by Zane
“Don’t try to cover up now, you nasty bitch!”
“B-B-Bruce?” I blinked. “W-w-what are you doing in here?” I couldn’t steady my voice as I swallowed back tears.
“Who the fuck is this?” Juan asked.
That’s when the barrel of the gun moved from me to Juan. His hands flew up in surrender.
“Tell him who the fuck I am!” Bruce screamed, and pointed the gun back at me. My teeth clicked. When I opened my mouth to speak, nothing! The words had formed in my brain, but I couldn’t find sound.
“What, bitch…can’t talk now? Your nasty ass was moaning and screaming, got this Chicano all up in your pussy. You deserve to die!”
“¡Eh, amigo, ’migo, I didn’t know she was married! We just hooked up, you know, on the Net,” Juan offered.
“Oh, she’s married, but I ain’t her fucking husband. That mutherfucka got no idea what kind of slut he’s married to.”
Juan looked at me, then to Bruce. I could see confusion all over his face, but I was more preoccupied with images of the Reaper’s cold finger on that trigger. I wasn’t ready to die.
“If he ain’t your husband, who is he?” Juan asked.
I shook my head. I clutched the sheets at my chin and tried in vain not to start bawling.
“I’m the man she claimed to love! Said she was thinking about leaving him for me! Now look at her, up in here fucking you like I never meant shit!”
He waved the gun as he spoke, using it to emphasize his traitorous words. I stared into his eyes, I had to try something—if this was how I was to die, I had to go out giving it my all.
“Bruce, we went out once,” I reasoned. “Um, I never said I loved you.” I swallowed, and blinked back more tears.
“We—” Bruce pointed at his chest with the barrel of the gun. “We connected!” he snapped. Suddenly, his arm jerked.
BANG!
BANG!
I screamed and thought I was going to wet myself. Beads of sweat laced my forehead and my heart threatened to explode. When I opened my eyes, the gun was back on me again.
Bruce waved the gun as if he was going to scratch the side of his head, like he was confused. Juan and I cringed.
I eased to the side a bit, trying not to become such a direct target.
Bruce shook his head, and frowned. “I’ve been following you for weeks, trying my best to figure out how to fix what went wrong with us.” He shook his head again. “And you up in here giving up the ass;he ain’t even black!” he snarled toward Juan.
“I don’t even know her, amigo. Like I said, we just hooked up. I didn’t know this was your girl!” he pleaded.
Juan’s dick was good, but at that very moment he was acting like a scared little bitch. I can’t say I blame him, we had met on the Internet only less than twenty-four hours earlier. Now here we were both on the wrong side of a gun with a crazy man threatening to pull the trigger.
“Bruce, what do you want me to do?”
“I don’t want you to do a damn thing. You deserve to die!” he screamed.
Still trembling, I closed my eyes and willed myself to be anywhere but there, anywhere but in this situation, caught between two strangers. When Juan buried his head in his palms I felt so alone. I looked at my platinum and diamond wedding band and silently cursed my husband, Charles, for starting this madness in the first damn place!
I was seething when he unveiled his fabulous plan to put the spark back into our seven-year marriage. That had been a mere four months ago. Even with the barrel of a Magnum .45 pointed at my head now, I remember the day like it was hours ago.
“So are you gonna have an open mind?” Charles had asked excitedly.
I looked at my husband, all six feet five inches of his mocha-colored skin. His jet-black hair, eyebrows, thick lashes, and pencil-thin mustache always made his features stand out. Back in the day, just thinking about his striking features was enough to soak my panties. But time passed, work, responsibilities and life got in the way of our sizzling and passionate love affair. We sank into a comfortable and predictable life of boredom.
I didn’t answer him right away. I thought he’d mention an exotic vacation—hell, maybe he wanted a threesome or some role-playing. We had tried the soft porn, regular porn and just about every sex toy under the sun—still, things in our bedroom always went back to humdrum. And humdrum was no longer getting the job done. I sighed and shrugged.
“I guess I’d be willing to at least give it a try, um, I mean, whatever it is. I guess it won’t hurt to at least try.”
A devilish grin crept across his face before he nearly pounced on me. “I’m so glad you agreed, baby.” He hugged me and squeezed my body with such zeal, I was almost as excited about this magic plan that would salvage our union and take us back to marital bliss. When he released me, Charles dashed into the bedroom and returned with a black tote bag. He rushed to the sofa and patted a spot next to him.
“Come on, let’s look through this stuff together. That way we can answer all of your questions and read at the same time.”
I felt my heart take a nosedive when I saw the pamphlets and brochures he held with such care.
“I just have such a good feeling about this,” he said, all giddy. “I’ve even talked to some other couples who say it’s done wonders for them. I know it’s gonna work for us too,” he smiled.
“Swingers,” I mumbled, my hands trembling as I read a brochure’s title aloud.
Charles quickly put his hand over mine. He looked me in the eyes, smiled, then said, “I know, it’s scary at first, but you promised you’d have an open mind.”
I jumped from the sofa and dropped the brochure as if my fingers had been set ablaze. I shook my head, trying to deny what was so evident by all of the materials my husband had collected on what he suspected would save our marriage.
“You, um…” I shook my head and swallowed back fresh tears. “You want us to have sex with other people, Charles?” I tried to shake the images from my head again. “W-w-what would people say? Our family? Our friends?. I can’t believe you want us to actually fuck other people! What about AIDS, what kind of shit…” I had to put a hand on my chest to keep my heart from failing me.
Charles stared up at me with hopeful eyes. The excitement that had invaded his face and voice had vanished. He glanced around at the pamphlets and brochures and shook his head. It was as if he found it hard to believe that I didn’t see this idea for what it was: our last hope at reclaiming happiness.
“I thought you said you’d have an open mind. I’m just trying to save our marriage,” he said.
“By bringing other people into our bedroom? What kind of sick shit is that? You want other men to fuck your wife? You think I want other women sucking your dick?” My voice was shaky despite my efforts to control it. I closed my eyes and shook my head. Silently, I prayed that when I opened them the nightmare would be over. I tried to convince myself that I was enough for my husband, that the solution to our problems lay with us, not with other sex partners, but I could tell his mind was made up. We sat for minutes until his next words pulled me reluctantly into a sordid and sinful world.
“I thought you’d welcome me including you in this, I wanted to do anything to avoid cheating on you.”
His lips were still moving, but the only words that rang in my ear were “avoid cheating on you.”
Against my better judgment I told myself we could try it, if only once, just to show him this was not going to be the “fix-it” he was looking for;then we could return to our normal life and go to counseling like other miserable married folks.
Boy, was I wrong. Dead wrong.
Two weeks after that dreadful day our time had come. From the day of inception to the day of action, Charles had consumed our lives with his magic bullet of a plan. The rules were simple. We’d go to a mixer and mingle. We’d find a couple we were interested in and go into a more private room to talk at first. If we decided we liked each other, we’d take it to the nex
t level, whatever that was.
Every step of the way, something told me Charles would change his mind, or so I hoped. When we arrived at the private club and the valet took our keys, I thought okay, he’ll say forget it. Then inside, where the lights were dimmed, couples danced, sat at bars and tables like regular clubs, again I fantasized. He’ll see this isn’t the answer, I assured myself.
But Charles seemed to soak up the atmosphere almost instantly; he reveled in the surroundings. He grooved to the music, drank and looked around, gazing almost longingly at other men’s wives. And the other men, they smiled like they welcomed his stares. I found all of this repulsive, and had to excuse myself more than a few times to go gaze at my reflection in the mirror.
The last time I returned from the ladies’ room, we had company at our table. I walked up to find a younger Hispanic woman and an older black man socializing with Charles.
“This must be the missus,” the man said, and stood. Charles was too busy cheesing all up in his wife’s face to even acknowledge my return. I burned with envy. She was pretty, full lips, olive skin, oval-shaped eyes, with high cheekbones and large breasts. I couldn’t help but stare and compare her assets to mine. I shook my head.
“You must be Trish.” She smiled. “I’m Mercedes. This is my husband, Philip.” I looked at her, then Charles.
“It’s okay, sit.” He grinned.
Philip looked good for his age. I had no idea how old he was, but I could tell he was older. The gray hair at his temples added to his allure. But I was so jealous of Mercedes that I couldn’t really appreciate Philip’s attributes.
Until he touched me later, oh, when he touched me, my skin tingled beneath his fingers. His hands were firm, his muscular body was stiff and hard all over. I used my tongue to glaze over his six-pack and suckle his nipples and it drove him mad. I no longer cared what Charles was doing with Mercedes because I had found heaven right there in room 2354 at the Hilton.
Philip was a slow and meticulous lover. He was larger, thicker than Charles, and for the first time I realized just how much size really mattered. Philip used just the right amount of force. He filled me so much it felt as though he was tickling my ribs. He was sensuous, giving attention to each nook and cranny of my body.
The man had the nerve to kiss my elbows and made that feel sensuous. It was the first time I had ever experienced multiple orgasms. I never realized I could flow like that, heavy and freely. Philip gave me a tongue bath I won’t soon forget; his lips traveled from the bottom of my feet and all over. There was this “no oral” rule, which we had no problem breaking.
I wanted to suck the color off his massive dick. When he exploded in my mouth, I slurped and sucked, trying not to waste his juices. Fucking Philip was a high I had never experienced and after one hit, I knew I was hooked.
When it was all over and we were on our way back home, I became sick to my stomach when Charles informed me that we can never repeat couples. I remember feeling like someone who thought they had won the lottery only to have the commission say oops, it seems there was some kind of mistake. That night I was overwhelmed with raw emotions. This stranger had peeled back layers and layers of sexual inhibitions for me. In the days, weeks and months that followed I began to yearn for him. But we never saw Philip and Mercedes again.
About three weeks later, we did Kim and Kevin, then Daniel and Sam, followed by Roger and Sonia. But they were just stand-ins for the real thing. I soon realized that I would never find another Philip, not at the parties we frequented. And after a while, Charles had lost interest in the swinging clubs all together. I was devastated. Here he had turned me on to a world of secret possibilities and he was no longer interested.
That’s when I turned to the Internet. Images of Philip forcefully taking me from behind haunted me. With every stroke of the key, every dip into chat rooms, I longed to find him or his twin.
I lucked out and found a group that fit me just right: Closet freaksdotcom. It’s where I met John, Steve, Eric, Nate and Bruce. I also met Melvin, Calvin, Brian and Juan.
It was cool, easy and most important, discreet. Once you became a member of the club, you type in your zip code and you’re instantly hooked up with people who live within a 300-mile radius. You meet in the chat room. Then, if you start feeling someone’s vibe, you request to go private. After that, you and your new friend go into a private chat room alone and negotiate hooking up. Most of the action happened within days. This thing didn’t drag out for weeks, we were fuckers who were looking to get fucked. You hook up, fuck, then move on. No strings whatsoever.
Bruce’s profile was alluring. He boasted his skills in the bedroom like it was a badge of honor. He was tall, like Philip. I started to get happy. They were the same complexion, similar build and both wore size 13½ shoes.
I just knew I had hit the jackpot once again. Bruce and I agreed to hook up in these abandoned row houses near downtown. The only people who frequented the area were druggies and other undesirables. This was not typically my style, but once in heat, I didn’t mind. I had been creaming all day thinking about my rendezvous.
Bruce asked me to forget the bra and wear crotchless thongs, the kind where the string ran up my ass. So by the time I arrived, it was slippery wet between my thighs and my nipples were hard.
We didn’t waste any time. He looked me up and down then said, “Damn, you’re fine too.”
I followed him to a house near the middle of the row. We glanced around in both directions before he forced his way through the rickety door. The house was small, smelled rank and there were several rotted areas on the floor. Bruce pulled out a flashlight and walked into a back room. I was right on his tail. A rodent scampered across the floor, I jumped. Our heads snapped toward a nearby window with a view of a couple arguing.
“Okay, this looks good,” he said.
I just shrugged. Truth be told, I just needed room to lie on my back and spread my legs. We could’ve fucked in the car, for all I cared.
“This is the shit! My dick is so hard right now,” Bruce teased. He stroked his crotch for good measure.
I was so looking forward to getting the shit fucked out of me. I tugged at my spring trench coat, and he stopped me.
“No, not yet, lemme find us a spot.”
I watched as he walked over to a corner, kicked some debris out of the way, then spread a blanket he had brought.
When that was done, he sat back on the blanket; he used two flashlights to illuminate the room. I shed my coat and stood in front of him wearing stacked-heel boots, my crotchless thong and tassels taped to my nipples.
“Fuck, you are fine, and that body is banging.” He rubbed his crotch again. “Here, turn around, lemme see that ass!”
I turned, but wondered when I’d see some action. I wanted dick in me and I wanted it bad. I didn’t come for a damn fashion show. I had told Charles I’d only be gone two hours.
“Yes, see, that’s what I like, when the string is buried so deep between your cheeks. That shit is a real turn-on. Just stand there for a minute.”
I frowned when I heard what sounded like him beating his meat. When he moaned, I tried to turn around.
“Oh, no! Not yet, wait, just a sec,” he cried. “Shake it for me,” he begged, his deep baritone suddenly replaced by a shrieking sound.
Something didn’t feel right, but still, I jiggled my ass and rubbed my cheeks for good measure.
“Aaaaaah, shit!”
I turned around to see that Bruce had cum all over himself. I was livid. I looked at him, frowning, then stepped closer.
“What’s going on?” I asked. I thought maybe that’s how he got down, you know, needed to release first, then his shit would be rock hard so I could get mine, properly.
“Here, come sit next to me, lemme hold you. That was good,” he said, actually breathing hard.
Twenty minutes later, Bruce’s dick was still limp. I took it into my mouth, what there was of it, and nothing.
“Um, I d
idn’t think you were actually gonna suck it,” he said. “That’s not gonna work. I just needed to believe you were gonna do it, and now that you have, I’m afraid it won’t do a thing.”
I raised an eyebrow. I didn’t know if he was for real.
“Okay, well, maybe if you sucked my pussy, that might help,” I suggested.
“Help who?”
I tilted my head toward him, and started fuming. “What do you mean, help who?” I asked with much attitude.
“Look, this is a bust. I say we just chill, then we can hook up some other time and try again.” Bruce looked down at his limp dick. “I’m down for the count.” He shrugged.
I snatched up my coat and bolted toward the door.
“Wait, Trish, come on, let’s cuddle. I swear it’ll be worth your while!” he screamed as I stormed out.
That night I laughed at myself as I drove back home. I never thought I’d see Bruce again. I chalked it up as a loss and decided I’d find myself a sure thing the next night.
The following day I got flowers at work from Bruce begging me to give him another chance. It was a pleasant surprise, but not enough for me to consider his proposal. My mind should’ve been wondering how the fool knew where I worked, but I was hotly anticipating my romp with Melvin.
And he did not disappoint. Neither did Calvin or Brian. I took a break for about two weeks, then met this pepper named Juan. He was the first Hispanic man I ever wanted to fuck.
“…So you see, that’s why I’ve gotta kill your nasty ass.” Bruce’s voice jarred me back to my sad situation. The gun was still pointed at me, and Juan sat crying on the floor. He had started praying in Spanish and every so often would do the symbol of a cross, touching his forehead and each shoulder.
I knew I was on my own. “Bruce, I think this is all just a huge misunderstanding.”
“You skank bitches are all the same. Just ’cause a nigga can’t get it up every once in a while you think you better than somebody. All you had to do was give us another shot. I sent you flowers, I called you at work, I followed you around with your other niggas, I sat outside your house, waited for a chance to talk to you alone, but no, you just ignored me,” he said.