Reluctant Cuckold (42 page)

“What?”

“Isn’t ‘Hat Night’ tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, I’m confused,” she said, “I thought the plan was to meet Mike tomorrow—wasn’t that what you texted me?”

“Yeah,” I said, “but I just remembered ‘Hat Night’ was tomorrow. We could drive down if you wanted—I mean, you said you wanted to do that.”

“I said Thursday night, if you could get tomorrow off, but you couldn’t—it’s too far to drive, just for one night—and we’d barely have any beach time.”

“Well it was just one night last weekend.”

“Dave, we got there at noon and had a day at the beach.”

“OK,” I said, “I was just throwing that out there, but forget it.”

“Do you not want to meet up with Mike, tomorrow?”

“I do,” I said, “I just remembered about ‘Hat Night’, but I hear you on arriving too late.”

“Are you OK with that?”

“Yeah, Ash, of course, absolutely. Look I’m beat. I’m going to get some shuteye.”

Ashley puckered her lips and said, “Mwah mwah,” so I walked over to her, and she gave me a quick kiss goodnight.

I was under the covers in the Ottoman King that Ashley and I had bought last summer—the bed Mike had slept in last night. The marital bed he’d fucked my wife in.

Mike had made a royal sucker out of me.

What a conquest this must have been for him. He might have been playing it by ear, but his goal was fucking my wife in my bed, and he did it on the first night of meeting her. He’d locked me out of my own bedroom and gone in for the kill.

You got fucking played, boy, I said to myself. The motherfucker relegated you to the couch as he slept in your bed.

I thought of the way Ashley had personalized it, as he fucked her. “Oh God, I love your cock
Mike
, I’m about to cum.” It echoed in my head with the sound of the bed squeaking.

I had popped a boner and whispered, “Oh God, Ashley.”

I thought about what others might think if they knew.

He fucked your wife in your own marital bed—this bed you’re lying in now—and you were too weak and meek to stop it. He made you look like a fucking pussy. He just strutted into your apartment and made your bedroom his home for the night. And he took the woman you love and cherish, in a candy from a baby way.

“I love your cock, Mike!”

Oh God, Ashley, I thought, you let him fuck you in our bed.

I came, super-hard under the covers.

And then I just felt scared and alone.

Friday was a half-day.

Crazy thoughts filled my head.

I found myself in an electronics store. Hiding a video camera in the room seemed too risky, but I wondered about getting a small audio recorder. If things happened again as they had two nights earlier, I felt compelled to try and capture it.

“Can I help you?” the salesman said.

“Um, yeah maybe, I’m looking for a recorder to do field recordings.”

“Professional gear, semi-professional? What are you looking to record?”

“No, I’m just doing an amateur project,” I said, “I need to get outdoor sounds, birds chirping, the sound of a freeway, thunder, that kind of thing.”

Initially he showed me a crazy contraption.

“I’m just looking for something small.”

“How about this? College students use it to record school lectures.”

Ashley had to work the full day, so back in the apartment, I tested the audio on the recorder.

I turned on the kitchen faucet and recorded it from the living room. Then I turned on the shower and recorded it with the bathroom door shut. From the hallway I recorded our alarm clock.

I put on the headphones and listened to playback. The audio seemed pretty clear.

I put the recorder in the hallway where I’d sat two nights before, went into our bedroom and shut the door.

I knew what I was doing was crazy, fucked up.

I got on the bed and make it creak. I affected a girly falsetto: “Oh God, Mike, fuck me, fuck me, Mike, I love your cock, Mike.” Then I bounced on the bed and cried out, “Oh God, I’m cumming!”

I went back outside and listened to the playback. I could hear the creaking. And I heard all my “oh God Mike’s,” though that was a bit creepy and I made sure to erase the recording immediately.

Ashley didn’t get home until just before eight. “I’ve got to get my butt into the shower and pronto,” she said.

I always loved showering with her. Just before the Jim Murta incident, we had a rain forest shower in Florida. The shower was the size of a bedroom with tiled marble floor and multiple jets. I loved lathering up her body, rubbing soap on her breasts, all sudsy and slippery.

I was lying on the bed pretending to read the
Journal
when she came out. I snuck peeks as she searched through her lingerie drawer. I watched her put on a white thong and bra.

She looked over at me and I felt like I should give her space, so I went into the kitchen and had a Corona.

Sitting at that kitchen counter, I didn’t know what to think. I felt like I had no control over anything tonight.

When I went back in the bedroom, Ashley was wearing a sheer white mini tube dress. It wasn’t Tamara slutwear, but it was pushing the envelope for Ashley, for sure. From behind, I could see her thong shadowing through.

“You look really good—beautiful,” I said.

“Thanks, I still have to put makeup on. How much time do we have?’

“Well, it’s 8:30, but we’ll take a cab.”

Ashley was making an effort to look extra good. She had done it for me—going out on the town or for work events—but mostly to present the two of us in the most favorable light. But now her motivation seemed simply to look as fuckable as possible for Mike.

When I complimented her dress, did she think I was a fool? Like, “Don’t you know I’m wearing this for your friend?”

“We’ll take a cab,” I said when she came out. “Oh, I see you got a manicure.”

“Yeah and a pedi, today at lunch, but you can’t see that.”

“Well, it looks good.”

“Thanks, so ready to go?”

We arrived at the restaurant just before nine.

The place was dimly lit. Ashley spotted an empty booth by the bar, off from the main dining area. The hostess said they reserved those for parties of four or more, so Ashley explained that a third would be joining us shortly, and how, in addition to having food, we’d be ordering a few rounds of drinks. She followed that up with a few pleases.

“OK you sold me,” the hostess said, and led us to the booth. It was a loungey, leather-type semi-circle table facing the bar and TVs.

That’s when Mike arrived, again dressed in GQ-style.

Ashley and I both stood up to greet him. I watched the two of them hug.

“Damn, girl,” Mike said, “you looking radiant in that dress—it’s like it was made for you.”

Then he turned to give me a hug, saying, “Great to see you again, buddy.”

Ashley sat in the middle, with me to her left and Mike to her right.

“So,” Mike said, “what are we all drinking? Personally, I hear a martini calling.”

“I hear it calling as well,” Ashley replied.

I nodded that I’d have one, too.

“A consensus,” Mike said, “I like it. You guys ever have an Appletini? No? Trust me, you’ll enjoy it.”

After he ordered, Mike said, “This is a nice place, and these are great seats, perfect for watching games. What is that, the Mets-Giants? Are they playing in San Fran?”

“No, it’s here at Citi,” I said

“You guys ever been to San Francisco?” Mike asked, before adding, “What am I saying—Dave’s like Mr. San Fran—I meant have you and Ashley been there?”

“Yeah, a few times,” I said.

“We got engaged there,” Ashley offered. “Well not San Francisco, but Napa Valley, on a trip there.”

“Oh yeah?” Mike said. “I think Dave mentioned something like that. So how did my boy do it? Propose I mean.”

“Well,” Ashley started, “we went to a few vineyards. We were dragging though, ’cause it was like a hundred degrees. Or felt like it anyway. But we were staying in this boutique hotel up in the foothills, overlooking the Valley—”

“Yeah?” Mike said, paying close attention.

“It was a place called Presidio,” I offered, just to contribute.

“Yeah,” Ashley said, “and they had this outdoor area where you could bring out your own wine and watch the sunset. Dave had arranged for us to be in a more secluded area, an outdoor loveseat kind of thing with this ornate, floral top to it. Plush.”

“Nice. So how did Dave actually propose?”

“Well,” she continued, “after our first glass of wine, Dave said he was going to look over the ledge for a minute. Well, I knew something was up, ’cause he had been talking right before in a grandiose, sweet way about what I meant to him—and then he came back and got on one knee, and I was thinking ‘Wow,’ like, ‘Take this moment in.’ ”

“Sounds really special,” Mike said. “Were you nervous, Dave?”

“No,” I said, “more like anxious.”

“Oh c’mon,” Ashley laughed, “you were nervous, I could tell.”

“I was nervous about saying it right, the way I had it in my head, and not screwing things up. OK, fine, I was a little nervous.”

“Who isn’t?” Mike offered. “That’s a monumental life moment.”

Why, I thought, is Ashley talking to the guy who fucked my wife two nights before about how I proposed?

“Well, we had talked about marriage,” Ashley continued. “I mean, you knew I was going to say yes, Dave?”

“Well, I guess, but you’re never fully sure. I wasn’t taking it for granted.”

“So what did you say?” Mike asked, and then to Ashley, “What did he say?”

“It’s kind of a blur,” Ashley replied, “as much as, at the time, I was telling myself to ‘remember this moment.’ He was saying how much I meant to him, how much he loved me, how he wanted to spend his life with me. That kind of thing.”

“He was getting deep there,” Mike said, laughing casually. “That’s the way to do it, my man. So then he showed you the ring?”

“Yeah,” Ashley replied, “I had talked earlier about what I wanted, but I admit, it was prettier than I expected.” She held her hand up to Mike, so he could examine it.

“Wow, that is beautiful indeed. And that’s a great diamond. What is that, two-and-a-half carat?”

“Just over two, but it’s a great cut.”

“It sure is. My man knows how to treat the woman he loves right.”

I was trying to keep from squirming.

“So, where was your wedding?” Mike asked.

“Castle on the Hudson,” she replied, “in Tarrytown.”

“Sure, I was at a wedding there myself—great views of the river up there.”

As dinner progressed, the same conversational pattern emerged—Mike and Ashley doing all the talking, with me having to fight to throw my two cents in.

There was also a physical dynamic going on. Ashley was at the center of this semicircle table, but she was tilted towards Mike. And he was now snug up against her. I hadn’t changed my position, but now there was a good nine inches between our legs.

I Imagined Ashley’s hand under the table—on his crotch.

After dinner Ashley asked, “So should we get another drink?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, “what are you thinking?”

“What do you think, Mike?” she said.

“Well,” he replied, “do you guys have any drinks back at your place?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Ashley replied.

“I don’t know if we do,” I said.

“I picked up more vodka tonight,” she answered. “We can get beer on the way back.”

I had anticipated this moment, but it still hit me hard.

“OK, yeah,” I said.

The waitress dropped off the check and Ashley stopped Mike as he went to reach for it.

“You got it last time,” Ashley said. “We’ll get this, right?”

“Uh yeah, sure,” I said, pulling out my wallet. I looked at the bill … $225 with tip.

What a schmuck I felt like, signing that tab. The guy fucks my wife and Ashley has me buy him dinner.

I felt like a spectator as we walked back to the apartment. Like Mike had the reins and I was just pulling the sleigh. I wanted to put my arm around Ashley. So finally I did, and she kind of leaned into me.