2:00 am came as it had every night for the past month; with the furtive flow of covers, the gradual creak of mattress springs, and the clandestine patter of bare feet on wooden floors. I pretended to be asleep as my husband snuck out of bed and into the bathroom, phone in hand. We hadn't had sex in some time and, though he was trying to be quiet, each of his silent movements screamed at me: 'My cock needs attention!'
If he hadn't have been trying to be so sneaky, I never would have been curious. After a week, I had crept toward the splay of light from beneath the door, and leaned my ear against the thin wooden portal. Amidst the silence I could hear the whispered groans, the low husky breathing, and the gentle slap of flesh on flesh. That first night I had been struck with the silent image of my husband jerking to porn, and that was the first night I cried myself to sleep wondering, 'Why not me?'
Now, I lay in bed and imagined the porn he would be watching. Young girls, busty women, lesbians entwined in serpentine euphoria. And through it all, I saw his masculine hand stroking his thick cock. A nice cock, eight inches of thick peach meat, with a lovely vein striking down the middle, ending at a beautiful purple head. With each night he entertained himself, my thoughts raced and I became humid, hot and wet.
My fingers traced my lips remembering the way he would slide his thick fingers into my mouth, getting it ready for his cock. I cupped my breast, pinching the nipple lightly, imagining his teeth there, eyes looking up at me with a wild hungry light. I gently circled my clit, remembering the bulbous head of his cock gliding up and down it before he would enter. I suppressed a moan, gently tapping my clit, just like he would smack it with his perfect cock.
Somewhere in between imagining him fucking me and him masturbating to porn, my mind strayed as my fingers slid down to my wet hole. I imagined watching him, hand moving up and down his thick shaft while the porn played out a scene. Some hot girl, on her knees, eagerly begging my husband for his load. Her bright eyes burning with excitement, mouth wide, tongue out, hands holding her supple breasts aloft. Her turning to look at me, licking her lips and saying, "You like watching me suck your husband's cock?"
Knees locked together, stomach clenched, body curled like sizzling bacon, I came. The muscles so taut in my vagina my fingers were pushed out and rested on my sensitive clit as it pulsed. And then I lay there, inner thighs wet with relief, wondering where the image had come from.
As the bathroom door opened, I quickly turned on my side, facing away from his spot in the bed. Soon, he was back with a ghost-like silence that sounded like shattered glass. A warm husk lying next to me, breathing deeply. I reached over to grab his arm, to tell him I wanted him, but he rolled over saying, "It's too hot." Then I curled up and cried, 'Why not me?'
********
I slept fitfully. That sleep where your mind wanders endlessly, circling around the same central thought, the spiral never coming close to the epicenter of anxiety. Where you're not even sure if you did sleep, but the hours passed quickly, while the minutes dragged on. And when the sun finally hits your eyes, you know it's useless to even try. So I got up, with a casual glance over my husband.
Tall and thick. Upper body muscled like a gorilla, firm beer gut coated in hair, cords of veins running from fingers to forearms. And beneath the cover the rise of an erection. I stared at the shaft holding the tent high and wanted to reach out and grab it. To wake him how I used to, but something held me back. We were married, but it no longer seemed like we were on comfortable enough terms to act. I went to the bathroom, glad I had no more tears to cry.
Before I even sat I saw the phone, his phone, resting on the sill of the tub. I locked eyes with the offensive object and slowly sat on the toilet. I had never gone through his phone before, and somehow it seemed like a break in trust to do it now. Our relationship was so fractured, what if this was the one thing that shattered it? So I ignored it. Used the toilet, washed my hands, and brushed my teeth. Or at least, I tried to ignore it. My eyes ticked toward and away from it like an unhinged metronome, tooth brush furiously scrubbing at teeth.
"Fuck it," I said, brush still in my mouth, and grabbed his phone. Lock screen, picture of us together on our honeymoon in Destine. Code, 9999, and it opened straight to a video on Xvideos, cuckqueen 2. I didn't dare play the video, unsure of the volume level, but the thumbnail said it all. A man being fucked by a woman while she turns and smiles at his wife. My nipples grew firm and again I felt humid. As if the phone were fire, I set it down and rinsed my mouth.
I had my coffee in the kitchen, each sip bringing flashes of the thumbnail, and in between, flashes of the girl I had imagined that morning. My hand strayed down to my loins, the heat from my hand almost cool compared to the heat of my groin. The girl winking at me, my husband's big cock deep in her pretty little mouth. Spit trailing down her cheeks. My hand pressed harder, the image growing closer and closer until my face was right next to hers. I wanted to lick the spit that dropped from her chin.
"Good morning," my husband said as he entered the kitchen and I jumped. "Sorry," he said with a laugh, "I didn't mean to startle you."
"Oh, uh..." I said. "Sorry, I'm just in my own world. I didn't sleep well last night."
He opened the fridge to grab a gallon of orange juice, "Seems like you never sleep well anymore."
"Tell me about it," I mumbled into my coffee. He brought the gallon to his lips and chugged, beads of juice running from the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin to his bare, hairy chest. My mind flashed back to the earlier image and I had the uncontrollable urge to lick the juice off his chest.
"Ahhhhh," he said, chest glistening with orange juice. "So what's on the bulletin for today?"
I shrugged, eyes locked on the rim of my cup, "Nothing really. I'm supposed to meet Lacey for drinks tonight. But that's it."
"Lacey?" he asked and put the orange juice up. "Which one is that?"
I rolled my eyes, I had one friend and he always teased me about it. "Don't start."
"No, no, no," he held up a hand. "I can do this. Let's see Lacey... Lacey..." he tapped his finger against his chin, "Is that the one from Alabama? Oh no, wait. She's that girl you met at Target right?"
I groaned through my smile, "Stop. You know Lacey's my only friend. Look at me, one friend and all. Har-har-har."
He chuckled, "Well you always have me."
I looked up at him and smiled, taking in the perfect picture of masculinity that he was. "Yeah, that's true."
He flexed his muscles, not toned but full, "You know it." He walked toward me, "Well I've got work but I should be home this evening. If you need a ride just holler."
"I will," I said as he leaned down to kiss me on the cheek.
"Alright, well I'm off to get rid of this stink."
"You better." I watched him walk away, broad back, little hump of an ass sticking out, and wiped my finger along the wet he had left on my cheek. I sucked it off, sweet with just a hint of salt and citrus.
*********
"Can I get a margarita?" I yelled over the crowd. The bar was loud and I really wasn't having a good time.
The bartender nodded and Lacey yelled next to me, "Make that two margaritas, and four shots of tequilla, well."
I speared Lacey with a look, "We don't need that much." Lacey was my age, but looked a few years younger. An inch taller than me, with tan skin, and long brown hair, half of it was extensions, but nobody could tell. She wore tight blue jeans with rhinestones, and a tank top that showed off her small but pert cleavage.
"Oh, we will," she winked at me. "Besides," she eyed the mass of dudes circling the bar, "We don't want to come back up here until we are nice and crunk."
I nodded at that, the horseshoe bar was like a watering hole out in the Serengeti. The crocodiles on land in cargo shorts and polos, just waiting for their prey. I giggled a little at the sea of hopeful young boys.
"Here you go," the bartender set the drinks on the bar. "Want to start a tab?"
I reached for my purse, but Lacey stopped me with a hand on my arm. "We have a tab. Just put it under, Smith." She grabbed half the drinks and nodded to me, "Come on, let's find a table."
