Reluctant Cuckold (39 page)

I thought, Understand what?

“I like Mike,” she added. “I’m pretty sure we still have some Coronas.”

She gave me a quick kiss and told me she loved me.

Mike came back out, signed the bill, and said, “Shall we?”

Ashley had just stuck her tongue in Mike’s mouth, and now he was coming back with us to our apartment. My heart was freaking racing, and I thought,
I shouldn’t have had that martini
.

Mike was essentially a stranger. And now, suddenly, we were saying hi to our doormen, and this guy was heading up the elevator with us to our apartment, our home.

Ashley turned on some music and offered Mike a seat on our sofa.

Jesus Christ
, I thought, he was in our living room, looking around at our photos, sizing up our place, and Ashley was asking me to bring out some Coronas.

She had an alternative rock mix playing and was seated on the couch next to him when I came out with the beer. I sat on a chair to the side.

“I’m sure you hear this all the time, Dave,” Mike said, “but you have a wife who is both super-gorgeous and super-cool.”

“Oh please,” Ashley said.

“You don’t have to tell me that,” I replied.

“Oh man,” Mike said, when an Arctic Monkeys’ song came on, “I love this song.”

“It’s a good song to dance to,” Ashley said. “Do you dance, Mike?”

“Do I dance?” he repeated with an expression like
Dancing with the Stars
had nothing on him.

“We can move the coffee table,” she suggested. “Can you help me with this, Dave?”

“What?” I said. “Yeah, OK.”

Thirty seconds later, I was watching Mike dance with my wife in my living room. As Ashley shimmied away with Mike, I felt as inanimate as the chair I was sitting in.

When the song ended, Ashley lowered the music and said, “We have this video game. It’s a little cheesy, but you have to check it out.”

“Sure,” Mike said.

I knew the game. I had watched Ashley dance to it for a whole afternoon with her eight-year old cousin. Some cartoon character comes out dancing to a song and points are awarded by how well you follow along, holding these sensor-batons.

“You’re a champ at this, Ashley,” Mike said, when the song ended. “You have two thousand points to my three hundred. Do you get your ass kicked at this like me, Dave?”

“I haven’t played,” I said, “but I’m sure I would.”

“I think you had the batons on backwards,” Ashley said.

“Now you’re just being kind,” Mike replied, “I’m no match for you.”

The next song came on—a fast-paced country song.

“What, you’re not joining me?” Ashley asked

“I’m still working on getting my two-step down,” Mike replied, “but I’d love to watch you.”

Ashley frowned, then smiled, before saying, “I’ll be right back.”

Mike leaned in to me and clicked bottles saying, “Cheers bro. This is a really nice place you have here. I’m impressed. How’s the rent?”

“We own it,” I replied.

“Wow, nice, it must have cost a pretty penny. I love the high ceilings and space—pretty atypical for Manhattan apartments.”

Ashley darted back in, wearing a cowboy hat that I had bought her at a University of Texas football game, last year.

“You look cute as all get-out,” Mike said as Ashley turned on the game and began her country music dance.

Ashley grew up in Virginia. I guess that’s technically the South. She has a bit of a southern accent, much diminished from living here. She certainly can affect a strong southern accent when she’s goofing around, but I’ve never known her to like country music. Maybe a couple very popular songs. But we don’t ever have CMT playing on our TV.

She was doing the song as a goof mostly, and because she’s good at it.

Mike clapped when it ended and Ashley said, “Oh stop.”

“No that was a visual delight,” Mike said. “I mean it. It had me thinking, why don’t you put on some sultry music and show us more sultry moves?”

Ashley looked at me, then back at Mike, and said, “Yeah?”

“I would love it, Ashley,” Mike said. “Right, Dave?”

“Uh, OK,” I heard myself saying.

“Well, let me see what I got,” she said, as she made a quick playlist on her iPod.

Suddenly, Ashley had Britney Spears’ “Slave 4 U” playing.

I briefly wondered if I was hallucinating. Ashley was dancing in the middle of our living room, strutting around, flipping her dress up, performing for Mike.

I felt paralyzed.

“You OK, Dave?” Mike asked when the song ended.

“Yeah, I’m cruel—I mean—I’m cool.”

Mike smiled and said, “Drink your beer, man, before it gets warm.”

An old Madonna song came on next. Mike said, “Ashley?”

“Yeah, Mike.”

“I loved how you danced in the last song, but ‘Justify My Love’ is a pretty sexy song. I would love it if you lost your dress in the middle of it.”

“Excuse me?” Ashley replied.

“You have your bra and panties on underneath, right?” Mike said.

“Well, bra and thong,” she replied.

“It’s hardly more revealing than a bikini on the beach, right?”

Mike gave me a quick smile. I felt he was cribbing back the inverse of what I had told him about Ashley wearing bikinis.

“We still have some vodka left, right?” Ashley asked me.

“Do we?” I said.

“I’m pretty sure we do” Ashley replied, “and I’m going to need a shot for this, so long as you boys join me.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mike said.

And so there I was pouring the three of us shots, pouring Mike a shot, so that my wife would feel comfortable enough to take her dress off in front of him.

Mike toasted us, saying, “To a wonderful evening.”

As soon as I drank it, I realized it wasn’t a good idea—I felt drunk in a sedated way.

Ashley, on the other hand, was buzzing in an energetic “go off” way. And then she began dancing in her black dress as she restarted Madonna’s “Justify my love.”

“That’s it,” Mike said, “just go with it, girl.”

I felt dazed, watching her.

“C’mon, Ashley,” Mike said, “liberate yourself, even your dress wants you to free yourself from it.”

Ashley smiled and gave me a look. I stared down at the floor.

“Just for a little bit,” Mike said.

“OK,” Ashley replied, “can you get the zipper?”

“Dave,” Mike said to me, “would you like to do it?”

“Um, OK,” I said, as Ashley walked toward me and turned around to give me access. I realized my hands were shaking as I unzipped the back of her dress.

“Thanks, honey,” she said, giving me a quick kiss.

“OK,” Ashley said, “I’m going to restart the song, K?”

“Absolutely, Ashley” Mike replied.

I watched as Ashley danced seductively around our living room, her eyes focused on Mike.

“So sexy,” Mike said, “I love the way you dance.”

And then I watched as Ashley pulled the strap down off her shoulders. It had a slow-motion quality to it, as the top of her dress came down to reveal her bra.

“Amazing,” Mike said, “fan-fucking-tastic.”

Ashley hesitated for a moment, but Mike said “Go with it, just a little more.”

And I watched as Ashley shimmied out of her dress and it fell to our living room rug. She stepped out of it and hung it over the side of the sofa. Then she pranced back to the center of the living room in nothing but her bra and thong, and resumed dancing.

“Oh yeah, Ashley, shake them big titties of yours. Oh yes, I love it. Now how about turning around for me.”

I watched in a surreal daze as my wife showed off her ass cheeks to Mike.

“What an amazing ass, Ashley,” I heard Mike say.

The next was an old Joe Cocker song, “You Can Keep Your Hat On.”

“Ever give a lap dance Ashley?” Mike asked.

Ashley smiled almost bashfully, “Um, no.”

“Why don’t you try it? I’m sure you’d be a natural. Just for a few seconds.”

Ashley didn’t even flash me a look. It was as if I wasn’t there.

I watched my wife sit down on Mike’s lap. I could see Mike straightening up, as if to get her to feel his hard-on under his jeans. Then he put his arms out and put his hands on her tits, over her bra, copping a feel.

My mouth was agape. He had his hands on my wife’s fucking tits.

Mike whispered into her ear. Ashley whispered back into his. Then Mike again. Then Ashley. Then Ashley stood back up and asked if we were ready for another beer.

“Sounds great,” Mike said.

It’s already 1:30 a.m. on a Wednesday night, I thought.

“I really love your apartment,” Mike said when she returned, “but I haven’t seen beyond this room and the kitchen. What do you say, Ashley, can I get the grand tour?”

“Of course, where are my manners?” she said as she handed us both a beer.

When Mike stood up, I did, too. My heart was racing and I was trembling. Ashley was showing Mike the rest of our home, wearing nothing but her bra and thong.

“You’ve seen this bathroom,” she said, her butt cheeks on total display as the two of us followed behind.

“This is our office, or our supposed office. Let’s just say it’s a work in progress.”

“It’s really spacious for Manhattan,” Mike said.

“And here’s our bedroom.”

Ashley stepped in first, and then Mike, before he abruptly turned around. “Be a sport Dave,” he said, “and give us a little alone time, bro.”

“What?”

Mike looked back at Ashley before saying, “I think we’re going to have a little private time now.”

“What?”

I looked over at Ashley, who mouthed, “I love you,” but made no forward movement toward me.

I mouthed back that I loved her too. Then I looked back at Mike.

“Just give us a few minutes, Dave.”

“But Mike—” I said.

“It’s OK, Dave, just relax, go back outside and enjoy your beer. It’s all good, bro.”

“But Mike, wait—” I said as he put his hand on the doorknob.

“It’s cool buddy,” he said.

I started to put my hand on the door. A few seconds later, he had pushed it closed and I heard the lock turn.

What the fuck?

A wave of panic overcame me. He’d just shut my bedroom door in my face and locked it. And now I was standing helplessly in the hallway. I stood in stunned, dazed disbelief.

Mike just locked me out of my own fucking bedroom. And Ashley’s in there with him, in our bedroom, drunk and in her underwear.

I moved to knock on the door, but stopped myself. I had to think for a second about what I would say.

If I knocked, Mike would say, “What?”

And then I would say, “Can you open the door, please.”

And he’d say something like he’d just said, “Dave, give us some time, enjoy your beer, hang out in the living room and watch TV.”

Then what?

I could say, “Open this door right this fucking minute or I’m picking the lock.”

That would probably prompt Ashley to come to the door.

I pictured her quietly saying, “It’s OK, Dave, do you mind just giving us a little bit of privacy for a bit?”

I couldn’t stand the thought of hearing something like that from her—being made to feel like an intruder.

Maybe she’d get a change of heart and come out on her own in a few minutes.

But she kissed him in the bar and gave him a fucking lap dance in our Goddamn living room.

And she seemed to have no problem with Mike shutting the door, basically in my face.

I heard Ashley’s iDeck turn on. She was playing one of her “chill out” mixes I’d heard dozens of times. It seemed such an intimate thing to play.

I heard Mike say, “Turn it up.”

I heard Ashley’s playful, sweet laugh as the volume went up.

I walked back down the hallway and saw Ashley’s dress draped over the living room sofa. I thought of a Radiohead song, the line, “this is really happening.”

I knew I had to get a grip. Ashley had just told me she loved me. Perhaps they’d come back out in a few minutes and Mike would head back to Brooklyn.