by Deena Bright
Whoa. I chose that costume, being a first-year teacher, because it lacked all sexuality. High school boys and their raging hormones! I should have worn a hefty bag and gone as a bag of trash. I was feeling kind of trashy right now. Briggs made me hot; I couldn’t deny it, but I was going to deny it.
“Briggs,
A. You are not going to get me alone like that again. That was a mistake. Granted, a nice and distracting mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.
B. How could those jammies get you worked up? You need to work on your self-control, young man.
And C. You’ll always be my student. I’m your teacher, remember, Miss Garrity.”
He smiled, but it was more of a smug smirk. He raised his brow, shrugged his shoulders and said, “D. Janelle. I’m gonna fuck you, fuck you so right, you’ll forget everything you saw tonight and never remember that bastard’s name again.” He took the last drink of his soda and got out his credit card. “It might not be tonight, maybe not even tomorrow. But it’s gonna happen, probably a lot more than once.” With that, he got up, left table, paid at the counter, and walked out of the restaurant. I was left sitting there, stunned and so damn wet. He was on to me. He knew I wanted him. He knew that I needed to have him. I needed this, more than I had needed anything in a long time. But, I had to deny myself this gratification. I couldn’t go there. I shouldn’t go there. Could I? Should I? Shit.
I left the restaurant. The car was running and waiting for me in the handicapped spot. As I approached the car, he leaned across and opened the door. Marcus couldn’t lean across and open the door; he was too short. Briggs was much taller, bigger, hotter. He looked over at me, “Where to?”
I hadn’t thought about where I wanted to go. I wanted sleep, a lot of sleep. “Can you just take me to the Hawthorne Suites by the airport; I’ll have a friend take me to my car tomorrow?” I could go to Charlotte’s or Jocelyn’s, but what I wanted more than anything was some alone time, time to think, sort all of this through, and just decompress.
Briggs paid for the room. I tried to protest; he hadn’t even graduated from college yet. He said that ESPN had already given him quite a bit of money for his “story” to use to advertise the new show. He was adamant about paying. He walked me to the hotel room door, and opened the door for me. Briggs pulled me into a strong embrace, slowly rubbed my back, kissed my head, and said, “Good night Janelle, sleep well.” As I watched him walk away, I was shocked at how disappointed I was. I wanted him to stay. He knew I wanted him to stay. Why was he leaving? I didn’t want him to leave. I couldn’t resist.
“Briggs! Wait!” I called after him, wanting him to stop, wanting him to come back, wanting him.
He stopped, took a deep breath, and turned around. His face was beaming and confident. He shook his shoulders, took another deep breath, nodded, and said, “Goodnight Janelle, get some sleep. You’re gonna need it next time I see you.” He smiled and turned back around and took the stairs down out of the hallway. That was it? Well, shit. Alright then. I went in the room, closed the door, and could not figure out what to do with myself.
After taking a long shower and blow-drying my hair, I got into bed still naked, but exhausted. The sun was starting to come up. I loved that I could just close the thick hotel room curtains and “lock fair daylight out.” Leave it to me to be thinking about Romeo and Juliet right now. Always the teacher. Romeo moped and made himself an “artificial night,” because Rosaline vowed chastity. Marcus couldn’t spell chaste, fidelity, or faithful. I didn’t want to lie here and think about him or his skanky secretary. I needed sleep, but my head was so full, thoughts of Lauren and Marcus, thoughts of my parents and my future, but truthfully my only real thoughts were of dancing with Briggs and his hands and body all over mine. I kept tossing and turning, readjusting the pillow and blankets, trying to block the image of him kissing the flower tattoos on my hand. Just the thought of him made my body shiver and my insides tingle.
I started imagining him kissing, not just my fingers, but turning my hand over and opening each finger to kiss my palm and the sensitive part of my wrist. I thought about him spreading my fingers apart and tenderly licking the cleavage between each finger, before taking my index finger onto his tongue and sucking it deeply into his mouth. With that, I couldn’t think about it any longer without allowing myself some release. I touched the tip of my nipple with my thumb and felt like I ignited a spark inside me. Briggs had me on fire and kept me heated up all night long. I fantasized that he was rolling my nipples between his strong thumb and forefinger, tweaking, pinching, pulling, and then finally licking it, sucking it in to his mouth. I let my own hands run down my body. I spread my legs further across the bed, opening them for my traveling hands, wishing I was opening them for Briggs to put his body between. I was soaking wet; my fingers slid easily in. My breathing was fast and labored. I moaned a “Briggs” and found my clit, only needing to touch, stroke, and rub a few times before I exploded with a bed-shaking and body-quaking orgasm. I couldn’t believe that just moaning his name and touching myself a few times produced such a powerful release. I couldn’t wait until the real Briggs was in my bed. I was going to fuck Briggs Alexander. And I couldn’t wait.
Chapter Three
“What? What? I’m speechless. I cannot fucking believe it.” Charlene was sitting in my hotel room cross-legged on the other queen-sized bed. I called her once I woke up and told her where I was. I used our code word, “Armageddon” when she answered. She knew to drop everything and come to me immediately, no matter what else was going on. We established this in college. It hadn’t failed us yet. Sometimes, you just need your friends—pronto. Phone conversations just wouldn’t cut it .
I made her sit across from me in silence as I told her every last detail of the previous day’s events. “I know. Char, what am I gonna do? My marriage is over.”
“Oh screw that. Screw him. I couldn’t give two shits about Marcus,” she said, punching the pillow on her bed for emphasis. “I cannot believe you didn’t fuck Briggs Alexander right there on the dance floor,” she groaned, lying back on the bed, covering her head with her hands. “What is wrong with you? This is Briggs, Briggs Alexander, Ohio State golden boy.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Lauren had Marcus HANDCUFFED to my bed!” How was she so easily missing the point? “And Briggs never even played for the Buckeyes, fractured skull, remember?”
“Tressel wanted him. If he was good enough for Tressel, then he’s certainly good enough for me. When are you seeing him again?” She was so frustrating. “You better not say, ‘never.’ With that douchebag out of the way, you can fuck anyone now. Plus it’s time for you to know some shit about that bastard.”
Charlene told me that after our rehearsal dinner, Marcus cornered her in the parking lot and begged her for one of her infamous blowjobs. He swore he’d never tell anyone, but thought he deserved one last “blowie before the chapel he had to go-ey.” His exact words she said. I could hear Marcus saying that too. Such a douchebag! Char told me to relax and just wait for the end of the story, before I reacted. Fuming, at him and at her, I waited. She said that she smiled and knelt down. She opened his zipper, took out his prick, and began stroking him.
At this point in the story, I stood up, opened my mouth to scream, but Char hushed me. She said he started getting into it and rested his head on the door of the truck, at which time Char took a lighter and water bottle from inside her purse, while continuing to stroke him. Then, quietly and just like that, she set his pubic hair on fire. He freaked, and she doused his balls in water. She stood up and said, “You’re marrying my fucking best friend tomorrow, you prick, keep it in your pants from here on out or you’ll see how hot it really can get, mother fucker.”
That liar. Marcus had some makeshift bandages on his testicles on our wedding day and throughout our honeymoon. He said that he tried to use a straight-edged razor to “manscape” for our big day, and things went terribly awry. I thought it was the cutest story, n
ever questioning it. I always hated that we didn’t make love on our wedding night or honeymoon, but never thought in a million years….
“Well, at least I get to light his dick on fire again. That’s good news.” Char looked at me sheepishly. I could tell that she was worried I’d be mad. “Ya know, they do come in different sizes, bigger ones, and different colors…” I laughed and shook my head. I couldn’t help it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, knowing the answer already.
“We all tried to tell you. All of us. You wouldn’t listen. Oooh, looks like Jasper just got even richer.” My brother was already crazy loaded. He had a ton of money, so I didn’t know what she was talking about. “Jasper had under three years. Jocelyn gave you four; I thought you’d at least make five. Well, it’s the best 100 bucks I ever lost.” She shrugged.
Appalled, I demanded, “You guys were betting on how long my marriage would last? Who does that?”
“People who love you and knew that he was not the man for you. I’m just glad you figured it out before he knocked you up. But you should get an AIDS test or some shit like that. He’s nasty.” She jumped across the bed and tackled me. “Janelle, you’re gonna be great. This is just a life bump. One year from now, he’s gonna be somebody else’s jitbag problem.” Marcus coined the term Jitbag, because he hated the word ‘douche,’ but Char always loved calling him his own name. He was a jitbag, and she was right. This was a life bump, and I planned to soar right over it.
As we were leaving the hotel, Char noticed my car in the hotel parking lot. There was a note left on the windshield. I opened it.
Janelle,
I hope your not mad. I kept your keys last night. I thought you could use one less hassle today. My buddy, Vince, and I picked up your car. Your keys are at the front desk. Call me…soon. Don’t make me die waiting. I put my number in your phone. Look under “Dark fantasy.”
Briggs
Ps. Know it’s the wrong your. Just wanted to piss you off. See, I learned something that year.
“Oh. My. God. I cannot wait for you to fuck him. If you’re not, can I? Janelle! Oh my god!” Charlene was skipping and dancing around me. She was giddy. I couldn’t think straight. He left last night and went and got my car? That was beyond nice, thoughtful even. Guys aren’t thoughtful. Are they? Marcus wouldn’t have done something like that. He probably wouldn’t have taken me to get my car today if I had gotten too drunk to drive. When I woke up this morning, my mind was clear, less liquor-clouded. I planned to let the whole Briggs thing die out. I’d never see him again, so what did it matter? But now, I’d have to thank him. I’d have to see him or at least call him. Damn. He’s good.
After I got my keys and Char and I decided to meet at my sister’s house, I got into my car. As I settled in and put my key in the ignition, something seemed off. My car was clean. My tank was full. Very good. Very damn good.
My phone died sometime in the night, so I plugged it into my car charger. I had three texts: two from Jocelyn and one from Dark Fantasy. Apparently, he took my number from my phone too. I touched the screen:
Don’t be mad. Just wanted to help. Call me later. Do it. Let yourself.
I certainly wasn’t mad. That wasn’t what I was feeling at all. Oh boy. Things were getting tough.
But first thing was first, I had to talk to Joz. She needed to know what was going on. Char was going to Joz’s first. She was going to tell her and Rick the whole story about Marcus and Lauren before I got there. I just wanted it done, known, out of the way, so we could start planning my next step, my future. I didn’t know the first thing about divorce or how to get divorced. I drove around for a while and got a Chai Tea Latte from Starbucks. It was hard not driving to my house to see if Marcus was home. He was supposed to be golfing today; I wondered if he still went. Who was I kidding? He still went. Life and obstacles didn’t set Marcus off his game. I often used to wonder if he had real feelings. The thought used to keep me up at night. I worried that a man without real feelings couldn’t be a good father; I’d stopped caring about him being a good husband a while ago. I worried that he wouldn’t really love our kids. Guess I dodged that one.
Chapter Four
As I pulled into Jocelyn’s driveway, I was surprised to see Jasper’s car there too. I knew he had the marathon today. Could Japer have missed the race for me? Something more must be going on? Joz and Jasper came out and met me in the driveway, Char stayed on the porch. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that Char looked ecstatic. Jocelyn put her arm around me, and led me into the house. “Jocelyn, I don’t need or want sympathy and pity. I just want to figure out what to do next,” I begged her.
She laughed, “I’m not gonna give you any pity-party Nelle; I’m about to congratulate you for finally seeing that jitbag for the scum of the Earth that he is.” She looked so serious and not at all sympathetic. What was with these people? They couldn’t have despised him this badly. “J and I were waiting until your 30th birthday to do this, because we were hoping you’d figure everything out for yourself. We didn’t want you to waste any more of your life.” She handed me a file, marked “The Fucker.” I glanced at them and then at Char, she was nodding, urging me to look at the file. I read the file.
******
“I just need to think,” I stormed off after I read the file. Jasper, Jocelyn, and Charlene were following me to my car. “I have to go.” Charlene jumped in my car and said that I wasn’t going anywhere without her. Jasper and Jocelyn stayed back. While I was buckling my seatbelt, I looked up and Jasper was standing at the door. I rolled the window down and looked at him.
“Janelle, I left the marathon to be with you today; I know how hard this has to be,” he said, putting his hand on my arm, which was a very intimate and sensitive move for Jasper to make. “We’re here for you, but take some time, figure out what you want, write that musical you’ve been wanting to write, don’t rush into anything.” He patted my arm, squeezed, and then said, “And call that Leo kid for me; I still need him to do my landscaping.” He laughed. I smiled at him and nodded. He always ended every conversation about himself, making people laugh. I pulled out of the driveway, leaving Jocelyn and Jasper standing in the driveway. Char would get her car at some point.
I loved my brother and sister. I didn’t know what I would have done without them in my life. Right now though, I couldn’t decide if I hated them or loved them even more. I just couldn’t believe that they knew things about my husband for two years and didn’t tell me. I couldn’t believe that they lived their lives like they knew nothing. I was pretty sure that I was pissed. I felt doubly betrayed, triply betrayed. Char, Jocelyn, and Jasper all knew that my husband was a cheating son of a bitch. Hell, if you counted Marcus too, then I was quadruply betrayed! But Jocelyn was right; she knew me too well. She even said, “Janelle, what do you always say about women being blind?” She was right, but I never meant myself. Or did I?
I have this strict rule that I never tell my friends, female friends, anything negative about their boyfriends or spouses. Women are blind to the flaws of the men in their lives, until the fateful day when they can finally see. It’s pointless to sit and tell any woman that her man lacks—anything. She just cannot see it. Then suddenly, BAM, she finally sees him for who he really is. It doesn’t matter what anyone says or even what anyone can prove. All that matters is what she can see when she finally chooses to see it. Was that me? I never thought it was, but damn, certainly seemed like it. Especially now with the file. The file.
Jocelyn had been having Marcus followed for two years, nearly two years. The first Christmas we were married, Jocelyn and Rick had a holiday party. Apparently , Marcus was drunk and hit on my sister. She laughed it off, didn’t make him feel uncomfortable, but started her own surveillance. After a few weeks of getting nothing on him, because she had kids and a husband of her own to tend to, she hired someone to follow him.
Jocelyn compiled an entire file of pictures of Marcus with various
women, at many places, doing unspeakable sexual acts. How the P.I. got the photos was beyond me, but the pictures were clear. Marcus was a nasty, good-for-nothing cheater. But the worst of all was the final document she showed me. Just the thought of it, brought me into a crying, crumbling mess. Bawling, unable to see through my streaming, flooding tears, I pulled the car over to the side of the road.
“I know. He sucks. He doesn’t deserve you. I’m so so so sorry. You deserve the best, Janelle. You know that, right?” Char was rubbing my back and shaking her head. How could I have been so blind?
“Char, a vasectomy! He knew how much I wanted kids. How could he? How could he?” Marcus told me that he was going fishing with his buddies for four days last fall. But he didn’t. He scheduled a vasectomy and spent the weekend at a hotel, recovering with bags of frozen peas and skanky Lauren to take care of him. I couldn’t believe this. Jocelyn knew for nine months and didn’t tell me. Nine months? How ironic. How could she not tell me? Why were they waiting to tell me?
I hated myself for being right about women, especially about being right about myself. I should have seen all of this coming, known it was coming. I didn’t even think that it was possible for a man to get a vasectomy if he was married and didn’t have kids. I would think that the wife would have to sign off on it or something like that. Well, it certainly should be a rule, if it isn’t. That bastard. He knew I wanted a big family. He did too. Or did he? Was every aspect of our marriage, our relationship a big, fat, fucking lie?
Char and I switched places so she could drive, while I cried and screamed at the top of my lungs about my cheating, stupid husband. I texted Marcus:
I’m on my way to the house. Don’t be there, you snipped dick, lying, cheating bastard.
