by Ben Boswell
Déjà Vu
Ben Boswell
Déjà vu Copyright © 2014 by Ben Boswell
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Cover image © Getty/iStockPhoto used under license
Cover design by Kenny Wright
First digital edition electronically published by Ben Boswell Publishing, December 2014
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without explicit written permission of the copyright holder.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Preface
Not much to say. This is one of my favorite stories. It isn’t perfect by any stretch. Even though it is short, there are some pacing issues. But the structure and the concept are clever, if I do say so myself. I’ve rewritten much of it recently and hope that even folks who read an earlier version will find it worthwhile to revisit this one with me.
A note of warning: This is a cuckold story. It is labeled as such, so this should not come as a surprise to readers. The wife isn’t always very nice to her husband and he doesn’t always stand up for himself as he probably should. The genre trades on this sort of bitch/wimp interaction, so I am not breaking new ground here, and I think in many ways this story is a less extreme version of the concept. Anyway, reader, you are forewarned.
A special thanks to Kenny Wright for designing the cover and giving me some suggestions for tightening the story.
Prologue: Reunion
It was our tenth anniversary, and as I sat across from Jessie at Jean-Paul's I couldn't help but notice that she was more beautiful than ever. At thirty-four, a mother with two children, she was nonetheless a stunner, lighting up the room.
When we first met, she was working for an environmental non-profit. She was a twenty-two year-old, freshly minted Mount Holyoke grad. Her strawberry-blond hair was a tangled mess that hung limply down to her lower back. She had acne. Her pale, blue eyes were hidden behind Coke bottle glasses. She had an okay body, big boobs at least, but soft otherwise. She wasn't really big into exercise. Needless to say, she only shaved her legs on special occasions. But she was a cute girl, smart, and definitely in my league.
I'd like to think I've improved over the years. I was a bit of a nerd; still am I guess. But I've figured out how to dress. I run twenty miles a week. I’ve generally grown up.
But Jessie... Jessie has blossomed. She sports a stylish wave, she got LASIK, and now that people can see her eyes, they are mesmerizing. She got into working out like crazy after Braden was born seven years ago, and redoubled her commitment to fitness after she had Maggie three years later, losing not just the baby weight in the process but sculpting her body into a tight, sexy package that always seems to turn heads. When people see us together, they literally assume I'm a multimillionaire and that she's my trophy wife. She's now definitely out of my league, but we've been together twelve years, married ten. We have a lovely home in the suburbs, two gorgeous kids.
Jessie stopped working after we had Maggie. It was just too much, and her non-profit was looking to cut staff anyway due to funding issues. I do okay as an accountant, but not well enough to swing a really nice anniversary trip (back before we had kids we always talked about doing our tenth in Hawaii), so we'd decided on dinner at Jean-Paul's at the Ritz, the snazziest restaurant in town. Not Hawaii, but not bad either.
The only reservation we could get on a Friday was for 6:00pm. But that was fine. It got us out of the house early and left the sitter the chore of putting the kids down. The dinner was delicious and we had a five-course meal, including cocktails and a bottle of wine. Still, even though we were dragging it out, we were finished by 8:00pm.
We decided it was too early to go home for the romantic part of the evening – not least of which was because the kids might still be up. So, instead, we crossed the lobby for a couple of drinks at the hotel bar. We could hear a fun little jazz trio playing, and it seemed lively. As we walked in, I got a huge kick out of the men's reactions. Jessie was wearing a slinky, green satin cocktail dress that accented every curve. We sat at the bar and ordered a couple of drinks.
I love spending time with Jessie. She comes off all sweetness to strangers, but she has a delightfully sarcastic streak to her, especially after a few drinks. We were people-watching, making fun of the overstuffed businessmen in the room, generally having a good time until it was an appropriate time to go home.
She spotted him first. "Oh my," she exclaimed.
I turned to look. And when I did he recognized me.
"Bill? Billy Morgan?" he said, extending his hand.
"Jesus, Chad?" I replied. "Haven't seen you in, what, ten years?"
He turned to Jessie. "And this is your sister, I hope," he said with a mischievous smile.
"My wife actually," I replied proudly. "Jessie meet Chad. Chad Jessie."
He stuck out his hand. "I was Billy's –"
"Freshman-year roommate," she finished his sentence. "Yes, I know."
He raised an eyebrow. "Billy must have told you about me. I assure you, everything he said was a lie," he said with a grin.
"I hope not," she smirked back.
***
We were having a few drinks with our friends Diane and Craig. I don't even know how the subject came up, but we started talking about freshman-year roommates, trying to one-up each other.
Craig's roomie was a Phish fanatic. He'd disappear for a week at a time when they toured within five hundred miles. He also cultivated a sixties vibe by bathing, at most, once a month, and by making their room a haven for all the campus potheads. Craig was pre-med, a straight arrow. Hilarity ensued. Well, not for Craig, but for everyone else.
Jessie's roommate was a Catholic fanatic. She dropped out of college sophomore year to enter a convent. Literally became a nun. Curious situation, but a little boring.
Diane's roomie was a Long Island JAP with an eating disorder and a slut streak a mile wide. They actually got along great until the girl's Guido boyfriend showed up and basically tried to move into their dorm room, which would have been bad enough even if he hadn’t been continually trying to talk Diane into a threesome.
But I had the best stories. I had Chad. Like all other roommate pairs, we set up ground rules. A sock on the door meant, "privacy please." For most of my friends, this was a purely hypothetical concept. Not for Chad. First night, I went to the dorm-wide ice cream mixer, and by the time I got back, he had a girl in the room, and the sock on the door.
That wasn't a fluke. At first, it was sort of amusing, even titillating. But then it got annoying. There was one streak where nine out of eleven nights, I was locked out while Chad “entertained.” We finally made a rule that he could only use the sock three times a week, and never more than two days in a row.
"What's his secret?" Diane asked.
"He's a handsome fuck and hung like a horse," I replied drunkenly.
Jessie snorted, "Oh please, that doesn't matter."
"It does to the girls Chad hooked up with. Jesus, they were lining up. One time we were at a diner near campus, sitting in a booth, just talking, when the girl behind me overheard me say his name. She turns around and goes, 'You're Chad from Dawson Hall?' He goes, 'yup.' She gets all red faced. 'Is it true what they say?' He goes, 'Only one way to find out.' And they left together just like that."
Diane laughed. "Well, how big was he?"
"I dunno. But everyone used to joke that he only took up swimming because it gave him an excuse to wear a Speedo."
They all laughed.
"Anyway, there was always drama. Girls fighting
over Chad... I mean, literally fighting, 2:00am one Saturday two girls got into a screaming and slapping cat fight outside our door. Then there was a girl who was like a secret admirer or something. Every few days she'd pin a pair of panties to our message board."
Craig laughed. "Alright, you win. To Chad!" And we drank a round to my ex-roommate. I didn't even have to bring out the big guns.
Chapter One: The Request
Chad and I got to be friends when we lived together, but sophomore year he joined a frat and we just didn't move in the same circles anymore. But even back in college, we were always friendly, would always buy a couple of beers and catch up if we ran into each other out. So, it wasn't weird for him to join us and buy a round.
I hadn't seen him in ten years, but if anything the fucker was even more handsome. Chestnut hair, hazel eyes, torso a perfect V. Worse, he was now a doctor, and not some regular doc, but rather an emergency room specialist who volunteered twice a year for Doctors without Borders. He’s like a genetically-engineered leg-spreading machine. He lived in New York, but he was in town for a conference, leaving the following morning.
One round turned into two, then three. We told him about our lives, he gave us more details about his. He had great stories. Some heartbreaking, others hysterical. That was the thing about Chad. As a guy, you wanted to hate him, but you just couldn't. He was smart, genuine, and funny.
Jessie was hanging on every word, so much so that it almost made me jealous. But I put that out of my mind. We were just having a few drinks with an old friend, what could happen?
After a while, Jessie just blurted out, "How in the world are you not married?"
He gave her a thoughtful look, "I don't know. I'm always busy, and I guess I've just never found the right woman."
I laughed. "Or maybe you've just found too many of them."
He chuckled. "Well, that is the other possibility."
We were close to finishing our drinks, and I was ready to take Jessie home for what I hoped was the highpoint of the evening. I started to ask for the check, when Jessie cut me off, "Let's get one more round and then we'll go. It's still early."
I shrugged. It wasn't even 10:00pm yet, and we didn't live far. If we were going to stay, I needed to pee, so I excused myself and went off to the bathroom.
I wasn't gone long. On my return, Jessie and Chad were sitting side by side, talking quietly. When I approached, they went silent.
"Everything okay?" I asked.
Jessie took a swig of her wine. She put her hand on my arm. "Baby, this is going to sound crazy, but I want to fuck Chad."
I gasped. They were staring at me blankly. I laughed. They didn't join in. "Are you kidding?"
She shook her head, "No, I mean it. I want to do this."
"Well, you can't," I snapped, my voice harsher than I’d expected. This was a joke after all. Wasn’t it?
My peremptory tone seemed to set her off. She regarded me coldly. "We're celebrating our tenth wedding anniversary, not ten years of bondage."
"Yeah, and marriages have vows."
"Which is why I'm not going behind your back."
"This is crazy. You want to destroy our family for an evening of meaningless sex?"
"No," she replied, "I’d like you to allow me an evening of meaningless sex and let it be meaningless."
Chad stood up and excused himself to go to the bathroom. "I think I'll let you two hammer this out."
I was stuck on the concept of “meaningless sex.” What did that mean? Was I missing something? My wife wanted to screw my old college roommate. It was just that. He was hot and she… she wanted to fuck him. And I thought about those dozens of times a day when I saw a pretty woman and thought, I’d do her. Of course, I would, but would she do me? And if she would, would I just go for it? Or ask Jessie permission?
I turned back to Jessie. Her expression had softened. "Please, I really want to do this."
"Why?"
And why was I asking? What difference did it make? It was a crazy idea, but she was discussing it so matter-of-factly that I began to wonder if I were the crazy one.
"Because he's beautiful, and funny, and I'm guessing he's very good at it."
"I don't satisfy you?" I asked defensively.
"Oh baby, of course you do. This is just about trying something new. Like sky diving or something."
"This is not like sky diving," I replied.
"Right, there is no risk of death and dismemberment here. Think of it like a massage, except instead of hands on my back, it'll be his penis in my vagina," she said with a giddy smile.
"Now you're just being silly."
“Yes, exactly! This is just a silly, meaningless, lark. One dumb night that we’ll laugh about when we’re old and doddery.”
I regarded her skeptically.
"Okay, consider it my anniversary present,” she suggested as an alternative frame.
"And what’s my special anniversary present then?"
And now suddenly we were negotiating about it. Truth is, I was still reeling from her request. A bolt out of the blue. It was that more than anything that had me flustered. Maybe if I’d just said no again, just held my ground it would have been different, but now I was giving her mixed signals and she seemed eager to read that as evidence I had come around.
"Name it," she replied with a saucy grin. "You get a 'get out of jail free card' of course, but I know there are some other things you'd like to try."
"You mean..." I'd always fantasized about trying anal, and had even mentioned it once or twice, though always after a few drinks, and always in situations where I could laugh it off as a joke. And the truth is, when push came to shove, I wasn’t really sure I’d be up for either pushing or shoving my dick into her ass. It was more of a fantasy than a desire.
But before I could really complete my thought, she nodded. "If you promise to go slow, but yeah, look, I know I'm asking a lot, but I promise I'll make it up to you any way I can."
That left me speechless. This wasn’t my Jessie. My Jessie wasn’t so direct, so adventurous, so open-minded.
Chad came back from the men's room, and before I could react she gave him a thumbs up. I groaned. He walked over and clapped me on the shoulder.
"Don't worry, buddy, I'll make sure it is a pleasurable and memorable experience."
That’s exactly what I am worried about. But I couldn’t quite seem to get the words out.
Jessie turned toward me and gave me a big kiss. "Thank you baby. Do you want to wait for me, or should I cab home?" she asked excitedly. "You're staying at the hotel, right?" she asked Chad.
"I am, but believe it or not, I have a roommate."
"Maybe you can put a sock on the door," I snapped.
He laughed. "No, but I can go see about getting another room."
"No, you don't need to do that," Jessie said. "We don't live that far. Just come back to our place."
"What about the kids?" I asked, incredulous.
"They're asleep, and anyway, I'm pretty sure we were planning to lock the door tonight." She turned back to Chad. "So, what do you say?"
He looked at her, then at me. For a moment I hoped some remnant of the bro’ code might prevail. Fucking a man's wife in his own bed was as bad as it gets. But instead he just grinned. "Let's do it."
We were pretty buzzed, and I probably shouldn't have driven, but it was a short trip. Jessie and Chad jumped into the back seat together. I was up-front, their chauffeur. They sat close, holding hands, talking softly, giggling, kissing occasionally.
When we got home, I unlocked the front door, and they stumbled in together, arm-in-arm. Kelly, the babysitter, appeared, startling them, and they quickly separated, looking guilty.
"Hi Kelly," Jessie said with a slight slur. "How were the kids?"
"Fine, fine," she replied awkwardly, staring from Chad to me and back to Jessie.
"Oh, this is Bill's college roommate. Chad meet Kelly."
He shook her hand and flashed her a
million dollar smile. She looked at him wide-eyed, her panties probably getting wet as she did. Is it bad to think of my teenage babysitter’s panties?
Chad didn’t seem to think so. He purred, "A girl as pretty as you must have better things to do on a Friday night than babysit."
She looked a little flustered but was obviously pleased with the compliment.
"Jesus Chad, she's sixteen," Jessie muttered softly, amused. She turned to me, "Bill, can you drive Kelly home?"
"Well, I'm pretty tired, maybe Chad could do it," I said sweetly.
"That's okay with me," Kelly said, a little too quickly.
Jessie laughed. "Not on your life. Your mother would kill me if I got you Junoed up."
"Mrs. Morgan!" she hissed, blushing red, though I don't know whether she was genuinely offended, or just embarrassed that Jessie could read her so easily.
I hustled Kelly out the door, and turned back to look at them giggling. "This isn't funny," I snapped.
"Not even a little funny?" Jessie asked as they continued laughing.
It was an awkward car ride, though mercifully short. She'd seen them walk in together, seen them separate guiltily, seen them making drunken sexual innuendos. She wasn't a stupid girl. She had to know something was up.
I dropped her off without a word and drove back home.
Chapter Two: Seeing is Believing
I noticed they'd raided the fridge for the bottle of champagne I'd left chilling. I went upstairs and checked on the kids. They were mercifully fast asleep. I headed toward the master bedroom, and then I saw it.
A sock on the door. Cute. I threw the sock down the hall. I turned the knob. It was locked. From inside I could hear them talking over the sounds of soft Jazz coming from the radio. I knocked softly. No answer. I knocked louder. Still no answer. I knew they could hear me, but were just ignoring me. I didn't want to knock any louder. The last thing I wanted was to wake the kids.
