The woman was wearing a thin dress in a floral pattern that covered just the tops of her thighs. Her husband moved behind her and lifted her breasts up and down.
“See how nice they are?” he said.
His wife laughed and shook her head. “Bobby loves to show men my tits.”
“I’m proud of ‘em,” Bobby said. “Ain’t they nice?”
“They’re perfect,” I said.
“You’re damn right. See, honey? This guy knows.”
“Mind if I feel?” I said.
“Do you mind, hun?”
“I don’t mind,” she said.
Her husband’s hands were still on her breast as I moved towards her. He reached out and took my hand in his and guided me to her tits. I felt her up as if I were his puppet. I liked having his hand on my hand and mine on her.
“You like that?” he said.
“Sure I do.”
“That’s not even the best part.”
He let go of my hand so I could see what he meant. He put his hands on her hips and slowly lifted the fabric of her dress until I could see that she wasn’t wearing any panties. She had a perfect little patch of hair, and I watched the husband slide his hand down and rub her from behind. After a minute, I could smell it. It was a nice, different smell from the smell I was used to in the booths.
She looked down at his hand and then up at my face, appearing to enjoy herself. She seemed happy and confident like an amateur model showing off. She smiled at me.
“Mind if I touch?”
“That okay, hun?” he said.
“You clean?” she said.
“You bet.”
“Alright then.”
I reached out and slipped my fingers down with her husband’s. We were rubbing her together, sliding in and out. It felt almost perfect, like we had planned it or practiced beforehand. The wife moaned and stretched her neck so that her head was tilted back, pressed against her husband’s.
“Kiss her on the neck,” he said.
I kissed her on the neck, from her throat to her ear. Her husband did the same on the other side. Then we switched sides.
“Go slow,” he said. “We got time.”
Funny, but after he said that, things began moving faster. He lifted her dress off so that she was naked except for a pair of white canvas sneakers.
She wanted to be on all fours on the bench. The husband slipped off his cargo shorts and unbuttoned his Hawaiian shirt revealing a hairy chest and paunch and one of the biggest dicks I’d ever seen. All he wore was a pair of flip-flops.
“She wants for me to be behind while you’re in front.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said.
I stood in front of her. When I started to thrust into her mouth, her husband said, “Don’t do it like that. She don’t like that. Just let her be in control.”
“Oh, sure. Sorry.”
So I stood still while she sucked me and moaned. Bobby slammed her from behind.
After a while, he was fucking her hard enough that she stopped sucking my dick to focus on taking his. So I moved to the back and watched his cock going in and out of her. It never got boring. The wife was moaning louder and louder.
I could hear men gathered outside. They kept trying the door.
I couldn’t resist. I reached down and wrapped my hand around the base of his dick. He tensed up when I did it, but he didn’t stop me. He kept fucking her. I couldn’t even come close to encircling it with my hand. It was as fat as a beer can.
The wife looked over her shoulder and saw what I was doing. “You’re scaring my husband,” she said. “I like that.”
“You’re the one who should be scared,” I wanted to say to her.
“Wish I could be in there too,” I said instead.
“You kiddin’? There ain’t even room for him,” she said.
She was moaning and laughing and squealing, making more noise than I’d ever heard anyone make at the arcade. I touched her husband, feeling his dick and balls and his chest. With my other hand I rubbed his wife, sliding my fingers in when he pulled out.
Her moaning grew louder until finally she came at the top of her lungs. Then her husband came inside of her. Then, with my hand still around his dick, I came on the floor.
We started getting dressed. The husband had a handkerchief in the pocket of his shorts, and he handed it to his wife who cleaned up between her legs.
“You want this back, or toss it?” she said.
“You can toss it, hun,” he said. She dropped it in the trashcan before pulling her dress over her head.
“Boy,” I said. “Thanks a lot.”
“Thank you,” he said. “That was fun. Maybe we’ll run into one another again sometime.”
“I hope so.”
The three of us left at the same time. In the hallway, a few men were gathered. I’d heard them knocking and trying the door, but greeting them that way was strange and surprising. They looked like a crazed reception line of zombies.
We exited to the parking lot together and all said “goodnight” one last time. On the highway, we rode alongside one another for a mile or two, them in a big white pickup. Before we separated at last, the wife rolled down her window and lowered the top of her dress so I could get a final look at her breasts. I could see her husband in the driver’s seat craning his neck to see my reaction, having the time of his life.
73
A DARK CLOUD FORMED OVER THE COP’S HOUSE. HE started taking my calls again as everything began to go wrong for him and the kid. I thought maybe my crying and obsessing and praying had finally roused God like a sleepy old man waking from a nap to finally join the fight.
The first thing He did was kill the cat. The cop and the kid had been worrying about it lately. It had been vomiting, and then it stopped wanting to jump up onto the furniture. They took him to the vet who said they could take the little guy home for one last night and bring him in first thing in the morning to be put to sleep. They cried together and stayed up all night telling the cat how much they loved it, thanking it for being such a good friend. Then it was dead and they were in sorrow together. I sympathized, but also worried about the potential for them to be further bonded by the loss of their pet. At least I could stop getting allergy shots twice a week.
They were still grieving when the next ordeal struck. The kid awoke in pain, and had to be taken to the ER where an emergency appendectomy was performed. That wasn’t so bad really, except for the expense and the way the incision fucked up one of his already-horrible tattoos. In a sense, crisis had been averted. But just a week later, he had to return to the hospital, this time with a painful, unidentified skin infection. The cop had it too, on his hands and shoulders.
The appearance of the first sores marked the beginning of a weeks-long fight against a persistent staph infection that passed between them, to all different parts of their bodies. It was painful and upsetting, and they started freaking out because no matter how careful they were, new spots kept appearing. Something as minor as sharing a towel could lead to another agonizing infection on a new and unexpected location. Sex was out of the question.
Then the kid was in a car accident. His car totaled, he wore a neck brace for a week. They took photos in case of a lawsuit. Frowning and wearing the collar, I almost felt bad for the kid. He even had a black eye. When he took a few days away from work to get things sorted out, there was a misunderstanding about who was covering his shifts, and he lost his job at the movie theater.
It was an ugly scene. The sores and the dying cat especially recalled a modern Job story recast with gay guys in present-day small-town Texas.
74
ONE OF THE GIRLS WHO WORKED THE FRONT DESK IN THE mornings spoke with Mr. Grate and Bench while he was checking out. I’d made the mistake of complaining to her about paying for his missed reservation. Naturally, I hadn’t mentioned anything about the possibility of becoming employed by him, so it made no sense to her that I should have paid for his room because of a simple mistake.