Lila had time off from her teaching job. I suggested we do something, but she had decided to drive to a mall on a highway about 50 miles away, on the fringes of the urban area, where there was a specialty food store that would have ingredients not available in our local stores.
"I can use some time alone too," she said. Perhaps I looked hurt at that, as she quickly added, "I need to think about winter things -- what we're going to need -- clothing, cooking, all the stuff you don't want to bother about." She stroked my chest. "You'll still be here when I get back to help me relax. You're good at that," she said with a coy expression.
So I waved goodbye as she drove off, and continued sipping my morning coffee, then contacted the office to see how things were there and made a few phone calls in connection with work. Things were slow with us too, due to the holiday, and I ran out of official duties by noon.
My headphones had lost sound in one earpiece, so I dialed Lila's cell to ask her to pick up a new one at the mall. The call went to voicemail, which was unusual since she seldom turned the phone off. I left a message. After making myself a light lunch, I tried her again, without success.
I decided to track the phone through a computer program which displays its recent GPS location on a digital map, even if it is not on. The map indicated Lila and her phone had reached the mall, been there a couple hours and left, but instead of heading back home she was going further into the urban area. I wondered at that, and tried calling again, still without success.
It was a nice fall day, and I decided to work off a newly restless feeling by getting some exercise on my road bike. I peddled steadily up and down the hills in our rural area for about an hour to a small crossroads hamlet where I took a break, and again dialed Lila. Again no answer. I had packed my tablet in the saddlebag, and was near a WiFi hot spot, so tracked the phone again. It showed no GPS movement in the last half hour or so. Lila had apparently stopped. I zoomed in on the location.
It was the university where Eli was on staff. I called up a satellite "earth" view to hone in closer on the location. I recognized it as the campus building where Eli's office was located, having met him there a few times in the past.
I got back on the bike and picked up my pace even more vigorously. I supposed there was no real reason why this should bother me -- except that Lila had spurned my offer of company, saying she wanted to be by herself, but apparently she had decided she wanted companionship after all, just not mine. And that thought did irritate me.
In another half-hour of pedaling, without any conscious intent, I found myself only a short distance from Eli and Rachel's house, and decided to take another break. We were usually informal when calling on each other, even before the extended informality of recent weeks, so I opened the door and entered without knocking or calling out. Rachel was not in the parlor. Near the small sofa there were various items of clothing scattered on the floor -- men's boxers, two pairs of jeans, a bra and bunched-up panties that looked as if they had been taken off and dropped in a hurry. Sounds were coming from the bedroom area -- passionate groans and stressed bedsprings.
You did not have to be a Sherlock to figure out what was going down. I turned to leave, but realized that while Eli might be making similar recreational noise with Lila right now at the university, he could not be contributing to these bedroom sounds; I should check that Rachel was okay. Following the sounds to their source, I peered around the open door of the guest bedroom and saw the fleshy bare ass of a fairly hairy guy undulating in rapid rhythm as he gave it doggie style to a woman on the bed in front of him. From the back, the guy resembled Eli's nemesis, Mike, not that I had any familiarity with Mike in this posture. The maiden had the blonde hair and well-shaped body of Rachel, and judging by her own body language and a gasped exhortation to "go deeper," she was not in any distress.
I had a brief flash of anger -- Rachel was cheating on me! -- immediately realizing the absurdity of that reaction. Just because I had been fucking Rachel with the permission of her husband and my girlfriend, I had no claim on her. I had become involved with Rachel only because Eli enlisted me to occupy her (literally) so that Mike would not (also literally). Anger rights belonged to my buddy.
My presence had not been detected by the active couple. The creaking bed, their groans and skin slapping against skin had masked any sounds of my approach. I backed away silently, left the house, closing the door quietly, and got back on my bike. I was going to ride back home, but on impulse went across the country road and down the well-packed grass farm road to the river. Sitting on the large log where Rachel and I had engaged in our first tête-à-tête a couple of months ago, I reflected on the vicissitudes of life.
Thinking about the copulating couple, anger was displaced by a sort of sadistic satisfaction -- Eli had stolen the affections of my girlfriend, who he was probably pounding right at that moment in his fabled office boudoir at the university. Now his own wife was being fucked by the guy who he most loathed and feared. If I was a true friend, instead of discretely backing away I would have rushed over and forcibly ejected Mike from the pussy of my best friend's wife. But at this moment I did not feel any true friendship. In fact, still smarting over Lila's secret journey to Eli's office, I considered this payback time.
But being smug over Rachel's betrayal of Eli did not mitigate my own feelings of betrayal. Rachel had passionately accepted my advances, professing long standing desire. She was kind of cheating on me too. And as for Lila, I recalled my girlfriend condemning my betrayal or her with Rachel, and voicing suspicions about the motives of Eli, Rachel and me. She had sanctimoniously pronounced the importance of candor and the horror of deception in our evolving ménage à quatre. But now she had gone off by herself to do some "shopping." Had she lost her way and just happened to wind up with Eli, without premeditation? Ha!
After further reflection, I decided that Rachel's transgression greatly exceeded any by Lila. Even if my girl had gone to the university to shag Eli, it should come as no real surprise to me. She had been very open about her attraction to him, and up to now had made no secret of each tryst they had. Indeed, each had been made with my knowledge or in my presence. Maybe this visit to his lair was just an impulse, and she would tell me about it when she arrived home.
Rachel, on the other hand, knew Eli would be hurt and angry if he knew she was fucking Mike, but she did it anyway, and probably not for the first time since their marriage. Presumably, she had no intention of telling him about it. Eli had willingly acquiesced to her need for other men, Mike excepted, and offered her my services. Shouldn't that be enough for her? Shouldn't she be true to our polyamorous ménage, and forgo other adventures? I now felt a little moral indignation on behalf of my friend, along with some renewed irritation that my services were not sufficient.
Suddenly I did feel some guilt for sneaking away from her tryst with Mike. Of course, it would have been ridiculous to play the moral cop -- "Hey Mike, stop fucking my best friend's wife. That's my job." Or, "Rachel, you whore, when you get hot pants and Eli's not around, you're only supposed to shag me." I had to laugh at how ridiculous such exhortations would sound.
No, I had no moral ground to stand on or defend. Nevertheless, I decided to go back, if only to make them aware that I knew, and also to share my conflicted tension. Why should I be the only one to be upset at circumstance this day, while the two primary women in my life got their jollies with other guys.
When I got there, and entered the house again, Mike was just coming out of the bedroom, still nude, his stocky flesh moist with sweat, or perhaps from a shower, as I could hear water running in the guest bath, probably flowing around Rachel's beautiful, despoiled body. Mike was stepping jauntily, his pecker pretty long even in a flaccid state, swinging triumphantly from side to side. I noticed a "salt and pepper" color scheme to his hair and beard, and reflected that he was about 10 years older than Eli and I, close to 40. He stopped short upon seeing me, looking startled and apprehensive, but realizing I was not Eli, his expression turned to surprise and then to something like embarrassment. We had known each other for a while, although we had never been close. He mumbled a brief hello, picked up his clothes from the floor and began putting them on.
I was enjoying his discomfort. "You're looking well, Mike," I told him, with a smile.
"Thanks," he mumbled. "You too."
I decided to twist a little more, asking, "Are you still with the local fire department?"
He nodded in the affirmative.
