(Based on true events)
It all began when she cheated on me.
It was a Christmas party at my friend's house. We were wearing ugly sweaters, and ours were atrocious. I'd wrapped my puke-green sweater in Christmas lights, and I plugged myself in whenever I was near an outlet. She wore a red sweater with a green t-shirt on top, and she'd cut out the words "Ho Ho Ho" on the front so the letters showed through in red. Little did I know how fitting her sweater would be...
The party was hopping. Five of my friends had rented that house together, and they each brought friends from their own walks of life: law school students, engineers, theater geeks -- the crowd was loud and diverse. The music was popping, booze was flowing, and people were making connections all over the house. Unfortunately, my wife was about to make the wrong kind of connection.
I drank too much, and so had she. I found myself slumped in a computer chair in the den, drowsy, watching a group of people dancing under the Christmas tree. My wife had disappeared. Where had she gone? No matter, I trusted her, and I liked that she was friends with my friends.
Soon, I heard someone mention that the downstairs bathroom had been locked for too long. Worried that someone had passed out in there -- maybe even Karen -- I quickly sobered up. Someone turned off the music. My friend John, one of the tenants, was knocking on the door.
"You okay in there?"
We heard someone shuffling around inside. A jingle -- was that a Christmas bell? No, a belt buckle, and soon the door was open. It was Karen, now with rumpled hair and a look of shame. Behind her was a man, a friend of a friend, and I didn't know his name.
"Ooooh," roared the crowd, followed by whoops and whistles. Those who didn't know us must've thought it was an innocent hookup. John, looking sick, shot me a wide-eyed glance. It was time to go.
I grabbed her by the hand and led her out the front door. I called an Uber. She had nothing to say, so I demanded, "What the fuck was that? What just happened?"
"I think I drank too much."
"Too much what, too much cum?!"
I meant it as a cruel joke, but she nodded. I reeled, feeling dizzy. The Uber showed up, and we rode home in silence.
When we got inside the apartment, I got her a glass of water and demanded answers. She sat at the kitchen table, looking down into her cup. I stood at the counter, watching, waiting.
"I sucked his dick. That's it."
I shook my head. "And how did that happen?"
"I had to go to the bathroom. It was unlocked, so I opened the door. He was standing there, peeing."
"And?"
"It happened so fast. He asked if I wanted to suck his dick, and I said yes."
Insane. "What would possess you to do that?"
"I don't know, it was hot. And he had a really big dick."
My stomach lurched, my skin crawled, and a shiver ran up my back. My wife just sucked a man's "really big dick." I wanted to lay down and die, and yet -- why was I getting a boner?
"I don't know what to do," I said. "Are we done? Are you done with me?"
"No!" Tears welled up in her eyes. She looked up at me, her makeup starting to run. "Don't -- don't leave me. I don't want to lose you." She noticed the bulge in my jeans, a look of confusion crossing her face.
