The Crush: An Affair in Three Parts

by Ben Boswell

  I got in at 3:30am and checked into an ocean view room at the Borgata. I had a scotch and soda and sat up, watching the sun rise over the ocean and thinking about life. The phone rang.

  It was Annie. "Where are you? I was so worried," she exclaimed frantically.

  "Don't worry about me. I'm fine. I just need to think."

  "I told you I love you and don't want to lose you," she whined.

  "You also told me you'd try not to fuck Greg anymore," I snapped. "How can I believe you when you can't even follow through on that?"

  "What do you... how do you...?" she stammered. "Never mind. You're right."

  We both stayed on the line silent for a while. Every once in a while, I could hear a muffled sob from her end.

  Finally, she said, "He'll be gone at the end of the week."

  "Uh huh," I replied non-committal. Was she telling me she planned to continue fucking him until then?

  "He asked me to move to San Diego with him," she added. "I said no."

  "Good for you."

  "You're not make this easy," she whined.

  "Good," I snapped. And I hung up.

  She called back, but I turned off my phone. I dozed off as the sun rose high over the East Coast.

  I woke up around noon, went downstairs, played some cards and had some drinks. I got a massage at the spa, took a nap. At around 7:00pm, before dinner, I decided to call Emily, Annie's best friend.

  "Hi Em," I started genially.

  "Hi Dave, what's up?" she asked cautiously.

  "I need to talk. About Annie. Has she told you what’s going on?"

  She had. "Look Dave, Annie is my friend, you can't ask me to take sides."

  "I don't want you to take sides. I just want you to help me understand things."

  She sighed. "Well, for lack of a better word, Annie is being a cunt. She knows it, you know it, and I know it."

  "So what do I do?"

  "I can't answer that for you. I know Annie would be crushed to lose you over this. But she's infatuated with this guy, and he's taking advantage of it. I'd say it's just a phase, but I'm not sure I could get over it if Jerry did this to me."

  "This sucks," I moaned.

  "Yeah it does. Annie is rationalizing it as some sort of last fling. She never sowed her oats when she was in college like most of us do, so I think she thinks that should give her a free pass, even though, obviously she knows it's not fair. But then again, fairness has nothing to do with it."

  It made sense, but didn’t ease my pain.

  "Alright Em, well, thanks, I guess."

  "Dave. Annie loves you. Deeply. She's acting like a child right now. Well, not a child, but childish... you know what I mean. But she's still a good person deep inside. It's just, sometimes, well, our passions get the best of us."

  "Have you ever cheated on Jerry?" I asked.

  She paused. "Don't ask me that. That's not fair."

  "Fairness has nothing to do with it."

  She sighed. "Popular culture would have you think that mostly men cheat casually. When women stray, it is supposedly because they want out of the relationship or something. But the truth is, women are just as susceptible to that heat and desire that comes from a stranger. We just don't glory in it by saying, 'yeah, I'd hit that' about every hot guy we see."

  "You didn't answer my question," I countered.

  "No, I didn't, did I?" she replied as she hung up the phone.

  I went down and had a lobster and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. It tastes like cardboard, my taste buds as numb as my heart.

  I tried my luck at the craps table, but I just wasn't into it, so instead I went to one of the lounges and had a few more drinks. They had a duo playing, a pretty blonde singer and a dorky guy on keyboard. They were playing oldies, stuff from the 80s. I wondered if they were married, and if she cheated on him. I played that same game with every other couples I saw.

  It was around 11:00pm when a woman sat down next to me. She was young, but wearing heavy make-up to look more mature and exotic than her conventional face would suggest. She had Shoulder-length brown hair. Almond-shaped brown eyes. She was maybe part-hispanic or part-Asian. She was overdressed and underdressed at the same time. She would have fit in better at a club than a casino lounge listening to Pat Benatar covers.

  As I glanced at her peripherally, I saw her smile slightly. Then she turned toward me.

  "Are you staying here?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  She put her hand on my knee. "Let's go to your room," she offered. Direct, if nothing else, and also leaving no doubt she was offering a business transaction.

  "No, I don't think so," I replied.

  I’d never been with a prostitute before. Never even seriously considered it. Oh, sure, like everyone else, I’ve had Julia Roberts in thigh-high boots fantasies. Who hasn’t? And okay, I’ve glanced through backpage.com and Craig’s List. Just a little harmless virtual titillation. But the idea of actually paying a woman for sex was… just weird. Gross at one level, but perhaps even more sad, desperate.

  She didn’t say anything. She seemed in no rush. Or maybe she could sense my turmoil. I didn’t want to fuck a hooker. But there, in Atlantic City, alone, reeling from my wife’s betrayal, I… I didn’t want to be alone. I know that sounds like bullshit. But I didn’t even really want sex. I just didn’t want her to leave.

  “You sure?”

  I chuckled. “No.”

  She settled back into her seat. “Buy me a drink?”

  “Yeah…. Yeah, sure.”

  She ordered a Chardonnay.

  Glancing back toward the casino she asked, “Rough night?”

  I laughed darkly. “You have no fucking idea.”

  She gave me a look that told me I was wrong. She’d been through worse. Whatever my story, she could top it.

  I nodded. “Sorry.”

  She shrugged. “So, here we are.”

  It is hard to explain how I felt at that moment. I didn’t know this woman at all. But there was a connection between us. I was broken, needy, suffering an unthinkable trauma, and she… well, who knew? There was a story of pain. Darkness. In a different mood I might have recoiled from what could be seen as taking advantage of her suffering. Maybe it is a rationalization on my part, but it didn’t feel that way at the time. Just two wounded people making a connection.

  “How do we do this?” I asked uncertainly.

  She leaned in and whispered a number in my ear.

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  We stopped at the ATM and then proceeded to my room. Inside, I gave her the money. She went into the bathroom and emerged a few minutes later in her bra and panties. She was cute. Small breasted, but nice legs, her tummy flat, though some barely visible stretch marks suggested she had a kid or two at home.

  She helped me off with my pants and sat me on the edge of the bed. She stroked my cock up and down with a firm and practiced grip, and as I stiffened she rolled on a condom. She blew me expertly, her hands cupping my balls. God, it felt good. When I began to pump my hips, she drew back.

  "How do you want to do it?" she asked.

  "Reverse cowgirl," I replied.

  She nodded. Apparently, it was a common request.

  I slid back on the bed. She slipped out of her panties and mounted me. I let her do all the work. I just laid back and enjoyed the view and the feel of her pussy rising and falling on my cock. When my breathing quickened, she reached down and again massaged my balls. She then ran a moistened finger down over my taint and tickled my ass. I came. Hard.

  "Was that good, baby?" She asked as she rose.

  I nodded.

  She got a washcloth from the bathroom, removed the used condom and gently cleaned me up.

  "You want to go again?"

  Both my balls and my wallet were drained. "No, baby, that was great. You can go," I replied.

  She dressed quickly, and left.

  I sat there for a long time, thinking. I had just fucked a whore. And enjoyed i
t. Had a satisfying orgasm. And yet, I didn't even know that girl's name. Had no interest in it. All that mattered was my dick, her mouth, and her cunt. Just sex.

  And then I realized that is what Annie was trying to tell me. Just as me fucking a whore didn't make me love Annie any less, her fucking Greg didn't make her love me any less. I’d had a need. This random woman met it. It didn't mean I didn't have a right to be upset. I did. Just as Annie might be if she knew I'd banged a prostitute in Atlantic City. But her fucking Greg was an annoyance, just another stupid piece of bullshit that causes tension in a marriage. It didn't have to be more.

  Was that an empty rationalization? Maybe. Was I looking for reasons to excuse her? Probably. Did that make me pathetic…? I don’t know. I’m sure others would think so. I mean, if I were a third party, what would I think? But who cares? Fuck it. Every, any marriage… to make it work, to make it last, you need to turn your gaze away from a dozen, a hundred things. Being in a relationship doesn’t require hard work, it requires a willful suspension of disbelief.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I slept well that night for the first time in days, either because of the sexual release or my epiphany or maybe because of both. I drove back the next morning.

  Before going home, I went to Annie's office. But before seeing her, I had other business.

  The receptionist waved me in, but instead of going left to my wife’s office, I walked right into Greg's and shut the door behind me before his secretary could stop me.

  He stood up, looking very handsome and very confident.

  "I want you to stop seeing my wife," I said.

  "Let me show you something," he said. He pulled out his phone and walked over to me. He pressed a few buttons then handed it over.

  It was a video of him and Annie. Filmed from his point of view, he was fucking her from behind, his huge cock stretching her cunt out impressively, even as he pushed his thumb in and out of her asshole. She was undeniably enjoying it, moaning orgasmically and slinging her hips back to meet his powerful thrusts.

  I watched for a few moments and then handed the phone back to him.

  "I want you to stop seeing my wife," I repeated.

  He laughed. Not a haughty laugh, but a surprised, defensive chuckle.

  "You can't satisfy her the way I do," he asserted. "She deserves better."

  And then I knew. I could see right through the motherfucker. I shook my head incredulously. "What's her favorite movie?"

  He looked at me quizzically.

  "What toppings does she like on her pizza? What's her sister's name? Is she a dog person or a cat person?"

  He said nothing.

  "What's her name? Her real name? You always call her Red. Do you even know her name? Her real name?"

  "Ann, Annie, right?" He replied uncertainly.

  "It's Gloria." I clapped him on the shoulder. "You've known her for months and the only thing you know about her is that she likes your cock. Yeah, she does deserve better."

  I left him standing there, looking confused and went to Annie's office.

  ***

  She was surprised to see me and cautious. It was a pivotal moment. I could see on her face that she had no idea what I was about to do. Would I slap her? Demand a divorce? Throw a fit? I liked the idea that I could surprise her, and it occurred to me, sadly, that I never had before. She’d never had reason to doubt me.

  I’d always been there for her. Always reliable. Always predictable. Always boring. How oppressive must that be? How much was this just trying to get a fucking rise out of me? Okay, maybe that was too much. I hadn’t pushed her into this because of my decency, but I had made it… so… fucking… easy. Do women want to be challenged? I don’t know. But I did realize that I made it easy for another man to tempt her. Even aside from the good looks, the perfect suit, the fat prick, he was… different. Interesting. Exciting. All those things I wasn’t, but that I needed to become.

  I approached her. She flinched. I kissed her forehead.

  "It's going to be okay, baby," I whispered.

  She let out a sigh of relief.

  "But you can't see him anymore," I said. "Not romantically."

  "Okay," she replied. She wanted to say more, but she hesitated.

  "Go ahead, say it," I prompted.

  "Well, it is just that, the office is having a goodbye party for him after work at Paddy's. And it would be weird if I didn't go."

  What was she saying? Asking permission to have sex with him again? Simply asserting her independence? Testing me? I didn’t know. I couldn’t know.

  "Just don't fuck him," I replied.

  "Okay, I'll..." she paused.

  "Try?" I offered. "Yes, try."

  She seemed shocked. I was as well. Was I really that confident? Or was it just an act? I gave her another quick peck and departed.

  ***

  At home the hours went by slowly. 6:00pm came and went, and the party had almost certainly begun. At 6:15pm, I began to realize she was probably there with him, both of them drinking, the booze breaking down her fragile restraint. By 6:30pm, I could picture them. He'd probably dragged her off into a bathroom and was preparing to shove his big cock up her tight, little pussy yet again.

  But before the image in my mind could resolve itself, I heard her key in the front door.

  "Sorry I'm late baby, there was an accident on the road.”

  "What about the party?" I asked.

  "I'm trying. I'm trying," she replied.

  We kissed. At first cautiously and then more tenderly and then more passionately and then almost roughly. Whatever we’d been before, we no longer were.

  I ran my hand under her skirt and tore off her panties. She gasped in surprise, and then groaned again as I pressed a finger into her tight, wet hole. She was so hot, and so wet. Was she thinking of me, or of Greg? Did it matter?

  As I finger fucked her roughly, she attacked my pants, unbuckling my belt and yanking down my shorts. We fell onto the couch. She hiked up her skirt, I pressed between her legs and then with a hard thrust I entered her. She gasped again. I hammered her hard and fast, our moans coming faster and faster, and then in unison we came, a beautifully-timed simultaneous orgasm that left us both gasping for breath even as we resumed our passionate kissing.

  I'm not naive. She went back to work Thursday and Friday while Greg was still in the office, and her travels on business often take her to California and his must bring him back out East on a regular basis. In fact, I'd be surprised if they hadn't continued to hook up, at least on occasion and at least until her infatuation faded if it ever did. And having tasted the forbidden fruit, I imagine she's going to be more easily tempted in the future. Or not. I really don't know. What I do know is that I love her, and she loves me, and another dick, no matter how big or skillfully wielded isn't going to change that any more than that hooker's cunt changed my feelings for her.

  Book Two: Annie’s Adventure

  CHAPTER ONE

  The first time I saw Greg, I thought, "This guy is a class A nightmare." He was painfully handsome. Movie star handsome. Tall, dark, and handsome. Just a lovely specimen of a man. His blue-grey eyes were intense, his handshake firm. He radiated confidence.

  And the way he looked at me… from the very first moment… was unmistakably sexual. He wanted to fuck me. Not get to know me better. Not make love. He wanted to shove his prick in my pussy. Simple. Raw. Dirty. It should have been so easy to resist. I was just a piece of meat to him. A convenient hole. And yet….

  He's the kind of man who can make marriage vows dissolve into nothingness unless you resist the temptation, every day, day in and day out. Gorgeous. Smart. Experienced. Relentless. I knew… knew from the moment I saw him that he could… would rock my world if I gave him half a chance.

  And he was assigned to our office for the next six months.

  But I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm Ann, married to Dave. Dave completes me. He's laid back where I am intense. He's romantic where I am practica
l. He's my soulmate. Fuck, I don’t even know what that means, except that I love him. I love his kindness and generosity, his brains and his decency. We don’t have kids, but I can’t imagine anyone other than him as the father of my children.

  We've been together since I was eighteen. He was my first; and until recently, my only. He makes me laugh, he challenges me, he makes me happy.

  I wish I could say that what happened was somehow the consequence of some deep emptiness inside me, some sort of gnawing need that had been left unmet for too long. Something I had struggled with for years, and finally succumb to. Maybe it was, but certainly nothing I was conscious of. Truth is, I had nothing to complain about. I had a great job, a loving husband, a comfortable home and a great future. And in a moment of weakness I almost threw it all away.

  I was a bit of nerd as a kid…. Okay, a full-blown nerd. My mother was a 1970s feminist, reared on Betty Friedan, Andrea Dworkin, and Catherine MacKinnon. She named me Gloria, after Steinem. And she raised me as something of a science experiment. I was good, but not great, in math as a kid, but she pushed me hard, brutally even, to prove that I could keep up with the guys. And it turned out, I could. I was top of my class, went full scholarship to a prestigious engineering program, finished in three years, and have been tearing up the corporate ladder ever since.

  That was the good part. The bad part of my mom's philosophy was, well, a certain hostility to sex. I feel bad for my dad actually. I doubt he ever got a decent hummer out of that woman. But he never complained. He was always a pleasant, happy man who found ways to bring small bits of joy into my otherwise high-stress, high-pressure upbringing. He passed away last year, and I guess a therapist would point to that as at least part of the explanation for what happened recently, but that sort of psychobabble would have annoyed Dad to no end.

  Through high school, my mom's worldview dominated my life. Starting in middle school, the other girls experimented with makeup, were concerned about clothes, and boys. I always suppressed that. When I'd get my hair cut, the stylist would say, "you'd be such a pretty girl, if you made a little effort." But I wasn't about to make that effort. I wanted people to see my "inner beauty." I wasn't about to give in to patriarchal notions of femininity. So, no makeup, frumpy clothes that became even frumpier by design as I sprouted what were an impressive and anxiety-provoking set of boobs on a skinny girl, bad hair cut, the works. I was a nerd as a conscious choice. It wasn't that I was socially awkward, but rather that I deliberately decided to reject what my mom had taught me was a demeaning role for a woman in being an object of desire.