A Dark Awaking
Mary the Wollstonecraft Woman
©
Copyright 2023 by Mary the Wollstonecraft Woman
This is a work of fiction and not intended to promote a lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.
A Dark Awaking
Shocked, jealous, humiliated, and angry described my reaction. But shamefully and strangely excited, so very excited.
Someone we knew for only four weeks invited my wife and I invited us to a cookout. I knew that my wife, Chris, had been fucking around. She never told me, but word gets around. I knew a few of my friends fucked her. But I loved her dearly, and I looked the other way.
After we got to our friend's home for the cook-out, there were three other fellows present who had supposedly dropped by unannounced. All the other guests, like Dewayne, were black. Still, I thought nothing of this. Everyone was friendly, and we were having a good time. Our friend offered us mixed drinks, and we started imbibing freely. I took a sip of his drink. It was good. Not too sweet, not too strong.
This odd sensation came over me. This dreadful wooziness swept over me. I staggered to a chair and sat. Rubbing my head, I glanced at my wife, talking to our friend, laughing, touching him. She flittered with Rob. Some turned on music and jacked the volume all the way up.
As the party was in the country, it wouldn't disturb anyone.
Music made me want to scream. The beat and rhythm created a desire to die. The melody became loud and distorted, drowning out the voices and laughter of everyone else. The music pounded in my ears like a jackhammer, the thumping bass causing my chair to vibrate, rattling my bones and my teeth.
In a few seconds, Chris and Dewayne clutched each other and danced. They moved with synchronicity of purpose, touching and caressing each other. The dance turned absolutely nasty, and Chris gazed at, daring me to do something.
My lily-white wife dirty danced with a black man. A man we knew less than a month. Anger flared, and I tried to stand, but only fell back into the lawn chair.
My wife and Dewayne danced as if on fire. I saw and felt the blazes engulfing them. The flickering, swirling flames around their bodies made me more dazed. Everything went black except for a few tiny pinpoints of the two of them swirling in and out of the darkness.
Chris looked like a whore. Her nipples were hard and stuck out like fountain pen tips, and she had a large wet spot form on her tight shorts. She was constantly wriggling her body against him, touching Dewayne's arm, his leg, his face, touching her own breasts.
The bulge in Dewayne's pants scared the sit out of me. My wife rubbed her ass against the bulge. The other men hooted and cheered, looking over at me with pity or disgust.
The taste in my mouth was nasty. It was like the taste of someone else's breath had been there, but not mine. I was sick, angry, hurt. Paralyzed from whatever was in my drink, and perhaps, fear as well.
I knew I couldn't do anything without getting hurt or killed. I felt no anger toward Dewayne. My anger was toward my wife for being such a slut. I stared in disbelief at the way she was acting, the way she was dancing and acting.
