“Are you serious?”
“You bet, and they’re pretty decent seats in Arthur Ashe. Are you game?”
“Absolutely,” Ashley replied before suddenly catching herself and turning to me. “We don’t have anything Sunday night, do we?”
“Um, no,” I said, still in follow-along mode.
“Cool,” Ashley said, “then I’m definitely in, Mike.”
“Excellent.”
Mike picked up the joint and passed it around again.
****
I came out of the bathroom and stopped suddenly.
Ashley and Mike were making out on the sofa.
I stood in the corner so as not to be noticed. I wanted to see how far it might go. Would she pull Mike’s cock out of his pants and start sucking on it right then and there?
In my stoned state, part of me was saying, Just go for it Ashley, let me see it, pull it out and let’s see you suck that big fat cock.
But then Ashley pulled away and whispered something in his ear. When she headed to the kitchen, I returned and sat down.
Mike motioned for me to come closer. “Hey bro, Ash and I were talking, and I think we’re going to retreat to the other room for a bit, OK?”
I couldn’t meet his eyes. Then Mike pointed to the game on TV. “Damn, it’s going into the twelfth—you watching this?”
“Yeah, I see,” I said.
But I was thinking about what Mike had just said. “We’re going to retreat to the other room for a bit.” The “other room” was my fucking bedroom. The “we” was him and Ashley without me, the “for a bit” could mean anything. And then he downplayed all that with the word “retreat.”
When Ashley walked back in, she saw me on the chair and looked over at Mike. As though reading her mind, he replied, “Yeah, we talked, it’s all good.”
Ashley said, “Yeah?” and turned from Mike to me. “You good, Dave?”
“Yeah,” I said, and then, “You?”
“Mmm hmm,” she replied, “so do you mind if we take that joint? There’s still most of the second one left if you want it—on top of the magazines.”
“What?” I replied.
“The rest of that joint,” she said, “if you wanted to smoke any more while watching your game.”
“And there’s a lighter’s right there,” she added.
“OK,” I said, still stupefied.
Mike stood up and walked over to her.
I stood up as well.
Ashley saw me looking at the six-pack of Coronas in a bucket of ice. “Yeah,” she said, “I left three Coronas for you in the fridge. Do you want me to get you one now, for the game?”
Before I answered she said, “Here, I’ll get you one.” After handing me the beer, she said, “So you’ll be good?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“The joint’s on the coffee table.”
“OK,” I said.
Then she hugged me and whispered that she loved me. I told her I loved her as well, adding “so much.” I wanted our embrace to continue. I wanted to feel her, savor her, hold her tight, kiss her, smother her and not let her go. I felt so deprived when she pulled away.
“See you in a bit, bro,” Mike said. “I want to hear how this game turns out—promise?”
“Promise?” I said.
“How the Yankees game turns out.”
“Oh OK,” I said.
“Give me a hug, bro,” he said.
“All right, we good?” he said, turning to Ashley and then back to me. “I want to hear about the game.”
I stood there as they walked into the kitchen. I watched as Ashley picked up the bucket of iced Coronas and Mike grabbed the joint, a lighter and some cut-up limes, and the two of them headed off.
****
Mike was off to party with my wife in my bedroom. But the real party was going to be Mike having sex with Ashley. Had she blown him already, or was tonight the night for his first Ashley Martens blowjob?
I felt infinitely helpless.
There would be no banging on the door. If anything could have been accomplished from that, it would have been on the first night, in the first few minutes. I wondered if he even locked the door. Perhaps he knew he didn’t have to bother, knowing I wouldn’t be barging in.
And hey, we left Dave with a few Corona’s, a joint, an exciting extra inning Yankees game to watch, and a comfy sofa to sleep on. As if I’d curl up all snug, enjoy my beer, and get into the Yankees game.
Ashley had another mix playing on her iPod. I heard the shower turn on. I thought of them showering naked together, Mike groping Ashley’s soapy tits. I thought of Ashley sudsing up Mike’s cock and stroking it. I thought of checking the door to see if it was locked.
But suppose it was just Mike in the shower? Suddenly I pictured Ashley saying, “Dave!” as she saw the doorknob start to turn.
****
I went back in the living room, waiting for the music to end.
I stared at the TV. The Yankees had just won in thirteen, but it meant nothing to me. I couldn’t process it. Mike was spending his Friday night drinking beers, getting high, and fucking my wife in my bed.
Unable to hear over the music, I lay down on the sofa. The most precious thing in the world—Ashley—was now less mine than ever. I had foolishly given her away to Mike.
I imagined Mike saying, “Have you ever heard of the term ‘cuckold’?” and then, when she seemed uninformed, explaining the whole lifestyle.
I imagined him saying, “He’s sleeping on the couch for two of the last three nights. You just made Dave your cuckold, Ashley.”
It’s such a sickeningly humiliating and humbling label.
He could be telling her anything right now as the music blared on.
****
I woke up at 5 a.m. to noises coming from the bedroom. Only now, the music had stopped.
I heard the bed creaking and I grabbed the recorder. I wanted this. I wanted to be able to listen beyond the moment. I turned the recorder on and tiptoed down the hall.
They were into mid-fuck as I sat down and pointed the mic to the door. The “oh Gods” and “yeah Ashleys” from two nights earlier had become dirtier as the headboard banged against the wall.
“You’re a little horndog, aren’t you Ashley?” Mike said as he began grinding harder. “Say it to me, baby, tell me you’re a horndog, Ashley.”
“I’m a horndog Mike,” she moaned.
“You’re my little horndog, Ashley” he said.
“I’m your little horndog, Mike, your little fucking horndog, Mike.”
“You love my cock, don’t you, Ashley?”
“I love your cock, Mike.”
“Oh yeah, that a girl, ride back on me, fuck back into it. Yeah, that’s it, you’ve got my cock so hard, Ashley.”
“You’ve got me so wet Mike.”
“Mmm ... Your pussy loves my cock, don’t it, Ashley?”
“It loves your cock, Mike.”
“It’s my pussy, ain’t it, Ashley?”
“It’s your pussy, Mike.”
“Tell me that again as I fuck you.”
“It’s your pussy, Mike.”
“Again?”
“It’s your pussy, Mike,” she half-screamed. “Oh my God, I’m about to cum again, oh fuck.”
“Tell me ‘you’re my horndog,’ as you cum, Ashley”
“I’m your horndog, Mike, I’m your little fucking horndog, Mike, oh my God, I’m cumming, oh fuck, oh my God, I’m fucking cumming ... oh God, yeah!”
“I’m about to cum, too, Ashley.”
“Oh come inside me, Mike.”
“I’m going to cum in your pussy.”
“Cum in my pussy, Mike.”
“Whose pussy is it, Ashley?”
“It’s your pussy, Mike.”
“Whose pussy?”
“It’s your pussy, Mike.”
“Oh yeah, Ashley, here it comes, oh fuck yeah, I’m cumming right inside you, baby.”
I ha
d a major boner, but I also felt like crying.
I tiptoed back to the sofa and slid the recorder under the couch. Mike had just fucked my wife and got her to say that her pussy was his, like it was his property. Maybe she was just saying that back to him because she was caught up in the sexual moment. But it seemed as if he’d gone bare and seeded my wife’s pussy in my own fucking bed. What kind of positions he had her in, I could only imagine.
I felt meek, reduced, inadequate, helpless and emasculated. How could I possibly provide the sexual excitement he had just given her? How could I compete with Mike’s cock? I had never heard her scream or dirty-talk with me like that. How was I going to go back to a normal sex life with Ashley after this? Wouldn’t she always pine for what she had just had? I couldn’t deliver the cloud nine-type of pleasure echoing from our bedroom, provided by a real man’s cock, the kind of fucking Mike had just given her.
On an even baser level, how could she possibly respect me now? A real man and husband would have stopped the whole thing when he saw them making out in the bar that first night. Instead, I let Mike walk all over me, alpha-male me, in my own home, in front of my wife. And I’d just stood there frozen—a meek little coward—as he took my wife into my bedroom to fuck her.
What was he telling her about me? He could have told her anything. He could have disparaged me, reduced me in her eyes, told her I was a fucking cuckold, and elaborated in detail on what that is, or how he sees me.
What recourse did I have now? How could I come back down from Planet Pluto? There was no abort button or re-set control.
At this very moment, I thought, Mike’s head is probably lying on my pillow, as he talks quietly with my wife in their post-fuck afterglow.
I thought of the satisfaction he must be feeling. How skillfully and easily he had played my ass. He wasn’t just going to Jim Murta me. He had larger, bigger-picture aspirations. He had blocked me out, shut me out, locked me out, hard-cocked me out, and now he was trying to get my wife to cuck me out.
Lying there, I felt like the odd man out in my own fucking home, in my marriage to Ashley. I wondered if Mike would fuck her again in the morning. After all, none of us had to work today.
I felt very humiliated but also hard. I thought of listening to them fuck again and blowing my load on our bedroom door—my gesture—inexplicable, defiant, and utterly effete.
I began masturbating, on the sofa, under the blanket. I thought of Ashley exclaiming, “I’m your horndog, Mike,” and suddenly came.
****
I heard the door open and could tell it was Mike walking down the hallway. When he entered the living room, he gave me a nudge.
“Oh hey,” I said.
“Hey, bro,” he said, “I gotta get going, but wanted to say goodbye. Sorry to wake you.”
“It’s OK,” I replied.
“Hey,” he whispered, “I got some more insight. She had seen a guy before that guy at the party. I gotta run—I’m meeting a buddy in an hour, going to A.C. for the night—but I’ll give you the full download after this weekend. I think it’ll explain things better.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just chill, Dave. Let’s meet up Monday. I’ll probably get more of a picture tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Yeah, I’m taking Ashley to the Open, remember?”
“Oh,” I said.
“Relax bro, this will be OK. I’m going to help you through this. I’m learning what makes Ashley tick. Believe me, I will share. You just sit tight and enjoy the weekend, OK?”
“OK,” I said, but I didn’t mean it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
In the quiet that followed, I thought of me lying on the couch and Ashley on our bed, and wondered what she must be thinking.
Was she thinking about us, our relationship, where things stood now, our future, how we’d be together moving forward?
Or was she thinking of what a good fuck Mike had been?
Was she feeling sexually satisfied, no longer frustrated, basking in the post-great-fuck moment?
Or was she thinking, “I never realized what a pussy my husband was. He didn’t step in or fight for me, he just let his old friend come into our place and fuck me in our bed.”
Maybe she even thought I had arranged this, that it had all been my idea, that I wanted it. Perhaps Mike had filled her head with those ideas. Maybe that’s what her “I understand” comments were about.
Hell, Mike had made me text Ashley about Friday night. She had probably interpreted that as me being OK with—or even wanting—this.
And then the reality of Mike’s U.S. Open invitation suddenly sank in. He had thrown it out so casually—as though it were an afterthought to inviting me to a Giants game.
Was it coincidence that his friend had bailed at the last minute?
Or had he secured the tickets after I’d told him what an avid tennis fan Ashley was?
Did it even matter?
He had invited her in front of me. Ashley had said yes, and now she wouldn’t need to text, “When am I seeing you again?” She knew when she’d be seeing him again—tomorrow fucking night.
It would be just the two of them, going to the Open together like a couple.
I’d be the stooge husband left at home to sit and sulk.
Mike was taking my wife out tomorrow night on a fucking date.
Jesus Christ, I whispered.
In the last seventy-two hours, Mike had walked into my scene, my home, my life, my marriage, and turned it upside down.
How could I not have seen this coming? He saw a potentially horndog wife—as he had just called Ashley—and a husband who he thought he could get to acquiesce, or roll over, or de-man, or be a freaking doormat.
****
Suddenly Ashley came in and nudged me.
I opened my eyes and looked at her as she stood above me. She was in a bathrobe, looking groggy, her hair out of sorts. But my God, she looked beautiful, radiant, magnificent, blinding.
“Do you want to come into the bedroom?” she asked.
“Um yeah,” I said, “sure, how are you? Tired?”
“Yeah, super-tired and I have to meet Tracy in three hours which is a big ugh.”
She held out her hand and helped me up and continued holding it as we walked to our bedroom.
When we lay down together, she gave me a big hug, tightly and significantly—telling me she loved me without having to say it. It was a deep embrace in our own home, like she was happy to be my wife. She snuggled up on my shoulder as I ran my hand gently through her hair, and I listened as she drifted back to sleep.
Ashley looked so peaceful, like a small child or puppy dog, and I thought how much I loved this girl.
****
“Oh my God, it’s one o’clock,” Ashley awoke, startled. “I’m late! I’m gonna have to majorly scramble.”
She gave me a quick kiss and hurled herself into the shower.
Ten minutes later, she was pulling on jeans and a top. As I lay on the bed I just watched, admiring her. The way she put on her earrings. Or stumbled around, looking for her purse. The way her cleavage became exposed as she gave me a kiss goodbye.
“I’m jealous,” she said, “I wish I could crawl back into bed with you.”
“Why not tell Tracy you’re sick, that you have the flu?”
“I wish, but I’se gots to go.”
“How about the mumps?” I said.
Ashley smiled.
“Or tell her you just got skunked,” I said. “No, really, a skunk skunked you in Central Park this morning, and now I’m out getting tomato juice to give you a bath.”
“That’s cute,” she said. “Enjoy the lazy Saturday. And be glad you’re not trekking your out-of-towner friend all across town.”
****
After she left, the apartment felt profoundly quiet. I waited until she was gone a half-hour, so there’d be no “I forgot something” possibility.
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