Dark Tide

by Ben Boswell

  “It’s not my thing,” I replied.

  She laughed. “Really? Could have fooled me.”

  “It’s not a thing. It’s a one time thing. Sui generis as the kids say.”

  “Roman kids maybe. So you’ve never thought about me with other men?” She asked skeptically.

  “No,” I replied tentatively.

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re a terrible liar. It’s one of your best traits.”

  “No. I’m serious. I don’t sit around imagining scenarios involving you—”

  “But…” she prompted.

  “But nothing.” I paused. “It’s not like that. It’s more that, well, I know guys look at you and I imagine you notice hot guys too.”

  She nodded. “Well sure. Who doesn’t?”

  “Right, but the difference is that if I see a hot girl, even if I wanted something to happen, I would need to really work it. All you’d have to do is make eye contact.”

  She laughed. “It’s not that easy.” She hesitated, booze fueling her honesty. “Well, okay, maybe it is sometimes. But it’s not my fault men are sluts.”

  “No, I get that. I’m not accusing you of anything.”

  And I really wasn’t. Truth is, it was precisely because I trusted her implicitly that I was even allowing myself to have these feelings. It was why thinking of her and Reg was sexy rather than scary.

  “So,” I continued, “yeah sure, when I see you go out looking all sexy I know there is potential for something to happen. But I’ve never dwelled on it. Just fleeting thoughts.”

  She caught my use of the past tense. Fucking English majors. “Until now.”

  The image of Captain Wallace’s muscular body moving between my wife’s widely spread thighs returned. Her white hands on his black ass as he thrust powerfully inside her.

  “Until now,” I admitted.

  “Why now?” She asked.

  I shrugged.

  She rubbed her chin. “Hmmm, vell zis is very interessing,” she replied.

  I laughed. “God, that’s the worst German accent I’ve ever heard.”

  “Worse than on Hogan’s Heroes?”

  I laughed. “You know, Werner Klemperer was actually a German Jew who fled Hitler.”

  She looked at me quizzically.

  “Colonel Klink.”

  “Can we stop nerding out for a minute,” she replied amused. “We’re supposed to be discussing why you’re suddenly so gung ho on me making it with a black guy.”

  “Okay you have a theory.”

  She gave me a mock innocent expression, who me?

  “Well two theories actually. One frivolous, one malicious.”

  “Give me malicious first. Bad news before good.”

  “Okay. But keep in mind I’m not accusing you of anything. We’re analyzing your subconscious.”

  I nodded. “Go ahead, Dr. Freud in a bikini.”

  “Well Mr. Fortysomething with a suddenly fat wallet—”

  I started shaking my head. I could see where this was going.

  “Let me at least finish. So maybe you’re feeling a little trapped. Aging wife. Kids. You could really enjoy yourself if you got rid of me. So you’re thinking of ways to sabotage the relationship. And bringing other people into the mix is a surefire way of doing that.”

  “Not always,” I replied. “Some people swear by it.”

  She laughed. “Oh, so this is just an entrée into becoming swingers?”

  I recoiled. “God no. All those flabby old folks, cigarettes, and nude volleyball.”

  “I think you’re confusing swingers and nudists.”

  “Maybe. But anyway, no, that’s not right. I don’t want to be rid of you, and I don’t want to become a swinger.”

  She looked at me piercingly and took a sip of wine. “Hmm, maybe as far as your conscious mind knows.”

  At least she wasn’t accusing me of lying. “So what’s your other theory?”

  “You’re a junkie.”

  “Huh?”

  “Excitement. You’ve been chasing business success for years. You’ve got it. You’re like the dog who finally catches the car. And now you’re thinking, what next? How can I ever top this ride? Where will my next excitement come from?”

  “No, I have plenty of ideas –“

  She nodded. “I know you do. But you’re still afraid this is it, the high point, that everything else will be tame in comparison. Personally, I believe in you. I know you’ll always be in the thick of things. But I think you’re secretly worried about being bored.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  She smirked. “Oh? You’re even worried about being bored on this little trip, so your mind has cooked up this crazy little scheme to ensure that the week out on the water isn’t uneventful.”

  “Or maybe, I just think the idea is hot? How about that, Ms. Smartypants?”

  “Did you just call me Ms. Smartypants?”

  “At least I didn’t call you a car chasing dog. And, anyway, you think it’s hot too. You aren’t just humoring me, and you know it.”

  “I’ve admitted as much. Though, I am playing it up for your sake whether you believe me or not.”

  “I don’t,” I insisted obdurately.

  “Okay,” she shrugged, “but whatever. That just makes my point stronger. Let’s say I am desperate to do it. Desperate for an interracial fling. I’m still the one arguing against it. Because, you know, impulse control. It’s what separates us from the animals.”

  “Not the hippo. They have impeccable impulse control.”

  “Jeremy, be serious.”

  I swear, I tried. She wanted to see this as a major issue, a threat to our marriage, and all I could see was a crazy notion. Jumping out of an airplane. Climbing Everest.

  A drunken weekend in Vegas, letting it all ride on black…. I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. And after a moment, she joined in.

  “You’re an idiot,” she said, but with a smile.

  “See, now you’re making sense,” I said as I poured us the rest of the wine.

  ***

  We were pretty toasted after lunch. Drinking in the hot sun is always fraught, even when there is a cool breeze blowing in off the ocean. But even still, we both agreed we had to try the Goombay Smash. So we headed for the poolside bar at the Rock House.

  I needed to relieve myself, so I stopped by the facilities on the way in. When I came out, I noticed Jennifer sitting on a sofa overlooking the pool. She wasn’t alone. A handsome bartender was taking her order. In theory. I guess. He was actually perched on the armrest of the sofa leaning over my wife and with great deliberation pointing out each item on the cocktail menu.

  He was a tall black man, beefier than Reg or Denny, but still fit. Powerful. He had a shaved head, and wore his shirtsleeves rolled up so they cinched his biceps.

  I paused at the doorway to the restrooms and watched for a few minutes as she smiled and flirted her way through the explanations. When he finally departed, I made my way over.

  “Having fun?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw you watching just now.”

  “Oh, you seemed pretty engrossed.”

  “Oh yes, did you know they have seven different gins here? And the island’s best martini bar? Charles made quite sure I made an informed choice in drinks.”

  “You still got the Goombay Smash, though.”

  “She nodded. I told him I had to try it, even if it marked me out as a tourist rather than a local. When I ordered two, he said he hoped it was because I was thirsty rather than accompanied.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That I was with my husband, but that since my husband wanted me to have sex with another man, he should keep close.”

  “You didn—”

  Just then Charles returned with the two drinks. Honey golden concoctions that looked absolutely delicious, but I wasn’t really focused on the drinks. Instead I was desperately searching
for signs in his demeanor that she’d said anything of the sort to him. He was obviously entranced with my wife, but also perfectly professional.

  “Of course not,” she replied once he’d gone. A pregnant pause as she regarded me. “Oh God, you’re actually disappointed.”

  I nodded. I was a little. I took a sip of my drink. It was strong. Stronger than I expected, though the pineapple juice gave it a nice tart bite. Interesting. A dangerous drink. If Jennifer were here alone, lounging by the pool, she could easily have one too many, and then… I looked over at Charles and he gave me a wink. Maybe she had said something. Probably not, but….

  “So who would you rather I bang? Reg or Charles?”

  His brawny build suggested a powerful fuck. I pictured him fucking Jennifer standing, her legs wrapped around his waist as he bounced her up and down on his cock. Her head thrown back in passion, long hair arcing behind her. Sexy, but not as sexy as Reg, between her legs on the big bed in the master cabin of the yacht.

  “Reg,” I replied. “Charles would be hot, but definitely Reg. If I had to choose one.”

  “You had to think about it.”

  “Maybe I just like thinking about it.”

  She shook her head. “You’re weird.”

  “The word you’re looking for is kinky….” I paused and a new thought struck me. “And understanding.”

  “Understanding, huh?”

  “You’re right, I did rob the cradle. I mean, think about how much fun you would have had in your early twenties, single, no kids.”

  She laughed. “Ah, clever. So now this isn’t just your kink. You’re doing me a favor. Letting me sow some belated wild oats.”

  I smirked, pleased at my own creativity. “You’re the one who said I’d prematurely stopped your clock.”

  “I said nothing about prematurely. I have no regrets.”

  “None?”

  “None.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Okay, okay,” I replied, deciding to try a different tack. “What if you had no choice…”

  “What? Like rape?” she frowned.

  I hadn’t been thinking rape. I’d been thinking about cop and speeder games. But whatever, that was a bad start.

  “No, no, forget that. But what if you were in a situation where, I’d never know. Absolutely, no shit, non-disclosure.”

  She looked at me skeptically. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  “What? No. God, Jennifer. No. I’ve never. I’d never….”

  “Right, so I feel the same way.”

  “No, it’s different. I mean, if you were into it…”

  She laughed. “So, you mean, if I totally wanted to see you bang another woman, you’d take one for the team?”

  “I would.”

  “I bet.”

  “But not you, huh?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe I would. But I know you’re not that into it. When push comes to shove—”

  Charles approached us. We’d both drained our glasses.

  “Would you like another round?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” I replied, “just the che….” I patted around my shorts ostentatiously. “I seem to have misplaced my wallet.”

  Charles frowned. He hadn’t pegged us as potential deadbeats, so hadn’t taken a credit card up front. Now he could see himself on the hook for two expensive drinks.

  “You just had it,” Jennifer noted.

  “Yeah, I must have left it at the other place. Let me just go and get it,” I said to Charles. “I’ll leave Jennifer here as… insurance.”

  She gave me an incredulous glare. “Really, Jeremy?”

  I shrugged. “What? I lost my wallet.”

  She continued to stare at me.

  I looked up at Charles. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

  He nodded reluctantly. I could see he was almost going to just let us off the hook. Tell us the drinks were on the house.

  “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Jennifer said. I looked over at her and saw she was looking up at Charles. “I think Charles and I can work something out. Is there anyplace private you and I can talk?”

  Charles looked confused. He looked down at me, but I was no use. I was staring open-mouthed at my wife. She shot me a quick glance and a wink, then returned her attention to the handsome, well-built bartender looming over her.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Um, yes, Miss…. We can speak in the manager’s office.”

  She picked up her beach bag and rose, moving closer to him. “Lead the way.”

  He shifted awkwardly and held out his arm, leading her toward the bar. He pointed at a door behind the counter, and Jennifer, without hesitation strode in that direction.

  I watched, still open mouthed, as my wife and Charles went through and closed the door behind them.

  ***

  At first, I thought Jennifer was just messing with me. But then time began to pass. A minute, then two. A new bartender arrived. Had Charles called in relief so he’d have more time with my wife? He offered me a drink. I ordered another Goombay Smash.

  It was only a thirty dollar tab. Not worth more than a quick boob flash. Was she letting him cop a feel? Play with her nipples?

  Five minutes. And now I knew. She was doing it. Really doing it. I didn’t know what it was. But it was something. I had pushed her into it. Teased and taunted. And she was in a back room with a strange man doing something. What? I pictured her topless, jerking him off. Her small, pale hand stroking his thick, veiny, black cock.

  I felt sick. And aroused. You wouldn’t think that would be possible, but it was. My erection was hard enough to cut glass. I almost came when I adjusted my cock through my shorts. But I was also lightheaded, queasy. It felt like I was going to throw up. I sucked down the rum drink. It settled my stomach even as it further lightened my head.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Howard.”

  I startled and turned to see Thom standing behind me. He was holding a thick canvass bag.

  “Just picking up a few supplies for town,” he said. “Captain asked me to look around and see if you were ready to head back to the boat.”

  “Um, yeah… well, not right at this moment. Um, Mrs. Howard is um….” Paying off a debt with her body even though I can feel my wallet in my pocket.

  Just then, Jennifer reappeared, exiting the back room with a grinning Charles. Thom saw them as well and shot me a surprised expression.

  “He was just showing her around,” I muttered lamely.

  Thom seemed confused and then a knowing smile crossed his face. I blushed deeply. Thom was in the business. He probably knew the layout of the Rock House, and if he did, he surely knew that the only thing in a manager’s office was desk, files, and maybe a couch. There was nothing back there except a little privacy.

  Not only had my wife done something with another man, but Thom knew about it, which meant soon Denny and Reg would know about it, which meant that for the next five days I was going to be on a boat with three men who knew my wife was hot to trot. I felt my cheeks burning. And yet I resisted when Thom reached out for the picnic basket, which was the only thing preventing everyone in the room from seeing the tent in my pants.

  Charles returned to the bar and Jennifer sashayed over to where Thom and I were standing.

  “We weren’t gone too long, were we honey?” She asked, apparently oblivious to Thom standing there…. Or just the reverse, using his presence to taunt me.

  “Erm, no. It was just a moment,” I replied unconvincingly. “So, Thom was asking if we were ready to head back to the boat.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Sure. I think we accomplished our goal here.”

  “Trying the Goombay Smash,” I explained.

  “Oh, right, those were good too,” she replied.

  I looked over at Thom who was staring at us wide eyed, like we were crazy. Which, in retrospect, was a perfectly reasonable reaction.

 
Jennifer looked down at my second empty Goombay Smash. “Oh, you had another. Do I need to….” She trailed off glancing back over her shoulder at Charles, who I realized was still watching her with that same knowing grin.

  I shuddered as a chill ran through me. Why was the idea of sending her back there again so exciting?

  “You okay?” she asked, amused.

  “Um, yeah. No, I’ve got it.”

  No, I wouldn’t do that. Not with Thom there. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet, tossing a twenty down on the table. Jennifer watched me without comment. She’d known I had my wallet the whole time, of course.

  “Okay, let’s get back to the boat,” she chimed, taking Thom and I each by an arm and leading us out of the bar.

  ***

  I was desperate to hear what had happened in the manager’s office, but I wasn’t about to ask in front of Thom. All these crazy thought going through my head. She’d done something. No she hadn’t. Snippets of images. Jennifer topless. Jerking him off. Had she done more? No, she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Or had she? I needed to know.

  And it was like she knew I was desperate and playing me. We strolled back to the dinghy, Jennifer stopping every few steps to ask Thom questions about Dunmore Town. What’s that hotel like? Is that a good restaurant? Wow, any idea who owns that yacht?

  Then on the dinghy she had Thom give us a tour of the harbor. And of course, he was all too happy to oblige, eating up her enthusiasm, and probably having put two and two together, already fast-forwarding to the moment when he would get her alone and… what? What was on the table?

  We finally got on board the yacht, and even then Jennifer was dawdling through a conversation with Captain Wallace. Did you enjoy your day? Oh yes, the beach was gorgeous. What did you have for lunch? Blah, blah, blah. I was leaning toward our cabin, eyeing her desperately, hoping she’d get the hint. But she acted as if she were blissfully oblivious. But she wasn’t. I could see it in the amused gleam in her eyes when she looked over at me, seeing me bouncing from one foot to the other in agony.

  We finally made it down into the cabin.

  “So what happened?” I fairly shouted as I closed the door behind us.

  “Oh, you mean at the bar?”