“What’s that?” Ashley asked.
“Giants tickets,” Mike replied.
“Dave’s uncle has season tickets. We went a few times, the last couple years.”
“Oh yeah, you a Giants fan Ashley?”
“Not really. I don’t really care for pro football. I like college though.”
“Oh yeah, who’s your team?”
“Virginia Tech.”
And of course Mike engaged Ashley in a conversation about VT football. During a pause, Mike said, “I remember Dave as a mighty good second baseman. I played first base but dropped a lot of his throws. He was awfully patient.”
I appreciated the gesture, but I didn’t find it easy to respond to fake accolades directed at my pretend ten-year-old self.
I felt like a wet log.
****
Mike excused himself to go to the men’s room, leaving me alone with Ashley.
“How are you doing?” I said.
“Great. I like Mike a lot. Thanks for arranging this.”
“Yeah, I thought you’d like him,” I said. “I mean it was cool to reconnect after all this time.”
“Yeah, that’s really cool,” she said. “I guess FB can be good for something, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I was surprised he found me, that he even remembered my last name.”
I felt awkward and full of shit, like I was talking to just to talk.
“Are you OK?” I asked. “I mean, do you want to get going soon?”
“No, I’m good, this is fun. You?”
“I was just checking is all.”
“Another round, guys?” Mike asked after he returned.
“Sure, why not?” Ashley said.
“Another martini, Dave?”
“No, I’ll just have a beer—that Czech beer you guys are drinking.”
Then Mike suggested tequila shots. “What do you say Ashley, you game? We’ll do hornitos. It’s far better than the gringo patron stuff.”
“Why not?” she said.
When I hesitated Mike said with a laugh, “You’re doing one, too, my man—you gotta love peer pressure.”
“Ever do a vampire shot, Ashley?”
“No,” she replied, “but I think I know what it is. I guess I’m doing one, right?”
“My kinda girl,” he replied.
I wasn’t sure what it was and listened as Mike explained it to my wife. I watched as he licked Ashley’s neck and shook salt onto his wet saliva. He gave her the lime, telling her to keep it in her mouth; then he licked the salt off her neck, slammed the tequila and put his mouth to Ashley’s as her tongue passed the lime to him.
She smiled when he told her it was her turn.
I watched as Ashley licked Mike’s neck, poured the salt, licked it off, and did her shot. Only Mike was briefly playful with the lime, like she was going to have to go in and get it out of his mouth.
“C’mon,” she said as he brought the lime to his lips before letting her snatch it.
“No cheating,” she said afterwards, giving him a playful punch.
Mike laughed then turned to me, saying, “drink up buddy.”
When he asked if I needed salt or lime, I replied, “I do mine straight.”
I felt like a dumbass as soon as I said that.
“Excuse me, buddy,” Mike said laughing.
So there I was, chugging my shot alone, as Mike went back to chatting with Ashley.
“How did that treat you, buddy?” Mike asked. “Hornitos is pretty smooth, right?”
“Yeah,” I replied, “I just don’t need the training wheels.”
Another lame response, I thought.
“I like the process and tradition,” Mike said, “the tequila, the lime, the salt—but I know what you mean about just doing it straight.”
****
I thought about the vampire shot as I pissed. How was that getting a read on her?
Face it, I thought. Mike is hitting on Ashley. He has designs on my wife.
What other explanation was there?
But it was midnight. Ashley and I had to be up early. That was my exit strategy. I would be casual, give him a hug, and tell him to get back to me about those Giants tickets.
But then I walked back out to the bar. Even from forty feet away, I could see what was happening. Mike was kissing Ashley. She was kissing him back.
Jesus Christ, I thought. That motherfucker is making out with my wife. I went back to the bathroom, my heart racing. How stupid can I be?
And how could Ashley do that? She knew I’d only be gone for a minute. What would the freaking bartender, who knew us, be thinking? I waited another minute before going back out. From afar, I could see they were just talking now. I pretended like I hadn’t seen anything when I walked back up.
“We were just talking about a nightcap back at the place,” Ashley said.
“What do you say buddy?” Mike asked.
“It’s past midnight. You sure, Ashley?”
“Yeah, why not? It’s only a few blocks and it’s not super-late, right?”
“Uh yeah, OK,” I said.
****
When Mike went to the men’s room I asked Ashley, “You sure about this?”
“Yeah, I mean you’re OK with it, right?”
“Uh yeah, sure.”
“We still have those Corona Lights, right?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“And we have vodka and cranberry juice?”
“Yeah.”
“How are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m good, how are you?”
“Great, and I understand.”
I thought, Understand what?
“I like Mike,” she added. “I’m pretty sure we still have some Coronas.”
She gave me a quick kiss and told me she loved me.
Mike came back out, signed the bill, and said, “Shall we?”
Ashley had just stuck her tongue in Mike’s mouth, and now he was coming back with us to our apartment. My heart was freaking racing, and I thought, I shouldn’t have had that martini.
Mike was essentially a stranger. And now, suddenly, we were saying hi to our doormen, and this guy was heading up the elevator with us to our apartment, our home.
****
Ashley turned on some music and offered Mike a seat on our sofa.
Jesus Christ, I thought, he was in our living room, looking around at our photos, sizing up our place, and Ashley was asking me to bring out some Coronas.
She had an alternative rock mix playing and was seated on the couch next to him when I came out with the beer. I sat on a chair to the side.
“I’m sure you hear this all the time, Dave,” Mike said, “but you have a wife who is both super-gorgeous and super-cool.”
“Oh please,” Ashley said.
“You don’t have to tell me that,” I replied.
“Oh man,” Mike said, when an Arctic Monkeys’ song came on, “I love this song.”
“It’s a good song to dance to,” Ashley said. “Do you dance, Mike?”
“Do I dance?” he repeated with an expression like Dancing with the Stars had nothing on him.
“We can move the coffee table,” she suggested. “Can you help me with this, Dave?”
“What?” I said. “Yeah, OK.”
Thirty seconds later, I was watching Mike dance with my wife in my living room. As Ashley shimmied away with Mike, I felt as inanimate as the chair I was sitting in.
When the song ended, Ashley lowered the music and said, “We have this video game. It’s a little cheesy, but you have to check it out.”
“Sure,” Mike said.
I knew the game. I had watched Ashley dance to it for a whole afternoon with her eight-year old cousin. Some cartoon character comes out dancing to a song and points are awarded by how well you follow along, holding these sensor-batons.
“You’re a champ at this, Ashley,” Mike said, when the song ended. “You have two thousand points to my three h
undred. Do you get your ass kicked at this like me, Dave?”
“I haven’t played,” I said, “but I’m sure I would.”
“I think you had the batons on backwards,” Ashley said.
“Now you’re just being kind,” Mike replied, “I’m no match for you.”
The next song came on—a fast-paced country song.
“What, you’re not joining me?” Ashley asked
“I’m still working on getting my two-step down,” Mike replied, “but I’d love to watch you.”
Ashley frowned, then smiled, before saying, “I’ll be right back.”
Mike leaned in to me and clicked bottles saying, “Cheers bro. This is a really nice place you have here. I’m impressed. How’s the rent?”
“We own it,” I replied.
“Wow, nice, it must have cost a pretty penny. I love the high ceilings and space—pretty atypical for Manhattan apartments.”
Ashley darted back in, wearing a cowboy hat that I had bought her at a University of Texas football game, last year.
“You look cute as all get-out,” Mike said as Ashley turned on the game and began her country music dance.
Ashley grew up in Virginia. I guess that’s technically the South. She has a bit of a southern accent, much diminished from living here. She certainly can affect a strong southern accent when she’s goofing around, but I’ve never known her to like country music. Maybe a couple very popular songs. But we don’t ever have CMT playing on our TV.
She was doing the song as a goof mostly, and because she’s good at it.
Mike clapped when it ended and Ashley said, “Oh stop.”
“No that was a visual delight,” Mike said. “I mean it. It had me thinking, why don’t you put on some sultry music and show us more sultry moves?”
Ashley looked at me, then back at Mike, and said, “Yeah?”
“I would love it, Ashley,” Mike said. “Right, Dave?”
“Uh, OK,” I heard myself saying.
“Well, let me see what I got,” she said, as she made a quick playlist on her iPod.
Suddenly, Ashley had Britney Spears’ “Slave 4 U” playing.
I briefly wondered if I was hallucinating. Ashley was dancing in the middle of our living room, strutting around, flipping her dress up, performing for Mike.
I felt paralyzed.
“You OK, Dave?” Mike asked when the song ended.
“Yeah, I’m cruel—I mean—I’m cool.”
Mike smiled and said, “Drink your beer, man, before it gets warm.”
An old Madonna song came on next. Mike said, “Ashley?”
“Yeah, Mike.”
“I loved how you danced in the last song, but ‘Justify My Love’ is a pretty sexy song. I would love it if you lost your dress in the middle of it.”
“Excuse me?” Ashley replied.
“You have your bra and panties on underneath, right?” Mike said.
“Well, bra and thong,” she replied.
“It’s hardly more revealing than a bikini on the beach, right?”
Mike gave me a quick smile. I felt he was cribbing back the inverse of what I had told him about Ashley wearing bikinis.
“We still have some vodka left, right?” Ashley asked me.
“Do we?” I said.
“I’m pretty sure we do” Ashley replied, “and I’m going to need a shot for this, so long as you boys join me.”
“Sounds good to me,” Mike said.
And so there I was pouring the three of us shots, pouring Mike a shot, so that my wife would feel comfortable enough to take her dress off in front of him.
Mike toasted us, saying, “To a wonderful evening.”
As soon as I drank it, I realized it wasn’t a good idea—I felt drunk in a sedated way.
Ashley, on the other hand, was buzzing in an energetic “go off” way. And then she began dancing in her black dress as she restarted Madonna’s “Justify my love.”
“That’s it,” Mike said, “just go with it, girl.”
I felt dazed, watching her.
“C’mon, Ashley,” Mike said, “liberate yourself, even your dress wants you to free yourself from it.”
Ashley smiled and gave me a look. I stared down at the floor.
“Just for a little bit,” Mike said.
“OK,” Ashley replied, “can you get the zipper?”
“Dave,” Mike said to me, “would you like to do it?”
“Um, OK,” I said, as Ashley walked toward me and turned around to give me access. I realized my hands were shaking as I unzipped the back of her dress.
“Thanks, honey,” she said, giving me a quick kiss.
“OK,” Ashley said, “I’m going to restart the song, K?”
“Absolutely, Ashley” Mike replied.
I watched as Ashley danced seductively around our living room, her eyes focused on Mike.
“So sexy,” Mike said, “I love the way you dance.”
And then I watched as Ashley pulled the strap down off her shoulders. It had a slow-motion quality to it, as the top of her dress came down to reveal her bra.
“Amazing,” Mike said, “fan-fucking-tastic.”
Ashley hesitated for a moment, but Mike said “Go with it, just a little more.”
And I watched as Ashley shimmied out of her dress and it fell to our living room rug. She stepped out of it and hung it over the side of the sofa. Then she pranced back to the center of the living room in nothing but her bra and thong, and resumed dancing.
“Oh yeah, Ashley, shake them big titties of yours. Oh yes, I love it. Now how about turning around for me.”
I watched in a surreal daze as my wife showed off her ass cheeks to Mike.
“What an amazing ass, Ashley,” I heard Mike say.
The next was an old Joe Cocker song, “You Can Keep Your Hat On.”
“Ever give a lap dance Ashley?” Mike asked.
Ashley smiled almost bashfully, “Um, no.”
“Why don’t you try it? I’m sure you’d be a natural. Just for a few seconds.”
Ashley didn’t even flash me a look. It was as if I wasn’t there.
I watched my wife sit down on Mike’s lap. I could see Mike straightening up, as if to get her to feel his hard-on under his jeans. Then he put his arms out and put his hands on her tits, over her bra, copping a feel.
My mouth was agape. He had his hands on my wife’s fucking tits.
Mike whispered into her ear. Ashley whispered back into his. Then Mike again. Then Ashley. Then Ashley stood back up and asked if we were ready for another beer.
“Sounds great,” Mike said.
It’s already 1:30 a.m. on a Wednesday night, I thought.
“I really love your apartment,” Mike said when she returned, “but I haven’t seen beyond this room and the kitchen. What do you say, Ashley, can I get the grand tour?”
“Of course, where are my manners?” she said as she handed us both a beer.
When Mike stood up, I did, too. My heart was racing and I was trembling. Ashley was showing Mike the rest of our home, wearing nothing but her bra and thong.
“You’ve seen this bathroom,” she said, her butt cheeks on total display as the two of us followed behind.
“This is our office, or our supposed office. Let’s just say it’s a work in progress.”
“It’s really spacious for Manhattan,” Mike said.
“And here’s our bedroom.”
Ashley stepped in first, and then Mike, before he abruptly turned around. “Be a sport Dave,” he said, “and give us a little alone time, bro.”
“What?”
Mike looked back at Ashley before saying, “I think we’re going to have a little private time now.”
“What?”
I looked over at Ashley, who mouthed, “I love you,” but made no forward movement toward me.
Reluctant Cuckold Page 31