It wasn’t going as Walter’d imagined. His wife wasn’t supposed to kiss the black guy, tell him, “Fuck me like he can’t.” The black guy loving it, saying, “Fuck him. I’m gonna make sure you forget your husband.” In his head, it was always quiet, like a silent movie. But as he watched, crouching in the closet among his suit jackets and trousers, he wanted the movie to stop. It was his fantasy, not theirs.
He watched Victoria arching her back now, Trevor driving into her.
Walter looked for his golf clubs, thinking I’m gonna bash that nigger in the skull.
He dropped hints for months that he’d like to watch his wife fuck another man, preferably a black man. He’d ask her if something like that would turn her on. She’d say no, and smile like she was embarrassed. Finally he got her to admit that she had thought about it while masturbating. Walter admitted that he thought about it, too. Then he said, How about that black guy, the courier at your office? No, not him, she said. He’s too old. But a few days later Victoria says the black guy is coming to the house. He thinks Walter is away on business.
“What the fuck that?” Trevor said.
“Probably a rat or something,” Victoria said, not breaking her rhythm, grinding her hips into Trevor.
Trevor stopped. “Shit, someone’s in that closet.”
“Don’t worry, baby.” Squeezing her eyes shut, feeling it now.
“Someone’s in the closet and you ain’t worried?”
Trevor went to the closet. “Who the fuck in there?” He opened the door. Walter, in a ratty, powder blue robe, was squatting inside the closet, a leather jacket laying across the top of his head. Looked like he was gonna die of embarrassment.
“Who the fuck that?” Trevor said.
“My husband.”
“Your husband? What the fuck he doing in the closet?”
“Watching, I guess.”
“You guess, huh?” To Walter: “Get the fuck out the closet, man.”
Walter tried to stand up, but lost his balance and almost fell into the black man. Trevor grabbed him and yanked him out of the closet.
Walter stood beside the bed, looked at Victoria. She shrugged.
Trevor said, “So you were just watching, huh? What the fuck are you, one of those Internet homos, right? Jacking yourself in front of the computer and shit?”
Walter looked at Victoria again.
“Don’t be looking at her, motherfucker,” Trevor said. “I’m the one talking to your lame ass. You get this idea on your computer, didn’t you? Wanted the real shit now. Watch your wife fuck a nigger? Nigger-fucker-dot-com, shit?”
Walter struggled to say something, but could only manage “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Shut the fuck up, man.”
Walter noticed that Trevor’s cock was still rock hard. It wasn’t as big as Walter imagined, but still pretty big.
“I ought to snap your neck, asshole,” Trevor said. “What the fuck this all about?”
