The next afternoon I was planning on making Ashley dinner—and initiating sex again—to stamp out last night’s memory. But then she called me.
She was going out with Tamara for drinks.
I felt crushed. Especially hearing Tamara’s name, but I did my best to sound normal. To sound not phased in the slightest. “OK, so I’ll see you later tonight—have fun.”
I paced my office, feeling slightly ill. Ashley and Tamara go out together a few times a month. This wasn’t unusual. It had never bothered me before, but now I had reason to be bothered. This was the girl who had basically offered my wife up to Jim Murta.
It wasn’t until I got home that I really had a chance to think about it. I pictured the two of them sitting at a table, ordering designer cocktails, and dishing about the last couple weeks.
Obviously they would be talking about the “rumor.” How could they not? They both had starring roles in it. It’s possible Tamara was embarrassed, but I doubted it. She was single and hadn’t been the one getting fucked. Sure, she had been provocative, but that was her personality. While she probably tones it down at work, people would already have that perception of her.
I assumed she did feel bad for Ashley, and how the story had spread like wildfire around the office. But I could also see her taking satisfaction from it. Tamara had gotten Ashley to stray, from the husband she’s never liked. She had gotten Ashley to spread her pussy and take another man’s cock, with her husband right outside. She might have been nervous hearing my voice when I first knocked —afraid my knocking might derail whatever had started. But when she realized it hadn’t, she must have relished sending me upstairs. Had she included my name, just to make sure Jim Murta knew exactly who was being relegated upstairs?
What nerve Tamara had inviting him in. And what gall to tell him to pull out his cock in front of my wife, utterly dismissing me, my feelings, our marriage, asking him, “Which one of us do you want to fuck?”
I pictured Ashley and Tamara sitting at the bar. Ashley would be telling her what she had said to me last week.
“So he hadn’t heard?” Tamara would ask.
“No,” Ashley would say. “When I realized he hadn’t, I downplayed it like it was nothing.”
How much did Ashley confide in Tamara? Girls talk. Had Ashley talked to her about our sex life before? Told her explicit things? Expressed dissatisfaction?
Tamara was probably more aware of how happy or unhappy my wife was in our marriage than I was. She was no doubt privy to things about Ashley that I was not. Could Ashley be telling her about our sex the prior night?
“How premature is ‘premature’?” Tamara would ask.
“Um, I don’t know” Ashley might tell her, “about thirty seconds.”
Tamara would burst out laughing.
I took out the photo album and found a photo of Tamara from Halloween. She leaned into the camera, a flirtatious, mischievous smile on her face as it captured her cleavage.
What a fool that girl had made of me that night! Sending me, the husband, away, so my wife could get fucked. And now my wife was having drinks with this girl.
Tamara knew all about that night. She had been there, watching everything. She knew exactly what was happening when I knocked on that door. She knew if Ashley had sucked his cock.
Had she rooted Jim on as he fucked my wife?
Goddamn Tamara, were you cheerleading it?
I unbelted my pants and pulled out my dick. I shook my head, telling myself I shouldn’t be doing this. But I also thought that if I jerked off now, it might ensure full stamina later tonight—when Ashley came home.
Fuck it, I thought, and began stroking.
Was his cock in Ashley’s mouth when I’d knocked? They’d stay motionless for a moment, Jim’s hand on Ashley’s hair, his cock in her mouth. Perhaps Jim had shoved it in even farther and held it there at the sound of my voice. Then Tamara had shooed me upstairs, and he’d given her the green light to go back to sucking—sucking the cock that was about to fuck her.
I looked at Tamara in the photo, picturing what she was saying as she urged him on: “Go for it Ashley, don’t worry, I sent clueless Dave upstairs. Oh yeah, ride that cock Ashley—you’re getting good and fucked now, girl.”
I looked at Tamara in the photo and then at Ashley beside her, and I came hard, looking at my wife.
I felt dumb and embarrassed in the moments afterwards, sitting there with my pants down. I cleaned up and put the photo book away. I thought, what the fuck was that again, but I didn’t want to dwell on it.
There were more important things.
I began wondering if Ashley was still interested in Jim Murta. Had they been together since? What kind of impression had that night left on her? Could Jim Murta possibly be out with her tonight? Had Jim Murta been a better fuck than me? Was Ashley comparing me to him? I knew last night had been a disaster, but had she been comparing him to me before all this?
Did he have a bigger cock?
Suddenly, that last question had me reeling. I had never felt I was small. My dick did the job. It passed the pass-fail test.
A friend used to tell me he was a “standard six.” The only bragging was in his honesty. He was confident enough to state it. It was reassuring to me as well. After all, I was average, or at least close—a solid five and a half, anyway.
But I began to wonder, was Jim Murta bigger? Could Ashley have even told him that? When he pulled it out and stroked it in front of her, did she remark on its size?
Like “Oh my God, wow!”
“Bigger than your husband’s, Ashley?”
Good God, I told myself, stop driving yourself crazy.
And so I started making some dinner. I made extra in case Ashley was hungry when she came home.
I realized I needed to have a talk with her about this rumor. I’d have to position it delicately, in an understanding, non-accusatory way. But, I couldn’t continue to sweep it under the rug. I needed to get a sense of where her head was.
Was she still interested in Jim Murta? Was she not happy in our marriage? I needed answers.
I’d call Craig in the morning. I could at least ask if any sort of relationship seemed to be happening between them. He couldn’t begrudge me that.
****
Ashley was a little buzzed when she arrived home.
“So Tamara was pitching me on going to Burning Man for Labor Day,” she said, as she sat down. “You know what that is, right?”
“Yeah” I said, “I’ve heard of it.”
“She wants to rent an RV for a week and was gung-ho’ing me on it.”
“Is she serious about actually going?”
“She talked like she was. She wanted to go last year.”
“It’s where—Nevada?”
“Yeah, exactly, three hours outside of Reno.”
“Isn’t it just a big rave-type event in the desert like some Nuevo-hippie group love-in?”
“No,” Ashley said dismissively. “It’s this whole community, built out of nothing. It’s all about self-expression and self-reliance. Tamara’s trying to marshal up a crew, and wants to build this artsy lounge for people to chill in.”
“So like a girl’s week away?”
“No, her friend Trevor would be the one really organizing it, and some of his friends. You’ve met Trevor, he threw that Cinco de Mayo party.”
“The gay guy?”
“Yeah, he’s gay” she replied, “He had that exhibit in Dumbo. He seems to be making a decent living at it.”
“Are you really thinking about going?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Not sure if I could really take all that time off. But it sounds like a once-in-a-lifetime experience. “
“Hanging outside in the desert for a week worshipping some pagan burning man?”
“Oh please,” Ashley said, “don’t be all fuddy-duddy on me. If you just went with it, you might find your own inner burning man.”
“Am I even invited?”
&n
bsp; “Of course you are. You could even wrap it around one of your San Francisco trips. It’s a short flight to Reno.”
“I don’t think Tamara would want me there.”
“Of course she would. Oh, she said to say hi tonight, by the way.”
****
I served up Ashley a late dinner and was about to make love to her as we lay in bed.
I went down on her slowly, then quickly picked up the pace. I was determined to bring her to orgasm and felt such relief when she cried out, “Oh my God, I’m cumming.”
Then, now self-conscious from the night before, I went inside her.
Don’t think about Jim Murta, I said to myself as I slid in.
I made it past four strokes and was beginning to get into a rhythm. A few strokes later, it happened. I was suddenly cumming again.
“Jeez, I’m sorry” I said, “I don’t know what my problem is. It’s just that I have been looking forward to this tonight, maybe a little too much.”
“It’s OK,” she said.
“You had an orgasm?” I asked.
“Oh yeah, couldn’t you tell?”
“Just making sure.”
CHAPTER SIX
Craig picked up when I called the next morning.
He was either distracted or not happy to hear my voice, but then his tone tempered and he said, “Hey Dave, how ya doing?”
“Hey Craig,” I said, “I’m sorry to bother you at work, and so early. I know you’re probably wicked busy, but I just wanted to know if you could spare fifteen minutes after work to meet for a drink by your place. I swear it will be brief, and it would mean a lot to me.”
I think my speed-talking threw him off guard. There was a pause before he said “Sure Dave, six o’clock, same bar.”
When he arrived that evening, I hugged him, and he reiterated he had to be quick.
“Sure,” I said as I ordered him a beer. I threw away any script of pretenses, like small talk about sports. “I was wondering if Jim might still be seeing Ashley,” I said.
“Dave, you’re asking the wrong person. I have no idea.”
“But have you seen them talking at work? Like in the hallway? Or going out for lunch?”
“No.”
“And you’ve heard nothing to suggest that?”
“To suggest what?”
“That they might be seeing each other now.”
“No, I have not.”
Craig turned his seat toward me. “Look, I have enough stuff going on at work, and I don’t engage in gossip, but I don’t see Ashley wanting to be even seen fucking talking to Jim Murta now.”
“You mean, because of the rumor?”
“Yeah, of course because of the rumor. I can’t see Ashley wanting anything to do with Jim. I think you have nothing to worry about.”
“OK.”
“Are you guys fighting about it? I’m sorry—don’t answer that question—it’s none of my business.”
“We’re not fighting, it’s fine. You can ask me, Craig.”
“This is awkward, Dave. You’re my friend, but Ashley got me my job, and I report to her on many projects.”
“Yeah, I know, and I’m not saying anything to her, relax.”
“OK, so, how are you holding up, Dave?”
“I’m OK, I really am.”
“OK that’s good to hear.”
“But I was just curious, about that rumor. When they were having sex, did you hear if it was interrupted or did he complete it?”
Craig looked at me inquisitively. “What do you mean?”
“I mean did he complete the act? Having sex with her? It wasn’t stopped in the middle?”
“Um, yeah, no, I don’t think it was stopped in the middle.”
“One last thing,” I said, trying to sound dispassionate. “He used a condom, right? I mean, did you hear if he used a condom?”
Craig hesitated before saying, “No.”
“No, you didn’t hear?”
“No, I heard he didn’t.”
“He didn’t?”
“I heard he did not.”
“He didn’t use a condom. He finished inside her?”
Craig looked at me, treating it like a rhetorical question, saying nothing.
“So he did?”
“I’m sorry, Dave.”
He was giving me that pitying look like the last time. I hated being looked at like that.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you,” I said as he finished his beer.
“Dave, are you OK?”
“I’m fine Craig, honestly. Ashley and I are working through this. Nothing that other couples haven’t been through, right?”
“Right.”
“Yeah, so I’m OK. We’re not fighting, we’re getting along, we just have to work through this.”
“Sure, I understand.”
“And also, I really appreciate you availing yourself at the last minute and being honest with me. I’m not saying anything to Ashley—so don’t worry there. Also, I’m not telling my friends, so if you can keep quiet about it, I would appreciate it.”
“Dude, I ain’t saying shit to no one.”
“Thanks, man,” I said and asked for the check.
It was the second time in less than a week that I felt emotionally pummeled leaving that bar. I never wanted to go back there again.
I walked to the subway, disoriented and lost.
Jim Murta went bareback in my wife that night. He blew his sperm in Ashley’s pussy. It was too much to process.
I must have had a beaten-up expression on my face as I headed downtown to the Village.
****
I was meeting Ashley there. I figured I wouldn’t have time to get out of my suit, so I just took the subway from the bar. I was meeting her in a parking lot. The whole thing sounded ridiculous, but Ashley’s friend was starring in something called Shakespeare in the Parking Lot.
It was very low-budget and a twist on Shakespeare in the Park—the professional production they do in Central Park during the summer. It was about as far Off-Broadway as you can get—a literal parking lot.
Ashley texted me that she was just heading down, and I talked with her friend Natalie for a few minutes. She was telling me how nervous she was, asking if I could tell. I said “no” and told her I was sure she’d be great. She wasn’t going to be performing in front of much of an audience—about thirty friends of people in the play sitting on asphalt, some with six-packs of beer.
Natalie had graduated from Columbia the same year as Ashley. I liked her well enough. She was a good girl. She had a high-paying, overseas-traveling job for a while, but she had given that up to pursue acting. I thought it was the height of foolishness. Ashley questioned it, too. But Natalie had said, “I’d rather fail at acting than succeed at anything else.” OK, whatever.
Ashley arrived just as the play was starting and I waved her over. I tried to block out what Craig had told me, and she gave me a kiss as she sat down.
They were performing Macbeth. There were no sets. It seemed ultra-amateur to me, everyone over-acting with fake British accents. I was utterly bored. I couldn’t follow it and had no interest in trying. But I did my best to seem like I was paying attention and laughed when others did.
It was only an hour but seemed to go on for two and a half; then we had to go out with “all them acting folks.” I had nothing in common with them and nothing to say. But I wanted to be a trooper for Ashley’s sake.
I did my best to laugh and seem engaged, but inside, I was just waiting to leave. All of them seemed to think they were one small step away from breakout fame.
When I complimented one guy, he told me he would thank me in his Academy Award speech. I pretended to be appreciative.
By the time we arrived home, it was just after midnight.
****
Once Ashley fell asleep, I thought about what Craig had told me earlier.
Jim Murta hadn’t used a condom. He’d fucked Ashley bare. He’d gone bareback inside m
y wife.
I wondered if talk of using a condom had ever even come up. Had Tamara explained she had none on her? Had Jim said he hadn’t either? Had Ashley so much as hesitated?
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