My Husband's Adventures

by Alex Hathaway

  It wasn’t until the fourth week of aerobics classes that Jackson came home, gave me a hug, and said with that wicked smile of his, “It’s time.”

  The final phase of the plot was now in play—get Chelsea off to her friends for the night, choose outfits, and practice our back stories.

  That Friday morning, Jackson headed off to work.

  I gave him a bigger hug than usual, then grabbed his crotch. “Make sure that monster is ready. I’m counting on you,” I told him. He just laughed.

  This time, I went to the aerobics class. Jackson did not.

  When Sirenna saw me, she came up and gave me a big hug. “Great to see you!” she said. “We’ve missed you in the group.”

  Awkward silence. I didn’t really exit the group with grace. It was more like I slinked out.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, my Stairmaster broke,” I said, which was technically true. “This class was recommended to me.”

  “Well, the instructor’s not bad,” Sirenna said, “but some of the students are ….” I saw her looking past the glass doors, but no Jackson—if that’s who she was searching for.

  A flash of disappointment perhaps? But then she grabbed me and pulled me over to where she was stretching. “What are you doing after? You want to get a drink?”

  “I’ve been trying to cut down,” I said. Again, technically true, though in a halfhearted way. Then I whispered, “But with both our marriages on the rocks, we could do worse than a couple of shots.”

  Sirenna’s laugh trailed into something else, and a plan was set.

  Four hours later, we were in a loud bar, in the throes of happy hour.

  Sirenna and I got along like sorority sisters. It was a classic girls’ night out, swapping off-color stories while being interrupted by annoying guys from time to time, both of us enjoying the attention that two girls on their game can get.

  We took a “men can go fuck themselves!” shot followed by a sloppy playful kiss. I lingered on the kiss a bit longer than I intended. Sirenna didn’t seem to mind, and I was struck by her angular beauty. She was right off of a 1970s movie set—full-figured, loaded with sex and longing.

  I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room, leaving her to fend for herself with two adorably nerdy tech dudes who had plucked up the nerve to chat us up. What they were doing in a sports bar, I had no idea. I wanted to ask them, but the game was afoot.

  I locked myself in a stall and texted Jackson. We’re at the Red Zone. Come soon.

  Thirty minutes later, still in the midst of a loud conversation with our sexually aspiring computer dudes, Jackson showed up looking hulky and casual. Sirenna, well plied with alcohol, ran and gave him a big ol’ hug, as if they were old friends. Grrr ….

  “Jackson! What are you doing here?”

  “Meeting my basketball team,” Jackson said, glancing at his phone. “But I just realized I’m early.”

  “Well, you can kill the time with us!” yelled Sirenna, her eyes lighting up as if a director had called “action.” The nerdy dudes, Jeff and Matthias, seemed pretty bummed out by Jackson’s presence. He had a way of frustrating guys who like to woo women with witty remarks.

  “Do you know Jackson?” Sirenna said, almost possessively.

  “Yeah,” I said, glad she couldn’t see the pictures of Jackson and me frolicking on my phone.

  “We were on the same softball team a couple years ago,” Jackson offered helpfully. The line came off as a bit forced, but Sirenna didn’t really notice. She took Jackson under her wing to get him a drink, as if I wasn’t there. Double grrr ….

  I entertained myself with the nerdy dudes. They meant well enough, but I’ve never understood why some guys play the wrong game. Matthias and Jeff would have made lovely boyfriends, but they were out of their element here. And the girls hanging out weren’t husband shopping. The guys were telling me how they once stole their final exam out from under their professor’s nose, acing their last college class—despite missing a ton of lectures. It wasn’t the most believable story.

  Then Jeff launched right into the next anecdote, something about solving a formula on the whiteboard like Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting. But there were no Matt Damons here.

  “Excuse me.” I grabbed his hand. I could not afford to let this evening slip. “What’s your friend’s name again?”

  “Matthias,” he said.

  “Look, Jeff and Matthias,” I said, pulling them close as if for physical support, or to tell them a secret. I had downed a couple drinks myself, and had been prone to speaking freely of late.

  “You see that big guy over there?” I told them. “Well, his name is Jackson. Tonight he is going to fuck me and Sirenna with his huge cock until we both pass out.”

  The looks on Jeff’s and Matthias’ faces were priceless. No more blustering, witty anecdotes. Just delicious, pregnant silence. Jeff seemed a bit hurt, which gave me a flash of guilt as Brad and Daniel popped into my head. Ugh!

  One more jealous look at Jackson and they were off, leaving me feeling bad for overdoing it. I had used a hammer when a polite comment would have been enough. God, I am a bitch! But I couldn’t let that distract me now ….

  I pulled my chair noisily between the two of them, turning Jackson, Sirenna, and me into a threesome.

  “Awww, what did you say, Corrie?” Sirenna asked. “I thought those guys were cute.”

  “Not my type,” I said. “I need a little more meat on the bone.”

  Sirenna flushed and Jackson laughed, perhaps enjoying our little pretense.

  Then, in accordance with our machinations, Jackson excused himself to “call his boys.” “Too loud in here,” he said, making his way outside.

  That left Sirenna and me huddled against the bar, giggling like schoolgirls.

  “I think he likes you,” I said, ribbing her with my elbow.

  “You think?” Sirenna said. “God, he is such a …. If I were ever going to cheat on my husband, that’s the guy I’d do it with.”

  “No arguments here!” I said.

  Sirenna laughed, but too innocently.

  I had not gotten the point across. Let’s try this: “I’ve fucked Jackson before.”

  Silence … savoring the shock value. Then Sirenna blurted out, “Whaaaat? You never said you cheated on your husband.”

  Hmm …. I had to think hard about what to say next. “When your husband cheats on you, all bets are off,” I said. “I just … wasn’t ready to tell the group. My own desires just seemed so ….”

  More silence. Sirenna gave me a couple hard looks, perhaps jealous, perhaps judgmental. But curious.

  “And ….”

  “And what?”

  “And how was he?” she finally blurted out.

  Nice dripping silence ….

  Then I looked her square in the face. “Best goddamn fuck of my life.”

  Sirenna sucked her drink down. “Really?”

  “Oh yes,” I told her, “and it’s not even close.”

  “Details!” she demanded, pulling me close.

  “He’s just … born to fuck,” I said, letting my mind wander lustfully, relieved to be done with the lying.

  Even in this cavern of noise, I had Sirenna’s complete attention, her eyes movie star wide.

  “He can last forever, for one thing,” I said.

  Sirenna seemed to be taking on water, like a slowly leaking boat.

  “And he just knows, you know, how to touch you and when. The boy’s got rhythm, that’s all.” I shrugged.

  Sirenna wanted more. “And …?”

  I wasn’t giving it up easily. She would have to work for it.

  “And …”? I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

  More silence, but then, “What about his cock?”

  “What about it?”

  “Is it … well ….”

  “Yeah, it’s fucking big.” I finally gave her what she wanted to hear.

  A look of satisfaction flashed across he
r face. And, if I wasn’t wrong, determination.

  “It’s fucking perfect,” I added.

  “But it’s cheating …” Sirenna said, though I’m not sure if she meant that as a rebuke to me or to her own reeling mind.

  “Girl, when a man fucks you that good, it’s cheating yourself not to do it.”

  Sirenna looked at me long and hard, as if pondering a deep riddle.

  “I’ve got problems in my marriage, all right, but I’ve never regretted fucking Jackson,” I told her. It was the closest thing to a lie I said to her that night. But also the closest thing to the truth.

  Sirenna looked confused, but also … deep in thought. Perhaps deep in forbidden thoughts.

  “Well, my husband is out of town,” Sirenna said wistfully. “He’s not due back till tomorrow.”

  “Look,” I said, “I can’t tell you how to fix your marriage—God knows I can’t fix mine. All I can tell you is that you need to get seriously laid. It will help you figure out the rest.”

  “Are you sure?” Sirenna asked doubtfully. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to be alone with him. I don’t know him that well.”

  “Oh, I can help you there,” I said. “Just invite both of us back to your house for a nightcap. From there, we can make sure it’s a good vibe; then I can head out. Or, if you’d like, I can keep an eye out while you scream.”

  Sirenna looked surprised and embarrassed. But she cracked a smile, knowing I meant screams of pleasure, not terror.

  Jackson was on his way back. We were about to find out.

  Chapter 19

  “Seize your chance,” I hissed in Sirenna’s ear.

  We got back to drinking and chit-chat, but Sirenna didn’t seem as happy and relaxed. She seemed nervous, closed up. I started to think our plan was on the rocks.

  Then she said, “Hey, you two. I wanna kick my shoes off and have a drink at home. You guys want to join me?”

  Jackson was up for it. I grabbed my purse.

  Jackson went with Sirenna in her car; I followed behind. I felt my first big thigh-tingle just thinking of the two of them together talking nervously, but sensing the erotic tug between them. I worked my stick-shift with some extra push.

  Her house wasn’t in the mansion part of town like I’d expected. It was just a modest, normal, two-story place with a bench swing on the front porch. Anywhere America … and I don’t mean that in a bad way.

  Sirenna let us in. Jackson and I exchanged a furtive glance and followed. We had not really discussed what would happen if he, or we, actually got Sirenna alone. Maybe that was why things went bad. I dunno.

  Awkwardness kicked in. That’s the problem with drinking versus marijuana—if you’ve had a few drinks and suddenly go to a stranger’s house, it can still feel weird. Pot can smooth that out, but Sirenna wasn’t the type.

  Maybe the tiny Grandma kitchen table wasn’t the best place to loosen up either. Jackson and I sat there while Sirenna made the rum and Cokes. We ended up hunkering over the table like we were at a stale frat party that was winding down. Yet it was still early, only 8 p.m.

  Then I had an inspiration. “Oh no!”

  “What?” the two of them said.

  “I forgot my Fitbit at the club. I took it off to show those guys my workout times.”

  It was a small lie. I had taken the darned thing off in the car because it was itching my hand. My daughter got it for me and I was forcing myself to wear it, but I needed to do something about the fit.

  Before they could protest, I was on the phone calling the club and out the front door, waving a casual goodbye. I didn’t have time to coordinate with Jackson, and I didn’t dare text him. But he knew what to do. I just hoped Sirenna would feel safe enough ….

  No trip to the club for me. Just a nice drive down the expressway, radio surfing. “Free Fallin’ ” by Tom Petty, then Katy Perry, then the Black Eyed Peas. The last two made me smile. Fergie of the Black Eyed Peas recently confessed her love of well-endowed men, and Katy Perry is also a size queen—or so the tabloids say, not to mention her song lyrics. Doing bad things was on my mind.

  Sirenna’s front door was shut when I pulled in. I made a point of switching the lock so it would open behind me. Sure enough, it opened.

  No sign of Sirenna or Jackson. The kitchen table still had drinks on it.

  Maybe the living room? No. Dark.

  The back patio? No.

  Where, then?

  I tried the door behind the kitchen—nothing, except creepy cellar steps. Wrong movie! Then, off the living room, I found a short set of stairs I had missed. Was that a shirt on the floor? I fumbled for a light switch.

  Why yes, it was. And that was definitely a bra.

  It seemed a fair bet his trail of clothes would lead me to my husband and his conquest. I thought I could hear a noise, and then, around the corner, yes, a slurping sound.

  Through a wide-open bedroom door, a buck-naked Sirenna was kneeling on the ground before Jackson, her hands on his sides, trying to get his cock into her mouth.

  She looked so sexy, her big breasts swinging, her panties flung to one side of the room and dangling on the handle of a Stairmaster. That horny bitch must have literally ripped her clothes off, I thought.

  Sirenna took a break from licking and massaging his penis to stare at it adoringly. “It’s … so big,” I heard her say.

  But then she must have noticed my movement, because she whipped her head around and belted out a blood-curdling scream.

  Sirenna must have thought it was her husband. This was going south, and fast.

  “It’s okay, Sirenna, chill,” I whispered, a bit squeamish at the prospect of her neighbors calling 911.

  “Corrie, what the …?”

  I shut the bedroom door, but that had the wrong effect. Sirenna got a crazy look in her eyes, as if some horrible scene from True Crime was unfolding. Maybe it was her fear of getting caught by her prick of a husband, but she looked like she could crawl the wall at any moment.

  For the first time in my short history of corrupting other men’s wives, I felt seriously shitty. Sirenna’s terrified look is one I will never be able to erase from my memory completely.

  I had to calm her down, and quick. Even Jackson looked uncertain. So I said the one unfathomable thing that might cut through the crazy in her head.

  “Sirenna, Jackson is my husband.”

  Silence. Disbelief. But her body stopped shaking and she put the bra she had grabbed back down.

  “Yes. Jackson and I have been married for twelve years. He’s here … because of me.”

  “What?!”

  Sirenna’s fright had given way to disbelief, which was, under the circumstances, preferable. She slowly sat down on the bed.

  I sat down next to her. “Jackson and I … We’re having issues in our marriage.”

  “And this is … your idea of how you fix it?” Sirenna was incredulous.

  “Well, since you put it that way … yes,” I said. “How do I put this ….” I spoke slowly, as if I were a guest on Jerry Springer. Except there had never been a Springer episode like this one.

  I suddenly realized how I could play this. “In the last few years, I’ve come to realize that Jackson, well, he has a rare ability—a gift, I guess you could say.”

  “A gift? You mean—”

  “Well, yes, he does have a wonderful penis, but it’s not just that.” I continued, “He’s just so much better at pleasing women, Sirenna. He knows how badly we need it … and how to take it from us.”

  “Take it from us?” she repeated.

  I thought I saw the first signs of lust on her face. But she went back on the attack. “If what you say is true—if he’s everything you say he is—then why don’t you just keep him to yourself?”

  I wasn’t giving away all my secrets. Besides, she knew Jackson had cheated on me. “Well, I realized, for one thing, I enjoy watching Jackson take other men’s wives.”

  “Enough to get yourself in some serious t
rouble!” Sirenna said indignantly.

  “Yes,” I sighed. Oh what the hell, why not go for it: “And I like to see him give frustrated wives something they have never felt before,” I asserted.

  I thought I saw Sirenna’s cheeks flush.

  “And,” I went on, trying to decide if this wasn’t too absurd, “and I think that keeping Jackson to myself, well, it’s selfish. It’s like asking a world-class violinist not to play in an orchestra.”

  “Well that is the most ridiculous thing I have heard a woman say, in, maybe … ever!” Sirenna stammered.

  But that was my opening. “Oh yeah?” I said, rising to the challenge. “Well, if you think it’s so ridiculous, then why don’t we find out?” I motioned Jackson to stand. He followed my lead, towering above her. She looked uncertain, but his penis was staring back at her, swaying a little, soft but still obscenely real.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea at all!” Sirenna protested, but Jackson and I knew he had won. I gave him a forceful nod.

  He put her right hand directly on his penis. “That’s it, Sirenna, stroke it. You know you want to,” he insisted.

  Sirenna gave another look of protest, but she didn’t pull her hand away. She kept it firm around his cock, marveling at its fullness.

  “It’s so … warm, so thick,” she said, gazing up at it, and then at him.

  I pressed against the closet door, removing myself from her line of vision.

  Then Jackson did the one thing that could still surprise me. It probably surprised Sirenna too. He knelt down and kissed her soulfully, enough to make that sweet/scary jealousy shoot up my spine.

  That did the trick. Sirenna dropped his penis and started making out with him, like a teenager on her third date. She ran her hands down his rippling back as they kneeled together. Her beautiful breasts mashed up against him while they made out.

  This make-out session went on for a long time, with her not even acknowledging his penis. Something about the innocence of it was so hot. I leaned against the closet wall in the shadows, working my hand down to my pussy, which was about to go from wet to sopping.

  If you didn’t know better, you’d think this was just two kids skipping band practice to make out behind the bleachers. But Sirenna’s gobsmackingly mature breasts were one clue that this might be more than two youngsters. The other was Jackson’s big thick penis, as hard as I’d ever seen it, pushed up between then, nudging ominously against her belly.