"You were right, I'm a massive hoe!"
My wife Sarah had barged into the bedroom, her eyes wild, her breath ragged, her clothes stained with the seed of another man. Having just witnessed what she'd done behind my back, I should've agreed with her -- but I couldn't.
"Surely you're overreacting?" I said.
"No, I'm not! Not this time!" she wailed, each word utterly dripping with distress. Sarah looked as if she was about to burst into tears, and I almost stood up and hugged her -- but the cum on her sleeve and pants put an end to that idea. I offered her a sympathetic smile instead.
My wife then described in little detail what had gotten her so upset. I wasn't going to share I'd already seen her lascivious deeds with my own eyes, oh no, and I certainly wasn't going to point out that I'd jerked off during it.
"A-And after I gave him the phone, h-he kind of... gave me a look," Sarah shamefully explained. Her cheeks had turned scarlet over the course of her tale, her voice receding to a mere whisper. "A-And he told me how, um, how h-hard I'd made him during the movie. And I don't know what took hold of me after that, I w-wasn't thinking clearly, but I decided I h-had to help him because it was my fault, so I... went inside with him..."
"And I'm a massive hoe who doesn't deserve you!" Sarah howled out of the blue. "Because I jerked him off, and he came on me, and now I'm all sticky and gross and kicking myself for being such an idiot!"
Deep breaths, I reminded myself. Tranquility comes from within.
"I mean, I kinda sent you into the lion's den," I said as calmly as I could, what with my heart thumping as it was. "And I even got you worked up before all of that. I'm at least a bit to blame."
"But honey, you're not!" she cried. "You have every right to be mad at me, a-and you should! You should be mad! Be mad at me!"
I shook my head. "That's not gonna happen. Look, babe, if you're feeling so guilty, how about we just lay down some ground rules? Then we go forward with a clean slate. No blame involved."
Sarah's eyes widened in surprise as she emphatically nodded in agreement. "A clean slate. Yes." It was all she wanted. "Give it to me."
So I set out the new rules for her, simple as they were. Firstly, my wife shouldn't be jerking off other men in secret. Secondly, she probably shouldn't be getting fingerblasted by them, either. Lastly, if she could follow the other two rules, I agreed to explore her fantasies with her in a healthy manner. I dubbed these rules as 'common sense', and they were about as binding as a non-aggression pact between tyrants.
"That s-sounds... completely reasonable," Sarah whimpered. "A-And Rob, you're just gonna... not say anything?"
I shook my head. "I'll talk to Rob in the morning. Not to blame him, more to let him know that you recognized your mistakes and apologized. He'll probably do the same."
Sarah gulped. "Wow, you're so... that's so... unbelievably understanding of you," and gasped for air. "I-I don't deserve you, Tom."
"Keep telling yourself that."
"I'd hug you right now if I-I wasn't covered in R-Rob's, err --"
I glanced at her butt. "Yeah. You're getting it all over the sheets, by the way."
Sarah popped off of the bed in an instant, her hair disheveled, her face flushed, her eyes red and puffy and oh so worthy of my sympathy. "I-I'm going to the shower, um. I love you," she sniveled.
"Love you too, babe. Love you too."
~~ ** ~~ ** ~~
As I promised Sarah I would, I went down to the guesthouse early in the morning in hopes of intercepting Rob before he left on his two-week-long trip. Fortunately the lights were still on, and in the living room I spied my friend packing what was left of his things. He had his duffle and suitcase ready to go, the same bags he brought with him when he moved in.
I rang the doorbell, and he answered with both bags in hand.
"Oh, shit. I thought I'd be out of here before you got up," Rob greeted me with an anxious chuckle. He didn't know that I always woke up before the crack of dawn, working east coast hours so I could interface better with D.C. On a whim I glanced over at a small table behind Rob, spying his key to the guesthouse sitting there atop a handwritten note.
"Moving out already?" I said, nodding towards the table. "I know I abandoned you when I met Sarah, but never did I think you'd do the same."
Rob unceremoniously dropped his bags to the floor. "I fucked up, Tommy boy. Then I left a letter because I'm too chicken-shit to say it to your face," he admitted, spreading his arms in resignation.
I sighed. "I know. I talked to her. I know what happened, but I didn't come here to blame you for it. She was coming on hard, and I didn't get in her way because I figured she could weather her hormones better than a teenager on her first date."
Rob was silent for a moment, the gears in his head spinning. "I don't know what to say," he frowned.
"You don't have to say anything but sorry," I replied coolly. "Then you can stuff all this melodramatic shit, and pick that key back up before we lose touch with each other for another decade. Fuck, maybe you'll be married by then, and I can finger your wife to even up the score."
"Fuck you, Tom," Rob chuckled, the stress bomb in his chest now successfully defused. He glanced at the key, thought for a moment, then pocketed it. "I am sorry. But read the letter, alright?"
"I will," I promised. "See you in two weeks, Rob." And then we fist bumped. Somehow.
I took a deep sigh of relief when I'd finally parted ways from my old friend. That was more difficult a conversation than I ever imagined, and I was both proud that I'd held my composure and disappointed that I didn't blow up on him. Why didn't I, I wondered? The only explanation that I found remotely plausible was that I felt guilty for my small part in the whole thing. That I'd gotten off during it was also batting a strong 'maybe', but I pushed that aside for now.
I couldn't answer these questions alone, and I certainly wasn't going to pose them to Sarah without knowing what kind of Pandora's Box I'd be opening along with it. Instead I just distracted myself with work, a cathartic experience all told after trying and failing to quench the flames of doubt racing through my mind.
~~ ** ~~ ** ~~
I came home that day to find my soulmate relaxing on her back near the pool, soaking up the afternoon sun while wearing nothing but a familiar black bikini and a pair of aviators. My eyes were instantly drawn to the half-crescent curve of her ass and thigh, so shapely, so smooth, so intoxicating to drink in. My gaze then danced over the rest of her voluptuous body, giving plenty of attention to those massive breasts of hers that so eagerly wanted to slip out of her bikini. God, was she perfect.
Sarah was also on the phone with someone, and, judging by her playful tone, I deduced it was probably one of her girlfriends. Rather than interrupt her, I merely listened in to the one-sided conversation.
"Then he kinda gave me that look, you know? The 'I scratched your back, now you scratch mine'?" my wife anxiously said. "So I went in there, and..." she made a jerking motion. "Handled him."
I could hear a bout of screaming come through the receiver. Definitely a girlfriend. "I did," Sarah nervously laughed. "But that's it, I left right after. No, no kissing."
I couldn't believe she was already gossiping about jerking off another man. I'd have to have another talk about boundaries soon. Maybe.
"He knows. I told him," Sarah continued, pausing. "Actually, no. He was completely understanding. Just told me to never do it again, and a few other things, and... yeah. He never even raised his voice," she giggled delightfully, followed by more screaming from the receiver. "Jen-naaa! Be serious!" Another pause, more giggles. "You're literally seeing a yacht owner!" And another pause. "Hands off, you mega-bitch-homewrecker-slut!"
My wife was howling with laughter by the time I made myself known.
"Speaking of superman, he just came home! Call you soon Jenna! Smooches!" Sarah happily exclaimed as she hung up the phone. She looked at me and bit her lip, appearing just a pinch guilty. "I hope you didn't hear too much of that."
"I heard enough," I curtly replied. "And I know Jenna can keep a secret, I just hope you're not telling the whole world about this."
"I'm not, just my besties," Sarah hastily promised. "Heh, and oh, it was so funny, Jenna just spent the last minute gushing about you and pretending she was going to steal you from me. She even called you 'woke'."
I didn't know if that was high praise or not. I just shrugged, a bit miffed that Sarah could blow off my concerns so quickly. Then again, she and her closest girlfriends shared everything with each other, so why would Sarah's tale of infidelity be any different? Still, why'd she have to sound so proud about it?
"You're thinking," my wife whispered worriedly.
"Too much," I sighed. "I spoke to Rob today before he left. Made up with him, I think," I told her. I couldn't clearly see Sarah's reaction from under her sunglasses, but she did raise her eyebrows.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. He'd left his key on top of a page-long apology letter, but I convinced him to take it back."
Sarah sat up in her lounge chair, suddenly feeling the gravity of the situation. "I really am the worst host alive," she murmured. "Making your friend want to leave after only a few days."
"Or the best," I jested dryly. "I doubt the hotels around here offer complimentary handjobs." Rather than laugh, or say 'Thomas!' like she always did, Sarah just pouted at the joke. I changed the subject.
"Can't believe you're out here sunbathing, babe. Thought your heritage made you 'allergic' to sunshine," I asked, referring to her smooth, alabaster skin courtesy of Scandinavia. That got her to crack a smile.
"Promise not to be mad?" she coyly asked.
