In a room on the top floor of a business hotel not too far from National Airport, I’m sitting on a chair staring at a bed. I don’t have much choice in the matter, seeing as I’m tied to the chair, wrists and ankles both. The cords are tight across my skin, and any attempt to move, to even squirm, will leave a rope burn.
Across from me, my wife Ali is being fucked by six men.
Not all at once, mind you. They’re taking turns. Two of them have just finished, in fact. One of them walks over to the bathroom and grabs a towel to clean himself off. The other one, a guy named Micah, plops onto the room’s other chair. He leans over and opens the mini-fridge, fishes out a bottle of Stoli.
“Good stuff, nice.” He twists the cap and takes a gulp. Goddamn, but his body is nice—a solid six pack and tight pecs, good strong shoulders and an ass like a Greek god. The sweat gleams on his chest and neck as he tilts his head back to drink.
He’d done a number on Ali, fucking her so wild that by the end she’d practically melted into a puddle of flesh on the mattress, not able to do more than whimper in pleasure. Even now, she’s lying there panting. She rolls onto her side and manages to push herself upright with quivering arms. Her face is still flushed, and her hair frizzed in all directions. She’s never sexier than when she’s like this. When she’s up and dressed like normal, she looks like Snow White, all pure and sweet, but get her into bed and she turns into a wild Valkyrie. We’ve been together six years and I’m still not tired of the transformation.
“You okay? Need a breather?” Jeremy asks.
She grins, her front teeth poking out like a chipmunk’s. “I can go for miles still.” She’s really into it, like a kid who just got off Splash Mountain and wants to go again. “C’mon, your turn.”
Jeremy climbs onto the bed. Ali leans over to go down on him. Of all the guys here, his is by far the biggest cock—porn star big—and she can’t take the whole thing in her mouth, so she puts her lips to the tip and works it with her tongue while stroking the shaft with her hands. Jeremy pulls her hair back and strokes her shoulders.
After a couple minutes, he’s rock hard and Ali slips a condom onto him. She swings a leg across his waist and squats. They take a second to get situated, then Jeremy places his hands on her hips and eases her onto him.
While they’re doing that, a second man, Anthony, has a bottle of lotion out. He squirts some onto his palm and begins lathering his dick. He puts the lotion back on the nightstand and licks his thumb. He slides it into the crack of Ali’s ass and gently rubs her asshole until it loosens. She leans forward, her hands on Jeremy’s chest, and raises her ass in the air.
“You ready for this?” the guy asks her.
I stifle a laugh. Other than pizza and cats, there is nothing in the world Ali likes more than getting double-teamed.
“So ready,” she pants.
Anthony gets up on the bed and squats behind her. He places his cockhead against her anus and presses into her. Her eyes scrunch shut. She bites her lip. Her cheeks turn bright red and sweat breaks out across her forehead. She moans.
The guy that’s under her, he’s sucking her tits while his hands roam up and down her hips and thighs. “C’mon baby, let’s get this going.”
It takes a while, but the guy behind her finally gets himself all the way in. They start fucking in earnest, Ali’s tiny pale form looking like it’s going to be crushed between the two men. They move clumsily at first, but they quickly fall into a rhythm. The guy behind her smacks her ass hard enough to leave a hand print. Her tits swing wildly, and Jeremy starts batting them back and forth like a cat with a toy.
The two guys who haven’t had a turn yet are watching all this, their dicks in hand, trying to find a happy medium between keeping themselves ready for action and beating off to the show. Ali beckons them onto the bed. That takes a bit of effort—the room came with two queens, and we’d pushed them both together when this all started, but there’s still a limit to how many can crowd around her. One of the guys stands with his feet on the pillows and leans back against the wall. Ali reaches out and starts stroking him. The last guy takes up position next to her. She twists her head around and kisses the head of his cock. Her lips part take it into her. He grabs her by the hair as she bobs her head on the shaft.
Oh God, that is so fucking hot. If my hands were free, I’d be whacking off like you wouldn’t believe right now. I doubt I’d last a full minute. But as is, all I can do is shift my weight to generate the tiniest bit of friction between my cock and underwear. I’d been skeptical when Ali suggested this part. Bondage has never been my thing, though it doesn’t precisely turn me off, either, so I go along whenever she suggests we incorporate it into our experiments. Still, with her getting all the attention from the guys, tying me down had seemed like a wasted effort. But now that I’m in this spot, I’m glad we’re doing it this way.
This isn’t our first time with group sex—probably isn’t even our hundredth—but previously we’d settled for threesomes or hooking up with other couples, and we were always both active participants. We’d been talking about going for larger groups for a while, but finding the extra partners was a problem. The couples we know are only into swapping, and none of the women would be down for loaning out their husbands for something like this. The personal sites we normally use to find like-minded individuals were no use, either—all the guys who said they were into gangbangs were skeevy as fuck.
But then last week at work, I’d run back to the stock room to get something—I don’t even remember what it was anymore, maybe a handtruck, I dunno—and I happened to overhear a conversation between a couple guys on the stock crew.
“I can’t believe you didn’t get her number,” Jeremy was saying when I came back.
“I got her number, but the number ain’t real. I called it up, it’s some dry cleaners in Woodbridge,” said TJ.
“You musta wrote it down wrong.”
“She put it into my phone herself.”
“She was kinda drunk. Maybe that’s it.”
“Maybe, I don’t think so.”
“Why would she blow us off?”
“She probably doesn’t want a regular gangbang crew calling her up every weekend.”
“Shit. Where we gonna find a bitch like that again?”
“Man, that sorta thing is one in a million. Ain’t never gonna happen again.”
“Hey guys,” I said.
They jumped. They’d thought they had the stockroom to themselves.
“Oh hey,” TJ said. “We just got back from lunch, we’re waiting for the rest of the guys.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop or anything, but did I hear you say ‘gangbang crew’?”
They looked at each other.
“I don’t think so,” Jeremy said.
“Nuh-uh,” TJ said.
“Oh. Musta misheard.”
I got the whatever-I-was-looking-for and left, but a couple hours later, when the stock crew was leaving for the day, I called TJ over.
“About earlier,” I said.
“Jeremy and I were talking about a pick-up basketball team we play with on Saturdays.” The answer was way too fast, and unprovoked by anything I’d said. I bet they’d worked it out after I’d left.
“Sure,” I said. “If that’s all, fine. But here’s my number. If you hit me up tonight, I have something to discuss, might be of interest. It’s not basketball.”
I gotta say, the look TJ had on his face as he left was like somebody in a coma since 1998 waking up and watching the news for the first time.
He didn’t call me until a quarter past eleven that night. Considering he had to be in at six the next morning to receive a truck, that was super late for him. I’d been thinking he wasn’t going to call.
“Alexa, pause Netflix,” I said.
Ali looked at me, annoyed. We were right at the climax of the new Star Wars movie.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hey. Jim? This is TJ. From work. You wanted to talk to me about something?”
“Who is it?” Ali mouthed. I hadn’t told her about this afternoon, not wanting to get her hopes up.
I waved her off. “Yeah, it’s about what I heard you guys talking about this afternoon.”
“Look, I said it was a basketball game. It was a basketball game.”
“So you call your team ‘the Gangbang Crew’?”
That got Ali’s attention. She put out her hands like, “Hey, did you forget to mention something to me?”
On the other end of the line, TJ was silent. After a minute, he said, “Look, we shouldn’t’ve been talking about it at work, butchya know, it’s private business.”
“Yeah, I understand. But it happens ...” Now it was my turn to hesitate. Ali and I kept this part of our lives on the downlow. In our years living the lifestyle, we’d known several people who’d been outed by vengeful exes or nosy neighbors. One family had lost custody of their children after a relative found out they had another man living with them, and a school teacher we’d known had lost her job after someone emailed screenshots of her Adult Friend Finder profile to the PTA. We don’t have kids or the kind of jobs where our careers would be ruined if people find out what we get up to in our spare time, but still, we don’t want our private lives exposed to friends and especially family. They’re pretty chill over all, but like everyone we’ve got enough knuckle-draggers in the family tree, they could make family gatherings hell.
Could I trust TJ with our secret? Even if he were open to the concept of gangbangs, it didn’t follow that he’d be respectful of our lifestyle. What if he started asking for favors from me in return for his silence?
It was a risk. There was a reason we normally used personal sites to find partners.
But there was always an element of risk to the lifestyle—and it increased with the number of people you put your trust in.
What the hell. I decided to go for it.
“It happens my wife and I ... we have an interest in such things.”
“We’ve been looking for a group of guys.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what exactly were you talking about today?”
“Okay, so a couple weeks back, me and Jeremy were clocking out from work, and there was this woman buying a chair—you know that big one that sat in Home Furnishings forever?”
“Yeah.” I’m the assistant manager at a discount department store. Everything we sell is remaindered from places like Macy’s and J.C. Penney. We don’t have much in the way of furniture, and what we do have tends to be stuff college grads would buy for their first apartment. But we’d ended up with a nice leather recliner—well, nice so long as you ignored the fact that it was booger green and had a black scuff mark on one side. It had started out at three hundred dollars, which made it the most expensive item in the store, but we’d marked it down every few weeks until the price finally hit forty bucks.
“Well you know how heavy that sucker was. The woman couldn’t load it in her car by herself, so Miriam—” that’s one of our front-end supervisors “—asked me and Jeremy to help. We didn’t wanna—it was the end of the day, we were tired, you know the drill—but the woman was kinda cute, so we let ourselves get talked into it.”
“So we loaded it into her SUV. And when we were done, she says, ‘Hey, would you mind coming back to my house and helping me get it inside?’ And we were like, ‘Not really,’ but then she offered us fifty bucks apiece, and well...”
You wouldn’t think a woman who’d drop a hundred bucks like that would be shopping at our store, but you’d be surprised. They tended to be the same ones who’d try to bargain down our prices because there was a button missing or a zipper was sewn in backwards.
“We followed her back to her house, and we got the chair inside, put it where she wanted it. Once we were done, she got us some chips and beer—some weird ass brand called Raging Bitch, would you believe it. And we were sitting there, she got to talking about how her husband was always going outta town for business and she was tired of being home alone all the time. Then outta nowhere, she asked if we had any friends who might come over for a party. And we were like, ‘Yeah, we might now a few guys.’”
“How many guys?”
“I wasn’t shitting you when I said it was the guys we play basketball with. We called eight, only five could make it.”
“We got everyone over, put on some music, ordered pizza. She had a swimming pool out back and suggested we all go out for a swim. Nobody had trunks, but she was like, ‘That’s no biggy, neighbors can’t see into the backyard, let’s all go naked.’ We were drunk enough by then to be like, ‘Fuck man, great idea.’ We were splashing around, doing dives, shit like that, and suddenly Jeremy taps me on my shoulder, he’s like, ‘Hey, look over there.’ I turn, and there’s Micah sitting on the side of the pool, and the woman’s gobbing his cock. We’re like, ‘Hey, why’s he getting the special treatment,’ and she tells us she’ll take care of all of us, we want.”
“Nice,” I said.
“Yeah. I ain’t never seen nothing like it. I mean, the cheerleaders at my high school, they could get wild. They’d do some crazy shit for players. But one of ‘em taking on a whole team? Nuh-uh.”
“But you’re interested in doing it again?”
“We’ve talked about it, yeah, but haven’t been able to come up with a woman who’s down with it. I mean, where do you go to find one like that?”
“My wife and I have the opposite problem.”
“That’s ... that could be ... Could I ask what she looks like?”
“Five-six, about one-twenty, curly dark hair, skin that makes snow look colorful.”
“You got pics?”
“I can text you some.” We’d uploaded new photos to our Adult Friend Finder profile a few months back, and I still had them on my phone. They didn’t include face shots, though—number one rule of sites like that, don’t post anything that could be used to identify you. “So if we do this, how many guys could you get together?”
“I dunno. It’d depend upon the timing. We had seven that night, I might know a couple more who’d be down with it.”
The thought alone gave me a hard-on. Watching my wife get nailed by eight or nine guys ... I’d’ve invited them over right then if we could’ve gotten it organized.
But in the end, working with everyone’s schedule had proven too difficult, and we only managed to get six guys—there were actually supposed to be seven, but one called out because he was sick.
Still, six is sufficient. That’s enough that one or two guys are always ready to go while the others recover. They keep on Ali for four hours not quite nonstop. But after three or four pops each, they don’t have any juice left. Jeremy is the last one to take a turn, and he barely manages to dribble a couple drops gives her a facial.
Ali lies on the bed for a while, wheezing with exhaustion. Then she sits up. Her hair’s soaked with so much sweat now that it hangs limply. The insides of her thighs glisten, and her chin is slick with drool and jizz. Her tits are scaly with dried semen where somebody had cum on her earlier.
She walks towards me on wobbly legs. When she gets to the chair, she sits down on my lap and kisses me. “You enjoy it?” she whispers in my ear.
She cups my cock through my jeans. Then she tugs at the cords holding my wrists to the chair. The knots collapse, and the cords fall away when I lift my arms. White indentations run across my skin. I waggle my fingers to get the blood flowing again while Ali unties my ankles.
She takes my hand and pulls me up, leads me back to the bed. She falls across it and spreads her legs. I bend down and place my head between her thighs and go to town on her. Her pussy is so hot and slick right now. Oh God, that’s good. I only wish we could’ve trusted the guys to go bareback—how wild would it be for me to eat their jizz.
“Ah man,” one of the guys said.
“That’s too much, yo.”
“Yeah, I’m out.”
What’s their problem? This is the best part—after the “humiliation” of watching my wife fuck six guys, I have to clean up the mess while they watch. Ideally they should be laughing and calling me a loser cuck.
But most of the guys don’t see it that way. They’ve done what they came to do, and with their role fulfilled, they dress and leave. Only TJ and Micah stick around.
I eat Ali until she cums, then I pull my pants down and mount her.
“C’mon, baby,” she begs me as I enter her.
I bang her with all the energy I’ve pent up this afternoon. My cock is primed and ready to go off, and it takes all my control not to cum as soon as I get into her.
Her legs wrap around me. Her nails dig into my back. She sucks on my neck.
“Man, that’s hot,” Micah says. “I wish I wasn’t tapped dry.”
So do I. Having them beat off while I fuck Ali would make this even better. Of course if this were our dream scenario, all the guys would be bi, and they’d take a turn on me, but that’s expecting way too much. Too bad, a couple of them were smoking hot. Especially Micah—he’s got a nice, lean body, with strong shoulders. His cock’s small but cute—the sort that’s perfect for sucking. Ali had given him one deep, long BJ, and the whole time I’d been wishing I could join her.
I manage to hold myself back for ten minutes, but then I lay a nugget deep inside Ali. It’s one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had. I can’t move for a full minute afterwards.
Finally I roll off Ali and lie on the bed like a marionette with its strings cut.
“Need something to drink?” TJ says.
He gets us a couple sodas from the minibar. I guzzle mine straight down.
“So ...” Micah says, “like, you guys do this a lot?”
“Depends what you mean by ‘this’.” Ali turns on her side, propping her head up on her palm. “This is our first time with a group like this, but we’ve done other stuff.”
“But you’re married, right? That’s what Jeremy told me.”
“We’re married, yeah,” I say.
“Just seems weird.”
“Not really,” Ali says. “Historically it was pretty common for marriages to be open. I mean, we think of the Victorian Era as hyper-prudish, but all the men back then had mistresses, and most of their wives knew about it. The wives were more constrained because, you know, sexism, but they slept around, too. People just didn’t talk about it openly, which makes us think that folks in ye olden days had high, upstanding morals. They didn’t.”
“Still, this is a bit different,” TJ says.
“Maybe,” Ali says. “But maybe a lot of people would do this if they had the chance, but they don’t because they’re afraid how other people will react. Like how it used to be that nobody would admit to being gay, and people would even get married and live their whole lives pretending they weren’t.”
“I still think it’s weird,” Micah says. “Like, don’t you ever get jealous?”
“It’s not easy,” I admit. “But no relationship is. You’ve gotta agree upon rules and stick to them. Like early on, back when we were just dating, we tried to bring another woman into the relationship.”
“You mean like the three of you dating each other?” TJ says.
“Pretty much,” I say.
“What happen, you get jealous of her?” Micah asks Ali.
“No, he did.” She jabs her thumb at me.
“What?” TJ says.
“They got so into each other, I felt left out,” I say.
“In the end, I had to pick one or the other. I went with Jim.”
“After that we settled on a rule—we would play around, but always as a couple, and it has to stay casual—no long term relationships.”
“We have a few regulars. Next weekend we’re heading up to Pennsylvania to meet this couple we hook up with a couple times a year. But we know that’s all it is.”
“But we also know people who have ongoing group relationships,” I say. “Somehow they manage to work everything out.”
“Too strange for me, I’m sorry,” TJ says. He checks the clock on the nightstand. It’s past three. “I gotta get going.”
“Yeah, I should get along, too,” Micah says.
“Okay. So you guys gonna be up for doing this again?” I ask.
TJ considers. “I’d be down for it, but I dunno about the others.”
“I’d do it,” Micah says.
“I’ll talk to the rest and get back to you.”
The two men pull on their clothes and leave.
As soon as they’re gone, I ask Ali, “So how was it?”
“Even better than I hoped. We have to do it again.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“You enjoyed it, too?”
“Watching all those guys on you at once ... yeah.”
I get up and head to the bathroom. Ali follows and starts the shower.
“If only they were bi.” She gooses me. “I’d love to see them take turns pounding that little white ass of yours.”
“Funny, I had the same thought.”
She kisses me. “That’s why I love you.” She steps into the shower.
I turn to the toilet and take a piss, then move over to the sink to wash up. We weren’t planning to stay over, but we’d brought an overnight kit with us in case things went long. As I dig for my toothbrush and the toothpaste, I come across an orange prescription bottle. I rattle it. There are only a couple pills left.
“You need to refill your prescription,” I call out.
“Yeah, I know. I’m gonna call it in tomorrow.”
“Sure you have enough to get through?” It’s getting late in the afternoon, but if we call it in now, we should be able to pick it up before CVS closes.
“I have enough,” she says.
She’s cutting it close. She needs one pill tonight and one in the morning. If she gets to the store on her lunch break, she’ll be fine for her mid-day dose, but if she waits until after work, she’ll be running on fumes. “Let’s call it in tonight.”
“What? You don’t trust me to do it?”
“No. It’s not that. But you never know what might come up. Better to be on the safe side.”
She shuts the water off. She whisks the curtain open. “I am not a child. I don’t need you looking out for me. I can handle my medication myself.”
“I know that, but—”
“Then I’ll call it in tomorrow.” She storms back into the bedroom and slams the door behind her.
I slide the keys across the counter. Since we weren’t using a credit card and didn’t have any luggage, the hotel had made us pay upfront, and we hadn’t ordered any room service or watched any pay-per-view, so checkout should be quick and painless. All they need to do is check the minibar and charge us for what we consumed, and that’s all computerized these days.
Instead, the clerk says, “Hang on one second,” and steps away from the counter. She pokes her head through a door and says, “Mr. Frazer, could you come out here for a second.”
What’s this? Ali looks as bewildered as I do.
A balding, middle aged man steps out from the office. He looks around to make sure the lobby is empty and then comes over to me. He smiles, but it’s forced. “Mister ...?”
“Kratz,” the clerk says.
“Mr. Kratz. Hmm. I thought we’d been through this?”
“The last time this happened.”
“The last time what happened?”
“I made myself quite clear to your associates.”
“What associates?” Did he mean TJ and the guys? Did he say something to them?
“Please, don’t treat me like an idiot. I’ve been in the business for thirty years. I know how your type works.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“A young woman comes into the hotel with a man. A bunch of ghetto young men show up to see them. They spend a few hours together, and then they all leave.”
What, does he think I’m a pimp or something? “If you wanna say something, say it.”
Ali puts a hand on my shoulder. It’s sweaty as hell, and trembling. She’s naturally pale but she normally has a touch of pink in her cheeks. Right now, though, she’s dead white. She gives me a look that says, “I don’t want you to make a big deal out of this.” But it’s too late. The manager is pissing me the fuck off. I am going to make a big deal out of this. More than big. Huge. Ginormous. I’ll go to corporate, then his ass’ll be in a sling. You wait.
“The management does not wish our establishment to be used as a porn set,” the manager says.
“Porn set?” Is that what he thinks we’re doing? Like it’s any of his damn business what we get up to behind closed doors. Like guests here have never used hookers. Come on!
Ping-pong. The lobby doors open. A couple men in polo shirts come in, approach the desk.
“Step over here, please,” the manager tells me.
“No! You have something to say, say it. What’s this about porn?” I say it loud enough that the new arrivals can hear. They give me a funny look, but I’m hoping this will embarrass the manager enough that he drops it.
“I mean the same thing I told your associates last month when I told them to never come back here.”
“We don’t have any associates, certainly not in pornography. Why would you think we do?”
“You want the photos? Here, give me a second.” The manager heads back to the office.
“So three nights?” the clerk says to the new guests, trying to get them booked and upstairs as fast as possible.
“Three definite, and possibly a fourth depending on how our meetings go.”
“Let’s get outta here,” Ali says. “Just leave enough cash on the counter to cover the minibar and leave.”
“No. Not until this asshole apologizes. What the hell is he talking about?”
“I’ll need your card,” the clerk says, trying to drown out our conversation.
One of the men hands her a credit card and she puts it into her machine.
“Jim...” Ali’s breathing is heavy and ragged. She’s on the verge of hyperventilating. “I need—outside. Okay?” Oh God, she’s been skimping on her meds. Jesus! Didn’t she learn her lesson the last time?
She heads for the door. I’m about to follow, but the manager reappears right then. “Here you go, sir.” He puts a printout from a security camera on the counter. One glance is all it takes to stop my feet from moving.
The camera is right behind the clerk, pointed where it can watch the register and see guests checking in and out at the same time. There are three men in the picture. One is in his forties, paunchy and a total greaseball; the others are early twenties, muscled and covered in tats.
And in the middle of the group—Ali.
When I come out the hotel, Ali’s nowhere in sight. There are two possibilities here—she called an Uber, or she’s headed back to the Metro. She’s only been gone two minutes, so a car probably wouldn’t’ve gotten here that fast—though we are in the heart of the hotel district around National Airport, so maybe ....
I pull out my phone and try calling her, but it goes straight to voice mail. Oh come on!
Well, if she is taking an Uber, there’s nothing I can do. I better head to the station. Hopefully she’ll be waiting for me and we can talk.
God damn fucking shit!
I cannot believe her.
I cannot fucking believe her!
I head around the corner. I’m shaking with rage.
Jesus, how the fuck could she do that?
I pull out my phone again. I’ve got five bars, good. I open a web browser and go to XVideos. Thankfully there are enough tall buildings around, I don’t have to deal with sun glare on the screen.
What should I search for? There’d been three guys in the pic, but one of ‘em looked like a behind-the-scenes sort. The young ones would’ve been the performers, so I try “threeway,” though the site suggests I go with “threesome” instead. Whatever. I’m sure the programmers know best. Sort by upload date.
God, there’s a lot here.
I start scrolling. Nothing’s popping out at me. I go to the second page. Then the third. And there it is. Ali’s face on a porn video. Title: “MILFY Professional Takes a Double Dicking.
MILF? Come on, not only isn’t she a mom, she doesn’t turn thirty until the end of the year.
I click the video and mute the sound—there’s nobody else around, and the roar of traffic will cover up the noise, but I’m not taking any chances.
It’s a heavily edited video, little more than a highlight reel to entice you to subscribe to some website—MILFBusters.com—to see the whole thing. The opening is just Ali talking to the cameraman. The room they’re in isn’t the one we’d rented, but it’s close. Clearly the same hotel. I skip ahead to see her making out with the two guys from the photo. Skip. She’s on her knees, sucking off one of the guys while jacking off the other. Then she switches. Skip. She’s on the bed—same bedspread as this afternoon—with one guy plowing her pussy while she sucks on the other. Skip. She’s sandwiched between the men, one in her asshole, one in her pussy.
I open the comments. I know, you never look at the comments, but I can’t help it.
I tap the search bar, but I’ve entered the lower part of an underpass and my reception’s gone to shit.
I need to sit down. I need a minute to calm down, get my bearings.
I need a drink, but I know if I go into any of the hotel bars around here, I’m never getting home.
But there is a bus shelter up ahead—underneath the underpass, don’t ask me why. I don’t know anything right now. I take a seat. I breathe in deep. I cup my head in my hands. I’m sure people in the cars passing by must be looking at me, wondering what the hell my problem is. Don’t give a damn.
Tears are threatening to burst through, but I don’t let them. I hold them—dammit. Dammit. They’re leaking over my eyelids. They’re coursing down the side of my nose.
We’d had an agreement. We’d experiment. We’d have multiple partners. But it’d always be us at the center. We’d never do anything on our own. It’d always be a shared experience.
And she’s betrayed that.
She betrayed me.
I look up.
She’s standing there.
My first urge is to push her into traffic.
I’d like to think that’s my rational mind clamping down on my id. But more likely I don’t have the energy.
“Why’d you do it?” My voice rasps in my throat.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
Someone else, I might not believe such a statement. With Ali, though ... yeah.
“How many videos?”
“Just the o—”
“‘Glory hole cum slut’?”
“How do you—?”
“Google. You know nothing stays secret on the Internet.” That’s why we take so many damn precautions. We do everything to keep our regular life separate from our experiments. And here she’s gone and thrown that away. Her name might not be out there, but her face is. Anyone can stumble across it. That pisses me off almost as much as the breach of trust. “So how many?”
“I think it was eight. Maybe nine?”
Enough to lose count. Oh Christ. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Since February. March. Somewhere around there. I saw an ad in the City Paper—somebody had left it at work and I was flipping through it during downtime. I saw an ad someone had put in for ‘adult models.’ I didn’t respond right away. I was torn over it.”
“Not too torn.”
“Yeah, I was.” Her voice turns vehement for a moment. “I kept the paper in my desk at work and vacillated about it for a long time. I’d resolve to call the number, then lose my nerve when I picked up the phone. Sometimes I’d dial half the number and chicken out. One time I got all the way to the last digit but couldn’t hit send. I programmed the number into my cell so I could make the call when I was ready, then I deleted it. I must’ve done it six or seven times. After about three weeks, I finally plucked up the courage, and what do you think happened? Guy picks up, has no idea what I’m talking about. ‘New phone, who this?’ I was relieved. The temptation was no longer there. I didn’t have to worry about it anymore.
“But then a couple weeks later, I was going to lunch and I saw a delivery guy putting out the new issue of the City Paper. There’s a stand for them right at the entrance to the Johnson Center, but I’d never paid attention to it before. This time, I went over and grabbed a copy. I flipped through the ads and found one seeking ‘adult models’—I don’t even know if it was the same people or different. This time I made the call right away. I’d already resolved myself to do it the last time, and it was only luck that stopped me. So there wasn’t any barrier the second time around. I just made the call as I was heading out.”
“You just … made the call?” I turn that phrase over in my mouth.
“Yeah. I made the call. I talked to the guy for maybe five minutes, then texted him some pics. He called back and we made an appointment. It was around the time Miriam was out on maternity leave and you had to pull all those double shifts. I met up with the guy at a hotel in DC and we filmed a scene.”
“When did you decide to make it a regular thing?”
“The guy asked if he could give my contact info to some friends of his. I said yeah. I figured maybe one or two would contact me, but there’s a whole network of amateur porn producers out there. There are a bunch that travel up and down the East Coast, apparently, stopping in different cities for a couple weeks and moving on.”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”
“Should’ve told me? We had an arrangement. We’d never sleep with anyone without each other—remember that? If you wanted to make porn, I should’ve been there.”
She doesn’t answer and I don’t have anything else I want to say.
I stand up and start walking. I don’t stop until I get to the corner and have to wait for the crossing light. It’s only then that I look back and see she’s following me. I’m not sure I want her to. At this point, I’d be okay with her grabbing a Lyft and going to stay with her parents for a few days. If she won’t, maybe I should.
The light turns green. I walk across to the station. I descend the escalator and pass through the fare gate. I descend to the platform and grab a seat on a bench. Ali stands next to me, doesn’t try to sit down.
The arrivals sign says there’s a Yellow Line train due in eight minutes, but the Blue Line that we need won’t be here for ten. Great.
The minutes tick by in interminable silence. Then, when the Yellow Line train is within four minutes of arrival, Ali taps me on the shoulder.
“Try not to be obvious about it, but look at the other platform.”
I lift my head and scan the other side of the tracks. There’s hardly anyone there, so he jumps out at me straight away. Sitting on the bench almost exactly opposite us is Micah. He has his nose buried in his phone—judging by the way he keeps swiping the screen, he must be reading a book.
What’s he doing here? He’d left the hotel nearly half an hour before us. That should’ve been plenty of time to clear out of the area.
It’s not that he can learn anything by seeing us on the Metro platform, but it’s the principle of the matter. We took Metro to minimize what any of our partners could find out about us. Though given that TJ and Jeremy know me from work, and Ali’s face is all over Internet porn sites, it doesn’t make a difference anymore.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” I say.
“I guess no—” She cuts off abruptly.
The station is trembling. I’d experienced the earthquake that struck DC a few years back, so I know what it is right away, but I don’t remember it being anywhere near this intense. This isn’t a little tremor. This is a quake that would have people in California worried.
Dust is falling from the roof. A chunk of concrete breaks loose, hits the platform to our left. It shatters on impact, and pieces shoot across the floor like hockey pucks.
Ali closes her eyes. “Make it stop.”
The lights flicker once, then a second time and they go out completely.
“Jim,” Ali says.
I grab her hand and squeeze.
The lights return, but they’re only at a fraction of their power. The station must’ve switched to backups.
There’s a shower of dirt pouring out of the hole created by the falling concrete. Across the station, I spot a crack that’s creeping up the wall.
We need to get out of here. I know you’re not supposed to move in an earthquake, but I think this is a special case. There aren’t any doorways we can shelter under. If the station collapses, we’re dead. You can’t survive that much rock and dirt dropping on you.
I go to stand up, but my butt’s barely off the bench when the shaking stops. A stillness fills the station as everyone waits to make sure it’s really over
A second passes.
And then in a single moment, everyone on the platform turns and starts for the escalators. Nobody runs, but they sure as hell don’t dawdle, either. The first people have reached the steps when a new tremor runs through the station. But this isn’t an aftershock. It’s nothing like the shaking from the quake. It’s both sharper and more intense, over in a single second but dealing as much damage as the quake had.
And it’s accompanied by a flash of flaming light from the station’s upper level, and a roaring explosion.
Another chunk of concrete falls from the ceiling, this one nailing a woman right in the head in front of us. She goes down with a spray of blood. A teenage girl next to us screams. A man stoops and tries to get the woman up, but she’s either unconscious or … yeah.
Suddenly the exodus turns into a stampede. Ali and I are caught up in it as much as anyone. We thunder up the escalators and onto the upper level. The fare gates prove a chokepoint—without power, they’ve defaulted to open, but we still have to file through. People are pushing and jostling for their chance to get in ahead of anyone else.
I usher Ali in front of me and we plow for the center gate. Once we’re through, the crowd thins out—at least for a bit. We head down the hall for the next set of escalators, the ones leading for the surface, but when we get there, we find the crowd stopped dead.
The station master is standing on the stairs, shouting for people to get back.
“Let us through!” a man with his wife and kids demands.
“You can’t go up there!” the station master says. There’s something funny about how he looks. It takes me a second to realize what it is—he’s backlit by flames from the top of the escalators.
I shoulder my way forward to get a better look.
Oh my God.
Lodged in the escalator shaft, there’s a burning jet engine.
To Be Continued ...
-by Sean O'Hara