Reluctant Cuckold (6 page)

Nonetheless, given all the crazy thoughts that continued traversing my brain, I struggled to pay full attention and engage.

The sun suddenly came out after my mom and Ashley returned. Ashley had brought her suit on that chance, and soon we were sitting next to the pool. Ashley was a little wary, looking over at my neighbors’ house. Last year, she had seen their seventh grade son jerking off from the fence while watching her sunbathe. My parents had been out of town that weekend, and I was determined to confront him or tell his parents.

She pleaded with me, “Don’t, we don’t know it for sure and he’s just a little kid.”

So I didn’t. But Ashley didn’t spend any more time by the pool that weekend—at least not in a swimsuit.

On the train back, I was thinking of making love to Ashley, just having sweet sex with my wife. It had been five days. I had a hard-on the whole ride.

I had always believed we had a pretty good sex life. It wasn’t crazy, in the thralls of passion sex like in the movies, but it was always loving, tender, and bonding.

We were hardly the most adventurous couple in bed, but I always felt we were in sync; we clicked and it worked.

When I came out of the bathroom, having just gotten ready for bed, Ashley was sleeping above the covers.

My dumb luck
, I thought.

Opportunity lost.

Still, it had been a really special day.

Sunday was considerably stranger.

Ashley headed out to Connecticut to see a college friend. I comforted in the seeming normality of things. It was like the conversation about the rumor had never taken place.

Had I not talked with Craig and heard the details, I might well have mentally slid it under the rug as well.

I pulled out a photo album from last year. There was a picture of Ashley in a white bikini in Florida, her boobs on display, sipping a margarita by the pool. Ashley’s smile looked so wholesome and innocent, her complexion so smooth and youthful that it still gets her routinely carded.

I was imagining what Jim Murta had been thinking as he looked at her in that bathroom. That’s when I suddenly sprouted an erection—a major what-the-fuck-moment. And it didn’t go away. I had never masturbated in front of Ashley, and here was Jim Murta jerking his cock in front of my wife. Had he been a few feet away or was she watching him stroke it up close? Suddenly I had my dick out and was stroking myself. How did he answer Tamara’s “which one of us do you want to fuck question”? Had he said, “I want Ashley”—or had he signaled his choice by pointing his cock at my wife?

What was Ashley’s reaction to being chosen? Had she thought, this is crazy, my husband’s right outside? Had she hesitated? Or had her expression given him the green light?

I pictured Ashley standing up, getting out of the tub, and Jim Murta watching as she took off her miniskirt and thong. I imagined his moment of triumph when he first slid his cock inside her. He had his cock inside little Ashley Martens. What a coup it must’ve seemed. Within a half hour or so, he was going all the way with my wife. He was hitting pay dirt. The seemingly conservative and unattainable married girl—the hot, polished, director from work—and with her own freaking husband right outside, no less.

What must Ashley have thought, having crossed such an insane threshold? She had another man’s penis inside her, knowing I was right outside. Was she humping back on it? Was she moaning? Was she saying things back to him?

“Oh God, Ashley,” I whispered, staring at her in that revealing bikini.

And suddenly I came, really hard. I wasn’t prepared for that.

“Get a mother-fucking-grip,” I said to myself, as I ran for a tissue. It’s one thing to jerk off, but it’s another thing to jerk off thinking about Ashley being fucked by another guy.

I pulled out some supplies from the kitchen, cranked music, and began cleaning the bathroom. I reminded myself of the fun, normal time we’d had yesterday, the way she had leaned into me in the cab the other night, the way nothing seemed to have changed.

But after I was done, with our bathroom now pristine, I sat on top of the sink.

The motherfucker fucked my wife in a ratty little bathroom, with people—including her own husband—right outside.

God, what a dumb-luck gift he’d been given.

A married co-worker sitting in a bathtub with her big tits displayed in front of him. Had Ashley made eye contact or had her eyes been fixated on his cock as he stroked it? Good God, she knew I was at the party—what had stopped her from putting her top back on and leaving?

Instead Jim tells her he wants to fuck her and she’s OK with that? Are you serious Ashley—just like that—you’re gonna take his cock inside you?

What a dirty, slutty little scene that must have been. I imagined Ashley’s black miniskirt and thong tossed in the corner of that dirty bathroom floor, strewn like afterthoughts.

Suddenly I had my pants down and my bare ass on the porcelain sink. I imagined Ashley’s bare ass on a similar sink, my wife’s pussy exposed to Jim Murta’s eyes. As soon as he had his condom around his hard cock, he knew he’d be fucking my wife. The won-the-lottery satisfaction Jim must have felt as he slid his cock inside her.

They all would have known I had knocked on the door. I pictured Ashley crying “Oh God” and Jim French-kissing her, as his cock went all the way inside. And from that point on, Jim Murta was now fucking my wife. I thought of Ashley’s tits bouncing with each pump and thrust from his cock.

I thought of Tamara looking on, encouragingly.

Ashley was getting full-throttle fucked with her clueless husband right outside. I thought of people talking about it afterwards.

Jim Murta balled Ashley Martens …

He dicked Dave’s wife …

In a bathroom at the party …

He nailed her …

He banged her …

Jim boned Ashley …

With her own husband right outside …

Goddammit Jim Murta …

You fucked my wife …

You fucked my Ashley …

And then I came, splashing the tiled floor below. It was like coming out of a trance, sitting bare-assed on the bathroom sink.

Good God, I thought, if anyone knew I’d just masturbated thinking about this ....

But I reminded myself of the stress of the past week. Being alone had left me idle, restless, stir crazy, whatever. It had simply been a weird day with weird thoughts.

“I’ve been through a lot,” I reminded myself. “Don’t beat yourself up, just put it behind you.”

I went out and picked up groceries and then watched some of the Yankee game.

But that rumor kept creeping back. I thought about how Craig had said he’d done Ashley over the sink.

Jim Murta had taken my wife doggy.
Fucking doggy?

Ashley and I had tried that a few times, but on a bed. How would that even work standing up?

I went into the bathroom and leaned over the sink.

Jim Murta was a strapping 6’3’’ guy. I wondered if Ashley had to stand on something or on her tiptoes. What a slutty position to fuck in, something she’d never done with me. That must have been his idea He was asserting his dominance by fucking her that way. She might rank higher at work, but in the confines of this little bathroom, he seemed determined to give Mrs. Ashley Martens an authoritative fucking from behind. I imagined him slapping her toned ass, saying something like, “C’mon Ashley tilt up higher, I want to see that pussy pop out from behind.”

He must have marveled at how easily it all happened as they got synced into rhythm. Less than an hour earlier, he’d been drinking beer with some work buddies, shaking their hands—with me, even.

And now he was having Ashley look at herself in the bathroom mirror, and he could watch Ashley’s fuck-face expressions, as my wife took his cock.

I shook my head. Good God, another erection. But I figured, I’d already done it twice, what was one last time? Ashley wouldn’t be home for a while. And I’d get a grip, return to normal tomorrow.

I grabbed another bikini photo from a vacation album, lay it on the living room sofa and pulled my dick out. I wondered what they’d been doing when I knocked on that bathroom door. Had they already been in the middle of fucking, only pausing while Tamara sent me upstairs?

Had they all known it was me—Ashley’s husband at the door—before Jim had gone on to fuck my wife?

The power-rush he must have felt, getting my wife to submit to his doggy fuck as her husband bumbled away, oblivious, upstairs. Had Jim pointed that out? “You’re getting fucked, Ashley” he might have said, “with your husband right outside.”

“I know, it’s crazy,” she might have said back, as he pumped inside my soul-mate.

Repeat it back to me,” Jim Murta would have said as he bent my wife over the sink like his personal fuck doll, “What are you doing Ashley, tell me?”

“I’m getting fucked, Jim.”

“With your husband right outside.”

“With my husband right outside.”

“Look at yourself, watch yourself in the mirror as you get fucked, and tell me that again.”

“I’m getting fucked … with my husband … right … outside.”

“Again.”

“I’m getting fucked … with my … Oh god… my husband … right … out … side.”

I came hard again.

Then I came back down to earth, big-time.

What the fuck?

Some strange, foreign thoughts had barged through my mind’s front door today. And now I wanted to lock box them all up and throw them off a bridge. But I didn’t want to dwell on or rationalize what I was doing. It had been a crazed, stressful week.

It had happened, and it wouldn’t again. Move on and forget it.

Ashley startled me an hour later as I came out of the shower. I hadn’t expected her home so soon.

“I know the kitchen’s a mess,” I said, giving her a hug, “I was just about to clean up.”

“It’s OK, how was your day?”

“Pretty good,” I replied. “I got some groceries, did some work stuff, watched the Yankee game. How’s Leah, how was your day?”

“She’s good, we had fun, we ended up back here. We had some time before meeting her mom for dinner, so we took a walk through the Park. We ended up by the zoo and were like, ‘Let’s check out the animals.’ ”

“Cool. How was the zoo?”

“Well right before that, we stumbled upon a fight between a clown and a magician.”

“A fight?” I asked.

“It was like a turf war fight. I think the magician had set up shop right by the clown’s usual spot. It was the place where two pathways intersect before you enter the zoo. That’s prime real estate right?”

“Yeah,” I said, just following along.

“Well, the clown was pissed. I mean fuming. ’Cause the magician had a crowd of kids around him and the clown had lost his audience to the magician. So the clown started swearing ‘This is my fucking spot.’ The magician hollered back, ‘Stop scaring the children.’ He’d go back to doing his magic, but with the clown yelling ‘Fuck you,’ the parents got their kids on out of there, so they were both SOL.”

“Wow,” I said.

“Yeah, it was interesting. So then we were like, we’re right here, let’s see the zoo.”

“Sure.”

“Well, the main zoo was OK. We’ve been there. Central Park ain’t no Bronx Zoo.”

“No, it’s small—a twenty minute zoo.”

“Yeah, so we checked out the Children’s zoo. I don’t know why we’ve never gone.”

“How was it?”

“It was fun, actually. You just need to make sure to bring quarters.”

“Why?”

“Leah had some on her, so we were OK. What makes it fun is feeding the farm animals. An animal gumball machine spits out these pellets. I guess sheep and goats just love them pellets, ’cause they run up to you and eat them right out of your hand.”

“Sounds fun,” I said, “and how was dinner?”

“One last thing,” she said.

“Yeah sorry, what’s that?”

“The last animal was this weird platypus-looking thing. The only animal by himself. He was shy and wouldn’t come out with all the kids by the fence. But when the kids left, he came right up to me. And his tongue was sandpaper rough, an interesting texture. I fed him all the pellets I had. And then he looked me in the eyes with this forlorn expression that said, ‘Please don’t go.’ ”

“Please don’t go?”

“Yeah, and I felt bad leaving, because his eyes would follow me. So I went back to pet him again, like to tell him he’d be OK. And he looked up at me like ‘I know I’m ugly looking, and all the other animals make fun of me, but I’ve got a heart of gold and you’re the only being besides my mother who really understands me. Please take me home with you.’