An Idiot in Marriage

by David Jester

  She hesitated and seemed fascinated by Matthew, perhaps unable to believe his confidence and the fact that he was so open about all of this. It certainly made me feel creepy, and I imagined that for anyone who was new to it, expecting their client to be submissive and somewhat anxious, Matthew was a shock.

  “Are you going to come in or what?” he asked her.

  She looked at him, cleared her throat as if she were about to speak, and then entered. She walked straight up to me and then pointed at me.

  I shook my head and nodded to Matthew. “It’s him you’re here to see,” I told her. “But don’t worry. I’ll get out of your way.”

  I had intended to sit and pester him as much as possible, but I knew he was going to have sex with her either way and I couldn’t bring myself to watch. She was also very timid and as well as hurting Sharon, I didn’t want to damage another female.

  “Not staying for the show?” Matthew asked as I shuffled past him.

  The look I gave him said more than words could. He knew what I felt, he knew what I was thinking; the rest was up to him.

  I shut the door behind me, stood outside for a moment, and then slowly rested back against the door, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor. I listened to him flirting with her on the other side of the door, and I felt sicker and sicker the more I heard. But then something caught me off guard, something wasn’t right. Because when he should have been rubbing his dirty self all over her, or at least undressing her, he was actually complaining.

  “If you don’t undress then we can’t do anything.”

  “Why the rush?” I heard her ask.

  There was a contemplative silence before he answered. “Maybe you’re right.”

  They mumbled after that, their voices reduced to barely audible tones. I lowered my head into my knees, stared at the floor, and thought about how I would feel if Lizzie had done that to me, or how she would feel if I had done that to her. Sharon had known about Matthew’s ways before they married, but she loved him regardless; she forgave him and she trusted him.

  I decided that I couldn’t bear it any longer. I couldn’t wait for the mumbles to turn into groans, and for the groans to turn into something much more sordid. He had a habit of narrating when he was having sex, describing himself in the third person, and although it had been hilarious the times I’d overheard in the past, it would be somewhat less amusing now.

  I stood and prepared to leave, but then the tone changed and I was sure I heard Matthew sob.

  That can’t be right.

  The only time I’d ever heard Matthew cry was when England were knocked out of the World Cup, and even then it had been brief. This was so much worse. I pressed an ear to the door and listened.

  He is crying.

  Holy shit. So this is what it feels like when hell freezes over.

  “I just don’t know what to do.” He was speaking through sobs. “I love her, I really do, but I don’t think she wants me anymore. She just isn’t interested in me.”

  The woman didn’t seem to be replying, but I imagined her consoling him, probably while secretly wondering if this was a fetish she hadn’t encountered before.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t have sex with you. It would have been great, I know. But I just can’t. This was a lie, an act to make her jealous and to get back at her, but I can’t. I just can’t.”

  Really?

  I took a step back and double-checked the room number.

  “It’s okay,” the woman said. “Believe me, I understand.” She sounded familiar, and just as I put it down to the sound of her voice being distorted by the door and the wall, she spoke again.

  “Matthew, I think we have to talk.”

  Matthew? But—

  Without thinking, I opened the door and burst in. I saw Matthew sitting on the edge of the bed with his wife, the mask now in her hands. Matthew was gawking at her, and he didn’t even acknowledge me as I entered.

  “Sharon?” he spat.

  She looked to me and then back to Matthew before hanging her head. “I didn’t want anyone to know,” she said softly.

  “You’re a prostitute?” I asked, perplexed.

  “Escort!” Matthew snapped before turning back to his wife. “You’re an escort?”

  She gripped his hand tightly, her head still lowered. “Dominatrix mostly, and also some fetishes, never sex, although …” She looked into his eyes. “Tonight was going to be my first. The jobs have been drying up and they said that to stay on at the agency I needed to do it.”

  “But your job at the university …”

  She shrugged. “They fired me.”

  “When?”

  “Weeks ago. I know we were relying on that income to get by, so … I didn’t think there was any other option.”

  “There’s always an option. I mean, God, if I know that things were that desperate, I would have gotten another job and I would have made it stick. Hell, I would have sold my body before letting you sell yours.”

  I laughed, a little too loudly. They both stared at me, I pretended to be looking at my phone.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said to Matthew, their eyes locked once more. “I should have been honest with you.”

  “Well, I wasn’t exactly helpful either,” Matthew admitted.

  “No, you were amazing, you always are.”

  It’s amazing what bullshit people will tell each other when they’re upset.

  They were both in tears now, their hands locked together as if they were trying to squeeze each other to a pulp. There was no tension or hatred, both of them were in the wrong, and both of them looked like they were getting the cathartic release they’d been wanting for some time.

  “So, the sex?” Matthew asked.

  “I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I haven’t slept with the clients, but what I did still made me feel dirty. I just, well, I guess I didn’t want to pass that onto you when I got home.”

  “This is like Jeremy Kyle,” I said, my mouth hanging open, my eyes wide.

  They turned to look at me again.

  Did I say that out loud?

  “I’m sorry, I’ll go now.”

  I turned the corner and pressed myself up against the wall, closing the door with my foot while remaining in the room.

  “He hasn’t gone, you know,” Matthew said.” He’s hiding around the corner, too dumb to realize there’s a mirror there.”

  I turned to the mirror and cursed, but I stayed where I was, at least giving them the illusion of privacy.

  “I’m so sorry,” Sharon said, putting a hand on Matthew’s cheek.

  “No, I’m sorry.”

  He reciprocated and they stared into each other’s eyes. In moments, they were kissing, a deep and passionate kiss. It made me smile, made me feel happier than I had felt all day. That smile turned to embarrassment when she stood and removed her coat, exposing nothing but a lace bra and knickers, but it was still a happy moment.

  She jumped on top of him and before long he was getting his wish, and he wasn’t doing it at the expense of his marriage.

  “Dude!” Matthew spat, staring at me through the mirror, pausing just as Sharon was preparing to take the final step. “Can you fuck off, please?”

  I held up my hands. “Sorry. Can I first just say that I’m really proud of you, of you both really, and—”

  “Kieran!” Sharon said, twisting to face me. “Listen to the man, we’re busy here!”

  “You make such a lovely couple.”

  “Get out!” they both screamed.

  I left the hotel room a happy man. The screams of a very horny and sex-starved couple who were finally getting their release followed me.

  So romantic.

  4

  The Blind Leading the Blind

  After their problems, and after the night in the hotel room when I came close to playing the third wheel in some rather heated love-making, Matthew and Sharon settled down, their issues departing on a sticky, slippery course of endless s
ex and adoration. They were like honeymooners all over again, unable to leave each other alone and constantly trying to rip each other’s clothes off.

  Matthew told me that they even did it in the elevator of a busy building, and because there were only two floors, he spent a lot of time hitting the button and giving some rather baffled onlookers an apologetic smile. They had sex in the changing rooms of a swimming pool, where I assume the smell of chlorine and the constant threat of warts was a turn-on; and they had sex in a phone booth, which are essentially modern toilets that advertise prostitutes, porn, and the Yellow Pages.

  They had also done it in a shoe shop, something he never stopped bragging about. Personally, I can’t think of a more boring place to have sex, or a more boring place, period, but maybe that was the allure for him. For both of them.

  She didn’t give up her job as an escort—she just made a slight deviation. With Matthew’s help, she set herself up as a professional dominatrix, catering for people who liked to be spanked and spat on, as opposed to sucked-off and ridden, as Matthew so eloquently put it. He wasn’t one to talk, of course, as he was as kinky as they came. In fact, I was sure that the main reason he became his wife’s pimp was so he could get her to warm up to the idea of turning their spare bedroom into a sex dungeon and being able to write it all off as a tax expense.

  Matthew became very happy with his sex life, but he still believed that he was God’s gift to women and he wanted to prove that. He found an unwitting man that he could mentor, someone who he could show his creepy, chauvinistic ways and pass on pearls of wisdom to, such as “how to sleep with a stranger” and “how to convince her that anal is the way to go.” That unfortunate individual was Marcus Plum, a sorry-looking, sweaty, and awkward man who had no charm, no confidence, and very little else going for him.

  “He reminds me of you,” Matthew had said when he first introduced me to Marcus. We were both sitting in the corner booth of a club, watching Marcus stumble and bumble his way through a conversation with a fifty-year-old woman who looked like she chain-smoked children for breakfast.

  “Oh,” I said, feeling a little dejected and wondering if I had ever been as hopeless and charmless as that, and then realizing that yes, I had been, and I probably still was.

  “He’s a thirty-year-old virgin who has never had a girlfriend, never felt a tit, never stroked a pussy, and never plunged his—”

  “—Please stop there.”

  Ben had grown out of one difficult stage and into another. We got more sleep, but the feedings had increased, and the pooping had increased with them. He was six months old, although I was pretty sure that he had taken six years to get to that point. The person I saw in the mirror looked more like my dad than me. I had a hard time believing I was twenty-five. As did everyone who saw me.

  After a few months, Lizzie and I began alternating nights out, so one of us was always there to look after Ben while the other enjoyed some time with friends. We hadn’t enjoyed a night out together, and when one went out and came back drunk and smiling, the other was always annoyed. But it was the only way we could inject a little sanity into the situation. She was also due to start work again soon, so she had allowed me a few more nights out. Even better, she hadn’t insisted that I start looking for a new job. Not yet, anyway.

  Matthew grimaced as Marcus tried to lean against the bar, playing it cool as he’d been taught, but not noticing the over-filled ashtray.

  “And you think you can help him?” I asked as Marcus yelped, knocked the ashtray off the bar, and then nearly knocked the ashy cougar off her stool.

  “I’m starting to have my doubts.”

  Marcus had straightened himself and was standing again, his arms by his side. He seemed to be attempting to get over the awkwardness by standing still, saying nothing, and waiting for it to pass, despite the fact that everyone was staring at him and the bartender was waiting for him to pay for the drinks he had seemingly forgotten about.

  “Does he have a thing for older women?” I wondered.

  “No.” Matthew held up a pair of large-rimmed spectacles. “I told him he looked better without them.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Matthew pointed to a young and beautiful woman who had been sitting next to the ash-lipped, leather-faced woman several moments ago, but had gradually backed away during Marcus’s arrival and proceeding antics. She was now several feet away as she stared at Marcus, probably trying to remember her self-defense classes.

  “I told him to go for her. He took a detour.”

  I twisted my face and then smiled. “You’ve got some work on your hands, mate.”

  Matthew shrugged, a gesture that said he was skilled enough to follow through. “I can do it. After all, I helped you, didn’t I?”

  “I think help is a strong word, isn’t it?”

  “Well, what would you call it?”

  “‘Made a fool out of me and nearly killed me’ would be closer to the truth.”

  “But at least I got you laid.”

  “No. No you didn’t.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded slowly.

  Matthew looked thoughtful for a moment and then he slowly leaned across the table, a sparkle in his eye and mischief on his mind.

  I pressed my hand over his mouth before he could utter a word. “I’m a happily married man,” I reminded him before his deviousness could find room to maneuver. “You concentrate on cyclops there and leave me out of it.”

  Matthew sat back, looking disappointed. “Fine,” he said, following it with one long exhalation. “I guess Marcus will be fun enough.”

  Matthew told Marcus to be confident and to “play it cool.” He gave him one of his best chat-up lines, a favorite “trick” he had utilized to win him countless dates and one night stands.

  “This is what you do,” he explained in his cocky, assured manner. “You need to approach her without looking at her, don’t acknowledge that you want to be with her, don’t even acknowledge that she’s in the room. Then”—he pulled out a slip of paper—“you give her this.”

  Marcus frowned at the slip of paper. It said: WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO? in large bold letters, with two small tick boxes underneath reading KISS YOU and TAKE YOU HOME.

  He turned his eyes back to Matthew. “And this works?” he asked.

  Matthew opened his arms and leaned back in a manner that said, “It hasn’t failed me.”

  I had an inclination to stop him at that point, seeing my own past race before my eyes, but I decided to let this one play out. I knew what Marcus would be thinking, and I knew that if I stopped him, he wouldn’t think I was helping him. I knew that because I had been there, and I had believed the same things he was believing at that moment. He believed that Matthew was better than him in every way, that it wasn’t just that he was better looking (although he was) but that it was because he was more confident, funnier, and much more charming. Marcus no doubt knew, as I had known, that what worked for Matthew might not necessarily work for him, but he refused to let rational thought get in the way, a mistake that I had also made. Marcus wanted a girlfriend, he wanted a woman, and as Matthew had never failed in that department, he was happy to take his advice.

  Marcus looked nervous when he first used the trick. He was shaking as he stumbled across the dance floor, ready to give it to the girl of his choosing—a pretty brunette with a timid smile and a vibrant dress. I could see that he tried not to look at her, but she was attractive and he was soon staring. When she turned and caught his eye, I think he nearly had a heart attack. He tried to avert his eyes and act nonchalant so quickly that he lost his footing and stumbled into a heavyset guy who was dancing like a drunken epileptic.

  The big man wasn’t very happy with the interruption and was spitting vulgarities and nonsensical obscenities at Marcus by the time we made our way over. I took Marcus to one side while Matthew dealt with the big man, cooling him off and calming him down in a way that only Matthew co
uld, because although he had lost most of his touch with the females, he still had it with the males. That was probably the reason I was still friends with him, simply because I was under his spell.

  The girl had stopped looking at Marcus by the time Matthew gave him another pep talk and sent him back on his way, literally guiding him to her as if directing a blindfolded kid in a game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Marcus stood behind her and smiled his warmest smile—looking like a constipated pervert—before tapping her gently on the shoulder. She glowered at him when she turned around, as did all her friends. They had all been talking merrily, but they stopped when they saw him. They looked at him like he was about to tell them they had to leave the premises.

  His voice caught in his throat. He coughed to clear it and sprayed a wash of spittle over the pretty brunette. He stared at her in horror as she recoiled and wiped the spit from her face, then she turned to her friends, who seemed to be looking for an exit or a savior.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. He extended his arm, which was trembling violently, and offered her the piece of paper.

  He grinned at her as she looked at it, thanked her as she took it from his hand, and then frowned when he saw that the paper had been soaked and the words had been smudged. He had been sweating so profusely that most of the ink was now soaking into his palms.

  “What does that say?” Her friends gathered around, peering over her shoulder. “‘Want me to take you?’” one of them said, before turning her eyes away from the smudged paper and toward Marcus, who was also clearly looking for an exit and a savior.

  That savior came in the form of Matthew, who had been on standby, almost expecting Marcus to mess it up. He explained the awkwardness away, using his charm and his confidence to stop them from calling the police and preventing Marcus from making his way onto the sex offenders’ list. I watched the events unfold without flinching, because as cringeworthy as it was, I had seen worse. If anything, Marcus actually seemed a little more confident than I was.