Maria and Me - and Bob

Just another Saturday night pick-up at the local watering hole. She looked great in her half-shirt, shorts, and heels and she looked even better the more beer I poured down my throat. We locked eyes and she seemed interested, and she let me buy her a few beers before she suggested we take our party somewhere else. Her place. I drove.

She had long reddish-blond hair, blue eyes, and freckles on pale skin. "I live with somebody," she said as we went down the road.

"Male or female?" I asked. None of my business, just making conversation.

"Very male," she said.

I think she wanted to see how jealous I'd be. I wasn't. First off, I wasn't the jealous type, and secondly, it wasn't like we were in love or anything, we were just two horny people on a Saturday night hoping to get lucky.

"Think he'll mind," I asked, playing the game, "you bringing me home like this?"

Her head shook slowly. She had a great face, small features, thick lips. "Hell, he may want to join us," she said, and she studied me as I drove. "He'll like you. You're his type."

Intriguing. I'd never been any guy's type before. "What type is that?" I had to ask.

She laughed. "Breathing," she said.

I drove some more, and took turns at her direction. I started to wonder, among other things, how she'd gotten to that bar so far away from home. If she had her own car she never mentioned it.

"Seriously," I said after a while. "Will he be there?"

She thought about it. "Maybe," she said.

I felt the need to establish ground rules. "I don't do guys," I told her.

She laughed again. She had a nice laugh, like bells ringing. "That just means you haven't yet," she said. She looked at me. I could feel her eyes on me as I followed the road with mine. "I was the same way," she went on. "All girls are. They don't do men until they do it the first time, and then they can't say that any more."

I tried to keep my tone light. "Bit of a difference here," I said. "I am a guy."

Another short laugh. "So I noticed," she said, and her hand very briefly and delicately settled over my crotch, then withdrew once she'd established my gender.

"Well, if your friend will be expecting me to do anything to him," I said, leaving the end unsaid. I didn't think it was politic or necessary to finish.

"He's not my friend," she said, and right away I figure roommate, cousin, something like that. "He's my husband."

I took my foot off the gas and let the car slow down to a crawl. I wasn't quite ready to stop altogether and there wasn't anybody else on this road I could piss off by hesitating the way I did. We were in the woods by then. I hadn't seen a light or another car in miles.

I had a million questions to ask her but instead I just stared at her and let my eyes do the questioning.

"It's all right," she told me. "He's cool about it. I do this all the time."

Really.

"Do what?" I asked. "Bring playmates home for whatever kinky games you two are into?" I tried not to sound judgmental or condescending. I think I failed.

She sat sideways in her bucket seat and looked into my eyes. "You don't like kinky games?" she asked. "I figured you had more imagination than this."

I was on the verge of taking her back to the bar where I'd found her and go seek other hunting grounds. It was late, though, and the pickings for both of us would be thinned considerably. We'd already invested some time in each other. I felt I had to salvage what I could. Besides, unless she and her husband turned out to be serial killers this could prove to be one of those nights I tell stories about for years.

"Imagination I have," I told her. "But, I just have no interest in other guys, that's all."

She slowly sat forward again and stared out the windshield. "Maybe you're not his type after all," she said, and her hand lifted silently and she pointed straight ahead. "It's just up there, past that willow tree."

I looked where she indicated. In the harsh headlight beam the yellow-green branches of a willow shone just ahead against the dark backdrop of pines and swamp maples. Just beyond the tree the weeds parted for the opening of a gravel driveway.

I hated the idea of turning back, being mere yards from my goal. My brain told me to go on and take her the rest of the way, see what happens. How bad could it get?

Alright, it wasn't my brain, it was my hormones. I'd already fucked this girl a dozen times in my head and there was no way I was giving up the opportunity to see how close my fantasies were to reality. Chances were she was bluffing or kidding about having a husband waiting at home. Maybe she'd gotten cold feet on the drive and was hoping to scare me off by telling me this crap. There was only one way to find out.

I stepped gingerly on the gas and rolled to the right onto the gravel drive.

The house was a small two story rectangle nestled in among some towering pines. Both house and trees looked like they'd grown up together. I couldn't tell which had come first. It was hard to see in the dark, but I thought I saw a vegetable garden off to the side and some well-tended flower beds beside the front porch. She didn't strike me as the outdoors domestic type. Maybe hubby did all the yard work.

The downstairs was dark but a soft light glowed in an upstairs room. There were no cars in the drive except mine. Unless hubby had dropped her off and gone elsewhere (or was following us!) I figured she'd left hers (theirs?) at the bar, and would need a ride back to get it later. A small price to pay for the pleasures she offered. Besides, it was on the way home anyway.

I got out and ran around the car to get her door but she was already standing when I got there. I supposed she wasn't used to chivalry, or maybe she found it insulting.

"Think he's home?" I asked, still not sure if there even really was a 'he'.

She lifted her chin toward the illuminated second floor window.

"TV?" I asked.

"Computer," she corrected, and then with her right hand mimed a man masturbating. "He loves chat rooms."

Interesting. I'd given up on chat rooms ages ago. Most of the time you have no idea who or what you're chatting with. Some guys get off pretending to be girls. I prefer my conversations in person when it's a little harder to masquerade.

She took my hand then and led me up the porch to the front door, which was unlocked. I was a city boy and thought people who assume seclusion equals security are asking for trouble. Being way the hell out in the middle of nowhere means you have no neighbors to hear your screams.

Inside the house was cool and felt very comfortable, like the people who lived there were happy. It smelled clean, which for some reason I hadn't expected. Light filtered down a set of stairs against a far wall. She led me past them to a small kitchen in the back, with a tiny four-watt bulb over the counter making stark shadows on the floor.

"Maria?" A voice from upstairs. A man's voice. Young, like us, but strained.

At least now I had a name, and chances were it was a right name. A lot of girls give fake names to make it harder for undesirables to find them again. So, she was Maria. I never would have guessed. Maria's are usually olive-skinned with dark hair and brown eyes. She was a strawberry blonde with blue eyes. Maybe it wasn't a real name after all.

"Yup," she called back, and opened the refrigerator. Bright white light hit her like a gale force wind as she bent to retrieve two brown beer bottles. She let the door close and handed me one.

"Alone?" he asked from above.

"Nope."

I heard movement upstairs, and then it stopped. We twisted our bottles open and took healthy swigs, and then she took my hand again and led me back to the stairs. I thought it odd she didn't bring a drink for her hubby.

Whoever he was sat at the top of the stairs, not on the stairs or on the floor but in a wheelchair. Soft indirect light hit his left side and I saw what looked like a kind face, curious, open. His left arm rested at his side, his hand on the wheel. His right arm, like the rest of him, was a shadow. I didn't see any legs.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Bob."

I immediately thought of a very sick joke about a man with no arms and no legs in your swimming pool and his name was Bob. The same man hanging on your wall was Art. The same man at your front door was Mat. I was embarrassed thinking it.

"Hi, Bob," I said, and waved up into the shadows. "Jim."

Girls weren't the only ones who gave fake names.

"You coming up?" he asked, and I wasn't sure which of us he was addressing.

"Yup," Maria said, and she started up the stairs. I followed. Bob backed his chair up so we could get by.

"Nice to meet you," he said, and we shook hands. He had strong hands. Probably from wheeling that chair around. "Thanks for bringing her home."

Did he think I'd brought her home as a Good Samaritan? A Boy Scout earning his next badge by driving an abandoned woman to her domicile? Otherwise he was thanking me for wanting to fuck his wife, and that was too much for me to accept. I started to say, "My pleasure," but thought that would have been crass and vulgar. My intentions in bringing her home were entirely about my pleasure, and I figured he knew that already. There was no sense my rubbing his face in the situation. Instead, I said, "No problem," which was perhaps even lamer.

Bob wheeled himself down the hall to the illuminated room. We followed. It was a comfortable den with a big faux wood desk on which sat a computer with flat-screen monitor, big speakers, and a webcam mounted within his reach, aimed at whoever sat in front. The desk chair was in a corner of the room, unused. Well stocked bookshelves lined two walls. Bob wheeled himself up to the desk and started tapping on the keyboard.

"I was just playing with a few friends," he said. The screen had four smaller windows opened. Three were Instant Message boxes and one had been somebody's webcam but was dark now. As he tapped away one by one they closed. Soon all that was left was his background and a few small icons in the corners. The wallpaper showed a naked woman riding a white horse over rolling emerald fields. I had the feeling it was Ireland. Maybe it was because the girl in the picture had flaming red hair. Redder even than Maria's. But, it wasn't her. The girl in the picture was far better endowed than Maria. I'd already scoped out her chest at the bar. She was nice, had big nipples, but wasn't more than a mouthful. The girl on the horse could have smothered someone with hers.

"This is all pretty strange, I bet," Bob said as he turned away from the desk. Any answer I gave would have been obvious and unnecessary. "As you can see," he said quickly because he really hadn't been expecting a reply, "I am missing some essential equipment."

He indicated his lap. He had no legs. None at all. The bottom of his jeans were rolled underneath him. Beside him was a folded blanket which partially hid a small clear plastic bag attached to his body by a catheter tube.

"Yeah, that's gone too," he said.

I looked at Maria, who stood beside me and just slightly behind. She had led me to believe he was one of those guys who liked to jerk off online. Maybe she had meant he liked watching other guys jerk off, because he couldn't any more. At any rate, I didn't have to worry about him wanting me to do anything strange to him. I felt bad for feeling that sense of relief, almost as bad as I had felt about thinking of that sick joke when I first saw him.

"Car accident," he said. "About two years ago. Right after we were married."

He started to wheel himself across the room to the hall. Maria still held my hand, and after he was out of the room we followed.

"Maria's been real good to me," he said. He wheeled up the hall to another room. "She stayed with me where other women might have cut their losses and run."

He turned into the room and flicked the lights on as he passed.

"She still might some day," he said. "Who knows. Maybe you'll be the one that steals her from me."

I wanted to apologize and assure him I had no intention of doing any such thing, but then what was I doing there? I'd come to fuck his wife. Apparently I wasn't the first, but telling him he needn't worry about me falling in love with her only amplified the fact that I was there to get laid and nothing else. I couldn't insult him or Maria that way. I didn't want to insult myself that way either.

The room we followed him into was a bedroom. Their bedroom. I saw one short dresser with guy stuff on it and one taller one with perfumes and makeup. A harness hung over one side of the bed. It was like a trapeze. I figured it was so he could get in and out of bed by himself. I started to feel really bad about being there.

Bob wheeled himself into a corner by the closet and turned to face the room. "I hope you don't mind," he said, "but watching Maria with other men is the only way I can come even close to being with her myself."

I wasn't sure I wanted to do this any more. In fact, I was quite sure I didn't. Maria let go of my hand and went to the light switch and flicked one on and one off and the room went from being lit up like a bus station to being warmed by an amber glow from twin lamps on the nightstands. She came back to me and smiled, and she put her arms around my neck. Her beer still dangled from one hand, and I realized I still had mine, too. Her eyes closed as she leaned her face toward mine, tilted just so, and I was so very hyper-aware of Bob watching us that I couldn't enjoy her kiss.

"Relax," she whispered into my ear after sliding her lips off of mine and across my cheek. "It's okay. Really. We do this all the time."

"And here I'd thought I'd been just so irresistible at the bar." I was just the fuck du jour. I was okay with that.

She pressed her body against mine. The firmness of her loins pushed into my erection. Her breasts crushed against my chest. Her breath on my ear and neck was hot and wet and smelled of the beer and desire.

"Some guys like knowing he's watching," she said, and her hips started to sway as if she were dancing to music I couldn't hear. "Some don't. Just pretend he isn't there."

Easier said than done. I could feel his eyes boring into us. I could hear him breathing. She drew her lips down my jaw to my neck. Her teeth came out and took a playful nip of my skin.

I wanted her. The caveman in me wanted to throw her on the bed, rip her clothes off, and fuck her silly, no foreplay, no seduction, just raw, hard sex. The romantic in me wanted to dance with her a while, music or no music, to hold her, kiss her, run my hands all over her on top of her clothes, getting a feel for what delicacies lay beneath. I wanted to be slow and gentle with her, kiss every inch of her flesh, give her at least one orgasm before even getting close to penetrating her.

The rest of me wanted to find a genteel way to excuse myself and go jump out the nearest available window.

Her free hand came down my back, slowly, her fingers splayed wide. She stopped at my waist, then as she danced more enthusiastically that hand continued down to my ass.

Bob was watching his wife fondle my ass. Kind of took the fun out of it.

Her hand then grabbed the bottom of my shirt and tugged it upward. She handed me her beer bottle and she lifted the shirt up over my head. My hands went to the ceiling trying hard not to drop the bottles. She laughed and took them from me, and while I stood there like a clown with my shirt halfway off she put them down on one of the dressers and came back to remove my shirt the rest of the way.

I hoped Bob liked that. I didn't hear him laugh too but I'm sure he got a chuckle out of this guy about to fuck his wife and looking like a virgin teenager in the process.

Then Maria unbuttoned her half shirt, slowly, her eyes locking with mine, and when she had it opened she immediately peeled it back and off her shoulders. I'm sure my mouth hung open for a while as I stared at her chest.

She had perfect breasts, round and firm, slightly flat on top so the nipples pointed upward a bit. They were pale white with a band of freckles across them, and her nipples were dark. They'd be dark even in bright light. In this amber glow they looked almost black, and they stood out aiming at me, daring me, challenging me to suck on them and bite them.

"I have to use the bathroom," I said softly.

"End of the hall," she said.

I turned right when I hit the hallway and saw the stairs. I have a horrible sense of direction. An about face and I saw a door at the end of the hall and I went there and flicked on the light switch just inside the door. The bathroom was good sized, old, done up in white and green. The floor was small tiles that continued halfway up the walls. The rest was paint that could have used another coat. The fixtures were white, or used to be white, the plastic toilet seat and shower curtain were green. Another trapeze contraption hung from a track in the ceiling and Bob could use it to get himself on and off the toilet and in and out of the bathtub. I thought of him in the bath and again thought of how appropriate his name was, according to that sad joke. I figured I was going to hell for my thoughts that night.

I stood in front of the commode and pissed out what was left of all the beer I'd had that night. I washed my hands and dribbled some water over my dick so if Maria tried to blow me she wouldn't taste pee right away. I know; a gentleman to the core, right? But by the time I left the bathroom I was convinced the best thing to do was head straight down the hall, down the stairs, and go home. How she got her car from the bar and how I'd get my shirt back were problems best left to Sunday morning. When I got to the bedroom door, however, I went back inside, almost as if I'd been yanked in by a rope tied around my waist.

Maria stood in the room pretty much where I'd left her. She was naked now. A small red tuft sat tantalizingly just above her pubis. Her legs were white and smooth and inviting.

And she was alone.

"Where?" I asked.

She smiled and said, "He's gone," but her eyes flicked toward the closet and so I knew that Bob was watching from behind the louvered door. It must have been their failsafe position for guys like me who are too self-conscious to perform with an audience. He could have hooked up a camera and watched from the den over his computer but that wouldn't have been the same. He wouldn't have been able to see, hear, and smell all the details. They say the devil is in the details. He was certainly here now.

She came to me and wrapped her arms around me again, and when she leaned in to kiss me this time I pretended Bob was really gone and kissed back. It's hard to refuse a naked woman much of anything.

Her mouth opened and invited my tongue inside. As we ground our faces together her hands drifted down again and she grabbed my hips and pulled me in tight so she could feel my erection against her belly.

Her lips went to my cheek and down to my neck and shoulders, and then down even further to my chest. Her legs folded slowly and she kissed my belly, and while her tongue drew slow circles around my navel she opened the front of my jeans and tugged them down past my knees. I had foregone underwear since it was Saturday night and they'd be just something else to take off and have to put on again. My cock bounced out at her and she knelt and studied it and then very slowly wrapped a hand around the shaft, held it for a while, and then put her lips to the head.

I looked past her as she engulfed my cock with her mouth. "Are you watching?" I asked Bob silently in my head. "You getting an eyeful of your wife sucking my dick? Does that make things better for you?" Because I think in his place it would have made me suicidal.