THE OTHER FOOT
Cheating cuts both ways. Something for everyone--to hate.
Please read the Standard Disclaimer on Alextasy's biography page.
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Tiny raindrops are tapping on the tin roof. Brenda shoves another double Jack in front of me and hauls away the empty. This is only my second round, but I've got plenty of time. It's not quite two o'clock. I might even last till eight or nine before she stuffs me into a cab back to the house. That'll be three times in the last week. Or maybe four. My keys are already on the bar. I hope I don't puke this time.
It's a rainy, dreary Tuesday afternoon at The Hawg Heaven. This place has been around as long as I can remember. Until recently, it wasn't my sort of bar. Now I'm feelin' right at home.
Hank Williams cranks up 'Your Cheatin' Heart' again.
The bar still has a real jukebox with actual 45rpm records that you can play for a quarter. Most of them are from the 50's and 60's. I can't figure out who the fuck keeps selecting G-3. I'm the only one here besides Brenda, and she hasn't moved from behind the bar.
I like Brenda. She's not anything like what you'd call pretty. Neither is my wife, but Brenda's a whole different class of not-pretty. Sorta' makes me think of a red-headed sow--short stubby nose, round face, and a body like a freckled sumo wrestler. She doesn't take shit from anybody. Half the tats covering her skin have a Harley theme. The other half are references to something called the 'Skull Riders'. Her left nipple is the center of a black swastika. On a bet she pulled her wife-beater up to show me one afternoon last week.
Maybe I shoulda' married her. At least I'd know what I was getting. No lies or half-truths. She fucks who she wants, when she wants. I'll bet she can swallow a whole cock without gagging. Just like my wife did.
Except my wife never did it for me. Not once in twelve goddamned years. The most she could handle was about half before she choked on it. After the one time when she threw up, she didn't even try any more.
She sure seemed to enjoy inhaling her lover's dick, though. My sweet little Amber was all smiles after he shot half his load deep in her throat then pulled out to spray the rest all over her face.
Damn, it hurts. The whiskey numbs the brain, but I don't think anything will ever erase the images in my head or heal the stabbing pain in my chest. She says she's sorry. The deceitful cunt doesn't know what sorry is. I oughta haul Brenda back to our house and fuck her like crazy on our bed. Then I could record the whole thing and send it to Amber anonymously like some sick fuck did to me. Let's see how she feels when the shoe's on the other foot.
I'm deep in my thoughts and don't notice when another man comes in. He slides onto the stool next to me. I give him a glance. He's older, more salt than pepper in his hair. That gray silk suit is all wrong for a dive like this. It fits his broad frame too well to be off-the-rack. He looks like a bank VP. Probably went to some hoity-toity college up north. Or worse, Duke.
"Jack, neat. Make it a double," he tells Brenda.
Okay, so he's not all bad. Any friend of Jack's is a friend of mine. I raise my tumbler.
"Most people call me Simon," he says, extending his hand.
"Richard," I answer with a friendly shake.
"Great little bar here, Richard," he says, peering around at the simple decor--if you can call rough-hewn walls and rusted Schlitz and Harley signs a 'decor'. Simon nods and says, "Yeah, this is the sort of place a man can feel like a real man, y'know?"
I have to snort, shaking my head. I don't feel like much of a man these days. I guess that's sorta' why I'm here, hoping to soak up some semblance of manhood from the stench of stale beer. If nothin' else, I'll get pickled enough to forget for a few hours.
My new friend says, "Wish we had a decent hangout like this around Durham."
Shit. I knew it. A Dookie. Better keep my mouth shut about going to Carolina. I just met the guy and don't want Brenda to have ta' pull us apart. Not that I'd be able to take him. Simon's a big guy. Maybe I might feel better if somebody beat the crap out of me, though.
"What brings ya' down to Charlotte?" I ask. "You slumming?"
He has a deep, jovial laugh. "Just dropped into town to catch up with an old acquaintance."
Brenda slides his drink to him. He takes a long, slow sip, then pauses to savor the burn.
"How about you?" he asks. "A regular?"
"Only a coupla' weeks. I haven't been much of a drinker since my college days," I tell him. I swallow another long drink myself and shake it off "My wife found a new boyfriend, so I'm gettin' to know my good buddy Jack again."
Brenda shoots me a look. She's not happy. She knows my story. She thinks I'm an idiot. That didn't stop her from offering a revenge fuck if I'd stay sober long enough. That's a tough choice. She's lookin' better every time I come in. Such a cute little pug nose. Just like my wife's.
"Want to talk about it?" Simon says, then takes another sip.
It's sort of Schadenfreude in reverse--I haven't quite figured out why, but reliving the agony seems to be its own perverse pleasure. I don't get a boner about it, or nothin'. I think I'm hoping that one of these times I'm gonna hear myself come up with the magic solution to the drenching shit storm of my life. So far, nothin' makes sense. That might be what hurts worst of all.
I notice Simon's ring finger. It's empty.
"Ever been married?" I ask.
He nods. "Once. A long time ago." The pinched lips and distant, pained look in his eyes tell me he's got his own story to tell. He says, "What happened with yours?"
Tossing back another mouthful, I'm feelin' the warm glow. I launch into my well-worn yarn while I'm not slurring too bad.
"She wasn't the girl of my dreams. Hell, you probably wouldn't even give her a second look if you saw her on the street," I tell him. He doesn't need to know why I chose to marry a woman like that. "She was a good wife, though. I thought our marriage was solid. I was home nearly every night, gave her a house in a nice neighborhood. Two great kids..."
Tears are clouding my eyes again. Damn, I miss my kids. Simon waits while I gather myself so I can go on.
"I just can't understand why the stupid cunt went off the rails. I mean, sure, we had our problems. Nothin' too big. You know how it is. I guess any romance can turn a little stale after twelve years."
"Twelve years, huh?" Simon says, raising a brow. "Mine didn't last much longer."
"So, you and me, we're on the same wavelength here. Things weren't perfect but it was damned good. We loved each other. Well, so I thought. I never saw it comin'. I mean, my wife, she was always the sweetest, most dependable and honest person I ever knew. She acted disgusted if another guy ever came onto her."
The sad truth is, next to her looks that was one of the reasons I'd married Amber. When we met she was just coming off a long-term relationship with a boy who'd been screwin' around on her for years. I was a little older and she liked being with a man who had his head on his shoulders and was ready to settle down.
I hadn't always been so virtuous. I played fast and loose with the girls in my college days. Even messed around with a few married women. They were the best. The hot-blooded, older wives loved a young, hard cock that rebounded in minutes instead of hours like their old geezer husbands. I learned to be patient, play to their vanities, then fucked 'em like twenty-dollar whores. Most of 'em wanted me to push them around and take what I wanted, all rough and demanding. I was amazed at how easy it was.
So, after scoring with all those easy sluts I wanted a wife I knew I could trust, not some hot babe who was constantly gonna be chased by all the slick studs like I'd been.
The jukebox cranks up again on its own. Some sort of island rhythm. "If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life..." At least it's not G-3.
Amber had a homely, round face with a pudgy nose and a lazy left eye that always looked crossed. When we started dating her body was pleasantly round with plenty of handles for me to grab onto. Her tits were sorta' flabby. They got bigger after the kids came but she never got rid of the spare tire.
I didn't mind at all. Amber was an easy person to love. She was good-natured and witty and honest and big-hearted. Mostly, I knew that woman adored me. She would do just about anything I asked. My wife practically lived to take my cum into my choice of her holes. Except for the throat thing, she never refused me.
The experience with her cheatin' boyfriend had left her outraged at the thought of infidelity. Even if some guy could get past her face and her body I was certain she would never consider looking outside our marriage.
How could I have been so blind?
"You can't trust a woman, Richard," Simon says.
"You got that right," I tell him, shakin' my head. The sour look on Brenda's face makes me quickly backpedal. "Of course, there are exceptions to every rule."
She rolls her eyes and heads off toward the kitchen. She's smiling, though. Maybe tonight's gonna be the night I remind myself what it's like to fuck a woman instead of making love with her. It's been nearly two weeks since my 'little Richard' got any tutti-fruity. A night of rough, wild-hog sex would be good for my soul. I oughta' go easier on the Jack.
My new friend Simon says, "So, how did you find out, Richard? Did you come home early and find her fucking him? Did she rub it in your face and tell you she was going to start dating other guys?"
I shrug. "It was the weirdest thing. A DVD marked 'Amber' arrived at the office for me a couple of Fridays ago. I got one of our techies to check it out, and he said he couldn't find any viruses on it. I shoulda paid more attention to the smirk on his face. I watched it in my office. I...I was..."
"Devastated."
"Yeah," I agree quietly, barely holding back the tears. "My wife, and some guy. I never saw his face. The video was taken right there in our bedroom."
"Your own bed, huh? I'll bet that hurt like hell. Did they talk shit about you?"
