Learning Lessons 3 of 8: Caught in the Act // Chapter 2

Pete was going to have to fire Karla and there was no way around it. He’d spent the afternoon with it at the back of his mind, letting it hang over him. Probably somewhere in his twisted psyche he knew he was going to bail on it; ditch work, find an excuse to go home like he was doing. He was on the I75 right now doing sixty, feeling the pressure come off his shoulders the more distance he got between himself and the Save-Mart. 

Karla was twenty-one, pretty, bubbly, hopeful. She had an unbelievable body too. Pete had the hardest time with her. Maybe in some way it was his fault she was going to be let go. If she was a sloppy girl, didn’t have big pouting lips, big doe eyes—he might have found it easier to get her some help when she needed it. Before she fucked it all up for the hundredth time. How hard is it to record the goddamn daily sales totals properly anyway? If she wasn’t so pretty he might have been firmer with her, put a fear in her that steadied her hand, focussed her thought. 

He loosened his tie, breathed easier. Around four he had his finger on his intercom, ready to get someone to have Karla come up. His mind raced, looked for any way out of this. Fight or flight. His stomach gurgled. And just like that he felt he was sick enough to go home early. And, Geez, what do you know, it was Friday so now he’d have to wait until Monday. He had a whole weekend to have this albatross hanging around his neck. 

The thought of Karla coming in, sitting at his desk, maybe crossing one long leg over another waiting for him to say something; him knowing he was probably going to have a confrontation. She might be pretty but she was not demure. She might turn it into a yelling match.

The gurgle in his stomach was real, the nausea real. She had a boyfriend, a fiancé, they were going to be married this next summer. She would be upset, probably real mad. It might be better to tackle it first thing Monday morning, right?

He got off the highway, out of the off ramp past the Dunkin’ Donuts and into his little suburb. It was beautiful out for an October day. The sun shining, the sky a brilliant blue. Deep and dark like you only see in the Fall. The trees were a bright orange still, not many of them giving up and falling yet. Holding on for some final days of nice weather. His little street was busy, busy like it is in summer. Everyone getting one last nice day in for the year before the winter came. People out jogging, kids in the park playing baseball. The dog park was packed. He honked and waved at Tonya Waterhouse, his neighbor. Pushing a pram with her one-year old, walking with her old, white-haired mother, both of them smiling back and waving in the sunlight, wearing light sweaters and turtlenecks. Her husband had left her while she was pregnant. Five months along and that asshole got cold feet and he up and split. Left her on her own. Sad, really. Her mother moved in to help out, and she was still there. How was she going to meet someone when she worked, had a newborn and lived with her mother? Must be a real tough spot. She looked happy enough though. Good for her. What else was she going to do but put her head down and get on with it? 

He got to the end of the cul-de-sac, signaled for his driveway. He was feeling pretty good now. Not guilty that he’d dodged that responsibility. What’s done was done. Put your head down and get on with it.

Tyler’s ninja bike was in the driveway. And like that his stomach gurgled again. The sickness was real. He was clutched, his organs all at once condensing, drawn to the gravitational core of his being, compressing to a dense hot magma. Jess’ minivan was parked ahead of Tyler’s bike. He looked at his watch. It was four-thirty. He was home an hour early. Jess and Tyler would have been off now for an hour. He tried to swallow but he couldn’t. He had to grip the wheel tight and concentrate, force the saliva down his clamped, dry throat. Do it before he choked. His heart was pounding. What were they doing? Or was that the most ridiculous question? He knew what they were doing. 

He opened the door of the Buick, felt like he’d just want to fall on the hot black driveway, feel its heat on him, just disappear, swallowed up in it’s toxic bitumen. He put a foot down, stepped out. He stood next to the car, shut the door quietly, barely latching it. He looked up at the window of their bedroom, set in the shingles of the peaked roof, reflecting the blue of the sky behind him. A seagull swept across the glass. He heard them. Faint, Jess’ voice high and brittle behind the panes. Ah, ah, ah, over and over. A steady passionate rhythm. She was being fucked.

His shoulders and arms were heavy, a buzzing dread coursing through his veins as he walked his way up to the front door. Key in, lock turned and he slipped into the house. It was louder in here. They were in the bedroom, the door closed, but their sounds of passion, loud and uninhibited, were clear as a bell standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jess was proclaiming. She was joyous, exuberant.

One foot in front of the other, step by step, Pete forced himself up the stairs. It was louder now. They were louder and he was closer. He could hear Jess low, growling, Fuck me, fuck me, come on, the headboard was rattling, banging against the drywall. The wet sounds of their bodies slapping together in rhythm with the headboard, the bed squeaking its springs. A dirty symphony. A loud slap. Like a cymbal. Tyler’s big hand across her ass, maybe the back of her thigh. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming, oh, yeah, I’m coming.” Jess again, letting him know it was working. The pounding intensified, Tyler growled. Pete stopped near the top. Couldn’t bring a foot any farther. He dropped his head and listened.

Jess’ voice warbled with Tyler’s thrusting, carrying out one long note that turned into a howl. She was coming. He’d never heard her like that before though. She went on, her orgasm lingering as that kid kept fucking her. Part of Pete was happy for her, part of him loved to hear her make that sound. But his normal arousal wasn’t there. He was disheartened. This was a betrayal. She could fuck that guy every day and Pete would root her on, tell her to go for it. He’d sit and watch or she could tell him later all the juicy details. Because they were a couple and they had to do this wicked thing together or it was infidelity. A silly twist to their arrangement but true just the same. They had rules and she was breaking them. She was fucking him behind Pete’s back in their marital bed. This wasn’t right. How could she not see this wasn’t right? She was still his wife. She should know better.

It was Tyler’s turn now, his pounding reaching a crescendo, then he roared as he came. Rah, rah, again and again seven times, ten times, spewing his seed. Where? In a condom, on Jess’ belly, splashing her face? Jess was encouraging him, hissing, Give me that come, through her gritted teeth.

He turned and stepped down the stairs. Today was not the day for confrontations. Boy, he thought dealing with Karla would have been bad. He’d have been better off staying and dealing with her than coming home to this. Grandaddy of all confrontations. His wife fucking her lover before her husband got home, spreading her legs for his big tool on the very bed her husband slept in next to her. Would she lie about this? Never tell him it happened?

He got himself to the kitchen, bent over the sink, rested his elbows on the edge. He could be sick. He could throw up.

The house seemed so quiet now with those two spent up in the bedroom. Where was everyone? Where were the boys? Where was Sargent? He lifted his head, a great struggle and looked out the window. Sargent was out there, sitting in the grass watching out the back chain-link. The yard backed out to a soccer field, a public park, and he was watching a big group of kids out there kicking a ball around. The sun glinted off their bikes leaning up against the fence. He could hear lawnmowers out there, kids shouting to pass the ball. Real great day.

He felt cheated, but also, strangely, something else: Left out. Like finding out a bunch of his good friends, eight of them, went to Six Flags when he was eleven and no one even asked him if he wanted to go. Everyone standing around on Monday talking about what a great time they had.

Without me. She’s doing it without me?

He could hear a heavy body coming bouncing down the stairs. Making the old steps creak with his weight. Pete couldn’t get out of here. He was caught. Now they’ll know he knows.

Tyler strode into the kitchen. Naked, head down, his giant, plump cock still mostly hard, wagging and bouncing, sticking straight out. He was glossy with sweat, his hair hung down over his forehead. Veins bulged, standing out in his big arms and up through his shoulders.

“Oh, shit,” Tyler said, looking up now. He stopped.

“Oh, shit is right.”

“Hey, Pete.”

Pete didn’t say anything. Tyler put his hands up like, Hey, you caught me.

Then he shrugged, and continued on, walked right up next to Pete to stand at the counter. He reached up and opened a cupboard, brought down a drinking glass. He turned to the sink and Pete gave him some room.

He watched him run the tap, test the temperature then put the glass under the stream.

“She’s a little thirsty,” Tyler said without looking over.

Pete looked him up and down. Not much taller than Pete, but voluminous. Big arms and neck and shoulders, rounded, jacked, inflated. His stomach muscles rippled while he stood there, swishing the glass while it filled. His big cock was pressed up against Pete’s kitchen cupboards, going sideways, its eye looking right at Pete. It was long enough to go past his hip, look around it, keep an eye on the husband of the woman it just fucked.

Tyler took a sip of Jess’ water and grunted something to Pete before turning to leave the kitchen. Pete went to follow, looked back and saw the long, shiny mark his cock had left on the cupboard door. He reached back, sighing, exasperated, grabbed a dishcloth and wiped it away. Was that from his own semen? It couldn’t be from Jess’ insides—he came inside a condom, right?

Pete caught up with him on the staircase, saw him at the top, his big, bare, bubble butt, his heavy balls, then he turned and stepped into the bedroom, closed the door. Pete got as far as the top of the stairs and stopped again. Couldn’t get any farther.

He heard Tyler’s low voice say something in there. Heard Jess give a little laugh. The bed squeaked, he heard a wedding ring clink on a drinking glass. Some more quiet talking, another little girl giggle. Soft footsteps.

The door opened and Jess came out, tying her white terry robe at the waist. She was bare-legged, naked under there. Her face and chest were splotchy, she was sweaty, her hair heavy, tucked behind her little ears. She was glowing.

“Hi, Pete. You’re home early.”

He didn’t know what to say. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head at her. He couldn’t speak, he sat down heavily, four stairs from the top.

Jess came down to him, sat herself down a few stairs higher.

He sat silent for a while, looking at her perfect feet. Her well-formed toes, the healthy nails. He wanted to bend to them, kiss them. Let her off the hook. But this was too much. What if the boys had witnessed what she did? She was bat-shit crazy to do this.

“Where is Andy? He’s not home is he?”

“No, Pete, he’s still at daycare.” 

“Jess, it’s after four-thirty.”

“I know, I pick him up at five. It’s just an extra fifteen dollars, they don’t mind.”

“Wait, has this happened before?”

She held his gaze for a moment. She’d been caught. She said, “No.” Too quiet. Couldn’t even convince herself.

“You’re lying, Jess, I can see it. You’re the worst liar.”

She shrugged and looked down at the bottom of the stairs.

“Jess, look at me.”

She looked at him. Her expression wasn’t quite what he expected. Her lips were firm. She was mad at him. Worried that her mean old husband was going to ruin her fun. “Yes, all right,” she said, “it’s happened before.”

“How many times?”

She flicked her hand at him, exasperated, said, “I don’t know Pete. A couple…”

“Where’s Petey?”

“He’s at Noah’s place, he goes there after school, like, every day.”

“Jess he could come home and find you two.”

She scrunched her face up, shook her head at Pete—that would never happen Pete, you’re being an idiot.

“It’s true Jess, he could come home unexpected.”

“He won’t.” She was still shaking her head. She was in denial.

“I came home unexpected, didn’t I?”

It stopped her head shaking, but he thought she might have rolled her eyes. “The bedroom door is locked.”

“Jess, the minute I got out of the car, what was the first thing?”

“I don’t know, Pete—the first thing what?”

“I heard you up here, screaming. I could hear you out on the street. Jess, the neighbors might have heard you.”

She raised her eyebrows, still looking away from him. “Oh,” she said.

“Yeah, oh. What would Petey think was happening to his mother if he came up the driveway, heard that?”

It made her smile. 

“Are you fucking smiling?”

“No, Pete, come on. Look, I’m sorry. It was stupid. I shouldn’t do it. I know already.”

“Are you using condoms?”

“Of course.”

“Are you lying about that too?”

“No.”

Pete put his hand on her knee, watched it cover her thin leg, felt her warm under his touch. She put her hand over his.

“Pete, I really am sorry. I really do know how crazy this is.”

“Open your legs, Jess.”

“What?”

“Open your legs.”

“What—no, Pete. Why?”

“Prove he didn’t come in you.”

“Pete, don’t be gross. We’re using condoms.”

“Show me.” 

“Pete, don’t be a pervert.”

“I’m serious. Fucking prove it to me. Show me.”

“No.”

“Jess if you’re letting him fuck you without a condom, I swear that’s it.”

Pete got his hand over her other knee and forced her legs apart. She resisted, but she didn’t fight him off. She was only trying to be difficult.

She rolled her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. Let him examine her.

He lowered his head to look up under her robe. Her pretty little pussy had been beaten up. She was shiny, reddened, her labia bruised and puckered. There was nothing leaking from her.

“Satisfied?”

“Thank you,” he said and let her knees go. She brought her legs together, adjusted her robe, laid it across her thighs again.

She seemed bothered. Shaking her head and bouncing her feet while they sat there not saying anything for a moment.

“We’ll talk about this later,” she said as she stood up again, holding the bottom of the robe to her so he wouldn’t see up it. She was mad at him now? 

“Jess, you can have him over for dinner and fuck him any time in front of me. We can make arrangements, make sure the boys are—”

“Pick Andy up, please, it’s almost five.” She walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind her, left him sitting on the stairs.

He listened to her footsteps in the bedroom, he could hear Tyler say, Uh-oh, somebody’s in trouble, in a deep, chastising sing-song voice. Jess was laughing. Somebody’s been a bad girl, she said. The bed squeaked.

Jess enjoyed hurting him. The pain on this beautiful, sunny October afternoon was precise, acute. The worst, most profound humiliation she had ever delivered. Was it on purpose? A game of pain? Was she doing this for Pete? Obviously her own enjoyment—but was any of it for him, or was she only thinking of herself? I mean, this particular game required him coming home early. She couldn’t predict that. Was she hoping to be discovered, or was she really just fucking Tyler for sport? How did she figure her husband in this? Maybe she wasn’t. God, he could lose her for real. He really could lose her for real.