by Xavier Neal
No.
That’s just the booze.
The very expensive, goes down smooth whiskey I don’t remember buying.
“I um….” Gwen’s voice struggles to start. “I’ll just have a quick salad or something in the kitchen.”
He attempts to argue once more. “But pizza….”
“Not a big deal. I should probably eat healthier anyway. My trainer’s already up my ass about my fat to muscle ratio.”
Hudson grunts, “Fuck your trainer.”
Agreed.
She uncomfortably shifts her weight. “You two are clearly having fun together. You don’t need me interrupting. It’s fine, guys. I’ve got a book I can read and-”
“Just get a glass of wine and join us,” my mouth runs off leaving my brain’s objections far behind.
She lets her jaw tumble to the ground again as our eyes connect.
The sight of hers swarming with confusion, concern, and hope has my body tensing to stop from rushing over there to wash it all away.
How fucked up is our marriage when my own wife doesn’t expect to be invited to watch a movie with me?
Guilt coats my tongue at the same time Hudson inserts himself into the situation. “You heard the man…or maybe our man?” The mirth in his tone dissipates the tension in the room. “I don’t know the correct terms for shit. Labels were never really my thing. Either way. It’s settled. Get a drink, come eat luke-warm pizza, and watch Arnold in his prime.”
Gwen offers us both a faint smile and nod. “Alright. Let me get changed and-”
“No,” my denial is instant. “You look good just like that.”
“And that’s not just the whiskey talking,”Hudson backs.
The smallest color fills her cheeks, yet she immediately tries to brush it away. “Probably is for both of you, but I’ll take it.”
She smirks, lifts her head a little higher, and struts out of the room, her ass taking my attention with it.
“Want me to drop the remote on the floor, so she has to bend down in front of you to pick it up?” Hudson pokes. “It’ll get you a better view.”
I sharply turn my heated face back to the movie.
Can’t believe I was just caught ogling over her. Not that I’m ashamed. I just…that’s not my fucking place. Especially when I can’t even offer her proof that I find her as fucking sexy as I always have, if not more. Her ass looks even rounder and perkier than I remember.
It doesn’t take long for Gwen to return to the living room. Initially, she eyes the seat on the couch furthest from me, but Hudson scoots to the side and motions for her take the place between us.
She sits, crosses her leg, but refrains from leaning against the arm rest. Stops herself from getting too close to me.
I push down the knot in my throat with another gulp.
It’s my fault. There’s no one to fucking blame for this shit except me. I put the line in the sand. It’s my dick that stops us from being a normal couple. It’s my fucking accident that ruined our lives.
“You know, I’m an action movie connoisseur,” Hudson tosses out at the same time he extends his arm along the back of the couch behind Gwen. “Personally, prefer the old school shit, but I will say I’ve got a not so secret fetish for The Fast and The Furious franchise.”
Gwen giggles from behind her glass of wine. “Is it the cars or the women?”
“Both.” Hudson retorts on a chuckle. “What’s not to love? Half dressed women. Adrenaline filled stunts. When they blow shit up?! Who the hell doesn’t love a good explosion?”
She shakes her head, smile still lingering. “You’re like a thirteen-year-old trapped in a thirty year old’s body, aren’t you?”
He nods at the comparison while I laugh under my breath.
The sound catches Gwen’s attention, and I let it.
I want her to see I can be normal…or at least normal enough to have a conversation with the man who is going to irreversibly change our lives one way or another. Even if he never sleeps with her, hell, even if Gwen and I never have more than this one moment together, he still gave us this. He still bridged a broken unity I stopped having the balls to even put effort into. I don’t wanna compete with him for Gwen, but at the same time I don’t want him to have her all to himself. Oddly enough, I don’t want her to have him all to herself either. He’s easy to laugh with. Talk shit to. I haven’t talked to anyone outside of Gwen, the doctor, and the physical therapist in so fucking long. Sympathy bullshit got old. Fast. People stopped treating me like an adult man and started coddling me like a sick infant. Hudson’s yet to even look at me that way. Maybe that’s why I like him. Maybe that’s why I wanna be a part of whatever it is we’re trying to cultivate. Or maybe I’m too drunk and don’t wanna admit it.
Hudson steers the conversation back on topic except this time, he asks us both questions to join in. He keeps the whiskey flowing as well as the conversation. While Gwen only makes it to the bottom of her one glass, we end up emptying the bottle we had been sharing. Laughs continuously flood the air alongside shitty sound effects from the movie we picked to proceed Terminator 2, Commando.
Everything between the three of us has an effortless nature to it. A smooth vibe too perfect to ignore.
This shouldn’t be this easy. None of this should feel this good. This right.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Hudson’s arm has lowered to Gwen’s shoulder. His thumb is stroking it slowly. Softly. Her reaction seems to deter between wanting to enjoy the touch and fleeing from it. Unable to look away, I watch him abandon the movie and settle his focus completely on her. A short moment passes before Gwen turns towards him. There’s no hesitation in his next move. His mouth captures hers with so much power it hitches my breath. The moan she releases in result is deafening.
I haven’t heard that sound is a very long time….
My attention remains rooted as Hudson’s tongue slips into her mouth.
The instincts inside begin clashing so hard I can barely breathe.
I wanna get the fuck out of his chair and yank him off of her by his neck. I wanna toss him into the flat screen and threaten to drag him straight to hell if he even looks at her again. I wanna be the only man in the world she makes that sound for….
Hudson’s free hand lands firmly on her cheek to keep her glued to him.
His grip should be on my neck or shoulder. Keeping me in place. Keeping the two of us together. I wanna know if his tongue is a lazy roller or if he’s willing to fight for control.
My fingers fold tightly together, tense body pleading with me to divert my attention elsewhere.
Why the fuck do I find this stimulating? Why the fuck am I enjoying watching his hand abandon her cheek and trail down the front of her chest? Why am I dying to tell him how she likes her nipples tugged just like she likes her hair? Why do I like seeing them together?
Hudson pulls back leaving Gwen slightly panting. His eyes lock onto mine searching them for approval or objection.
Like I’m no longer in control of my body, I give him a nod and wet my lips.
Why the hell am I just as anxious as my wife?
His fingertips lower to her nipple and the resistance returns.
Her hand moves to stop him when mine flies to intervene. The voice is mine even if I don’t recognize it. “Let him.”
My eyes meet hers to see a very palpable struggle between shame and desire.
She has nothing to be ashamed of. She’s sexy as hell and deserves to have someone who reminds her of that, who is willing to provide her with that reassurance on a regular basis. She shouldn’t have to suffer. Living with me in this condition already steals enough from her, from her existence. She should enjoy the hands on her if she wants them there, even if they’re not mine.
Hudson’s voice quietly commands, “Open your legs, Gwenny, but keep your eyes on Jason.”
The advancement conjures the clamoring of contradictory feelings once again.
I want him to
touch her. I want her to come. I want her eyes on me as we all embrace the power we seem to naturally have over one another.
Gwen initially hesitates, but the moment my fingers wind though the back of her hair to give it a tug backwards, her inhibitions shatter. She gasps loudly, once from my pull, then once more at the invasion of Hudson’s fingers. Her brown eyes burst with a newly discovered greed while her whimpers echo like a fucking battle cry. My heart pounds harder at the sight of her bottom lip falling. At the salacious sounds of her wet pussy being thrusted into. At the realization that I’m enjoying this more than I know I should.
With her eyes still under my control, I watch her erotic glaze grow unruly. The familiar warning sign of a pending orgasm has me whispering, “She’s close.”
There’s a pleased groan out of Hudson. “Fuck, I can feel it.”
Gwen’s expression starts to tilt towards uncertainty again, but I tug her face slightly closer to me. “Come for us, baby.”
The words are the key to her submission. My wife lets out a heavy moan as her body begins to fiercely tremble. Her eyes struggle to stay open, which calls to the savage inside of me to yank on the strands of hair in my possession. Each pull is in perfect rhythm with Hudson’s pumping. Together, from opposite ends, we tear her apart until she’s loudly pleading for mercy.
Hudson’s first to respond. He slips his two soaking wet fingers out of her and sucks the juices off his thumb. He groans again, but this time the sound ignites envy. Uncertain if it’s because it was his fingers she came on or the fact her flavor is now dancing on his tongue, I grit my teeth in frustration.
His cocky smile I am beginning to find obnoxious yet invigorating returns in full force. He leans over Gwen’s still heaving body with his glistening fingers extended. “Taste her.”
My eyebrows dart into the air. “Wh-”
“Taste. Her.”
I give his wet digits a skeptical glance prepared to deny the offering when Gwen’s voice implores, “Please.”
Our eyes meet again and this time, I see more than I did before. I see the need. I see the desperation to no longer feel like she’s a disappointment, like she suddenly isn’t enough for me.
My mouth cracks open to allow Hudson’s fingers entrance. The moment the sensation is swarming around my tongue, I growl in surprising possessiveness.
This is more than tasting my wife’s pussy. This is sucking in her surrender to someone else. Swallowing acceptance in the fact I am no longer the only man who’ll provide her pleasure in the future. I roll my tongue around until they’ve been licked completely clean. Afterwards, my attention lands on Hudson who is shamelessly panting. I expect to be taken back, to have my body fly away from his, and remind everyone I’m not into men, but can’t. Something about the sight of him turned on has me wishing my dick worked so I could put it between those lips. So I could give him another reason to moan.
Slowly, I remove his fingers and try to brush away the building bitterness.
We can’t do this again. It already feels like shit not being able to satisfy one person. I don’t need to feel even worse knowing I can’t satisfy two.
“Serving sausage for breakfast every Sunday morning….Is that like an ironic jab at God or just a twisted lesbian joke I don’t understand?” I ask between bites of the link.
My aunt Whitney rolls her eyes. “You’re in a fun mood, which means you either got laid, are about to get laid, or have a prospect for it in the near future.”
Her wife, Lindsay, chuckles from behind her coffee mug. “I put my money on the first one.”
Technically, I haven’t fucked anyone yet. I haven’t even come with either of them. No, I’ve just been jerking off every chance I get. I don’t think I’ve jacked it this much since college. This is the problem with dating a couple. Instead of just worrying about taking the right pace with one person, I have to consider two. I wanna be balls deep in Gwen, like yesterday, but I don’t wanna piss off Jason in the process or put her in a situation where she regrets what happened. It’s strange, but I really like Jason. He’s kind of funny, definitely laid back, and we like the same basic shit. Basketball. Action movies. Good pair of tits. Haven’t had a real friend to hang out with since Bronson moved to Colorado to get married, build a cabin, and catch beavers or what the fuck ever. We catch up on Facebook every blue moon, I assume when he goes into civilization, but that’s where that shit stops. I work with two dickhead lawyers who barely tolerate each other let alone someone doing their dirty work. The shit they twist my arm into filling my social calendar with helps me see a good pair of heels in the air every once in a while, but isn’t really how I prefer to spend my downtime. Being around Jason is easy and fun. Plus, Gwenny was right. The man does suck like a Dyson.
Apparently, I’ve been silent for too long because Aunt Lindsay playfully pushes, “We wanna know who’s right, Hudson. That’s what makes this game more fun for us.”
“Using my sex life for your own personal amusement. That doesn’t sound healthy.”
“Never should you pull at that thread,” Aunt Whitney teasingly scolds.
I finish my piece of sausage. “Prospect.”
“You lose that round,” Aunt Whitney announces to her wife while cutting her pancakes. “Let’s see how you do with the next. Where do you think he met her? Barney’s, Macy’s, or Nordstrom?”
“Macy’s.”
“Why are you two always assuming I’m picking up chicks at department stores?”
“Because the past four you did,” Aunt Lindsay promptly reminds me. “Not to mention the last one actually lit the suit you bought from her on fire when she found out you were breaking up with her for trying to move into your apartment.”
“Don’t move your shit into my place without asking!”
The two of them laugh at my expense, and I reach for my orange juice.
“Commitment-phobe, just like my sister was,” Aunt Whitney states firmly.
My mother was a drug using, alcoholic, party girl who could barely spell her own name. She didn’t give a shit about anyone other than herself. Not sure I would call her afraid of commitment so much as incapable of loving any other human. Her death came as a shock to no one. The tears I didn’t shed on the other hand, well, they kept my aunt Lindsay in my face for far too long.
Aunt Lindsay steers the conversation towards the original topic. “Am I right? Was it Macy’s?”
I lean back in my wooden chair and casually reply, “Nope.”
She continues to interrogate, “Was it one of the ones listed?”
“Nope.”
Aunt Whitney grumbles, “God, was it like Saks or something? Some store you had to switch to because you’ve been kicked out of the others?”
Their low opinion of my dating life simply makes me smile. “No. I met ‘em online.”
Aunt Lindsay is first to jump on the answer. “On one of those trashy sites or the reliable ones? Are you paying for a subscription because according to this woman I work with-”
“Time out,” Aunt Whitney interrupts. “You said them.”
“I did.”
Her eyebrows lift in an accusatory nature. “Do they know you’re dating more than one person at a time?”
Unable to resist smirking, I nod. “They do.”
“And they’re okay with this?” Aunt Lindsay chimes in. “Have you checked in with their feelings? Really listened?”
The grief counselor tone scrunches both mine and her wife’s face.
She’s been using it for as long as I can remember. Doesn’t matter what age I am, it’s like a fucking dog whistle. It annoys the shit out of me.
“We all sat down together and agreed to some boundaries before things really started.”
Both of their jaws drop, although it’s Aunt Whitney who squeaks, “Really?”
“Well yeah. When you’re dating a married couple, shit’s a little different.” On that note I wink, pick my fork back up, and have another bite of my syrup smothered panc
akes.
Wasn’t kidding when I said I didn’t know how to cook. Thankfully my aunts live about fifteen minutes from my apartment and never turn me away, especially when I’m hungry. I think it’s mainly from a lifetime of being the only people I could depend on that keeps them from insisting I learn how to fend for myself a little better. Not completely useless, but definitely could be a little more responsible. I’ll admit it. I think never having had their own kids together probably feeds into the constant need for my presence as well. To me, they were my parents long before my mother O.D.'d, but I’m not so sure they always view it that way.
Aunt Lindsay huffs, “Are you messing with us?”
