by Ben Boswell
As long as things were raw, I was able to deal with it. My inner turmoil was mirrored in our tense relationship. But now that things were better, I was coming to realize, or at least fear, that there would never be a moment of release, of catharsis, of, fuck, whatever. I didn’t know what I really wanted.
Well, that’s not true. What I wanted was to turn back time to a moment before Jack, before therapy, before my thoughts were constantly haunted by the fear that Rachel was going to cheat on me.
But that wasn’t true either, because I also, in a weird way, wanted to experience and enjoy that dirty girl I’d discovered inside my wife. The kind of woman I could imagine tying up and teasing. The kind of woman who I could bend over a kitchen counter or throw onto the bed and ravage in the middle of the day.
Jesus, I felt like I had the winning numbers for the lottery, but had forgotten to play for the week. Or something like that. I was so close. I had a beautiful, smart, funny wife. Bonus, she had a wild, kinky side. Problem was, that part of her was only available to “inappropriate” men, and my efforts to bring it out had only resulted in slapstick.
I cringed as the image, in slow motion, of Rachel pivoting on the door played in my mind. I looked up. It had really happened. The shattered doorframe, the door leaned up to provide a modicum of privacy, a testament to the reality of it.
Calling a handyman to fix the door was on my to-do list. But what we really needed was a handyman for our marriage. I chuckled softly to myself. That’s what Tommy was offering to be. I kept coming around to the same place. He was the only person who seemed to understand what I was going through.
Rachel would, of course, never agree to see Tommy. Which was fine with me. But maybe he could say things to her that I couldn’t, give her, for lack of a better term, a man’s perspective. Maybe that’s really what the problem was and why Michelle’s sessions just weren’t working.
I reflected on that. At the risk of generalizing, I think women react to affairs differently. They focus on the betrayal of trust, on the loss of emotional connection. Men, I think, although also feeling betrayal, tend to focus more on the, I guess, theft of physical exclusivity. Women are often deeply wounded by an emotional affair, regardless of whether it is ever consummated. For me, the most difficult thing was that she was giving another man experiences I would have loved to have. That was the thing. I could have forgiven her for cheating if Jack would do things I wouldn’t.
You really want a blowjob. You fantasize about it. It haunts your dreams. Your wife won’t do it. That’s why men have frequented prostitutes since time immemorial, to experience things their wives are too proud or repressed to offer. But that wasn’t me. Short of scat or bestiality, I would be willing to humor any of Rachel’s needs. Fuck, I’d enjoy it. She was going elsewhere, not because she had to, but because she wouldn’t give me a chance.
Now, I realized it wasn’t quite that simple. I didn’t really know how to give her what she wanted. And asking her wouldn’t work. That would, obviously, kill the fantasy. Tell me how to dominate you. See, that doesn’t work.
I shook Rachel awake. It was an impulsive act. I realized as she looked at me groggily that I wasn’t sure what to say next.
“What’s the matter? Are you okay?” She asked sleepily.
I tried to formulate my response.
“No, I’m not,” I said.
Oh, my God. The words were tumbling from me faster than I could process them. I felt like I was a spectator at a play. Or worse, like a helpless observer watching a man heedlessly approaching a precipice.
“I’m angry and I’m frustrated. And I know I said I’ve forgiven you, but I haven’t.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh God, Max. All I can say again is how sorry I am.”
“Rachel, stop it. Stop with the tears and stop with the apologies. Every time you do that, it feels like you are trying to shut me down. Like if I express myself I’m tormenting you. Like I’m the bad guy.”
She shook her head. “That’s not how I mean it. I’m being honest. I regret it.”
I laughed.
“What?” she asked, her tone becoming more aggressive.
“That’s why you do it. You like that feeling of guilt. You knew you’d regret it. That’s what made it hot. You knew you’d regret sucking Jack’s cock. And it was that knowledge that you’d regret it that got you so horned up with the plumber.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do. When I threw you on the bed, you were already all fired up. And it wasn’t from looking in my closet and picking out a suit. What were you thinking about? Thinking about seducing him? Thinking about him forcing himself on you? You knew I was at work, but were you secretly imagining me walking in on you? Or your tearful confession later on?”
She sat up, angry. “Yeah, Max, you know all about me. Know what makes me tick, right? No way this is just about punishing me. About dredging up everything you can to make me look and feel like a piece of shit.”
“Well, what do you expect? You’ve never let me in. You apologize, but you never explain anything. Maybe I’m wrong. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. All I know is that whatever you saw in Jack, you don’t see in me. You’d never let me do what he did to you.”
“Is that it? That’s what you want? Want me to be your private little porn star? Want me to get on my knees and let you blow a load all over my face? And why? Because you’d enjoy it? Or because you just like the idea of putting me in my place?”
I shook my head. “Your place? What the fuck is that? When have I ever acted like I wanted to put you down? And fuck it, Rachel, why is this about me again. I’m not the one who…”
I trailed off. I didn’t even know where we were going anymore in this conversation.
“Who what? Say it Max. Say what you’re thinking.”
She was furious now. We were at the precipice. We could back away. We could fall. Or we could try to cross. I took a deep breath and forced myself to be calm, which wasn’t easy since my heart was beating like a hummingbird’s.
“Rachel, I’m sorry. I’m not actually sure what I am sorry about. But I don’t want to hurt you. And I want us to get better. But therapy isn’t working.”
“So, what? You want a separation?”
“What? No! Do you?”
She hesitated. “I know it is my fault…”
I opened my mouth, but she put up her hand to cut me off.
“...I’m not saying that to put you on the defensive. But it is what it is. And the truth is, if you can’t get past this, then we don’t have a future. So, what is it going to be?”
I shook my head again. “It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. Look, therapy with Michelle isn’t working, or at least isn’t enough. But that doesn’t mean we can’t get past this. But you need to be part of it.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I…” I hesitated again. God, what was I doing?
“I have a friend. I met him online. He’s… we’ll he’s gone through something similar.”
“Wait, wait, wait… you told some stranger online about our problems? About me?”
“No. I mean, yes. But it’s not like that. He knows our first names. And that we live in the Bay Area. But that’s it.”
“Oh God, what if he tracks us down…”
“Rachel, stop it. If he does, he does. Whatever. The point is, he’s got a lot of insights into this and I just think he can help us.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I don’t know that I get it either. But I just want you to speak to him. You know. Confide in him. I think he might be able to help us work things out.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, Max. I don’t know if I can do that. What do we know about this guy?”
“Not much. But that’s the point in a way. He’s just a voice in the ether. But…. It’s hard to explain…. Look, just talk to him, okay? I promised him it would be confidential. I won’t ask hi
m what you said to him. You have a conversation with him. I have one with him as well. And maybe he can bridge the gap.”
“I dunno. It’s weird.”
I laughed. “Yeah, it is.”
I got serious again. “How long have you been thinking about us separating?”
She looked away and seemed to contemplate her answer. “It’s been so tense between us. It feels like we’re back to normal, and then it isn’t. I don’t want that, but I have thought that maybe that was where we were headed.”
I nodded. “Well, me too. But I don’t want that either. But not wanting it isn’t enough. So will you do this? Will you talk to Tommy?”
“Tommy? That’s his name?”
“As far as I know.”
She hesitated. “Okay Max. If that’s what you want, I’ll do it.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I connected them by email. Tommy assured me again that despite the agreement about confidentiality, he’d do nothing behind my back. They wouldn’t meet, at the very least, without me knowing about it and being involved. But that concern was a long ways off. Rachel was obviously just doing it to placate me. I couldn’t really imagine her confiding in him, much less ever getting comfortable enough to invite him into our real, rather than virtual, lives.
Still, for the first time in a while, I felt that at least I wasn’t alone in this.
Although she’d quit her job, Rachel still kept a toe in the professional world by doing some freelance projects online. It was low paying and the work didn’t take advantage of her real skills, but every evening she’d taken to doing an hour or two of bookkeeping or data entry or whatever came across the transom.
Tommy had let me know that she’d responded to his initial email. I knew that Rachel had initially agreed to communicate with Tommy to humor me. But I had no real way to find out how often they were emailing. From my own experience, I knew that when he was by the computer, he was so responsive that it was almost like texting.
It was very weird being in the dark, knowing that my wife was communicating with another man and maybe even confiding in him things about our marriage. Wallowing in uncertainty, I imagined wildly different outcomes. Was she just indulging me, responding to Tommy in the written equivalent of monosyllabic grunts? Or was she engaged in a deep, revealing conversation? I didn’t know. I wasn’t about to invade her privacy. All I knew was that she was spending a lot of time on the computer.
-----
The kids were asleep. I was playing Madden on the Xbox, online. I heard Rachel clear her throat. I looked up and gasped.
“Does my big football player need his own personal cheerleader?”
She was wearing a Florida Gators cheerleader outfit, but sluttier. Bright orange, it was comprised of a mini skirt, barely more than a belt, and a cropped top, barely more than a bra. She had blue pom poms and knee high, white, heeled boots.
The whistle blew on screen. I had just gotten sacked while admiring her costume.
“Tsk tsk, you need to focus on the game,” she said.
“I could turn it off.”
She shook her head. “No, that won’t do. You can’t expect me to date a quitter…”
Another whistle. Delay of game.
“Or a loser.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you can’t expect me to put out for just anyone.”
I looked back at the screen. Got a play called just in time. Quick slants. Picked up a few yards.
“That’s better,” she giggled. “Now, I’ll just help you relax a little. But this is all you get unless you win.”
She squatted down in front of me, giving me a quick flash of her tiny white panties. She edged off my sweatpants and pulled down my boxers. I gasped as she seized my hard cock and gave it a firm squeeze.
I called a pass play, saw my tight end come open, but I threw the pass a millisecond too late. Incomplete. I was lucky not to get picked off. Still, I needed to punt.
“Who are you playing?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I dunno. Some kid probably.”
“Is he good?”
“Yeah. Very quick on D.”
“Think he’s got a girl sucking him?”
She leaned down and circled my cock head with her tongue, making me shiver.
“Probably not.”
“Well, then you’ll win easily. You have more motivation.”
“It’s not that easy --”
I gasped as she swallowed me deep into her mouth.
I mistimed the punt and shanked it. He had great field position. We were tied at 7-7, but he was already in field goal range. I needed to hold him. He was too good on defense for me to count on a touchdown. I called a zone, cheated in with my linebacker.
Rachel’s tongue circled the head of my cock, her hands squeezing my balls. I hesitated a half second. His slot receiver broke past my linebacker. I tried to blitz, but got there a millisecond too late. He juked out of a tackle inside the ten and scored.
Rachel looked up with a grin.
“Do you know where he lives?” she asked.
“No, why?” I asked, perhaps more annoyed than I’ve ever been at a woman sucking my cock.
“Well, if I am going to screw the winner, it’d be better if he were local.”
“You want me to tell him what he’s got coming?”
She licked my shaft up and down. “Sounds like a good idea.”
I shook my head. “I’m pretty sure telling him that my wife will fuck him if he wins would violate the Xbox terms of service… not to mention getting us both thrown in jail if he’s thirteen.”
“Well, then you better buckle down, or we’re both going to bed frustrated tonight.”
“I could always jerk off.”
“And I could always go out and find someone else to… um… satisfy me.”
I looked down at her, so sexy, stroking my wet cock up and down. Luckily his kickoff bounced into the endzone. Okay, I could play this game.
“Alright, my slutty cheerleader. If I win, you do whatever I want. If he wins, you go out and find a stud to bone you silly.”
“That’s the plan,” she replied lewdly.
I had the ball at the twenty and a lot of time on the clock, but I didn’t want to end the game trying to hold him. With Rachel distracting me, I couldn’t possibly react fast enough on defense. But I could outthink this fucking kid on offense.
I worked him slowly, quick slants, and dives, just eating up yards and time. I could see him getting frustrated, calling bigger blitzes, lining up more men in the box. I saw my receivers lined up one-on-one. But I couldn’t risk it. A long score would give him the ball back with time on his side, an incomplete pass would force me to give up my four yards at a time game plan.
I crossed the fifty despite Rachel’s distractions. I don’t think she’d ever slobbered so enthusiastically on my balls or stroked my cock so hard. She noticed my progress and then stood and quickly stepped out of her tiny panties, flashing me a shaved, bare twat. She hadn’t worn it like that in years. She dropped the panties on the table
“It’ll probably be easier for me to get laid without those,” she cooed.
I wanted nothing more than to bury my face in her gorgeous, newly shaved snatch.
I looked her up and down. In that outfit she’d be liable to be arrested with or without panties. The whistle blew. Fuck, delay of game. I had to refocus.
Rachel smirked at me and then stalked over to the television. Standing just off to the side, she turned around and slowly, slowly bent at that waist, those high, white boots, maddeningly erotic. I called an out, a super dangerous play, and nailed the pass just before my opponent was able to jump the pass. First down.
“Oooh, you are good,” she sighed, lifting her tiny skirt to expose her ass, her beautiful pussy. She reached between her legs, slid a finger up and down the length of her slit.
Three minutes left. I ran off-tackles, left, then right. Third and two. A dive and a first down. I
was inside the thirty. My opponent called a time out, now worried about the clock. He put his defense into a prevent, basically offering me the score if I was willing to two or three putt. But that would leave too much time on the clock. I kept the ball on the ground.
Rachel was now fingering herself, her long, slender finger slowly, slowly sliding into her wet cunt. She pulled it out and licked it clean.
“You’re running out of time,” she sighed. “And I am soooo ready. Somebody at the Redwood is going to get lucky.”
The Redwood was our local bar and grill, not exactly a hot spot, but between the bartenders and regulars, she would definitely have no trouble finding a cock.
Under two minutes. He was out of timeouts. I was inside the ten. Rachel had come back over to me and was trying a devilish new trick. She’d finger herself and then trace her moist digit along my cock and then follow her finger with her tongue. My vision actually seemed to blur with excitement.
My concentration waned for a second. I missed the hole with my running back and took a loss. I had to take a timeout now. Twenty seconds. Two plays left, three if I were lucky, from the twelve.
“Remember, the man who wins me gets anything he wants,” she moaned. “For as long as he wants.”
“Maybe I should lose on purpose, just for the fun of seeing you go through with it.”
That seemed to shock her, an anxious look crossed her face. Was she imagining me driving her to the Redwood, making sure she delivering on her teasing? I grinned.
Tight end cross. Slow developing, I knew I’d need to avoid his blitz. I saw him take control of his left linebacker. I took the snap and moved my left, away from him. As he crossed the line of scrimmage, I released the pass, too soon for the pattern, but perfectly timed given his own actions. Touchdown.
I looked down at Rachel.
“You’re still down,” she teased.
“Not for long,” I replied. “Get on your hands and knees.”
She obeyed and I slid behind her, my cock jutting out, aimed between her legs.