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By Catilingus (catilingus2005@yahoo.com)


I frowned, and shook my head. My best friend from my college days was visiting me, and it was like nothing had changed. His attitude, his self-importance, his subtle maintaining of himself as the focal point of every girl in the room. It was all the same. What was so confusing about all this was that, in truth, everything had changed.

Back when we roomed together, John had been the very pinnacle of strength, and had secretly been a hero of mine. A habitual exerciser and comfortable dieter, he had maintained a daunting and flawless physique all through our college days together. In the time since, I had worked hard to aspire to the form he achieved rather easily, and had managed to develop quite well.

John, on the other hand, appeared to have given up. His hairline had retreated in the last 8 years, which his stomach had apparently compensated for. In fact, I had to look pretty closely to identify the tan powerhouse that had entertained countless female companions. Several days' worth of stubble populated his pale skin, and his disturbingly wide body waged constant war with the filthy jeans and yellow-stained shirt that struggled to contain it. I thought about the firm pecs that had become a saggy bosom, and felt guilty for teasing my wife so much about how impressed she would be, and how she had better contain herself.

Brenda, for her sake, was reacting to him exactly how I had thought she would. When he arrived, she ran up and through her arms around him in a warm greeting, in spite of having never met the man. Her elfish brown eyes looked up at him from behind long, matching hair as she listened eagerly to his (rather boring) story of his trip there. She smiled, asked questions (a lot of them), and laughed frequently even though he had said nothing funny. I couldn't decide if she was being friendly, or if this was her way of teasing me for thinking that this human train wreck standing before us would be anything she would be interested in.

Brenda was my heart's prize. She was kind, funny, brilliant, beautiful, and as intensely in love with him as he was in her. She was also a gorgeous, short little thing with a perfect body (to his eyes) and a model's face, and about seven years my junior. The three years we had been married were the happiest of my life. She stood now in a tight blue tee that said "Kitty" in pink sparkling letters, and a pair of white shorts that ended somewhere above mid-thigh. Light amounts of makeup perfectly accented her tan, magazine-cover face.

Her beauty was on display, probably for my sake more than anything. She wanted to give me every chance to be proud and to look good. As I said, her devotion to me was immeasurable. She had a wicked sense of humor, though, which I suspected was behind the performance I was now watching.

"Let me tell yah, though," John was grinning, "that stewardess would have jumped on me in a heartbeat. I could tell it. She was a fine piece, too!"

My jaw begged permission to go slack with shock. I denied it, but was surely tempted. John had always been coarse, but he hadn't known my wife ten minutes yet and he was saying these things?

Brenda made an exaggerated pouty face and looked up at him. "I hope you told her you were saving yourself for me?" I quietly sighed in relief that she was not choosing to take him too seriously.

John laughed. "I tell you what; I did make this teen bitch at the airport suck it so it would be clean for you. She did a good job, too...couldn't a been more than 18, but she knew how, lemme tell yah."

Furious, I opened my mouth to shout this vulgar idiot out of my house. The idea alone was offensive enough, but to say such a thing to a woman you've never met? Your friend's wife? My arms tightened and released, an involuntary reaction I got when I was pissed.

Before I had a chance to say a word, however, the situation defused. Brenda laughed. "Oh, that's so sweet of you! I hope she was a good girl for such a nice man, and didn't spit?"

"Nobody spits me out," John said with such certainty that I almost thought he was serious. Brenda nodded her approval, before turning to me and rolling her eyes. I stifled a smile. She really was just indulging this buffoon for my sake. I silently told her I love her.

"Say," John said, "I've been so entranced with the hottie that I haven't hardly said 'hello' to my old friend! What say you show me where to put my bags, Tug, and then we can catch up a little bit?"

I groaned inwardly. My name was Robert; Tug had been my nickname freshman year after I was walked in on several times while masturbating. I didn't get much play back then. I ignored my wife's confused glance, but I knew I'd have to explain it to her later.

"Sure, John, your bedroom is downstairs, first door on the left. Toss me a bag, and I'll show you."

"Nonsense!" My wife skipped forward. "John's had a busy day," she winked at him, "and I'm sure he'd much rather have a beer on the deck and talk with you than carry all this luggage down." Now that she mentioned it, he did seem to have an awful lot of luggage. One suitcase, five skuzzy gym bags, and a backpack. The plan had always been that he would stay for three days. "You two go out, and I'll bring this stuff down for you. I may even get motivated and get it all put away and hung up!"

"Honey," I admonished, "there's no reason why we can't do it. His stuff doesn't need to be put away, it's only three days. And besides, I'm sure he doesn't need you going through his things for him."

John shrugged. "Makes no difference to me. Let's go have a beer!" He headed for the kitchen without encouragement, then grinned at Brenda over his shoulder. "Thanks, 'Honey.' I hate when my shirts get all wrinkled."

I looked helplessly at my wife, who shoed me off and began hefting the overstuffed bags on her own. I couldn't help but think, as I rushed after him, that the shirt he had on was wrinkled.


"This is a nice place, man. I dig it." John was starting out at the sunset, sitting comfortably on my back porch. He casually tipped his beer back and downed most of what was left of it. I wondered, sadly, just what had become of my hero.

"We're proud of it, yeah," I offered. "John, can I ask you for a favor?"

He glanced over at me. "Sure, man."

"I hate to get things off on a bad note, but could you not be so obscene in front of Brenda? She gets kind of upset about stuff like that." I didn't look at him while I asked it. I wanted to make it as unembarrassing for him as possible.

He just laughed. "What, are you kidding? She's as randy as they come, man! I had her eating out of my hand back there...woulda had her eating something else, if she weren't my buddies toy."

"She's not my 'toy,' John, and she was humoring you."

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious. It needs to stop. Furthermore, the only person who needs to address my wife as 'honey' is me."

He sighed, and shook his head. "I tell you what, I'm not used to marital situations and I wasn't very fair. How about this: I'm too tired for any real catching up tonight. I'd rather just goof off a little. When Brenda comes out I'll apologize, say I'm just blowin' off steam or some shit, and let her know that this is probably how I'll be all night so she can excuse herself if she wants to avoid hearing any more."

I nodded. "That sounds fair. Thanks, man. Like I said, she's just not into that kind of humor." It wasn't a lie. Brenda was definitely not into sick or sexist joking around.

John cracked open his next beer. "Who the hell said I was joking around?"

I laughed. "Nice to know you're still a smartass." He grinned.

"Sounds like I'm missing all the fun!" Brenda stepped out onto the patio, cosmopolitan in hand, and sat down so that John was between us. "I'm not intruding?"

"Of course not," I looked at John, "we were just reminiscing."

"I'm sure John has all sorts of stories to tell. Now I'll finally know the truth about you!"

"Actually, on the subject of stories," John interjected, "I want to apologize for earlier. That one probably wasn't for the ladies, you know?"

"What do you mean?" Brenda looked honestly confused. John looked at me before continuing.

"Anyway, I shouldn't have blurted that one out, and I want to warn you that I'm kinda rowdy after that plane ride. Probably all I'm good for tonight is dirty jokes and talkin' about my dick. If you'd rather get to know me tomorrow when I'm together enough to be gentle, I understand."

Brenda laughed. "Are you kidding? You're the only one of Robert's friends that has a sense of humor! I don't need to be protected from you," she stuck her tongue out, "I just wish I'd met you before the wedding! The stiff who was best man was so boring!"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. That 'stiff' was Matt, my closest friend and someone Brenda had always claimed to like. I figured she was still putting her best foot forward with John, but that still didn't explain why she would want to stay for his disgusting comments. "Are you sure you're up for this, Brenda?" I gave her a confused look.

She didn't look at me, she just nodded at John and said "I can hardly wait!"

John didn't hold back. He went on and on for hours about anything he could think of, which was apparently limited to sex. Old girlfriends, one-night stands, great techniques, the dirtiest things he'd done or had done to him, and a long oration on how women were naturally subservient to men. I was at first amused, then a little grossed out, then bored, and finally exhausted. I excused myself at around one in the morning. Brenda promised to be along soon, but she wanted to hear the end of this story first.

I wasn't surprised, she had been hanging on John's every word like it was gospel. She wanted to know every detail. When he was explaining how Suzie Marketon in high school gave him the best handjob ever, she wanted to know exactly what the girl had done. How had she held it? How long did it take? On and on and on and on. It wouldn't have been ridiculous if half the stories hadn't been so far-fetched as to be impossible. I drifted off to sleep still waiting for her. I don't know what time she finally made it to bed, but they both slept until early afternoon.

When she did wake up, she gushed about how much she'd enjoyed the night before. I asked how she could stand him. She shrugged and smiled. "He's so funny! I mean, his stories are so ridiculous. It's like talking to a living Penthouse letter."

"I think he is under the impression you believe him."

"Is he?" She thought a moment. "I don't mind. It's probably good for his self-esteem or something. And it amuses me."

I sighed. "I just don't think you should let him think you're flirting with him."

She frowned. "Are you telling me that you are jealous of HIM? Mr. Muscles feels bad because his wife is amused by his flabby friend? It's just a game."

"I know that. Does he?"

She threw a pillow at me. "Oh, shut up, Tugs!"

I stared at her. She laughed and stuck her tongue out. I chased her around the room, and tackled her on the bed. She squealed.

"He told you?"

"Of course!"

"Well, for this you will have to be punished!" I didn't quit until she laughed so hard she threatened to pee.

Was John wearing the same clothes as the night before? I made a note to ask Brenda what his wardrobe was like, later.

He sat on the couch, flipping through the channels and eating the soup Brenda had made us all. A little spilled on his shirt, and more sloshed on the leather sofa when he set the bowl down to wipe at the stain.

"Willy, how ya doin? We missed you last night."

"How late did you stay up?"

"Oh, I dunno," he shrugged, "I suppose another couple of hours."

"Cripes. Too crazy for my blood."

"I've not been around town for a long time. What say you and I hit the used CD stores, and you can buy me a few."

"Sounds harmless enough. Why you want to buy me CDs is beyond me, though."

He laughed and got up. "I said you can buy ME CDs."

"Right," I tossed him his coat, "you can buy me CDs.!"


The CD trip was fun. I found an old Mountain Goats EP, and a Pearl Jam bootleg. John coerced me into buying him that Eagles best-of, at the cost of my respect for him. We were laughing and cracking each other like old times by the time we hit the last place, a dive known as Heart Attack and Vine. That's when I thought I'd put my curiosities to rest.

"Say, man, what's with all the bullshit stories?"

He frowned, and looked up form the rack at me. "What do you mean?"

"Well, like the one about the little girl at the airport. Nobody's gonna believe that shit, so why tell it?"

He grinned. "I've been trying to tell ya, they ARE true!"

"Bullshit."

"Serious, man. I used to think the girls were flocking to me cos of all the muscle," he waved a hand in my direction. "Then I hurt my back and couldn't work out for a while. No matter how much muscle I lost or how soft my belly got, they never stopped coming. That's when I started to figure I could have 'em no matter what. It's like women can't resist me. I've never ever been turned down, and they'll all fucking do anything for me. The more I push em, or mistreat em, the more I'm certain I can do whatever I fucking want with them and they'll love me for it."

"That's the steamiest turd I've ever heard."

"Oh yeah? How's this. See the girl in the hip-hop section?"

I glanced over. She was either a near graduate at high school or an early college student. "Yeah."

"I bet you anything I can get her to show me her tits right here in the store. Won't take five minutes."

"You're crazy!"

"Bet me, or not?"

"Goddamn right I do. What do I get when I win?"

"If you win."

"Whatever, what do I get?"

"I'll buy you any 15 CDs you want."

"You can't afford that!"

"Sure I can. Check this." He opened his wallet. There were at least 10 $50 bills in there. Why the fuck had I just bought this guy a CD?

"And if I lose?"

He laughed. "You have to promise not to hide Brenda from me."

I didn't like the way he said it. "What do you mean?"

"Don't look so nervous. I just mean that you can't try to protect her from my charm simply because you know now that I can have whatever woman I want. You have nothing to fear."

"This is all so much shit, man. Sure. Deal." Protect my wife from this overweight slob. It was too funny.

John strutted his way over to the girl, and the two started talking. She was immediately all smiles and giggles, and sure enough less than three minutes later she looked up into his eyes and brought her shirt up to her chin. She didn't even look around to make sure no one saw. Everybody did. Two teen boys stared openly, as did the twenty-something behind the counter. They were magnificent tits. John reached up and lightly stroked the right one before she lowered her top. They talked a moment more, and then he strutted right back to me.

"Game, set and match." He smiled.

I was nearly speechless. Nearly. "You planned this."

He laughed. "Ridiculous! I live two hundred miles away!"

"I don't care. That was too impossible. You paid her."

John shook his head. "I could have done that with any girl and you'd say the same thing."

"I would. There's no way that really just happened. And there's no girl who you could do that with and have me willing to believe it wasn't for money or because you knew her."

He smiled. "What about your wife?"

I blinked. "What?"

"She wouldn't do that in a million years, right?"

"Duh!"

"So what if she does?"

"She won't, that's the point."

"Wanna bet again? If you win, I'll get you season tickets to whatever team you want to see."

I didn't like this. What if I was wrong? What if he was telling the truth? I chided myself silently...Brenda was certainly a far step from some slutty teen queen desperate for attention. Besides, I knew he would deliver on the tickets. John didn't renege on bets.

"What do I owe if I lose?"

"You'll owe me nothing. I'll have seen your wife's tits...that'd be payment enough."


We were all sitting around a table at Spazia's. John had degraded right back to his filthy self, and Brenda was (pretending to be?) loving it. The waitress didn't seem to mind, either. She strayed over to our table often, and joined in the conversation when she could. Both girls giggled when John joked that the three of them should sneak into the back for a threesome. I didn't.

"I tell ya," John said as I paid the check. "It's been a good goddamn day. Hung out with my old friend, got a new CD, and met a waitress with an amazing rack."

My wife frowned. "I didn't think they were all that great. Were they?"

"Hell yeah! They were outstanding!" I shook my head when she looked at me for confirmation. Instead of comforting her, it only seemed to make her bolder.

"You're kidding," she insisted as we made our way towards outside. The deep red sunset reflected off expensive cars. "Aren't mine better?"

My stomach tensed. He was going for it.

"I can't say, sweetheart, your man is right here."

"Nonsense!" She pouted. "Men stare at my chest all the time. It's just part of being a girl. If a stranger at a supermarket can try to sneak a peak, why can't you?"

"You really want me to check out your tits, eh, honey?" When had he started calling her that again?

She stopped in mid-stride. "Yes."

He turned and stood in front of her. He looked her right in the eye, grinned, and said, "Then why don't you take em out so I can get a real look."

She stood there for a split second, watching him. I thought he had finally gone too far. To my horror, she reached down and lifted the tan turtleneck she had on up and over her head. She handed it to him, and then without ever taking her eyes from his reached back and unsnapped her bra. I couldn't believe my eyes. Was she doing this just to prove she could outdo him? Her face was expressionless. It didn't matter, this was too much.

"Honey, don't," I said. She just looked at John and slipped the bra down her arms and handed it to him. Then she stood there, hands at her side, and let his eyes roam her body.

I looked around to make sure we were alone. We were. John looked at me and smiled. Brenda watched John.

"Well," she said, "are you just going to ogle all day or have you reached a verdict?"

John chuckled. "Some of the finest mams I've ever seen, honey." He reached out and gently stroked one, just as he had the girl at the CD store. He looked over at me. It was a message. I'd promised not to protect her. She didn't fight it off, she just watched his eyes as he felt her up. Then, casually, he tossed her clothes back and said "Let's go home. It's time for a beer."


"Why did you show John your breasts?" I asked her that night.

She frowned. "I dunno. I don't think it's any big deal. Most clothes pretty much show them off anyway."

"Is that why you let him feel you up, too?"

"I didn't see you stopping him." She snapped. We lay silent a while. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I guess I just couldn't let him feel like he was too much for me, like he's some kind of sex king and I'm intimidated. Isn't that how he acts sometimes?" She sounded desperate for reassurance.

"I suppose," I whispered back. She sighed.

"Will?" She sounded very small and scared.

"Yes?"

"Why did I do that?"

I was quiet a moment. The unstated question, buried by fear, was 'why did I want to?'

"I don't know, my love. Get some rest."

"Ok."

I listened to her breathing. I could think of two things. First of all, I couldn't figure out why neither of us were upset at John over this incident. I was jealous, sad, scared, all at once. But not mad. Brenda was not only not mad, but had to some small degree wanted that sweaty and calloused hand upon her. She was scared now, and I knew that it was only because she thought she might want it again.