Marty was less than enthusiastic about Joan's idea of a romantic weekend on the Oregon Coast. Vegas or Maui would have been his choice, but Joan was sold on the idea of a peaceful cabin by the sea. Two days in the boondocks probably wouldn't turn his wife into the wanton sex fiend that he desired, but at least it would be a break from the old routine.
After a late start on Friday, they spent most of Saturday sleeping in, but by evening they were well rested and eager for something to happen. Dinner at the
Oceanside Grill
was better than either of them expected. Marty was on his third scotch and soda, and the mischievous twinkle in his eye wasn't lost on Joan.
"What are you thinking," she asked slyly.
Marty leaned forward and whispered. "I'm thinking that our waitress must have gone for a break. I just saw her scoot out the side door with a cigarette in her hand."
"So? Do you have the hots for her or something? I didn't know you were into teenagers."
"Why would I be interested in some skinny kid when you've got the perkiest pair of tits on the West Coast?"
He wasn't kidding; fifteen years of marriage and the sight of Joan still turned heads. Even after having two kids, she still had the same lean, athletic swimmer's body that she had when they first met in college.
"Okay," she purred. "So what do my tits have to do with our waitress' smoking habit?"
Marty leaned back and took a sip of his drink. "Maybe because I have a raging hardon, and was hoping you'd get under the table and take care of it."
Joan giggled nervously. "Marty…we're in a public place. I can't do that here – someone will see us."
"No way, we're in a dark corner, there's no one around, and if the waitress comes back I'll tap you on the shoulder."
Her playful demeanor turned to discomfort as she shifted in her seat. "I'm sorry Marty, but I just can't do that
here
- how about if I took care of you in the parking lot?"
Disappointed, Marty downed the last of his drink. "Never mind, we'll just get the check and leave."
Marty's hope of finding any real excitement on this trip was melting away. He knew Joan wasn't a prude, but her reluctance to try anything risky frustrated him. He knew she loved sex as much as he did, but the hang-ups instilled in her by her Methodist Minister father ran deep.
After taking care of the check, his irritation with Joan's goody-goody habits compounded when she insisted on doing the driving. He handled his liquor well, but Joan was so paranoid about him getting a DUI, that there was no arguing over the matter. He just handed over the keys and got in the passenger side.
The first few minutes in the car were quiet. She maneuvered the SUV cautiously down the narrow road back to the cabin. Normally it was only a twenty minute trip, but Marty figured it would probably take an hour the way Joan drove.
"So, tell me…what sexual fantasy do you have that I can make come true for you?"
Marty couldn't believe his ears. Was Joan –
his Joan
– asking this question?
"You mean other than having my wife blow me in a restaurant?"
He knew it was a cheap shot, but he couldn't help himself. After spending the last twenty-four hours alone with her in the middle of nowhere, she had gotten on his nerves. The incident in the restaurant moments earlier was just the tip of the iceberg.
For years, she had been saying that she would be open to try anal sex when the time was right. Last weekend, he thought he might finally have his chance. She had a few drinks at the country club, and she was acting pretty frisky that whole evening. When he broached the subject on the ride home, she wound up giving him a self-righteous lecture about how that sort of thing was
demeaning to women.
"Seriously, Marty…tell me your fantasy."
Not being in a diplomatic mood, he thought he would push the envelope a little. She was just humoring him anyway, so why not go for shock value.
"Well…I always wondered what it would be like to watch while you get fucked by another man. Don't worry; it wouldn't be anyone we already knew, just some complete stranger - some guy we would never see again."
His attempt at striking a nerve seemed to have worked. There was a palpable tension in the air, as she pondered a response.
"Alright Marty, If that's what you want," she huffed. "The next man we come across, we'll ask back to the cabin and you can watch him fuck me. Would that make you happy, dear?"
"Great," Marty shot back. "It's about time!"
He'd seen her like this before and he knew she was just being melodramatic. She knew the chances of them finding anyone wandering along the side of the road at this time of night were extremely remote. They were in the boondocks, and everyone for miles around were all safely tucked away in their beds so they could be up in time for Sunday Services.
As she slowed to take a bend in the road, Marty noticed two figures rooting through a dumpster at the edge of the brush.
"There you go, Joan. I think I spied a couple of prospects! You can take your pick"
Much to his surprise, Joan pulled over and hit the brakes. She craned her head and observed the two grubby tramps digging in the trash.
"Is that what you had in mind, Marty?"
He didn't say anything.
"Hmmm…I can't decide which one I want, why don't you choose for me?"
At this point, Marty wished she would just let it go. It had been a frustrating night, and the thought of a nice warm bed had become pretty appealing. However, as tired as he was, he wasn't going to give in to her. He was willing to keep up this little charade as long as she was.
"I can't decide either. I guess you'll just have to fuck both of them."
Joan rolled down her window. "Hey fellas, how would you like to make 20 bucks each for just a couple of hours work?"
Both stared at her with looks of disbelief. Obviously, they didn't receive many job offers.
"What do we have to do," asked a stick-thin black man with a matted afro who looked to be in his late forties.
"Oh don't worry…nothing to strenuous," Joan replied.
"We'll do it for fifty," shouted the other one, a balding, pudgy white man with a scruffy beard.
"It's a deal – hop in!"
"That's fifty
apiece
, right," chimed in the black man.
"Sure, my husband's got plenty!"
Marty's blood boiled as the two bums, reeking of alcohol and trash, climbed into the backseat of his brand new Jeep.
If this is how she wants to play, then fine
, he thought.
I'll be damned if I'll lose the upper hand to her – I'd never hear the end of it.
Ten long minutes later, Joan ushered the two vagrants into the front room of the cabin.
"Perhaps, you men would like a drink? Is scotch okay?"
Both produced affirmative grumbles.
"Marty, why don't you entertain our guests while I slip into something more comfortable." Before he could reply, she disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door. He was left alone with her
guests
, who had already settled in on the couch
He poured each of them a tumbler of twelve-year old single malt scotch, and one for himself, too. He figured he'd let them have a quick drink, pay them their promised fifty apiece, and then chauffer them back to the dumpster.
Without any prompting from Marty, the thin black one began to talk. He announced that his name was Leon, and his grubby friend's name was Earl. From there, he blathered on about how appreciative he was to make a few bucks - these bring hard times, and all.
Marty was in no mood to listen to a bum's life story. It was time to put an end to this nonsense,
now
. They could finish their drinks in the car. Just as he was reaching for his wallet, he heard the bedroom door open.
Apparently, Joan had decided that the game would continue a little longer. She waltzed into the room wearing a lacy, black camisole, and thigh-high black nylons.
Leon stopped rambling and took notice. "Damn, you a fine lookin' woman."
Earl nodded in silent agreement.
"I'm glad you think so; an old married woman like me doesn't get to hear things like that very often,"
"She look just like
Snow White
," Leon added.
Although, dumbstruck, Marty couldn't help but notice the irony.
Snow White
had been Joan's nickname when they met in college - as much for her goody-two shoes personality as for her dark hair and creamy complexion.
A bizarre fascination overtook Marty as he watched his wife flirt with the two smelly lowlifes.
So she wants to give the bums a boner – fine
, he mused.
"Do you mind if I sit with you two handsome men; this couch is
soooo comfy?"
To Marty's horror, Joan squeezed in between them on the loveseat. For added effect, she threw an arm around each of them and seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself.
"I know I said it already, but I'm gonna say it again – Mister, you got yo'self one fine lookin' lady," Leon drawled without taking his eyes off Joan's chest.
While Leon had emerged as the more personable one, Earl was definitely more intense. He rarely said a word, preferring to communicate mostly via nods and grunts. Marty noticed a trail of drool run down his rat's nest of a beard as he leered down at his wife shapely, stockinged legs.
"Well, let me tell you folks somethin'," Leon intoned, his eyes still glued to Joan's chest. "It's been quite some time since anyone offered me up such hospitality. Ain't that right, Earl, my man?"
"Um-hmm," grunted the bug-eyed troll.
To his dread, Marty found himself aroused. Seeing his wife playacting the part of a
boy-toy
for vagrants had left him with a large and painful hardon. He didn't know why this excited him, but it did.
"Oh, thank you," purred Joan as she accepted a sip from Leon's glass, "I'm so glad you two are nice and comfy. You see, my husband and I are
very charitable people
