Part 3
“I can’t take your call right now so leave a message and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.”
It was the recording of his wife’s familiar voice. He noticed that it sounded perfectly normal. “Perfectly normal?” Of course it was perfectly normal. It was recorded months ago, months before she met his asshole black boss with the big dick. Of course it sounded normal.
His wife’s phone went right to email. He terminated the call without leaving a message.
His boss. How about his boss? Probably the same thing. No need to call and leave a record of his outreach. The two lovers would compare phone logs and guess.
What about the number from which the video was transmitted? Whose was it? Dare he try to call it? It ate away at him. His impulse to call it but he didn’t want them to know he knew, if indeed the video was unintentionally sent to him.
Were there other videos like that out there, other videos of his wife and boss together? Did they have a library of videos like that? Were there more? Of course there were. Of course there were more. What a ridiculous question.
Nothing to do but go home now. Maybe if he got home early he could catch them together. Maybe. Catch them or not leaving early would help him beat the traffic. It was worth that if nothing else.
His wife wasn’t home. The house was empty. Her car was gone and no other cars were near. At least he was spared that indignity...this time. His study was in order. No tell tale stains anywhere They’d cleaned up after themselves very thoroughly. Or perhaps their adventure had been weeks, even months ago. How long could they have been seeing each other?
Sitting down in the chair in his study, he sat alone in the silence and in the darkness. How long could this have been going on? He thought back to the office Christmas party where he’d noticed his boss giving his wife the eye from all the way across the room for quite a while before walking over to them and speaking to him. Of course he was obliged to introduce his wife to his boss. Nothing obvious about her reaction. She was polite. Nothing more. His boss obviously wanted to fuck her and she obviously knew it....all women know that kind of thing. Even so, she played the faithful wife and drew herself closer to him when his boss was about to do something awkward.
He may be a vulgar asshole with no class, but he was still the boss. He still had the power of professional life or death over Robert Smith and offending him was unthinkable. His black boss had been promoted over the heads of many others...all white men...who were senior and considered more qualified.
“More qualified?” What did that even mean any more?
Everyone knew the meaning of his black bosses’ meteoric rise, but they tactfully avoided saying it. It was the open secret that wasn’t a secret at all. The boss was someone’s favorite and was being groomed for big things. Better not to antagonize a boss who was on the fast track and who would be promoted somewhere else anyway.
His boss was rumored to be married, but no one had ever met his wife. He wondered? Was she white? Black? He didn’t have personal ****** pictures in his office. His office only had lots of athletic trophies. Over six feet tall, slender, muscular, looking great in clothes, his boss had “played ball” in high school and college. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, short hair, clean shaven, well spoken, polite...most of the time. Very classy most of the time. Very charming. Very personable. Very cool. That’s the word. “Cool.” More than that, it was “black cool.”
Everyone talked about it at the office. Everyone notice and commented on his “black cool.”
What does it really mean, “black cool” they wondered, rhetorically if nothing else.
“Well the first thing is that it’s black,” said one.
“It’s being tall and cool and no drama,” said another.
“It’s having a big dick,” another noted, speaking the unspeakable truth that everyone was thinking. It was a woman who said it. That was what shocked him. Men wouldn’t dare talk like that. In the era of feminism and political correctness, only women could talk about “big dicks” without having to worry about being sued or fired or otherwise professionally destroyed.
Robert Smith was stunned by the unconcealed interest his boss showed in Mrs. Smith. Everyone at the party saw it, noticed it. And everyone avoided talking about it...at least in front of Robert Smith. People kind of looked the other way and pretended not to notice when, in fact, they were glued to the unseemly spectacle of his boss openly trying to score his wife in front of everyone. More than once after the Christmas party, Robert Smith would walk into a room where people suddenly grew quiet and looked nervous and changed the subject. They were talking about his black boss and his white wife. He could only pretend not to notice and pray that with the passage of time people would forget it, or at least stop talking about his boss wanting to fuck his wife.
He openly hit on Mrs. Smith because he had the protection of the corporate powers that be and Robert Smith didn’t. Robert Smith was expendable. His boss was not. Robert Smith was white. His boss was not. Amazing how much you could tell about the office balance of power by the way people behave socially. Social behavior was in so many ways far more revealing that office behavior.
The little Christmas Party episode was quickly forgotten as everyone moved on. Robert Smith purposely came alone other office functions. The next one was the annual after hours awards banquet that traditionally went until late into the night. It was a long drawn out affair, painfully boring, but neither Robert Smith, nor anyone else who valued his or her job, could afford to skip it or even to leave early. No one except his boss.
Sitting alone now months later, alone in the silence and darkness his home study, Robert Smith replayed his memory of that awards banquet. His boss was the first person to received an award. It was some pretentious bullshit about meritorious performance above and beyond the call of duty or some horseshit. He gagged. He’d hated it at the time and just the image of the memory of it left a taste of bile in his mouth now.
Something he’d missed before. His boss was the first to be given an award and his boss was also the first to leave. Of course he tried to sneak out unnoticed but everyone saw him and commented on it later. Everyone wanted to bug out but the only one who dared was his boss.
He remembered seeing it and remembered that he thought people glanced in his direction. Was it his imagination or were people looking at him, whispering about him, avoiding his glance, trying not to get caught staring at him? Did his co workers suspect his boss snuck out early to fuck Mrs. Smith while Robert Smith was forced to sit out the awards’ banquet? Did they really think that or was it only his imagination?
Now something struck him about that awful evening. His wife wasn’t there when he got home at almost midnight. He remembered how relieved she’d been when he said it was better if she didn’t go with him that evening.
“I’ll just go out with the girls or something. Maybe do a movie. Anything’s better than your company functions. Thank you for understanding, darling.”
She was grateful not to be strong armed into going with him and he was grateful that she was so understanding. So understanding? Was that really it?
It was after one o’clock in the morning when he heard her car pull in, her key in the lock, the front door open and she quietly tip toed into the bed room. He’d pretended to be asleep but he suspected she knew. Married people were like that. They knew when they’d been found out. They knew when their spouse was pretending not to notice something so obvious.
“Just out with the “girls,” she explained the next morning. He purposely didn’t ask her what time she’d gotten in or what she’d done or what movie had she seen with the “girls” or anything else. Did she notice?
“You OK baby?” she’d asked him the next morning while he was dressing to go to work. Well no, he wasn’t OK. He wasn’t OK because deep down inside he knew his wife was out fucking another man and not watching a movie with the “girls.” He couldn’t imagine it was his boss. He just didn’t make the connection between his bosses’ hasty departure and his wife’s late night out. Not then he didn’t. But now?
“Just tired,” he answered. “They should give us awards for sitting there. . Thank God you missed it. No need for both of us to be tortured..”
“Thanks for letting me out. Did anyone ask about me?”
“A couple of people said how lucky you were not to be there.”
"Did your boss ask about me?"
"No. I didn't speak to him. Thank God."
"Did he get an award?"
"Of course. He got the first one."
"Really? What was it?"
"I don't remember. Ass hole of the year or something. Who cares?"
She had laughed. "Be nice now."
"Fuck 'em all," he answered.
"Hang in there baby," she exhorted him. "As you're so fond of saying, it may be a piece of shit, but it's your job, our income."
"Yes. I do say that, don't I?"
He basically trusted her and avoided any cross examination about what did she see, who were the “girls” she was with, etc. It all seemed so innocent then. So completely innocent. Now it took on a different light.
His boss left early and his wife got home late. It was after one o’clock in the morning, almost six hours later. How had he missed it? Were they really that good? That well organized?
That video of her sucking his dick. Could that have been made that evening? He doubted it. They’d hardly have stayed home when he might have appeared at any time. No. That video was taken during the day. During some day. A work day. A day when he was at work and his boss wasn’t. His boss was gone today...but he was gone a lot of the time. The boss was always in and out, wining and dining big shots and clients and God knows who? Maybe he was gone wining and dining Robert Smith’s wife.
Still early in the evening, it was getting dark and he heard several cars drive by out side. How soon would she be home? In an hour? Two hours? At one thirty the next morning?
He took out his phone and viewed the video one more time. Well several more times. Over and over. In one scene his bosses' hand reached down and touched her face while she was sucking and looking up at him. It was so gentle, so affectionate, so loving. At the gentle touch of his hand she closed her eyes briefly and opened them again, as if savoring his touch, apart from having him deep into her mouth. She was even more passionate than before. It was as though she drew some kind of strength from the touch of his hand. Over and over he watched that scene. Over and hover he watched her react to the gentle touch of his hand against her face. Over and over he'd watched her close her eyes and open them again and suck his dick with renewed passion. It was like some kind of spiritual connection between them. It was like they were looking into each others eyes and reading each other's minds. Was she drugged? Was she hypnotized? Was that possible?
He was exhausted from watching that video over and over. What to do about it? What to do? Would he show it to her when she came in? Would he confront her? What if both her and his boss came in together? What would he do then?
“How was your day?” his wife asked him over dinner an hour later. She’d come home in a good mood, cheerful and relaxed. She’d made a nice dinner, the kind she was good at. Simple, quick and very tasty. He’d heard about cheating husbands who salved their consciences by giving their wives flowers or some gift after they’d been out fucking some other woman. Was that nice meal for him her version of a cheating husband bringing flowers to his wife?
He took a deep breath. Nothing abnormal in her behavior. It was a natural question. He looked at her across the table. She was wearing her diamond studs, her gold chain with the cross and her wedding ring. The same accessories she wore in the video. God....had she just come home to him from her black lover? But the video was filmed in his study. It couldn’t have been today. They couldn’t have been that risky to do that in his house and take a chance on him coming home early. Could they?
“How did your meeting go?”
“It was a piece of shit. Boring crap. All the big shots carrying on, trying to inspire us, or motivate us, or scare the Hell out of us. I never know which.”
“What did your boss have to say?”
“Nothing. He wasn’t there.”
“Really? He passed up a chance to perform in front of everyone?”
“Why do you say that about him?”
“Why wouldn’t I say it? You’re always complaining about what an ass hole he is. How self absorbed he is. How vain. I just wondered if he delivered some presentation or something.”
“No he wasn’t there.”
“I noticed you called my cell earlier this afternoon.”
“Yes. I did. It went to voice mail.”
“But you didn’t leave a message.”
“No,” he sighed. “I knew I’d see you at home. No need.”
“Oh, Ok,” she said.
Was it his imagination or did he detect a sense of relief in her voice? Was it his imagination or was she bracing herself for an ugly confrontation about that video? It wasn’t time for a confrontation, not yet. That would come later.
He’d need more time. He’d need more knowledge. He’d need technical assistance. He’d need to figure out who had the number from which that video was transmitted to him? Was it the only one? Were there more? Was there a collection of them? Did she and her black lover belong to some kind of weird club, some web site or whatever where people shared that kind of thing?
He looked at his watch while she cleared the table. They’d watch a little TV and go to bed, the way they always did. He dreaded getting undressed. He dreaded being naked in front of her. How could he ever feel comfortable again in front of her after she 'd had his bosses' huge dick? It was at least twice as big as his. How could he ever fuck his wife again? How could he ever feel good enough for his wife again? For his wife, for any woman.
He undressed and put on his pajamas in the bathroom so she wouldn’t see him naked. They both went to sleep relatively early. At least they pretended to be asleep. Would anything ever be the same for him....for them....again?
That night each slept on their own side of the bed. No touching. None. The next morning neither of them mentioned it, but they both knew what had happened. An invisible line had been crossed. He got up, showered, dressed and ate the breakfast she'd fixed for him. They hardly spoke and he knew, as he got in his car and started the engine, he knew things would never be like they were before. It was like back in high school when some loser sat next to the cutest girl in class every day, stealing glances side ways and being tortured with the knowledge that no matter how much he desired her he'd never be good enough for her because her boyfriend was a football player or something.
Now....it sunk in for him. He was a loser and the woman who was totally out of his league as not the sexiest girl in school...IT WAS HIS OWN WIFE!
[To be continued]
“I can’t take your call right now so leave a message and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.”
It was the recording of his wife’s familiar voice. He noticed that it sounded perfectly normal. “Perfectly normal?” Of course it was perfectly normal. It was recorded months ago, months before she met his asshole black boss with the big dick. Of course it sounded normal.
His wife’s phone went right to email. He terminated the call without leaving a message.
His boss. How about his boss? Probably the same thing. No need to call and leave a record of his outreach. The two lovers would compare phone logs and guess.
What about the number from which the video was transmitted? Whose was it? Dare he try to call it? It ate away at him. His impulse to call it but he didn’t want them to know he knew, if indeed the video was unintentionally sent to him.
Were there other videos like that out there, other videos of his wife and boss together? Did they have a library of videos like that? Were there more? Of course there were. Of course there were more. What a ridiculous question.
Nothing to do but go home now. Maybe if he got home early he could catch them together. Maybe. Catch them or not leaving early would help him beat the traffic. It was worth that if nothing else.
His wife wasn’t home. The house was empty. Her car was gone and no other cars were near. At least he was spared that indignity...this time. His study was in order. No tell tale stains anywhere They’d cleaned up after themselves very thoroughly. Or perhaps their adventure had been weeks, even months ago. How long could they have been seeing each other?
Sitting down in the chair in his study, he sat alone in the silence and in the darkness. How long could this have been going on? He thought back to the office Christmas party where he’d noticed his boss giving his wife the eye from all the way across the room for quite a while before walking over to them and speaking to him. Of course he was obliged to introduce his wife to his boss. Nothing obvious about her reaction. She was polite. Nothing more. His boss obviously wanted to fuck her and she obviously knew it....all women know that kind of thing. Even so, she played the faithful wife and drew herself closer to him when his boss was about to do something awkward.
He may be a vulgar asshole with no class, but he was still the boss. He still had the power of professional life or death over Robert Smith and offending him was unthinkable. His black boss had been promoted over the heads of many others...all white men...who were senior and considered more qualified.
“More qualified?” What did that even mean any more?
Everyone knew the meaning of his black bosses’ meteoric rise, but they tactfully avoided saying it. It was the open secret that wasn’t a secret at all. The boss was someone’s favorite and was being groomed for big things. Better not to antagonize a boss who was on the fast track and who would be promoted somewhere else anyway.
His boss was rumored to be married, but no one had ever met his wife. He wondered? Was she white? Black? He didn’t have personal ****** pictures in his office. His office only had lots of athletic trophies. Over six feet tall, slender, muscular, looking great in clothes, his boss had “played ball” in high school and college. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, short hair, clean shaven, well spoken, polite...most of the time. Very classy most of the time. Very charming. Very personable. Very cool. That’s the word. “Cool.” More than that, it was “black cool.”
Everyone talked about it at the office. Everyone notice and commented on his “black cool.”
What does it really mean, “black cool” they wondered, rhetorically if nothing else.
“Well the first thing is that it’s black,” said one.
“It’s being tall and cool and no drama,” said another.
“It’s having a big dick,” another noted, speaking the unspeakable truth that everyone was thinking. It was a woman who said it. That was what shocked him. Men wouldn’t dare talk like that. In the era of feminism and political correctness, only women could talk about “big dicks” without having to worry about being sued or fired or otherwise professionally destroyed.
Robert Smith was stunned by the unconcealed interest his boss showed in Mrs. Smith. Everyone at the party saw it, noticed it. And everyone avoided talking about it...at least in front of Robert Smith. People kind of looked the other way and pretended not to notice when, in fact, they were glued to the unseemly spectacle of his boss openly trying to score his wife in front of everyone. More than once after the Christmas party, Robert Smith would walk into a room where people suddenly grew quiet and looked nervous and changed the subject. They were talking about his black boss and his white wife. He could only pretend not to notice and pray that with the passage of time people would forget it, or at least stop talking about his boss wanting to fuck his wife.
He openly hit on Mrs. Smith because he had the protection of the corporate powers that be and Robert Smith didn’t. Robert Smith was expendable. His boss was not. Robert Smith was white. His boss was not. Amazing how much you could tell about the office balance of power by the way people behave socially. Social behavior was in so many ways far more revealing that office behavior.
The little Christmas Party episode was quickly forgotten as everyone moved on. Robert Smith purposely came alone other office functions. The next one was the annual after hours awards banquet that traditionally went until late into the night. It was a long drawn out affair, painfully boring, but neither Robert Smith, nor anyone else who valued his or her job, could afford to skip it or even to leave early. No one except his boss.
Sitting alone now months later, alone in the silence and darkness his home study, Robert Smith replayed his memory of that awards banquet. His boss was the first person to received an award. It was some pretentious bullshit about meritorious performance above and beyond the call of duty or some horseshit. He gagged. He’d hated it at the time and just the image of the memory of it left a taste of bile in his mouth now.
Something he’d missed before. His boss was the first to be given an award and his boss was also the first to leave. Of course he tried to sneak out unnoticed but everyone saw him and commented on it later. Everyone wanted to bug out but the only one who dared was his boss.
He remembered seeing it and remembered that he thought people glanced in his direction. Was it his imagination or were people looking at him, whispering about him, avoiding his glance, trying not to get caught staring at him? Did his co workers suspect his boss snuck out early to fuck Mrs. Smith while Robert Smith was forced to sit out the awards’ banquet? Did they really think that or was it only his imagination?
Now something struck him about that awful evening. His wife wasn’t there when he got home at almost midnight. He remembered how relieved she’d been when he said it was better if she didn’t go with him that evening.
“I’ll just go out with the girls or something. Maybe do a movie. Anything’s better than your company functions. Thank you for understanding, darling.”
She was grateful not to be strong armed into going with him and he was grateful that she was so understanding. So understanding? Was that really it?
It was after one o’clock in the morning when he heard her car pull in, her key in the lock, the front door open and she quietly tip toed into the bed room. He’d pretended to be asleep but he suspected she knew. Married people were like that. They knew when they’d been found out. They knew when their spouse was pretending not to notice something so obvious.
“Just out with the “girls,” she explained the next morning. He purposely didn’t ask her what time she’d gotten in or what she’d done or what movie had she seen with the “girls” or anything else. Did she notice?
“You OK baby?” she’d asked him the next morning while he was dressing to go to work. Well no, he wasn’t OK. He wasn’t OK because deep down inside he knew his wife was out fucking another man and not watching a movie with the “girls.” He couldn’t imagine it was his boss. He just didn’t make the connection between his bosses’ hasty departure and his wife’s late night out. Not then he didn’t. But now?
“Just tired,” he answered. “They should give us awards for sitting there. . Thank God you missed it. No need for both of us to be tortured..”
“Thanks for letting me out. Did anyone ask about me?”
“A couple of people said how lucky you were not to be there.”
"Did your boss ask about me?"
"No. I didn't speak to him. Thank God."
"Did he get an award?"
"Of course. He got the first one."
"Really? What was it?"
"I don't remember. Ass hole of the year or something. Who cares?"
She had laughed. "Be nice now."
"Fuck 'em all," he answered.
"Hang in there baby," she exhorted him. "As you're so fond of saying, it may be a piece of shit, but it's your job, our income."
"Yes. I do say that, don't I?"
He basically trusted her and avoided any cross examination about what did she see, who were the “girls” she was with, etc. It all seemed so innocent then. So completely innocent. Now it took on a different light.
His boss left early and his wife got home late. It was after one o’clock in the morning, almost six hours later. How had he missed it? Were they really that good? That well organized?
That video of her sucking his dick. Could that have been made that evening? He doubted it. They’d hardly have stayed home when he might have appeared at any time. No. That video was taken during the day. During some day. A work day. A day when he was at work and his boss wasn’t. His boss was gone today...but he was gone a lot of the time. The boss was always in and out, wining and dining big shots and clients and God knows who? Maybe he was gone wining and dining Robert Smith’s wife.
Still early in the evening, it was getting dark and he heard several cars drive by out side. How soon would she be home? In an hour? Two hours? At one thirty the next morning?
He took out his phone and viewed the video one more time. Well several more times. Over and over. In one scene his bosses' hand reached down and touched her face while she was sucking and looking up at him. It was so gentle, so affectionate, so loving. At the gentle touch of his hand she closed her eyes briefly and opened them again, as if savoring his touch, apart from having him deep into her mouth. She was even more passionate than before. It was as though she drew some kind of strength from the touch of his hand. Over and over he watched that scene. Over and hover he watched her react to the gentle touch of his hand against her face. Over and over he'd watched her close her eyes and open them again and suck his dick with renewed passion. It was like some kind of spiritual connection between them. It was like they were looking into each others eyes and reading each other's minds. Was she drugged? Was she hypnotized? Was that possible?
He was exhausted from watching that video over and over. What to do about it? What to do? Would he show it to her when she came in? Would he confront her? What if both her and his boss came in together? What would he do then?
“How was your day?” his wife asked him over dinner an hour later. She’d come home in a good mood, cheerful and relaxed. She’d made a nice dinner, the kind she was good at. Simple, quick and very tasty. He’d heard about cheating husbands who salved their consciences by giving their wives flowers or some gift after they’d been out fucking some other woman. Was that nice meal for him her version of a cheating husband bringing flowers to his wife?
He took a deep breath. Nothing abnormal in her behavior. It was a natural question. He looked at her across the table. She was wearing her diamond studs, her gold chain with the cross and her wedding ring. The same accessories she wore in the video. God....had she just come home to him from her black lover? But the video was filmed in his study. It couldn’t have been today. They couldn’t have been that risky to do that in his house and take a chance on him coming home early. Could they?
“How did your meeting go?”
“It was a piece of shit. Boring crap. All the big shots carrying on, trying to inspire us, or motivate us, or scare the Hell out of us. I never know which.”
“What did your boss have to say?”
“Nothing. He wasn’t there.”
“Really? He passed up a chance to perform in front of everyone?”
“Why do you say that about him?”
“Why wouldn’t I say it? You’re always complaining about what an ass hole he is. How self absorbed he is. How vain. I just wondered if he delivered some presentation or something.”
“No he wasn’t there.”
“I noticed you called my cell earlier this afternoon.”
“Yes. I did. It went to voice mail.”
“But you didn’t leave a message.”
“No,” he sighed. “I knew I’d see you at home. No need.”
“Oh, Ok,” she said.
Was it his imagination or did he detect a sense of relief in her voice? Was it his imagination or was she bracing herself for an ugly confrontation about that video? It wasn’t time for a confrontation, not yet. That would come later.
He’d need more time. He’d need more knowledge. He’d need technical assistance. He’d need to figure out who had the number from which that video was transmitted to him? Was it the only one? Were there more? Was there a collection of them? Did she and her black lover belong to some kind of weird club, some web site or whatever where people shared that kind of thing?
He looked at his watch while she cleared the table. They’d watch a little TV and go to bed, the way they always did. He dreaded getting undressed. He dreaded being naked in front of her. How could he ever feel comfortable again in front of her after she 'd had his bosses' huge dick? It was at least twice as big as his. How could he ever fuck his wife again? How could he ever feel good enough for his wife again? For his wife, for any woman.
He undressed and put on his pajamas in the bathroom so she wouldn’t see him naked. They both went to sleep relatively early. At least they pretended to be asleep. Would anything ever be the same for him....for them....again?
That night each slept on their own side of the bed. No touching. None. The next morning neither of them mentioned it, but they both knew what had happened. An invisible line had been crossed. He got up, showered, dressed and ate the breakfast she'd fixed for him. They hardly spoke and he knew, as he got in his car and started the engine, he knew things would never be like they were before. It was like back in high school when some loser sat next to the cutest girl in class every day, stealing glances side ways and being tortured with the knowledge that no matter how much he desired her he'd never be good enough for her because her boyfriend was a football player or something.
Now....it sunk in for him. He was a loser and the woman who was totally out of his league as not the sexiest girl in school...IT WAS HIS OWN WIFE!
[To be continued]
