Reluctant Cuckold (43 page)

For the rest of that walk, it was Ashley and me as the couple. Mike was just with us, even if he was doing most of the talking.

We arrived at the deli and Ashley said, “So what do we think, Corona Lights?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Do you need money?” Ashley replied.

“What?” I said. “Oh no, um, yeah, I’ll go in and get them.”

“Oh hey, let me get those,” Mike said.

“No it’s OK,” Ashley said.

“I’ll run in,” I said.

“Oh and Dave?” Ashley said.

“Yeah?”

“We also need limes.”

I didn’t know what to think. I felt shell-shocked.

We walked back, the two of them talking as I lugged the twelve pack.

I could only imagine the sense of power Mike must have felt walking into our apartment. Unlike two nights ago, all three of us knew exactly where this was going, where the night was headed.

I was feeling second-class in my own home, as I put the beer away. Ashley cut a few limes and Mike was in our living room, looking at the photos on the mantle. “So, that’s Ashley’s mom and sister?” he said, as I handed him a Corona.

“Yeah,” I said, “at Cape Cod last summer.”

“Quite the attractive threesome,” he said. “How old’s Ashley’s mom?”

“Fifty four,” I replied.

“Damn, she’s a good looking woman. She looks ten years younger.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And these are your folks?” he continued, pointing to another photo. I nodded. “And that’s your brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Ashley, you were a beautiful bride,” Mike said, pointing to our wedding day photo, as she walked in.

“Oh, thanks,” she said.

“And an attractive groom,” he said, turning back to me.

I smiled awkwardly.

He was inside my home, in my living room, inspecting personal photos of my wife and me. Ashley didn’t seem to mind.

Maybe she naturally trusted him—being my “childhood friend” and all. She even pointed to the top of a bookshelf to show him more.

“That was in Napa,” she said, “the night after Dave proposed.”

“Yes, you’re displaying your two-carat ring,” he replied.

Mike was sitting on our sofa swigging his beer—the same sofa he would try to relegate me to again. I had to imagine he knew the irony or symbolism of sitting there, waiting for my wife to return from the bathroom. It was like he was doing a refined version of a victory lap.

“Should we put the Yankees game on?” he said. “We can mute the sound and get a score.”

“Sure,” I said.

“Looks like extra innings,” he said.

“Oh yeah, top of the tenth.”

Mike started talking about relief pitchers. So I mechanically rattled off a few.

“It can’t be overstated,” Mike said, “how critical it is to have a good reliever, y’know?”

Mike was probably just talking baseball, but I suspected that wasn’t all he meant.

“A friend of mine gave me this,” Ashley said, as she returned and sat beside Mike.

It was pot.

I was surprised, taken aback. Ashley and I had smoked pot with friends on occasion, but only when a friend offered.

Why now?
I thought.

Had Mike suggested it to her in a communication I wasn’t privy too? And who was this friend she got it from? If I had fifty guesses, I’d choose Tamara every time. She probably gave it to Ashley after work today. Had Ashley told Tamara about Mike?

“It smells good,” he said. “Have you checked this out, Dave?”

“No, but yeah, it smells good,” I said.

“So shall I roll up a few joints?” Mike said. “Or would you like to do the honors, Dave?”

I’d never rolled a joint in my life.

“It’s been a long time,” I said, “go for it, Mike.”

And soon, there we were, sitting Indian style on the living room floor, the three of us getting high together.

I said, “I’m good,” after the third toke.

I was already feeling it hard. It wasn’t the laughing buzz I’ve sometimes experienced—maybe it was the alcohol. But I was nervous—on edge.

“Great timing, Mom,” Ashley said as she looked at her cell phone.

“What?” I asked.

“She was just asking if I was around to talk. Um, Mom, it’s eleven on a Friday night.”

“Your mom’s on Seattle time, right?” Mike asked.

I wondered how Mike knew that.

“Yeah,” Ashley said, “time zones are pretty stupid.”

“Stupid?” Mike said laughing. “Why, because they inconvenience you?”

“Look, no one even thought about time zones one thousand years ago.”

“Well,” Mike said laughing, “they didn’t have squat one thousand years ago. They were lucky to have candlelight.”

“That’s my point,” Ashley replied. “I don’t know who invented time zones, but he was no Thomas Edison, I’ll tell you that.”

“Well,” Mike said, “we need to get some scientists working on this. Anything else they should work at?”

“Well, while they’re at it,” Ashley replied, “they really need to make planes a lot faster, ’cause flights are way too long.”

“What do you think a caveman would think if they heard this is how their descendants talked in the twenty-first century?” Mike asked.

“That I’m a spoiled little brat who doesn’t even know how to make a simple fire with a pair of sticks.”

Suddenly Mike and Ashley were both cracking up, touching each other, and I felt alone and isolated.

I was too stoned and paranoid to contribute.

These were the kind of silly conversations Ashley and I would have.

Mike looked over at me, as if realizing I was still there. “Say Dave,” he said, “I scored some Giants tickets for October. They’re lower level thirty yard line. You up for going, my man?”

“Yeah, sure,” I replied.

Ashley gave a pouting expression.

“I’m sorry, Ashley,” Mike said, “but I just have the two, and you said you don’t like pro football.”

“I don’t,” she said, “I was just kidding.”

“But I just remembered,” he said, “my buddy bailed on me for the U.S. Open. You up for going Sunday night?”

“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.