“OK,” I said taking a hearty sip from my drink, “when I was about to leave, I saw Jim Murta talking to Ashley.”
“Sure and?”
“Well I figured I should go over there.”
“Good for you, Dave, that was the right call.”
“Well yeah, it was” I said, “but then Tamara pulls out her camera and wants our group to pose. I didn’t want to. Even Ashley didn’t want to.”
“And?”
“I wound up posing for the fucking photo.”
“Yes, so?”
“Tamara photographed Jim and me posing beside Ashley, like we were bookends.”
“It was just the three of you?”
“No, there were five of us, but if you cropped them out, Tamara had me posing with my wife and the guy who fucked her.”
“OK, I get it. Was Tamara taking photos there in general, or do you think she pulled out her cam just for that?”
“She was taking pictures before, but c’mon, I’m not naïve, I know what’s she’s up to—that was a way for her to rub it in.”
“OK, but it’s just a picture right?”
“Mike, you know what’s going to happen Monday? Tamara will send a link to some photo site to everyone who was there, so they can check out pictures from tonight. Everyone knows the rumor. How the fuck is that going to look? People will laugh their asses off. ‘There’s Dave Martens posing with the guy who fucked his wife.’ But how was I was going to turn down Tamara telling me to pose beside my wife?”
“OK, so you sucked it up and posed for the photo. You were gracious about it.”
“But don’t you see what people will say?”
“Fuck those people,” Mike said as he ordered us another drink. “Where’s Ashley now?”
“Still at the party.”
“Are you comfortable with that?”
“I kind of have to be, don’t I?”
“Do you want me to go there now and keep an eye on what’s going on? I know what Ashley and Tamara look like. They don’t know me.”
“Well my friend Craig said he was hanging out there for a while. I planned on calling him in the morning.”
“And you trust him to tell you if he saw something?”
“Yeah, on this, I do. And even though Ashley’s forgiven Jim, I don’t think she would risk her reputation by being seen walking off with him or anything like that.”
“OK, I hear you,” Mike said. “Here’s what I think: Forget the photo, Dave, that’s a distraction. So people see it, and people who snickered before, snicker again, no big deal in the grand scheme.”
“I guess, but it confirms what a scheming little bitch Tamara is.”
“Oh yes, it does,” Mike said. “She’s going to continue to be that. And you can’t prevent them from hanging out when she works with her.”
“I know, and Ashley would be pissed if I even suggested that.”
“No, that would exacerbate things.”
“I know.”
“What makes me wonder is, why is Ashley even talking to the guy, especially when she knows you can see her? Fuck everyone else; that alone is a red flag.”
“I know,” I said.
“That’s what you need to focus on. Look, I’m sure nothing will happen tonight, but I think if it did resonate with her like you said, something very well may happen, if not next week, then maybe next month, and who knows what she was doing at the party where she wore that t-shirt.”
“Mike, believe me, I know.”
“I think it may be time for Plan B.”
“Plan B?” I said.
“You said you guys are leaving tomorrow for the Jersey shore, right?”
“Yeah, in the morning.”
“When are you getting back?”
“Sunday evening.”
“And you’re both going to be in town next week?”
“Yeah.”
“OK, are you free Monday night to meet up for a drink?”
“Yeah.”
“OK, so let’s you and me meet up on Monday and figure out a plan for the three of us having a drink next week.”
“You, me and Ashley?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know.”
“Dave, it sounds like Tamara’s on sabotage patrol. There’s a real urgency now. I can read women extremely well. I’m good at detecting body language. Women betray what they’re trying to hide. But maybe I’ll see that she’s not hiding anything, and that it was a one-time fluke thing. And if so, I would want to give you that peace of my mind.”
“So what, like you would observe us out together?”
“Yeah, exactly, we’d all have a drink or two together.”
“Meaning you would talk with us?”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“How would that happen? You’d just come up to us and start talking?”
“No, trust me, I did this once before for a buddy. He learned he had nothing to worry about. That was four years ago and they’re still together, happier than ever.”
“Not sure I’m getting this, Mike.”
“We’ll figure out the details on Monday,” he said as another round arrived. “I’ll be some old friend of yours—you said you’re on Facebook, right?”
“Yeah, but hardly ever on.”
“Me, either,” Mike said, “but confirm my friend request tonight. I’m going to be an old friend who reconnected with you.”
“OK,” I said, “and then what?”
“Then we figure it out from there,” Mike said.
“But you’re talking about meeting up with Ashley and me?”
“Yes, to help you get a better sense of where her head is at. Your talk didn’t really get you there. You’re too close to this. I can provide some higher-level perspective. I think this will really help.”
“I don’t know, Mike.”
“Well, forget it for now, bro. Let’s focus on tonight. You went into a stressful situation and passed the test with flying colors. You went man-to-man with that a-hole and came out on top, the bigger, more established man.”
“Yeah, other than the photo, it went better than I thought,” I said.
“Of course it did. I told you it would. Fuck that guy, he’s the chump, you showed him how little he is to you tonight.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but Mike, I have to be honest, I’m not exactly comfortable with this Plan B.”
“Fuck Plan B right now,” Mike said, as he cheered me over a shot. “To manning up to Jim Murta tonight. Jim Murta is a little fucking bitch. To Dave fucking Martens.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I woke up at six and couldn’t get back to sleep. I looked over at Ashley, her face so serenely angelic.
I was hard. I wished I could wake her, but I didn’t want the “What the hell time is it” rejection. I thought of jerking off under the cover, or getting up and masturbating as I sat on a chair, looking at her. Both were too obvious risks, and so I made my way to the bathroom.
I thought about that photo Tamara had now—Ashley smiling between me and Mr. Fucked My Wife, Jim Fucking Murta.
What conniving satisfaction Tamara must have felt.
I imagined the comments that would inevitably ensue when Tamara posted them.
“Oh my God, did you see that?”
“I know, isn’t that hilarious.”
“You could see how awkward he looked posing with the guy who fucked his wife.”
“Oh, he looks like such a chump. If he knows what happened, what a pussy he is. And if he doesn’t, what an idiot.”
“He looks like he knows, given his uncomfortable expression. I bet he’s just a pussy.”
I imagined guys at her work looking at the photo from their home computers. I imagined them jerking off looking at Ashley, thinking, “Go fuck yourself, Dave Martens.”
I thought of what they might be thinking …
“You got punked, bitch—what kind of man poses with the guy who fucked his wife? And look at Ashley, wit
h her big tits bubbling out underneath that dress, allowing Jim to put his arms around her.”
“Oh yeah, Dave, I’m looking right at you, you fucking pussy, and I’m not the only one, other guys at work are thinking the same thing. Oh yeah, he fucking nailed your wife and now you’re fucking posing with him. Gobble gobble that humble pie, Dave. We’re all fucking laughing at you now!”
“Yeah, Ashley, that’s it, show your husband how much you don’t give a fuck. You rode Jim’s cock and now you got your husband to pose with him.”
“Do you feel like a chump now? This is another cherry on top—posing with the guy who balled and creamed your precious Ashley, bitch!”
I came hard, and hung my head.
****
Mark and Camilla picked us up at our apartment just after nine.
Mark had his dad’s BMW convertible and suggested I ride shotgun, so Ashley and Camilla could talk in the back. He had jam-type music playing and we didn’t talk much over the wind. I kind of zoned out, enjoying the ride.
We met two couples—friends of Mark’s—and they gave us the tour.
It was a three-bedroom beach house that Mark’s friend, Chip, had rented for the week.
The six of them had split the cost. Ashley and I were last minute invites, simply free-loading for the night.
“There’s couches for you guys to crash on,” Chip explained, “one in the living room and another downstairs.”
“That works,” Ashley said.
“Yeah, and there’s a Jacuzzi out here on the deck. Take that path and you’re on the beach in less than a minute.”
“This place rocks,” Ashley said. “Love the ocean view. Thanks so much for having us.”
“You bet,” Chip said. “What do you all say about bringing the cooler down and hitting the beach?”
****
After staking out a more secluded section, Chip handed out beers in plastic cups and I watched as the girls stripped off their t-shirts and shorts.
I’m sure the other guys were checking out Ashley through their sunglasses. Ashley was wearing a white bikini with blue polka dots, which accentuated her breasts. Camilla was wearing a bikini as well, and was thin and tan with more modest-sized breasts. The other two girls were wearing one-pieces and were OK looking, but not in any noteworthy way.
When Ashley and Camilla suggested we go swimming, Mark and I joined them. The ocean waves were crashing hard, the kind of waves that can take a girl’s top off. But we made it out to where it was above standing and Mark and I tossed a nerf football.
Then I joined up with Ashley and gave her a kiss, my arms around her wet hair. When I started to cop a feel of her breasts she said, “What are you doing?” in a ‘this-is-a-family-beach’ kind of way.
“I’m just kidding,” I said as a pseudo apology.
Drying off, Mark mentioned there was a lighthouse at the end of the island.
Back at the house, everyone was lazing around, watching some old Will Ferrell movie.
“Do you want my car keys?” Mark asked.
“What?” I said.
“You can take Ashley up and check out the lighthouse. It’s only ten miles north and a scenic ride.”
“You don’t want to go?”
“I think I may take a nap. Camilla and I got in late, plus the time difference.”
“Time difference?” I said, “Central time is one freaking hour. What, does Daylight Savings Time knock you out as well?”
“Fuck you, man,” he said ribbing me in the chest.
“Hey, if you’re cool with it,” I said, “I’d love to check out the lighthouse.”
“Of course I’m cool with it. There’s some champagne in the fridge if you want to take a bottle. Just don’t get drunk and crash my dad’s car.”
“No worries there. That’s very cool of you, Mark.”
Ten minutes later, Ashley and I were off in Mark’s dad’s BMW.
“Is this ‘Stand by Me’?” Ashley said as the breeze had our hair flying.
“Yeah, it’s John Lennon, doing acoustic.”
“It’s really beautiful,” she replied.
I pulled over onto a side street.
“What are you doing?”
I hit replay on Pandora, and we made out as the song started up again.
****
The group was out on the deck drinking when we returned. Ashley put her bikini on and joined the other girls in the Jacuzzi.
I helped Mark squeeze watermelon for watermelon margaritas. Then Chip’s old college buddy friend came up the stairs. He was the last guest to arrive.
“I’m Miguel,” he said, as he shook my hand.
“I’m Dave, is that a turkey you have in that tray?”
“It is,” he said. “Ever have deep-fried turkey?”
“Uh, that would be a no.”
“Well then, you’re in for a treat, my friend.”
I turned around and saw Ashley walking over to introduce herself. Why was she the only girl who felt compelled to get out of the Jacuzzi to greet him, I wondered. Soon she was inquiring about what flavoring the turkey was covered in, what he injected it with, and how you actually went about deep-frying turkey. He rattled off the details as Ashley stood there listening intently in her wet, polka dotted bikini.
****
The turkey was a hit, and for someone who doesn’t enjoy Thanksgiving dinners, it was probably the best tasting turkey I’d ever had.
Mark’s margaritas were also a hit—so much so, that a half hour later, he was asking me if I’d join him in getting another watermelon and another bottle of tequila in town.
Ashley and Camilla were talking to Miguel in their swimsuits about cook-out/tailgate meals, and I felt a little uneasy leaving. But Mark had lent me his convertible, and had invited me to a Yankees game, so I couldn’t say, “No I want to stay here.”
We’d already had a few drinks, so he called for a cab to take us. Only the cab driver refused to wait once we got there—he had another fare he was late for. He handed us the card for Surf City Taxi and pulled away.
****
“Unfucking believable,” Mark said as he got off the phone, “twenty to thirty minutes—do you want to just hoof it?”
“Mark, it’s got to be at least a mile, and we have a freaking watermelon to lug.”
So we waited. Fifteen minutes later, the cab company was now telling us thirty minutes more.
“I can’t stand waiting. Fuck the watermelon. Let’s just bring the tequila and walk back.”
“Are you sure you know the way?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’ve got it on my iPhone—1.3 miles.”
“OK,” I said.
Mark asked a few people walking into the store if they wanted a watermelon—“and could you drive us to North Fifteenth?” Finally he just gave it to a couple with kids and we set off on foot.
****
On the walk home, Mark opened the Cuervo and asked if I’d join him in a “social.” We took two swigs each and walked down Long Beach Boulevard.
“I’m sorry about this,” Mark said, “I fucked up. I thought this would be quick.”
“Don’t sweat it man, it was an adventure,” I said. It was something Ashley would say.
“Well more like a misadventure, but I’m glad for the company.”
“You bet.”
“So I think Camilla’s getting slightly more open to moving.”
“Oh yeah?” I replied.
“At least she’s saying things like, ‘Well, if we move’ and towns she’d be open to that are a quick train ride to the city.”
“Well yeah, that sounds like progress, right?”
“Yeah, it is,” Mark replied, “and I’m hoping that having fun relaxing this week will get her thinking Jersey’s not so bad.”
I reluctantly agreed to join him in one more social chug as we approached the house.
****
Reluctant Cuckold Page 27