JEALOUSY
By
Laran Mithras
Model Photo by DepositPhotos.com and ShutterStock.com.
Jealousy is a work of fiction. Names, locations and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2019 - All Rights Reserved
Jealousy is a disease, love is a healthy condition. The immature mind often mistakes one for the other, or assumes that the greater the love, the greater the jealousy - in fact, they are almost incompatible; one emotion hardly leaves room for the other.
~ Robert A. Heinlein
CHAPTER 1
It was wrong.
I didn't see it coming.
Who could?
I married my Tessa with hope for the future, only to find that marital bliss was a vicious lie.
The worst of lies.
"Is something wrong?" she asked blithely.
I ground my jaws together. Nothing fazed her. Nothing concerned her. Everything was just another bar of soap to smell and buy. Food choices were inconsequential. She might as well have been asking if the mail had come yet.
"Clark?" she prodded.
I had thought once we were married that everything would continue as it had before, but had she not seemed to actually withdraw? Become less focused on me? Had she not flirted with anyone and everyone since our wedding night?
What had happened?
I said, "Nothing's wrong." I didn't want to give power to my fear that she was playing loose and could potentially cheat. I didn't want to even give her the idea. My hand shook in anger on my glass. I set it back down without drinking the rest of the iced tea. "Maybe we should just go."
"We just got here. We ordered; we can't just walk out now."
But you'll flirt with the waiter again… I ground my teeth harder. I glanced around surreptitiously. Flick's Famous was crowded and the buzz inside the comfortable interior of the restaurant was highlighted by blinding points of light where they struck the walls over paintings and signed pictures. No one knew if the place's name was meant to be a reference to Flick or some unnamed dish they served. The people chatted loudly nearby about other things.
No one was looking at us. At me.
No one had noticed my tension.
Except, of course, my wife.
She was a beauty to me: young; clear-faced; silky hair. I was five weeks into being married to a twenty-two year old goddess and finding that our thirteen year age difference was… something of an issue.
Did her generation really think flirting was acceptable?
Cheating?
I don't think she had cheated on me.
Yet.
But that disgusting deed barreled at me like a garbage truck down a narrow alley driven by a blind man and I had nowhere to run. Its coming ached in my bones with worry and betrayal.
"Clark…" She was frowning.
Before I could answer, our waiter delivered our plates. A small sizzling steak each – New York, nothing too expensive – and baked potatoes with sour cream and chives, neatly bundled in aluminum foil.
I watched her.
She looked up at the young waiter and beamed. Her eyes even sparkled – eyes that should only sparkle for me.
I watched very carefully to make sure no secret messages were passed on slips of paper.
His name was Vince and he had slicked back black hair that I knew my wife found attractive. She had commented many times on my black hair and how turned on she was by it.
My life slid around me and slipped down a slope that promised pain at the end.
My father had dumped my mother right after I was born. My grandparents had divorced on my mother's side. Of my father's side, I knew nothing.
Was I destined for the same fate?
I stabbed angrily into my food, imagining Vince under my fork and knife. It was not a happy meal.
CHAPTER 2
She shook her head at me, fists on hips. She was dressed in her running outfit. In high school, she had been on the cross country team and she ran now because she didn't want to lose her stamina.
Unfortunately, her running clothes consisted of a tiny sport tank-top and super-skimpy yoga shorts.
Some of this was my fault.
I had wanted a sexy young woman I could mold into my image of the perfect wife. I always went commando. I told Tessa that I expected her to go also. It didn't help that she said she never wore panties under her yoga pants and shorts, anyway.
So she jogged, leaving absolutely zero to the imagination.
I could have jogged with her to keep a closer tab on her, but I knew I'd never keep up.
Fortunately, our house faced the park. From the front window, I could see her entire circuit. She would do three laps around the twenty acre park. Often, she picked up a stray jogger or two, sometimes women and sometimes men. They would run alongside her and chat.
She said to me, "I always run. I ran before we were married and I'm going to keep running."
"Tess… Can't you dress more appropriately?"
She gave me a pained look, mouth opened on one side showing teeth. "Excuse me? This is appropriate running attire."
I looked at her camel toe, all puffy and plain as day. She might as well have been standing there naked, thrusting it out, and offering it to all the guys so they could gawk and slobber.
She lowered her chin and raised her eyebrow at me. "I've always worn these, even in school. Our coach approved of them."
I muttered, "I'll bet he did."
"What are you implying? These grip tight, allow freedom of movement, and are soft. The cotton absorbs moisture—"
I cut her off with a wave of my hand and gritted through clenched teeth, "Fine, right? Okay. Just don't talk to anyone."
"What's wrong with talking to people? I'm not a six year old anymore. I'm a grown woman. I think I can look out for myself. Besides, the company is nice."
I ground my teeth together harder.
At least she ran in the mornings when I could watch her. I started my shift at ten.
She whipped her hair into a ponytail and attached her phone pocket on her arm. She looked adorable and so totally fuckable.
And other men were going to see her.
My jaw began to ache really bad.
She murmured, "Is this all about your… problem?"
My face heated, but not in anger. I looked away. "No…" Ever since my feelings of jealousy had become so rampant, I had been having a mounting problem getting hard. The more I desired her and wanted to possess her to myself, the weaker my erections became. I didn't want to admit to anyone and especially myself that I might have erectile dysfunction. ED was no laughing matter as I found out perusing the web. Even young kids experienced it.
Supposedly, it was all in the head – that was the expert consensus.
I wasn't so sure.
Tessa studied me for a second, scrunching her lips together for her serious face. "You wanted me to dress sexily, remember?"
"I do, but—"
"And that dress you bought me for the neighbor's party tomorrow?"
"Maybe you shouldn't wear it."
"I won't, if you don't want me to. I just remember that you got hard when you decided to buy it."
I had. No denying that. The problem was, I had to weigh my erections to the fact that her dress might attract attention. I swallowed my indecision. "Wear it…" I just wasn't sure I wanted her to.
She turned her head, looking at me more out of her left eye – her suspicious face. "We'll see."
I watched her little butt jiggle out the front door and my dick stirred a little. I wasn't a small man; I had a nice cock – or did when it worked. Eight inches with a slight curve to the right – not perfect, but not small or laughable
.
She added before I closed the door, "I'll be wearing my bikini under it anyway."
I had to give her that; she wouldn't be going commando like me. It was easier to just strip off her dress and store it in her carry bag than try to find and wait for a bathroom for a private change.
I went to the kitchen window and watched her. I leaned against the sink, scanning the park for joggers. Some were there, both men and women. Tessa's ponytail swung jauntily back and forth as she ran, water bottle in hand. I licked my lips at the sight of her beautiful form.
In a very short amount of time, a guy joined her running by seeing her, turning back from his path, and intercepting her. His head was craned, looking at her but at this distance I couldn't see if he was smiling or talking. They ran side by side around the park. When they passed the front of the house across the street, I could see him talking to her.
Was he trying to pick up on her? Steal her away?
I saw his loose running shorts. He must have been commando because his package flopped stiffly, tenting out the material. Her head was facing away from me, turned towards him.
How could she miss that guy's predicament? Was she looking at it? Ignoring it? Admiring it?
My jaw began hurting again.
They passed, running smoothly. Apparently, the guy wasn't at all concerned about strutting alongside her with his dick pushing his shorts out so far that the waistband had pulled away from his abdomen.
I wanted to go outside and call out to her, but I knew that was futile. She was going to run her laps no matter what reason I fabricated.
They came around again.
This time, Tessa looked at the house, and saw me in the window. A look crossed her face – something between chagrin and appeasement. She waved. The guy beside her was harder than before, his package now barely moving because of its stiffness, and he was busy looking at her, his eyes down at her bouncing breasts. The waistband of his shorts was pulled at least three inches out from his abdomen. There was no way Tessa could not notice the shaft being visible.
I waved back, but she had already looked forward and down. Then her head turned slightly to the guy – I don't know if to take a sneaky peek down his shorts or to try avoiding looking directly down them at all.
I could hope for the latter, but hope was a disappointing promise that was more fantasy than reality. I just knew she was looking at the base of the guy's shaft. I fumed, wanting to chase him down and beat his face in until his erection shriveled.
It would be just and right if he had… my problem.
On her final lap, she stopped across from the house and wiped her brow. The guy was smiling, facing her, with his tent pointing straight at her. They laughed about something, then my wife put the water bottle into her mouth. She leaned back, lifting the bottle with only the grip of her mouth and chugged. Her knees spread wide and bent, it almost looked like she was leaning back to offer excited guy her pussy.
The guy took two steps toward her, the point of his tent very close to her outthrust pussy. His eyes glanced up and down, taking in the water bottle and likely imagining his dick there instead. I knew he could also see every minute detail of my wife's pussy, too. I had seen her stretch backwards before while wearing those yoga shorts; even her clit was defined and obvious.
The guy licked his lips.
Tessa finished her little trick and backed up when her head came down and saw he had gotten closer. She looked down at his shorts.
She must have said something because the tent surged upward in a flexing twitch and caused them both to start laughing.
He took another step towards her and started to reach his hand to grab her.
My heart banged harshly in my chest as my anger rose to a fever pitch.
Tessa backed up again and then turned away, waving to him.
I ducked to the side so she wouldn't see me in the window. I ran for the bathroom to fume in private. That was when I noticed I was half hard.
Anger and erections should not mix.
But I knew the reason: I wanted to fuck my wife to remind her she belonged to me and only me. I wanted to pound it into her pussy in the same way I wanted to pound that guy's face into a bloody pulp.
No, anger and erections should never mix.
CHAPTER 3
Tessa turned this way and that, looking at her dress in the mirror. "This is definitely the shortest dress you've ever bought me. If I wasn't going to Jimmy's pool party, this would be very dangerous without underwear."
I had bought it for that reason – it excited me to see almost all the way up to her bare pussy. There couldn't have been more than an inch of material hiding what she had.
That made me hard. Well, as hard as I could get nowadays. My slacks were pushing out just a little. I said with regret, "Maybe you shouldn't wear it."
She lifted the hem. "Bikini, remember? No danger."
Her act of showing me with just the tiniest flip of her skirt was enough to make my dick twitch.
She noticed and smiled – that same expression of love and intimacy with which she had beamed at me on our wedding day. My mother had shown up, along with Tessa's friends. Her parents hated me – thought I was too old for her. But my Tessa had loved me anyway. She moved closer and rubbed her hand down my slacks, over my semi-hardness. She said, "Ever since you began… having problems, you've bought me sluttier and sluttier clothes. Is…?"
"Is what?"
Her face went through a range of emotions – her consideration face. She was trying to word her thoughts so as not to offend me. "Clark."
"What?"
"I'm not trying to offend you by asking this, I'm just curious."
"What? Ask it."
"Is this entire slutty clothing thing due to you not being able to get hard so you want other men to see me and get hard now that you can't?"
A baseball bat in a full homerun swing could not have hit my anger and jealousy any harder. I blinked, feeling the impact in my gut as her question seemed so unusual that I was at a loss for words. No way. No way. I started shaking my head.
She touched my arm to soothe me. "I didn't mean anything by it; I'm just asking."
There was a remnant of heat in my voice, but it sounded alone and lost. "I don't want guys looking at you."
She rolled her eyes with a smile. "You might as well expect them to hate pizza, too." She tilted her head side to side. "All guys look."
"Did that jogger yesterday look at you?" It was a test; I had seen him looking.
"Garth?" She blushed. "Yes, I caught him a few times. But," she shrugged, "it was normal. Nothing I hadn't seen before. It's what guys do."
"And girls? Girls don't look?"
"Well, we might do a once-over and check out a guy, but we don't leer—"
"Did you look at Garth?" I couldn't keep the accusation out of my voice and the stress of my jealously fell on the name.
Tessa blushed this time, caught out and on the spot. "It was kind of hard not to."
I wanted to grab her and shake her. I fumed in silence.
"Don't be mad, Clark; it wasn't like I pulled down his shorts for a look. It was all pointed out—"
"I saw. You could see right down there because his waistband was all pulled out. Did you get a good look at his dick?" My lips were tight with anger.
"No—"
"Oh come on."
"It wasn't like I saw the whole thing, no. Just the base of it, and I was kind of embarrassed."
I turned away, clenching my fists.
She came around me to face me. "It wasn't my fault. Anyway, he was coming on too strong, so—"
"Of course it was your fault. He wouldn't have gotten hard for another guy. If you wouldn't wear those shorts—"
"That's not fair, Clark. Those are the same style of shorts I wore in high school."
"Did it turn you on to see him so excited? Is that it?"
She stuttered, stunned, "M-me? I—Well, I was flattered, I guess, sure."
"It
turned you on?"
She gave a sharp sigh and firmed her lips. "In a way, yes."
I advanced on her, reaching under her hemline and grabbing her bikini bottoms. "Did you get all moist down there? Hmm?"
She frowned in irritation and grabbed my slacks. She squeezed. "Did seeing him all excited get you hard?" She began rubbing and her eyes cleared instantly in realization. "What's this? You are hard."
"I am not." But we both knew it was a lie. I was hard, just not fully erect. For her, it might be something of progress, but to me, nothing less than a full erection was success. I either had it or I didn't and right now I didn't. It had hardened: big difference.
She stroked slowly over my slacks. "Were you hoping I'd look down his shorts? Or were you just wanting him to look at me?"
Neither. However, I didn't voice my thoughts because the two questions seemed so far apart. I tried the truth. "When I get angry, sometimes I get hard. Seeing you flirt with everybody makes me want to remind you exactly who you're married to."
She looked up at me with inquisitive eyes, but said nothing.
I pushed her hand away with as much force as handing her a glass of iced tea.
Her lips pressed together and she said, "You need to get over this jealousy thing; I love you, I married you."
"And yet you check out other guys."
"Of course I do. All girls do. I just don't stare."
"I thought you were more innocent."
Her eyebrows popped up in mock surprise. "And what is that supposed to mean, exactly ? You thought I was a prude?"
"No, I—"
"You wanted me to be your personal slut."
I had admitted it before, when I had started asking her to dress sexier. "Well, yes. I had to work on you to get—"
She pushed her face close to mine, looking up into my eyes. "Clark, you think you know me but you have no idea what a perverted slut I am in my mind."
I stepped back, flabbergasted. "You?"
"Me. The difference is, I keep it all inside."
"Like what?"
"You love me, right?"
"Yes."
"Then there are things you don't need to know."
That irked me. "Come on, Tess."
Jealousy Page 1
