to seduce her, but she was glad he did.
9
The next morning, Kirk was awakened by a knock on the door. He glanced over at the clock and saw that morning had barely started—it was just after three o'clock. 3:00 AM visitors were rarely a good thing, but maybe Julie had tracked him down and wanted to fuck like crazy. He'd be amenable to that.
He looked through the peephole. It was not Julie wanting to fuck like crazy. It was Ralph, who appeared to be in a sour mood.
Kirk had already decided on his plan of action: lie his ass off. He opened the door. "Hey, Ralph, how's it going?"
"May I come in?"
"Do you have the second half of my cash?"
"No," said Ralph. "I do not."
"Oh. Well, yeah, I mean, I guess you can come in. Kinda early, though."
"Sorry about that. I know you must be tired."
Ralph walked past him into the living room. Kirk shut the door and forced a smile. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"I'll take a beer."
Kirk went into the kitchen and took two bottles of beer out of the refrigerator. This was going to be fine. Nothing to worry about. He couldn't expect Ralph to be feeling cheery so soon after Kirk had screwed his wife. He popped off the bottle caps and returned to the living room, where Ralph was sitting on the sofa.
"Thank you," said Ralph, taking the beer. He took a long swig.
Kirk sat on the recliner across from him. Ralph took another swig, and then another, draining the bottle. He set it on the coffee table and belched for a full seven seconds.
"Can I get you another?" Kirk asked.
"Nah."
"So what can I do for you?"
"How did tonight go?"
"Exactly as planned. I talked her into going back to a hotel and we got right down to business. What's funny is that I didn't even have to fake the performance anxiety—I was so nervous that it happened on its own. I offered her a backrub but I used shampoo instead of lotion, so that was a great big ol' mess. Suds everywhere." Kirk chuckled. "When I finally got it up I did the 'wrong hole' thing, and she did not like that. She ended up kneeing me in the balls. They're still swollen. Wanna see?"
"You're saying that it went poorly?"
"Worse than two Amish virgins trying to do it."
"What does that mean?"
"The Amish don't have very good sex education," said Kirk.
"They don't?"
"Or maybe they do. Maybe they're better at sex because they don't see unrealistic depictions of it in movies. I don't know. I was just trying to be funny."
"You might want to save the hilarious stand-up comedy for a conversation where it's appreciated."
"You seem a bit out of sorts, Ralph. What's wrong?"
"What the hell do you think is wrong? Julie was glowing when she came home! She was practically purring!"
"Oh."
"She kept smiling and sighing happily for no reason, and she went right to sleep! She usually tosses and turns and steals the covers!"
"It was a pretty engaging book club discussion," said Kirk.
"You were supposed to fuck her badly!"
"I did!"
"Bullshit! How many times did she come? How many?"
"Zero. Maybe even negative one. I may have turned her off to men altogether, and for that I am deeply sorry."
"Do you know how snuggly she was? You made her your goddamn sex kitten, didn't you?"
"I don't know what to tell you. Everything went as planned. The only way it could've gone worse is if I'd eaten a lot of spicy food beforehand. Maybe she had sex with somebody else after I left."
"Are you calling my wife a slut?"
Kirk shook his head. "No. I meant that in a sex-positive way. I'd never try to slut shame her. I mean, I'm not exactly the most discriminating partner seeker."
Ralph's eyes narrowed. "Think about what you've just said, and ask yourself if that's the right approach when there's an angry husband in your apartment."
"I don't know what you want from me. I did my job. If she came home in a good mood, that's not my fault. For all I know, she was so sexually frustrated when she left that she bought a really expensive vibrator. Those high end ones are a million times better than a dick. You barge into my apartment at three in the morning, accusing me of wrongdoing, and you don't even consider that Julie might have given that pleasure to herself?"
"She has a collection of the finest dildos money can buy," said Ralph. "She's got that rabbit thing, and she's got one that looks and feels just like a twelve-inch cock. It even heats up. I've watched her use them. This was not post-dildo snuggling."
"We'll just have to agree to disagree."
"No, we'll have to agree that you made my wife purr, you son of a bitch!"
"Fine. Whatever. I'm not going to convince you that I'm right, and you're not going to convince me that my equipment worked properly. So how do you want to resolve this?"
"I want the first half of my payment back. And then I'm going to kick your ass."
"No," said Kirk. "I'll forfeit the second half of my payment because I'm an honorable guy, but I'm not giving you a refund when I did my job. And you don't get to kick my ass."
"How are you going to stop me?" asked Ralph.
"By kicking your ass first."
"Oh, really?"
"C'mon, Ralph. You're doughy. You're wheezing a little just from raising your voice. This is not a fight you'd win."
It suddenly occurred to Kirk that Ralph might have brought a gun. This was the sort of thing that should have occurred to him before he opened the door. Furious husbands confronting their wives' lovers often brought firearms. The sex had been so good that it made his perspective of the world overly optimistic.
"I could sue you," said Ralph.
"You'd drag me into court to tell a judge that I made love to your wife too skillfully?"
Ralph's face instantly turned red, which couldn't have been healthy for his blood vessels. "Did you just say 'made love'?"
"Sorry. I meant 'porked.'"
"Is this a joke to you?"
"No, I'm just flabbergasted that I fulfilled my side of the deal, and you're here accusing me of giving your wife an orgasm. I guess if 'Ow! Not there!' is the sound she makes when she climaxes, I may have misinterpreted the signals, but I swear to you, she had a shitty time."
Ralph's lip curled in disgust. "Literally?"
"No. God, no. Figuratively."
"Maybe I'll confront her. We'll see if she verifies the 'wrong hole' story."
Dammit. If Ralph was going to take his anger out on somebody, it needed to be Kirk. "All right. Fine. You caught me. Full disclosure. I took her back to the hotel with every intention of following the plan, but I just couldn't do it. She's beautiful and sensual and amazing. You don't know how lucky you are. We got carried away, and for that I apologize. She did call out your nam
e, like seven or eight times."
Ralph just stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists.
Finally he spoke: "Thank you for your honesty."
"No problem."
"I want my five hundred bucks back."
"Yeah, yeah, that's fair. I wasn't gonna go to the bank until you gave me the second half, so I've still got the cash."
Kirk's plan had been to roll around naked in the thousand dollars, paper cuts be damned. Fortunately for Ralph, the first five hundred remained unsullied. Kirk really hated the idea of returning the money, but it was the right thing to do. He hadn't earned it.
He had a small desk in the corner of his living room, though it was rarely used for any sort of desk-related activities. Mostly it was just a place to put stuff until he found a different place to put it. As he walked over, Ralph followed, a little too closely. Kirk opened the drawer and took out the envelope.
"Here you go," he said.
"Mind if I count it?" Ralph asked.
"No, go right ahead."
Ralph opened the envelope and slowly went through the bills one at a time, counting them out loud. When he reached five hundred dollars, he nodded and closed the envelope again. "It's all there."
"I wouldn't rip you off."
"I'm still going to kick your ass."
"No, you're not."
"Giving my money back isn't enough of a resolution. You fucked my wife. You're lucky I'm not here to kill you."
"I'm sorry about the way this all worked out," said Kirk. "But I'm not the one who interrupted your breakfast with this batshit crazy offer. If you hire somebody to have sex with your wife, well, maybe she's going to have a good time. It's the risk you took. Now please leave my apartment."
"One punch," said Ralph. "You've got to at least give me one punch."
"No."
"I've been emasculated! You won't let me have one punch to give me back my dignity?"
"Where?"
"Jaw?"
"Hell no."
"Stomach?"
Kirk shook his head. "It really hurts to get punched in the stomach. You could do serious damage to my internal organs."
"Then what do you recommend?"
"I guess I'd let you slap me in the face."
"That a joke?"
"No, why?"
"You don't overcome being emasculated by slapping the perpetrator in the face."
"Well, I don't know what to tell you," said Kirk. "I have no interest in letting you beat up on me. Why don't you go make a voodoo doll or something?"
"How about I stomp on your foot?"
"Stomp on my foot?"
"Yeah," said Ralph. "Stomp on your foot."
"That would actually make you feel better?"
"I think so."
"It's not that big of a step up from slapping me in the face."
"It'll do."
"With shoes or without?"
"Without."
"No way. You could break my foot. Unless we were both going to have bare feet."
"That would be kind of gay," said Ralph.
"Yes, it would be the behavior of homosexuals with foot fetishes who are into sado-masochism. But if it will get you off my back..."
"Fine. You can put your shoes on."
"All right, then," said Kirk. "Let's do it. But you just get to stomp on it. You don't get to jump. Your other foot stays on the floor."
"I accept these terms."
Kirk put on his shoes, wishing he owned a pair of good solid work boots, then put his left foot forward, feeling more than a little silly. But if this kept Ralph from going on a homicidal rampage, he could handle feeling a little silly.
"Right foot," said Ralph.
"Why?"
"You're right handed, aren't you?"
"Yeah."
"So I want to stomp on your dominant foot."
Kirk decided not to argue. He switched feet.
"Only one stomp," said Kirk.
"All right."
"And just a stomp," said Kirk. "You don't get to grind your heel against it."
"I wasn't going to grind."
"Let's do it."
Ralph slammed his foot down upon Kirk's. Kirk had assumed it would hurt, but he hadn't anticipated quite this amount of adrenaline-fueled rage. The pain was unbelievable. He might've even heard a bone crack. His plan had been to take his punishment in a stoic, dignified manner, but instead he let out a high-pitched shriek.
"Ow, shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!"
"I barely even stomped on you."
"The hell you didn't! Did you put cement in those shoes or something? Ow! Shit!"
Ralph sneered at him. "That was quite a shriek. Maybe you're right; maybe somebody else did bang my wife after you."
"Just go, okay? You got your money back and you shattered my foot. We're done here, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, we're done." Ralph left the apartment.
Kirk flopped down on the couch and took off his shoe. His foot was red but at least there was no bone protruding through the skin.
Returning the money had been a major bummer, but still, it had been an evening well spent. That said, he didn't think he'd try to see Julie again. The next time, Ralph might have a gun, and sex, no matter how mind-blowing, wasn't worth dying over.
10
Julie lay in bed, wondering when Ralph would return.
She didn't know where he'd gone or what he was doing. Presumably it had something to do with the fact that he'd paid Kirk to fuck her brains out tonight. He was probably asking for graphic details, sweat glistening on his brow, licking his lips as Kirk described the things they'd done.
This was not an appealing mental image. The "ick" factor was strong. But if Ralph was going to open their marriage to other sexual partners—even if she wasn't supposed to know about it—she wasn't going to protest. She was happy to play along. Hell, if Ralph wanted to hide in the closet and watch, she'd be okay with that.
She'd been a lot hornier than usual recently, ever since she decided to write an erotica novel. Just the Sex Parts of My Diary was the tale of a newly single woman who discovered online dating. Julie had done quite a bit of research and discovered that the world of online dating was a vile cesspool filled with creepy pervos obsessed with sending pictures of their unsightly dicks, but for the purposes of her book, these websites were filled with handsome, charming men with superb grammar skills. It was meant to be a fantasy, after all.
Julie planned to tell Ralph about the book after it was finished. She'd be embarrassed to have him read it, but he wouldn't ask to read it, so that wouldn't be a problem. During their marriage, she'd secretly written eleven novels. She hated them all. In fact, upon completing each of them she'd renamed the files Dogshit, Dogshit #2, Dogshit #3, etc.
She'd decided that maybe her problem was that she was trying to write deep, literary fiction instead of something that was simply entertaining. Maybe writing some shameless smut was what she needed. Write about penises and vaginas instead of redemption and poverty. Write the kind of stuff she liked to read.
It had worked. She loved this book. She'd never felt so creatively energized. And writing about people having sex was making her want to have sex herself.
The physical part of her relationship with Ralph had been great at first. They went at it in every room of the house, including the attic, the garage, and underneath the front porch. It was extremely difficult for him to achieve climax, which was a bummer for him but paradise for her, since it meant that they didn't have to stop until she couldn't take anymore. And he'd do anything she asked, even if the request made him break out into a cold sweat.
Then, a couple of years into their marriage, she brought out the sock puppet.
She'd received it as a gag gift from her Secret Santa at the office. It was a purple puppet with big googly eyes and floppy ears. She named it Dippy. That night in bed, Julie was in a wacky mood so she put the puppet on her hand and started speaking in a high-pitched squeaky voice. "Hi, Ralph! I'm
Dippy! How about you give my owner a nice rim job?"
Ralph had obliged with great enthusiasm, and more requests followed, all of them unbecoming of an innocent looking sock puppet. When Dippy asked Ralph to "f-f-f-fuck Julie" (Dippy had a charming stutter), Ralph was in there immediately. It was the fastest he'd ever come, and the most voluminous.
The next night, he'd asked her to bring out Dippy again. Julie had done so. Why not? Dippy was fun. The sex was awesome.
The night after that, he'd asked once more. Julie had suggested that they save this sort of play for another time. It was an enjoyably goofy diversion but she didn't want their every romantic encounter to involve a squeaky-voiced sock puppet. Though Ralph didn't try to pressure her, he did pout a bit, which was obviously something of a turn-off. He couldn't get hard, and eventually Julie's wrist was too sore and her lips too chapped to keep trying.
When she slipped Dippy onto her hand the next morning, the sex was vigorous. When they tried Dippy-free intercourse before bed, Ralph did finally get it up, but she noticed that he kept peeking over at the drawer where the puppet was stored.
Their sex life was never the same. Without the puppet, Ralph just didn't seem that much into it. Doing the voice without Dippy on her hand worked a little, but Ralph only truly seemed into the act of lovemaking when it was the full package. It wasn't as if the voice or the puppet required much effort on her part, but Julie didn't enjoy having to act ridiculous to get her husband aroused.
She grew to resent Dippy.
Everything had been fine before that goddamned puppet. And so one day, before Ralph got home from work, she threw Dippy into the sink, doused him with lighter fluid (yes, Dippy was a dude) and set him on fire.
It wasn't as if she imagined Dippy letting out horrific shrieks of pain as he went up in flames. She wasn't psychotic about the whole thing—she was just sick of Ralph's weird fetish. Julie watched him burn, rinsed the ashes down the sink, and said nothing when her husband came home.
"Did you burn something?" he asked when he walked into the kitchen.
"No, dear."
A couple nights later, Ralph asked her to take out the sock puppet. Julie opened the drawer and expressed surprise that she couldn't find Dippy—which was, of course, a transparent lie since Ralph knew perfectly well that nobody was breaking into homes and stealing sock puppets out of nightstand drawers. He remembered the smell of burnt cotton, confronted her about it, and she confessed to the homicide.