This is the final installment of "A Load in Every Hole," a redo/tribute to an earlier story of the same name. The first two installments were roundly berated, but the third produced a strong sentiment for a finish, so here we go. It is long—30K words.
Two notes: first, unlike other works I've done in which the storyline or characters tend to drive the action, here the sex itself drives it, and this makes it the most graphic of the stories I've written. Second, the narrator shifts in this story, starting with the husband in part I, moving to the wife in part II, then returning to the husband in parts III and IV.
And yes, this is an interracial piece, so, if that offends you, please find something else more to your liking. Everyone in the story is at least eighteen.
Part One: Arcade Games
(Mark's Story)
"It's your fault," Mary said, casually tossing her shopping bags onto the king-sized bed.
She and my associate Lisa had gone on a "girl's only" shopping trip the morning after she arrived in Vegas. Her reasoning was unstated but apparent: get the "other woman" alone and grill the shit out of her. Only Lisa wasn't the "other woman," just a lonely kid who'd gotten a little tipsy and made a mistake coming on me.
I had no say in Mary's task or how she handled it, so I ate breakfast at a leisurely pace, went through a long workout and returned to our room to answer emails and await the verdict. Our conference had ended the day before with the disastrous bust-out of the client we'd been pursuing, Threxxco. The client rep's suggestion that my wife and associate ought to be offered up as a literal "love offering" to secure the engagement put a stake in the deal's heart, so no business remained to be done in Vegas. Lisa was due to fly back this afternoon while Mary and I were staying through the weekend.
Mary had dressed far sexier than her Fargo self for the shopping/debrief, which was of course quite intentional.
She'd donned a new flowery yellow summer dress so short that if she bent over, she'd be flashing the congregation, a canary-yellow thong, no bra, and a pair of high-heeled sandals that strapped up the calf. Vegas was, as always, brutally hot, but quite frankly that had nothing to do with why she'd dressed up to the nines.
She wanted to send a clear message to Lisa,
if you take me on, you'll lose.
Regardless of her intentions, the effect on me was the same. I wanted to throw her on the bed and have my way with her, even though we'd just completed a double the night before.
"Okay, I'll bite," I answered, "what's my fault this time?"
"Lisa coming on to you," Mary said firmly.
"Bullshit!" I responded eloquently. "I never encouraged her one iota. Not with a look, a word, nothing. Did she say that? Because if she did, she's covering her own backside!"
"No, she didn't say that" Mary said, "and I didn't say you encouraged her, or that you responded when she made a go at you. You, Don, and Mel work her like a slave, sometimes until seven or eight at night and on weekends. How's she supposed to develop a social life outside the office when she never sees the outside of the office? Hmmm?"
Mary's body language, a hand on one hip and chin held high, brokered no disagreement. Since she had already concluded that I wasn't encouraging Lisa and didn't accept her advances, I decided to call it a win and let her finish her rant.
"Anyway, I think I've got a fix. I'm going to introduce her to Will. You remember Will, from church, Lily's youth director. Good guy,
really
good looking, highly ethical, same age as Lisa give or take. He'll be a perfect fit."
I said nothing. Will was gay. Mary would figure that out in due course. Perhaps it would happen with some discomfort, perhaps not, but since it left Mary with what she thought of as an ideal solution, who was I to disrupt her daydream? No, I was perfectly satisfied to let that ship run aground under its own steam.
"Come on, Lisa's flight is at 1;25, we've got to get a move on," she urged.
Ten minutes later we were in the SUV and heading towards McCarren (at least I still thought of it as McCarren). We let Lisa out and she gave Mary a big hug and me an awkward, brief handshake until Mary said, "it's okay." Lisa then smiled, gave me a hug, and subtly reached around outside of Mary's view to grab my left ass cheek. Happily, Mary did not see the move.
"Thanks, to both of you," Lisa said pulling away, "I mean it. For defending me last night Mark, and for listening to me this morning Mary, everything really. This whole week has been an eye opener about who you can trust and who you can't."
"Safe travels!" I choked out, afraid to say more.
Three minutes later we left the airport.
"Let's go to the adult movie place." Mary said, "the one we stopped at last night when you were calling Mel. That's where you saw 'me' in a video, right?"
"Yeah," I agreed.
"Well, at least you've got me curious," Mary said guardedly.
Bullshit
! I thought. A whole lot more was going on in that pretty noggin' than curiosity. Mary could legitimately pretend she was interested solely in seeing what turned me on, what made me even think about sharing her with a group of young hung studs, but after yesterday and her revelations of what she'd done with Miguel, her interest was anything but academic.
Frankly I didn't care what motivated her. I was looking at the potential resurgence of the woman I'd dated and married but who had become buried over the years, and that made me happy, so I was satisfied to concede her juicy rationalization.
"Okay," I responded, "it's on the way back."
Five minutes later we were in the parking lot, and it was apparent that a heaping helping of Catholic guilt threatened to send Mary running. I could see it in her eyes—they darted from side to side to make sure no one she knew saw her (as if anyone we knew from Fargo would be in the parking lot of an adult arcade at 12;30 p.m. on a Thursday in Vegas), and in her hands which clutched her purse close to her as though it was a personal protective device, and in the crossing and uncrossing of her legs.
"Well, if you want to see the video, it's inside," I jabbed lightly.
"I'm well aware of that, Mark!" she said defensively. "This is all new to me. I've never been in a place like this before! So, you'll just have to give me a second here."
"We don't have to go in you know," I teased, knowing how badly she already wanted to go in.
She stared at me sternly, then opened her door and stepped into the parking lot. I followed suit. The place was an absolute carnival of lust, and I remembered my title for it:
Alice through the Looking Glass with Peckers
. Miles of neon, garish posters of mostly unclad women and men with cocks too big to be believed, rows of videos, magazines, dildos, butt plugs, lingerie, restraints, whips, clips, the whole nine yards. I could sense Mary's blood pressure rising as we stepped past the double entry doors.
Mary clutched my arm defensively, as if the morality police were about to swoop down and carry her away for a class one impure thought violation.
"Let's go right there. I don't like it here in the middle," she whispered. We walked quickly across the store to the back corner where the word "ARCADE" flashed in hot red neon. Each stall had an interior turn lock, and the first five had been tripped to show "Occupied" in red. Finally with stall #6 we found an empty.
The sounds emanating from booths 1-5 did not put Mary at ease. The raucous sounds of full-tilt sex flowed from the video speakers, welling up underneath the doors, each of which were cut a good inch or so above the ground. That alone would have put my ultra-conservative wife on edge, but the additional sounds of at least a couple of the men grunting as they masturbated made her physically shy away from their doors as we passed.
Room 6 was a bust. A large hole, bound by duct tape all around to smooth out the edges, had been cut in the wall between rooms 4 and 6. The instant I saw it I realized that we were likely just a few seconds away from seeing an agitated cock poke through the wall and, once again, see Mary run screaming from the establishment.
I immediately moved us to room 8, one removed from any other activity.
"Why?" Mary asked, whom I'd justled very abruptly and was unsettled that she had to appear in "public" again.
"Because it had a glory hole," I answered.
Seeing the blank look in her eyes I continued "that's a hole someone cut in the wall between that room and the booth next door. Men put their cocks through them to see if they get lucky. Now, if you'd like, we can go back!" I poked.
"Ewwww!!" Mary said, blanching. She followed me to room 8 without further inquiry, inspecting it for holes in the wall before entering.
Whereupon I earned her second "ewwwww" in less than a minute. "I'm not sitting on that!" she said ogling the single standard-issue red plastic shell chair in the middle of the room. One of the prior occupants had been quite...how should we say it? ...enthusiastic...in his response to the videos. Three long ropes of white crusted residue lay in a diagonal stain across the front half of the chair.
