by K T Morrison
Ben’s hand went between his legs and grabbed his penis. He pulled it downward, squeezed, exploring whether he could get erect or not. The tip still buzzed all around the pee-hole, the head felt sensitive, his balls ached, but mostly he endured a pervasive air of regret at his actions, his betrayal of his wife who’d never done a bad thing in her life. If he tried he could get hard, he just didn’t want to. But Chelsea would psycho-babble him about his fear being the reason his heart was telling him to flee right now. Maybe she was right, though. Who was Ben Todd? Was Ben Todd the stud who fucked two hot girls while his wife watched TV at home? This wasn’t him. This wasn’t his lifestyle.
Now deep and sorrowful regret washed up over him, finding traction on his hurting body and flooding into all of his creases with its awful feeling of sickness...
“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he sighed, covering his face and shaking his head from side to side.
The bed jostled under him and he felt Chelsea sitting up and scooting close behind him. “Aw, Ben Todd got the bad feelies,” she said poutingly.
“Fuck off,” he said.
“Ooh, a bad boy,” Neve said, “you were right.”
Chelsea’s arms went around him and she kissed his neck. He didn’t push her away. She whispered, “Ben, I told you it was our secret. Libby will never know. At least, I won’t tell her.”
Neve bubbled, “What’s her number, I’ll call her...”
Chelsea snorted laughter through her nose and it whispered over his shoulder and down his sweaty chest. He groaned.
Neve asked, “What’s her name again?”
“Libby,” Ben groaned.
Neve faked a one sided phone call: “Libby? Hey, it’s me....no, I know you don’t know me....Neve....N-E-V-E....uh-huh, it’s okay, Ben’s here....no, he’s good, he’s good....he’s what?....he is....no, he started off hot and hard, but he....you got it, he faded....he does it to you, too?....oh, Libby, I’m so sorry...”
Chelsea laughed again, the sound sweet despite the meanness and she hugged his neck harder. “She’s joking, Ben.”
“Tell her to shut the fuck up.”
“You tell her, tough guy.”
“You guys are such fucking...”
She tsk-ed in his ear, chastised him, “Oh, Ben, lighten up, it’s no big deal...”
“Right, no big deal...”
Now Chelsea’s hand moved down into his lap. He covered himself so she wouldn’t find out he wasn’t erect. Chelsea persisted and he let his hand be guided away by hers. Her nails ran on his balls, tightening his sack, then she toyed with the head of his cock with her thumb and index finger, plucking at it. When it failed to make him erect he put a hand over hers to still her hand. He said, “I’m such a piece of shit.”
“You’re just a man,” she said.
“I’m better than this.”
Now she laughed, pulled away from him to flop down next to Neve again. “Ben’s special,” she said, and they both laughed.
“I don’t want to hurt Libby,” he said, turning to look over his shoulder at them, unable to hide the pleading from his eyes.
Neve saw, and she softened, her laughter trailing off. Chelsea had a few more chuckles but soon she stopped and the room went quiet.
Chelsea said, “Don’t make a big deal about it.”
“I’m not,” he said. But he was, he really was, even his tone was petulant and sulky.
Chelsea let out an exasperated sigh, turned her eyes up and let her head fall back between her shoulders. It snapped up again, and she fixed him in her gaze. “What if I can make it better?”
“Right. Wave your magic wand? It’s not a movie.”
“Ben, I can make it better.”
“How?”
She studied him, then frowned, gave a look of disinterest and looked away.
He asked again, “How, Chelsea?”
“I’m wasting my time with you,” she said.
“What?—why?”
“You’re... you won’t do it...”
“Do what?”
“Never mind, Ben, it’s over your head.”
“What’s over my head?”
“Forget I said anything.” Now she turned to face Neve, and they looked in each other’s eyes, sharing a solemn moment. Neve nodded.
“You can make it go away?” He’d tried to stay serious to encourage her to divulge the magic spell she would cast to make his hurt go away, but he couldn’t help blurt scoffing laughter.
“I could, Ben,” she said, a strange assuredness in her eyes. Neve’s face, very close to Chelsea’s, also nodded in slow and small increments.
“Yeah,” he laughed again, “I’m sure you could.”
Now he faced away, giving the girls his back, lacing his hands together between his knees. There was an original painting on the wall, something modern and air-brushed, a sexy woman’s face, almost comic book style. He avoided the eyes, let his gaze drift down to the geometric pattern of the area rug that extended out from under the bed and felt soft on the soles of his feet. He drew a deep breath but couldn’t rid himself of the horrible tightness around his heart.
Behind him, Neve asked Chelsea: “What’s this Libby look like?”
Chelsea said, “Little sex pot, like the sexy librarian by day, slut by night...”
He said, “She’s not a slut.”
“She’s just not turned out yet.”
“She’s not like that, Chelsea...”
To Neve, Chelsea said, “She’s kind of short, plump—”
He said, “She’s not plump.”
“Not fat, no, not fat at all,” Chelsea continued, “you know, like soft, sexy soft. Nice tits, kind of big. Really pretty face.”
“She’s so pretty.”
“Glasses, button up shirts. Like a goody-two-shoes.”
He looked over his shoulder at them again, two hot mean girls naked and close, just the sight of them demanding the worst from any man, his most base desire. Chelsea said, “She’s a little mouse. When she talks, you can hardly hear her.”
Neve laughed and then covered her mouth.
Chelsea made mouse noises, going, “Pssh, pssh, pssh,” making Neve laugh harder, then getting under Neve’s silky hair and nibbling on her neck. Ben watched Neve’s brown nipples tighten, the buds scrolling into raised buds. Instead of lust, it inspired heavy sadness in him, knowing how shallow and low he was, how awful he’d let down the woman he loved and who loved him in return.
He asked timidly, “What is it?”
Chelsea ignored him, still nibbling on Neve’s neck and both of them giggling.
“Chelsea,” he asked, “please, what is it?”
She pulled back, both of them on their elbows now, looking at him like a couple of evil ravens and him just a stupid field mouse. “Honestly, Ben, I don’t know if it’d work, and even if we did it, it wouldn’t be easy. It’s not a magic wand...”
“What is it?”
“Tell me, Ben,” she sighed, “tell me what it is that makes tonight so awful for you.”
“I cheated on Libby.”
“Right. But how come I don’t care I cheated on Finn?”
Neve said, “You’re a terrible person,” and put up a hand protectively. Chelsea formed a fist and made like she would backhand her, getting Neve to guess where the strike would come, then sucker-swatting her in the breast and making it jump.
Neve laughed, and complained, soothed and coddled her breast.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Neve blew the setup: “Finn knows.”
He asked, “Finn knows what?”
“Finn knows you’re here,” Chelsea said.
Ben frowned. “He knows I’m here?”
Chelsea said, “What, you’re so hot, some cute guy from high school, so hot I’m going to ruin my marriage?”
“You wanted to do it.”
“I wanted to fuck you, yeah. I tell Finn, he says cool.”
Now he rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighed, scrat
ched his forehead. “Great, so someone else who knows I cheated on Lib.”
“Ben, he doesn’t care. I don’t care. Neither of us have the same hang-ups you and Lib do. Didn’t you have fun tonight?”
Neve clarified: “Before you got gloomy.”
Chelsea said, “Yeah, when your dick was rock hard and you were sticking us with it.”
He nodded.
“Same with us. If I want to fuck some guy, I can, and if Finn wants to bang some band groupies for backstage tickets, I’m not going to say no.”
He fleered. “You’re not? Right...”
“He doesn’t, not anymore. We’re not kids, we’re twenty-five. Plus, what head’s he going to get better than mine? But if he does, he tells me. I love him, he can do what he wants.”
“So I should tell Lib we’re going to be open?”
Chelsea shook her head, brow lowered in admonishment. “No imagination.”
“So what then?”
“Swing with her,” Neve interjected.
“God,” he laughed, brushing them away with a hand motion, “you obviously don’t know Lib.”
Chelsea said, “Neve had a boyfriend, we used to swing, only we didn’t nerd out and call it swinging we just called it being cool cats.”
“I was nerding it up for him,” Neve said close to Chelsea, and she smiled.
Neve said to him now, “My boyfriend’s been with her, I was with Finn, all four of us were crawling over each other like a litter of newborn pups. Nobody sweats it.”
He laughed even more heartily now, then met Chelsea’s gaze, and shook his head. “Tell your friend Libby’s never going to go for that.”
“I don’t know that, Ben. You ever asked her?”
“I don’t need to. I sure hope this isn’t your magic solution to making it all better.”
“It could be if you weren’t so resistant.”
“I’m not resistant. I know she won’t. I know I can’t lift up a car, I don’t have to put my hands under the bumper and see if I’m right or not.”
Neve’s eyes were distant, and she murmured, “There're those women who can lift a car off their baby, adrenalin or whatever.”
“Desperate times, Ben, Neve’s right. You don’t think you can lift a car till you have to do it.”
Now he covered his face with both hands again and sighed heavily, the long exhale close to becoming sobs. One of the girls prodded his back with a toe.
“What?” He turned to regard them again.
Chelsea said, “How about it?”
“How about what?”
“If Finn sleeps with Libby, you two will be even. You will be returned to neutral. You’ll go back to the way you guys were, I guarantee it. And both of you will be happy. Most importantly: you’ll be free.”
“Chelsea, sweetheart,” he said with elaborate condescension, “Libby will never sleep with Finn.”
“But if she did...?”
“I don’t want that,” he sighed, looking into the airbrushed eyes.
“I don’t care if you do or don’t, Ben, I was actually interested in making you feel better. I had fun tonight, so did Neve...”
“I did...”
“Both of us are prob gonna smoke another bowl and watch some movies since your dick is bailing on us. Tomorrow Finn will ask how my night was and I’ll tell him Ben Todd wasn’t the fuck I thought he’d be, but he wasn’t half bad.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Point is, tonight’s nothing to me more than some pleasure. Like a really good hot yoga class...”
Neve said, “Ooh, I love hot yoga...”
“And I just hate that you don’t see it the same way. It sucks for you, but it doesn’t have to.”
He locked eyes with the painting and listened to the enormous pregnant quiet in the room. The moment grew heavy and long and felt like it should end with a nerve-jangling explosion. He couldn’t stand it. He whispered, “She’s never been with another man. Only me.”
There was a pause, then Chelsea said, “Aw, poor Libby,” and both girls laughed. “No offense. You’re great, Ben, but she’s a beautiful girl who could have had a lot of fun.”
“She’s not like that.”
Neve said, “She doesn’t like to have fun?”
Chelsea said, “She’s kind of stuck up.”
Ben said, “No, she’s not.”
“You’re right, that’s not the right thing. There’s something stuck up her.”
Neve asked, “Up her butt?” Both girls snorted, then let loose with a hearty laugh.
Chelsea said, “She’s got a broomstick stuck up her...”
“She’s just stiff,” Ben said. “Shy.”
“You know, Ben, it might be good for her. You never got her to do some of the things you like. No blow jobs?... Maybe if she loosened up, your own sex life could, you know, blossom...”
“I don’t want her to have sex with someone else.”
Neve said to Chelsea, “I thought you said he was a nice guy?”
“Geez, I know, huh? Ben, that’s not nice. You just fucked us and you don’t want your Libby to have any fun? It’s all about you?...”
“No, I love her...”
“Nice guy Ben I knew from high school was caring and supportive. Hey, ever wonder if you don’t turn Lib’s crank?”
“I turn her crank.”
Neve said, “Could you imagine if Libby liked giving blow jobs to another man but not to Ben...?”
Both of them thought this was hilarious and collected one another’s hands so they could regale in unison. When they noticed Ben didn’t join in on the hilarity, they dipped their chins in theatrical farouche. “We’re kidding, Ben,” Neve said.
“You don’t know my Libby,” he said. “You think it’s funny what you’re saying, but Libby is a good person...”
“Better than us?”
“You wouldn’t think so, but she is...”
His honest words brought more sniggering.
“It’s true,” he said, wasting his time pleading to these two unflappable vixens who collapsed against one another to celebrate the hilarity that was Ben Todd’s suffering.
22
In Chelsea and Finn’s shower he scrubbed himself scrupulously. Water turned as hot as he could stand it, he shampooed twice and used conditioner once, doing his pubic hair too. He used bar soap all over his body, then a few handfuls of liquid soap.
A man’s brand. Finn’s.
He used the things that Chelsea’s husband used to clean himself. There was shampoo and soap, strong manly deodorant brands. A back loofah. He could picture Finn raking his own back, naked in the shower, cleaning himself for a night with Lib... There was a razor, too, and since it was in the shower where there was no mirror he imagined it was for pubic hair. Chelsea shaved down there, did Finn as well? Did he want to find out?...
The idea that he could absolve himself of his sins by allowing his wife—no, encouraging his wife, or tricking her even, into some sort of swinging foursome was ludicrous. He didn’t deny that he could see how it would work, but it was insane.
For one thing, Libby would never go for it. Of all the people in the world who could be engaging in kinky open-ended marriages, Libby was at the bottom of the list. Straight-laced and squeaky clean, she’d been that way since he knew her in public school. And he didn’t want to share her. The idea that Finn would be with his wife was disgusting. That lean guy with all his tattoos pressing up against soft and innocent Libby? No way. She would beat her fists on his chest, call him a masher, and despite that, why would he want that to happen?
Because it could save your marriage...
Libby hadn’t been with anyone but him, and he liked it that way. But then again, some things the girls said were true too. There were things Libby wouldn’t do. Things he wouldn’t even bring up to Libby to try out of embarrassment. She didn’t want to use her mouth on him. She tried, but she said it made her feel self-conscious. He let her go. The one year he spent without he
r he’d had two girlfriends both who had no qualms about sexual activity, oral or otherwise. He’d had anal sex with one of them. But those girls weren’t sweethearts like Libby, and so he settled on the girl that made his heart beat despite some of her hang ups. There was so much good in that woman he could overlook her milk and cookies attitude toward sex. And she liked making love with him, they did it at least twice a week. The lights needed to be off and you had to be careful not to say something or do something that might embarrass her...
He spritzed another dollop of clear amber gel soap into his palm. It smelled like pine and spruce and talc. He held the cup of his palm under his nose. This would be what Libby smelled. These were the grooming products of another man. Another man proposed to him that would sleep with his wife for the benefit of saving Ben from the damage to his marriage due to his horrible sins.
It was just fun; it was just sex.
What happened tonight wasn’t more to me than a good session of hot yoga.
Could it be like that? Could sex just be something they did for fun? He tried to picture Libby with Finn. Lib backing away from him until her butt bumped into the kitchen cupboards. Finn looming over, giving her that steady eye the cool guys do, coming in for a kiss. Libby, horrified, hands up to her chest in fearful protection, pulling back her chin, but not turning away...
Now he could see the two of them kissing, Finn putting his hand on Libby’s neck...
He shook it off, physically shaking his head to clear away those thoughts. His heart was racing with just the mere consideration. There was no way he could do it. Way, way, way too crazy...
23
Coming down the stairs fully dressed, shirt tucked in, he could hear the girls talking low and tittering. Weed hung heavy in the air. He found them lounging on the cushy couches where tonight’s badness had begun. The couch they were on was the largest one, a squat comfy L shape, and they lay with their two heads together at the corner, watching up at the retractible big screen TV ascended from the huge armoire where it usually remained hidden. An old black and white movie played and the girls’ weed-sleepy eyes watched. They tittered again, making comments about what they were seeing.