Joey Hammond sat in a dark corner of the bar, unobserved and reclusive. A glass of straight Jack Daniels stood in front of him his throat still warm and tingling from his last sup. The blue grey smoke from his third Marlboro of the hour curled in wisps about his head and hung in the stale, motionless air.
He breathed in the smells and aromas of the bar not visited for nearly a year. Familiar smells. And he watched the woman.
Familiar smells. Familiar faces.
He hadn't expected to see her in the bar and, despite his yearlong absence, she appeared not to have changed much. He was certain that he had.
The unexpected sighting of Mary Hammond had thrown his plan out of skew. The drink had been by way of Dutch courage and, after his period of absence, he had to admit that it tasted good. But the plan had been for just the one shot of alcohol before a slow, thoughtful walk to the house that he shared with his wife.
He had rehearsed the introduction speech a thousand times in his mind and was almost pleased with it. It was designed to be delivered to Mary in the comfort of their home, but now, with her sitting just the other side of the bar, the words that jostled for correct order in his mind seemed not to fit the occasion. How could he profess his love for her in a bar? And how, when it was her duty to wait for him, could she be sitting there, laughing and smiling sweetly with another man!
Joey studied his wife's companion. Tall. Dark. Young. Younger than himself. He took another sip from the glass and felt the burning alcohol mix with the acidic bile that was rising from the pit of his stomach.
Mary looked happy and this made Joey Hammond feel all the worse. How could she betray him this way, and with such a flagrant disregard for their marriage?
The cigarette had burned down so far that he could feel the heat singe his yellowed fingers. He stubbed it out quickly in the overflowing ashtray and immediately lit another, inhaling deeply as if the smoke could obliterate his feelings of incensed jealousy. He continued to watch the couple as they finished their drinks.
Thoughts and ideas rushed through Joey's head and, for a moment, his mood lightened as he realised that the tryst that he was witness to might be completely innocent. But this feeling was purely temporary as he watched his wife lean over and plant a loving kiss on the young stranger's lips.
A red mist descended over Joey's mind and the anger began to build. He stood – still unobserved – and was about to cross the bar, fists at the ready. But Mary and her companion were suddenly leaving. Their glasses drained, purses and keys were collected from the table as they walked, casual and oblivious to his presence, towards the door.
Joey knew that he should think before acting – this oversight had landed him in trouble before – but in this situation a quick decision was called for. He would follow them.
The walk was not far and took the opposite route to that of Joey's home. He kept a safe distance behind the couple. They held hands, obliterating any possibility of innocence, in Joey's mind, and laughed and joked frequently. Their light-hearted chatter drifted on the light breeze back to Joey and incensed him. Haunted him.
The couple turned the corner of the street and, for a moment, Joey lost sight of them. He hurried – not running but a sort of hasty scamper – to the corner and peered round.
Although the air was still warm and humid, the evening was drawing in. The light fading fast as the gloom of night began to descend. Joey hated the night. Hated the dark.
Mary and the young man had stopped in the street outside a small, compact one-storey house. It was a nondescript sort of place; white painted boards and small rectangular windows. The type of house that lined the streets of towns all over the country.
As Mary and her companion – lover? – entered the house, Joey spotted a side gate. The latch was old and creaked a little but, apart from this noise, he was able to slip silently into the rear garden area.
The sodium street lamp cast dark shadows around a grassed area that looked untended and a little wild and caused Joey to shiver slightly. The trees and bushes looked just as unkempt and proliferated throughout the garden. He quickly found a dense area that afforded him a view directly into the bedroom window.
Joey watched again as Mary – or "The Bitch", as he had now dubbed her – and her young man entered the bedroom.
Mary looked tanned and healthy – healthier than Joey did, at least. His year away had done nothing for his physique. She wore a simple pair of denim shorts, – a little too short, Joey thought – a white halter top and sandals. Her long, blonde hair, longer than he had remembered it, fell in curls about her shoulders and cascaded halfway down her back.
Immediately the couple were inside the usually private room, the young, handsome man took Joey's wife in his arms. They kissed deeply and Joey watched them as their tongues entwined and probed. There was heat there; that was plainly apparent, and as the embrace continued it became obvious to Joey that the two would not simply be getting into bed and falling asleep.
As if reading his mind, Mary unhooked the button at the waistband of her shorts, kicked off her sandals and shimmied the denim down her long, slender legs. She wore a pretty pair of blue panties and Joey could see his archrival eying her body with lustful anticipation.
The young man seemed quite at home and smiled at Mary as he pulled her to him again. His hands gripped the hem of her halter-top and eased the tight garment up and over her breasts. Joey gasped from his uncomfortable position as he realised the "The Bitch" hadn't even bothered to wear a bra.
Joey looked on as the young man began to maul the pert, round orbs of Mary's breasts. Her face seemed a picture of joy and contentment as she allowed him to roll the stiffening nipples between his fingers and Joey caught the little squeal of lustful joy as the man's fingers then stroked gently over the fabric of her panties between her legs.
Mary's lover quickly shed his jeans and Joey gasped again. The bulge in his shorts looked impressive. No, more than impressive, Joey thought. Huge! Mary helped him off with his shirt and the couple tumbled back onto the bed laughing in their state of near nakedness.
Joey wanted to act. He wanted to dash into the fray like a gladiator. He wanted to save the damsel in distress. But there was no damsel in distress, no one in distress at all, he realised angrily. "The Bitch" was a more than willing participant in this adulterous scene. Joey still wanted to slake his thirst for revenge but, strangely, something held him back. It was as if something was making him powerless to do anything but watch.
As both Mary and her lover shed the last vestiges of their clothes, Joey could see that his first, reluctant impressions of the young man were correct. His muscles bulged in all the right places and his almost perfect physique seemed to compliment Mary perfectly. But the man's biceps were not what Joey – or Mary – were presently concerned with. The protrusion of manly flesh that stood firm and proud from his groin was indeed enormous. For a second Joey smiled as the proportions looked faintly comedic in relation to the rest of his body, but this, almost pleasant feeling was quickly doused as he saw the way that Mary looked at her lovers cock. Her expression said it all: lust; greed; hunger.
