We had just gotten off work and Ben and I were sitting at the bar in Riley's Tavern sipping suds and shooting the shit while watching Monday Night Football on the TV. The game was just so-so, neither team seemingly able to get it together although the Broncos did manage to get a drive or two going even though they never capitalized on them.
A shot of the Broncos cheerleaders hit the screen and Ben nudged me and said:
"Would I what?"
"Do one of those cheerleaders?"
"What kind of a stupid question is that? Of course I would and in a fucking heartbeat."
"Wouldn't matter. Whichever one I could get to go along with the program."
Just then a shot of a busty blond with more than ample cleavage showed up on the screen and Ben said:
"On the city hall steps at high noon with God and everybody watching."
"You could do that?"
"Fuck some babe while you were being watched?"
"No problem. If your dick gets hard enough it will take over and you won't even notice that anyone else is around."
"I don't know if I could do that. Function while being watched I mean. Although I guess that there are some guys who can. Could you fuck some guy's wife while he watched or maybe watch while some guy did yours?"
"What the hell Ben; what's with this watching shit?"
"Just curious is all. What you said about the city hall steps just triggered something."
"Just a memory."
"What kind of memory?"
"A guy I used to work with — Joe Franco — was a swinger. Always trying to get some guy to do his wife while he watched."
"From the way you are talking I'm guessing that you never took him up on his offer."
"No, I never did and I have always regretted it. She was one hot looking babe."
"Why didn't you nail her when he wasn't around to watch?"
"I tried once and she said she would love to let me get in her pants, but only if one of two things happened. Either Joe got to watch or we had to swap. I could do her while Joe did my wife."
"So why didn't you?"
"You shitting me? You think for one minute my Alice would have gone along with that? Maybe when pigs fly."
"How do you know? Did you ever ask her?"
"Hell no! I didn't want no frying pan bouncing off my skull. Besides, you seen Alice. Who would want to swap their old lady for her?"
"You kidding me? I'd go for Alice in a New York minute."
"You would? You would swap Glenda for Alice?"
"Sure. Why not. You going to tell me that you wouldn't do Glenda if you had a chance?"
"Hah! I'd be on her like a duck on a june bug. Let me get this straight. You would let me take your old lady in the sack?"
"Sure. Of course she would have to be the one to say yes."
"Damn!" he said and we went back to the game just in time to see Plummer throw an interception.
As I drove home I thought about what Ben and I had talked about while sitting at the bar. Only in America could two buddies sit in a bar drinking and talking about fucking each other's wives without getting in a fight (well, two really good buddies any way), but I couldn't understand why he would have trouble banging a broad while being watched. But then maybe it was because I'd done it a dozen times and it never bothered me. Course it was back in my single days while I was in college. Every once in a while I would think back to those frat house gangbangs and think that, yes indeed, those were the good old days.
Another thing I couldn't understand was Ben's attitude where Alice was concerned. Why in the hell did he think that no one would want her? Sure, she was no skinny, flat stomached Barbi doll, but I'll bet that there weren't too many men who would turn down a chance at a raven haired thirty-six year old that came in at 36Dx24x37 even if it did come on a five foot three inch frame. Voluptuous was the word that best described Alice. My tongue (along with other parts of me) got hard every time I saw her. There were only two reasons why I had never made a pass at Alice. One is that Ben was my friend and the other is that Glenda would kill me if she found out. And she would find out. I was incapable of hiding anything from that woman.
It would be terminally stupid of me to do anything that would risk what I had with Glenda. As far as looks go she was what they were calling a MILF these days. A better cook than my mother and my grandmother combined; she kept a clean house and damned near fucked me to death three or four times a week. Plus — and a big plus at that — she made more than I did off the paintings she did in her basement studio and I pulled down 70K a year. But even though she made a ton of money off of them those paintings were, to me at least, a massive sore spot in our marriage, but I had to keep silent about it. Glenda did figure studies mostly and she used live models and the models were mostly men and the men were mostly black and that mostly pissed me off and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it without opening a humongous can of worms; a can full of trouble that could do serious harm to our marriage.
I once asked her why most of her models were black males and her answer was:
"Because that is what sells."
I couldn't argue with that because it was a subject that I knew nothing about, but in the back of my mind I did not believe that was the real reason. You see, I knew something about Glenda that she didn't know that I knew. And the information was disturbing. If I had known it before Glenda and I took our vows I'm not at all that sure that I would have married her. In fact, we had been married just a bit over three years when I found out.
It was a quirk of fate that put Glenda, a girl she went to school with and me in close proximity one sunny September day. Glenda had a meeting with the owner of an art gallery that had some of her paintings on display and since she was downtown anyway she called me and asked me to have lunch with her. We were at Emile's and about half way through lunch when a woman walked up to the table and said:
"Glenda? Glenda Stoneman?"
Glenda looked up and then said, "Marge? Oh my God, look at you" and she stood and the two women hugged. Glenda invited Marge to sit with us and then she introduced me. I thought I saw Marge's eyes widen at the word "husband" but I didn't think anything of it at the time. I finished my lunch and told Glenda that I needed to get back to work and when I left Glenda and Marge were reminiscing about their days in college.
That night after work I stopped at The Black Mushroom for a drink with Ben. As we sat down I noticed that Marge was sitting at the bar. She was looking our way so I waved her over and she came over to the table and joined us. Ben completely misread the situation, gave me a "you old dog you" grin, finished his drink and then left to give the "two lovers" some time alone.
As soon as Marge started talking it was obvious that she already had a snoot full and that is probably why she wasn't watching what she was saying. Ben was only a couple of seconds gone when Marge said:
"Are you really Glenda's husband?"
"For three years now."
"Oh wow. I would never have expected that."
"That she would marry a white guy."
Now I'm a guy who believes that what was in the past was none of my business and I had never tried to find out about Glenda's dating habits or old boyfriends. What happened before me was none of my business, but Marge's statement grabbed my curiosity and so I asked:
"And just why does that surprise you?"
"In the whole four years we were in college together she never dated anyone but black football and black basketball players. When some of us girls asked her why she only went out with black guys she just said we wouldn't understand; that we would have to date a couple to find out. Mitzy Warren asked her if it was true what we had heard — that blacks were bigger — and Glenda just grinned and said that was something else we would have to find out on our own. Then she told us to be careful; that there was some truth to the old saying that once you go black you can never go back."
She was silent for a few moments and then her eyes opened wide as she thought of something and then she blurted out:
"Oh! You must be hung like a horse. Is that it?"
And then her hand flew to her mouth as if to cover it as she said, "Oh my God! I can't believe that I just said that." Then she said, "Saved by the bell" and she raised her arm and waved. "My husband finally got here." She giggled and said:
"At least in my case it was true."
"What was true?"
"That you never go back" and she pointed. I turned and saw a large black man approaching and he had a scowl on his face. He probably thought I was trying to hustle his woman and he didn't like it. He walked up to the table and before he could say a word Marge introduced us. I stood and offered my hand as Marge said:
"Rob is Glenda's husband. You remember Glenda don't you?"
As he reached for my hand I saw his eyes quickly glance at my crotch and then back up to my face as he said, "Nice to meet you." I sat back down and he joined us. I finished my drink and told them that I needed to hurry home, that Glenda would be waiting dinner for me.
.... There is more of this story ...