Also, it's just fun. Fun to flirt, when it's all just game.
Nate was a game, definitely. And Nate was young Everything was still a game to him. My stomach twisted, and my heart tapped at my chest.
I felt guilty, suddenly, thinking what I was thinking. Standing over the sink washing dishes.
And when I turned around, I could see Conrad there, looking at me. Like he knew something.
This look of his.
Part hungry. Part angry. Part hurt.
Why didn't he just say what was on his mind?
“What?” I snapped. My voice was angrier than I meant it to be.
“Is that how you're going to stack those dishes?” he said, averting his eyes to the dishwasher.
“Yes,” I said. I dropped another one in, without even lining it up. “It is, as a matter of fact. I'm just going to drop all the dishes in here like this and hope for the best.” My voice was really bitchy, I knew it.
Conrad shook his head and pressed his lips together.
I felt something inside of me boil over the top. I hated his “cool head act” more than anything.
“You have something to say about it?” I was practically shrieking.
We'd been having a lot of these kinds of arguments lately.
I knew I wasn't talking about the dishwasher.
Conrad adopted his expressionless face and set his glass on the counter. He held up his hands, as if to say “there's nothing I can do with this irrational woman” and turned to leave the room.
“If you have something to say, Conrad, then just say it.” I was seething. I slammed the dishwasher closed and heard a glass break inside. Ignoring it, I turned it on. The glass pieces clattered around.
Real mature.
Oh well. Too late to take it back.
I watched him leave the room.
I was talking about something else, and not the dishwasher.
Surely he knew that.
I turned back to face the window and jerked the dishwasher lock open.
There was a hard truth to things, and that was that something was off between us.
Sex was better, sure.
But we were each in our own little worlds, with our own little secrets.
I knew mine.
Did he know it, too? Or did he only think he knew some awful truth that wasn't right?
And how in the world do you bring all of this up?
My reflection glared at me in the window.
C ONFRONTATION
CONRAD
We were on our backs, looking at the ceiling. Laura had come to bed half an hour later than me and just lay down.
There was something going wrong between us. I'd felt it for a while.
Sex was amazing, since The Pied Piper.
Amazing.
But something wasn't adding up the rest of the time. Like this dishwasher bullshit.
I mean, I knew what it was for me. I knew that I was losing control of my fantasies, and that they were bleeding into real life, and I could no longer tell where one began and the other ended. I knew they twisted in my gut, like an orgasm and a knife wound, and I didn't know what I wanted.
I just didn't know what was up with Laura.
I put my fist on my forehead, and I sighed.
To my surprise, Laura said, “I know.”
It felt like the first honest exchange between us in a long time. Not that I thought either one of us was telling lies, specifically. But I felt sure that we were both holding things back.
But this, even without it being much of an exchange, seemed so clear to me. The way she said it. She knew it, too.
I had once been to therapy, court-ordered, for anger management. A long story, more about booze and being a bartender and having shitty friends than anything else. Surprisingly, it had turned out to be really helpful. I remember the guy, Dr. Malthus or some crazy name like that, telling me to keep things from getting bottled up by just saying them.
Confrontation, he had assured me, in his cultured Indian accent, is much smaller thing when we confront what it small, and not anything which has grown.
I loved that guy.
I turned on my side. “Something's up between us.”
Laura already knew this so she just moved her head a little, a tiny nod.
“I want to talk to you about it. I don't know what to say. I...it's hard. It's weird. It's about sex. I don't want this conversation to turn into some kind of thing where we don't say what we mean, though, so I'm just going to say it. I'm...I feel like you have something going on behind my back. Somebody at the restaurant.”
Laura closed her eyes.
She shook her head.
“It's not that. It's not...” she seemed to suddenly think better of what she was going to say. “Okay. Okay, listen, can we have a conversation where we say, like, I don't know...we're going to tell the truth about everything and no one is going to get mad about anything?”
I felt something claw at me inside my chest. So it was true. Was she going to confess to me that she was having an affair?
And what was I going to do if she did?
As though she was reading my thoughts, she turned her head to me quickly. “I haven't done anything,” she said. “I just...I don't have anyone else to talk to about this.” She looked back at the ceiling. “And it's like...you already know. Obviously you know something is up. And you watch all this porn...that I...okay, so, can we? Can we have that conversation?”
She looked back at me.
A really strange mix of feelings was churning inside of me. I was actually feeling a little ill from it. Relief. Excitement. Fear. Jealousy, Anger. Lust. More excitement.
My heart was pounding.
“That conversation...” I said. My shaky voice trailed off. I was lost.
“Where we don't get mad. Let's just lay it all on the table,” Laura snapped. She was so impatient.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
She pulled the covers up to her her chest tighter and opened her eyes wide. Her mouth turned into a little smile. “Oh god. This is so stupid now that I'm talking about it. Okay, here it is. So yeah, there are some people at work, who I just...I really like flirting with. It's...I wouldn't do anything real with them, but I'll just be honest I really have fun flirting with them. And...”
My breath was caught in my chest, burning. “And?”
She shot me a look.
“I like, you know...” She looked back at the ceiling. Her face was now twisted into incredulity, and most of it was directed at herself. She pulled the covers over her head and said through them, blurting it out in rapid-fire:
“I like fantasizing about them and having an affair but I would never really do it and I don't really feel bad for thinking it.”
Her breath inflated the sheet above her mouth, and then it fell.
“And I saw your porn,” she added, and I could tell she was smiling.
Which porn, I wondered. Then I realized it didn't matter. I had a golden opportunity here, and I was more than a little turned on by what was being offered to me.
No, it wouldn't work, would it?
I didn't really want it, did I?
Did I really want to share this with her?
I watched her breath inflate and deflate the tent of sheet above her lips.
“Say something!” she said, flailing her arms above her head but not removing the sheet. “Say something or I'll feel like an ass!”
The sweet ache turned cruelly in my chest.
“Okay. Uh...okay. Listen, this is going to sound weird. I...”
Oh my god, I can't even believe I'm saying this.
Dr. Malthus’s wizened face beamed at me and his soft, Indian voice beckoned me. “Say whud you really feel, whad you are telling yourself, did is whud you should tell oder people.”
“I can't believe I am even saying this.”
Laura swept the sheet from her face and looked at the ceiling.
“Just do it,” she
whispered playfully. “I did it. Don't be a pussy.”
“Okay fine. I have this fantasy about you sleeping with other men. So I sort of knew that you were...or I suspected it, but I don't...it's not all that...unappealing to me.”
Laura turned her head slightly and rolled her eyes up to look at me with disbelief. Her mouth hung open.
“Wait, so you...like that idea would...get you off or something?”
She turned back to the ceiling.
“So I have been feeling guilty,” she said. “About nothing?”
“But you haven't actually...”
“No, I just said that.” Laura's patience snapped easily. She shook her head. “Oh my god.”
Silence.
“But you wouldn't actually want me to...go through with it or anything? It's just a fantasy?” she said.
I couldn't read into her tone.
There were two ways to go here. One was to say, “yeah, sure, no – it was just about the fantasy.”
I liked that version for her, and I liked it for myself. It would keep everything from getting difficult. It wasn't the truth, but it was a safe bet.
After all, Laura was only talking about a fantasy. She had made that clear.
Or, I could tell the truth. I could tell her I wanted to talk about taking it seriously.
For the first time, I felt myself really admit to myself that this was more than just an idle thought. That what I had enjoyed the most about Laura coming home late, about not knowing what Laura was doing, was that I wanted it to be more than a fantasy.
“No,” I found myself saying.
“No, it's not a fantasy? Or no, you don't actually want me to sleep with other people?”
“Oh god,” I said, collapsing on the bed again. “Can it be both?”
Another silence.
Laura's hand flew up to her nose. “I'm going to laugh now,” she said. “It's just so...tense.” She was giggling already. “I'm sorry, it's not about you, I just...” she was cracking up.
I rolled over, on top of her.
I held her arms down and she tossed her head back and forth. “No, no don't, I have to be able to stop myself from snorting. Oh my god, Conrad!” Her chest was shaking underneath me. I smiled. Her maniacal laughing was infectious.
After all, was anything really that serious, if you thought about it.
We touched our foreheads, and she stopped laughing for a second.
“So which is it?” she said.
“Which do you want it to be?”
She rolled her eyes. “I'll use your answer, then. Both?”
I smiled.
“So we're on the same page, then.”
Then I decided to go for it.
“Until we're decided, you tell me. Which one is it?”
Laura was very quiet. Then she looked at me, and her expression was very earnest.
“Serious, now. Is this a serious conversation?” Her voice was soft but it had taken on a tone she rarely used. She had used about deciding to have kids, she had used it for talking about getting married. This was her most real voice, the one she used to talk about things that were really important to her.
“Yes,” I said, trying to match her tone.
“Would you actually want me to go through with it?”
I pressed my lips together.
“I think I do.” My voice was a whisper.
She looked back up at the ceiling. She sighed. “I don't know, Conrad. It might be...it might be too much. You know?”
I remained silent.
She looked back at me, dropping her hand in her own, private frustration. “Wouldn't you get jealous?”
“That's kind of what...I know this is weird, but it's what it's about.”
A long silence as she turned back to the ceiling and watched it, almost like it was speaking to her.
“Let's...try just like...flirting or something, for now.”
“That's fine with me,” I agreed, almost too quickly. I would agree to whatever part of things I could get.
She smiled at my eagerness.
“Okay. So. Do you...I don't know, like you want to actually watch?”
“The flirting?”
She nodded.
“Yes,” I said. I wanted to watch anything, I was starting to realize. But we were moving toward “anything,” and I would take whatever I could get. “Or you could just...tell me about him, for now. What you like about him.” I turned on my side and let my fingers trail up her thigh beneath the covers.
She turned her head quickly back to me.
I expected her to say, “it's too weird!”
Did I want her to say that?
No, the fantasy was that she would do exactly what she did, but even as she did it, an unexpected jolt of pain shook through me.
“His name is Nate,” she said.
“Is he hot?”
She bit her lip. She was looking at me strangely now.
“He's got a really great, athletic body.” Her expression was probing now. She was enjoying something. My hand moved up to her panties, and I stroked the material, feeling the contour of her outer labia, and the center where her large clit had turned to a hard button and almost, almost protruded from between them. She moved her legs apart slightly, sending another shiver of pain and pleasure through me. “I've felt it before, against my back.”
“Why was he...why was he against your back?” I could barely speak. My fingers detected a dampness in her panties, and I was thinking ahead to how I would slide them into her buttery flesh and find her wet, wetter than ever, for her “Nate.” Only from talking about him.
“It was nothing scandalous,” she said. “He just bumped into me while I was ringing something up...and then he...lingered.”
She gasped as I slid a finger underneath her panties and along the hard ridge of her clit. Her juices had overflowed and the entire valley of her gash was soaked.
I was emboldened by her arousal. “But you wanted him to do something more than linger, didn't you?”
Her eyes dilated and she smiled. “I could feel his cock against my ass,” she said. “I knew he wanted to do more.”
“Was it big?”
“It felt big. I would need to get my hand in there and warp my fingers around it to really know.”
“And you thought about that didn't you?”
I was working her panties away from her cunt, with her help. She was squirming to get them down her hips.
“Tell me,” I said. I slipped a finger into her, and she smiled. “I think his cock is probably really thick. It felt thick,” she said.
I put another finger inside of her, and began to finger-fuck her.
“Really thick,” she repeated. “I might not be able to handle it.”
Jesus, I wondered if she had any idea what she was doing. Or how she knew what to say right now. Her eyes were strange. Greedy. She was enjoying herself.
I put a third finger inside of her. Now I could feel the pressure of her flesh straining with the thickness of my three fingers.
She closed her eyes, and a light whimper of discomfort came from her mouth.
“I think maybe, maybe he's even thicker than that.”
“Oh yeah?” I said. I added a fourth finger, and slowly entered her, my fingers rounded together. She gasped, and I savored her slight pain as I went deeper, inch by inch.
“Would he have to get inside of you slowly, like this?”
She bit her lip, and closed her eyes. In answer, she nodded.
“Tell me,” I breathed.
“He'd have to push into me, nice and slow, just like that. Just the first time. Just to stretch me out.”
A brief thought fluttered around in the back of my mind and gave me a little kick in the chest. I had no idea, no idea at all, how it was that Laura. knew just what to say to get the blood thundering to my cock. But by now I was so hard I felt dizzy.
“But you would like it? Once he got inside of you and you felt...”
�
�All filled up.”
“Would you suck his cock first?”
Laura's eyes were glittering with a sexual, perverse energy now. Mischief. She shook her head. “No. No I'd suck his cock afterward, so I could taste my own pussy. And then I would let him come all over my face.”
I pushed inside of her and a light yelp came from her throat. I pushed my boxers down to release my cock. I could feel the tip of it was wet with precum. I pulled my hand from Laura's cunt, and rolled on top of her. With my right hand I found her soaked pussy, and I thrust inside of her, barely able to restrain myself from exploding inside of her right at that moment.
But I wanted one more thing.
I brought my hand to her lips, and I rubbed my fingertips over her lips lightly. Recognition – of what I wanted – flickered in her eyes.
“Show me,” I said.
She needed no clarification. She opened her mouth and used her tongue to lick the side of my pinky, lapping up her own juices that were stinging my nostrils. Then the side of my pointer finger.
And then, she opened wide, and used a free hand to push all four of my fingers into her mouth.
I was moving inside of her, and I could feel her grinding against me. As her mouth spread around my fingers, and I felt myself pushing down into her throat, gagging her and forcing her to slurp up all of her wet desire (for another man), I felt myself going over the edge. Laura. moaned into my hand, and her pussy started to clench me tightly. Her eyes were on mine.
I squeezed her jaw between my fingers and thumb as I pounded my cum inside of her. I felt her sloshing pussy tighten and then expand, wetter than before, overflowing with my cum and her own now.
When we finished panting out our orgasms, the mood became suddenly tender. I melted off of her, and she kissed my fingertips as I fell next to her.
She turned to look at me. “Conrad,” she said. “No matter what, I love you.”
Her voice emphasized you.
“I love you, too.”
There was something about it, at that moment, that seemed truer than it had in a long time. Maybe because it was standing out there in all that honesty, or because the conversation had been so raw. We said “I love you” all the time, but this was the first time, in a long time, we had said it as more than just a catch-phrase.
I closed my eyes, surprisingly, and fell into the best sleep I had for a long time.
The Hobby Job: A Romantic Wife-Watching Novel Page 11
