Dark Passions

by Jeff Gelb

  Sharla had logged on and said hello to Mystery Man. She felt nervous, with a twinge of guilt over what was about to transpire, but she’d been haunted by images of herself with Lewis. Funny how she’d never thought of him in physical terms way back then, but now ... now her life was different. Perhaps the timing had been wrong before. Now, who knew what the future held?

  MM: ready?

  SS: i guess so

  She glanced at her watch. Edmund wouldn’t be home for at least a couple of hours. That should allow plenty of time.

  MM: imagine we’re on a deserted beach

  SS: ok

  MM: we spread a blanket in the dunes

  SS: mmm

  MM: i kiss you long and hard

  SS: yes

  MM: i can feel your heartbeat pounding against my chest

  He paused briefly.

  MM: can you hear the surf?

  SS: yes

  MM: can you feel the breeze?

  SS: yesss

  MM: our tongues intertwine

  SS: mmm

  MM: take a deep breath

  SS: ok

  MM: touch yourself

  SS: what?

  MM: touch yourself for me

  She hadn’t realized this would be part of it. For a moment she felt a bit dim-witted; after all, this was what it was all about, right? She glanced around the house, then slid out of her jeans. Off went her panties as well.

  Sharla relaxed in her chair again and slid her middle finger below the wireless keyboard in her lap, past her stomach to her pleasure zone. God, she was wetter than she’d been in years. She closed her eyes and let her imagination run wild until the computer’s audible alert informed her that Mystery Man had IM’ed her again.

  MM: u still there?

  SS: oh, YES

  MM: just relax and read what i say

  SS: why?

  MM: i don’t want u to be distracted by typing. just keep your hands off the keyboard and do what i say SS: ok

  Sharla felt like a teenager in the backseat of her boyfriend’s car. The sexual energy was indescribable. She continued to stimulate herself as she followed Mystery Man’s lead, imagining the possibilities ...

  MM: i carefully peel your swimsuit away. you’re beautiful.

  MM: your nipples are hard, pointing to the sky

  MM: i watch you breathe

  MM: then i start at your lips and kiss my way down

  MM: between your breasts

  MM: way down

  MM: past your belly

  MM: between your legs

  MM: in the distance we hear thunder

  MM: a light sprinkle of rain begins to fall

  MM: but we don’t care

  Sharla paused to exhale deeply. Mystery Man was quite good at this. She wondered how many times he’d carried on this way with other women, but the thought only excited her more. She was being adventurous, stretching her admittedly limited boundaries, and it felt dangerously exciting.

  MM: you like this, i can tell

  MM: you’re so fucking wet

  MM: my tongue traces lightly around your vagina

  MM: then it slowly pushes inside

  MM: my tongue slips up and down, in and out

  MM: it tickles your swollen clit MM: i suck your clit, using my lips to massage it

  She couldn’t stand much more of this. Sharla set the keyboard on the floor beside her chair, closed her eyes, and imagined what he would describe next, oblivious to the audible alerts of more and more lines scrolling down the screen. She didn’t care what he was saying; her mind had now taken control. Her clit was so sensitive that it wouldn’t take much longer. She imagined Lewis Michaels’s head between her legs tenderly administering to her needs. She tensed; her legs shook. She applied the pressure and adjusted the frequency of her touch to the optimum level, and then she exploded. “Oh my God!” She moaned. Waves of pleasure rippled as her head rolled from side to side. She moistened her lips and maintained the contact, slipping into orgasm after orgasm. She lost count of the times she came.

  I eventually admitted to myself that I had taken the ruse as far as it could go. My original goal of lifting her spirits had been accomplished, and, quite frankly, the erotic thrill was gone for me. I suppose it had much to do with the realization that Sharla thought I was someone else, that my dear, sweet wife, my soul mate and the mother of my children, was imagining herself fucking another man. It should have dawned on me earlier, but I had allowed myself to get completely caught up in self-gratification. By the time we had graduated to online sex, Dr. Tannerbaum’s words had faded into the distant past.

  I admit, the cybersex was fun, but only to a point. Sharla tried to reciprocate, but the truth is, she wasn’t very good. Jacking off at my computer just didn’t work for me. After all, I wasn’t exploring uncharted territory here; there was none of that electrifying passion that comes with a new partner—I was having online sex with my own wife. The fact that she thought I was someone else weighed heavier and heavier, so I was thinking of different ways to put an end to the whole ploy when she dropped the bomb on me. I was stunned. We were in the middle of a casual IM session when it happened:

  SS: i want to have u for real

  I stared at the screen, numb, for God only knows how long.

  SS: u still there?

  I exhaled a burst of pent-up breath.

  MM: i’m here and i’m real. you’ve got me for real already

  SS: u know what i mean

  I swallowed hard. My wife wanted to fuck her old buddy Lewis Michaels. How could she do this to me? How could she betray me after all I had done to make her happy? And what the hell would happen if Michaels suddenly appeared out of nowhere? They would wonder who the hell had impersonated him, then realize they were all-systems-go for a roll in the hay.

  MM: gotta run

  SS: wait!

  MM: catch you later

  And then I signed off.

  Superman, the so-called “Man of Steel,” is practically indestructible until he stumbles across kryptonite. Pussy is the kryptonite of the heterosexual male. Even the biggest, toughest muscle-bound macho freak turns into a mass of jelly when the right pussy rubs against him. The owner of a pussy can make a man feel like the king of the world or the lowliest leech in the food chain. The latter best describes me as the truth sunk in that my beloved wife’s heart was beginning to betray me too, even though I was the secret object of her desire.

  I knew Lewis Michaels way back in Appleton. He was a loser. What the hell did she ever see in him? And how could she throw twenty-three precious years of marriage away for a roll in the fucking hay with him?

  My anger grew exponentially and brought me here. Grasping this gun as I wait in my car, I’m determined to put an end to this whole sick mess, starting at its source. When I think of Sharla in the arms of someone else, especially Lewis Michaels, I practically lose control. I want to smash something, and that’s exactly what I’m about to do. I started this whole charade to lift Sharla from a deep depression. In the process, I made her feel better but threw myself into a bottomless pit. There’s only one way out.

  Sharla regretted hitting Lewis up so suddenly with the idea of meeting in person. Although she’d been thinking about it for days, it had still been a spur-of-the-moment decision when she typed those few fateful words. She’d hesitated before hitting the Enter key but then threw caution to the wind and went for it.

  She had grown increasingly attached to Lewis. She loved his personality, his playfulness. She wondered if he would be the same in person, however. Some people were far more open and carefree online than they were in reality, she’d heard. And she loved Lewis’s passion when it came to sex. Edmund had never shown such creativity in the bedroom. No matter the cost, she had to get things back on track with Lewis.

  She hadn’t expected this reaction, however. She’d left her computer on all day, logged on to instant messaging, hoping to hear the sound of an opening squeaky door signaling that Lewi
s had logged on. Nada. She would now have to resolve this through e-mail.

  Dearest Lewis:

  Please don’t be upset with me. I know that in the beginning we agreed that this would only be shortterm and that it would never go beyond the Internet but something special happened between us, honey. I don’t know what it is and I can’t explain it but I truly believe we were meant to be together. We can’t just throw something this precious away.

  Please write to me.You don’t have to tell me that you love me. I’m not asking for that. I just want us to be online together again and discuss the possibility of a whole new life with each other. Can’t we at least do that, honey?

  You don’t have to say it back to me, darling, but ...

  I love you.

  Sharla

  You’re probably wondering how I felt when I read Sharla’s confession of love. Well, imagine having your balls removed by a chainsaw. Or perhaps a cactus enema. You get the picture. I would have much preferred a bullet through the heart or an arrow through my skull. Instead she attacked me with something that simmered inside, that slowly ate away at me like an injection of weak acid into my bloodstream. I felt the pain slowly creeping throughout my body, gradually ripping me apart. Isn’t that enough to justify an extreme act? Wouldn’t just about anyone understand?

  I’ve been a decent man: a good provider and great father to my kids. I’ve given Sharla everything she’s ever needed, and yet she wants to piss it all away. And without realizing it, the man she’s fallen in love with ... is me !

  I know where Lewis Michaels lives. Yeah, he’s still around, and I’ve parked along his street and secretly watched him come and go. He looks much the same, only older. He has young kids living at home, and his wife isn’t much to look at. His life looks incredibly boring. He would jump at a chance to nail Sharla. If it was that easy for me to find Lewis, Sharla can look him up with no trouble at all. In fact, she probably already has. Chances are better than good that she’s with him this very moment. They’ve probably been fucking all of this time and playing me for the patsy. Sharla probably knew it was me from the start. But this whole thing isn’t Lewis’s fault.

  My headache is killing me. There’s a roaring sound in my ears. I’m shaking all over as I grip the steering wheel and the gun. I wipe beads of sweat from my forehead and put down the window for a breath of fresh air. Every woman I see looks like Sharla. And every one of them frowns and looks the other way.

  I’m not sure that I can go through with this; I’m not a violent man. But the thought of the two of them together is more than I can bear. I take a deep breath.

  Gun in hand, I quietly open the door and step outside. My heart is pounding; my hands are trembling. I feel helpless. But we must all accept responsibility for our actions. I’m not a confrontational man, but I know what to do.

  A familiar figure exits an adjacent office building and walks away from me toward a parking lot on the other side of the complex. I follow, the revolver at my side. “Hey, home wrecker! I yell.

  He turns, and fear washes over his face. He stands perfectly still, puzzled. It’s been a while since he’s seen me. Does he even recognize me?

  “He’s got a gun!” someone yells, and dark figures begin to scramble for cover. It’s him and me now. He sees the revolver. I try to prevent it from shaking as I hold it in place.

  I step closer. Breathing becomes more difficult. I see the panic in his eyes. He knows who I am now.

  “Wh-what is this about?” he stutters. His briefcase slips from his right hand and tumbles to the pavement. The latch breaks, and papers spill across the asphalt.

  “Let me explain it this way,” I say as I tighten my grip on the revolver.

  The fear in his eyes alone is worth what I’m about to do. “No!” he says. “This is never the answer.” He takes a careful step in my direction, arms out straight toward me, palms open wide.

  “You deserve this,” I mumble. “You destroyed my marriage.”

  “No,” he begs. “There are always better options.”

  The gun shakes in my hand. I pull back the hammer.

  “Please,” he pleads, “think of what this will do to your wife!”

  And that’s exactly what I think about as I focus on his disgusting handlebar mustache, push the barrel harder against my temple, and fire.

  Goo Girl

  Thomas Tessier

  The snow started falling early on Friday evening. Only flurries that didn’t even stick; the wind blew them around in swirls like dust. But it was going to be a long weekend. The storm was expected to pick up after midnight and arrive in full force by noon Saturday, lasting well into Sunday. It was shaping up as a classic Nor’easter, with snow accumulating between two and three feet in the area. White stuff flying through the air. So fitting.

  She liked snow, and the timing of a major storm on this particular weekend was ideal. Gretchen turned away from the bathroom window and checked herself again in the mirror. She and Drew had Monday off, with the markets closed for Presidents’ Day. He had suggested they get away early and fly down to one of the islands. A couple of days of sun and the beach, return on Monday after the roads had been cleared. But she persuaded him to relax and sit it out at home. They had plenty of food and drink on hand, as well as some movies, their usual video games, and music for entertainment. Gretchen had prepared well for just this weekend.

  Skip the travel arrangements and all that running around. It would be their own very special, private party: Friday night, all day Saturday, Saturday night, all day Sunday, Sunday night, and much of Monday. When she put it to him that way, Drew reconsidered and smiled.

  He was waiting for her now, in the spare bedroom that he’d converted into a home office. Waiting for the fun to start. Gretchen had decided to start with the office fantasy, one of his favorites; a fact that worried her when she first learned it, but now it didn’t matter. She was wearing a tight white blouse, open an extra button at the top, along with a very short black skirt. Her hair was done up high, with a thick braid at the back. She wore a choker around her throat, and of course she put her glasses on. Now she was the secretary of his dreams. She walked briskly down the hall and knocked once on the half-open door. Drew was sitting in his leather armchair, an open business magazine in his hands.

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s after five. Would you like a drink?”

  “Yes, please. And have one yourself, if you’d like.”

  “Oh, thank you. I’ll be right back.”

  In the kitchen, she carefully poured and stirred his drink. She touched the liquid with the tip of one finger and tasted it. Fine. For herself, she fixed a glass of sparkling water with ice and a slice of lime. When she returned to the office, Gretchen leaned forward to hand him his drink, giving him a good view of her cleavage and the filmy blue see-through bra she was wearing. Blue was his favorite color. Drew’s eyes locked right in on the open blouse.

  “Here you are, sir. It’s that new Latvian vodka.”

  “Ah, good. I’ve been wanting to try it.” He took a sip. “Mmm, good, and strong. Bring the desk chair over and have a seat.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gretchen bent over to set her drink on the side table. Then she bent over again and gave him a lingering rear view as she pulled the chair around. She sat down, her legs parted enough so that he would have a clear view of her matching blue thong. He loved looking up a skirt. Gretchen stared at him and even let a smirk form around her mouth, but Drew didn’t notice. I loved him, she thought.

  “I’m afraid there’s talk of staff cutbacks,” he said gravely.

  “Oh no.” She placed one hand over her breast as if stricken with concern. Two fingers inside the blouse.