by KT Morrison
She held her hands out over the counter and watched them. They trembled. Nervous energy travelling up her wrists and shooting into her shoulders. She gripped her hands into fists and rotated them in circles, tried to ease out some of that tension. This was huge. This was crazy.
She’d already made love with him, but somehow tonight was the real first time. When they’d done it in the van, it was all about speed. It was hot and passionate, but it was quick. And it was a surprise to both of them—happening before they even realized it. He stuck it in her and hammered until he came into his condom. Then he ran off. She didn’t get to take her time, she hardly got to explore him, she didn’t even put her hands on his penis. Tonight, if they could convince him, they would go slow, make it last. And Pete was going to watch. She was going to take her hands and touch every part of that kid’s hard, beautiful body. She was going to kiss his abs, let her lips brush every hard ridge. She wanted to suck his nipples, his balls. Poor Pete. She was going to make him suffer. She was going to break him down, make him hurt.
The recipe called for two cups of wine so she skimmed a little for herself—she’d bought a big bottle of the cheap stuff. She filled a kitchen glass to keep her company while she cooked. It might numb her a bit too, calm her mind. The wine was terrible but she was going to finish it.
The dutch oven went over the burner; olive oil, onions, carrots, leeks in there. This onion smell better not stick to her, she thought. She should have showered after she was done but she was running out of time. She got them sautéed, added the rest of the wine and a splash of cognac, threw the roast and the other vegetables in and waited for it to boil.
Pete’s car pulled into the driveway and she watched him jump out, suit jacket and briefcase tucked under his arm, and speed-walk up the path. He threw the things down in the hall, she heard the hollow sound it made on the deacon’s bench. Then he was in the kitchen, eyes wide, wrought with anxiety. He didn’t say anything, only watched her, just his eyes moving, tracking her in the kitchen.
“What is it?” she said.
“It’s still on?”
“Oh, no, why?” Had he changed his mind?
“No—I want it to still be on...”
“Yeah, yeah, Pete. It’s on. Come here.”
He came around the island and stood next to her in the cramped kitchen. She said, “I need you to cut up these vegetables and put them in the dutch oven—”
“What’s that?”
“The black thing here, Pete, come on.”
“All right, okay.”
“I need you to boil them and then in about fifteen minutes put it in the oven—covered, Pete—and then watch those potatoes, take them out when they’re ready and strain them.”
“I don’t know, Jess, this cooking thing—I’m not really—”
“Pete, I’m not going to let him make love to me if I smell like onions, all right?” She put her hand between his legs, squeezed him a bit, said, “So if you want to watch me get pounded by a real man you’ll watch these pots for me while I wash my hair again.”
“Yeah, okay. You go, I’ll figure it out. Go, go,” he said, sending her out of the kitchen and rolling up his shirt sleeves.
Pete had to call it off. Right? He just had to. He couldn’t go through with this. In principle, it was very sexy. He fantasized all the time about his pretty Jess on her back, being delivered into ecstasy in a way he could never do. He could picture her face, her eyes closed her mouth in a mournful shape as some hung stud drove his big salami inside her. She deserved that. Isn’t that what people dream of? Being delivered into ecstasy. He wanted that for her. He didn’t know why he wanted it—why it turned him on—but it really did.
However, this was the zero hour. It was going to happen right in front of him and no matter how many times he’d already pictured it, wanted it to be real, maybe in actuality, he couldn’t do it. This was huge. It would be live. He would hear her sounds, he would watch her face. But he’d also hear Tyler’s sounds, animal grunts, he would probably smell his sweat. Kind of hot, but maybe it would be too intimate. It might be too much for him. Jess had already been with him, maybe that would be enough.
Every time he thought he’d decided to put a stop to it, he’d get that image again, the one that always came to him: Jess being pounded, her face filled with dirty, ecstatic joy, her legs wrapped around another man’s waist—
Then he’d shake his head, tell himself he could do it. It was a constant battle while he did his best not to ruin Jess’ dinner, standing over the dutch oven while the wine boiled. One time he even got half way up the stairs, on his way to break it to her. Sorry, Jess, we have to come to our senses.
But it was now or never. A real stud—no matter how little Pete thought of him—was going to ring that doorbell in an hour and a half. He was muscular, young, handsome, and apparently had a real stick of dynamite in his underwear. If he didn’t go through with this, the chances of bringing all these crazy elements into play again in the future sometime would be impossible. Cold feet, that was all. He absolutely would not call this off.
He got the vegetables in the dutch oven and had it boiled, put the lid on it and put the whole thing into the old green Maytag stove that was still holding on. Jess had it preheated and he just twisted the timer, following along with the recipe she had left open on the counter. He strained the potatoes out in the sink and left them—who knows what she wanted to be done with those. Now he was sweating, his shirt sticking to his back, and drops of sweat coming off his nose. He opened the cupboard and splashed a little Dewar’s around the bottom of a glass and knocked it back. He gripped the edge of the counter a moment and closed his eyes. This was really goddamn happening.
He went up the stairs to the bedroom. Jess was there, her back to him. He looked at her beautiful body standing there in their little bedroom in bare feet. She looked at him over her shoulder, her face sad, guilty. She was just wearing a pair of red, lacy panties. They were bright, sexy, not at all like anything he’d seen her wear before. She was breathtaking. The thong back slipped in between her cheeks, disappearing between her legs. Her perfect ass flaring out from her tiny waist as she stood, hip cocked.
“Jess, you look so incredible,” he said.
She bit her lip, didn’t answer him, looked down at the floor. He stepped up behind her and he put his hand on the warm shower-fresh skin of her shoulder. This was his. This was his shoulder, his skin, his perfectly formed flesh. He ran his hand down her back, feeling the beauty he possessed—feeling it being pulled away from him. She was going to be shared tonight. She wasn’t his. She was her own. And he wasn’t enough for her. It didn’t hurt anymore, it was something he came to grips with a long tome ago. He wanted this for her. He wanted it for himself.
His hand swept down over her firm cheek, and he watched it. Watched her flesh yield to his touch so slightly. He looked at the swoop of her thigh, her thin knees, her dainty feet nestled in the shag carpet. She had painted her toes for Tyler.
“Tyler doesn’t deserve this,” he said.
She looked in his eyes, said, “Thank you, Pete.”
He put his lips on her bare shoulder, kissed it very gently. “Boy’s got to my sister okay?”
“We can pick them up at lunch tomorrow.”
“You ready to put this kid through his paces?”
“I think so.”
Tyler got there on time. Surprise-guy who’s always late shows up right on time when he thinks he’s going to fuck Jess behind Pete’s back. No one would show up late to fuck Jess. Pete was sitting in his chair, Dewar’s on the side table, when he heard the motorcycle come up their street in first gear, heard the squeak of rubber as it went up the slight grade of their driveway. His balls literally climbed up high and tight, he could feel his hairs rubbing in his briefs as his sack tightened. Here it was—it was time.
He stood behind the door and let Tyler knock before he opened it. Tyler gave the door a hearty one-two; a solid, manly knock. Pete
swung the door open wide and forced a pleasant, fearless look on his face.
“Oh, hey, Tyler,” he said, trying to beam.
“Oh, hey, Pete,” he said. Surprised.
Tyler was looking good. Plain T-shirt tonight, super-tight, tight jeans, sneakers again. His hair was combed up like James Dean. Pete could see it. He could see wanting to fuck this guy if he were a girl. Even his normally sensible wife. He could see the appeal for her. Tyler stood, expecting Jess to answer, hip stuck out, posed, holding some flowers and a bottle of wine. What else did you bring tonight, kid? Some extra large condoms so you could stuff that thing in my wife? A bag of weed or something? All the kids doing that these days. How did you see this going down tonight, Tyler?
“Yeah, my trip got postponed. Looks like it’s just you tonight, Jess said the Walkers had to cancel.” He let that sink in. Let him figure that Jess had told Pete she’d invited more people for dinner, lying to her cuckold husband.
“Oh, that’s too bad, I was looking forward to seeing them.” Okay, he caught on. Wasn’t as dumb as he looked. “You sure it’s okay? We can make it another time...” Kid didn’t figure he’d be sticking it to Mrs. Mapplethorpe so he wanted to go do something else.
“No, don’t be crazy, dinner’s practically ready, come on in,” he said, held the door for him and let him past.
Jess came into the hall, paused, let them both look at her. Beautiful in a simple summer dress, flats in the house, and Pete knew the sexy panties she had on under there. Tyler looked her up and down as she stepped to him.
“Hi, Tyler, so glad you made it,” she said. She lifted herself up on her toes to kiss him, Pete saw her soft lips press onto his cheek. Her little hand clasped his fingers, steadying herself. Tyler was stiff, unsure of how to greet her in front of her husband.
“Good, to see you, Jess,” he said and Pete saw him softly squeeze her thumb.
Jess whispered, “Sorry,” to him. It made Pete tremble. Who knew his wife could be so bad?
She thanked him for the flowers and the wine and she took them from him. They both followed her into the kitchen. Pete opened the wine, turned his back to them so Jess could talk to Tyler. He could see them in his periphery, she was close to him, explaining to him how Pete had cancelled last minute.
He poured three glasses of wine, handed one to his wife and she took it. She was all smiles now, beaming. Her face was flushed. He loved to see her so aroused, so exuberant. Tyler took his wine and Pete caught him give his wife another good once over, looking up the back of her pretty legs, the sweep of her rump under her light floral dress. Her shoulders were bare and the tanned skin she was showing was even turning Pete on, and he’d touched her thousands of times. She must be putting an ache between this kid’s legs.
“So, Tyler, Jess tells me you used to play ball in college.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” he said taking his eyes off of Jess. “H-back at Albright.”
“Albright’s D3?” Pete took some weird pleasure in putting his accomplishment into perspective. Even though he’d only had one small sporting accomplishment of his own, ever. And D3, while not D1, might as well have been the fucking NFL because it was light years beyond Pete’s physical abilities.
“I feel super lucky to have got the job there,” he was telling them. Tyler had only been in town about ten months. He did the last half-semester at the high school last year and he was just starting his first full year there in two weeks.
Joe Watson, the vice-principal, got him the job. Sounded like Joe knew Tyler was in a rough patch because Joe is a cousin of Tyler’s old defensive coordinator at Albright.
“You had your license for Ohio already?” Pete said.
“Yeah, I was at a school down south.”
They were having dinner at the dining room table. A room rarely used. This table usually, during the school year, was littered with Jess’ paperwork, tests to be graded, boxes of arts and crafts. Jess had served the dinner on regular plates using regular cutlery, didn’t want this to get too weird and formal.
It had become a little uncomfortable already. Felt like they were interviewing him. Asking him questions together as a team. One would ask him something then the other would ask a follow-up. Was the kid getting wise? Could he see through them? They might have been more obvious than they thought. On the one hand, it would be kind of insulting that Tyler would think that they were seducing him, but they were doing exactly that. Maybe it would be better if he knew what they were up to, save them from climbing that enormous mountain, save them from having to ask him if he’d sleep with Jess while Pete watched.
“Where were you before here?”
“Fairville District, down in Queen City.”
“Boy, that’s a small town,” Jess said.
“Oh, I know it.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“Things got a little hot down there, it was best if I moved on.”
Pete asked him, “Trouble at work?”
Tyler shifted in his seat. “No, no, woman trouble.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Jess said.
“She was no good for you?”
Tyler laughed, said, “Well, her husband was no good for me.”
This scumbag fuck. How could Jess fall for this? Wasn’t she smarter than that? She’d fucked him—wouldn’t he be embarrassed to reveal another married tryst to her? How dumb was this kid?
Jess’s roast was a little tough and he knew she’d be sweating it. Everything else was great, the meat couldn’t be helped, and she had put on a wonderful meal. Pete just knew she was on edge already, could see the tension in her, hoped that she wasn’t hurting. He just wanted her to be happy all the time. This endeavour shouldn’t be a trial. Tyler ate it up without a worry anyway, two helpings of everything. No leftovers for Pete’s lunch tomorrow.
Jess asked him, “All your family is still in Altoona?”
“Yeah, well, not there anymore, they moved, not far from there, Rock Hill. Closer to Harrisburg.”
“Is it tough to be away from them?”
“No, not at all,” he laughed. “Not my family, but I miss my friends.”
Pete said, “You haven’t made any friends out here?”
“Mm, not really. It’s hard—”
Jess said, “We’re your friends aren’t we?” She gave him a warm smile, the wine starting to take its toll on her.
“Well, yeah, of course. I just mean, everyone I know is married, has kids, I haven’t really met single guys to hang out with yet. Everybody’s so busy...”
Jess poured Tyler another glass of wine. Talking and moving absently. Pete knew she wanted him a little worn out, a little more receptive to some crazy ideas. She wanted him drunk. She wanted to take advantage of this kid, frankly.
Pete’s nerves started to get the better of him. He felt a tremble in his cutlery, could see the knife shaking in his fingers. He was scared. He wanted this so badly but he was scared. Maybe Tyler wasn’t right. Fuck, though, he was. Pete didn’t like him but look at him. Look at his broad shoulders, big chest and big arms. Of course, his wife wanted him. It was just sex. Why was Pete intimidated by him? Was it just taste? Like if Tyler looked the same but had no tattoos and an office job would he feel better? Something just rubbed him the wrong way. But this kid was a gift for a hungry woman, wasn’t he?
Jess was getting more and more nervous, preparing to make the leap here, get this going. It was closer to the time she had to do it. What if she never got the nerve? Let him say his goodbyes and get on that bike and ride out of their life? That really could happen.
Plus there was a very good chance he’d say no, get himself the hell out of here. They were going to ask him to do something horribly ridiculous. He was kind of a macho guy—what would he think of being naked with another man in the room? She had to be sure he understood Pete was only going to watch. Pete wasn’t going to take his clothes off, wasn’t going to try and touch his penis.
Even fully clothed, she’d spent most o
f the dinner distracted by his body. She might see him bare tonight, get to explore his perfect form. She’d been admiring his skin, his tattoos, his thick neck and traps, his square jaw, that full head of dirty blonde hair. He looked so out of place in her sweet household. This stud sitting in the home she shared with her boys and her husband. He took up so much space too. Their house was small, just a three bedroom and eighteen-hundred square feet. Tyler filled up the rooms when he was in them.
His hands looked so big, so foreign on her familiar steel cutlery. The stainless she’d brought from home when her mother died and her dad moved out to Arizona. The same cutlery she used when she was a little girl, that her family used every night. It gave her a naughty thrill seeing it in the hands of this dirty savage who was going to split her in two tonight—who’d already been inside her.
Those hands were thick and muscular. Well-groomed nails too, clean. The letters of Live Free were tattooed across his knuckles done in the font from the dollar bill. The skin on the back of his hands was all inked; George Washington, water, maybe the Delaware, muskets. She knew Pete hated this, thought the tattoos were silly but it turned her on. There was something sexy about it and she couldn’t put it into words. It was so wrong. Tyler was so wrong. Pete was right about that. Something about Tyler, however, made her tingle. When he came into a room, her heart quite literally skipped a beat. He turned her into a shy girl. But a shy girl who ached to be penetrated by him.
Yes, he wasn’t suitable for a mother of two who taught third-grade, Teacher of the Year Award winner, though that was mostly a popularity contest. That was probably what put that thrill in her belly. Being with him was ugly and selfish. That’s who she wanted to be sometimes. Ninety-nine out of a hundred days she was the world’s best mom, she was a phone call away for any of the parents of the kids she taught, one night a week she gave a dance lesson for free at the school. Ninety-nine days out of a hundred she was a good person. Caring, loving, and sweet. One day out of a hundred she’d like for it to be okay for her to get dirty. To roll up her sleeves and do the things that would shock her friends and family. One day out of a hundred would be for her.
