I’d also acquired a pleasant buzz, but hadn’t been nearly as jinky as I appeared when I stumbled into the taxi. I used that over-buzzed excuse to politely leave my wife alone with the best man at our wedding, but over-buzzed hadn’t really been applicable then and certainly wasn’t now.
The real reason they were together was something Lacey and I had fantasized about often in the last half year, usually when I was inside her and pumping her into confessing why she would like the Peacock to be where I was right then.
My return pumped-out admissions about why I also thought it was hot for them to be together were the result of love, guilt, and introspection. First, I love her and I didn’t want her to be deprived of the fantasy she longed to have. Second, I’d had plenty of playmates in college, and the variety had been fun. By contrast, since we met early in her freshman year, I was her only college lover and it wasn’t fair. But probably most importantly, as we sunk further into her fantasy, I introspected further and discovered that I’d been turned on by watching her flirt with and kiss the bloke she thought was so hot.
Even before they helped me out for my flop into the back of the taxi, she was flirting and kissing the Peacock. My departure left my beautiful wife Lacey O’Casey with my re-connected best friend and that last ‘dance’, just before my exit, involved connected lips, roaming hands, and thrusting junctions.
It had taken months of bedroom fantasy decisions to get her exactly where she was. Since it was after closing time and she wasn’t back in our apartment, I expected that she was in Peacock’s ritzy apartment alone with him, just as our fantasy planning laid out. It wasn’t exactly the scenario I wanted, but we compromised in our usual way: we decided to do it in exactly the way she wanted. That was why she was there and I was not. Don’t get me wrong, we both wanted something to happen between them, but the where, when, and how were the issues. I wanted to watch and she didn’t want me hovering on their first time.
Despite my compromised exclusion, I wanted to be involved as much as possible, so part of our compromise was that she would call.
****************
It was 2:17 AM when the phone rang. I picked it up before the first ring stopped and grunted a quick hello before I heard the voice I’d been expecting.
“Hi hunny, wu’re at Richard’s.”
Despite the fuzziness in pronunciation, she was giddy.
“How was dancing?”
“Only slow n’s, Jake. Yu’re bes’ friend… kissed yu’re wife fer you a’gain. Kiss’d a lot. Mmmm…he’s better n’ you at’t…’wan s’more.”
I could hear the smile in her slurred confession, and it was clear the alcohol had deleted some of her subject-matter governors as well as her ability to pronounce. Peacock’s bird for the night was mocking me in front of him, and it soon dawned, ‘another damn tequila mockingbird.’
From somewhere in the background, almost a yell, “Do too Jock.”
Peacock used his nickname for me, which was as unflattering as the one I gave him. Jake and Jock don’t sound too much different, but there is a connotation about dumb apes I didn’t like in the nickname. Regardless of the mock from each of them, I wanted to stay phone-connection involved.
“His hands didn’t wander, did they?”
“Uhh huh…wan’r’d ever’where.
“How did that feel, my beautiful wife?”
“Mmmm…felt s’good.”
“Did you ask him?”
Richard had become an amateur photographer with several award-winning photographs. Some of his most successful ones had been female nudes in shadows, but he had an eye for a good picture regardless of subject matter. While we were doing what made Lacey squeal and confess, we had frequently perved on the scenario of Lacey being his female nude subject matter.
Apparently, it worked, “He’s settin’ up.”
“Tell him that I said I would like to have some nudes of you.”
After I heard her both butcher and relay my message, his shouted, “Righto chum'” reply meant he deciphered it just fine, although there was a lack of crispness in his words too.
“Get him to kiss you and feel you when you’re naked? I want the photos to show you turned on.”
“Mmm…wish he cud get pi’tures a’ that.”
She was referring to the kissing and feeling while she was nude, not the turned-on part. Film processors had strict rules about developing any photographs with even the slightest hint of sexual activity, but erect nipples and swampy junctions only indicated ‘readiness’, not activity. The rules allowing developers to process photographs showing full frontal nudity and ‘readiness’ had just been changed in the last few years, and I hoped Richard would push my beautiful Lacey even past the new limit when he submitted the film to a developer.
“I wish we could get photographs that showed even more than that Lace.”
‘More than that’ was insertion somewhere, and my Lacey was fond of getting a long, hard instrument inserted in her oral cavity and into her frontside bottom fissure. Since most of a year before our wedding until today, approaching our fifth anniversary, the only instrument that had been inserted in either of her available openings had been permanently attached between my legs.
“Mmmm…wan’ it e’en wi’out pi’tures.”
‘It’ was an instrument similar to the one between my legs but attached between a different set of legs. She was with the ‘it’ between the different set of legs that she wanted. The ‘it’ I wanted her to have. I’d long ago surrendered to inevitability. My fluttering jealousy flag was now white.