by Sean Geist
I was getting uncomfortable, seeing all the people, happy people, happy couples, and I decided maybe I wanted to mope in my room after all.
I ordered a double shot to go and headed back to wait for the return of my wife and deceitful brother. I failed to note the irony at the time.
Back in the room, I paced around. Painful emotions ricocheted around my skull like a stray bullet – hatred for my brother, love and pity for my wife, pity and self-loathing.
I went into the en-suite and splashed water on my face. It helped a little. I looked up, into the mirror. The turmoil was evident in my red eyes – although it could have been the alcohol.
My phone buzzed. I jumped.
A message from Richard. - Headed back
What the fuck did he expect me to do? Leave my room? And go where?
If I didn't want to confront my brother now, out in the open, in front of my wife, I had to do something. I looked out the open bathroom door and spotted the lock-out.
I needed to avoid disrupting Lauren's vacation. My enjoyment had already been ruined, my marriage was definitely on thin ice. My wife didn't deserve the drama. It was my fault, I would pay the price.
I gathered up my wallet and phone and went across to my brother's room.
I had meant to stay alert, wait for my chance to move in, but I didn't take into account just how drunk I was. Once inside the small studio, I closed the door and fell face first on the bed, passing out.
I had a massive headache when I awoke. The room was filled with a fading orange light, the setting sun.
“That was so fucking fun” My wife was easily audible through the lock-out. Her language highlighting the wonderful time she was having.
“Never done that before.”
“What? Have sex on the beach.” I winced at my brother's words.
“Well. It wasn't really sex.”
“I'd call a blow job, sex.”
“You would. Silly.” The playful tone was hard to listen to, but to my surprise I was getting hard again. Hearing Lauren enjoying herself, thinking she was with me – letting go. I was really missing out due to my own idiocy. I was hurting, but I also felt exhilarated, like a hot pepper – tastes good, but with a painful price.
The talking had stopped. I moved closer to the door and pressed my ear against it.
At first, I heard nothing, then a low soft moan, a woman's moan. My wife's moan.
“Oh, Roger. You don't have to do tha—Ah!”
After a pause, my brother spoke. “I want to return the favor.”
“Fair is fair.”
Richard was eating my wife's pussy. My fetish started taking control again. Gone was the guilt and dread of what lie in my future. Now my dick was hard, my body feeling the effects of arousal tinged with jealousy.
“Oh, Roger. Oh. Fuck. I'm going to. Going to. Ahh.” Lauren's orgasm arrived with a roar. A few startled magpies flew off from the balcony.
“You're a sex-machine.” From the sound of my wife's voice they must have been in the sitting room. They hadn't even taken the games to the bedroom.
Silence returned, or at least the appearance of silence. I couldn't make out any words but I heard plenty of rustling about.
“Wait here.”
“Where are you going, Ren?” The sound of my brother using my pet name for Lauren would never fail to sting.
“Oh, you'll see.” Her voice sounded faint. “Remember what I said at breakfast?”
Richard paused, not sure of what to say; he hadn't been with her at breakfast. I was. And I knew. And I almost barged into the room.
My brother finally answered. “Sure.” Fucking liar.
“I'm ready if you are.” Lauren's voice was louder, like she was only a few inches from the door.
Fuck me. My wife was going to let my brother fuck her in the ass. Unless I did something to stop it. I could think of nothing short of the nuclear option, unmasking the real identity of the man in the room with my wife. Was I really ready to do that?
I wanted to be the one to fuck my wife in the ass. We'd never done it before. It should be special, the first time.
I urgently wanted to stop the action in the room next door.
I picked up my phone and dialed my brother's number.
“What the heck?”
“Ignore it.”
“It's a blocked number. Who could be calling me here?” What a fucking good actor, my brother.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
“I'll just be a sec.”
“I'm ready now.”
“Hello?”
I was startled when I realized my brother had picked up the line and was talking to me.
“Richard. Get the fuck out of that room.”
“I can't understand you.”
“If you keep this up, you're fucking dead to me.”
“No hablo español.”
“Come on, man. Please.” I felt like a fool, pleading with my brother to not fuck my wife after I had gone to so much trouble to put him in the position in the first place. “One more time, but please, not anal.”
My brother almost lost it. I could tell, a quick tick in his voice. “No comprendo.”
He hung up the line. I stared at my phone, then back to the door. I felt a headache coming on.
“You naughty girl. Can't keep your hands off me while I'm on the phone.” Now that my brother knew I was on the other side of the door, listening to everything they did, he seemed intent on narrating the action.
“Just getting you nice and hard for what's to come.”
“We're both going to cum.”
“Take that off.”
“Here, Ren. Let me help.”
My mind was filled with the vision of my wife and brother tearing off what little clothing they had on.
The torture was intense. My cock felt hard as steel. I absent-mindedly started stroking myself through my shorts.
“Let's get that erection nice and lubed up.”
“Been waiting for this forever.” My brother spoke more truth than my wife was aware of.
“Then why haven't you ever suggested it?”
“I'm too much of a pussy.” Motherfucker!
“Shut up and let's do this.”
The sound of the eager lovers moving into position filled my ears and I felt an aching in my heart almost as intense as the aching in my cock.
“Ah. More. Put more on.”
“Like this?” I heard the sound of lube slathered on skin.
“Yeah. That should do.” After a short pause my wife's voice again unwittingly sent a dagger through my heart. “Be gentle.”
“I will, Ren. I will.”
I imagined my brother lining his slick cock up with my wife's virgin ass. His hands squeezing her butt cheeks, pulling them apart to expose her dark rosebud.
“That's so beautiful.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. Nice enough to kiss.”
My body shivered. Pre-cum oozed from the tip of my penis.
“Oh.” My wife yelped. I could only imagine why. “Dirty boy.”
“You ain't felt nothing yet.”
“AHH” Lauren sounded like she was in pain. It took great effort to keep from bursting into the room. Her cry quickly melted into a moan. “Easy. Oh, God. So big.”
“Should I stop?”
“FUCK, NO. Slow. Oh fuhhh. I feel so full, so fucking full.”
My wife continued to spew obscenities as her lover slowy fucked her ass.
“That feels soooo—ah!”
My blood boiled with jealously and rage yet I kept on stoking my cock. I was aroused and lost in what was happening. My wife and brother's carnal experimentation in the next room, while my voyeuristic fantasy was fulfilled beyond my wildest expectations.
I realized I would never be able to take my wife's anal cherry. Forever that would be my brother's claim.
I heard the sounds of bodies in motion, flesh slapping against flesh, my wife's amorous moans.
“I'm gonna cum.”
“Hold off. Not yet.”
I imagined Lauren, wanting to come with the man inside her, moving her hands between her legs, fingers vigorously working her clit. It was an image I couldn't help but enjoy, even if I wasn't involved.
“So close. So. Close.”
“Almost there.”
“Yes. Now. Fill me.”
“Here it comes.”
“NOW!”
My brother's grunts played counter to my wife's cries. There were no words spoken as Richard's cock pulsed filling my wife again with his cum.
“Oh, fuck. So good.”
Echoes of pleasure continued to play in my mind as I felt a warmth spread across the front of my crotch. I had cum with my wife and my brother. Although, instead of filling my wife, my semen was absorbed into the fabric of my shorts.
A sadness quickly overcame me. My arousal draining away as the pleasure of my climax faded away. Now I felt dirty, and not the good kind, but I wasn't able to drift too far down into the pit of self-pity.
A thud against the lock-out startled me, sending me sprawling backward into the bed.
“You are a maniac.” I heard the kissing and moaning and fondling. Richard must have thrown my wife against the door between our rooms, probably to make sure I didn't miss anything as he ravished her.
The jealously froze my heart, yet still underneath a small blue flame of arousal. My wife was having a great time, the best fucking ever. True she was with someone else, but the happiness I felt for her lingered, despite the pain.
“Oh no, no, no. You are not sticking your cock in me 'til you clean it off. I know where it's been.”
They both laughed.
“Wash up. I'll meet you in bed and see what we can get up to.”
Lauren closed the bedroom door and silence descended on the room.
I heard a tapping at the window of my room. I turned to look and saw a familiar blue and white bird staring back at me. Mocking me, perhaps. Like Poe's raven.
I waved the beast away. No orange wedge for you, fucker, I thought to myself. I dare not speak, since I was still invested in keeping the ruse going.
The bird strutted about a bit. He wasn't afraid of me. I felt pathetic.
How was this all going to end when I broke it to my wife? What would she do?
Would she throw me out of the house? Divorce me? Could I blame her? I had tricked her into fucking my brother. He had tricked her into letting him fuck her in the ass; and I was complicit. Best case scenario, I was in for a shit load of penance. And I wouldn't be able to argue with Lauren. Over anything. I had royally fucked up.
Visions of my happy, stable marriage swirling down the drain filled my mind.
I sat down on the bed. I was exhausted, despite my nap. I was spent from the stress and my own small climax. The sun had gone down, the sky a deep purple, slipping into black.
My room was dark, my eyes drawn to the thin line of yellow at the bottom of the lock-out door. I tried to imagine what my wife and brother were doing in the other room, but nothing came to mind. I must have become numb from sensual sensory overload.
The light went out and I was alone in total darkness. I lay back on the bed and sleep overtook me.
Chapter Eight
I am at a party. Lots of people mingling, none that I know. I look around. Lauren is here, but I can't see her. I ask around and people say she's over there, or downstairs.
I go to look for her over there or downstairs—and she's not.
We've had a big argument, I think. I'm not sure, it's kind of vague. Then I glance across the room and spot the back of her head. I get excited. I move in her direction, but I'm confounded by the crowds. They seem to have swelled. By the time I get to where she was, she's gone.
The evening wears on, anxiety fuels my search. I spot my brother. He's in full beard, scraggly hair. People call to him, but they're using my name.
“Hey, Roger. Your wife looks so hot, tonight.”
“I can't believe you're able to keep such a beautiful woman happy, Roger.”
He laughs and brushes off their remarks. I can't believe what the fuck is going on, so I ask him.
“Richard, what's happened?”
“You talking to me?”
“Yeah. What's happening.”
“I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Who are you?”
“You know damn well who I am. I'm your brother, Roger.”
“Funny. I'm Roger. And I don't have a brother.”
“No.” I'm getting nervous. “My name is Roger.”
Richard just stares at me, a funny look on his face, like he wants to smile, yet he's weary I might lunge at him. He eventually walks away. Before I can react, he's out of my sight.
“Hey, Richard. How's it hanging?” I don't recognize the man who's just spoken those words. Is he talking to me?
“Richard. You okay?”
A group has convened around me.
“Richard. How's single life?”
“Hey, Rich – sorry, Richard – can you shoot my wedding?”
“Too bad about Lauren. I always thought she would have ended up hooking up with you.”
I look down and see the handle of a large bowie knife protruding from my chest. Do people really think Lauren and Richard would make a good couple? That Roger doesn't deserve her?
Maybe, Roger got lucky. He asked her out at the right time, when she was vulnerable. She gave in, ignored her better judgement and married Roger.
I realize I'm not Roger, maybe I am Richard. I'm confused and so, so alone.
I look to my left and see Lauren, my wife – or is she? – talking to a handsome man. His dark brown skin glistens in the candlelight. I'm not sure where the candles came from.
The two are talking. She smiles and grabs his upper arm. He looks down at her, he's at least six inches taller. He smiles and his teeth sparkle and I feel a stirring in my groin.
The man takes Lauren's hand – my wife's? – and kisses it. She blushes and pulls her hand back. He hasn't let go. She keeps pulling and his grip tightens. I move closer and tell him to let go.
They look at me and laugh. They both are laughing.
“Why are you here, Roger?” At least she recognizes me. Or does she? I thought I was Richard.
“I'm here for you. I think it's time we go.”
“No. I'm going home with Nathaniel.”
“Who the fuck is Nathaniel?”
“I am.” It's her new friend. The man grasping her arm.
“But, I'm tired. And I want to go home.”
“No one's stopping you.”
I'm so sad. I hurt, but my cock is rock hard. I don't understand why the pain arouses me. My wife has refused me. She wants to go off with this other man, a stranger to me and her, no doubt. I move away and utter dismay overtakes me.
I did this. I pushed Lauren into the arms of another man, and she has forsaken me.
I turn to go. I am half way to the door, when a strong hand grips my shoulder and I'm forced around. I'm staring into the face of my wife. Yes, Lauren. She's my wife. I know this.
She kisses me on the lips.
Yes, I scream to myself.
“You taste good. I want to fuck you right now.”
My heart soars, the burden of depression lifted.
“But first, I need to ask Nathaniel.”
We both look his way. Nathaniel shakes his head, no.
“Sorry, Roger. Maybe another time.” Lauren laughs and moves farther away from me, too fast to follow.
The room starts spinning, but I'm not getting sick or dizzy. I walk straight ahead, through the crowd, the door, the hedges. I find myself alone at home. I'm putting away my umbrella. It's wet. I'm wet.
“Don't get any water on the hardwood floors.” Lauren is in the kitchen. I hear a metal spoon knocking against a glass bowl.
“Sorry.” I stand in the foyer and take off my wet coat and shoes. I head toward the kitchen. Nothing is
dripping.
“Did you remember the wine?”
I look at the bottle I'm holding in my hand – an '08 Cab. “Yeah.”
I remember stopping and buying it, but not really.
“Did you remember a gift? For your brother?”
I'm about to turn the corner into the kitchen. I look at my hands again. Instead of wine, I'm holding a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, my favorite. Why would I buy Richard, my brother, a bottle of my favorite scotch? He likes the peatier stuff.
I look up to see Lauren. Her face glistens with sweat. Her hazel eyes sparkle. The room is hazy. I'm in awe of my wife's beauty.
A weird sensation erupts in my gut. I look again at my wife. My beautiful Lauren, her curly black hair frames a painfully cute face, her pert nose, her red lips. The love I have for her burns. My heart skips a beat.
Something is different. She's wearing a loose fitting sweat shirt. Her boobs form two large mounds under the heavy grey fabric. Her yoga pants, black with grey stripes are new. They ride low, just below the over-inflated basketball she seems to be hiding under her shirt.
Oh, fuck. She's pregnant.
I move to touch her belly. I rub my hands over the top and around the edges. Do I feel a kick? I'm not sure, but I'm full of pride. Lauren, my wife is pregnant with my—
“Just a few days more, Richard. And our lives will be changed forever.”
I pull back my hand. The room swirls again. I'm not Roger, me. I'm Richard. The child is mine, but not mine.
I run.
My wife calls to me.
“Richard. Come back. Richard.”
Now I'm falling. Lauren's voice echoes though the vaults of my empty surroundings.
“Richard. Richard.”
I'm shaken. The darkness around me is broken by a blaze of warm light.
The morning sun has broken through a crack in the curtains, falling full on my face.
***
I looked over at the clock. It read eight a.m. I was alone in bed. I looked over at the lock-out. I was in Richard's room. I'd spent the night, alone. My wife, who knew?
I had a vague recollection of an awful dream. The details hidden in the mists of my sleepy mind.
There was a white piece of paper taped to the door. That wasn't there last night.
I dragged my tired ass out of bed and moved to retrieve the note.
