I didn't tell Lewis about the phonecall, I couldn't bring myself to do it. At the same time however, I couldn't bring myself to tell the Prison authorities either. Truth be told, I wanted that man to call me back again, I wanted some excitement, some passion. It had been so long, and that first time had made me realise how much I needed to be touched, how much I wanted to be taken.
He called again and again, and despite myself I always played the tape back, touching myself, imagining him in the room, running his fingers over my hot sweating flesh. I felt so sad everytime I visited Lewis, a deceitful bitch of a wife, to add to his troubles. I couldn't help myself though. I'd lie in bed waiting for the call, emptying my head of thoughts, trying to free myself from the guilt.
"I knows you loving dis bitch, 'cas you ain't called the authorities on me," He would say, "I know you teasing dat tight little pussy of yours for me, making yo-self nice and wet. Pull your panties down for me sugar. Let me slide my fingers between those puffy little lips."
I got myself so wet and horny for him, but it was always the same, elation when the phone rang, ecstacy when I came, and tear-stained sweaty guilt at the end.
Everything changed one day in late summer. I'd been cleaning up the house and came across some old tapes. I put them on, intrigued. There were a few old tv shows, some very old football games, and I was starting to get bored when my own bedroom appeared on screen. It was empty. I sat and stared for a little while, bemused. I heard voices just before Lewis entered the frame, dragging a girl by the hand behind him.
Her name was Ayumi, she'd been an exchange student from Japan who'd stayed with us for a few weeks one summer. Memories of her flashed back into my mind. A pleasant girl, a little immature for a 19 year old, but friendly. She'd had a crush on Lewis, I knew, but I'd thought nothing of it.
I sat forward, Ayumi seemed a bit reluctant but Lewis was dragging her to the bed. "Your wife is so kind for me, I can't." She pleaded. "She'll never know," He grinned, "Come here."
The old Lewis again. The selfish, conceited Lewis, pleasing himself. I stared into that cocky smile that suddenly looked so ugly. I wanted to smash the tv screen.
He pulled her into him, staring at and grabbing her tits, massaging them beneath her t-shirt. He pushed her down onto the bed, tugging down her jeans and raising her tshirt in one motion, sucking noisily on her nipple. Tears welled in my eyes, as my husband tore down her knickers, roughly opened her legs, and pushed his pudgy little fingers inside her.
She welcomed him into her, and for five minutes or so I watched Lewis bouce around between her legs, listening to his disgusting grunts. When he was done, he stood up briskly, fastening his jeans as if he'd just stepped away from a urinal. "My wife'll be back soon, get your knickers on, get out of here." He said flatly. She stumbled out of the room at his request, her face having lost all it's innocence and colour in a few moments. After she left, Lewis approached the camera, his face filling the screen, a grin from ear to ear, a satisfied sigh, and static.
