by Alex Cook, Indigo Sin, Taylor L Ray, LaVerne Thompson (epub)
“It was really messed up. I was following the bonehead in the book and she got pissed and KO’d my ass.”
John turned around slowly, and unbuckled his belt.
“Whoa there streaker freak, this is my kitchen.” I reminded him. Having the decency to cover his nuts after John pulled his pants
down, a thick angry looking bright-red welt fanned across the span of his butt.
“She did a number on you.” Shaking my head, it became cleare r that our wives shared a love of grievous bodily harm.
“Do you need a doctor?” I asked.
Re-dressing himself, John sat back down and poured the remaining beer down his throat. “Nothing more alcohol won’t fix. And I’m not doing that shit again.”
I finished making my coffee without further injury and sat down opposite him.
“I thought BDSM was all about me taking control and getting what I wanted.” I said to the air.
“I told Macy the exact same thing before she laughed in my face, spun me around like I weighed 10 pounds and tied my ass to the bedroom chaise.”
Sucking in a breath, I felt bad for the poor sucker.
“I told Kate she isn’t going to read the books anymore.” “Bet that went down well.”
“I haven’t seen them around since I’d ordered her to dump them.” Ok, ordering her around wasn’t technically accurate, potato, potatoe.
“Me either,” John agreed. “In fact Macy has barely mentioned them at all.”
“You told her to get rid of them too?”
“Not exactly.” He hedged.
I’d let that slide for now since he was still suffering the effects of assault and battery. “Well I don’t know shit about what’s up with Macy but Kate and I have been enjoying a game of ‘silent treatment’ for the best part of a week.” The truth was exposed.
John’s next claim was ridiculous.
“Maybe they’re having affairs with guys who are like the real Fifty Seven Shades of Gay?”
“I found that name to be more fitting after what I read. But Kate is home every night, isn’t Macy?”
“Yeah,” he said in a ‘so what’ tone.
“Well then, they’re not having affairs are they?” I reasoned. “What about lunch?”
“I haven’t eaten breakfast yet.” My stomach rumbled in agreement. “Their lunch breaks, dumb ass.”
I knew that. I did. “I don’t think that’s the case.”
“How do you know?” he pressed.
Spying the cordless phone on the table top, I grabbed it and dialled Kate’s work number.
The deaf coot who was older than dirt answered the phone. “LJP fashion, how can I direct your call?”
“Kate Bethers please. This is her husband George.”
I tapped the receiver in tune to Mozart while I waited. “Hello Mr Bethers, I’m afraid Mrs Bethers has stepped out for
lunch.” an abrupt voice said, coming back on the line. My eyebrows shot up as I eyed John. “Who is this?”
“Victoria Nelson,” was the reply.
“Does she always go out for lunch? We had an appointment.” I whined convincingly.
“Uh, I’m not sure.” Victoria was being evasive, which only triggered my suspicions. I almost bowed under Johns knowing glare.
“Well it’s her Mother’s birthday and we’re supposed to be buying her the really expensive china we can’t afford. If I don’t get to where Kate is, she’s going to be in a terribly bad mood when she gets back from lunch” I pointed out. It was the threat I needed.
“JFK, Starbucks.” Victoria revealed.
What the hell was she doing at the airport? Maybe she was leaving me. “And how long has my wife been leaving for lunch while looking for her mother’s gift?” I asked sneakily, John held up a hand and waited for a high five. I just rolled my eyes at him.
“The best part of a week at least. Her desk planner says she is out of the office for the rest of the day. Would you like me to leave her a message, Sir?”
“No thanks.” Looking blankly at John I hung up and relayed Victoria’s message. He gave me an accusing stare as I dialled Kate’s cell.
“What do you want?” Since I never call Kate in the day, her annoyed tone greeted my suspicious intrusion with venom.
“I’m calling to take you out for Lunch.”
“I already ate.” She was still pissed about the book thing. “Where are you?” I quizzed.
“Shopping.” She answered too quickly.
“Where?” I pressed.
“5 th avenue.”
“Ok have a good lunch, bye dear.” She hung before I’d even finished. “Well, what did she say?” A smile like he’d won a free trip to the
Bahamas split across the lower half of his big head.
“Thanks for being happy that my wife is fucking around on me, you prick.”
He flicked a hand in denial. “Not because of that. I was gloating because I was right.” He motioned me to continue.
“She lied to me about where she was.” I confirmed.
“Don’t let her get away with that” warned John.
“What if Macy went with her?”
Surprised by my question, he quickly pulled the cell from his pocket and dialled his office.
I shot back a how-do-you-like-it glare of my own.
John hung up just as fast as he’d dia lled when Macy answered their office line. “She’s at work.” He panted.
Great, so it was just my wife who couldn’t handle the disappointment. I sagged against the sink, feeling worthless.
“Shall we go to the airport?” John offered
“I’m going to the airport alone and you’re leaving.”
John made a swift get-a-way as I toyed with the idea of calling Cheaters. Kate deserved to be the local news for a change. I got dressed swiftly then headed for the pantry in the kitchen that doubled as a junk room. Grabbing some necessary items, I seized my car keys from the killer key-rack whose bent hooks doubled as claws before I slammed the door behind me and headed for JFK.
Chapter Five
Dumping my piece of shit car that was unlike the wife’s sporty leather -interiored Mitsubishi on the access road surrounding JFK; I grabbed the black bag off the front seat. I didn’t have a concrete plan, but sheer rage supplied the right amount of courage to fake it. Plus the anger reminded me that I had fifteen years of seasonal video footage, mostly comprised of Kate’s mouth. I could gather a range of automatic answers for when her daddy called buying me six months to save up before me and the kid would disappear to Mexico. I crossed the tarmac and stopped dead in my tracks. A steroid-belt a mile long made up of meaty security guards formed a human shield around the terminal. Backpedalling, I slung the shovel in the front seat, tucked the bag under my arm and locked the car. Maybe the fury of Kate fucking around on me was messing with my rationale. It was probably a mixture of that and plan A going to shit, so I was making excuses. Moving through the crowd like I was a rich bumpkin who was late for an executive flight I stepped into the cold air conditioning designed to administer frost bite to your genitalia within five seconds. Or your money back.
Plan B sounded plausible, especially since I just made it up. Granted, it wasn’t as good as the first but I needed a first degree murder charge like I did a butt crack wax and a hole in the head.
Like a swarm of cockroaches vying for supremacy in the trash can, commuters scurried to the various check in desks at break neck speed. I waded through the masses in search of the Starbucks Kate was currently using as the location for a romantic interlude.
I spotted the back of a woman’s head that looked like Kate. Before I even had the chance to check out her ass for confirmation, ‘the hair’ turned around. I jumped into the nearest store, casually pretending to be engrossed.
“Can I help you sir?”
“No thanks,” I replied curtly.
“Do you know the size you are looking for?”
“Not right now, thank you.” That was
code for fuck off. If women learned our language, there’d be no incidents and the lack of communication could take a much needed vacation.
“We h ave a range of colors to suit your requirements, sir.” Sales clerks had a secret agenda. Unions had a fucked up initiation process,
and to get in, you needed to understand the first lesson in sales clerking 101. The customers ‘no thank you’ didn’t cover a ll the colors in the range.
“That’s great. I’ll take one of the cheapest items you have in any color of your choosing .”
“Who is the gift for sir?”
“I’m looking for a present for my mother,” I said nonchalantly as I spied through the store window watchi ng ‘the hair’ laughing with a man.
“Your mother?” The clerk repeated slowly. Why wasn’t she running off to earn her commission?
Oh shit, the hair was coming this way. Frantically I spun around and focused solely on the stunned sales clerk.
“Hi Monica,” name tag life- saver to the rescue, “I need some gifts yes, can you show me around?” I grabbed Monica and dragged her to the back of the store before I was stunned into silence.
Warily, she removed her elbow from my bruising grip and rubbed her arm. “Thi s is the plus size section of bras, panties and negligees. Did you have
something specific in mind?” she pressed.
“Oh. Hmm she likes…blue and possibly red. Or green. You know, puff - ish,” was that a word? “Silky and very long…or short.” I shrugged lamely. I really had no fucking idea what Kate actually liked, let alone my mother. My wife’s sex call left no room for details, it was a rub of the thighs and I made like k-9, sniffing out the crack dealers. Rapidly, I browsed through the display, sticking my head through the giant crater sized bras. Was ‘the hair’ and her suave toy boy were coming to buy fancy lingerie before they ran off to the nearest hotel together?
Excusing myself, I secured my black bag of goodies and told her I remembered my mother preferred going commando before I congratulated her on her excellent sales skills. I trailed the suspects for a few minutes before I realised the woman wasn’t Kate. I dialled John in frustration. He told me there was more than one Starbucks. I spied the men’s res troom, and slid inside before I locked myself in a stall.
Tearing the bag, I pulled the items out one by one. Setting plan B, part two, into motion I laid everything out. Making some necessary changes, I stuffed the empty bag behind the toilet seat before I headed for my stake out.
I felt like the old butler from the dated Bruce Wayne T.V show that had ghostly- white hair yet blended effortlessly into the scenery. I didn’t have super powers. Nor a car that any company in its right mind would insure. All I had was my wits, my word and a complete lack of BDSM knowledge. I decided that I wouldn’t rely on a white wig because I was the unluckiest fucker in the world. I’d be called out, verbally battered to shreds while a wave of conveniently coincidental Japanese tourists would pop out of nowhere to highlight my five minutes of fame. A succession of flashing lights would blind me as they snapped away, capturing my horrified embarrassment in Polaroid moments to sell on eBay as the infamous dick who got caught spyi ng on his wife. To make sure that didn’t happen any time soon I took measured steps. Instead of the greying incognito man, I had a copy of the National Enquirer , a brown Sherlock Holmes hat complete with pipe and a black rain coat that made my armpits sweat hard enough to rival Niagara Falls.
The first two Starbucks consisted of a tourist, his concubine and a family of five. The parents were already greying around the age of 25.
The third was the jackpot.
The traitorous bitch’s blonde hair swished aroun d her shoulders as beady suspicious eyes roved around the airport lounge making sure the coast was clear. She already looked guilty. Who was she waiting for? I slid into New York Hotdog and Coffee, unrolled the tabloid, shook it out and held it up, as I spied through the twin cut outs. I conceded that it was highly unoriginal, but I couldn’t figure out a faster way to stay hidden while I could still see.
“Hey buddy, you can’t stay here if you don’t order.” A gruff voice demanded.
Slapping the disguises on the table, I handed over a few dollars and ordered a Kimchi-bulgogi hotdog before I assumed the position.
He came out of nowhere. Her smile widened. Their eyes met. And hot sauce sluiced down my wrist, burning me when I squeezed the bun to death.
Dropping my masquerade, I scrambled for the tissues and ordered a bottle of water to bathe it with. Wrapping my arm in sodden tissue I sat back down to witness the final act of betrayal. My stomach dropped as realisation sunk in. My marriage to the only woman I really enjoyed fighting with and possibly loved every other Thursday, was over.
I studied my successor. His chin was far too big for his egg-shaped head. Sleek and blonde, his hair was combed back and tidy looking. His ears were too big for his expensive suit.
Any good husband would have screamed bloody murder while slinging wild accusations which equalled ‘you fucking hurt me’, or left calling their lawyer on the drive home. I just sat there and watched them, like a voyeur that nobody wanted anymore.
Kate stood up, arms wide open. They shared a deep embrace like long lost lovers; their mirroring smiles burned, as they rekindled a passion that had never died. Laughing in unison, they sat down opposite each other. I felt sick when they continued to talk and laugh. Did she completely forget about me and the laughs we had? Specifically the one time she told me to fuck off and I refused. Kate grabbed my left nut and squeezed it until I said ‘mercy’. That must have been a fun time for her.
Kate retrieved their coffee; they exchanged a few whispers before their conversation ebbed.
He leaned a little closer, her eyes glazed over as she smiled. Was that bastard going to kiss Kate? Oh fuck no. I was ready to fight to the death when Kate’s next move froze me in my seat.
A perfectly manicured yet impatient hand shot into the depths of her purse sitting on the floor, next to her chair. I was stunned. Kate retrieved the book I had forbidden her to read. Matt Lauer’s recommendation was responsible for taking our comfortable, barely once-a-month-sex life and handing it to someone else. Squeezing the newspaper in my hands, I crushed Brittany Spears head when my wife’s fingers acted as a make shift fan flickering at her forehead and chest area. They were laughing again. I wanted to know what lines the prick was feeding my wife.
Folding the tabloid I shoved it into the soaking wet patch that formed under the opening of my coat. Standing up, I shot and angry glare at the side of her head like I had heat rays, and at any moment they’d appear and blow her brains out. Either I was going to claim ignorance and get back to the house while assuming the position of the poor unsuspecting dumbass husband or I was going to do something about it.
Pulling my hat further down my head to shield my face, my brains bulged under the pressure. I moved through the coffee shop undetected and snuck up behind them taking the adjacent seat. I was within hearing distance now.
“I have waited for this all day, Katie”
My wife hated the name Katie. She’ d rip him a new one. Instead she laughed, stunning me for a second time that day. I still wanted to kill her, but I wanted to love her to death the right way. I knew the shovel was a representation of that kind of love in some fucked up way.
“Me too, Richard”
Kate read a steamy passage from the book to Rick, the Dick as they exchanged a knowing smile. I sagged in defeat. How much more of this could I take? My pride piped up, reminding me that Kate was mine and I had to fight for her.
I stood up, pumped, and ready to stake my claim when I was almost trampled by a buffalo stampede of corporate Americans. I cursed and elbowed my way to the edge and a sliver of oxygen when I heard voice bathed in surprise.
“George?”
The choice was gone. I puffed out my chest and stormed over to her. “What the fuck are you doing, Kate?”
She had the decency to look embarrassed.
<
br /> “I can explain,” she whispered, nervously twisting her wedding band. “Too fucking late for that, Katie” I spat. I turned my anger onto her
boyfri end and grabbed him by the throat. “She’s fucking married, Rick the Dick.” Kate squawked. Rick’s tiny fingers didn’t stand a chance against my hulk
like grip.
“George, let him go, you’re killing him.”
“I fucking won’t” I shouted, squeezing harder.
“He’s just a friend.” She pleaded rubbing my shoulder before I shook her off. Richard nodded desperately as his face turned a dark shade of red. “Bullshit. How long have you been fucking him Kate?” She laughed gently, as she circled my chokehold. “Richard is gay and
engaged to his fiancé, Thomas ”
I narrowed my eyes, judging by the shade of purple he had a few seconds left before he would pass out. Reluctantly I released him and stepped backed.
“How long have you been having an affair with my wife, Richard?” I exploded.
He gagged, coughing and spluttering as he rubbed his throat manically. Some bemused tourists cheered at my outrage while the manager was angrily pointing us out to his staff.
“I…I haven’t. We’re…work coll…,” he choked some more as Kate steppe d towards him. At my glare, she heeded the warning and stepped away from him,“Colleagues. We were simply enjoying a piece of literature.”
Cracking my knuckles I got in his face. “You fed her some bullshit line about being gay so you could seduce her. That ’s the oldest trick in the book.” I accused.
Kate loudly cleared her throat.
As outbursts went, mine was just beginning to get interesting. This time, Kate needed to shut the hell up. Opening my mouth to launch another accusation, a dozen sharp pin-pricks stabbed my crotch. Common sense was attacking my genitals. Kate narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw. All I could do at this point was close my mouth, embrace equal opportunity and hear her out. “Can I speak now, Sir?” she mocked with the flare of a no stril and a dangerously low tone.
I cleared my throat mimicking her earlier contempt. “Go ahead.” Tapping her foot she did the hand on hip thing. “Let me get this clear.