Human Interest: A Lead-In To Wife Watching

by Arnica Butler

  Then he wobbled to a stool at the counter when Rachel had her back turned. His erection was still embarrassingly noticeable. And painful at this point.

  He watched his wife as she clipped through the kitchen, preparing dinner.

  He had resolved to say nothing to her. One of his fantasies in the car had gone to an absurd and disgusting climax, in which Rachel fit both the cock and the balls of the cameraman into her mouth to clean them off after he had filled her pussy full of his seed. At that point, Josh had seen through the haze of unusually high testosterone and lust that he was going too far, even in the privacy his own mind.

  He would say nothing to Rachel about any of this.

  Of course he wouldn't.

  But now, in the kitchen, with her pretty ass turned to him, he felt differently. Perhaps because she had said almost nothing to him.

  “Oh, hello,” she had said. Nothing more.

  Josh felt the foreign grip of animal jealousy seize him. His voice was like cut glass when he said:

  “Is there something you want to tell me about the other day?”

  Rachel opened the fridge and dove into it. From behind the door, her voice was cheerful. Blasé. “Are we out of soy sauce again?”

  Josh frowned at the refrigerator door. Rachel had begun her sentence long before he finished his own, so he knew she wasn't deliberately trying to avoid the question he had asked.

  She did that all the time.

  She was just being herself.

  He knew that.

  How he felt was quite different.

  Something reptilian was growing inside of him. He glared at the door.

  “I think you better talk to a doctor before you keep using that much of it,” Rachel continued, still talking about the soy sauce. Then she swung the door half-closed and peeked out from behind it. “Sorry honey, what was it you were saying?”

  She turned her attention back to the contents of the fridge.

  It would be ridiculous now to repeat his sentence.

  He knew that.

  But he did it anyway.

  “Is there anything you want to tell me, about what happened the other day?” He said this more loudly, and narrowed his eyes in preemptive accusation.

  He was half-hoping, he realized, that she would lie to him.

  “Uh...the other day...”

  She was distracted, searching the items in the fridge, thinking about dinner. The question didn't seem to have disturbed her. She didn't even seem to be thinking about it, but rather, repeating the words with her brain turned turned off.

  This made Josh stumble a little. If the moment he had witnessed on camera had been meaningful to her, and that was her reason for not telling him about it, wouldn't it have given her pause when her husband asked her a question like this? A question laced with accusation?

  Rachel closed the door. She was looking at him. She had a block of tofu in her hand.

  Her look was expectant. Josh had to rack his brains a little to get at what she was expecting, because his mind had drifted far away from his own kitchen, to a place where his wife was cheating on him. With her cameraman, a big, built black man who pounded her until she screamed -

  “Honey?” She had a tinge of annoyance to her voice. “What are you talking about? What other day?”

  “I...” Josh suddenly felt like an ass. What was he accusing his wife of? This was not a way to have a conversation with her about the video clip. Just as quickly as his masculine rage had built up, it dissipated as the reality of what he was doing finally made its way into his brain:

  He was sitting here accusing his wife of having an affair, half-hoping she was, because he enjoyed fantasizing about her being fucked by a huge black man.

  He was a disgrace. A rather racist disgrace to boot; a man who had actually just spent the better part of an afternoon imagining his wife upside-down on a couch with a big black man crouched over her, shoving foot after foot of his cock inside of her.

  It felt as dirty, all of the sudden. Like coming into a sock just before the end of an ultra-filthy porno and then having the remainder of the sick, twisted porn play out on the screen.

  “I forget,” he said lamely.

  There was no point saying that, and he knew it as soon as he said it.

  But Rachel didn't let comments like this go until they were fully explained.

  “About the other day?” Her eyes were already turning to beady little slits. She knew he was faking something, had sniffed out his confrontational tone.

  She wasn't going to let it go.

  Josh coughed. “I just...” There was no way out. He had set the conversation in motion, and he would have to ride it out now. “It's just...have you seen this video from the other day? When you went to cover the squirrels?”

  Rachel's face registered a very genuine surprise. Confusion. She shook her head slightly, but it was evident she was thinking in circles. “They didn't even air it...” her voice trailed off. “Wait. What happened in the clip?”

  But her brain had lit up like a piece of paper on fire. She dropped the tofu onto the counter and steamed out of the room.

  Josh felt a strange kind of excitement as he followed her. A mixture of fear, jealousy, rage, and arousal. He wasn't sure what he wanted to happen next:

  For her to watch it and say, “oh, yeah, that guy. I've been letting him fuck my brains out for years?”

  Or for her to start crying? Or for the whole thing to be a big misunderstanding?

  She was moving quickly now. She threw her laptop on the coffee table. “What site was it?”

  “Huh?”

  “The site? Where did you see it?”

  She was furious.

  “Uh...Rachel's Fans or...maybe...” he was struggling to remember. Had it been a clean site, or one of the dirtier ones?

  “God,” she dismissed him impatiently. Rachel clicked through her bookmarks.

  Josh was relieved to see the video clip posted to one of the more innocuous sites – not the same one he had seen. Rachel's eyes moved over the screen, quickly and the slowly. She scrolled.

  She played the video.

  She stopped it halfway through.

  “What the fuck?” she spat.

  Josh was urging her, silently, to press play and watch it all the way through. Instead, she, waved her hand at the screen and turned to him. “This isn't even footage we shot. This is just...some dog got loose and came running at me. What the blood...is this doing...how did someone even get a hold of this?” Her mouth was open and she was spewing half-finished sentence and words. Her eyes moved over the screen like a scanner.

  It was clear to Josh that whatever was going on here, he had lost control of where Rachel's thoughts were going. She turned back to the computer.

  She was silent, her upper teeth nibbling at her lower lip. Then she dug into her bag, took out her phone, and stood up. She paced he room with the phone to her ear.

  Josh opened his mouth, and he wasn't even sure what he was going to say, but Rachel was already talking.

  “Have you seen this shite on the internet?...”

  “...sorry, yeah, okay, I'm just worked up, listen, go to...” she spun around and read the website address off for the person on the other end of the phone.

  Josh stood, feeling helpless and almost superfluous. He had wanted something else to happen in this moment, of that he was sure.

  But what had he wanted?

  “How in the hell did this even...? I'm...look, I have to ask you, straight away: it wasn't you, was it?”

  A pause.

  “I know.” Rachel put her hand to her forehead. She started to lose her composure. Josh was surprised to see that she seemed to be ready to cry. “God. I know. I'm sorry I even thought that. I just don't understand how this stuff keeps getting out. And the comments are like...”

  There was a long silence on Rachel's end, during which she stared into the wall and appeared to be listening intently. She said “okay” a few times, and
her face relaxed. Her watering eyes stopped looking as though they would overflow, and she started to nod.

  It was as though Josh was not only no longer in the room, but he didn't even exist.

  He moved closer to the couch, and she didn't even sweep her eyes toward his movement.

  “Okay,” she said again. Then she added, in a sweet voice. “Xav? I'm sorry. I was just-”

  The words cut through Josh. “Xav?”

  So that was her lover's name.

  Suddenly Rachel laughed outright. She swung back around to the screen. “What does that...”

  Her face flushed.

  “Oh my god. Oh my god.” She covered her face with one hand.

  Another pause.

  She laughed again.

  Josh watched his wife's face, as the words from the man on the other end of the phone transformed her expression. Smoothly, calmly, Josh imagined, talking her down. Telling her not to worry, there was nothing damning in the clip.

  Telling her to smile, her husband would never find out that he had been filling up her tight little blonde cunt with his enormous black cock. Just act cool, he was saying, and I'll see you tomorrow, and put my huge hand right on your red-hot little pussy...

  Josh felt his face flush. Jesus. What was wrong with him?

  “See you tomorrow,” Rachel said.

  She tossed the phone onto the couch. She folded her arms and finally turned to Josh.

  He was suddenly very aware of his erection. He watched her eyes, and they didn't go to his crotch, which was good. She bit her lip again.

  Her eyes were not seeing him.

  She was thinking.

  “Someone,” she said, waving a slender finger in the air, “has been leaking videos to these creeps. And it wasn't Xavier.”

  Xavier. The cameraman. He had a name. He had a name and a smooth, calm voice to talk his wife down from a fit of rage. He had smooth black hands that he liked to put on her knee.

  Josh felt the animal in him stirring up again.

  “Who's Xavier?” Josh said. But there was too much in his tone. More than casual curiosity.

  Rachel noticed. Josh could see it in the way her eyelid twitched, and her mouth parted a little before she spoke.

  “He's my cameraman. Xavier.” She pointed her finger at the screen, almost angrily. “The guy in the video.”

  She had a tone to her voice like she expected him to know this. As though she had said something about this guy a million times before. It was a tone Josh was familiar with because he often didn't listen, and often got caught for that crime.

  “Oh,” he said. “Xavier.” Then very lamely: “I didn't realize he was black.”

  His mouth was out of control now. Silently, he told himself to shut up. To close his mouth and not let another word come out of it. He was being an idiot.

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “Anyway. He's my cameraman. But I know he wouldn't...I mean, I don't even understand what someone would be thinking...”

  Josh folded his arms over his chest.

  This was as good of an opening as he was going to get. For whatever it was he thought he wanted, which he wasn't sure of at all. He felt like he was piloting a boat in a dream, drunk.

  He opened his mouth, dreading the fact that he was going to speak.

  “It's sort of...have you seen the whole thing?”

  Rachel's eyes were on fire when she looked at him. “I just watched it the first time right now!” she said. Her voice was shrill.

  She put her hands to her face and rubbed it. “Oh god. Oh god, honey, I'm sorry. This is just...it's sort of creepy, you know what I mean?”

  She turned and plopped into the couch and clicked on the paused video.

  Her body didn't move, revealed nothing as she watched. She brought her hand to her mouth at the end and scrolled through the comments again. “This is just so...stupid,” she said. “What the fuck is wrong with these people? Don't they have anything better to do than...I don't know, like stalk me and write dumb comments?”

  It was true. She was right, of course, but Josh could sympathize deeply with “these people.” He even liked these people, these men who were so dedicated to stalking his wife and watching footage of her – any footage.

  His balls ached so much he felt ill.

  Josh looked at Rachel's face as she scanned the comments. Her expression was turning sour. She was so disgusted by it all.

  Why was even that turning Josh on?

  It was true, he had to admit: she didn't seem to be hiding anything. She wasn't acting like a woman who had been caught on camera doing something she shouldn't. She didn't even seem to notice the gesture, or the fact that Xavier had touched her knee.

  And wouldn't a woman guilty of having an affair notice something like that?

  Wouldn't a woman having an affair try to cover it up?

  The thing Josh couldn't get his head around was whether or not he was relieved, or disappointed.

  5: DREAM

  Josh was an analytical man, and he rarely turned off that part of his brain. He was the kind of man who more often than not knew when he was dreaming, because he spent a good part of his dream-time analyzing everything that was wrong with his dream-world.

  Sleep had been a long time coming. Rachel had declared that she needed to work. She had eaten her dinner angrily and thrown half of it away. In the time it took to eat dinner, Josh's cock had deflated somewhat, and he was able to have a rational thought.

  And that was this:

  He should just go jerk off in the shower. Which he did, imagining Rachel and Xavier, Xavier and Rachel, black and white and writhing like snakes in slippery-wet cum. Then he had gone to bed, and thought about the same thing until he was sweating and had to jerk off again.

  Then he had lain face-up and hoped for sleep to put him out of his strange misery.

  He knew he was dreaming some time after he returned to his cubicle in the dream. The coffee mug in his hand was weightless, and people who didn't work in his office were watching him as he approached his desk. They had no faces.

  Knowing, somewhere in the back of your mind, that you are in a dream, is not necessarily helpful for numbing the feelings of stress it gives you. Josh, ever-analytical, noted this as well as he sat down with a sinking feeling in his chest.

  All the way to his cock, where it pulsed, heavy and aching.

  His computer screen was filled with porn. Somehow, without saying it, the screen broadcast “BBC!” and “tight white pussy stretched by black cock!” He knew his coworkers could read the words, and they were horrified. The sounds coming from the computer – for of course he had left the volume blaring while he went to retrieve his weightless cup of coffee – were the hyper-sexualized moans of cheap porn.

  “Oh!” a girl with a small, underaged-sounding voice squeaked. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh fuck!”

  The screen, however, was a blur of black and white skin. Josh strained to see what was making the woman scream the way she was (he knew it was a big cock, maybe in her ass) but the video never cleared up. Only the sound. “Oh, baby, I like that tight little cunt,” the male growled.

  More screaming. The slapping sound of skin as the man apparently pummeled the woman. High-pitched wailing, and poor Josh left to imagine it all in his dream.

  There was the annoyance of not being able to actually see them, and the implicit shame of his colleagues staring at him. It all twisted together into a hard knot, and to make matters worse, he couldn't unzip his pants in this dream. His dream hands fumbled, sensationless, with the flat nothingness where his zipper should be.

  The voices from the computer monitor changed. The timbre of the woman in the video transformed, and turned into Rachel's voice. In the way that things are known in dreams, Josh knew that the new resonance of the black man was the voice of Xavier.

  A gasp, simultaneous and theatrical, was emitted by the growing crowd surrounding his cubicle.

  The provenance of the voices shifted suddenly. No longer coming
from his speakers, the voices could be heard echoing in the very real world of his dream: down the hallway.

  Josh abandoned his computer, and his workplace faded away. He moved into a hallway that did not exist, and on either side of him, doors led to bedrooms, each of them empty as he peered into it. The sheets were all rumpled, though, and sodden from lovemaking. Josh didn't know if it was possible to smell in dreams, but every room smelled of sweat and the scent of his wife.

  He glided, or whatever it is you do in a dream, down the hallway. Each room was more disheveled, each bed more used. The scent of his wife grew stronger. The voices became louder.

  When he arrived at the scene his mind obviously wanted him to be taken to, he was finally able to unzip his pants. His hand, which had been flailing at nothing, suddenly found his zipper.

  In the room, the dark body of Xavier was on top of his wife. Her legs were spread wide and he was pummeling himself into her.

  Josh stroked his cock furiously, mimicking the rising orgasm of first his wife and then Xavier...but to no avail. He would never make himself come; deep down he knew that, because he knew he was dreaming.

  Xavier filled his wife, and then they kept going: she climbed to her knees. In the magic of dreams, there was no transition, she was just suddenly close to Josh. At eye level. Xavier had stretched out on his back, and his cock was waving in the air. A big, thick, cock. Unreal. Insanely thick.

  Rachel looked at her husband as she opened her mouth, and her lips stretched to an impossible size to accommodate the impossibly large brown cock. Her eyes burned into his, and Josh frantically jerked at his own cock, hoping to rid himself of the pain that was building up inside of him. He knew, the way you know in a dream without seeing something, that his wife's pussy was wide and gaping and dripping load after load of hot white cum down her thighs. The sound of her moaning was muffled by the cock in her mouth, and she slurped and gagged but went on relentlessly. “Mmm, mmm, mmm-mmm,” she hummed.

  This went on for what seemed like an eternity, until the pain was too great in his cock. A lucid dreamer, he reasoned with himself after what seemed like hours of this torture: he needed to wake up so he could alleviate his pain, by actually touching himself.