The part that bothered me, as much as it excited me, is that Jen seemed to be having a good time attracting them to her. Getting the kind of attention she was getting. She never would have leaned on a balcony in such a trashy, men's-magazine-pose, with her legs crossed and her arms draped over the railing...never in a million years. No, Jen would ordinarily have been with the ladies who were sitting on the patio furniture talking about pillow sales, dressed as a Freudian Slip or something.
I watched her in a trance, and downed the wine. I poured myself another one when she placed her hand affectionately on one of her admirer's (some guy named John, not even wearing a costume, totally married, totally such a douche) arms. Her fingers splayed across his biceps and I watched in horror as she raised her eyebrows in admiration.
Overdone, exaggerated, bimbo-esque admiration.
Did she know I was watching her? Was she squeezing John's muscles as part of our game? Or was she doing it because she had actually turned into a bit of a slut?
I was now remembering, John was also a climber and did things like forty pull-ups in the doorway at the office, so probably his biceps were impressive.
Still. Such a fucking prick. He knew that was my wife.
I sneered. John had just said something to make Jen tip her head back and laugh. I could hear her throaty laugh through the window.
And wasn't she fucking cold out there? It was fucking freezing.
Now John was leaving. Coming back inside. Jen stayed where she was, and almost immediately some other guy, dressed unoriginally as a vampire, swooped in on her.
“You lost your head.”
I looked behind me. It took a moment to focus on the source of the voice. A guy, with a vaguely familiar face buried in weird make-up that suggested nothing to me, was looking at me.
Then he raised his arm and pointed out the window.
For a moment my eyes, traveling in the direction of his fingers, went to Jen.
How the fuck did he know I lost my fucking head? Humiliation seared through me, as if maybe this guy (and who was he? Who was he?) had watched me staring at my own wife and had seen the awful thoughts I was thinking, had seen the torment and perverted pleasure that I was experiencing.
But no. Idiotically stomping around on the porch was a guy dressed as Superman, who had stolen my Yeti head (I could not even remember setting it down), and was “scaring” all of the ladies by holding his hands up and growling through the head.
Most of the ladies rolled their eyes, but a few screamed appreciatively.
I saw the moment when Yeti-Superman spotted Jen.
He slowed his assault on the other women, and moved straight toward her.
The door was open at that moment. I heard his muffled voice through the costume. “Well, he-llo.”
A seedy, lecherous, “he-llo.”
“Dude, is that Jen?” the voice behind me said. There was no doubt who he was asking about, even though all he could see of Jen was her ass hanging out of the dress, and her silky brown hair.
I recognized the voice just then. Peter Gray.
“Has she been working out or something?”
I kept my eyes on Yeti-head Superman, who was sidling up to Jen and making some kind of move.
I shook my head.
“That's some fucking costume. Man. I had no idea she was such a hottie.”
Pleasure swept through me. It mingled with the mild irritation I was feeling as the Yeti-man slid closer and closer to Jen.
I mean, seriously. Chances were I knew this guy. Was everyone just going to very obviously hit on my wife, right under my nose?
The thought drove me wild. A cocktail of anger and lust swept through me as I downed another glass of wine. Maybe the wine was making my head so foggy, making it so hard to move.
Behind me, Peter was still talking.
“Man, I have to tell you...just, what the fuck, man? I had no idea Jen was so fucking hot,” he said. He was wasted. He repeated himself a lot when he was.
“Yeah,” I said, and handed him an open beer from the counter as I saluted him and went for the patio door. It was unlikely Peter would remember this conversation or me leaving it abruptly, so I didn't bother making excuses.
“Oh yeah?” Jen was saying, when I approached the two of them. She was smiling, her hand on her hip, leaning seductively on the balcony.
Her eyes went quickly to mine. She smiled conspiratorially. “This guy says one Yeti is as good as another.”
Was she suggesting something? Was she suggesting that we go back on our plan to abandon our plan? And with this guy, who was probably some jerk from work?
I was suddenly aware of the sweat trickling down my sides. A fat drop rolled down my spine. A rush of jealous anger crept up from the center of my body and over the back of my neck.
At the same time, I pictured Jen with some guy from work, her hair spread out on the mattress, her mouth open in ecstasy while she spread her legs open...
I shook my head.
“That's my head,” I told Yeti-Superman plainly. And that's my fucking wife, I felt like adding.
There was a brief moment of silence, while the three of us looked at each other. I couldn't tell what Jen was thinking. She almost seemed amused, and maybe a little disdainful of my outburst. Her lips were closed and turned into a slight smile.
She had picked up on my jealousy.
The only thing I didn't know is what she really felt about it. Did it turn her on? And if it did, what kind of feeling did it give her? Was it a sick feeling, like the one I had? A feeling so twisted and strange that it was hard to understand?
Or did it simply amuse her? Did she just enjoy seeing my pain, riling me up? Was this all just an elaborate ploy for her to get permission to fuck around on me?
And what the fuck did I think I was doing? It was only an hour ago that I was going to drop her off on a date. Could I actually be getting jealous right now?
Superman lifted the head of my costume. “Hey, just messin' with you.” He turned to Jen. “Jen...whoa. That's some costume.”
Brian Finley walked his eyes up and down my wife's body, and then turned jovially to me. He pushed the Yeti head into my hands.
Brian was a chubby, devoutly married guy with five kids, a long-time friend of Frank's who made all the jokes in the office. He was about a foot shorter than Jen.
He was not going to fuck my wife. He wasn't even going to try.
And, I would hope, Jen wouldn't even want to fuck him.
And all of this had been obvious from the moment I saw him through the window. I had let my jealousy distort what I had been seeing. Distort it horribly.
I leaned on the balcony as Brian left to get us some drinks, a mission he seemed likely to forget completely as he stopped to crack jokes with everyone he met.
Jen smiled and brought a drink to her lips. She looked out over the yard. “Brain Finley, huh?” she said.
I set the Yeti head on the porch and ran my fingers through my sweaty hair as I stood back up. I didn't answer. Jen's comment sliced through me, and I spent the next ten minutes staring into the yard, seeing nothing. Trying to decide what it was that Jen's comment meant. And what I wanted. I felt like a crazy man.
Jen put her arm out and touched the heat lamp that was keeping her warm. She looked up at it. She was calm, secure, in control of herself. “Hey,” she said. “We should get one of these for our house.”
She winked at me. “I'm going in for some more beer. I'll try my hardest not to flirt with your ugliest and most ineligible friends.”
I stared at her as she slid through the door. She had a smile for everyone and seemed to know that all eyes were on her. It took her about ten minutes to get through the kitchen, and the whole time I watched her though the glass. What was so different about her? There was the dress, but it was something also else. The way she was standing, her hand on her hip. The way she was...what was she doing? She seemed to be flirting but what was it exactly that gave me that im
pression? Was it just what I wanted to see, and so I was seeing it when it wasn't there?
But no. No, Jen was definitely possessed by a whole new attitude. She seemed to walk taller, and it wasn't just the shoes.
Or maybe it was. Maybe shoes like that just made a girl slink. Maybe she had no choice but to roll her hips with every step, or tilt her ass up when she leaned on the counter.
She disappeared into the living room.
I became acutely aware that I had to piss at that moment. I looked down at my Yeti costume.
“Fucking Christ,” I muttered.
I opted to waddle in my oversized costume to the bathroom. The whole thing had to come off, and something about doing it in the backyard had seemed a bit young for my age.
When I dropped the costume down, two phones clattered onto the tile floor. Mine, and apparently Jen's, which she had sneakily slipped into my pocket.
Her phone flashed slowly with the light of messages.
Maybe just friends.
Maybe just email.
Maybe something else.
I hesitated only a moment, as long as it took me to pee, and then I sat down on the toilet lid and broke into her phone.
An alert from a dating app I couldn't even remember her having signed up for caught my eye.
Now I wasn't thinking. I went diving in, and pulled up the app.
I stared at the picture of the profile that popped up. At the message beneath it.
Something twisted cruelly in my stomach. Excitement began to boil over inside of me faster than I could have ever expected.
This guy had one very stimulating quality.
This guy was black.
Was it Trey? My mind felt thick again. I squinted at the picture.
He was a big, athletic guy. His muscles strained against his ebony-colored skin, and veins threatened to break out on his taut biceps. Not Trey.
Darren.
My mind, of course, went immediately to another place where his veins might strain against his skin. And from there it was just a quick leap for my filthy mind to get that big black cock into my wife's mouth. A vision of Jen with her slutty Nemo suit hiked up over her ass, on her knees with her mouth open dutifully for this guy's dripping black cock, filled my mind and I had to unzip the suit to get some air.
Someone banged on the door.
“Minute,” I mumbled, swiping away at Jen's phone. I stared at the message.
[D]: I see ur in the neighborhood If u look as good as ur photo come over I'm bored
My cock twitched. The app was one of those that located where you were and put you in touch with other users.
I stared at the app's map. It appeared that, in fact, Darren was only a few blocks away from here.
No fucking way, I thought.
The door rattled again. I exhaled.
Just as suddenly as I had given up on the endeavor Jen and I had set out this evening, it was back inside of me. Gnawing at me.
I stared at the map.
I mean, he was right there. Maybe a bit of a jaunt, but right there.
I typed a message back to him.
U having a party?
The door banged again.
“I'm fucking sick in here!” I screamed. I held the phone with both hands, trembling a little. My cock throbbed. All the excitement I thought I'd extinguished with booze was flaring up again.
Little party, Darren messaged me.
Good bc I'm wearing a costume
I stared at the phone.
Send me a pic
My chest went cold.
But I was drunk. I was feeling reckless. I stood up.
One sec, I typed.
I stumbled out into the party. I must have looked wild, people were giving me strange looks. I mumbled something to the girl waiting for the toilet about my costume. She rolled her eyes. The smell of weed was hanging in the air.
When I found Jen she was on the couch. She had a joint in her hands and was passing it back to an incredibly hot girl in a sailor costume. The two had an amused look on their faces. Jen smiled at me.
I waved her over to me.
“What?” she said, mildly annoyed, as I pushed her into a corner. I leaned against her.
“Oh, god...pew, this costume needs a bath,” she said, waving her hand in front of her face.
“Check this out,” I said, too determined to get what I wanted to bother with her comment. I held up the screen so she could see Darren's photo.
The corner of her mouth turned up slightly, and I saw mild confusion on her face. “Yeah...?” she said. “I thought we gave up on this for the evening...?” She shrugged. “Or...?”
“This guy is right down the street,” I hissed. “He messaged you. He wants a photo of your costume.”
Jen shook her head slowly, her face contorted in disbelief. “My costume? How did he -”
“I might have sent him a message,” I said. I was being a little reckless, pressing up against her and talking quickly. I felt like someone had mainlined adrenaline to me: I wanted this.
Her eyes flicked back to the screen.
“He's pretty hot,” she said. My cock throbbed inside the Yeti suit.
I stared at Jen as she debated things in her own mind. She could go either way, I could see. She had already decided to stay here; she seemed to be in a good conversation. I watched her features like a hawk, fascinated by the way she teased me. First she seemed ready to give in, then her face clouded over with doubt, then she opened her mouth. Then she smiled. She took the phone from my hand and her fingers moved across it as she read through his profile.
“Darren, huh?”
I nodded. My mouth went dry.
She swiped at the screen, her mouth in that wry little smile she had been using since she had figured out how much this pressed my buttons, her flirting with other men.
Then she shrugged.
“Okay,” she said. “He wants to see my costume, let's send him my costume.”
She extended her hand and held the phone above her. She crossed one leg over the other and thrust her breasts out. She snapped the photo with flash and showed it to me.
I stared at the trashiness of the photo. It looked like a screen shot from some trashy porn compilation, like Girls Gone Wild or something. And Jen looked young. Very, very young. She had only captured the bottom of her face, her mouth, pursed a little in the pout that young girls seemed to like so much.
Had we done this before? For a moment my thoughts moved like sludge in my mind.
I looked at Jen. “Do I send it?”
She shrugged again. I saw a flicker of uncertainty cross her face. “You really want to do this thing?”
I looked at her helplessly.
“Well,” she said. “It does seem like fate.”
I sent the picture with trembling fingers.
Then I looked at Jen. We were pressed together against the wall. She had a smile on her face, and she met my eyes and burned right through me. She moved her hips a little and parted her lips. Her eyes were wet and big and focused on mine, her pupils dilated to near-black. She was so turned on by what we were doing it was acting on her like a line of coke.
We just stared at each other until the phone buzzed in my hand. I held it so we could both see it.
Damn girl. U need me to come get u?
Jen grinned as she read the message.
“It's a party, he said?” she asked, twisting on one foot. She chewed on her lip and flicked her eyes up at me.
She typed. Show me yours. I dont wanna show up and be the only girl in a costume
We waited in the corner of the living room, our bodies pressed together in excitement.
“You know this is an app strictly for...I don't know...” she said.
“Booty calls?” I said.
Jen laughed. The app was in fact called Booty, and I remembered it now. Anyone with a profile on it was essentially advertising that they were a slut or a guy looking for a slut. Most of the photos of women d
idn't even include faces. I knew I should have been repulsed by that, but something about was almost even more exciting to me: the blatant, dirty sexuality of all.
We had hesitated a little about putting up her profile, but I had to admit it was the most enticing of all the apps. I liked that it was dirty. That there was no danger of any real affair going on between my wife and any of the users. Just maybe a shot at filthy sex.
Jen held the phone with two hands and pressed it to her lips. “You sure about this?”
I was sure. I was sure that I had been sure all along.
I was also sure that my head was spinning. That my cock was doing more thinking for me than it should. That I was drunk. That I was making a bad decision. Surely. Surely this couldn’t be a good decision, sending my wife out for some black cock on a Saturday night in a hooker fish costume using a dating app designed for booty calls in some trashy suburb across the avenue...surely this was a terrible idea.
The phone rumbled in Jen's hands and she looked down at the screen. She smiled and flipped it around to me.
Darren's torso was bare, and his body was thick with lean, sculpted muscle. I felt a little quiver looking at him: he was a masculine specimen, twice the man I was.
Jen giggled. “What kind of costume is that supposed to be?” she said.
I took the phone from her and typed that exact question.
We waited.
“Oh god,” Jen said, as the waiting took longer than expected. “This is fucking crazy.” She was getting hot. I saw a little bit of sweat on her temple.
Her phone rattled in her hand.
Gangsta. Darren had written back. Then:
I'm the only black guy at this party
“Witty,” I said, encouragingly, checking Jen's face for her reaction. I could see she found it kind of amusing as well. Especially since she had, one year, wrapped a blanket around herself and went as a tortilla to salute her long-buried Mexican heritage that nearly everyone seemed desperate for her to get in touch with. (Jen was about as culturally Mexican as a Taco Bell in Thailand.)
“So?” she said, taking the phone back.
Body Of Research: An Experiment In Hotwifing Page 13