by Ben Boswell
“I don’t know how it happened. It was just, I dunno. I was drunk. He was really charming. You didn’t really seem to mind. Even when he started kissing me, you couldn’t take your eyes off that whore. I was trying to make you jealous, or maybe make her jealous, or just piss her off, but by the time either of you paid any attention to us, we were pretty far gone, and I didn’t want him to stop. And I was thinking that maybe you liked it, you know the whole voyeur thing. And I dunno, I just got carried away. He was very good. Oops, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I did really sort of think I was doing it for you.”
She ended there, I think deciding finally that was her best argument. For a moment I didn’t speak, and she opened her mouth to continue. I raised my hand to ward off another onslaught of words.
“So, you were doing me a favor? Fulfilling a fantasy of mine.”
She nodded, her face brightening.
“Yes, yes, John. I was thinking that.”
“And you were thinking that when you left me passed out on the beach and went off to his room?”
“Well, I got carried away. He was –“
“Yes, very good. You mentioned that. Well, at least you didn’t need to do anything you didn’t enjoy to fulfill my fantasy.”
I kept my tone surprisingly flat given the circumstances. I could see Claire trying to puzzle it out. Was I really being understanding? Was I building to an explosion? I forced a smile. I liked seeing her confused. I counted it as a small victory.
The uncomfortable silence between us brought forth another torrent of explanations.
“I should have run it by you, but I sort of did when we talked about you being a voyeur. And yeah, going to his room was a bad idea. It just spun out of control. Maybe it would be better if we kept these fantasies under wraps.”
We. That one elicited a genuine smile from me. A sardonic smile, but a genuine one.
She stepped a little closer, looking for a hug, an absolution. Instead, I lowered the boom.
“God, Claire, you are full of shit, you know that?”
“No. John.”
“Don’t ‘no John’ me. You can’t possibly think I’m dumb enough to buy all… all… this,” I waved my arm around to encompass, well, everything she’d just said.
She looked up, down, over my shoulder, anywhere but at me. “I wanted to believe it’s what you wanted.”
At least we were getting closer to the truth.
She continued softly, “I thought if it would turn you on, it would be okay. Weird, but okay.”
I continued to stare at her mutely.
She finally returned her gaze to me. “I don’t know what to say, or what to do. I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. I didn’t know what to say or what to do either. I know people always talk tough about this sort of thing, enunciating a zero tolerance approach. But, of course, that’s mostly for deterrence. Though we were newlyweds, we’d been together for years, had already begun to make a life together. Did I really want to throw all that away because of a drunken night on the beach?
“I need to think some more about this,” I finally muttered as I walked back out of the room.
I didn’t quite know what to do next. I went back down to the lobby bar. I was the only one there. It was another beautiful day in paradise, and even the morning drinkers were out by the pool rather than in the darker lobby bar. This was no time for a fruity drink. I ordered a Bourbon, neat. I don’t actually drink whiskey normally, but it felt like the right thing to order given the occasion. I downed it, feeling the burn in my throat, the rush in my head. I ordered another, a double. I drank half of it, swirled the rest in my glass, losing myself for a few moments in watching the alcohol coat the glass and then gradually flow down the sides.
A tall, thin, blond-haired man walked in. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him. Though the bar was empty, he sat down just two stools down from me. He had a vaguely feminine look to him. I sighed. I’m not homophobic, but the last thing I needed after what had just happened was to be hit on by a man. I already felt that my masculinity was under siege.
He ordered a daiquiri. “Alcohol free,” he added in an almost embarrassed tone. When his fruity drink arrived, I could feel his eyes on me. I looked over at him. He smiled at me. Oh no, here it comes.
“Morning,” he said, his voice high and tight. He spoke in a slow, Midwestern drawl. Kansas? Missouri maybe?
“Hey,” I replied curtly.
“Mister, are you married?” he asked.
I was about to tell him I wasn’t interested, but there was something about his needy tone that gave me pause.
I nodded. “Yup. You?”
He sighed in relief.
“Just now,” he replied, waving his wedding ring at me. “That’s the problem.”
I looked over at him, finally placing him. He was the newlywed, the one with the fertility goddess wife. The luckiest bastard in the resort, especially now that Claire’s evening with Trent had knocked me out of the running for that title. He was even younger than I had realized. Nineteen, maybe twenty, though I got the sense that his aversion for booze was grounded in more than just his age.
I gave him a smile. Even though I was a newlywed as well, being 33, I guess he saw me as some sort of father figure.
“What can be the problem? You’re with your beautiful wife in a beautiful place.”
He gave me a queer look. “You know my wife?”
Shit. Only by spying on you two fucking. “I was just guessing. All new brides are beautiful, aren’t they?”
He regarded me thoughtfully, then nodded. “I’m sorry, mister. It’s just…”
I looked at him expectantly.
He hesitated then continued, “It’s just that I have this problem.”
He was too young for ED. PE maybe? This was a problem for his dad, or rather his doctor, not me.
I gave him a thin smile, trying to strike a balance between shutting him down and actually encouraging him.
“See, Janelle and I… I’m Dale, by the way… we’ve been dating for… well, since high school.”
So, two years, I thought to myself. “That’s great. Marrying a high school sweetheart is so… sweet.”
“It’s just, you know, she and I…. Our town… it’s pretty traditional. I mean, you know, Janelle and I never….”
He blushed such a deep red that thought he might actually burst into flame. I suppressed a laugh.
“Dale? It’s okay. You’re both young. It’ll get better. You have plenty of time to make it…”
I was trying to reassure him, but suddenly he was shaking his head. His eyes were red, tearing up.
“I think Janelle…. I think she may have been…. I think she….”
And then I realized where he was going. The girl I’d spied through the window was not a shy, little, virgin, blushing bride. She was a sexual woman, with luxuriant needs. And her husband, was terrified of it.
“You think she’s been with other men?”
He looked scandalized, horrified, but then he gave me a small, scared nod. He stared down into his alcohol-free beverage.
“She’s so… so aggressive.... She wants it all the time. And it’s like she’s waiting for something to happen, and then she wants to try it again.
I couldn’t feel sorry for him. He’s hit some sort of fucking jackpot. He’d married his innocent, little high school sweetheart. Virgins from some fucking small town in Missouri, the asshole deserved to spend his whole life dreaming of getting a hummer. Instead, he’d lucked into a gorgeous, sexual dynamo. Yeah, so maybe she’d been getting railed by the football team since she was fourteen. But more likely, she was just what she seemed, a quiet, innocent girl, a virgin on her wedding night, but one who may have played with herself, watched a little porn, who’d tried sex and liked it.
I suppressed a laugh and composed my face into a look of serious consideration.
“Dale, being married is about communica
tion.”
I couldn’t believe the words were coming out of my mouth. Why was I giving him advice? Half an hour earlier, my own wife had been in the shower washing another man’s jism out of her cunt.
“And it is about growing together,” I added.
Looking him over, it was hard to imagine him growing. His poor bride. She was probably going to spend her entire married life wishing for a good fuck. I should introduce her to Trent. He’d probably make short work of their wedding vows, give the girl a proper, what would he call it? A proper rogering, maybe?
Dale was still looking at me expectantly, hanging on my pearls of wisdom.
“And trying new things.”
Like getting into voyeurism and wife swapping.
I stood and gave him a manly clap on the shoulder.
“I’m sure you two will have a wonderful and….” He looked the religious type. “…blessed union.”
I grabbed my drink and walked out of the bar before I either began screaming profanities or laughing hysterically.
CHAPTER NINE
Although I decided to make my way back to our room, I took the scenic route, visiting about half the resort’s bars on the way. I should have been livid, shaking with rage, but somehow the situation was too absurd for that. Had Claire really had sex, right in front of me, with a virtual stranger and then spent the night with him? It still felt more like a nightmare than a reality. The moment I parted from Claire, the sensation of reality had begun to fade. I reached into my pocket and felt the smooth silk of her panties, my only tangible evidence of what had occurred. But was even that part of some elaborate ruse? All I knew for sure was that I needed a drink.
It was at about my third stop, as exhaustion and drunkenness were melding into a sort of lunatic detachment that I began to stop thinking about what had happened, and began thinking about what happened next. Of course I was going to take her back. Sooner or later, I would. So the issue was how.
I was sort of talking to myself at this point, not really loud enough to make a scene, but enough to earn me a little more room at the bar. People were giving me funny looks. Had I been sober, I might have been embarrassed.
I knew one thing I didn’t want to do. I didn’t want to go through the whole cycle of marriage counseling and therapy. I had a buddy who went through that, endless sessions about learning to communicate and empathy. In the end, it often seemed to come down to how the poor slob should have better catered to his wife’s needs.
“Her need to get a big cock inside her,” I mumbled to myself, maybe a little too loud. A man two seats down edged a little further away.
She’d humiliated me. That was the thing. The whole sex thing… who the fuck cares? I wasn’t Dale. I knew Claire had had cocks before me, probably would after me too if she outlived me. But I needed to get even.
I thought about those father-of-the-year candidates who make their teenage daughters stand in a parking lot with a sign saying, “I violated my curfew.” I wondered if Annabelle’s dad had done something like that to her, given how fucked up she’d turned out. Still, I imagined insisting Claire stand in the lobby of the hotel with a sign saying, “I cheated on my husband on our honeymoon.”
I cackled maniacally. I caught myself. I had to stop. Getting kicked out of the bar by resort management for public drunkenness was not going to improve my situation or my mood. I took a deep breath, and asked for Coke from the bartender. And a burger. I was starving.
It then occurred to me that the easiest way to get even would be to cheat on Claire. Tit-for-tat. She could hardly say no. And I’d make her watch. It had been a pretty close call on that as it was. A little more aggressiveness from Annabelle last night, and, well, both Claire and I might have broken our marriage vows at the same time.
God, that girl was a minx. Get her into a comfy bed instead of propped up against a cooler or a palm tree, and she would probably be extraordinary. Who knew what sorts of tricks she’d already picked up? I would love the opportunity to see what she was like in the sack.
But, of course, Annabelle hadn’t been more aggressive. In fact, she’d taken the first opportunity to hook up instead with a younger, hotter dude. In truth, I’d never really been that good with women. Claire was, I think, the first and last girl I’d ever actually picked up in a club, and even then it had taken me dinners, long hikes, and rock climbing lessons to close the deal. It would really fuck with my self-esteem if I told Claire I was going to cheat on her to get even, and then, well, I couldn’t pull it off. And being more than seven years out of practice, I didn’t imagine my game had much improved.
And then it struck me. My best revenge wouldn’t be screwing Annabelle myself, it would be watching Claire and Annabelle go at it. That was, in fact, one of my long-standing fantasies, well not with Annabelle specifically, but the idea of watching Claire with another woman. And sure, if they decided, in the middle of it, that they needed to add a cock to the mix, I could help them out.
I chuckled to myself. Even if it didn’t come to pass, it would be fun to torment Claire with the idea. She’d always made clear she wasn’t into women. But she’d just made such a fuss about how she just wanted to fulfill my fantasies… well, she could hardly deny me one so utterly conventional, could she?
By the time I got back to the room, it was mid-afternoon.
“Oh God, John,” she said, rushing at me. “I was so worried.”
“Not worried enough to come looking for me,” I snapped.
She sighed. “I thought you’d be back --”
I cut her off. I needed to get it out before I chickened out.
“You know, if you wanted to fulfill a voyeur fantasy for me, you could have at least picked one that actually turned me on.”
She nodded, thoughtfully. “Yeah, I know, I should have talked with you more about this.”
“I know your heart was in the right place,” I offered magnanimously.
“It was, it was,” she replied, earnestly.
“But this upset me. It hurt me. Do you realize how difficult it was to watch you do that?”
“You could have stopped us.”
And you could have noticed I was too stoned to do anything. I waved my hand again to dismiss that thought. I didn’t want to go down that path.
“It does turn me on that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for my fantasies.”
She nodded. “I am.”
“Well, I am a bit of a voyeur.”
She gave me a saucy smile. “I know.” She liked how the conversation had turned.
“I don’t really fantasize about you with another man.”
I paused, but just as she opened her mouth to speak, I cut her off.
“On the other hand, I would love to see you with a woman.”
She forced a smile. “Okay… okay, we can work on that. Maybe when we get back…”
I shook my head. “No, I have a woman in mind…. I’d like to see you with Annabelle.”
She shook her head. “No, John, I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I took her in my arms.
“The idea makes me so hot,” I sighed in her ear. “And now that I know how important it is for you to fulfill my fantasies…”
“It is important –“
I cut her off with a kiss. I slid my hand down her back and cupped her ass, pulling her close.
“God, baby, it would mean so much to me, so much.”
She sighed. “I’m not sure. I mean, why would she want to?”
“You’re very persuasive, and oh so sexy, and she seems like she likes to party. Please baby?”
We broke our embrace and she looked me in the eye. I saw that she understood the deal. If she fucked her nemesis and let me watch, I’d forgive her transgression.
“Okay,” she said finally. “How do we do this?”
I went out onto the balcony and scanned for Annabelle. Sure enough, she was out by the pool, slurping down fruity drinks. As she moved around, her over-inflated
hooters threatened to pop out of her skimpy top. A small clutch of male hotel staffers eyed her from the other side of the pool, while her father periodically shot her a disapproving look. I imagined that in Annabelle-land, this represented mission accomplished.
“There she is,” I said.
I pointed her out and handed the binoculars to Claire.
She spotted her quarry. Claire’s face twisted into the same censorious expression as the father. It made me chuckle.
“John, I…”
“Yes, I know, sweetie. You’re eager to satisfy my fantasy.”
She put down the binoculars and gave me a defeated look. She would have loved to tell me off. She was itching to do it, and she couldn’t. My satisfaction may sound childish, and it was, but all things considered, it was a pretty mild response to what she’d done.
“So, what do I do? I just walk over to her ask her to lick my clam?”
“Well, I know that was about all Trent had to do with you, but she may not be as big of a quean as you are. You might have to seduce her at least a little.”
“It’s pronounced kwen, not cue-AN. One syllable.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
She glared back out at Annabelle.
“We have nothing in common.”
“Sure you do, you both had sex with strangers last night.”
Claire gave me a frustrated frown. I was pushing too hard. I dialed it back a little.
“It’ll turn me on just seeing the two of you together. Whatever happens, happens. But it is the least you can do.”
She nodded.
“Now, go on, babe, go make my fantasy come true.”