by Xavier Neal
Anguish and aggravation anchor themselves to the back of my neck.
Wasn’t in the mood for self-loathing today. It’s the entire fucking reason I turned on the T.V.
“Time to change that streak,” Hudson proclaims. “Let’s drink a beer and watch Die Hard or some shit.” He pushes his way past me not needing an invitation to come inside. “I assume you’re a fan.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’ve got good taste in pussy. I assume you’ve got good taste in action movies.”
Against my own volition a chuckle fills the air.
However as soon as I shut the door behind us, his choice of words settles poorly on my shoulders.
Has he tasted Gwen? Has she been calling his name and coming on his cock? Have they made it that far? Isn’t that too fast? Shouldn’t they get to know each other more? Shouldn’t she have more respect for herself rather than just jump on the first dick she’s allowed to have that’s not mine?
My head starts to throb, and I realize a cold beer isn’t a bad idea.
A little bit of alcohol should make this whole fucking situation easier to swallow. My wife has a lover because my cock can’t be bothered to rise to the occasion anymore. Because it’s as useless as my fucking gimp legs.
When I finally wheel myself back into the living room, Hudson’s already kicked off his designer shoes, loosened his black tie, and propped his feet up on the dark marble coffee table.
The vision kicks the corner of my lip upward.
This asshole looks like he’s right at home. Like this is his home. Like he isn’t some stranger I agreed to let sleep with my wife rather than live a life without her. And to make this picture-perfect moment worse there’s an actual relief in my chest from it. Like he belongs exactly where he is, and it’s just finally happening.
What the hell is going on with me?
Hudson tosses a hand in the air. “You rollin’ in here or what?”
I grunt my annoyance at his phrasing and position myself beside the corner of the couch he is sitting on.
He offers me one of the opened beers.
“What the fuck are you really doing here, Hudson? Swinging by to double check I don’t mind you fucking my wife? Cause I could’ve saved you the trip with a phone call.” I take the bottle and have a quick swallow to push down the building animosity. “She’s all yours.”
“Ours.”
A correction I never in my life thought I’d hear.
“And I’m not fuckin’ her yet.”
His slip of information grabs my attention.
“I’m here because I got a couple of questions.” He has a gulp of his drink and tips the bottle towards me. “Plus, I wanna have a few beers.”
“You wanna braid my hair too?”
The snap causes Hudson to let out a hearty sound that burrows itself into my bones.
That sound is sexy as sin. Only thing sexier is the way Gwen moans my name….
Used to moan my name.
“What the fuck are you watching?”
I give the television my attention while having another swig. “Animal planet.”
“Because….?”
“Because people piss and moan about the stupidest fucking shit. At least on this channel it’s less about their first world problems and more about the laws of the jungle trying to take over their homes.”
Hudson hums, “Bitter.”
My eyes cut him a glance.
“Yeah, I meant you.”
His dark eyebrows arch as if waiting for an argument. Waiting to be challenged or corrected.
He can wait all fucking day. I’m not gonna do it. See, I am bitter, and if he had legs that couldn’t remember how to move without assistance and a dick that has no trouble peeing but can’t remember why pussy is worth standing up for, he’d be fucking bitter too. Or at the very least flash those over whitened teeth a little less.
“When’s the last time you fucked, Gwenny?”
The crassness of his question shakes my head. “You wanna know what she likes in bed? You come to do your research?”
“Research, yes. What she likes, no. I prefer to figure that shit out as we go.”
Part of me wants to punch him in his smug, olive skinned face. The other part of me wants to watch that discovery. Remember what her eyes look like when they’re struggling to stay open. Watching her tits bounce as she rides hard and fast. Hearing her moans morph into untamable screams….Wonder what they’ll sound like coming together....
I attempt once more to wash away whatever it is about him that’s got my head fucked up.
It’s not like he’s the first attractive male that I’ve ever been around. It’s not like I secretly love looking at the men’s asses during basketball games or have been stifling my same sex tendencies because I give a fuck what society has to say. No. I just love women….Well one woman, even if she never loves me again.
“I asked you a question,” Hudson pushes. “When’s the last time you fucked your wife?”
“About eighteen months ago when I could still fucking walk.” The bottle drifts back towards my lips. “Happy now?”
“No,” he sighs heavily. “I’m pissed.”
“What?”
“You haven’t fucked your wife in any way in over a year?”
The irritation in his tone stuns me silent.
“Not a finger bang? Not a mouth fuck? Not even a little buzz assistance from her new age toy box?”
“She doesn’t have a vibrator.”
“And I think that makes you an even bigger asshole for not getting her one.”
Bewildered by his bluntness and brazen approach to the subject of our sex life, I bite, “Who the fuck are you to come into my house and judge me about the way I handle my shit?”
“You mean don’t handle your shit,” he corrects with a condescending point of his finger. “Because if you were handling that shit she’d be getting off every night, and you wouldn’t be sulking like a little bitch in front of me every time you think about me tapping that ass.”
Anger runs rampant through my system. “One word from me and you’ll never see a fucking glimpse of that pussy.”
All of a sudden , Hudson lets out a cocky chuckle. “That must be the man Gwenny’s been telling me about.”
My jaw tumbles to the ground speechless.
“I’m glad he came out because I’ll admit it, I was beginning to think she was fucking delusional.”
I press the bottle to my lips and allow the liquid to drown the unexpected emotions.
Why the fuck did I let him get under my skin? What is it about him that makes me wanna talk and fight and fuck? My own wife hasn’t managed to get me to be this social in months. What kind of asshole does that make me to let a complete stranger just barge in and bully me into it? From the first night he showed up he has an unusual ability to bring out the old me. The forgotten me. The me that would put him six feet under for even looking at my wife for too long.
“You really do need a friend,” Hudson states as I finish my beer.
“I don’t need shit.”
“Too fucking bad. That’s what you’re getting anyway.” He reaches for one of the unopened beers and hands it to me. “You wanna watch Die Hard or keep watching this animal shit?”
After placing the empty bottle down, I mumble, “Die Hard.”
Hudson gives me a wink, and my heart misses a beat.
Obviously, I’ve either had too much beer or not nearly enough.
Time passes quicker than I realize while hanging out with Hudson. The way he constantly keeps his mouth running I’m surprised it doesn’t just fall off. Thankfully, he edges away from the personal interrogation about my marriage with Gwen and spends more time naming off his favorite action movies of all time. At some point, not only do we run out of beer and switch to whiskey he found in the liquor cabinet, we order pizza, and toss on Terminator 2. We quote along in between sharing our mutual love, hate relationship with the old Arnold.
After an explosion scene, Hudson hits me with, “What’d you used to do in construction?”
“Mainly operate machinery, but I was a jack of all trades type of man.”
“How’d you get hurt?”
“Some idiot fresh out of diapers spilled some shit, and I slipped. Hard hat saved me from severe brain damage, but I still got injured. I was out for four days cold. In fact, I don’t even fucking remember the accident or anything leading up to it. It’s just what I’ve been told, and what was listed on all the paperwork.”
“Paperwork?”
I finish the bit of whiskey in my glass. “Yeah. They offered me a settlement to keep me from suing. They’d pay for all the medical bills, therapy, and house renovation as well as a monthly sum for five years.”
“Fuck. They really didn’t want you to sue.”
When I turn to face him, I notice the concern planted on his face.
Why the hell does it look like he really cares when he doesn’t know shit about me! I could’ve been a wife beater and an alcoholic before the accident. Did it ever cross his mind that maybe I deserved this. Maybe this was some sort of fucked up karma for being a shitty person. I mean it wasn’t. I’d rather give my left non-functioning nut when it was functioning than ever lay a hand on Gwen. I’m not that kind of man, but he doesn’t know that.
Damn it.
I want him to know that. I want him to know how I’d hike to the top of any mountain just to shout to the world my love for Gwen. That I’d lay down my life for her without being asked.
Why? Why do I need him to know that? Why do I give a shit what he thinks?
I clear my throat to avoid adding anything extra to the conversation. “Pretty sure we could’ve sued, but this route seemed better for everyone. We were already going to have our hands full for however long recovery took, why add the stress to Gwen? Why drag her through having to deal with taking care of me and a lawsuit and her company, ya know?”
Hudson gives me a slow nod. “So the accident, it broke your legs and your dick?”
“Just the legs and feet. Dick broke itself.”
He grabs the bottle of whiskey and begins to refill my glass. “What the fuck do you mean it broke itself?”
“It means I can fucking piss on my own, but that’s where the cock train stops. Doctors say I’m physically capable of getting a hard on. That my dick has all the working pieces. That it’s a mental block.” I take a drink of the freshly poured whiskey. “They’re full of shit. Just lazy bastards tired of running tests to try to figure me out.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, ‘cause there’s no fucking way in hell it’s a mental block. You’ve seen how fucking hot Gwen is with her clothes on. Wait ‘til you see her without. No functioning dick in this world could resist.”
“Could if it didn’t like chicks,” Hudson counters on a sip.
“Even a gay guy would worship my wife’s body. It’s that fucking amazing.”
Thoughts of Gwen’s curves begin a hostile takeover of my mind, and the alcohol makes my defenses weak. Visions of her luscious tits and ass flouncing around this house have me mentally groaning to have any piece of her I can in my mouth. To have my hands gripping onto her thick, muscular thighs while I lap at the sticky sensation between them. It never took more than one hungry stare from me to make my wife wet. Fuck, I loved how responsive she was to me.
Being lost in the memories of taking her as often as possible causes me to almost miss Hudson’s question, “If it’s so fucking amazing why don’t you worship it anymore?”
I sneer and lift the glass back to my lips.
“Don’t puss out on me now. You’re the one hyping shit up about how fucking amazing her body is, but you haven’t touched it or even fucking looked at her naked in what? A year? Maybe more? Which means either you’re full of shit and her body is alright or-”
“I hate looking at her because it reminds me of what a fucking failure I am. How I’m not a real man any more. How I can’t do any of the basic shit a man should do for his wife. Can’t provide for her. Can’t protect her. Can’t fuck her. Can’t even lift heavy shit or grab something from a high shelf. I don’t look at Gwen anymore because this chair is reminder enough of what a useless human being I am. A rolling disappointment. I really don’t need another.”
All of a sudden heels hitting the hardwood darts our attention to the hall.
Gwen rounds the corner with a black work bag slung over her shoulder, her straightened, long brown hair pulled to one side of her caramel colored face, and her body displayed in a purple sweater dress.
Damn, I used to love winter as much as spring and summer. Gwen has always had a fondness for dresses. What man wouldn’t love easy access? Only reason I loved winter more than the other two seasons is because in winter Gwen’s dresses were always tighter…and the boots…fuck me, the boots were always so hot high in the air.
“Why does the living room look like a freshman dorm?” she teases.
A smile threatens my face.
A smirk whispers to hers.
Pathetic we haven’t exchanged pleasant expressions in months.
“Jealous?” Hudson chuckles placing his glass down.
“That I had to spend the afternoon with Madame Wax Museum while you two got to sit around and watch….” Her eyes cut to the flat screen mounted on the wall. “Is that Terminator?”
“Two.” We correct in unison.
She shakes her head, smile on the cusp of making itself known. “Definitely jealous. Pizza and a good ‘90s action flick beats haggling with Cruella Deville over a stupid vase.”
Hudson chuckles, and I watch her eyes land on him. The brown stare that’s spent the past six years lighting up at the mere sight of me, even now when I barely acknowledge she exists, beams his direction. There’s a soft longing to it. A hidden vulnerability I’ve never seen her so much as flash at another person.
Jealousy jabs joy creating another round of conflicting emotions.
What man wouldn’t want to make his wife happy? What man wouldn’t be pissed it wasn’t from him? What kind of fucked up person is grateful to share the stare with someone who might actually be worthy of it? And what kind of person am I for sending Hudson the same fucking glances since he walked through the door a few hours ago?
Gwen’s eyes momentarily swing to me, and I love the fact the glisten is still there. That she hasn’t replaced me with him. Her attention directs itself back to Hudson. “Well, I’ll let you two…enjoy your time together.”
“You can stay,” Hudson promptly insists. “We’ve got plenty of whiskey.”
“More of a wine girl. Moscato to be exact.”
“Grab a glass then and join us,” he pushes. “There’s pizza.”
She hits him with a playful sneer. “With pineapple?”
“Pineapple belongs on a pizza!”
Gwen rolls her eyes, and I can’t help but lightly laugh at their interaction.
They’re both so…full of life. Full of energy. I don’t deserve to be here. Once again, I’m not bringing shit to the table.
“Didn’t you just have pizza like three days ago?”
Hudson reaches for a slice. “And?”
“And as an adult who is next door to thirty-one, not twenty-one, don’t you think you should eat other things?”
After he swallows, he gives her a shrug. “I eat what I like.”
I take a long look at him before questioning, “You don’t know how to cook do you?”
“Not a clue.”
The three of us engage in a round of laughter that startles us all in different ways.
Gotta give him that. I haven’t allowed myself to laugh this much in months.
“Good thing Gwen’s an amazing one.”
My casual comment causes her jaw to slightly crack open.
Has it really been that long since I paid her a compliment that she’s shocked? Fuck….She really does need Hudson around. Maybe once they’re offi
cially together, I’ll find a way to ease myself out of this. Just become the houseguest they occasionally feed.
Hudson shoots me a wink, and my heart kicks hard in my chest again.
God, I want them both.
