Jaden and I meet a few weeks after he transferred to the Naval base just outside of town. I sat on a bar stool sipping my Pappy Van Winkle when this tall African-American man in full dress uniform sat next to me. He whore captain’s bars. He possessed an air of authority. I nodded to him when perched on the next stool. He returned my nod with his own acknowledgment, in a deep voice he said, “Yo.” He spoke without looking at me.

“I’ll have bourbon, make it a shot of Evan for me,” he said to the bartender. He spoke genial enough. Still, it was an order.

“Give him a double of Pappy. Nothing too good for our servicemen,” I told the bartender. Turning to the Marine, “Just my way of saying, thanks for your service.”

“Well, sir, thank you,” he said, looking at me. “Quite generous of you.”

I merely nodded to him, continued to sip my bourbon, lost in thoughts as I studied a picture of my wife. The warmth of the booze passed over me. I felt his eyes looking at me. I glanced over at him. The Captain studied me, scrutinizing my face. After a few moments, he turned his attention to the picture in my hand. I turned and looked at him. He had a smile on his lips, he pointed at my photograph.

“She’s a real looker, sir,” he said. The sir sounded different than before, it possessed somewhat of a sneering tone.

“Yes, she is,” I said hardly noticing his tone. I continued with pride in my voice adding, “We just got back from our honeymoon.”

He licked his thick lips, reached over and took the picture from my hand, looking at the image of my wife with obvious lust in his eyes. He studied her photo for a moment, handed me the picture back. Took the Pappy and sipped it.

“Let’s move to a booth and visit,” he said.

“I don’t see...” he broke in on me.

“I said let’s move to a booth,” he repeated. “It isn’t a request, mister.” He spoke with the self-assured confidence of a man that orders men about for a living. “Give us the bottle and put it on his tab,” he told the bartender. Joe handed him the bottle, not looking to me for permission.

This man familiarity with having his way was oblivious. The marine stood, walked to a booth, turned back to me, and pointed to one side of the booth. Standing like a statue, he locked his dark eyes on me. I just sat there, I guess trying to show him I didn’t take orders.

“Here, now,” he said as he snapped his fingers. He sat down and put my bottle in the middle of the table after he refilled his glass. He didn’t look at me, He looked where he ordered me to sit. I don’t know why I immediately moved there. But rather than sit, I stood next to the booth.

The Captain turned his head to me, snapped his fingers again, pointed to the seat across from him, the scowl on his face spoke volumes sending shiver down my back.

I sat in my designated spot, meekly following the order. Sitting down across from him, I picked up the bottle, started to pour myself more. He his grabbed my wrist, the grip was firm, he twisted and pushed downward forcing me to put down the bottle.

“You don’t need more right now,” he said. “Finish what you have first.” Letting go of my wrist, he looked at me with cold, dark eyes.

I let loose of the Pappy’s, placed both hands on the table. He put his dark hand over my pale white one. A sly grin passed over his face, and he said, “Your wife is a lot younger than you.”

“Twenty-five years,” I told him with some measure of pride.

“You’ll never hold on to her if you don’t let her have some real freedom. Women are strange creatures. I figure you have one failed marriage already, maybe more.”

“Two,” I admitted. The man talked about what a young woman needs. I realized he meant to let her have lovers. Anger flared in me, “This isn’t any of your concern.”

His clutched my hand again with a vice-like grasp, the cold smile faded from his face, replaced by stern glower.

“Making it my business,” he said, I could feel a threat in his words. He released my hand picked up his drink. “Mighty fine bourbon,” his voice and attitude returned to an icy, cold detachment.

“I’m going to fuck your wife,” he said, his confidence resonated in the tone and timbre of his announcement. “How’d you like it, if I let you watch?”

“What,” I said.

“You heard me,” he said. His voices deep tones resonated in my ears. “I’m going fuck your wife. I’m willing to let you watch while I do.”

He looked at me, his face emotionless, frozen in a stern gaze. His blue marine uniform, his dark russet skin, and that dominant face combined to make me feel less. Less of man than him, less important, as if my feelings were less meaningful.

“You aren’t going to fuck my wife,” I said, my voice broke as I spoke. This man shook me, his assurance and physical presence frightened me. “You can’t have her,” I said. I felt like a boy threatening a classmate that could beat my ass without breaking a sweat. No, that isn’t it, I felt a boy confronted by man.

“You don’t mean that,” he said. “You don’t want to get hurt.” No, he didn’t threaten me. I don’t know how to explain it, the words weren’t a threat, they were a promise. He poured my glass full of the expensive liquor. “Now drink that down, rethink your position.” Turning his head, he looked at the bartender. “Hey, Joe,” he said in a loud voice, “Can I use the back room for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” he said. “But, this time, you’ll need to clean it up after your finished.”

Images ran through my brain of this Marine beating the shit out of me in the backroom of this bar. His dress uniform had ribbons and medals adorning it. He was a combat soldier, I was just an accountant. The closest I’d ever come to a fight as an adult ended in disaster as guy 20 pounds lighter than me kicked my butt ... you guessed it, it was over a woman.

“So,” he said, “What’s your name?”

“Jeff, Jeff Richards,” I said.

“Well, what do you say? Want the back room or you going to just agree?”

“She’ll never let you,” I said.

“If that’s the case, no big deal,” he said. “But Jeff, ole boy, it’s her decision, not yours. You will tell her as much. Agreed?”

In my mind’s eye, I could see those big fists of his beating my face to a pulp, I nodded agreement. He told me to give him my wallet, I complied. He opened it up, went through it, taking my license out, he pulled a small notebook from his pocket, wrote down the information. Then he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Swiping here and there, he took a pick of my driver licenses, sent to a some and then called them.

“Hey, Steven, Captain Andrews here. Can you tell me if the information on the license I just sent you is accurate?” he looked over at me. His face grew stern, “Naw, nothing big, just checking him out, he had a scrap with another driver. Just want to be sure he doesn’t back out of his commitment ... Oh, really, the usual then, line them up for me.”

He termintanated the connection. He returned the license to the proper folder, thumbed through my money, credit cards and the few other things in my wallet. Handing me my billfold back the man’s look softened. He reached into a pocket on the uniform and pulled out a golden cigarette case and lighter. He took a smoke out, tapped it down on the situation and then lit it. The cigarette sat between his thick lips, he sucked in the fumes and exhaled them.

“So, the first wife racking you over the coals financially?”

“No, no kids on that one and she remarried.”

“And the second one?”

“I have child support, but I can handle it,” I told him.

“What’s the new wife’s name?”

“Candy.”

“Candy’s dandy,” he said lifting his glass. He put the cork back in the bottle. “Drink up Jeff,” He glanced at his watch. Swilled down the rest of his glass. Standing he ambled to the bar and handed the bottle to the bartender. “Put it in my stock okay, Joe.” He turned to me a big smile on his face. “Let’s go to your place. I’m ready to fuck your sweet Candy bitch.”

Everyone in the bar looked at me, I felt their pity, or disgust, not sure which. The humiliation washed over me a wave. He led me out of the bar and felt like his prisoner, I heard some hushed whispers, “Pore cuckold bastard, that nigger will ruin her.”

He had me get into his car. He looked at me as he started the car. That smirking smile on his face. He looked at me, his dark eyes burned into me and felt his contempt. I knew he believed he was superior to me. He reached over and put his big paw of hand on my shoulder, squeezed till I felt a hard twinge of pain.

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you, I can spot a cuckold wan-a-be a mile away, boy.” The boy burned in my ears. “You haven’t accepted your role yet, I’m not letting you chicken out, you’ll keep the bitch, I’ll be the one fucking, that’s just the way it is.”

I want to believe he was wrong, but I didn’t. I had this sinking feeling that he found a buried desire, I feared I had always wanted this terrible thing. Both my exes had other people in their lives now, I spent hours thinking about them fucking with each other, I had wondered what it would be like to see Candy getting fucked. But not like this, this was beyond embarrassing, it degraded me to have others know what was about to happen. He’d made that announcement in a loud, commanding, and clear voice.

I didn’t want to admit to myself that she’d give into him. I hoped she’d slap his face, cuss him out and tell him to hit the road. Inside my brain, a niggling voice said, “She’ll let him do what he wants, out of fear if nothing else.”

Vacuuming the hall, I barely heard the door open and close. Looking up, I saw my husband standing there, he looked sad, a sadness that gave him a forlorn, lost expression. Next to him stood a Marine in his navy-blue uniform. A striking, man with dark skin, the brownest eyes, and a muscled frame that his dress blues strained to contain. I figured he might be in his early thirties.

“This is Captain Andrews,” my husband said. Looking down at the floor he moved his toe in a strange circular motion on the tile. “I brought him here to meet you.”

The Captain tossed his hat on the table next to the door and walked toward me. A big toothy grin covered the man’s face. He walked right up to me, switched off my vacuum, and pulled me away from it. Taking my arm, he led me to the living room, right in front of our fireplace.

My husband closed the door standing there watching. It was as if, his feet were in cement. He just observed us from off in a distance as this stranger guided me away from him. I know my husband would never put me danger, he is a wimp, but he would never allow anything bad to happen to me.

His sweet disposition drew me to him. Well, that and his money. I remember when we first met. It took no time at all to get use to him sitting at the bar and talking me. Once he confided in me how terrible his marriage was and how he just needed a friend, how to say it? Things just happened, even in that, I had to be the aggressor.

At business, Jeffery is ruthless, in any other thing he is passive. In the decision at home, he yields to my wishes. In the bedroom, he is submissive. All that drew me to him, and yet, I have missed a man who wanted me and showed it.

The black visitor took me in his arms, his face descended toward mine, his lips pressed against me. I put my hands on his big chest, pushing, to no avail. He kissed me, his thick lips pressed against mine, heat jumped from him to me. I continued to resist trying to stop kissing him, not wishing for our embrace to end.

I glanced over at Jeff, he stood there with this odd look on his face. When he realized I saw him, he looked away, studying the painting on the wall.

I closed my eyes, still struggling, pushing on his chest his arms. He pressed his big tongue into mouth, relentless he continued his assault on me. His hand roamed my body, I flushed with excitement as his embrace engulfed me in emotions and passion. We broke apart for a moment.

“Oh please, sir, this is wrong,” I blurted turning I looked at my husband. “Dear?” it was a question.

“It’s okay,” he said. “If you want to, I’m fine with it. If you don’t then...”

Before he finished, I turned back to the man, wrapped my arms around him and pulled him to me. All I had needed was permission. This dark taboo had burned inside me since I was a small child, fascinated with the African-American people surrounding me growing up in my bigoted home and community. The supposed wrongness of it had tempted me, the fear of my father had kept me from acting. My father was nowhere near, and my husband gave me his blessing. I believed he wanted this to happen, I was not about to question him about him being fine with it.

The fire crackled and popped as the flames inside the fireplace burned. At the same time, our passion flared. I began to undress this massive, Nubian, god. All the while, his hands tugged and pulled on my clothing. When the dress didn’t slide off my body quickly, he ripped it from me with a savage, hungry desire. We sank to the floor. He bit me, licked body here and there, and I gave in to his craving yearnings.

The order of things became a blur, hands here, lips there, our bodies entwined on the living room floor. The room had yellow glow from the light of the setting sun flooding through the big picture window at the front of the house. I felt the hard muscles of this aggressive man, my own will evaporated. He lay on his back and guided my head to his crotch. I felt my insides convulsing in mixed emotions. I stole glances at Jeff, a despondent look on his face, his tiny dick poking straight out in lose fitting golf slacks.

He liked it, my husband liked what he saw, but I know he hated it as well. He stood powerless to stop this. He had the right to terminate this strange experiment, right up to the moment he told me he didn’t mind if I fucked this man. He lost his rights to the exclusivity of my body at that point. Even if he hadn’t given me permission, I’d have sought out this man behind his back. It was better this way.

I sucked on that big black cock for such a long time. I played with the Captains massive balls as I sucked the big black knob. In truth, that was all I could get in my mouth. When those balls raised away from me, retreating a bit, I knew it was about to happen. I felt the seamen ridding up his magnificent pecker. I felt the skin of his dick rippling as his load built, as it traveled toward my mouth. It shot from his dickhead with force, much of it spurting down my throat. It filled my mouth, so much so, it leaked out and dribbled down on his belly and ran down that mahogany shaft, covering my hands in the process.

To my surprise, the fucking thing didn’t grow limp. Captian Andrews laid me down and got between my legs. His big lips pressed against my labia and his long, fat tongue snaked out running over them, exploring every fold, flicking on my clit. I had rushes of emotions as body reacted to his expert stimulus. My hips ground into his face, my back arched, and twisted from one side to the other, and I moaned in a husky voice. I felt lifted out of my body, observing us in my minds eye and the contrast of our skins pleased me artistically.