Tuesday, 29 November 2016

ET TU?

I frowned, and shook my head. My best friend from my 
college days was visiting me, and it was like nothing 
had changed. His attitude, his self-importance, his 
subtle maintaining of himself as the focal point of 
every girl in the room. It was all the same. What was 
so confusing about all this was that, in truth, 
everything had changed.

Back when we roomed together, John had been the very 
pinnacle of strength, and had secretly been a hero of 
mine. A habitual exerciser and comfortable dieter, he 
had maintained a daunting and flawless physique all 
through our college days together. In the time since, I 
had worked hard to aspire to the form he achieved 
rather easily, and had managed to develop quite well.

John, on the other hand, appeared to have given up. His 
hairline had retreated in the last 8 years, which his 
stomach had apparently compensated for. In fact, I had 
to look pretty closely to identify the tan powerhouse 
that had entertained countless female companions. 
Several days' worth of stubble populated his pale skin, 
and his disturbingly wide body waged constant war with 
the filthy jeans and yellow-stained shirt that 
struggled to contain it. I thought about the firm pecs 
that had become a saggy bosom, and felt guilty for 
teasing my wife so much about how impressed she would 
be, and how she had better contain herself.

Brenda, for her sake, was reacting to him exactly how I 
had thought she would. When he arrived, she ran up and 
through her arms around him in a warm greeting, in 
spite of having never met the man. Her elfish brown 
eyes looked up at him from behind long, matching hair 
as she listened eagerly to his (rather boring) story of 
his trip there. She smiled, asked questions (a lot of 
them), and laughed frequently even though he had said 
nothing funny. I couldn't decide if she was being 
friendly, or if this was her way of teasing me for 
thinking that this human train wreck standing before us 
would be anything she would be interested in.

Brenda was my heart's prize. She was kind, funny, 
brilliant, beautiful, and as intensely in love with him 
as he was in her. She was also a gorgeous, short little 
thing with a perfect body (to his eyes) and a model's 
face, and about seven years my junior. The three years 
we had been married were the happiest of my life. She 
stood now in a tight blue tee that said "Kitty" in pink 
sparkling letters, and a pair of white shorts that 
ended somewhere above mid-thigh. Light amounts of make-
up perfectly accented her tan, magazine-cover face. 

Her beauty was on display, probably for my sake more 
than anything. She wanted to give me every chance to be 
proud and to look good. As I said, her devotion to me 
was immeasurable. She had a wicked sense of humor, 
though, which I suspected was behind the performance I 
was now watching.

"Let me tell yah, though," John was grinning, "that 
stewardess would have jumped on me in a heartbeat. I 
could tell it. She was a fine piece, too!"

My jaw begged permission to go slack with shock. I 
denied it, but was surely tempted. John had always been 
coarse, but he hadn't known my wife ten minutes yet and 
he was saying these things? 

Brenda made an exaggerated pouty face and looked up at 
him. "I hope you told her you were saving yourself for 
me?" I quietly sighed in relief that she was not 
choosing to take him too seriously.

John laughed. "I tell you what; I did make this teen 
bitch at the airport suck it so it would be clean for 
you. She did a good job, too...couldn't a been more 
than 18, but she knew how, lemme tell yah."

Furious, I opened my mouth to shout this vulgar idiot 
out of my house. The idea alone was offensive enough, 
but to say such a thing to a woman you've never met? 
Your friend's wife? My arms tightened and released, an 
involuntary reaction I got when I was pissed.

Before I had a chance to say a word, however, the 
situation defused. Brenda laughed. "Oh, that's so sweet 
of you! I hope she was a good girl for such a nice man, 
and didn't spit?"

"Nobody spits me out," John said with such certainty 
that I almost thought he was serious. Brenda nodded her 
approval, before turning to me and rolling her eyes. I 
stifled a smile. She really was just indulging this 
buffoon for my sake. I silently told her I love her.

"Say," John said, "I've been so entranced with the 
hottie that I haven't hardly said 'hello' to my old 
friend! What say you show me where to put my bags, Tug, 
and then we can catch up a little bit?"

I groaned inwardly. My name was Robert; Tug had been my 
nickname freshman year after I was walked in on several 
times while masturbating. I didn't get much play back 
then. I ignored my wife's confused glance, but I knew 
I'd have to explain it to her later.

"Sure, John, your bedroom is downstairs, first door on 
the left. Toss me a bag, and I'll show you."

"Nonsense!" My wife skipped forward. "John's had a busy 
day," she winked at him, "and I'm sure he'd much rather 
have a beer on the deck and talk with you than carry 
all this luggage down." Now that she mentioned it, he 
did seem to have an awful lot of luggage. One suitcase, 
five skuzzy gym bags, and a backpack. The plan had 
always been that he would stay for three days. "You two 
go out, and I'll bring this stuff down for you. I may 
even get motivated and get it all put away and hung 
up!"

"Honey," I admonished, "there's no reason why we can't 
do it. His stuff doesn't need to be put away, it's only 
three days. And besides, I'm sure he doesn't need you 
going through his things for him." 

John shrugged. "Makes no difference to me. Let's go 
have a beer!" He headed for the kitchen without 
encouragement, then grinned at Brenda over his 
shoulder. "Thanks, 'Honey.' I hate when my shirts get 
all wrinkled." 

I looked helplessly at my wife, who shoed me off and 
began hefting the overstuffed bags on her own. I 
couldn't help but think, as I rushed after him, that 
the shirt he had on was wrinkled.




"This is a nice place, man. I dig it." John was 
starting out at the sunset, sitting comfortably on my 
back porch. He casually tipped his beer back and downed 
most of what was left of it. I wondered, sadly, just 
what had become of my hero.

"We're proud of it, yeah," I offered. "John, can I ask 
you for a favor?"

He glanced over at me. "Sure, man."

"I hate to get things off on a bad note, but could you 
not be so obscene in front of Brenda? She gets kind of 
upset about stuff like that." I didn't look at him 
while I asked it. I wanted to make it as unembarrassing 
for him as possible.

He just laughed. "What, are you kidding? She's as randy 
as they come, man! I had her eating out of my hand back 
there...woulda had her eating something else, if she 
weren't my buddies toy."

"She's not my 'toy,' John, and she was humoring you."

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious. It needs to stop. Furthermore, the only 
person who needs to address my wife as 'honey' is me."

He sighed, and shook his head. "I tell you what, I'm 
not used to marital situations and I wasn't very fair. 
How about this: I'm too tired for any real catching up 
tonight. I'd rather just goof off a little. When Brenda 
comes out I'll apologize, say I'm just blowin' off 
steam or some shit, and let her know that this is 
probably how I'll be all night so she can excuse 
herself if she wants to avoid hearing any more." 

I nodded. "That sounds fair. Thanks, man. Like I said, 
she's just not into that kind of humor." It wasn't a 
lie. Brenda was definitely not into sick or sexist 
joking around.

John cracked open his next beer. "Who the hell said I 
was joking around?"

I laughed. "Nice to know you're still a smartass." He 
grinned.

"Sounds like I'm missing all the fun!" Brenda stepped 
out onto the patio, cosmopolitan in hand, and sat down 
so that John was between us. "I'm not intruding?"

"Of course not," I looked at John, "we were just 
reminiscing."

"I'm sure John has all sorts of stories to tell. Now 
I'll finally know the truth about you!"

"Actually, on the subject of stories," John 
interjected, "I want to apologize for earlier. That one 
probably wasn't for the ladies, you know?"

"What do you mean?" Brenda looked honestly confused. 
John looked at me before continuing.

"Anyway, I shouldn't have blurted that one out, and I 
want to warn you that I'm kinda rowdy after that plane 
ride. Probably all I'm good for tonight is dirty jokes 
and talkin' about my dick. If you'd rather get to know 
me tomorrow when I'm together enough to be gentle, I 
understand."

Brenda laughed. "Are you kidding? You're the only one 
of Robert's friends that has a sense of humor! I don't 
need to be protected from you," she stuck her tongue 
out, "I just wish I'd met you before the wedding! The 
stiff who was best man was so boring!"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. That 'stiff' was 
Matt, my closest friend and someone Brenda had always 
claimed to like. I figured she was still putting her 
best foot forward with John, but that still didn't 
explain why she would want to stay for his disgusting 
comments. "Are you sure you're up for this, Brenda?" I 
gave her a confused look.

She didn't look at me, she just nodded at John and said 
"I can hardly wait!"

John didn't hold back. He went on and on for hours 
about anything he could think of, which was apparently 
limited to sex. Old girlfriends, one-night stands, 
great techniques, the dirtiest things he'd done or had 
done to him, and a long oration on how women were 
naturally subservient to men. I was at first amused, 
then a little grossed out, then bored, and finally 
exhausted. I excused myself at around one in the 
morning. Brenda promised to be along soon, but she 
wanted to hear the end of this story first. 

I wasn't surprised, she had been hanging on John's 
every word like it was gospel. She wanted to know every 
detail. When he was explaining how Suzie Marketon in 
high school gave him the best handjob ever, she wanted 
to know exactly what the girl had done. How had she 
held it? How long did it take? On and on and on and on. 
It wouldn't have been ridiculous if half the stories 
hadn't been so far-fetched as to be impossible. I 
drifted off to sleep still waiting for her. I don't 
know what time she finally made it to bed, but they 
both slept until early afternoon.

When she did wake up, she gushed about how much she'd 
enjoyed the night before. I asked how she could stand 
him. She shrugged and smiled. "He's so funny! I mean, 
his stories are so ridiculous. It's like talking to a 
living Penthouse letter."

"I think he is under the impression you believe him."

"Is he?" She thought a moment. "I don't mind. It's 
probably good for his self-esteem or something. And it 
amuses me."

I sighed. "I just don't think you should let him think 
you're flirting with him."

She frowned. "Are you telling me that you are jealous 
of HIM? Mr. Muscles feels bad because his wife is 
amused by his flabby friend? It's just a game."

"I know that. Does he?"

She threw a pillow at me. "Oh, shut up, Tugs!"

I stared at her. She laughed and stuck her tongue out. 
I chased her around the room, and tackled her on the 
bed. She squealed. 

"He told you?"

"Of course!"

"Well, for this you will have to be punished!" I didn't 
quit until she laughed so hard she threatened to pee.

Was John wearing the same clothes as the night before? 
I made a note to ask Brenda what his wardrobe was like, 
later. 

He sat on the couch, flipping through the channels and 
eating the soup Brenda had made us all. A little 
spilled on his shirt, and more sloshed on the leather 
sofa when he set the bowl down to wipe at the stain.

"Willy, how ya doin? We missed you last night."

"How late did you stay up?"

"Oh, I dunno," he shrugged, "I suppose another couple 
of hours."

"Cripes. Too crazy for my blood."

"I've not been around town for a long time. What say 
you and I hit the used CD stores, and you can buy me a 
few."

"Sounds harmless enough. Why you want to buy me CDs is 
beyond me, though."

He laughed and got up. "I said you can buy ME CDs."

"Right," I tossed him his coat, "you can buy me CDs.!"



The CD trip was fun. I found an old Mountain Goats EP, 
and a Pearl Jam bootleg. John coerced me into buying 
him that Eagles best-of, at the cost of my respect for 
him. We were laughing and cracking each other like old 
times by the time we hit the last place, a dive known 
as Heart Attack and Vine. That's when I thought I'd put 
my curiosities to rest.

"Say, man, what's with all the bullshit stories?"

He frowned, and looked up form the rack at me. "What do 
you mean?"

"Well, like the one about the little girl at the 
airport. Nobody's gonna believe that shit, so why tell 
it?"

He grinned. "I've been trying to tell ya, they ARE 
true!"

"Bullshit."

"Serious, man. I used to think the girls were flocking 
to me cos of all the muscle," he waved a hand in my 
direction. "Then I hurt my back and couldn't work out 
for a while. No matter how much muscle I lost or how 
soft my belly got, they never stopped coming. That's 
when I started to figure I could have 'em no matter 
what. It's like women can't resist me. I've never ever 
been turned down, and they'll all fucking do anything 
for me. The more I push em, or mistreat em, the more 
I'm certain I can do whatever I fucking want with them 
and they'll love me for it."

"That's the steamiest turd I've ever heard."

"Oh yeah? How's this. See the girl in the hip-hop 
section?"

I glanced over. She was either a near graduate at high 
school or an early college student. "Yeah."

"I bet you anything I can get her to show me her tits 
right here in the store. Won't take five minutes."

"You're crazy!"

"Bet me, or not?"

"Goddamn right I do. What do I get when I win?"

"If you win."

"Whatever, what do I get?"

"I'll buy you any 15 CDs you want."

"You can't afford that!"

"Sure I can. Check this." He opened his wallet. There 
were at least 10 $50 bills in there. Why the fuck had I 
just bought this guy a CD?

"And if I lose?"

He laughed. "You have to promise not to hide Brenda 
from me."

I didn't like the way he said it. "What do you mean?"

"Don't look so nervous. I just mean that you can't try 
to protect her from my charm simply because you know 
now that I can have whatever woman I want. You have 
nothing to fear."

"This is all so much shit, man. Sure. Deal." Protect my 
wife from this overweight slob. It was too funny.

John strutted his way over to the girl, and the two 
started talking. She was immediately all smiles and 
giggles, and sure enough less than three minutes later 
she looked up into his eyes and brought her shirt up to 
her chin. She didn't even look around to make sure no 
one saw. Everybody did. Two teen boys stared openly, as 
did the twenty-something behind the counter. They were 
magnificent tits. John reached up and lightly stroked 
the right one before she lowered her top. They talked a 
moment more, and then he strutted right back to me. 

"Game, set and match." He smiled. 

I was nearly speechless. Nearly. "You planned this."

He laughed. "Ridiculous! I live two hundred miles 
away!"

"I don't care. That was too impossible. You paid her."

John shook his head. "I could have done that with any 
girl and you'd say the same thing."

"I would. There's no way that really just happened. And 
there's no girl who you could do that with and have me 
willing to believe it wasn't for money or because you 
knew her."

He smiled. "What about your wife?"

I blinked. "What?"

"She wouldn't do that in a million years, right?"

"Duh!"

"So what if she does?"

"She won't, that's the point."

"Wanna bet again? If you win, I'll get you season 
tickets to whatever team you want to see."

I didn't like this. What if I was wrong? What if he was 
telling the truth? I chided myself silently...Brenda 
was certainly a far step from some slutty teen queen 
desperate for attention. Besides, I knew he would 
deliver on the tickets. John didn't renege on bets.

"What do I owe if I lose?"

"You'll owe me nothing. I'll have seen your wife's 
tits...that'd be payment enough." 



We were all sitting around a table at Spazia's. John 
had degraded right back to his filthy self, and Brenda 
was (pretending to be?) loving it. The waitress didn't 
seem to mind, either. She strayed over to our table 
often, and joined in the conversation when she could. 
Both girls giggled when John joked that the three of 
them should sneak into the back for a threesome. I 
didn't.

"I tell ya," John said as I paid the check. "It's been 
a good goddamn day. Hung out with my old friend, got a 
new CD, and met a waitress with an amazing rack."

My wife frowned. "I didn't think they were all that 
great. Were they?"

"Hell yeah! They were outstanding!" I shook my head 
when she looked at me for confirmation. Instead of 
comforting her, it only seemed to make her bolder.

"You're kidding," she insisted as we made our way 
towards outside. The deep red sunset reflected off 
expensive cars. "Aren't mine better?"

My stomach tensed. He was going for it.

"I can't say, sweetheart, your man is right here."

"Nonsense!" She pouted. "Men stare at my chest all the 
time. It's just part of being a girl. If a stranger at 
a supermarket can try to sneak a peak, why can't you?"

"You really want me to check out your tits, eh, honey?" 
When had he started calling her that again?

She stopped in mid-stride. "Yes."

He turned and stood in front of her. He looked her 
right in the eye, grinned, and said, "Then why don't 
you take em out so I can get a real look."

She stood there for a split second, watching him. I 
thought he had finally gone too far. To my horror, she 
reached down and lifted the tan turtleneck she had on 
up and over her head. She handed it to him, and then 
without ever taking her eyes from his reached back and 
unsnapped her bra. I couldn't believe my eyes. Was she 
doing this just to prove she could outdo him? Her face 
was expressionless. It didn't matter, this was too 
much.

"Honey, don't," I said. She just looked at John and 
slipped the bra down her arms and handed it to him. 
Then she stood there, hands at her side, and let his 
eyes roam her body. 

I looked around to make sure we were alone. We were. 
John looked at me and smiled. Brenda watched John. 

"Well," she said, "are you just going to ogle all day 
or have you reached a verdict?" 

John chuckled. "Some of the finest mams I've ever seen, 
honey." He reached out and gently stroked one, just as 
he had the girl at the CD store. He looked over at me. 
It was a message. I'd promised not to protect her. She 
didn't fight it off, she just watched his eyes as he 
felt her up. Then, casually, he tossed her clothes back 
and said "Let's go home. It's time for a beer."



"Why did you show John your breasts?" I asked her that 
night.

She frowned. "I dunno. I don't think it's any big deal. 
Most clothes pretty much show them off anyway."

"Is that why you let him feel you up, too?"

"I didn't see you stopping him." She snapped. We lay 
silent a while. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I guess I 
just couldn't let him feel like he was too much for me, 
like he's some kind of sex king and I'm intimidated. 
Isn't that how he acts sometimes?" She sounded 
desperate for reassurance.

"I suppose," I whispered back. She sighed.

"Will?" She sounded very small and scared. 

"Yes?"

"Why did I do that?" 

I was quiet a moment. The unstated question, buried by 
fear, was 'why did I want to?'

"I don't know, my love. Get some rest."

"Ok."

I listened to her breathing. I could think of two 
things. First of all, I couldn't figure out why neither 
of us were upset at John over this incident. I was 
jealous, sad, scared, all at once. But not mad. Brenda 
was not only not mad, but had to some small degree 
wanted that sweaty and calloused hand upon her. She was 
scared now, and I knew that it was only because she 
thought she might want it again.



-



PART II


The next day was benignly uneventful. We ate together, 
watched TV, and John and I played a round of golf. The 
night before never came up, although in hindsight I 
can't believe I didn't explode. I suppose I was in 
shock...not only at the event itself, but in the 
reactions of each of the participants. Who the hell was 
I, that I could be playing golf with a man who had felt 
up my wife? 

On the thirteenth hole, teeing off, I thought for the 
trillionth time about his hand on her breast, and my 
vision went blurry. I shook my head and looked over at 
my buddy. He just smiled his yellow-tooth smile back at 
me. Crows feet and smile lines erupted on his face 
whenever it pulled itself into that self-satisfied 
grin. No person who ever lived could ever look so 
pleased, I thought. The man seemed to have enjoyment 
tattooed on his face...it was always there right behind 
the eyes. I hit a hole in one and wondered what look 
seemed most permanent to my face.

For her part, Brenda remained silent all day. She spoke 
only when asked a question, and seemed distracted. A 
look of confused melancholy occasionally crossed her 
face. She made us all eggs for breakfast, flawlessly 
disheveled from a full night's sleep and wrapped in 
faded purple pajamas. A pang of jealousy hit me when 
she shoveled more onto John's plate than mine, but I 
shrugged it off. He was fairly overweight, so she 
probably just assumed he'd eat more. 

When we got home from golfing, she was still in her 
pajamas, still unshowered. She sat reading Joseph 
Heller's God Knows, a favorite she had read several 
times before. She acted casually enthralled by the 
novel and virtually ignored us, but quietly rubbed the 
two biggest toes on each foot together. Her eyes didn't 
follow the pattern of words on the page. Anxiety 
crawled through her like bees in their nest, covering 
every inch. My heart broke for her, but I fought it by 
reminding myself it was she who had made this bed.

By contrast, I found myself feeling some affection for 
John in that he had not made any lewd statements or 
jokes all day. On the golf course, he could have said 
anything he wished and I wouldn't have cared, but I was 
grateful he had spared Brenda. God that sounded stupid. 
He'd felt her fucking tit, and I was grateful.

"You know," he smiled as I handed him a beer and we sat 
on the couch across from her, "I haven't gone this long 
without fucking snatch in forever!"

I sighed and mentally scribbled out all the credit I'd 
given him. My wife looked up from her book for the 
first time since we'd entered the room, her brow 
furrowed. 

"What about that big story you fed us about getting 
blown at the airport?" Undisguised curiosity dripped 
like honey off her tongue. He just looked confused.

"Well, yeah, that was more than two days ago!"

Brenda clicked her tongue. "You're used to getting laid 
every day?"

"More than once a day, usually." He shrugged, "like I 
told Tugs, here, for some reason women are just drawn 
to me."

"I'm not sure I believe you."

"Is that how you felt when you let me roll your nipple 
between my fingers in the middle of the parking lot?"

She fell silent. She didn't take her eyes off him, and 
her eyebrows stayed together. It was like she was 
measuring him, the way a scientist measures new data 
which shows an impossible correlation.

I tried to intervene. "Look, let's just leave that out 
of things from now on, alright? Tomorrow's you go home, 
and then everything's back to normal. Last night was a 
stupid mistake, that's all."

John smiled and leaned back, putting his feet up on the 
coffee table. "You're right, man. Water under the 
fucking bridge. In fact, if it's all the same to you, 
I'd kinda like to make it up to the woman. I know a 
girl who owns a jewelry story in town. She... owes me a 
favor. Tomorrow, I want to take Brenda here and see 
what we can get for her."

"You don't have to do that," I said too quickly. 
"There's no need to spend that kind of money." Brenda 
nodded.

"You don't understand, gringo." He winked at me. "What 
I get her, I will be getting for free."

Brenda didn't look like she believed him. I knew 
better, by now. 

"I'd still prefer not," I said.

"Why the fuck not? Don't want the little lady to get a 
taste for something that expensive?" He laughed.

"No, it's just..."

"Why don't we let Brenda decide. It's a gift from me to 
her, and if it makes her uncomfortable she can just say 
no."

We both watched her. She was still just looking at him 
with that same half-squint. 

"You know," he said, "you can always just look. If you 
decide against it, that's fine, but at least come see 
what they have."

A moment passed. Brenda nodded. "I guess I don't see 
why not. It'll be fun." She went back to reading 
without saying anything more. Then she blinked and 
looked up. "Oh, honey, I almost forgot! Work 
called...they need you to stop in tomorrow and revise 
that contract before Monday."

Shit. That would take most of the day. I didn't know if 
I was more pissed to be missing down time with my 
friend, or scared to have to leave him with my wife.

"Don't worry," John finished his beer, "We'll be fine 
for a day. We'll go shopping." 



Deep red lines crossed the horizon as I drove home from 
the office. Without the usual rush of traffic, I had 
just enough time to pick up John and take him to the 
airport. It couldn't happen soon enough, as far as I 
was concerned; I'd spent the entire day thinking about 
the two of them shopping together. It made me uneasy, 
to say the least.

Pulling into the garage, I discovered something equally 
unexpected and unnerving: Brenda's car was gone. I knew 
they had left to go shopping just before lunch, because 
she had called to find out how things were going at the 
office. Since there was no way they could still be 
trying on jewelry, I wondered if perhaps Brenda had 
decided to take him to the airport. Had she thought I 
wouldn't be back in time? She knew me better than that; 
regardless of my opinion of the man now, John was an 
old friend and I would have liked to say goodbye. 

It made sense, though. She would probably have tried on 
some jewelry, not picked anything (so as not to have a 
constant reminder of the jerk), and then been in as big 
a hurry as possible to get rid of him. I decided to 
reward her patience in putting up with him by cooking a 
lovely dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs would be 
perfect. I worked hard at it, going the whole nine by 
setting candles up and using the best dishes. My wife 
was so understanding and kind, and I wanted her to know 
how much that meant to me. I made the best damned 
spaghetti that has ever been made, figuring that she 
would be back from dropping off John any second. 

Time passed. 

The meal was ready. No sign of Brenda. 

The meal was lukewarm. All the pots and pans were in 
the dishwasher. No sign of Brenda.

The meal was cool. I had to relight two of the candles. 
I would reheat the meal the moment she walked through 
the door. No sign of Brenda.

The meal was cold. The candles were dead. The moon was 
out. No sign of Brenda. 

What had been an intensely refreshed love had turned 
into impatience, then irritation, and finally curved 
into a growing fear. The clock ticked past midnight. 
Where was she? Had there been an accident? What had 
happened? I had never once known Brenda to disappear 
for such a long period of time without at least a 
courtesy call. I paced for half an hour, watching the 
window and telling myself I was paranoid. 

Finally I gave in and took out the phonebook. First I 
would call her closer friends, then family, and finally 
hospitals. A picture of her, smiling and hopeful, 
watched me from atop a bookshelf. She had called at 
11:14 to see how I was doing. Had that been the last 
time I would hear her voice?

Headlights in the driveway. It was her car! I allowed 
myself a relieved chuckle, and went to meet her at the 
door. It swung open. I was almost euphoric as I swung 
in to hug her. I froze.

Smiling at me in the doorway, fat and disheveled, was 
John.



It took three hours for the gravity of the situation to 
apply its full pressure upon me. It amounted to this: 
John and Brenda had had finally come to accept one 
another in an adventure which had involved jewelry 
shopping, light drinking, games of darts and mini golf, 
and an arm-wrestling contest. They had both had 
tremendous amounts of fun, and John had suggested that 
this newfound friendship was reason enough to stay. 
Brenda, once she had been convinced that John would not 
risk being fired or evicted, agreed. They lost track of 
time as they hopped all over town laughing and 
drinking. It was no big deal. I should relax.

Maybe I could have, if the person my wife had spent the 
day partying like a college kid with wasn't the same 
fuckhead who had gotten her shirt completely off in a 
public parking lot. Or if I hadn't seen the gifts.

A large diamond bracelet adorned my wife's tiny wrist, 
complements of John. 

An overweight Victoria's Secret bag sat in the bedroom, 
thanks to John's insistence that I would love to see 
Brenda be a little sexier. They hadn't paid a dime. The 
girl at costumer service had taken care of it.

I couldn't tell if the overriding emotion was jealousy, 
anger, or fear. Finally, around 3:00 AM, the stories 
ended. I sat at one end of the table, nursing a beer 
and trying to act at least semi-pleased. John and my 
wife sat at the other end, sipping harder drinks. My 
wife was still giggling a little at the last of John's 
elaborately spun tales of their exciting day. He lay 
one arm across the back of her chair and rubbed her 
shoulder affectionately.

"So, how long will you be staying?" I asked, glaring at 
his hand. Brenda had her eyes closed, as though 
dreaming. John was watching me. 

"Oh," he sighed, removing the hand and sipping his 
drink, "I don't know. Truth be told, I'd like it if you 
could consider letting me stay here for a while."

My wife's eyes opened wide, and she smiled. "Oh, yes! 
That'd be awesome!"

"How long, John?"

"Until I'm ready to leave." He shrugged. I was about to 
tell him to fuck off, but Brenda apparently hadn't 
gotten the hinted message.

"Really?" She turned to me. "C'mon, Bob, it'd be great! 
You always say we don't socialize enough, and I just 
know it'd be so much fun!"

"What about your apartment? Your job?" I asked.

"Hell, I haven't had a job in years. In case you 
haven't noticed, I have better ways of getting what I 
want. As for my place, let's just say there's a fine 
young thing who'll be keeping it up until I choose to 
return."

Brenda was still smiling. "Whadd'ya say, hon?" She 
asked excitedly.

With nowhere left to go, I sighed. "Yeah, that'd be 
alright."

Brenda squealed, jumped up and hugged John. Then she 
ran over and hugged me. "This is going to be so much 
fun, I just know it!"

I looked at John. "Just don't forget you're a guest 
here, friend."

He smiled. "Relax." Then, he appeared to sober up. His 
face became very serious. "Brenda, honey."

"Yes?"

"Could you come over here for a moment?" He patted the 
chair she had vacated moments before.

She scurried over, sitting down, watching him intently.

"I want you to do me a favor," he told her.

She frowned. "You want me to refresh your drink?"

"No, no," he laughed, before looking at her intensely 
again. "I don't want to do anything that will interfere 
with your marriage. Remember how we talked about Bob's 
needs? About some of the ways that you could spice up 
your love life?"

"You mean the clothes we bought today, and the make-
up?"

"Yeah. I don't want my staying to interfere with that. 
I want you to promise me that you'll still dress up for 
Bob, even if I stay. I would hate to feel like I was 
preventing you two from being husband and wife, and I 
promise that it won't bother me at all."

She smiled, a warm, innocent smile, and nodded. "Ok, 
John! I definitely will." Her smile faltered for a 
moment, and then she pointed her finger at him. "But if 
at any point it becomes a distraction or embarrassment 
for you, you better tell me, mister."

John laughed. "Deal."



The next day I called in sick to work, both because I 
was terribly exhausted and because I didn't trust John. 
We watched TV and talked sports, but often when Brenda 
was in the room I was the third man out. The two of 
them seemed to have developed quite the collection of 
inside jokes in the short time they'd been friends. 

It probably didn't hurt that Brenda was wearing a low-
rise, light blue thong which held her hips like a 
lover, and a matching bra. At no point during the day 
was she more dressed than that, nor did she display any 
shyness about her appearance. John may have proposed 
the idea of being virtually nude as a way to help 
improve our sex life (which needed no help, before he 
arrived), but it was obvious who it was really for. 
Brenda never even kissed me all day.

Her erotic display was an amazing sight, regardless, 
and it was only heightened whenever she would dash into 
the kitchen to make food or retrieve drinks for John. 
Once, she even remembered to ask me if I needed 
anything.

Finally, when she was in the bathroom, I drew up the 
epitomy of my fear and courage and started asking 
questions I didn't want to know the answer to.

"John, just what do you have planned here?"

He didn't even turn away from the T.V. "No plans, man. 
Just enjoying myself."

"Then why are you going after my wife?!"

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "I'm not 
'going after your wife,' Tugs. I might entertain myself 
with her while I'm here, but I promise that when I go 
she won't be coming with. In fact, if you haven't 
noticed, by the time I get bored and move on she will 
be quite the little firecat. Think of me as a 
remodeler... I'm making improvements."

"Why can't you just leave her alone, though! She 
doesn't need improvements!" I felt heat enter my face 
as it went red. "There are tons of women! Why her?"

"Shut up, Tugs."

"No! Fuck you! Why won't you leave my wife alone?!!"

He looked me in the eye. "I find these questions 
annoying. I don't think you get it, at all, so let me 
demonstrate for you just how much worse you will make 
things if you make me unhappy."

Brenda sauntered back into the room, obviously feeling 
sexy and proud. John smiled at her.

"Brenda, honey?" He asked.

"Yes?" A faint smile appeared at his beckoning. Her 
eyes lit up.

"Come over here for me." She practically danced over, 
hips swaying like branches in a soft breeze. "Sit on my 
lap, babe, we need to talk." Without hesitation she 
swung her butt down into his lap. He chuckled. "No, no, 
no. Not like this. Straddle me...we can't talk if we're 
not face-to-face." She spun around, and his hands went 
to her flanks. Hers went around his shoulders. This was 
too much. I started to get up, about to do I don't know 
what, when he gave me a threatening look. I sat down, 
fear trailing through my nervous system. 

Brenda giggled. John rubbed his hands on her sides, 
almost as though her were petting a mare. "Here's the 
thing," he said, looking very somber, "I promised not 
to be distracted with your body, so that you could be 
beautiful for Robert. I'm happy to say that I'm doing 
just fine. You're perfect, gorgeous, but you're my 
friend's wife and I'm doing very well. I can't believe 
Robert hasn't humped you nine times today...I would 
have!" She blushed and her smiled grew. 

"It seems to me that Robert needs something more. You 
look beautiful even if you're not trying. He's used to 
it. Men are visual, and maybe if he saw you acting as 
sexy as you look, it would help. You'll need a partner 
for this, and I just happen to be here. No, don't ask, 
there's no need. I'll be glad to help. Whenever you 
want Robert to see you being sexy, all you have to do 
is kiss me."

Brenda bit her lip, her eyes locked on his face, her 
breathing heavy. She nodded softly. John smiled at her. 
"You like the idea, don't you, little girl?" She nodded 
again, fainter this time, and began to lean in. He 
placed one index finger to her lips. "There is one 
catch, babe. Since I'm doing you this huge favor, I 
really think you should ask permission each time. Say 
please, like a good girl."

It was almost a whisper. Breathy, desperate. "Please."

They made out, ten feet away from me, for twenty 
minutes. My wife's nearly-nude body writhed in his lap, 
practically grinding against him by the end of it. 
Their lips danced, tongues sliding against each other. 
His hands found their way alternately down and up her 
back, gripping her ass as she dry humped him. Finally, 
he broke away. She stared at him, eager and hoping to 
give him whatever he wanted. He set her on her feet. 
Her legs almost gave way.

"I'm going to go out for supper," he said casually, 
"and to take care of a few things. I'll be home late. 
Brenda," he winked, "I think you'll find that this 
helped a lot. John," he frowned, "it's been a fun 
lesson."


Brenda and I made love that night. She wouldn't have 
taken no for an answer, and I was horny regardless. She 
was louder, more maniacal, than she's ever been. She 
sat astride me, eyes firmly shut, convulsing and 
moaning and screaming and saying his name.


I had to go to work the next day. I couldn't afford to 
keep missing. It was a terrible, terrifying day, 
wondering what they were up to. I needn't have worried; 
when I got home Brenda was wearing a tiny pair of 
underwear but John was just waking up. He stumbled out 
into the living room in his boxers, looking fat and 
gross and hairy. 

They made out again that night, and again Brenda 
insisted on use of my body before bed. It was obvious 
who she really wanted. The next night they went out for 
a night on the town. I fell asleep nervous, but both 
were passed out in the living room when I got up for 
work, with their clothes still on. John was snoring.

Brenda hardly talked to me anymore. She followed John 
around like a schoolgirl meeting a teen idol. I was 
getting by on the idea that he might leave. Or that I 
might kill him first. 

Thursday night, we were sitting in the living room, 
John flipping lazily through channels. He wore one of 
my robes, though it fit him poorly, and his bare feet 
were up on the footrest. He kept complaining that they 
were sore.

"I don't know what I fucking did, man." He belched. 
"They've just hurt like hell all day. All over, too." 

"Maybe you should wash them," I snapped.

Brenda glared at me, and then looked back at him. She 
was kneeling beside his chair, talking and giggling 
about their time out on the town the night before. 
"Should you see a doctor?" she asked, nervously.

"Goodness, no, honey." He stroked the top of her head. 
"At my old place, though, I had this little bitch whose 
tongue was like medicine. Used to have her tongue my 
asshole all the time, but I when they hurt I had her 
suck and lick my feet."

"Gross," I muttered. But Brenda looked intently up at 
him.

"Please," she whispered.

He just smiled. "Good girl."

She crawled eagerly down to his feet, and I was 
surprised to see how big they were compared to her 
face. She is tiny, of course, and he's a big guy. I had 
forgotten how great the difference was, though. 

She didn't look at me, or up at him, but instead her 
gaze remained locked onto his mammoth feet. The was a 
sense of worship in the way she leaned in to peck the 
bottom of his right foot, then open-mouth kissed it, 
and quickly, excitedly became more and more passionate 
about her administrations. Soon she was licking his 
soles and sucking his toes, moaning like it was great 
sex. He glanced at me, and I wanted to die. 

"Be strong," he said to me, "it's going to get worse 
before it gets better. A lot worse." Then he went back 
to his beer, his TV, and my wife slobbering on his 
filthy unwashed feet.

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