I sat in the corner of Starbucks, headphones in my ears and stared at my tablet. I had my back to the corner so no one could see what was on my screen but if they had, they would have seen a view of my bedroom. I was waiting for my car to be repaired and having a coffee while looking at a live stream of my own bedroom. But that wasn't all. I was currently watching my wife on her knees at the foot of our bed giving some very aggressive attention to the dick of another man.
He had been looking down at the top of her head, but now threw his head back and the "Ahhhhh..." came through the headphones to me. I knew what he was feeling. Danielle was pretty talented at giving head.
She continued for another minute or two—although it felt like an hour—and then she stood up. She was naked, and she was gorgeous. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a deep kiss. They stood motionless for a moment—or maybe my screen had frozen—and then she pulled away. As she stood in front of him he put his hands on her breasts. She smiled and said something that I couldn't hear, but it made him laugh. Then she walked to her side of the bed and opened the drawer on the nightstand. She pulled out something and put it on the top of the nightstand while he watched. Then she sat down on the side of the bed, facing the camera that she wasn't aware I had activated earlier and motioned for him to come over.
He stood in front of her, mostly blocking her from my view. She put her hands on his shoulders and seemed to push him toward the floor. He knelt in front of her and began kissing her on her thighs. His head and hands progressed higher as she sat and watched. Eventually he reached the apex and she collapsed back onto the bed with an "Ohhh...mmmm..." Her hands found her breasts and she rubbed her hard nipples as he worked on her. Her moans grew louder, and in a very familiar way, I knew her orgasm was coming soon.
I lost track of everything around me as I stared at my tablet screen and watched my wife grab the back of this young man's head and pulled him into her pussy. I had been there countless times. Her hips lifted off the bed as she drove herself into his face and let out a loud "Yes!!"
What was I doing in Starbucks watching my wife with a young black man? It's actually kind of a funny story.
It was last Saturday when Danielle and I had been cleaning up our porch that we had made a deal. She would agree to, and even help arrange, a threesome with one of her friends, as long as I agreed to let her have an afternoon in bed with the man of her choosing. I wasn't convinced it would ever happen but now, not more than a week later, both events had happened.
On Saturday I had asked, "Who is the guy?"
"It's Tom Hanks, hon'" was her matter-of-fact reply. At least that's what I heard.
I was dumbstruck. We live in the Midwest. We don't circulate with movie stars and don't know anyone who does. I asked a few questions—too few it turns out—but eventually agreed. In truth, at the time I never thought either part of the deal would become reality, but I was wrong.
As it turned out. That very night, Danielle and her friend treated me to an amazing sexual adventure. I was stunned. The next morning Danielle went to the gym and returned flushed and excited.
"Guess who's coming over on Saturday?!" she seemed giddy as she entered the kitchen, and before I could respond she blurted out, "It's Tom Hanks, hon!"
"Wait, what?!" was my only reply.
"He said he'd come over Saturday to have me review his grad-school applications." she continued, but then paused as she studied my confused expression. "You're still okay with this aren't you?"
I couldn't think fast enough to process what I had just heard. My face was obviously giving that away.
"He's working at the gym," she was talking more slowly now, unsure, "we've chatted a few times and I guess that's why I thought..."
"Errr...Tom Hanks works at the gym?" I asked stupidly.
"Wait...what?" she cocked her head at me, "Not Tom Hanks, Tom Anderson. He's Hank Anderson's son. You know him."
My head was spinning, not for the last time this week. Tom Anderson was the college aged son of one of our neighbors, Hank Anderson.
That's when it hit me. Several times I had asked, and several times she told me, "Tom Hanks, hon'" At least that's how I had heard it. But that's not what she had said. That's just what I had heard.
What she had said was "Tom, Hank's son." She meant Tom, our neighbor Hank Anderson's son.
Hank and his son had moved into our neighborhood a few years ago. Hank's wife had passed away a few years before that, and they relocated to our town when his company had transferred him. We had met at a couple of the neighborhood events—block parties, that sort of thing—but didn't know the Andersons that well. Hank and his son were African American, which wasn't unusual for our neighborhood. And admittedly, I sometimes wondered if Danielle had a thing for the attractive father.
I muddled through all of this while Danielle looked at me, concerned.
"Tom. Hank's son," I asked already knowing the answer, "Not Tom Hanks, hon'?"
"What? I guess, I mean...wait...what?" she was confused now. "I thought that was our agreement."
I didn't know what to say. Do I admit that the only reason I agreed to this was because I thought she was going for a Hollywood unachievable? Do I call it off? I picked up my coffee cup. I set my coffee cup back down. I picked it up again, set it down. I looked at her.
"I thought it was someone...else." I spoke slowly. "I just need a little processing time. I'm not saying 'No'. I'm just saying I had this different idea in my head."
She was a bit wide-eyed at this point, staring but not speaking.
I spoke first. "I just...Saturday? So, this Saturday...you've set...you have it all set up?" I was stammering.
"Look, I don't know that it has to happen, or even what is going to happen, but if this isn't okay..." she paused.
"So, it's not set up?"
"No, I mean, maybe." She was hunting for words now. "Look, he works at the gym. We talk once in a while and he mentioned that he's applying to grad schools. This morning, I offered to help with his applications and he said he could come by on Saturday. That's all that's set up. There's no 'date', there's just me reading his essays and helping edit them. That's it."
"So...no 'date'?"
"No, I don't know but he needs some help, I thought I could help and I thought maybe, because you and I had agreed to it...I don't know...I thought I'd see what happens." She paused. "If you want me to call it off..."
"No." I interrupted.
"But you seem..."
"I'm just processing. I'm okay. Give me a minute."
I picked up my coffee again, and this time took a sip. It was cold.
