Reluctant Cuckold (8 page)

“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?”

“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.”

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 my 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?

Oh God, the sheer brazenness of it all. Jim Murta had blown his sperm up Ashley’s pussy. He had pussy-jizzed my fucking wife. What a coup that must have been. Not just fucking my wife, but busting his nut right up inside her. How triumphant he must have felt as his head touched up against Ashley’s pussy. and once inside her, he could relax, take his time, enjoy her pussy, and just savor the fuck.

At some point he must’ve thought, “I’m so going to do this. Ashley Martens is going to take my sperm.”

Did Ashley tell him not to? Or had she whispered, “It’s OK, I’m on the pill”? Did Jim even ask? Or did that not matter?

He probably didn’t even ask for permission. He was just determined to do it. He was going to seed Ashley’s pussy with a fat load of Jim Murta sperm.

I imagined him holding Ashley firmly on that final thrust, holding her down on his cock, thinking, “You’re taking my fucking sperm, baby.”

What satisfaction he must have felt as his cock spewed glob after glob of hot sperm inside her. Did he wonder if maybe he’d just impregnated my wife, knocked Ashley up, given her a baby—his baby?

What was Ashley thinking as she felt it shooting up inside her? Was there any disbelief? Or back to earth reality?

What a stud he must have felt like as he slowly pulled his cock out of my wife’s freshly seeded pussy.

How easily he proceeded from walking inside that bathroom to giving my wife a hard, raw, bare, animalistic fuck. And then he added that humiliating punctuation mark. He had uncorked his sperm, his baby-seed, inside my wife.

Was it entertaining for Jim as he zipped up and put his cock back inside his pants? Watching my wife get hurriedly dressed, nervously fixing herself in the mirror, knowing she would have to go greet people outside, including her own husband. Trying hard to look like she hadn’t just been fucked.

“Now go outside and say hello to your husband with my sperm inside your puss,” I pictured him thinking.

I got out of bed and went to the bathroom down the hall. I sat on the sink.

Oh God, Ashley, I thought, you didn’t just let him fuck you, you let him fuck you bare, you let him pump his sperm inside you, knowing I was right outside. You let him seed your pussy, oh God Jim, don’t, please, pull out, you’re not going to let him do it, Ashley, you’re not going to let Jim seed you, oh my God you are, you’re really going to let him cum inside you. Jim Murta blew his sperm-load inside my wife’s pussy!

I had tears in my eyes.

Then I came ultra-hard.

Immediately I started to come down. I was sitting in a bathroom with cum in my hand, as my wife slept a few rooms away.

This is fucking crazy, I thought. I need to have a talk with Ashley. I needed to get a grip on our marriage and myself.

We were overdue for a heart-to-heart.

I waited until Saturday to have the talk, after chickening out the night before. We’d just finished dinner at a place nearby.

“Hey Ash,” I said, “If I may change the subject ...”

That’s how I started, as we sat at a high table in a quiet bar.

I took a deep breath. I was nervous, but I told myself,
Just do it.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” I said, “and if I don’t bring it up, I’d wonder about it down the road.”

“OK,” she replied.

“It’s nothing bad,” I said, returning her gaze, “I swear, it’s not.”

“OK.”

“I’ve just been thinking. I mean, I love you so much, and our marriage is far and away the most important and precious thing in my life. I know you know that, but I wanted to say it again, because it’s so true.”