Crossroads 13

The cafe is bustling, filled with the clatter of dishes and the hum of conversation, but the corner booth where Marcus sits feels oddly secluded. He greets me with a warm smile, and I slide into the seat opposite him, my stomach churning.

"So... everything alright with you two?"

Alright?

The words feels absurd right now.

How the hell am I supposed to answer that?

"Right now... yeah, everything's... okay," I say, my voice wavering. "It's just... weird, you know? All of this..."

He chuckles. "I get it. That's a completely normal reaction, Mike. Honestly. And listen," he added, his gaze earnest, "I just wanted to say, Emma... she's an incredible woman. You're a lucky man."

Lucky?

Is he actually thanking me? For what? For letting my wife...

?

I don't know how to respond, so I remain silent, fiddling with the sugar packets on the table, my gaze darting around the cafe.

A beat of silence hangs between us before Marcus continues, "I'm really glad everything's okay with you two. I knew from the first time we met, you and Emma had a strong relationship. Honestly, that was half the reason I felt comfortable even discussing any of this with you."

He is so damn casual about it, like we are discussing a ball game or something. My head is spinning.

"You still seem a little off, Mike." He leans forward, his gaze intent. "Something else bothering you?"

"No, no, it's just... confusing, that's all," I stumble over the words. "It's like, no matter how I think about it, it doesn't make any damn sense."

Marcus nods, a knowing look in his eyes. "That's understandable. It's a lot to process. My door is always open, Mike, if you need to talk. About anything. "

Talk?

The idea is absurd. How could we possibly talk about this? But something else has been bothering me since that night, so I decide ask about it.

"The thing is, I didn't... I mean, when you said you'd make a move, I didn't think you meant... spilling the beans to Emma. You know? About everything."

"Is there a problem with that?"

"No, not really. It's just... not what I expected."

He sighs, leaning back in the booth, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Listen, Mike, different people get off on different things. I've met couples into some truly bizarre shit."

"More bizarre than this?"

"Oh, you have no idea," he chuckles softly. "People are... creative."

He falls silent for a moment, as if choosing his next words carefully.

"But with Emma..." he says finally, his tone thoughtful, "I could tell, that it wasn't just about the physical stuff, though I'm sure that was part of it. For her..." He meets my gaze, his expression serious. "For her, it was a big thing that

you

were into it."

"Is that so?" I say, the words coming out flat, emotionless.

My mind struggles to process this information, to reconcile it with the image of Emma on her knees, her mouth stretched wide, her eyes glazed with a lust that seemed, at least in that moment, solely focused on

him.

"It is, Mike." he leans forward slightly. "She was getting into it for the very reason you were getting off on it. I could tell. I've seen it in other women. A lot of women... they need that permission, that... that validation, you know? To let go, to really embrace their desires. Especially when it's something... outside the norm."

I don't respond. I don't know how to respond.

"It wasn't until I told her how you felt, what you wanted... that she really let go, " he continues. "And for you... well, I figured it was seeing Emma, you know, let loose a little, embrace that side of herself. Honestly, I thought it solved all the problems."

But he makes it all sound so cut and dried, like he has me and Emma all figured out. But the truth is, I still am not sure what I want, let alone what she wants.

"And for you?" I ask, the words escaping before I can stop them. "What do you get out of it?"

Marcus grins. "Come on, Mike. You know the answer to that."

He's right. It's a stupid question.

Marcus studies me for a beat, his gaze intense, but there's a gentleness in his expression that takes me by surprise.

"So," he says finally, his voice soft, cautious, "Was it... how you imagined?"

"What?"

"I mean..." he clarifies, "did you... have fun? Did you enjoy it?"

Did I?

My mind goes blank.

It isn't like I hadn't been sporting a raging boner the whole time. And since that night, the scene had been replaying on a loop in my head: Emma on her knees, Marcus feeding her his cock, that bulge in her throat....

"Everything in me is screaming no," I admit, my voice strained. "But... I can't deny... watching her like that... it was..." I struggle to find the right words. "I got a huge kick out of it."

The right words evade me, the sheer intensity of the experience, the complex mix of emotions too overwhelming to articulate.

"It was hot," I finally manage, the confession leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. "Fucking hot."

Marcus's face relaxes into a wide grin. "That's great, man! That's what I figured." He leans back in his seat, a look of genuine satisfaction in his eyes. "You know, a lot of couples fantasize about this kind of thing, but they're too scared to actually try it. It takes guts to break out of that box, you know? And honestly? I think it can be really liberating. You tap into something primal, something....

real

."

He takes a sip of his coffee, his gaze meeting mine. "Look, I know it's not for everyone. It's not exactly... traditional. Right?" He chuckles softly. "But if it works for you, if it brings you closer... then does it really matter?"

I just sit there, absorbing his words. Is he right? Is this whole crazy thing actually bringing us

closer

?

His words echo Sheila's sentiment from earlier, and the thought sends a chill down my spine.

Is this... is this

normal

? Are we just another couple exploring our desires, pushing the boundaries of what's acceptable, or are we teetering on the edge of something destructive, something that will ultimately tear us apart?

My mind is a whirlwind, a chaotic battleground of guilt and desire, excitement and terror. I think of the days since that night, the intensity of our sex life, the way Emma and I have been all over each other. But is it real? Or is it just a temporary high, a frenzy fueled by some messed up thing we weren't even supposed to be doing?

Emma kept asking me to explain it, to tell her

why

I wanted this. But I had no answers for her. She kept saying it felt wrong, and yet, we couldn't deny the intensity of it all.

"Mike? You still with me?"

"Sorry, just... lost in thought."

"Happens," he shrugs. "So, where were we?"

"I was just thinking... what happened the other night..." I stammer. "It's... something else, that's for sure. But I think... I think we should stop."

Marcus sets down his mug, the clatter of ceramic against tabletop loud in the sudden hush of our conversation. He considers me for a moment, his expression unreadable, before nodding slowly.

"Okay."

The word hangs in the air, a stark counterpoint to the tumultuous symphony of emotions raging inside me.

"Really?" I ask, surprised by his nonchalance. "That's it?"

He chuckles. "What, you expected me to try and talk you into it?"

"I... kind of thought you would."

"Look, Mike, we're all adults here. We had some fun, it is what it is. If it's not something you and Emma want to continue, then that's fine. Am I disappointed I won't get to have sex with Emma? Sure, but like I said, if it's not for you.... it's not for you. I mean I don't even have a any right to demand anything."

His eyes meet mine, holding a sincerity I hadn't expected. "I want to be clear about this, Mike. I was always operating under the assumption that the experience was just that... an

experience

. I don't want you to think that I'd... that I'd expect anything just because we did it once."

I nod, remembering him saying something similar that day in his living room. And yet, the ease with which he's accepting my decision, the lack of any real resistance, leaves me unsettled.

"So we'll just... leave it at that?"

"I hope not," he says, leaning forward again, a hopeful look in his eyes. "I mean, can we at least still hang out? Watch the games? I enjoy your company, both of you."

I hesitate, picturing us all back in his living room, acting like nothing had happened. Can we really go back to that?

Doubt gnaws at me. As much as I'm trying to convince myself that this whole thing was a mistake, a line we shouldn't have crossed, I can't deny the way it's charged our relationship, amplified our desire.

The sex has been incredible—raw, passionate, fueled by a reckless energy we haven't experienced in years. And Emma... she's different, too.

"Mike? You okay?"

"Yeah. Just... thinking."

I think about the conversations Emma and I have had in the days since.

When I pressed her, she admitted that she had been excited, that she had even enjoyed it.

And I know she wasn't lying.

It was freaky, it was weird, definitely not how a husband and wife were

supposed

to behave. But the truth is, there was something about it, about the entire situation, that was monstrously exciting, thrillingly wrong.

And the fact that Emma had gotten turned on? That made it even more intriguing. I'd never seen that side of her, not even a hint of it. She'd always been the perfect, the respectable wife, always in control.

My Emma, my reserved, controlled, always-professional Emma, had gotten turned on...?

Had I just never noticed? Or had I been too timid to bring it out in her?

Was there more to her than I'd ever known, more she'd kept hidden, even from herself?

And was

this

the way to explore it?

I open my mouth to ask Marcus, to voice the question that's been plaguing me—

Won't it be too weird?

— but before the words can form, his phone buzzes on the table.

He glances at the screen, and the easygoing smile that's been plastered on his face vanishes, replaced by a look of concern.

"Damn, I gotta go." He stands abruptly, scooping up his phone and keys. "Mike, I really hope we can at least... you know, hang out, like before. Okay? Let's talk more later."

He gives me a quick nod and then he's gone, disappearing into the bustling crowd. I watch him go, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment.

I think of my wife, about the wild, uninhibited woman she has become in the past few days. Was this the real her, the woman hiding beneath the surface all this time?

Was this always there, this wildness lurking beneath the surface? Or is this something

he

awakened, something I've unwittingly unleashed?

Again, the memory of her desperate plea returns:

Tell me why

.

Why do you want this? Why do you want to see me with another man?

I hadn't been able to answer her. I'd been too caught up in my own messed-up fantasies and thoughts I didn't fully understand.

But as I sit there, watching Marcus disappear into the crowd, everything seem to click into place.

My insecurities, my confusion, my lust - it all converge into a single, undeniable truth.

I want to see her again.

The thought is raw, undeniable, terrifying.

And exhilarating. It is like is a live wire- a current of pure, unadulterated lust coursing through my veins.

It's not about insecurity, not about control, not about some messed-up power dynamic.

It's about the desire, pure and simple.

The desire to see her unleashed, to witness her surrender to pleasure, to experience the vicarious thrill of her transgression.

It's wrong. It's sick. It's everything I thought I despised. And it's the most intense, the most consuming desire I've ever known.

Acting purely on instinct, I shout out.

"Marcus, wait!"