Reluctant Cuckold

by McManus, David

  Lying in bed now, I wondered if the rumor had come from Ashley in one of those bedrooms.

  ****

  Back down on the terrace, I hung out with Craig and his IT team. At some point a guy approached us, saying he was a neighbor from downstairs. “Who’s up for bungee jumping?” he asked

  “What do you mean, mate?” one of the Brits asked.

  “I’ve got some cords in my apartment,” the guy slurred back. “I’ve got a friend across the street. We’re gonna throw a line to the roof there and secure it real good. Then you just make your way on out to the middle and I’ll secure the cables. I do this all the time. It’s such a rush jumping down over Avenue A, like you’re about to hit a cab and shit, before the bungee pulls you back up.”

  The Brits told him he was crazy and there was no way they were doing that.

  “Bring your cables,” I said, calling his bluff, “I’ll go first.”

  “I’m fucking serious dude,” he said.

  “So am I, dude,” I said, “and maybe you can make one of them cords a little too long for the jump. I like a little risk and danger. We can play a little bungee roulette.”

  When he just stared at me, I said, “Maybe you could use another beer, my friend.”

  When Ashley eventually walked back out, I told her, “I’ve made some new friends tonight. This is Pete and this is Guy, just over from the UK. And this guy here has been nice enough to offer us free bungee jumping rides right over Avenue A if you want to stick around while he gets his equipment.”

  Ashley was gracious and polite before asking if I was about ready to leave. She didn’t seem drunk or anything, and the terrace was starting to clear out as we said our usual goodbyes. I’m pretty sure we were asleep within minutes of arriving home.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The rumor continued to bother me in the shower the next morning.

  Who in hell was talking trash about my wife? Had something happened that had been misconstrued? Was there an innocent explanation? Had Ashley been involved in some party game like Truth or Dare, and had Ashley been dared to give Jim Murta a quick peck? If so, then why wouldn’t Ashley have explained that? And “hooking up,” generally means more than just a peck.

  Or was it like Ashley said. That is was just some jealous girl, talking shit.

  I decided to call my friend Craig and didn’t think much when he didn’t return my call until late afternoon. When I mentioned the “rumor,” he said, “I take it you’ve heard?”

  I was peeved by his response. Like, why hadn’t he picked up the phone and called me?

  I told him I was going to be in his area and suggested we meet for a beer after work. “I’m buying,” I added.

  It took me saying, “C’mon, one quick beer. Come on, man,” before he replied, “OK.”

  We met at an Irish pub, four blocks from where he and Ashley worked. It was by his subway stop, far enough away and sufficiently nondescript to avoid running into any of his and Ashley’s co-workers.

  I ordered a pint of Harp. When he finally arrived, I smiled and gave him a hug. After some brief small talk about work and sports, I told him how my wife had informed me about the rumor. “So you know what I’m referring to?”

  “Yeah,” he replied tersely, before asking, “what did she say?”

  “That there was a rumor at work about her and Jim Murta at that party the other weekend. That they ‘hooked up’ or something.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “that’s what I heard.”

  “So what’s the story?” I said.

  Craig shifted uncomfortably. He was making me nervous

  “Craig, c’mon, you’re my boy, talk to me, what did you hear?“

  “That he was with her at the party.”

  “With her?” I asked. “What does that mean? What are you telling me? They made out?” When he hesitated, I laughed and added, “What? Did they have sex or something?”

  “Yes, that’s what I heard.”

  I looked at Craig. His eyes weren’t making contact with mine.

  “They had sex?”

  Craig hesitated before saying, “Yes.”

  I looked around the bar. The other men were older, no one I recognized, and no one looking our way.

  I lowered my voice and said, “So you’re telling me the rumor is that they had sex? What, that he fucked her?”

  “That’s what I heard, Dave.”

  “At the party?”

  “Yes.”

  I was stunned.

  It seemed crazy, incredible.

  “Craig, you were with me at that party—”

  “I know,” he said.

  “Did you see anything? Know of anything?”

  “No, I didn’t know anything until I heard about it at work that Monday.”

  “So Jim was telling people this?”

  “I heard it from others. I don’t know who started it. Everyone was talking about it.”

  “Did you hear where this supposedly took place?” I said. “One of the bedrooms upstairs?”

  “In the bathroom.”

  “Which bathroom?”

  “The bathroom,” Craig replied, “I don’t know, the bathroom inside when you come off the balcony.”

  “So the two of them just went into the bathroom and fucked? Is that what you heard?”

  It seemed insanely ludicrous.

  “Well, Tamara was in there with them.”

  I was startled. Hearing her name made my heart drop.

  “Tamara?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “OK, continue, and—?”

  Craig looked exasperated, almost squirming in his chair.

  “What did you hear, Craig?” I said finally “Please, I need to hear this. What is the rumor, exactly? So Tamara was in there?”

  “Dave, I work there and it’s really none of my business.”

  “Craig, we’ve been buddies since college. Please, bro, if there’s talk going around about my own wife… please, let me know the rumor.”

  “OK,” he said, sighing, “I’ll tell you, Dave.”

  I silently braced myself

  “It was basically this,” he said. “At some point, I don’t know when, Ashley and Tamara went into the bathroom together.”

  “OK, and—?”

  “Well, Tamara then invited Jim into the bathroom. I heard they put on a little lesbian show.”

  “Lesbian show? Meaning what?”

  “It was supposedly just an act. It was like a mock pseudo kind of show type thing. They kissed and got topless in the tub.”

  “Mock pseudo?” I said. “Ashley and Tamara? Who was the show for? It was for Jim?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK and then?”

  “Well, then Tamara told him to take it out and stroke himself.”

  “ What? Take it out? You mean, his dick?”

  “Yes.”

  “He stroked his dick in front of them?”

  “That’s what I heard, yes.”

  “OK so my wife was topless in the bathtub and Jim Murta was stroking his dick, looking at her?”

  “Tamara was also in the tub with her.”

  “OK, all right, and then?”

  “And then Tamara asked him.... Tamara asked him which one of them he wanted.”

  “Wanted?”

  “Supposedly Tamara said, ‘Which one of us do you want to fuck?’ ”

  Tamara’s comment made my stomach sink.

  I could picture her saying something like that. But I continued, “OK and—?”

  “And he chose, uh—”

  “He chose my wife? He chose Ashley?”

  He didn’t reply at first and then nodded, “Yes.”

  “And then he had sex with her?”

  “Yes.”

  I tried to keep my emotions in check and focus. I wanted to get it straight, make sure I was hearing this all correctly.

  “OK, so the rumor was that Ashley and Tamara went into the bathroom during the party—the one off the kitchen
downstairs—and Tamara invited Jim Murta in. They did some lesbian show, and Tamara told him to take out his dick and stroke it for them.”

  Craig nodded, “Yes.”

  “And then Tamara asked Jim ‘Which one of us do you want to fuck?’ And Jim chose my wife. And then Jim had sex with Ashley right there at the party—I mean in the bathroom—as the party was going on?”

  “Yes, that’s what I heard.”

  “Did you hear where in the bathroom?”

  “What?” Craig asked.

  “Where in the bathroom?”

  “Over the sink,” Craig mumbled, looking away.

  Then I looked away. I was stunned, unable to process the sheer idea of it.

  “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” Craig added.

  “Oh hey, Craig, no, thank you. I appreciate you telling me.”

  We sat in silence for a minute.

  “So this rumor,” I asked, turning back to him, “do people think there’s truth to it? Office gossip is pretty typical there, right?”

  “Typical?”

  “Like it’s a big-time rumor mill over there?”

  “I haven’t noticed that. I mean maybe it is, and people just don’t include me.”

  “So, rumors like this aren’t typical?”

  “I don’t know. After last year’s Christmas party, there was talk of a VP making out with his Assistant.”

  “Do people believe it?”

  “Yeah, there were several witnesses. And the VP got a dressing down about it.”

  “I mean about this? About Jim and Ashley? Do people believe it?”

  “Yeah, it seems that way.”

  “A lot of people were talking about it?”

  “It wasn’t like there was a crowd at the water cooler chatting about it. But sure, it definitely got around.”

  “But did they think maybe Jim concocted it? Or Tamara?”

  Craig looked at me oddly, like that was a reach.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Why would they?”

  “So you believe it?”

  Craig looked away and said, “I don’t know.”

  “But people believe it’s true, that’s what you’re saying, right?”

  “Dave, I don’t know. It seemed that way to me, but who am I to know for sure.”

  I began zoning out until Craig gave me a nudge to get my attention.

  “Oh, sorry, can I get you another?” I asked.

  “No thanks, I need to get going. I’m meeting my girl for dinner.”

  “Sure, I understand,” I said. “Well, thanks a lot for coming out and telling me this. I mean it. I really appreciate it.”

  “I’m really sorry,” he said. “You’re not going to tell Ashley I told you this, right?”

  “No.”

  “I work with her, so it wouldn’t be cool, you understand?”

  “Of course.”

  We shook hands, and he patted my back as we said goodbye.

  I swiveled back, but as I began zoning out, Craig tapped me on the shoulder. “You going to be OK, Dave?”

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to brave-face it.

  “You sure?” he said with an expression of pity, like he clearly believed the story to be true.

  “Yeah, I’m fine, really, I’m good,” I said, attempting a smile.

  “OK,” he said, patting me again. “Let’s grab a beer soon.”

  ****

  I couldn’t believe what I’d heard. It would be one thing if Ashley had just drunkenly kissed the guy. But I could never have imagined a rumor like this—that Jim Murta had fucked my wife in a bathroom, at a party where I was on the terrace outside.

  It seemed so ludicrous and utterly implausible. Ashley wasn’t like that. It would be insanely out of character. We’d been together for over five years, been married over eighteen months. She wasn’t going to fuck her co-worker just because her friend gave him a choice.

  The rumor should have been laughable. How could it have gained traction? No one should have believed it, not even for a minute.

  And yet, according to Craig, people did believe it. His reluctance to tell me, and the way he said goodbye, suggested he believed it, too.

  I walked out into the crowded, rush hour streets, heading home. I was having a mental back and forth. For a while, the “no possible way in hell” side won out. Then I started thinking about that night at the party, and had creeping recollections of what seemed like nothing at the time. I started thinking about going inside to piss. I could hear Tamara’s voice saying “Dave, there’s another bathroom upstairs. Use that one.”

  I hadn’t seen Ashley for a while before that. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen her for perhaps an hour. My heart started racing and my pace quickened. The story Craig had told me seemed so outlandish and freakish, yet strangely peculiar—peculiarly detailed. It wasn’t the run-of-the-mill office story—in fact, the contrary.

  “Which one of us do you want to fuck?”

  Jesus Christ. That sounded exactly like something Tamara might say.

  Suddenly, it seemed potentially possible that Ashley, Tamara and Jim had all been in that bathroom when I had knocked.

  Part of me wanted to rationalize it. Perhaps they were in the bathroom smoking a joint. But if so, why wouldn’t Ashley simply tell me that, or at least try and account for the rumor? And how would a story like that come out of nowhere? Why was Craig so reluctant to tell me? Why had he seemed to believe it? Was there even more to the story?

  I started thinking how Ashley never actually denied it. She referred to it as a rumor, sure, but by definition a rumor means it’s not confirmed to be true. It doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

  One thought quickly led to the next. She seemed to have told me about the rumor only because she had assumed I’d hear it from Craig. Would she have even mentioned it otherwise? The rumor had been going on since the prior Monday, over a week before she told me. Did she not want to trouble me or dignify it? Or was she working potential damage control on the assumption I already knew? Why, I wondered, had she told me not to bother asking Craig about it?

  If the incident hadn’t happened, and people were spreading lies, Ashley would have stormed into HR that very Monday. Granted it’s not some ultra-corporate firm, but that’s how she is. Her dad’s a lawyer, for Christ’s-sake.

  I thought back to her demeanor as we were leaving the party. She seemed happy but sober as she said goodnight to her friends, like she always does on any other typical night out.

  But I couldn’t get past the fact that Tamara was in that bathroom when I knocked. Or how I didn’t remember seeing my wife at the time, or Jim for that matter. And Tamara’s line, “Which one of us do you want to fuck?”

  Heading up Central Park West, I began to wonder … suppose everything Craig had just told me really was true?

  All I had to fall back on was, Ashley would never do something like that. She’s absolutely not that kind of girl. Letting a co-worker fuck her in a bathroom at a party with her own husband nearby was off-the-charts-crazy.

  Yet none of the tea leaves or strange road signs pointed to “this didn’t happen.” Instead, all the data points were lining up, like weird mental planets in alignment. Impossibility suddenly seemed possible, or maybe probable, or even highly likely.

  Holy shit, I thought.

  I said the words to myself in my head: Ashley fucked Jim Murta in that bathroom that night. Jim Murta fucked my wife.

  ****

  I walked into my apartment feeling dizzy, dazed, stupefied.

  My marriage, the future, everything I had planned on, seemed suddenly hurled into jeopardy. I felt tears in my eyes. I don’t think I’ve cried since I was a kid. I was alone but grateful she wasn’t there. Ashley had texted me earlier, about some birthday party she was going to.

  I looked around at the new gray Italia Charles sofa we had recently bought, the bathroom we’d had renovated in the spring, the new floral comforter for the summer, t
he funky lamp we had bought last month in Soho.