Marcia Writes a Porn Story

Marcia Writes a Porn Story

by Peter_Cleveland

Second of Two Parts

Marcia has changed. Phil fights back. Love wins.

* * * * *

For readers' convenience, this story is published in two parts. It's best understood as a single story, though--like a play in two acts. For best results, read Part 1 first.

A reminder:

No character in this story is offered as a model of wisdom and good behavior for readers to imitate. Every character has flaws and makes mistakes. I've tried to make the characters--not exemplary--but interesting, plausible, and fairly representative of the different social backgrounds from which they come.

The story so far:

Marcia (a young English professor) and Phil (an auto mechanic) have lived together in a committed relationship for seven years. One day, looking for some staples, Phil finds an odd thumb drive hidden inside a box of Swinglines in Marcia's desk. The drive contains a few completed porn stories and one that someone has just begun to write. All the stories have female main characters who are cheating on their husband or partner. In two of the tales--one completed story and the new, incomplete one--the unfaithful heroine is extremely similar to Marcia, right down to the little tattoo of a rose on her bottom acquired on a trip to Chicago. Phil is sure that Marcia wrote these stories about cheating women. And they look like fact more than fiction.

Phil resolves to keep a sharp eye on his partner, document what she is doing, keep track of the new story as it develops--and confront her as soon as he has enough evidence of her misbehavior. Talking about the situation at the Spruce Tavern--when they're not ogling the busty waitress, Liz--best friend Jake tries to discourage Phil from sneaking around and playing detective. Better to calmly talk things over with Marcia now, he advises. But Phil is determined to get the goods on her first.

Then Phil discovers first-hand that Marcia is now more adventurous in bed than she ever had been.

Marcia's unfinished story stops when the unfaithful main character (Martina, engaged to Bill) is on the brink of enjoying a threesome in Cambridge, Massachusetts, with a distinguished Harvard professor named Raoul DeJesus and his beautiful wife Sandrine. Then in real life, during Spring Break, Marcia goes to Cambridge to do some library research. She arranges to stay for several days at the home of a couple she knows: a distinguished Harvard professor named Ralph DePaul and his beautiful partner Sandrine.

After a couple of days in Cambridge, during a video chat, Marcia tells Phil of an enjoyable time the three of them had, naked in her hosts' hot tub. Marcia admits to some touching and kissing in the tub (and Ralph did have an orgasm) but feels she's done nothing wrong. Phil--already angry at what he sees in the stories and now even angrier--explodes. The chat ends, Phil yanks off the "commitment ring" he wears, and he storms over to the Spruce Tavern.

* * * * * 1

The Spruce was pretty deserted, even for a Tuesday night at 11:15. Three older guys were at the bar, engrossed in some basketball game on TV. I didn't care about the game, and it didn't look like I'd get into any interesting conversations at the bar, so I plopped down at a table near the back. Only one other table was occupied, and the three people there were packing up to go.

A minute later Liz came over to take my order. She must have been wearing a sturdier bra tonight: she was jiggling less and also showing less skin than usual. She left and soon returned with my draft Molson.

"The place is dead tonight," she observed. "I've been pretty much just killing time until my shift is up. Are you in the mood for a little company?"

"I'd be delighted to have you join me, Liz," I said. "Can I get you a drink?"

She smiled. "A little role reversal? Thanks, but I can't while I'm supposedly working. Maybe afterwards."

We chatted for a bit. I told her my name. I was surprised to find that, though she was clearly no college professor--unlike certain other women I'm acquainted with--she was actually kind of smart and sharp and interesting--despite the dyed blonde hair and the cleavage. She still wasn't exactly my type, but I could imagine having her as a friend.

After some more chitchat, she went to the bar and brought me another draft, this one "on the house." She also surprised me with a question. "Your lady friend out of town tonight?"

"Am I that obviously 'spoken for'?"

She smiled. "No, you're fine. Last couple times I saw you here, you were wearing a ring that looked like it meant something."

"You're really observant. I'm impressed."

"A girl has to be, Phil. For safety, and also if she wants to earn enough to live on.... Are there troubles on the domestic front?"

"You could definitely say that."

"Bummer," she said. My left hand was on the table. She briefly placed her hand over mine. "I know how that feels, believe me. It's no fun at all."

The conversation was starting to take an odd turn.

"It's a hard time for me too," she added. "Both romantically and of course financially. I've got bills sitting on top of more bills sitting on top of shut-off threats. You can imagine the amount of tips I'm bringing home tonight.... Sometimes I meet someone, a customer maybe, and we kind of hit it off, and we're each able to give the other some of what we need, you know?"

Am I being solicited?

I thought.

"Liz, you know I'm in a relationship."

She didn't miss a beat. "But you're only human. We're all only human, right? I get off at twelve. If you're interested, we could hang out a little after that. Maybe go to another bar. Maybe go back to my place? Especially if maybe you feel you could be generous a little bit?"

I thought of Marcia, naked in the hot tub--and doubtless other places--with her new boyfriend and girlfriend. Talk about "only human." Giving each other orgasms in the hot tub. The three of them are probably sharing a bed right now. Her pals are showering her with affection, helping her deal with her upset from that stressful conversation she just had with her angry cuckolded partner. They're probably doing a daisy chain on the bed now. Marcia is sucking Ralph's big cock; Sandrine is eating Marcia's pussy; Ralph is eating Sandrine. Marcia takes his dick out of her mouth long enough to say, "Fuck me now, Ralph. Either hole. I've been practicing anal for you."

Part of my mind was saying,

Don't do this: you're going to regret it.

And another part of it was saying,

Fuck that bitch Marcia. Are you going to just lie down and take that shit, or are you going to stand up and let her know two can play this game?

Fight fire with fire.

"Sure, Liz." I said. "I'd love to spend some time with you tonight."

Liz smiled and squeezed my hand. "It's ten-of," she said. I have to go do some accounts, then I'm out of here at midnight. We shouldn't leave together. Meet me down the block, by the CVS, at 5 or 10 after 12. I live just around the corner from there." She rose.

"Great," I said.

Liz gave me a quick kiss as she went back to work. "See you soon." she said.

I left a good tip and rose, surprised at how unsteady my legs were. I guess I drank more tonight than I realized. I hoped the cold night air would set things right.

Between the tavern and the CVS was a bank office. I stopped and got some cash from the 24-hour ATM machine.

* * * * * 2

What can I say? It's not an escapade I'm particularly proud of. Liz turned out to be a nice person, and she tried to make me feel like we were close friends with benefits, not a hooker and a john. I couldn't help liking her even more--and couldn't help being aware that I was having sex with her for the wrong reasons.

The naked big breasts with their big pink areolas and little nipples were exciting for the first five minutes. Then they were just a part of my partner's body. It was an attractive body, overall. Above the waist Liz was softer and more pliant everywhere than Marcia. Her ass and legs were firm, though--probably from hours a day of standing and walking. I found her body a turn-on especially because it was different from the female body I was used to.

Surprisingly, Liz wanted to perform the one intimate act that they tell me hookers will not do: kissing. Overall, Liz was a fun and enjoyable bedmate, and her skills at cocksucking were first-rate. I returned the favor--as always, enjoying the wonderful scent and taste of an aroused young woman, and marvelling at how wet Liz quickly became. She supplied the condom for our fuck. I put all my reservations aside and, despite the alcohol in my bloodstream, entered her easily and assertively.

Take that, Marcia!

I thought. After a few extremely pleasant minutes, we both came--unless Liz was faking, but it looked good to me. All the while, neither of us had said a word about money. Afterwards she asked me to spend the night.

It would have been a perfectly lovely encounter, except for two items. First, I was cheating on my partner, at least arguably. True, Marcia and I were not married, and I don't think we had ever made a formal vow of sexual exclusiveness. But still.... And the second item: I was having sex with Liz mainly to prove a point. And what was the point? "If Marcia can do it, then I can do it too," I guess. But who was I proving it to? Probably only myself. Not a great reason to have sex with someone. To make matters worse, I kept hearing my mother saying, "Two wrongs don't make a right!"

But at least I had gotten revenge on that cheating bitch I was living with, right? And revenge is sweet. Actually it isn't. The revenge part of my sex with Liz just left me feeling hollow inside. And when it comes to cheating, I knew I had just abandoned the moral high ground. In an odd sense, I felt I had sort of betrayed not only Marcia but Liz too.

Liz and I, naked and satisfied at least sexually, drifted off to sleep together, cuddling in her double bed.

My bladder woke me at 3:30. I rose, kissed Liz's shoulder, and covered her up. After using the toilet I quietly dressed then went into the kitchen area, where a nightlight glowed. On the counter I found a couple ballpoint pens and a pad of large Post-Its. I scribbled my thanks for a lovely night.

I had no idea what the going rate for a prostitute might be--or if

prostitute

was even the right word for Liz. In any case, my wallet held a finite amount of cash. Under the Post-It pad I placed nine of the ten 20s the ATM had dispensed, figuring that was more than I could afford but probably less than she deserved--a decent compromise, I guess. I couldn't re-latch the deadbolt when I left, but the door's other lock, spring-loaded, would keep her safe enough through the morning. I hoped it wouldn't wake her as it latched.

Before I left, though, I moved again to the bedroom doorway for another look at Liz, her sleeping form dimly lit by the streetlamp outside. She looked pretty, sweet, vulnerable, and even somewhat innocent. She had treated me with nothing but affection, honesty, and trust. I realized that, though the two of us would never be a couple, I did actually like her and care about her.

You could see her as, essentially, a nice, decent, young human being struggling--and doing her best--to navigate a tough world. Or you could condemn her as just a "skank" and a "whore"...

Just as, last night, pretty much, I had condemned Marcia.

If Liz broke some moral code--and I'm not even sure that she did--she did it for the sake of food, clothing, and shelter. If Marcia broke some moral code--which I guess is at least debatable--she did it for affection, maybe even love. I did it to bolster my ego and to take revenge on the woman I live with. Of the three of us, I know which one comes out looking the worst in this comparison.

As I walked up Main Street back to my car, I could hear again Jake's advice in my imagination.

Even if Marcia did fuck the guy, is that so absolutely, totally unforgivable? Why? She's only human... and humans make mistakes and exercise bad judgment from time to time. Haven't you ever done anything that someone else needed to forgive?

Later that day, Wednesday, Marcia and I texted each other, and she called me in the evening. We both kept the tone civil though somewhat guarded. Marcia wanted to stay another day and return on Friday. She said she needed to go through some materials in Boston, at the Massachusetts Historical Society. Did she have other reasons for staying another day? Who knows? She could be telling the truth. This time I held my tongue.

"Sure honey," I said. "I'll miss you. I hope you can find what you need in Boston." We ended the call on a cordial note.

Afterwards, her words from Tuesday's video chat came back to me.

When I come home,

she had said,

we can sit down together and be with each other and talk face-to-face. If any apologies are called for, we can make them then, and then kiss and make up, I hope.

She had been right. That would have made more sense than having a blowup on-screen, 100 miles apart... and then finding someone else to fuck. Maybe we both owed the other an apology.

* * * * * 3

Friday, home from the shop around five, I found a folded sheet of paper taped to the storm door. The handwritten note said, "Darling, if you follow these suggestions you will probably not regret it. Please proceed directly to the bathroom. There, use the toilet, shower, dry yourself, and brush your teeth. Shave or not, as you please. Then, leaving your towel behind, proceed to the bedroom."

I considered having a beer first just to assert my authority but decided not to tempt fate. Besides, my curiosity was aroused, among other parts of my body. I complied with the instructions. Twenty minutes later (I did shave) I strode into the bedroom.

I found the two of them in bed together--both apparently naked, sitting up, chests exposed, the top sheet pulled over their legs. Marcia, looking nervous, held out her arms to me. I went to her and gave her a kiss.

"Welcome home, honey," I said. "I've missed you." Then I grasped her companion's extended hand. "Hello, Sandrine," I said. "It's good to meet you." As I was in my own bedroom, I felt no apology for my semi-erect dick was called for.

"Thank you for being so kind, Phil," she replied. She and Marcia moved towards the edges of the bed. Then Marcia pushed away the top sheet, and Sandrine patted the open space between the two of them. "Come join us, if you will." Both women moved down onto their backs.

Marcia was right: Sandrine was indeed a "knockout," from her elegantly styled black hair to those piercing green eyes, pretty lips, beautifully shaped C-cup breasts, slim hips, and long, shapely legs. Her fingernails were unpainted; her toenails and lips wore the same shade of dark red. I preferred Marcia's curly triangle to Sandrine's bare pubic mound, but I must say Sandrine did have the prominent labia needed to make the naked-pussy look work well. I couldn't help wondering what it must be like to go down on her. By this point I was pretty sure Marcia could tell me--but perhaps I would find out more directly. I climbed into bed between them.

Marcia and I rolled onto our sides and brought the fronts of our bodies together. Her body felt wonderful against mine, as always. In fact, everything felt surprisingly beautiful and normal, despite the third person in our bed--who was now snuggling the front of her body against the back of mine. As Marcia and I kissed gently, her hand caressing my head and shoulder blades, Sandrine caressed the side of my thigh.

Sandrine broke the silence. "Phil, Marcia and I have talked a lot, in advance, about what is happening right here and now. We both believe that what is happening--the three of us in bed like this and starting a conversation like this--will not change anything in any of the relationships involved here. But what is happening now will probably accelerate changes already underway.... Are you okay about continuing?"

I looked at Marcia. Her eyes mutely said, "Please?"

"Okay," I said to Sandrine. "Let's."

Marcia kissed me deeply on the lips, her tongue entering my mouth. She found my hand and moved it to her breast. I fondled it. Sandrine squeezed my thigh. "Thank you, Phil," she said.

She brought her hand between Marcia and me, running it over my chest, across my cock and balls, and along the front of my thigh. "Now you and I have done everything together that Marcia and Ralph have done together. Except kiss and soak in a tub."

I turned and kissed her, to which she responded warmly. She held those green eyes on mine and smiled. "That was the perfect response, Phil. Can we all take that to mean that you no longer feel Marcia has been unfaithful to you?"

Liz's soft, naked breasts popped into my mind. I stole a glance at Marcia, who was biting her lip. I almost replied with a blanket "No, she hasn't been unfaithful," but I caught myself. "Not with Ralph, I guess."

"Okay," she said. "Fair enough."

"Look at me, Phil," Marcia said. I turned to her again. Sandrine touched my shoulder. Marcia held me tight, kissed my lips, and then spoke. "Phil, I love you more than I have loved any other man. More than I have loved any other person, my parents possibly excepted. We are partners and mates, and I don't want that to change. Like, you and me... let's see if we can keep this permanent, you know?"

"Okay," I said cautiously.

"Okay, you perceive that something's up... and you're right.... Believe me, I'm not the first girl to come back from Spring Break a different person than when she left. Though admittedly, most of the others tend to be about 19, say, so I guess I'm a bit of a late bloomer."

"You got drunk at a wet T-shirt contest and fucked a dozen frat boys?" I teased.

"No," she said. "Only Sandrine. And I wasn't drunk."

"You turned into a bisexual."

"No. I finally realized--and accepted--that I am bisexual. I have always been. Sandrine and Ralph picked up on that right away, over a year ago, at the MLA in Chicago. I didn't realize it... fully... or at least I finally stopped denying it... just this week." She brushed a tear from her cheek. "Phil, I don't want to lose you. I do love you. I want you to still love me. I want us to stay together."

"And you also love Sandrine?" I suggested.

"Yes. Yes I do. Not as deeply as I love you... not at the moment... but it's real, Phil.... Please don't reject me because of that... and please don't force me to choose between you. Believe me, my love for Sandrine doesn't reduce my love for you in the slightest. It only increases it."

Sandrine caressed my chest again. "Believe her, Phil. That's how it does work. Marcia isn't my first. I know how things work. Love just begets more love. Ralph and I love each other deeply. You and Marcia love each other deeply. Marcia and I are a new love. It's beautiful. So far, everybody wins, nobody loses, everybody benefits. Please don't fuck things up. At least give it a try. Give it six months, and see if your life is happier or sadder. It will be happier, trust me.... Think, too, about whether causing Marcia totally unnecessary pain and loss will make your relationship with her better or will seriously damage it."

My head was spinning from trying to process all of this unfamiliar perspective. Then Marcia joined in, and the spinning got faster. "Darling," she said, "seven years ago we made a serious commitment to each other. As far as I'm concerned, everything still stands. I never promised that you would be the

only

person I would ever care about for the rest of my life, and I never asked you to promise that to me. I would never promise that to anyone, even in marriage. I hope you can see the difference between fidelity and total monopoly rights to my body, mind, and soul."