Just before Becca climaxed, she belted out “oh god, I’m coming, Clint!” loud enough for much of the camp to hear. At that point, I sat up, lifted her off of me and manoeuvred her onto all fours. As I got onto my knees and thrust my cock inside her, the memory of being inside Lisa, in the exact same position, less than 20 minutes earlier, was disorienting. But it was powerfully arousing as well. I grunted and came hard.
As we lay there afterwards, thoroughly spent, Becca kept kissing me on the cheek and whispering things in my ear. “I can’t believe how fun this is! Who knew this trip would be such a constant turn-on?” I didn’t say much back. I just kept thinking of the mishap with Lisa and its repercussions. Had Lisa told Brent? Did she plan to? Should I tell Becca now? Should I wait until I could talk with Lisa about it? In the end, I decided not to ruin the moment. I’d sleep on it and try to talk with Lisa in the morning.
Chapter Three: The Talk
I had a hard time sleeping that night. I kept playing out imaginary conversations in my head, trying to imagine how I would tell Becca, how she would react, whether she’d be able to forgive me or move past it. On the one hand, it hadn’t been my fault. I genuinely thought it was Becca up until the last second. On the other hand, would she believe that? Would she believe that I couldn’t tell I was fucking another woman? And even if she did, would she be able to get over the fact that I had my penis inside another woman’s vagina? And how would she react to learning that, instead of telling her right away, I just went ahead and fucked her? Becca had always been a perfectly reasonable person, but no matter how I played things out in my mind, I couldn’t envision the conversation going well. And I knew that the longer I put it off, the harder it would be.
But I had to talk to Lisa first. That morning, I got up early, hoping she would too. But she didn’t. The first time I saw her was during breakfast, when we made some brief, awkward eye contact. I wasn’t able to get her alone until just before we climbed back in the rafts for our first river run of the day. I was brief and to the point, knowing we didn’t have long: “I’ve gotta know. Did you tell Brent? Are you going to?”
She looked completely mortified, almost white. After an awkward pause, she answered “I think I have to, Clint. I don’t think he’ll take it well, but I think this will eat away at me if I don’t. I swear to god, Clint. I didn’t know. I thought you were him. I just wandered into the wrong area. It was so dark…”
“I know, Lisa. Believe me, I didn’t know either. I thought you were Becca until the last second…”
“I believe you too.” She looked up at me with her puppy dog eyes. She really was very beautiful. “Are you going to tell Becca?”
“I think I have to. I’m scared how she’ll react, too, but the longer we wait, the worse it’ll be. Maybe we should try to do it at the same time, though?”
“Yeah, agreed. Maybe lunch?”
Just as she said that, Becca and several others walked up behind us. I gave Lisa one last look of understanding. The moment of truth would be at lunchtime. Then we all hopped on the raft.
I was so distracted during our morning river run that I very nearly fell out of the raft during one particularly big set of rapids. After what seemed like forever, we beached the rafts on the bank and our guides began preparing lunch. I watched as Lisa grabbed Brent by the arm and pulled him off into a shaded area. Reluctantly, I did the same with Becca.
It was one of the most awkward conversations I’d ever had, particularly because it took far too long for Becca to even comprehend what I was telling her, and then even longer for her to realize that I wasn’t joking. I’m sure the way I was telling her didn’t help. I was nervous, fumbling over my words the entire time. When the reality of what I was saying finally sunk in, the tears started. To her enormous credit, her first instinct was not anger. She seemed to believe my assurances that this was purely a mistake on both of our parts, and that we were both mortified. But that didn’t change the fact that I was her husband and I was talking about having fucked one of her closest friends. It was a traumatizing thing to hear.
After her initial flurry of questions — she wanted to know every detail of what happened — she was quiet for some time, lost in her thoughts and tears. Eventually, she broke the silence with another question: “does Brent know?”
“He should by now,” I answered. “I spoke briefly with Lisa this morning. We agreed that we would tell you both at the same time.”
Becca frowned at me, “so you planned this out with her?” She didn’t seem to like that thought.
“Not really, Becca. We just spoke for a minute this morning. I assured her that I didn’t know it was her, that I thought she was you. She said the same. Then we agreed we should tell you both at the same time, so you didn’t hear it from the wrong person.” Becca’s face was still pained, but her nod seemed to indicate she accepted my explanation. “Becca, I’ll do anything to make this right. I just hope you can find a way to forgive me. Forgive us, really. I know Lisa didn’t mean for this to happen, either. She feels horrible.”
“Clint, I know you. And I know Lisa. I believe you. Honestly. But your real problem — our problem — isn’t me, it’s Brent. I’ll get past this, eventually. But he’s a guy. You screwed his wife. Put yourself in his shoes. How would you react to this?”
She was right. I had been so worried about how Becca would react that I hadn’t given much thought to how Brent would react. Would he believe Lisa? Would he believe me? How could I even look him in the face? It wasn’t like he and I were close personal friends. We were friendly and got along just fine, but our connection was that our wives were such good friends.
Eventually, we decided to head back to the group and see if there was any lunch left. By then, Becca was remarkably composed. No one would have known anything was wrong. As we walked toward the group, we caught sight of Lisa and Brent. They were down by the water, still talking. They weren’t yet looking our way. Becca took my arm and interlocked it with hers. I looked at her, puzzled.
“He needs to see that we’re okay, that I believe you.” I understood instantly. She was doing what was best for everyone, for me, for Lisa, for our entire group of friends. She knew it was a fragile moment, that years of friendship and marriage could be torn apart, and that her reaction would influence how others reacted. She was such a remarkably perceptive woman.
While we were nibbling on some sandwiches, Brent and Lisa finally rejoined the group. Lisa and Becca made eye contact, and I could see the apology in Lisa’s eyes. Brent, however, couldn’t bring himself to look at us. His expression was one of barely disguised anguish.
Shortly thereafter, we boarded the rafts again. That afternoon, we stopped for another side hike. We let Brent and Lisa go ahead of us while we lingered toward the rear, but after twenty minutes or so, we came across Lisa, by herself. She had clearly been waiting for us. She wanted to talk to Becca, so I walked up ahead to let the two of them have some privacy.
I kept my distance but kept them in sight. They talked for what seemed like forever. It was an animated conversation. While I couldn’t make out the words, I didn’t get the sense they were arguing or angry. Lisa was definitely doing most of the talking. After a hour or so, we had come full circle back to the rafts, down a different trail than the one we had climbed. I noticed Brent sitting on a rock by the bank. He was Asian-American, his parents having just emigrated from Taiwan. He was on the shorter side, but very athletic, with muscular thighs and calves. We made eye contact just briefly, when his gaze shifted quickly to our wives as they came into view. They were just wrapping up their marathon conversation with a hug.