The Houseguest 9

The following story contains a depiction of a character using a condom that he'd been keeping in his wallet.

Don't ever do this!

The pressure and the heat can damage the condom, making it susceptible to breakage. Carry it in a rigid container, like a metal case or a coin purse. Taking good care of your condoms is part of safer sex!

With that out of the way, let's get on with it.

- The Author

~

THE HOUSEGUEST, CHAPTER 1

I have no idea how we got on the subject, but we did.

My wife Elena and I sit across the table from Ken, a friend of mine from the old days. He's been staying with us since Thursday. It's now Saturday morning.

We're talking about monogamy.

Specifically, arguing about whether or not humans are monogamous by nature.

Prior to this week, I hadn't seen seen Ken since high school.

He flew into town Thursday afternoon. A mutual buddy of ours is getting married tomorrow, so he needed a place to stay while he was here.

Elena told me to offer our place, reasoning that it would give him and me a chance to catch up. We picked him up at the airport and put him in our spare guestroom.

Yesterday morning, he privately informed me that he could hear Elena and I fucking the previous night.

It seemed unlikely to me, given that the guestroom is at the other end of the hall, but, nevertheless, he heard it. I felt very odd when he brought it up.

It seems like the classy thing would have been not to say anything. But oh well.

Water under the bridge.

Elena didn't go to our high school, but I've known her almost since those days. We dated for a long time, and finally married after the pressure from our families became unbearable.

That was about eight years ago. Since then, we've lived in a decent house, had no kids, and indulged a semi-regular travel habit. It's how we like our life.

I'm short and compact, a little heavier than I used to be. Elena is a little taller than me, fat, big hips, big boobs. We're both kind of hip, kind of nerdy.

I'm in my usual morning t-shirt and pajama bottoms. Elena's in a tank top, terrycloth shorts, and a light robe that she likes to leave open at the front.

Ken has always been tall and dashing, and the years haven't changed that. He was an athlete in high school, but one of the easygoing ones who seemed to maintain at least a couple friends in every clique.

He's in the jeans he wore yesterday, and a tucked in t-shirt that shows off his still-handsome body. Maybe he didn't pack any nightclothes.

I think Elena actually had hearts in her eyes the first time she saw him.

I can't blame her.

"Mike, you seriously don't think humans are supposed to pair-bond for life?" Ken is saying.

I take a sip of my coffee. "Nope," I say.

"Even though we're celebrating our friend's day of holy matrimony tomorrow?" he says.

"50% chance of divorce," I say.

It's a weird pet interest of mine. I'm not even sure why I get so insistent on it. It's just something I find fascinating, in a theoretical, thought experiment kind of way.

"I can't believe this," he says.

Then he turns to my wife and says, "What do you have to say to this, Elena?"

She shakes her head no, swallows a mouthful of pancake, then says, "When he gets like this, I don't get in the middle of it."

Ken presses. "Even though he's questioning the very foundation of the happiness that he and you have built together?"

Elena turns to me, pointedly, and says to Ken, "Mike talks a big game, but you know that if his theory became a real possibility, he'd fold."

I set my jaw, not appreciating the challenge.

"What do you say to that?" Ken asks me.

He's always been an instigator.

"I would not," I say. "If a marriage is going to survive, there has to be at least a possibility that someone could step out and they'd be okay with it. Otherwise, it's expecting animals to mate in captivity."

"Okay," Ken says. "What if Elena and I went upstairs and fucked right now?"

My stomach sinks into my slippers.

He adds, "Would you be okay with that?"

I look at Elena. "She wouldn't," I say. Mr. Confident.

Elena cocks an eyebrow. "What makes you so sure?"

"Yeah," Ken says, "How about that business between the two of you Thursday night? Was that 'mating in captivity?'"

I grimace. He wasn't supposed to tell her he'd heard.

She seems unfazed.

Elena pushes her plate away and gives a prim, resolute nod.

She says, "In fact, I think I would like to have sex with Ken right now."

Ken looks at her, silent, but his face shows an incredible sudden alertness.

Fuck.

I want to say, "Absolutely not."

I contemplate saying, "Fine, you got me."

In the back of my mind, I'm saying, "I'm so full of shit. I'm not sure why I'm so insistent about these things. I should just shut the fuck up forever, I'm such a fraud, I-"

"Fine," I say, my jaw still set.

Ken isn't hiding his surprise. Elena's expression is more inscrutable.

"Could we clarify this 'fine?'" Ken says.

"I mean it," I say, calling their bluff. "You two should go upstairs and... do whatever. I'll be fine right here."

Ken shrugs, scoots his chair back, stands up, extends his hand to Elena.

She takes his hand, stands up, and they round the corner into the living room, where the stairs to the second floor await.

Neither of them make eye contact with me as they pass.

I hear the creaks of them on the stairs, then in the upstairs hall.

Then I hear the distinctive click of the bedroom door shutting.

I sit there, immobile, the fork clenched in my hand, the thought circling in my brain.

They wouldn't.

Would they?

Of course not.

What if they did?

They wouldn't.

I decide it doesn't matter if they do or not; what matters is that they've deliberately insulted me.

Fine.

No big deal. I finish my breakfast. I'm not going to wait around for them, whether they're just playing around with me, or... whatever.

I glance at the clock on the stove. They've been up there for 10 minutes.

That's a long time for a prank. An awfully long time for them to let me sit down here in suspense.

Really, they're retaliating against me.

Whatever's happening up there-

(I'm doing a good job of not thinking about it. But, every so often, an image leaks into my mind's eye from the bowels of my imagination and raises a boil of big feelings.)

-Whatever's happening up there, it's disporportionate retaliation.

I start to clear the table.

Whatever's happening, I'll show them I can still be a good husband and a good host.

All I did was open my big mouth, right? It wasn't that bad. And, hey, I couldn't be that much of a pig. Look at me, taking care of the food and the dishes.

Even if they're, you know-

(More images. Sweating, touching, my wife, my friend, body parts, fluids. My heart lurches, and I feel things. Best not to follow them. Best to tamp them down again.)

-Even if they're doing what they made it look like they were going to do, I can be the better man. I'll go about the usual morning routine, and they'll see. They'll understand it wasn't that big of a deal.

20 minutes.

I start to wash the dishes. As water flows over the plates, knocking the remains of breakfast down the drain, I realize the images are flowing freely and I'm not really trying to stop them anymore.

I know Elena's voluptuous body like the back of my own hand, but my mind has to invent Ken in the nude from a dozen composite men. All of them tall, hard, and handsome.

I might have really screwed something up.

I offended my wife, I offended my friend, I've insulted people, and I'm getting what I deserve.

Maybe they should fuck.

And maybe I should have to stand down here and take care of their food and their dishes and sit with the images that I can no longer contain.

For some reason, the image I keep getting stuck on is Elena, on all fours, getting fucked from behind. Ken's forehead, sprouting with sweat, furrowed in concentration. Elena's face a red mask of pleasure.

After about 30 minutes, from upstairs, I hear the distinctive click of the bedroom door again, opening this time. I hear steps in the hall, then I hear the shower start.

Which one of them?

Or both of them?

Our shower is pretty big.

Maybe I have to change my outlook to get along. Maybe what Elena and Ken are doing is okay.

Maybe this is something new and good. It's just a surprise, that's all.

In fact, I decide, as I shake off the water of the last plate and rinse the suds from my hands:

Even if they're just pranking me, even if they aren't fucking, they'll have to come back down sometime.

I'm going to talk to them about this.

I'm going to tell them they should do it.

I dry my hands on my pajama bottoms. I'm surprised to find that I have a full, throbbing erection.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts.

I hear them in the hall again, then on the stairs.

They're coming.

~

THE HOUSEGUEST, CHAPTER 2

"Okay," Ken says. "What if Elena and I went upstairs and fucked right now?"

Mike thinks he has a poker face. He looks like someone just pissed in his cereal.

Ken adds, "Would you be okay with that?"

Mike looks at me.

"She wouldn't," he says, looking like a petulant child.

I cock an eyebrow.

"What makes you so sure?" I ask, enjoying the chance to bust his chops.

"Yeah," Ken says, "How about that business between the two of you Thursday night? Was that 'mating in captivity?'"

Wow.

I hadn't realized he heard.

But, apparently, he told Mike. Who didn't tell me.

My beautiful husband, all five and a half feet of him, sits there like a chastened child, looking as though he's trying to rewind the last five minutes of the conversation with his mind.

I have to admit, though, with the tongue-lashing Mike gave me, it crossed my mind at the time that maybe we were being too loud.

But I also found the thought of being heard to be a turn-on.

I glance at Ken out of the corner of my eye.

And I have an idea.

I push my plate away and give a theatrical nod.

I say, "In fact, I think I would like to have sex with Ken right now."

Ken looks at me, silent, but his face is lighting up. "Really?" his eyes say.

I know what Mike will say.

"Fine," he says, practically grinding his teeth.

Ken looks at him, not hiding his surprise.

"Could we clarify this 'fine?'" Ken says.

"I mean it," Mike says. "You two should go upstairs and... do whatever. I'll be fine right here."

Ken shrugs. He scoots his chair back, stands up, extends his hand to me.

I do want to bust Mike's chops.

But...

I reach out, take Ken's hand, and stand up. We head out of the kitchen, into the living room, where the stairs to the second floor await. Mike left alone at the table, radiating bewilderment.

Still holding Ken's hand, I lead him up the stairs. Each creaking step fills me with a burst of mounting anticipation.

I actually would like to fuck Ken.

And Mike did give us permission.

Ken follows me down the bedroom hall to the master bedroom at the end, gamely playing out the charade with me.

Perhaps he doesn't fully understand my intentions, which grow more certain in the pit of my heart as I let him through the door and step inside behind him.

Or maybe he does.

Inside the bedroom, Ken stands at the foot of the bed, his back to me. He's admiring the view of the treeline outside the big bedroom window, rays of morning sun shining in. It looks good on him.

I shut the door behind us.

"He's not usually like this. Just every once in a while," I say, casually, letting my robe slide off my shoulders down to the carpeted floor.

"If only you'd known him in high school," Ken says, his back still turned. "It was pretty much this level of intensity, all the time."

I slip my shorts down to my ankles, then shuck my tank top.

He's engrossed by a cardinal on the tree branch outside.

I stand behind him, naked.

He has no idea.

I muse, "It's like there's a new Mike who's perfectly intelligent and reasonable, and an old Mike who occasionally overpowers him."

I'm making conversation.

But not really.

Turning to face me, Ken says, "It might be my fault. Maybe being around the old gang makes him-"

He pauses when he sees me.

He does that automatic up-and-down flick of the eyes that men do when they're evaluating whether or not someone is turning them on. The one they think we can't see.

"I, uh," he declares.

I laugh-a genuine laugh, not a mean one. It's a cartoon moment. He's cute, a far cry from the confident social butterfly he was at the breakfast table.

The truth is, I'm not a confident person by nature. I try to be mindful of moments that bring me up, the ones that help me feel myself.

Seeing him this way, flustered and clearly horny, helps me feel myself a lot.

I make my meaning plain.

I say, "We're just animals, right?"

~

THE HOUSEGUEST, CHAPTER 3

The look on Mike's face as we pass him by is priceless. I try not to look back at him as Elena leads me by the hand out of the kitchen, to the stairs.

She's a good one, this Elena.

Great sense of humor, knows exactly how to handle Mike.

And, as I climb the stairs behind her, watching her ass sway from side to side beneath the drapery of her thin robe, I find myself admiring her in other ways.

With my free hand, I tuck two fingers down the front of my pants and flip my growing erection up into my waistband.

I worry this is the exact moment she'll glance behind her. But she doesn't.

As we ascend to the landing, her eyes are locked on the master bedroom down the hall. She practically drags me there.

It wouldn't do at all for her to see me walking funny, or for her to spot the obvious bulge in the front of my pants.

She isn't my usual type. But there's something magnetic about her.

Under different circumstances, I could see her becoming my type very quickly.

She leads me into the modest but beautiful master bedroom. She holds the door for me, letting me be first inside.

I pass by her and drink in my surroundings. I hear her close the door behind us.

I smile to myself. Mike must be burning up down there, sitting in his chair at the breakfast table under a cloud of his own stubbornness.

There are bureaus to either side of the bed, a closet on one side, and a picture window with a beautiful tree line to the other.

Right next to the bedside table is a small cabinet with a pump top bottle on it filled with clear liquid, which I'm sure they'd rather I hadn't noticed.

I pretend I didn't. I also pretend that I don't have a pretty good guess as to the kind of stuff they must keep in that cabinet.

"He's not usually like this. Just every once in a while," I hear her say casually from behind me.

I look to the window. It's a pretty morning out.

It gives me something to direct my attention to.

Direct my attention away from my old friend's attractive wife, who stands just behind me. All alone with me in her bedroom.

"If only you'd known him in high school," I say, conversationally. "It was pretty much this level of intensity, all the time."

Their bed is in front of me.

I try not to think about the sounds.

Her cries through the door, so clear in my memory, so obviously in the throes of an orgasm, which she had right here, on the bed right in front of where I now stand.

There's a cardinal outside. That's nice. Focus on that.

I think I might have sufficiently talked myself down from being horny.

I just have to remember that nothing is happening.

Elena is Mike's wife, we're in their house, he's downstairs, right beneath our feet, and this is just her way of putting him in his place.

She says, "It's like there's a new Mike who's perfectly intelligent and reasonable, and an old Mike who occasionally overpowers him."

I turn to face her.

I say, "It might be my fault. Maybe being around the old gang makes him-"

Everything I was about to say flies out of my head when I see her.

Before me, between me and the closed door, she's completely nude.

Morning light casts a warm glow on one side of her. Soft, round shadows fall across her, cast by the hills of her flesh.

Her arms hang loosely at her sides. Her legs are slightly crossed, one foot in front of the other. A light growth of neatly trimmed hair creeps up from between her thighs, below the thick lobe of her belly.

She watches my face. Her expression is inscrutable.

I think I say something, but I'm not sure what.

She smiles and laughs, a lilting, musical laugh that makes her tummy and her large, heavy breasts bob. I find it oddly relieving to hear her make such an unserious sound.

The situation feels very serious.

Perhaps sensing my feelings, she says, "We're just animals, right?"

Thinking of Mike just downstairs, I nod. I think I understand.

She steps out of the clothes on the floor. She walks towards me, bare feet padding silently on the carpet. That beautiful, hipswinging walk.

She's close enough that I can feel the heat from her body smell the faint scent of breakfast on her breath.

"Can I touch it?" she asks.

I follow her gaze downward and see what she means.

My penis, fully erect, is a hard upright ridge behind the fly of my jeans..

"I'd like to kiss you," I say, suddenly shy.

She smiles again. She has a big, unself-conscious smile.

"Ask," she says.

For some reason, my heart is pounding.

It's not as if I've never gotten laid before. My dance card is usually pretty full.

"Can I kiss you?" I ask.

She embraces me, leans her body into mine. I embrace her. She tilts her head up and gives me a wet, open-mouthed kiss. Our tongues touch. Her soft belly presses against my hard cock through my pants.

One of my hands finds the back of her head. The other travels down her spine and comes to rest on the shelf of her buttocks.

Her hands are roaming.

Our lips part, and she asks again.

"Can I touch it?"

I nod, and breathe, "Yes."

With one hand still planted on my waist, she steps back. Her free hand finds my zipper. One-handed, she undoes the button and lowers the zipper. My cock springs free.

Her hand wraps around it.

She tilts her head as if to kiss me again. I lean down to kiss her, but she asks another question.

"When you heard us the other night, were you listening on purpose?"

Damn.

How did she know?

I avert my gaze. Mentally, I rear up, fully prepared for this encounter to end with me admitting it and offering endless apologies.

And yet...

My eyes meet hers. Her gaze is fixed on my face, unwavering.

Her loose fist starts rising and falling and twisting on me, slowly. My foreskin slips back and forth on my glans.

It feels really good.

"I got up to go to the bathroom," I say, "and I heard something coming from your bedroom."

"Was it the sound of Mike and I having sex?"

"I couldn't tell. The door was closed."

"And what did you do?"

"I came closer."

"And?"

She's jerking me off in earnest now. Her loose grip and steady hand home in on just the kind of attention I like.

Wavering a little, I say, "I stood outside the door and listened."

She's looking at me, expecting to say more.

Her abundant naked flesh is rippling with the rhythm of her efforts. Her flashing eyes are fixing themselves permanently in my erotic memory.

"I..." I start to say.

She's really good at this.

If she keeps going, I won't be able to stop myself from coming.

"I'm sorry," I say.

She stops jerking.

"Why?" she asks, with mock innocence.

"I'm sorry I listened."

"Why?" More innocence.

"It's... rude?"

"You just wanted to know what was going on."

That much is true.

"But..." she says, looking down at my pulsing cock in her hand.

She releases it. It tips forward, touching her belly.

"If you feel like you did something bad," she says, "maybe you can make it up to me."