by KT Morrison
He held himself up over her, and he pounded her desperately, he wanted to get that release now too, jealous of her orgasm, and he wanted to come inside her. She could see it in his clenched face, could see the passion, the tremble in his tightened brow. Sweat dripped from him and she felt the warm drops on her skin, melting into her own slick heat. “Fucking give it to me,” she whispered.
She watched his face but he wouldn’t open his eyes. Her hands went down the small of his back and her fingers dug into that hot round rump of his, felt those muscles flex and release as he worked to fill her up with that hot sweet seed he had in those big balls.
“Come on, Tyler,” she said, “come for—” but it was her that came, it was like a rumble in her tummy and she yelled out a loud Oh, and her hand clamped over her mouth again. She was still coming, her head thrown back and eyes clamped shut when Tyler roared out into the headboard and she felt him splash her insides with that thick wet heat of his. “Oh, yes,” she cried, and she humped him back, helped him coat all her insides with his nectar. She was crying out, Oh, oh oh, over and over as his deep thrusts slowed, when Pete’s hand covered her mouth and she realized she had lost control.
Tyler groaned, rolled off her and fell on his back next to her, he was panting and gasping, his breaths heaving, he was laughing. “Oh, shit Jess,” he said.
She covered her face in both her hands, felt how they could just slide over her wet skin. Pete was kissing at her neck, and she opened her arms for him, tilted her head and let him. He climbed over her and she thought he was going to try and make love to her. She put her hands on his shoulders, ready to say dirty things to him, let him get himself off inside her. He kissed down her chest, sucked on her nipples. She thought of the horrible things she could say, got herself aroused thinking about being nasty to him. Her breaths didn’t slow, her heart was still pounding and feeling her weak husband’s desperate kissing, his need to be validated sexually being transmitted through his trembling hands—it had her right on the edge again, she felt a tremor through her hips, an orgasm just waiting to be coaxed from her, she just needed the right touch. She said, “Petey, I don’t think I’ll feel your little thing, sweetie. He just pulled out baby, he—”
His kisses went down her hot belly and her eyes bulged. She said, “Oh, no, no, no, Petey.” But he kept kissing. She urged him, “Petey, please don’t, please, honey, don’t.” She didn't pull away. She could climb away from him, scoot up the bed but she didn’t. She wanted him to stop but instead her legs opened for him, her knees came up and she watched him kissing her lower and lower. “Oh, Pete, don’t, honey, don’t.” Tyler took her hand and she looked up to see him sitting next to her, still panting, looking at Pete between her legs. He looked serious, sad maybe, he whispered, “Just let him. Just let him if he wants.”
She moaned out a long low mournful No, her brow furrowed, and when Pete’s tongue slid between her aching folds she jumped, cried out, bit her lower lip. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. She saw his balding head twisting between her legs, and she brought her thighs together and held him softly while his mouth worked through her, his tongue licking her up and down. “Oh, no, Petey,” she whispered, “Tyler came inside me, no, Petey,” but it didn’t stop him, and as Tyler squeezed her hand tightly and her weird husband did absolutely magical things to her in a spot where her lover just emptied himself she was lifted up to the ceiling on a gargantuan swell; an orgasm that washed through her streets and buildings like a tidal wave and she cried out her husband’s name, told him to please, please, stop.
25
Black Friday
Friday, November 25th
They’d all had too much to drink last night. When Pete came awake his eyes opened, struggled to focus on the spackled mountain shapes of the stucco over the bed. He did not feel good.
He didn’t even want to look over—didn’t want to catch his wife’s eyes this morning. What would she think?
Tyler, some time during the night, had gone to his own room. He was quite sure of it. He could picture Tyler slipping his legs into his jeans at the side of the bed. He was pretty sure that had happened.
He turned and looked. Tyler was gone, the bedroom door ajar. Jess lay next to him on her back. She was awake too, eyes open, looking up at the ceiling like he had been. He turned his head back, chewed the inside of his lip.
There were light quick footsteps in the hall. He looked down to the gap in the door and saw that Petey was there standing behind Andy who had decided it was okay to come in. There were rules about Mom and Dad in bed. Petey knew them; if the door was closed he was to let them sleep. Andy crept in while Pete watched him, happy but cautious. He wanted to climb into bed with them and now he’d found a loophole—the door was open.
Pete leaned off the side of the bed and grabbed his briefs; his T-shirt was out of reach.
“Hold on guys,” he said, slipping his underwear on under the covers.
“I’m not wearing anything,” Jess whispered up to the ceiling.
Pete got out of bed and grabbed his shirt, the boys crawled into his space, saying Good Morning to their mom. She was smiling, but obviously troubled. Her eyes were squinted, her brow furrowed.
Pete found her T-shirt on the floor and had to get to his knees to find her panties under the bed. He stuffed them under the blanket and felt her hand under there snatch them from him. She whispered, Thanks, but he was too embarrassed to look her in the eye.
“What’s the rules about bugging us in the morning, boys?” he said.
Jess slipped her panties on under the covers.
“The door was open, Dad.” Petey said earnestly.
“All right,” he said, “but your mommy’s pretty tired this morning. Why don’t we let her sleep?”
“It’s okay, boys,” Jess mumbled, slurring a bit, her face scrunched up painfully, “just turn around for a second so I can get a shirt on.”
Andy giggled and he and Petey sat on the bed, turned their backs to her.
Jess sat up and turned, her legs coming out, her feet touching the floor. She covered her breasts even though the boys weren’t looking, and she struggled with one hand to find the opening of her shirt. Pete helped her, took it and put it over her head. She slowly got her arms through the holes and Pete watched her bare breasts sway.
“Okay?” he said to her, not sure what he meant.
She looked up at him through her eyebrows, her eyelids fluttered uncontrollably. Her expression was hard to read. There was something deep there, something going on behind those hurting narrowed eyes but he’d never seen it before. They were in new territory here. She looked guilty, at least a little, which was good because maybe she realized that she bore some of the weight in this tragedy their marriage was becoming. Then she held her head in her hands, her blonde hair a messy tangle, she let her elbows touch her knees, sighed, said, “Terrible.” Wasn’t sure what she meant either.
Petey said, “Why were you naked?”
“Just so hot last night,” Pete said for her, and he watched her draw her legs back up, get herself under the covers. “Just lay with me, boys,” she whispered with her eyes closed, and she put her arm around Andy and pulled him down to lay with her. Petey climbed over her, she groaned, and he lay at her other side, his arm around her.
“I have to get in the shower,” Pete said to no one.
Andy said, “Will you make us Gill pancakes for breakfast?”
“What’s that?” Jess mumbled.
Petey said, “Dad’s favourite pancakes.”
Pete cleaned himself up, got dressed, and as he left the bedroom, heading to work on one of the busiest days of the year, he looked back at his family sleeping in bed. He closed the door behind him, saw Tyler’s door and thought about him slipping in behind him once Pete’s car was down the driveway. Tyler climbing into his bed with his wife and kids while he was away at work, lighting up Jess’s eyes. But that was crazy, right?
She was slipping through his fingers. He
could feel it.
Pete was in the can. Sitting with his head in his hands in a stall at the Save-Mart, trying to get his shit together. Desperate to purge himself of some of the pain he felt. He shot up, turned and dropped to his knees. Got his head over the bowl, stuck his finger deep into his mouth, felt his index finger tickle his esophagus. That set it off, that clicked his gag reflex, he felt it all surge up and out and he gripped the edge of the toilet seat, clenched his eyes until they were tearing, and spewed his wife’s wonderful dinner into the blue water. He choked and coughed, splashing up turkey and potatoes and beer and commercial grade cherry-scented disinfectant. Something else in there as well.
Now he knew what Tyler tasted like too. It wasn’t orange rind or whatever she had said that day she sucked him in their bed. He didn’t know where she got that from. Salty was right. Good God, that thing of his had really left his little wife gaping. He didn’t want to think about that.
It wasn’t gay. It just wasn’t gay. It was about Jess. He would do anything for her. Anything to keep her.
Apparently his contribution, the greatest thing he could come up with, was to show her he loved her so much he would still go down on her even when she was left forced open, with her boyfriend’s warm semen leaking out of her. What a turn on. What a stud she must think he was. How fucking manly. Tyler didn’t stand a chance against Pete’s sexual prowess. Fuck, he wanted to scream.
“God, I’m such a stud,” he said into the bowl, hearing his own porcelain echo.
“What’s that, Chief?” Julio, standing on the other side of the stall door, making sure his boss was okay.
“Nothing,” he said, spat into the bowl.
He flushed, got himself stood up, straightened his clothes, took a deep breath and went back out to Julio. He’d come in here with his boss when Pete took a dizzy spell. It was twenty after ten right now and the place had gone its usual shade of Black Friday batshit brown. There was a lineup of a hundred people when he drove up this morning. There had been two fights broken up so far, he had a sales associate knocked down—she was all right—and four displays had been ruined. Stuff was flying off the shelves, the registers were lighting up, and that was what was important. Money, money, money, nobody get hurt (make it until 6 P.M.). Then breaking up an argument in Electronics, Pete took a weak spell, had to steady himself. Julio said he was white as a ghost. Helped him into the bathroom.
Pete splashed some cold water on his face.
Julio said, “Bad turkey?”
Pete said, “No...late night.” He saw his reflection. Hated seeing his own stupid puffy face in the ugly fluorescent light. What did he look like to his wife when he went down between her legs and she looked at the top of his bald head while he put his mouth over the spot where her boyfriend just came? Had her boyfriend’s seed in his mouth.
“I should get back out there, boss,” Julio said. His walkie-talkie squelched and he turned it down.
“I’m coming out, Julio. I’m fine.”
Julio watched him in the mirror. It felt like he could see right through him. Could see into Pete’s soul, see his shame and humiliation, see how worthless he was. Could he see the philosophical semen on his lips? See the depths he would drop to, so desperately low. See what kind of man Pete was.
Guy like Julio, what would he think? Husband letting another man fuck his wife, then go and eat her out afterwards. Macho guy like Julio. He’d hate Pete, he bet. Wouldn’t talk to him any more. Call him gay. Tell everyone, all of them laughing behind his back. Why did he do that last night? That was huge, humiliating. Absolutely tragic. How could Jess even look at him anymore?
Julio’s walkie-talkie went off again, someone needed help. Another confrontation. Urgent.
Pete said, “Let’s go.”
Julio’s face brightened—he loved this job—and he clapped Pete on the back. “That’s the spirit, Chief.”
Pete rolled his sleeves up as they stormed their way through the crowds, headed back to Electronics.
He could see the problem up ahead. A group of shoppers around two struggling figures. The shoppers were helping by yelling and filming the tussle on their iPhones.
There was a young mother there and she had her arm over a box, a thirty-five inch LCD TV on sale for $79. Her toddler was crying. A heavy set guy had an arm over the other end. Guy had to be five-five, two-fifty. He had curly hair hanging out from under a baseball hat with flames on it, a checkered flag. His big jiggling arm had a handful of the poor woman’s hair and she was screaming. But she wasn’t letting go of the TV.
Pete got there a step ahead of Julio and he put his hand on the guy’s shoulder. He was in the kind of mood right now where he was going to fucking take care of shit. He squeezed his shoulder, gently but firmly, and he turned him to break him away from the young mom, get his attention away before he hurt her, he said, “Excuse me, sir, we’re—”
Last time he’d been in a fist fight was in 1991. After school, Grade seven, almost the end of the school year which was a relief because when he got knocked out his head hit the soft grass. Had it been a cold Calumet Bay winter he might have never woken up, banging his head off the ice, probably would have died in the hospital. His fight that sunny day let him know something: he would never get in another altercation in his life. Since then he’d always kept his mouth shut, stayed far from trouble.
He didn’t see the punch coming, wouldn’t have expected it because he wasn’t doing anything to deserve it as far as he could tell.
He never really went out apparently, just dropped down to one knee, but he didn’t remember anything between getting hit and Tamicka putting a bag of ice on his jaw in the infirmary. He said, What happened, and Julio said, That lady hit you, Homes. He said, What lady?
Part VIII
Advent
26
Powerpoint
Friday, December 2nd
Pete’s iPhone chimed at 4 A.M. His eyes hurt to open, the muscles in his temple fought with him, tried their best to force his eyes back closed but he knew he had to get up. No option here.
He sat up, everything in his body sluggish and heavy. He leaned to the side, headed for the edge of the bed and almost fell over. His head was swimming. Once his feet touched the carpet he knew he was going to make it. He stood up next to the bed, the window out to the backyard just in front of him. He looked out over the snow, his orange fencing doing its work, keeping his baby cedars safe from the coming onslaught. The windows in here could do with some taping, he could feel a bit of a draft coming in from the edges. He stretched and rubbed his neck, made his way for the door, grabbing his phone from the table. The hall was dead quiet and he closed the guest room door quietly behind him, just touching it to the jamb but not latching it. His bedroom door opened as he put his hand to it. Tyler coming out, his huge body filling up the frame.
He was shirtless and sweaty smelling, just wearing a pair of boxer shorts. He said, “Holy, fuck, dude, she was on fire tonight.” Then before he brushed past Pete he flicked his hand to Pete’s balls, faking him, not making contact, but making Pete jump, throw his hands out weakly to block him, a grunt squeezed from his chest. Tyler laughed and slapped him on the back, headed for the guest room. All Pete’s belly muscles had contracted abruptly to pull his testicles up to safety and as he closed his bedroom door behind him they were aching now anyway, even though he hadn’t even touched them.
Jess was laying in their bed and he watched her. He imagined she was naked under the covers, what he saw of her was bare. Her shoulder, her arm, the slender triangle of her shoulder blade. No shirt, no bra. She’d been laying nude with another man, probably in his big warm arms. That was what she wanted. She’d told him. Told him she fantasized about what it would be like to sleep with Tyler. After sex. To fall asleep alone with him, feel his body next to hers, feel those strong arms hold her and cradle her as she drifted off to sleep. Now she knew.
Somehow though the thought of his wife being on fire with this young guy g
ot him aroused again. His cock wasn’t getting tired of this game. His cock loved every minute. However, his heart was on a roller coaster and while it was screaming on the downhills, it started to panic during the next slow climb up—afraid, wrought with anxiety about how steep the next drop was going to be.
Now, his brain bounced around, wishy-washy. One minute rationalizing, getting data from his cock that liked the quarterly numbers, letting Jess get away with this; then telling Jess it was off, his heart having sent in a powerpoint saying there was no way they were going to survive the next big drop. So he was stuck in limbo. He wasn’t in a place to make a decision. And as far as Jess was concerned Pete was enjoying the torment. He told her he was. He also told her to stop. But something about a muscular man ten years younger than you sliding his long thick cock in and out of you so well, making you come over and over—something about that made Jess only see the willful torment. The Tyler is staying side. Jess was only listening to the Pete that said to keep going. Oh, she heard the other Pete, but she chastised that one. Teased him with dirty words until she coaxed the other Pete out of his shell, the Pete she wanted to hear from. So as long as Jess enjoyed sex with Tyler he was pretty sure he was stuck like this. So now here he was at three in the morning swapping out beds with her lover so the boys wouldn’t know. Some predicament.
She’d never mentioned his Thanksgiving Feast between her legs and he didn’t want to bring it up. He hoped...there was a chance...that she had too much to drink and didn’t remember it. But he was pretty sure she remembered and just didn’t want to talk about it. Tyler would remember. And Tyler would remind her probably. He wondered if the two of them had talked about it behind his back. What would they have said? Did they make fun of him? It probably wasn’t good that no one had mentioned it since.