“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed. It dawned on him twelve blocks from home that he’d forgotten to take his briefcase.
He glanced at his watch and decided, with luck, that he’d be able to make his 9:00 class. He hurried back to his house and entered the unlocked front door and picked up the briefcase that he’d left sitting in the foyer.
As he headed back toward the door, he heard his wife talking to someone on the phone. He hesitated when he heard her say, “He’s gone. He left a little early. Shall we meet in the usual place?”
He assumed she must be meeting one of her girlfriends for lunch, and again headed for the door, but stopped in his tracks when she exclaimed: “Oh, God, I hate that place!! It’s nothing but a flea-ridden fuck motel. The beds are filthy and the walls are so thin, we can always hear our neighbors fucking.”
After a momentary silence she said, “That’s a better place! I’ll meet you there at 11:30. I’ll bring sandwiches and, of course, my wet pussy for you to eat.” Whoever she was talking to had apparently found the comment funny; and she chuckled at something they had said in return.
He hurried to the door so he wouldn’t be caught eavesdropping and, seemingly on autopilot, headed toward school.
As he approached the fork in the road, Jim Martin thought about his mundane life. Childless, he and his wife had been married 30 years. Their relationship was predictable and their life had, until fairly recently, been stable.
His wife was the more social of the two. Jim, on the other hand, was a more reflective person: a man who most women would die to have, at least woman who had been in relationships with losers. He earned a good living as a community college professor. Having taught for 32 years, he was considering retirement.
He thought about his wife. The conversation he’d overheard perplexed him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was involved in a long-term affair. From the context of the conversation, it was apparent that the affair was sexual.
He recalled that it was about 18 months ago that his wife began to pull away from him. She moved to a separate bedroom, ostensibly because he snored. Then, slowly, she began to shy away from sex: first by lying passively as he poked and prodded; and later, by locking her door at night to keep him away altogether. She also began to hen peck and criticize him about little things. He figured his wife’s affair had begun about the time he noticed these changes.
To be fair, he had also been involved in several cyber affairs during the past year. None of them had culminated in sexual activity yet; however, he had met several women for coffee and was intrigued by the possibility of a relationship. In particular, Missy, a gorgeous 34-year-old natural blond from Pennsylvania had, just last night, repeated her plea that he come see her.
To supplement her income, Missy ran an amateur porn site which featured girl/girl sex and gang bangs, often with black men who left her orifices filled and her face and body covered with cum. She informed Jim during one of their chats that she had two interracial children from a previous marriage to a black man she’d met while in the Army. The children now lived with their father.
The thought of her large pink aureole being suckled by a black man’s babies, for some reason, turned him on. She also mentioned that her ex-husband had, “honest-to-God,” a fat 10 inch dick, a vision which further stimulated him. Many nights Jim entered her site and masturbated to mpegs and pictures of her as he fantasized about the many black men who had in various ways used and ravaged her white body.
Over time, Missy came to rely on Jim’s knowledge and wise counsel to assist her make personal and business decisions. They often conversed on the phone and became close friends. She constantly encouraged him to come see her, telling him how she’d fuck him senseless. He was concerned about their age difference, but she said it didn’t matter. She loved him, she had repeated. She assured him that it wasn’t what you were, but who you were that mattered to her.
Jim often shared with Missy his many fantasies and she encouraged him to write about them in story form. Many of them appeared pseudonymously on her site, for which she gave him free access.
As he got nearer to the turn in the road he turned on the radio. “
Listen for traffic and weather on the eights, every 10 minutes 24/7,
” the radio announcer shrilled.
“Enough!” he thought and switched to FM, seeking music to match his melancholy mood. Shortly, the radio’s seek function stopped on a country station. The disc jockey announced that the next song was going to be a Top 30 hit from 1969 by Roy Clark entitled “Right or Left at Oak Street.”
“
A left turn would take me to somewhere, leave alarm clocks and schedules behind … I don’t know which takes more courage, the staying or the running away,
” Roy sang as Jim abruptly made his decision.
That morning his students would ecstatically find class cancelled. His wife would cry herself to sleep that night. After coming home from her liaison to clean herself and prepare dinner she would wonder why her husband had failed to come home.
Calling Missy from his motel that night after the long drive from Chicago, he anxiously waited for her to answer. Had he made a mistake? Will she really want to see me, or am I just an old fool, he wondered?
