It was a rainy Friday evening. My friend, Carl, and I had been drinking at the hole-in-the-wall beach bar basically since college.
Somehow, the conversation steered towards sex. The subject of sex doesn't come up too often, and, in the past, Carl has been pretty tight-lipped about his bedroom sessions with his wife, Erica. That's why I was a bit surprised at his openness on this particular night. We often drink, often excessively, and yet in the years that I've known them both (they met shortly after Carl and I did, at the same bar where we were still met regularly), I'd never heard him speak so explicitly about his wife.
He told me that they had had a bit of a romantic lull after their child was born that lasted a year or so, but they had been experimenting. Pretty tame stuff at first; fuzzy hand-cuffs, dirty talk, etc. But over the course of the next few weeks, he'd give me more and more insight into their goings-on in the boudoir. He started showing me sext messages that she would send him at the bar, and even showed me a picture she'd taken of her breasts.
I'd seen them once before, when I had crashed on the couch after a bit too much whiskey. It was an awkward moment for both of us. She had obviously not known that I was there and walked into the living room in her panties, breast-feeding their newborn. I wondered then if she had ever told him about that.
It was another Friday, several weeks later. Carl was not at the bar. They had taken their child to his mother's so they could enjoy a nice date night, leaving me alone to drink alone, which I did until around 9:30-10PM.
It was a text, from Carl. I found it a bit unusual.
"What are u up to?"
"At the bar. You?"
"We got back a little while ago."
I didn't really think much of it, and went back to my conversation with a friend of ours when he texted me again.
"Want to swing by for a drink?"
"Sure. Let me get my tab."
Nothing about the exchange was particularly unusual until he responded;
"Cool. Text me before you get here. I'll meet you on the porch."
That was a bit odd. Maybe they had picked up their child on the way back and just put him down? I waved it off, and within minutes, I was sitting on the porch. He came out with two glasses of wine.
"You goin' soft on me, old man?" I laughed. We typically drank beer and bourbon. He merely laughed. We made small talk for a bit, he told me about the restaurant they went to and about the film they went to see.
"Where is Erica?"
"She's inside...Tied up..." We both laughed.
"What!?" I exclaimed. I felt a warm rush of blood go through my body. Maybe I was blushing, but he started laughing again. It's a very distinctive, cartoonish laugh.
"Are you kidding?"
"No, keep it down. It's a surprise for her."
