My name is Glen. I'm just a regular, normal guy with a regular, normal wife. I get up in the morning, go to work, mow the yard on weekends, tinker with my classic car, the whole deal. My wife, Samantha, is a photographer and has a small studio downtown. She does mostly portrait work; families in sweaters, little kids who just got the worst haircuts of their young lives and will hate the pictures when they're older, that sort of thing. We're in our late 40's. Me, 49, and Samantha just turned 48. I try to stay active to keep the old spare tire at bay, but not always successful. My wife has what I like to call "good genes". I don't think she's gained over a pound since we were married over 22 years ago, even after having two kids. She has a slender, petite frame and if she stands on her tiptoes may reach five-four, maybe. If anyone said her bust size was over a B cup I would of called them liars. They may be small, but I like them just fine. Her blond hair is beginning to get streaks of silver, which she hates but I think gives her a definite classy look. Typical, typical, typical are the three words that probably describe us best. Things changed though when trouble moved in next door, and its name was Derrick.
I knew Derrick was trouble from the first time I met him. I had seen his type a hundred times before in high school and college. He was a tall, good looking guy (I'll admit that) with an athletic build. He had just turned 30 and decided to settle in the 'burbs as everyone does when they get "old", or old to him. His wife, Candice, could be described as my wife's polar opposite. Candice was tall, dark-haired, and had the body of a fitness model. I'm sure her too-small T-shirts that she liked to wear were permanently stretched out of shape from her bountiful chest. They looked like a Hollywood couple. They also had all the charm and arrogance that comes with looking that way and getting whatever they wanted. Derrick would occasionally flash his killer smile at my wife. "Not today, sonny," she would slam him with. "There's always tomorrow," was his standard reply.
It took about six months to realize they were actually ok people once you got past the attitude. Living next door Candice and my wife eventually became best friends. Candice was always trying to get Samantha to "loosen up" and my wife was always trying to get Candice to understand that my she was as "loose" as she would ever get.
Derrick loved my car, a black, 1965 Barracuda that I had just restored. A real muscle car. He would come over and we would tinker around with it while listening to whatever game happened to be on. As always talk would eventually turn to sex and our past sexual conquests. If Derrick scored with only half the women he claimed that was still three times more than my total. I may not of been a scoring machine, but I told him that I had a cheerleader or two in my day. According to him he had any girl that he decided on. I always got a lump in my throat when he said that, worried that some day he might cast that eye towards my wife. He must of noticed my discomfort. "Don't worry, dude, I like playing with your toy here too much," he assured me. Then he would flash his devilish grin, "But just so you know, I could if I wanted," he winked.
For some reason I didn't back down this time. "Anytime you think you can you're welcome to try." I think it was the beer talking. Derrick just started laughing. This led to talk of infidelity, and if we had ever cheated. I had to admit that I had.
"Not you, man! You're my monogamy inspiration," Derrick said, surprised by my revelation. "How did it happen?" I told him how Samantha and I had hit a rough patch and I had hooked up with an old girlfriend one night after a particularly bad fight. I had never told anyone that and I was instantly worried that Derrick would let it "slip". "And Samantha never found out?" I told him, no, and it should stay that way. "Don't worry, I'm not going to bust your balls over this. Every man cheats some way or another. This just means you're normal." He slapped me on the back a little too hard. "I think Candice would. Hell, I bet your modest dressing wife would cheat if the right situation arose." I don't know what pissed me off more; saying my wife would cheat if given the chance, or that she was modest dressing. I did have to admit to myself that when she and Candice stood next to each other my wife seemed to disappear.
"No," I insisted, "Samantha would never cheat on me." The wolf-like smile and glare that crossed Derrick's face almost made me take a step back.
"Wanna bet?" He saw a sheep in front of him and was licking his chops.
I should of laughed it off and gone inside. I was out of my league but didn't have the sense to realize it. It must of been the beer. I wanted to play it cool, that I could be a slick operator too. I would show this kid. "Goddamn right I do. Stakes?" This shut the golden boy up for a moment. The wolf-smile appeared again. He looked over at my 'cuda. I bet the blood drained from my face.
"Your car against the cash equivalent from me." He stuck his hand out. Pride and alcohol are a bad combination. I grabbed it firmly and gave a good squeeze. He squeezed back. It took all I had to keep from wincing.
The rules were simple: Samantha had to cheat of her own free will. If she was tempted and declined, I won; if she cheated, Derrick won. This was a one time deal. Derrick had to supply the proof, and it couldn't just be his word. Once she turned down the initial advance it was over; he couldn't keep hitting on her. "Oh, I'm not going to be the one, I'm not going to touch her," he informed me. I was certainly relieved to hear THAT! He winked and then strolled out of my garage whistling some tune I didn't recognize. What the hell had I just done?
At first I was on pins and needles as I waited for Derrick to show up with pictures or something. I began to take every little subtle reference from my wife way out of context. She must of thought I was a paranoid maniac or on drugs. "What is your problem?" she would ask when I started asking about where she had been or who she had talked to. I could of told her about the bet which would of insured victory and a lot of extra cash. We were saving for a trip to Europe and this would put us over the top. I finally decided to play it straight. Also, and I hate to admit it, curiosity was beginning to get to me. Would she really cheat if given the right circumstances? Derrick could not of devised a better form of torture.
After more than a few sleepless nights the stress began to wear off and things got back to normal. A few months later and it was almost completely forgotten. Derrick never said one word. This probably should of worried me the most. He was polite around my wife, but still flirted with her on occasion. I held out hope that Derrick was as drunk as I was that night and forgot all about it. I was completely floored when the DVD addressed to me arrived in the mail . PLAY ME was all that was written on it. My hand was shaking as I put it in the computer at work. I didn't dare leave it laying around home. There was a professional looking title at the beginning that said: The Next Big Thing. The video started out showing a black guy driving and talking to the camera.
"So how are you feeling today? Ready for the big time?" The cameraman asked.
"Oh, I'm always ready. Should be a fun afternoon." They continued to shoot the shit when the car pulled into a parking lot and stopped. The black guy looked right into the camera, "Time to go win the bet for Derrick." Oh fuck! The camera followed the black guy as he entered a familiar looking building. My mouth went dry as I recognized it as my wife's studio.
"You must be Lawrence," my wife said as she walked up to them with her hand out. The black guy shook it. He was at least a foot taller than Samantha and her hand disappeared in his.
"Actually he prefers Big L," the cameraman informed her.
"Big L?"
"Yeah, it's kind of my professional name," Lawrence/Big L said.
"Are you a rapper?" I was kind of surprised that my wife even knew what a rapper was.
"More like an un wrapper," Big L said with a chuckle. My wife didn't get what was painfully obvious to me. "Oh, and I hope the video camera doesn't bother you. This company is following me around, doing a 'Day in the Life' sort of thing on me." Samantha apologized for not having heard of him.
"He's not famous, yet. He is what we are calling 'The Next Big Thing'," the cameraman said. "When this is all over you'll know him very well."
The three of them went over a few ideas for the shoot. Big L had brought some clothes that he felt would best show what he had to offer. Samantha showed him the dressing room and left to set up. Inside Big L starts talking to the camera again. "Man, I am going to enjoy your wife soooo much!" He flicked his tongue out. Damn it was long and wide. God only knew what he was going to do with that thing. The knot that had been forming in my stomach was now the size of a basketball. I also noticed that Big L was really ripped while he was changing. Gulp!
Back outside the camera "documented" the session as Samantha snapped away at Big L in various poses. When it came time to change the camera would follow him back into the dressing room where he would again exclaim what he was going to do to my wife. "Drag my tongue all up and down her body. She may be twice my age, but fuck, she's still pretty goddamn hot." For a moment I felt a sense of pride as he talked about my wife like that. She was pretty desirable still. What the hell was I thinking? I didn't really want him to succeed in seducing my wife, did I?
