I'm George, mwm, 52

by George Everyman

  I kept going on about other cultures with more relaxed views of sexuality and relationships, mentioning the French and even their liaisons, and she just kept on listening, and this was turning out better, much better, than I had imagined, so I asked her if she wanted to go out to dinner with me sometime, just kind of sneaking that into the conversation, subtly I hoped, and she said 'maybe' and I was thinking that I hoped she would not be wearing panties on our first date, which I realize might sound like a pretty bizarre thing to be thinking at this point in time, but hey, I'm a man.

  I tell Kim I have enjoyed talking to her but I have to run and we say goodbye, and I can't wait to tell Abby that I have a date, which is really not true yet, but almost, with her boyfriend's wife.

  Abby is sitting there on her couch watching Cash Cab, and she tries to be coy, which is impossible for her, and she asks me "how's Kim?" and I say "fine" and that's that. For the time being.

  I'm not opposed to making Abby sweat a bit. It's not that I get pleasure out of making her miserable, but she is fucking another man, or at least has, and she blames me for making her do it, I think, and I'm just trying to get her to buy into the fact that she still has lust and that it's good.

  And a little jealousy, on her part, might trigger something deep in her psyche and make her realize that it works both ways, although I do think that some of her beliefs are so strong and deeply embedded, that the possibility of seeing something outside of those beliefs is slim. And her belief that I am on the radical fringe with my mad ravings about open marriage totally trumps the reality that she is the one in the marriage humping someone outside of the marriage.

  Chapter 52: Dewayne Calls

  About a week after Kim called, Dewayne called. Called me. Not Abby. Again at night and again after cocktail hour which was good. He said, "So I hear you want to take my wife out to dinner." Since his tone was not particularly abrasive, and since he didn't raise his voice when he said 'my', and since he wasn't knocking down my door instead of calling me on the phone, I breathed a sigh of relief. I told him yeah I thought it would be good if Kim and I talked. I almost said that I hoped he didn't mind, but caught myself thinking that I was a total pussy for even thinking that.

  He said that was cool, and I liked hearing that. Cool was a good word. A loaded word, but a good one. Loaded in the sense that it could mean a lot of things, but none of them included violence. Violence by him on me. That was cool.

  Then I said maybe we should all get together and have dinner and he said cool again, and I thought that things were indeed moving in the right direction.

  By the way, this conversation was in the kitchen, within earshot of Abby since I didn't really have time to get into the spare bedroom and I really didn't want to anyway because I had nothing to hide at this point.

  Our cool conversation ended, amicably, and I went back to my couch, after refilling my wine glass, of course. Abby was dying to ask me what he had said, but she was also dying to be cool and coy and above the fray and all of that shit, so she didn't say anything.

  For about ten seconds.

  "So?" without about twenty o's trailing the s, she said glaring at me. Glaring is not the right word because that implies disdain and this was not one of Abby's disdainful moods.

  There was a sly smile breaking out on her face. Abby loves dirt. Any kind of dirt. She loves to hear about affairs and who is fucking who. All from a safe distance of course. The fact that she was smack in the middle of this dirt seemed to be lost on her. It was as though it made absolutely no difference that she was the cause of, and the subject of, this particular dirt. Dirt was dirt and she wanted to hear about it. From me. About me and Kim having dinner and about all of us having dinner. She wanted the dirt, and she wanted it now.

  I asked her if she wanted a glass of wine and she said sure, in a nice way, which signaled to me that this was going to be a pleasant conversation. It had all the earmarks of a pleasant conversation after all. Abby fucking Dewayne. Me taking Kim, wearing no panties, hopefully, to dinner. All of us going on a double date.

  Do you ever get the feeling that you are just an actor in a movie and someone else has written the script? Well that's what I was feeling right now. And somehow, I must have already read the script because I knew the end, which was good, because it made it easier to get there. I knew, for example, that Abby was going to gradually embrace the open marriage model. I knew that she would eventually stop blaming me for her having to fuck Dewayne. She would never go so far as to actually see the absurdity of her present way of thinking, but she would morph into a frame of mind where fucking Dewayne and possibly other men and maybe even other women would be a natural thing for her.

  Abby has a bad memory which is good. It means that she doesn't dwell on the past, mostly because she can't remember it. It's not so much that she can't remember things; it's more that she can't remember situations. Facts are not a problem for her. Events are. Now that I think about it a little, maybe she doesn't remember associations as well as I do. By associations I mean how people interact in certain situations. Maybe she doesn't remember them because she doesn't focus on the associations in the first place. I'll have to give this some more thought.

  So, I'm predicting, or maybe I have already read the script, that Abby will totally forget how she and Dewayne got together and started screwing, and she will just move ahead with no guilt, which is good, and as if having a husband and a boyfriend are the most normal things in the world. Kind of like having a blue blouse and a black one too.

  Another good thing is that Abby doesn't hold grudges. She may think I'm an asshole for doing certain things like hoarding or dropping crumbs, but if I do something really crazy, like get drunk and act like a fool, she doesn't bring it up time after time. Maybe that's because she has been cheating on me for twenty four years and doesn't want to rock the boat over a few crumbs, or a drunken episode.

  I can't believe I just thought that about cheating for twenty four years. But I did. Interesting. Now my mind is going back and thinking that maybe the nuns never fucked her up. Maybe her lust was there all the time, just directed toward other men instead of me. Could I have been that unobservant? Could she have been that good a cheater? Surely not. Still, the thought is still swimming around up there. Anyway, no use to dwell on that, I tell myself.

  Chapter 53: My First Date with Kim

  I figured that if I was going to get the ball rolling, I'd better move on with the dinner date with Kim. To make things easier for all of us, I decided to take her to a restaurant in another town. I mean it might be kind of hard to explain why we're having a candle light dinner at a local restaurant if one of Abby or Dewayne's friends walked in. I decided to email her rather than call due I only had her land line number and not the cell number and I really didn't want to have to ask Dewayne, if he answered, if I could talk to his wife to ask her on a date, even though he already knew we were going to do it.

  My email basically said "so Kim, would you like to go to dinner Saturday?" No use going into a lot of details, letting her know how big a deal this was to me, which it was, in case she had changed her frame of mind and thought the whole idea of her going to dinner with me was absurd, or even perverted, given the fact that we were both married and our spouses were screwing each other, or at least had been screwing each other.

  Her response was, "Sure, pick me up at seven." I couldn't fucking believe that response. I sat there with my lower jaw in my lap. Did she really say that, I thought? And so quickly? No hesitation. I loved it. She was mine. I was already inside her.

  Think about that response with me a bit. Take the 'sure'. Not maybe, or we'll see, or let's think about it, or some other mealy mouthed response. She was ready. Ready for me. Even if this was going to turn out to be just a revenge fuck on her part, I can live with that. I can live with that very well indeed. I don't need for her to fall in love with me. Hell, she doesn't even have to like me as long as she does me. I'll even settle for her laying there, on top of m
e, us both naked, she turns on the video cam, she looks directly into it and says, "Guess what Dewayne, his cock is bigger than yours and it's inside me." That would probably be a lie, the bit about the bigger cock I mean, not that I know for sure, but being the man's man that Dewayne seems to be, it seems likely. Maybe I should ask Abby.

  But I'm getting ahead of myself here, which is pretty normal for me, especially when it involves sex.

  The next part of Kim's response, i.e. 'pick me up at seven', was better than the 'sure'. Think about it for a moment. Here she was, a few weeks ago, in our condo, devastated, thinking her marriage was ruined, and now she was on the verge of embracing the open marriage format, even if it was only for revenge. I really didn't care if this was a revenge date or not. Actually I did care. I would prefer to think that she had somehow evolved her thinking in a short period of time to realize some of the finer points about how society had dictated to her a lifestyle that didn't allow expression of her sexuality. But I knew that wasn't very likely and her real reason for going was most likely to show Dewayne she could fuck strangers just as well as he could, and that was ok with me. Not perfect, but very ok. Especially since I was the stranger.

  So I picked her up at seven. I pretty much knew she wouldn't be ready. I pretty much knew that she wanted to give Dewayne a show. Which she did. A very nice show indeed.

  I rang the door bell and I heard her yelling to Dewayne, "Can you get the door hon? It's probably my date." Awesome, I think.

  Dewayne answers the door, says to come in, and then goes back to watch TV. Football. Or maybe it was a bike race. Then Kim calls again from the bathroom, "Hi George, I'll just be a few minutes. Hon, can you get George a drink, please?" I loved that. A lot.

  So Dewayne goes to get me a drink. Cabernet. I sit down with my Cab. Dewayne has a beer. Something cheap.

  Kim comes out and she looks spectacular. Really Spectacular. Dewayne's face gets kind of ashen. Not much blood up there.

  Kim does a cute little twirl in her new skirt. Bought with Dewayne's hard earned money I hoped. I'm trying to see as far up it as I can. Dewayne notices. He frowns. Kim says, "Do you like it George? I got it for our date." Major emphasis on 'date'.

  "Don't wait up for us hon. I have no idea when we'll be back," Kim taunts. Major emphasis on 'no'. She gives him a peck, on his cheek. No lip action. We leave. I'm guessing Dewayne's cock is about as hard as mine.

  I opened the door of my car for Kim and looked back at the house and saw Dewayne quickly moving away from the window where he had been watching us. Too bad because Kim moved over next to me and gave me a long and very wet kiss. I looked back at the house, after I caught my breath, and there was old Dewayne back at the window. I gave him a quick wave. He looked sick. Very sick.

  I won't bore you with the details of the date, other than to say that the show, at her house, was the best part, unfortunately. But you know something; first dates can be like that. I was thinking that this was a dry run for some later very wet action. When we got back, I walked her to the door and we kissed again. Long and wet. Then she kind of moved her thigh against my crotch, for show I was thinking. Dewayne's show. I wonder which window he was watching us from.

  When I got home, Abby was still awake, which was unusual, but I was expecting it. She said, "How was dinner?" I said fine. She said "How's Kim?" I said fine and went to bed. Ten minutes later she climbed into the bed. Naked. Stark fucking naked.

  Chapter 54: Morality and Obscenity, a Digressive Chapter

  I know I've already digressed about morality but I feel like doing it again. Hopefully I won't repeat myself, too much.

  I was thinking the other day about morality and obscenity. In reality, I think about them all of the time. Morality is a human construct. Nature doesn't do morality. However nature isn't amoral. Exactly the opposite. There is no cruelty in nature. Destruction yes, but not cruelty. And the destruction is creative, for nature. Mankind can be cruel. Nature doesn't need to or seem to want to be cruel.

  Why am I thinking about this? Well, I grew up being taught a lot about morality. Manmade morality. A lot of it was good. Don't kill. Good. Don't steal. Good. Don't lie. Good. Basically don't fuck over other people or other people's things. All good.

  Then we got to sex. And that's where the bad teaching started. Why did we as humans relegate one of the most basic and beautiful and erotic and, I might add necessary, human activities to the gutter? Maybe it was fear. Maybe our ancient forefathers and foremothers saw the powerful magic that existed in lust, and thought it had to be subjugated. Tame the beast. Shackle it before it consumes us all.

  So they gave us morality. Sexual morality. And in the process, they forgot to give us Natural morality. So chop down the mountains for coal, and in the process destroy streams and rivers, lay waste to vast areas for resources, build power plants that can ruin vast areas for tens of thousands of years if something goes wrong, but don't have sex with the neighbor's wife.

  How about obscenity. So it's obscene to see a picture of a naked body but not obscene to turn a vast and beautiful waterway into a cesspool? Or how about it being obscene to say fuck or shit or asshole, but totally ok to make millions or billions of dollars by selling tobacco to kids knowing full well they will get mouth and throat and lung cancer down the road?

  Come on humanity, we can do much, much better than that sort of thinking.

  Chapter 55: Dewayne Stops By

  Sorry about the last chapter. It's not really a part of this saga. Or maybe it is. Maybe it's the most important part of this story. I'm not clear on that yet. I'll get back to you when I am. Clear that is. On this.

  Dewayne stopped by. Tuesday night. Three nights after my date with Kim. Guess who were on their respective couches? Yep, me and Abby. Watching CC. Abby goes to the door. Opens it. Dewayne strides in. Says hello to me. Abby is beaming. He sits on her couch. She gets him a beer. An expensive one. Next time I'm going to get the beer.

  The little man in my brain is screaming at me. How did Dewayne get in the building, he is taunting me. Holy shit. He's right. The little man is right. The doors lock at six PM and it's about seven PM. You have to know the security code to get in. How does Dewayne know it? He's been here before! Ok, calm down George. Even though you know, now, for sure, that he's been up here, you don't have proof that he has actually fucked Abby in our bed. I wonder if they did it on my side of the bed or hers.

  George has kind of an alpha wolf look on his face. He's the man. The man's man. And he's glad to be here. In Abby's condo. Not our condo, Abby's condo. He knows he's welcome. I'm just a fixture to him. A piece of furniture. Not much more. And he's glad I'm there.

  I've never seen Abby grin quite so widely. She's loving this. Every fucking second of it. She tells me to get her a glass of chardonnay. Notice I said tell. No asking at this juncture. And notice she said chardonnay, not wine. She knows that I'll have to open a good one because all the bulk wine is Chenin Blanc. And she knows I'll have to open a new one when she is only going to have one glass and then the wine will not be as fresh tomorrow. She knows that. Very, very well. And she loves it. And she adds, just for effect, "Get Dewayne a Blue Moon." Not a beer. A Blue fucking Moon, which costs about twice as much. A fact I know because I buy Blue Moon for her, every Saturday when I go grocery shopping, while she rides her bike. With Dewayne.

  I get her fucking chardonnay, pouring her a full glass for two reasons. I could be petty and pour a small glass, but why not take the high road and seem to be magnanimous, when in fact it's simply that whatever is left in the bottle, which I will have to drink tomorrow, will be shitty anyway. The other reason is that Abby is already at her limit of one beer for the day, and a big glass of wine will send her way over the limit and her mouth will get very loose and something interesting could happen.

  I bring the chardonnay to her and the Blue Moon to Dewayne. "Thanks sweetie," she says. She never calls me sweetie. I notice she and Dewayne are a lot closer on the couch than we ever are. No thanks f
rom the alpha wolf for his Blue fucking Moon.

  I make a decision. An important one. I get up, go to the kitchen, dump my cheap bulk wine down the drain, the cheap wine I drink because I like to drink a lot, and I can't really afford the good chardonnay every night. I pour myself a glass. A full glass. Of the chardonnay. I feel much better.

  I come back and sit on my couch. Is it my imagination, or are they even closer now? Damn, I wish I would have made a mental note of where the outside of each one on their bodies were, so I could be sure now by comparing that with where they are now. A lost opportunity, I thought.

  They are talking. To each other. About bikes. Geez.

  "So what time do you want to start Saturday?" Abby asks Dewayne.

  Start what, I thought.

  "Nine?" Dewayne asks.

  "Perfect," Abby says.

  You would have had to hear her enunciation of 'perfect' to know how loaded that answer was. The 'per' was like a cat purring. Truly. The 'fect' was inflected and, if I had to use a metaphor, I'd say it shot out of her mouth like an arrow leaves a bow, sailing toward its target, i.e. me. It was nicely truncated, I might add.

  Once their date had been set, they started jabbering about the route and the weather and the fact that most, if not all, of the riding pack would be out of town, which seemed to please them to no end, for reasons I can only guess.

  I noticed that Abby seemed to be in one of her touchy feely modes which only happens with me when we have been separated for a few weeks and then only lasts about twenty four hours, at most. But here she was, kind of slapping him, on his thigh, every sentence or so. And remember her rant about not being touchy feely? I sure do.

  She was pretty much gulping her chardonnay. My chardonnay actually since I buy it, but no matter. When she finished it, she kind of waved the empty glass in my direction. No 'please'. Not even a 'get me another'. Just a wave.