Chapter 2

Thank God Paul always plays golf on Saturday. If he had known how much time I spent getting Tom's room ready I know he would have canceled the plan before Tom even arrived. But I did get it cleaned up, and the medicine cabinet cleared out, before he got home. When he arrived he announced that we were going out for dinner.

Paul took me to a very nice French place, then brought me home and romanced me beautifully. I guess it was his way of thanking me for Thursday night. Or maybe he was reminding me subtly that I was already taken, and he wasn't going to put up with any interlopers. Whatever his motives, I sure appreciated the results. We ended up making love twice before we went to sleep, and he made sure that I came ... and came ... and came. GRRR!

Sunday morning was a bit stressful. We both knew that our home life was going to be upended when Tom arrived, and we didn't know exactly when that would be. Paul kept thinking of things that might be problems, and asking if I had taken care of them. I assured him that I had. I could tell he was nervous, and the truth is that I was too. He finally told me he was going to go out and do some yard work, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I started checking on supplies in the kitchen, and realized I should go to the grocery store. I poked my head out the back door, and saw Paul was weeding our flower box. When I told him my plans I could see the wheels spinning in his head as we both realized Tom might arrive before I got back. He opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut again, and nodded.

"Don't take too long," he finally said.

I tried to understand his reaction as I drove to the store. I was pretty sure he had been about to suggest that could he get the groceries instead of me, and I was wishing he had. Suddenly it all came clear. It would be very awkward for Paul to greet Tom, and help him start moving in, when they hadn't even met before. But as awkward as that might be, Paul must have decided the other possibility would be worse; the chance that Tom and I would be alone in the house together while he was out getting the groceries.

I was beginning to realize that I had pushed us into a very touchy situation, and I would have to be exceedingly careful not to let my husband get the wrong impression about any of my actions.

Thankfully, I did get back with the groceries, and even got them put away, before the doorbell rang. Tom was still outside so, remembering my earlier thoughts, I opened the back door and called out, "I think he's here."

"Thanks, Bev, I'll be right in."

Indeed, Tom was at the door, looking scared.

"Bev, are you sure this is all right? Where's Paul? I really don't think this is a good idea."

I just smiled brightly. "Paul's outside. He'll be in in a minute. Come on in. But where are your things?"

"I, I, they're in the car." He nodded to his car parked on the street. "Bev, I, I can't do this, I can't come in, until Paul invites me in himself.

Just then Paul's voice boomed behind me. "Well, I'm Paul, and I'm inviting you in. Come on, don't just stand there."

Never, in all my life, have I had a feeling like the one that suddenly hit me at that point. It was like my whole body turned into jelly. No bones, no muscles, just jelly. I had to lean against the door frame to keep from slipping to the floor. Looking back, I think I must have been wound tight to the snapping point. Between worrying about Paul, and my own terribly mixed up feelings, and now Tom's fears, I had to have been a mass of fibrillating nerves and ultra-tense muscles.

The afternoon went remarkably well after that. Tom and Paul shook hands and chatted for a bit. I just listened; at that point I was hardly capable of opening my mouth, let alone convincing my vocal cords to make any sound.

Later Paul helped Tom lug his suitcases and computer up to his room. The two of them fiddled around for half an hour or so getting his system to the point it could use our wireless network. By that time I had pulled myself together enough to start working on dinner. After they got the computer working, they watched the 6 o'clock news together while I finished fixing the meal.

Dinner conversation was more get-acquainted kind of stuff for the guys, and mundane how/when/where questions and assurances as we tried to set up temporary house-sharing arrangements. After dinner Tom thanked me profusely for the meal, insisted it was a one-time thing, and retired to his room to unpack and work on his computer.

Paul helped me with the dishes, then he and I settled down for some television. I was soon too sleepy to keep track of what was happening on the tube, and he admitted he was also very tired. We'd both been on an emotional roller coaster that day, and we went to bed an hour earlier than usual. We kissed goodnight, and fell asleep almost immediately.

Since Paul and I both work, we have long since established a workday morning routine. The alarm goes off. I roll out of bed, wrap my ratty old house coat around my shoulders, and stagger down to the kitchen after a quick stop to pee in the hall bathroom. He grabs his clothes and ducks into the master bath for his morning shower.

Oops! The hall bathroom is not going to work this morning.

"Paul, wait, I need to use the toilet first in here."

He looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded as he realized what my problem was.

While I was sitting on the can my brain was whirling. I normally take my shower and get dressed after we eat, but now I was going to have to be decent for Tom before I even went downstairs. But I couldn't take my shower right now, because Paul would go crazy waiting for me. Should I just put on some clothes and go down that way? Still stinky and without putting my face on? NO! What if I got too close to Tom and he smelled me? Even if I could keep my distance, he's never seen me without makeup.

By the time I relinquished the bathroom to Paul I had come to a decision. I squirted on some cologne to try to cover up the smell, and I didn't put on any makeup. Paul was used to seeing me without it at the breakfast table, and he would be suspicious if I dolled myself up for Tom. As for Tom, he'd just have to get used to seeing the real me.

I heard Tom come down the stairs while I was frying bacon. I dashed into the living room to greet him and make sure he was going to join us for breakfast. Sure enough, he was dressed and seemed to be trying to sneak out the front door. I had to talk fast to convince him to stay, but the bacon smell helped. I had done that on purpose.

Paul came down only a couple of minutes after Tom did, and he wasn't even properly dressed yet. I mean, he did have his pants on, but he was still buttoning his shirt, and he didn't have a tie or jacket, and he was wearing slippers! I almost giggled out loud as I thought about what must have happened. He was probably still drying off when he heard footsteps in the hall. In a panic, he pulled on his underwear and pants, grabbed a shirt, and stuffed his feet in the slippers. The poor dear! He's insanely jealous.

While we were eating I told Paul that Tom had tried to sneak out without breakfast. As I expected, he was immediately the perfect host, telling Tom that of course he would be expected to eat with us each morning, and that going somewhere and buying his own breakfast was totally ridiculous.

Tom did leave immediately after breakfast, and suddenly Paul relaxed. We sat down together to think through what kind of a new morning routine we could establish. We basically reversed everything. Paul is very good at cooking breakfast, so we decided he would do that while I showered and dressed. I would leave for work right after we ate, putting him on a slightly later schedule. We didn't say it, but we both knew this would avoid Tom and I spending any time alone together.

At least that was what it was supposed to mean. We realized Tuesday morning that we had overlooked one obvious point. If Tom and I were both leaving right after breakfast, and if we were both going to the same office, then it was perfectly clear that we should carpool. I could tell that Paul didn't like the idea, but there really was no way around it. So that morning I left my car at home and rode with Tom.

Tuesday night on the way home Tom seemed awfully quiet. Then he finally spoke up.

"Bev, I need to ask you about something."

"Sure, Tom, what?"

"It's Paul. He's been really great about all this, but I feel like it may be bothering him. Are you sure he's OK with me being there?"

"Please, Tom, stop worrying about it. I promised you that I would tell you if there was any problem, and I meant that. There isn't any problem. Paul hasn't said a word to me about there being a problem. OK?"

"Look, Bev, you and I used to talk a lot about our marriages, right? So I probably know Paul a lot better than he realizes. Maybe I know him better than you realize."

Tom took his eyes off the road just long enough to give me a quick, but penetrating, stare. "Paul can be very jealous, can't he? And I'll bet he's jealous of me. Admit it, Bev."

"Yes, Tom, he can be, but we're not doing anything for him to be jealous of."

"Like hell, we're not! Just me being in the house is plenty to be jealous of. Us riding to work is plenty to be jealous of. Tell me something. Yesterday morning he seemed to come down to breakfast in an awful hurry. Is that the way he usually comes to breakfast?"

"No," I whispered.

"What did you say?

I took a deep breath. "No, he's usually fully dressed and ready for work when he comes down."

"I see, and what about this morning? Does he usually cook breakfast?"

I shook my head, but he caught it out of the corner of his eye.

"You know what this means, don't you? He doesn't want us, you and I, to be together in the house when he isn't right there with us."

I sighed, "Yeah, I know."

"OK, one more thing. Do you usually get home earlier in the evening, or does he?"

"It varies," I equivocated, knowing full well that I usually do.

"Last night wasn't a problem," he pressed on, "because I got there very late. But tonight you and I will be getting there at the same time. How is he going to feel if he comes home and we're already there?"

"He wouldn't like that," I admitted.

"So what time do you usually get home?"

"Well, after he leaves in the morning I usually clean up the kitchen, then take my shower and get ready. That means I don't get into the office until about 8:30; so I work until about 5:30 and get home around six."

"I see."

He pulled off the main thoroughfare onto a side street and stopped at the curb.

"This morning," he pointed out the obvious, "we left earlier and got in about eight. That's the time I'm used to coming in, and that's why I suggested we leave at five. But that means we could show up half an hour earlier than Paul is expecting, doesn't it?"

There was that penetrating stare again. This time it was relentless. No, I thought, I can't stand it. Please, Tom, take your eyes away. But it was only thoughts, and I was trying to convey them by staring back at him with pleading eyes. I knew I had to break the connection myself, and I finally looked down.

"Yes, but what can we do now?"

"Well," he smiled, "we could sit here for half an hour."

"No, Tom, we mustn't do that."

My voice was so shaky it was cracking. I took a deep breath to try to get it back to normal.

"Please, Tom, get back on the road. Maybe we can drive around for a while, but we can't ... park."

"Forgive me, Bev, you're right."

With that he did pull back out onto the road, and we did drive around for about twenty minutes, mostly without talking. I spent part of that time giving myself a real tongue lashing for having said "park." God, I hope he didn't interpret it the way it sounded to me.

When we finally got home he stopped at the curb and left the motor running. "I think it's better this way," he explained. "I'll eat dinner out, and come in later."

Thankfully, Paul was already home, and he seemed quite relieved that he had gotten there before I did, and that Tom wouldn't be joining us for dinner.

By the next morning we were settling into our new pattern. Paul had breakfast ready when I came down after showering and dressing. He and I drank a cup of coffee and chatted for a bit before Tom came down apologizing for being late. I had the dishes in the dishwasher by the time Tom finished his coffee, then we left the house just as Paul went up to clean up and get dressed.

Tom and I didn't talk much on the way into the office, but he did explain that he had intentionally stalled a bit, thinking it would be less awkward if I went downstairs before he did in the morning. We also agreed that we would work until 5:30.

Thursday afternoon Tom poked his head into my office and announced he wanted to leave a bit earlier that night, say, maybe, 5:20. I nodded and said, "Sure," without thinking about it. But I did start wondering what was up as I shut my computer down for the night. He kept me in suspense until we were almost home, then once again he pulled over into a side street and stopped at the curb.

"Tom," I said in some alarm, "I told you we mustn't do this."

"I'll only take a minute," he assured me, "and I promise I won't even touch you."

Touch me? Oh dear. Who had said anything about touching? Not that it wouldn't be ... no, Bev, stop thinking like that.

"So, what's up?" I tried to sound casual.

It took him a minute to collect his thoughts. "Bev, it seems like ages ago now, but back before Janet left you were saying that we were friends, and you almost insisted we talk about my problem. You asked a lot of personal questions, you know."

Then he smiled. "I'm glad you did, of course. You were a tremendous help, both in helping me face reality, and in helping me work through my feelings. I'm so very grateful, I'll never be able to thank you enough."

He clearly had more to say, even though he stopped talking, so I kept silent. My heart felt like it weighed a ton. There was a "but" coming, I knew there had to be. Was it a "but" that would end our friendship? Oh, dear God, please, no. I couldn't stand that.

Finally he went on. "Now it's my turn to ask a personal question. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it. And of course you don't have to answer it. You really shouldn't answer it, but I have to ask anyway."

'Oh, dearest Tom, ' I thought, 'I can't stand to see you in so much pain. Ask anything, anything at all, and I'll gladly answer.'

"Last night," he whispered, "was the fourth night I've been a guest in your home, and I heard something in the night that I hadn't heard before. It sounded like you and Paul were making love. Is that true?"

"Yes, Tom, it's true. I was afraid you might hear us, and I almost told Paul we shouldn't, but then I realized I couldn't say that."

"You mean, because Paul would guess why, and become angry at me because I was destroying the most intimate part of your marriage?"

I just nodded, ashamed, but incredibly aroused that we would be having this conversation.

"Don't you see, Bev, I need to leave. I can't do that to you."

"No, Tom, please don't leave! I don't think I could stand it."

Tears sprang from my eyes and I reached blindly for him. He put his hand up and stopped mine with his palm, pushing it back to my side of the car.

"No, Bev, we mustn't. I said no touching, and it has to be that way." He shuddered. "I couldn't stand it otherwise."

"Oh, Tom, I'm being so selfish! My god, it has to be much worse for you than for me. Admit it. How did you feel when you heard us making love?"

"I ... I... No, I can't tell you!"

"It turned you on, didn't it?"

He gulped, and nodded.

"And you felt guilty about that?"

He was crying now. "Yes," he sobbed.

"It's OK, Tom. I understand. I ... I don't feel upset that you felt that way about me. You may ... you will ... probably ... have feelings like that again. Please don't feel guilty when ... if you do. In a way it's a compliment to me, you know?"

I was grasping at straws, but somehow I had to keep him close. I mean, I had to keep him from running away from me. I mean, I don't want to lose him. I mean, DAMN, I don't know what I mean.

"No, Bev, you don't understand." He was acting as skittish as a deer. "I wasn't just turned on, I ... you know. Oh, Bev, I'm so sorry!"

"I told you it's OK."

God, if I could only make myself believe that. Yeah, it was OK, like the sound of a bomb going off 50 feet away is OK, like the most intense orgasm of my entire life is OK.

"Really, it is OK. After what you've been through you've got to have some relief, some release. So go ahead and do it, and I ... I'll just ... accept it and be your ... friend."

Stop fooling yourself, Bev. You know you want to give yourself to him. You know you want him as much as he wants you. You're dying to be his lover. Oh, god, yes! Be my lover, Tom ... NO! NO! I mustn't.

"Thanks, Bev. Now we'd better go."

Without saying anything about it, Tom and I both decided we'd better work until 5:30 on Friday. And in fact I don't think we said a word to each other until we got home. Tom stopped at the curb as usual, and I opened the door.

Then he spoke, intensely, "Good night, Bev, my ... dearest friend."

"Oh, yes, Tom. Good night. Sleep well. Luscious dreams."

'Luscious dreams?' My god, woman, what possessed you to say that? I was out of the car now, and starting up the walk, but I could swear I heard him say, "Oh, yes, my love, I will, I WILL!" I had to be imagining it. He wouldn't have really said that out loud. But I'll bet he was thinking it!

I was so horny that night I tried to seduce Paul. But he mumbled that he was very tired, and promised he'd make up for it tomorrow. Then he rolled over and was asleep almost instantly. Not me. I think I lay awake for at least an hour. My pussy was tingling, and I started rubbing it, very gently, because I didn't want to make the bed bounce. I was thinking about Tom, naturally, and then I heard him come in.

Listening closely in the silent house, I heard him pad quietly to the hall bath. He must have taken his shoes off. Perhaps he was in his pajamas. Or perhaps just in his under shorts with a robe thrown over his shoulders. Or perhaps just the robe with nothing under it. I listened for the shower, but didn't hear it. I imagined him standing at the toilet with his penis out. I wondered how big it was.

Yes, there's the flush, so that is what he was doing. What next? Water running, but it doesn't sound like the shower. He must be washing his hands. Yes, it's stopped now. A moment later I heard the floor boards creak as he padded back to his room. He'll shower in the morning, of course, not tonight.

I wait, but there are no more sounds. He's getting into bed not thirty feet away from me. Will he go to sleep quickly, or will he lie awake? If awake, will he be thinking of me? I imagined him lying on his back with nothing on, the sheet and blanket thrown back. His penis is erect, and he's rubbing it. Oh, yes, he's definitely thinking about me! I listen closely for his bed creaking, or for a sound as he climaxes. Nothing.

My imagination keeps me on the edge forever, but I don't dare come. Paul might wake and catch me. Finally sleep overtakes my fantasies.

Saturday night Paul made good on his promise, and how! The first time I came he was sucking my tits and had two fingers in my pussy and a thumb on my clit. The second time I came he was licking my clit and had three fingers up inside me. The third time I came I had my legs up over his shoulders and he had just slammed his cock all the way into me for the first time. The fourth time I came my legs were spread wide and he had been pumping furiously and he suddenly groaned and pushed and I could feel him squirting. God, what a night.

I heard our bed squeaking and thumping against the wall. I heard myself moaning, then wailing, and finally screaming. The whole time one corner of my brain was thinking about Tom. He must be going wild. Yes, Tom, do it! Make yourself come while you listen to my noises. Oh, Tom, are you coming? Come with me, Tom, NOW! NOW!

When it was all over and I was no longer panting and neither was Paul and my heart had stopped pounding, I listened for sounds from Tom's room. Nothing. No, wait! I heard him going back to the bathroom. Water in the sink. More water in the sink. And a third time. He's cleaning himself up. He must have made quite a mess. I was deliriously happy, happy for him, and I went to sleep.

On the way home Monday night I couldn't resist.

"I guess you probably heard us Saturday night."

"Oh, god, yes, did I ever! I think that was the hottest thing I ever heard! You guys went on and on and on!"

"And how about you? Did you do some 'going on' yourself?"

"You know I did! You may not believe this, but I came three times!"

"I'm glad. I was hoping you would. I mean, not three times. I didn't know guys could ever come three times, one right after the other. But I'm glad you came."

"I didn't know either. I've never come three times before. But just listening to you had me turned on like I have never been in my entire life. I was rooting for you, Bev. I wanted you to come again and again and again. And you did! It was fantastic! I have never been so satisfied and so happy. So happy for YOU, Bev. Isn't that weird?"

"If it's weird you're not the only weird one. After we finished and everything quieted down I listened for sounds from your room, and I heard you go back to the bathroom. And then I heard water running. I decided you must have come, and it made me happy, very happy, for YOU."

"Bev," he said in a strangled voice, "I want to stop, just for a minute."

"I want that too, but we mustn't, Tom. We mustn't."

"OK, you're right, but there's something else I have to tell you. Saturday night we've already talked about, and I slept like a baby after it was over. But Friday night I woke up in the middle of the night. And I was ... uh ... erect. And I realized I had been dreaming about you. And I came then, too. After I cleaned up and got back in bed I looked at my clock and it was 2:15.

"That probably doesn't seem too strange to you, but last night I woke up again, from a dream about you, and the same thing happened. And guess what time it was when I finally got back to bed."