An Old Flamebymisterstan©
I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting in the club. It was a bit of a dive, but had been written up in the paper as a fun place to check out live music. And anyway, my wife Mandi had wanted to come and after some pestering I agreed, even though I'm not big into the bar scene.
I'm 35, seven years older than Mandi, although it often seemed like even more. I started losing my hair in my twenties, and I'm now almost completely bald. I'm a runner, which keeps me slim, but when I'm training for a longer race I know it makes me look a little gaunt. And I'm basically a homebody, happiest when curled up on the sofa with Mandi watching television. Though I'm happiest of all when we're making love. She adventurous and enthusiastic and comfortable with her body, but far the best lover I've ever had.
It helps that Mandi is a real stunner. A tight bodied little thing with surprisingly full breasts, long, straight blond hair and big blue eyes. Slender, with an elfin face, she could easily pass for a college student still. She's a social butterfly, enjoying parties and nights out with friends.
We've been together five years, married three, and get along great. Our personalities complement each other. She make my life more fun, and I give her stability, which is something she values given her crazy childhood. She was an army brat, moving every year, and generally dealing with all the stress associated with that: A father often deployed abroad and in danger, no long-term friends or home.
We found a table and ordered drinks. Though it was dark and dingy, there was a lot of electricity in the air. The crowd was diverse, a lot of college students, some biker types, and a bunch of older guys in a back corner, drinking and scowling at everyone else.
The band was half-way through its set, playing a mix of covers and original stuff. They were solid. Technically proficient at least, but really nothing special. But still, it was fun. Mandi was obviously having a good time, bobbing to the music and smiling broadly, occasionally dragging me out to dance to a particularly hopping tune.
By the time the band took a break, we'd had another couple of rounds, and were talking about whether to stay for another set. Personally, I'd have been just as happy to head home before we got too drunk to fool around, but Mandi wanted to stay a while, and I agreed. All it took was one of her radiant smiles to win me over, as usual.
We were still chatting when suddenly a guy pulled up a chair and sat at our table. At first, I thought he was just squeezing in to one of the few tables with any room, but then I realized he was looking straight at Mandi, who was staring back at him, wide-eyed and suddenly very pale.
"Mandi, Mandi, Mandi," said loudly, "how I've missed you!"
He was one of the biker types. Older than us, probably in his late-forties and really weatherbeaten. He was a large man, tall, broad chested, with big, beefy, heavily tattooed arms, a thick dark beard, and long, greying hair.
Mandi looked shell-shocked, maybe even scared.
"Do you know each other?" I asked.
He winked at me. "You could say that," he said with a leer that made his meaning perfectly obvious.
"You... dated?" I stammered, the words sounding absurd as I got them out.
He laughed. "I'm not sure I'd call it that. More like Mandi would drop by, we'd party a little," he lifted his pinky to his nose as he said it, "have a little fun, and then I'd give her a little to take home."
I blanched. Did he just suggest they'd snorted coke together? That he'd been her supplier?
He turned back to her. "So, baby, you still party? Cause I'm still holding."
She shook her head quickly.
He looked at me. "I'm Butch, by the way." He said, shaking my hand in his iron grip. "So, is she still a demon in the sack?" He said jabbing me in the ribs.
I stared at him speechless.
"Mmmm, mmmm, yeah," he said, turning back to Mandi as he reminisced. "So hard to find a girl with the face of an angel who's willing to do anything."
"What do you mean? What are you saying?" I stammered.
But before he could reply, Mandi stood up violently, her chair clattering to the floor behind her.
"That's enough!" she hissed, grabbing my hand and hauling me up and toward the door.
I was acutely aware of people staring at us, and when I looked back Butch was smirking, clearly amused.
We got into the car and started home. She was driving. I was staring out the window. Neither of us spoke, but the more I thought about it, the angrier I got.
"You should have told me, I have right to know," I finally snapped.
"To know what?" She replied coldly.
"You.... Him...." I stammered.
"Oh please, you knew I wasn't a virgin on our wedding night. Did you want a full accounting?"
"Jeez, Mandi, that's not what I mean and you know it."
"Then what do you mean?"
"Fuck Mandi, what were you, like a... like a... coke whore?"
The car swerved violently as she slapped out at me. "Don't call me that!" she hissed.
"What the fuck should I call it? You fucked him for coke, didn't you?"
She slammed the steering wheel with her palms. "Fuck. No. It wasn't like that."
"So, what was it like?"
She took a deep breath and steadied herself. "Look, I was young. He was.... He was exciting. In school, my friends and I would get coke sometimes to party, and he was our dealer. I was always willing to pay, but yeah, after a while I never had to. But it's not like I slept with him for coke. I slept with him because I wanted to. The free coke was just... was just an added benefit."
I snorted. "You're telling me you were attracted to a tattooed freak, old enough to be your father?"
"Well, maybe I just have daddy issues," she snapped. "You didn't seem to mind it when it was you trying to get my 23 year old ass into bed."
I shook my head violently at the thought of being compared that... that thing. My head was reeling. The image of him with her was sickening. And I didn't even know how to process the entirety of the revelation. I mean, I'd smoked a little pot back in college, even tried 'shrooms, but this was something altogether different. There was also one other thing that I couldn't get out of my head.
"What did he mean when he said you were 'willing to do anything'?"
She shot me a quick angry glare, car swerving again dangerously. "What? How dare you?!"
"I have a right to know," I replied flatly.
"No. You. Don't." She hissed, teeth clenched, eyes determinedly focused on the road. "That was before we even met. You have a right to nothing!"
I started to argue, but before I could finish a sentence, we were home. Mandi slammed the car into park, and stormed out, leaving the door open and engine running, and hurried inside the house. I turned off the car and followed after her, getting inside just in time to hear our bedroom door slam shut.
I started up the stairs and then changed my mind. We both needed to cool off, and I needed to think. I settled down on the sofa, my mind racing before I drifted off into a fitful sleep.
I woke up Sunday morning, my head and back aching. I went up to the bedroom and entered just as Mandi was coming out of the shower, wrapped in her bathrobe.
She looked at me coldly, still angry.
I walked over to her and tried to give her a hug, but she shook me off.
"Look, I'm sorry about what I said.... What I called you last night."
She looked up at me, tears in her eyes. "Ok," she replied softly.
"But we still need to talk about this," I continued.
She shook her head. "Why.... Look I said all I plan to say last night. This has nothing to do with you."
"Jeez, Mandi, of course it does. I have a right..." Her eyes flashed dangerously. "I mean, it's only fair that I have a little warning about what's out there, who's out there, ya know? I can handle it, whatever you tell me."
She regarded me skeptically. "I don't think.... I.... Look, I have a right to privacy, to my own past, my own mistakes." She brushed past me and wordlessly began to dress.
I sighed and took a hot shower.
We didn't talk much the rest of the day. Twice more I tried to broach the topic, and both times she rebuffed me tersely. She obviously wasn't going to say any more about her past, but from the way my stomach churned whenever I thought about what Butch had said, I knew we'd have to confront this sooner or later.
I was in my car Monday mid-morning returning to my office from an early meeting, when on the spur of the moment, I decided to call the bar we'd been at Saturday night.
"Hey," I started when a woman picked up, "I know this may seem weird, but I'm looking for a guy, biker type, named Butch."
"Just a sec," she replied before transferring my call.
An answering machine picked up with Butch's voice. Seems like he was the manager of the place or something. At the end, the message concluded with a cell number in case of emergencies. I hung up without leaving a message and dialed the cell.
"Yeah?" Came a groggy answer.
I stared at the phone for a moment, unsure what I was doing. But then I proceeded.
"Hey, you don't know me, but I guess we met Saturday night, I'm...."
He laughed. "Mandi's hubby. Man she looked pissed." He laughed again. "Whatcha want from me?"
"I, um, I want to know more about what you did with her."
He laughed yet again. "Oh, you're one of those."
"Those what?" I thought to myself. "No, I just wanna..."
"Tell you what, drop by my place this morning and I'll fill you in."
"No, I can't. I'm working."
"You can't be working that hard if you're calling me looking for stories about your wife's wild past." He rattled off his address and hung up.
The phrase "wife's wild past" sent my stomach churning. I'm not sure I even made a conscious decision about what to do next, but the next thing I knew I was pulling up in front of a building of converted lofts a few blocks from the bar. I took a deep breath and approached the door. He buzzed me in when he saw me arriving.
His place was furnished in biker chic, a big open space with a vintage Harley on display, a pool table, and a large sitting area surrounding a 100 inch TV. He offered me a beer. I declined and he cracked one open for himself.
Without preliminaries, he said, "She's probably the best lay I ever had, and I've had thousands. You're a lucky man."
"Thanks," I said absurdly, suddenly thinking it was probably a bad idea to come here.
He gave me a smirk, "So you wanna hear all about what a dirty, little, cocksucking whore your wife is."
I recoiled. "Was," I said defensively. "Was. This is all in the past."
He laughed. "Then what do you care?" He paused. "But you're wrong about that. It's all still inside her, waiting to come out."
I shook my head and chuckled. "I don't think so.... Look, this was a bad idea, I should just leave."
"I'll prove it to you. Give me her number," he said, his voice suddenly taking a hard edge.
Without thinking I rattled off her cell, immediately regretting it as he put his phone on speaker and dialed her number.
"What do you want?" she answered, apparently seeing his name on the caller ID.
He chuckled. "Now, is that any way to speak to an old friend?"
"I'm busy Butch, and you've already fucked shit up for me enough with your performance at the club."
"If you didn't want to see me, why'd come to my place?"
"Believe me, I didn't know you'd be there. You're about the last person I wanted to run into."
"Ah, baby, now you're hurting my feelings."
"What the fuck do you want? And how'd you get my number?"
He ignored her second question. "It's not what I want, it's what your hubby wants. He wants to know all about you and me, what should I tell him?"
"Don?" she said, startled. "He.... He called you?"
"Yeah, he left a message. Said he wanted to know more about our 'relationship,' he called it."
"Look, Butch, I'm sorry I was snippy with you, but please, Don means everything to me. Please don't fuck this up for me."
"Well, I'm not gonna lie to the guy. But I don't wanna ruin your marriage either. How about you drop by and we'll talk it over."
"I don't think so," she replied. "Look, just don't call him back, okay?" Her tone was increasing plaintive.
"Sorry doll, he's going to come by the bar this afternoon to talk. Come over, we'll figure it out."
"I can't. I'm at work." She sounded close to tears.
"You get a lunch break, right? I'm right off the highway." He gave her his address. "Hurry though, I have to head over to the bar early today, and he might just be there waiting for me."
She sighed. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
Butch hid me in the bedroom area, which was sectioned off with a flexible partition. As I looked around, the pit in my stomach grew. He was obviously into some kinky shit judging by the bottle of lube on his nightstand and pair of restraints casually dangling from his headboard. I shuddered as a fleeting image of a young and naked Mandi shackled to his bed flashed through my mind.
The door buzzing brought me back to the present. I peered through the gap in the screen to see Butch letting Mandi in.
"Mmmm mmmm, you look good enough to eat," he oozed.
And she did. She was wearing a little sundress that did little to conceal her curves, and was cut low enough to give a hint of cleavage. Her long blond hair was loosely piled on her head, her make up subdued for work, though her lips were a playful shade of bright pink.
"Can it, Butch." She had regained her composure in the ride over. "I want you to leave me and my husband alone."
"He's the one who called me," Butch said with a smirk.
"Yeah, and you were the one who came over and embarrassed us this weekend."
"I just wanted to say hi to my best girl. You rocked my world."
She paused, sighed. "Just leave us alone."
"Your hubby has questions, why don't you just answer them?"
"I can't. I just can't." Her eyes were tearing up again. "He wouldn't understand. He's sheltered, I guess. It would freak him out."
"That's a tough situation," Butch offered insincerely.
"Look, Don is the one. He's everything to me. I can't lose him. Please, please Butch, just help me out here."
Butch stepped up close to her, and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.
"I've missed you baby."
She pushed away his hand. "Butch, don't."
He took her hand in his. "Tell you what, baby, you give me a taste, just like old times, and I'll tell old Donnie boy that you were just an innocent, inexperienced kid, that the most crazy thing we ever did was make out in public."
She pulled away. "I can't do that."
He clucked softly. "Oh, that's too bad. Well, then I guess I better plan out what I tell him. So many great stories."
"Butch, no, I'm begging you."
He ignored her, continuing his monologue.
"I'm guessing he wouldn't be too shocked to hear that you swallowed and took it up the ass. Even good girls do that nowadays. Unless," he paused and glanced over in my direction, "you don't do that for him."
She looked down. "I would if he asked," she muttered miserably. "He's not interested in that kind of shit. That's what I'm telling you."
Butch shook his head sadly. "Oh baby, I can't believe you're holding out on your man like that. I trained you better than that."
She stifled a sob.
"Maybe he'd like to hear about our first time. So fucking romantic. You blowing me under a crowded table and then in that filthy bathroom, you bent over that sink while I banged you from behind. Remember how that group of guys cheered when we finally came out?"
She looked up at him, eyes red and full of rage.
He continued. "Naw. I think I'll start him off with my favorite memory. You remember when you came over with that slutty little friend of yours? What was her name, Jenny, Janice?"
"Jenna," she muttered softly.
Jenna had been one of Mandi's college friends and a bridesmaid at our wedding, a tight-bodied little brunette, with big, brown, doe eyes.
"Yeah, Jenna, Jenna. Fuck, I can still picture you two, showing up half-bombed, falling out of your party dresses, begging for a little blow. Lezzing it up real good, I loved the way you'd finger her snatch and make her taste herself. But the best part, and I still whack it to this, was when I got you two on your hands and knees, side-by-side and just went back and forth, banging the crap out of both of you while you two sucked tongue. Remember that baby, remember that?"
Mandi was sobbing softly now, tears running down her cheeks.
"Remember how we finished? Fuck that was hot. I was banging Jenna's tight little ass, and you were pulling her hair and calling her a whore and telling me to fuck her harder. I popped all over her ass and back, and like a perfect little slut you licked it all up."
Butch glanced over in my direction and flashed me a cocky grin. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It had to be made up. It sounded like something out of a demented porno, and yet Mandi wasn't objecting, wasn't calling him a liar. She was just standing there, weeping.
But Butch wasn't done. "Or maybe, I could tell him the Bike Week story. No, wait, I've got it. Remember the time at the Metallica concert? Whew, that even blew my mind."
"Okay, enough!" She snapped. She still had tear streaks down her cheeks, but she was now glaring at him angrily. "What the fuck do you want?"
"You know what I want."
"So is that it, Butch? Falling on hard times? Need to resort blackmail to get sex?"
He laughed. "Sure, if that's what you want to believe. But whatever, you're gonna give me what I want. Otherwise, I'm gonna take a long, long trip down memory lane with dear old Donnie."
She shook her head. "Pitiful."
He sidled over to his sofa and sat in the corner. "Strip baby. Show old Butchie how you're holding up."
I should have stopped it then. I'd heard everything I needed to hear. Whatever had happened was in the past. She'd made clear her love for me, her commitment. The only reason we were even at this point was that she was trying to buy Butch's silence in order to keep me. But I was also angry. Angry that she'd been a slut. Angry that she thought I was too sheltered, too skittish to accept her sexuality. Confused, sad, angry, embarrassed, I was paralyzed, unable to act, unable to stop it, unable to look away.
She stood there for a long while, looking down, seemingly also struggling to process the situation.
Then finally she looked up at Butch. "Fine, you pig. I'll give you what you want, but after I never want to see or hear from you ever again."
He smirked. "Deal."
She nodded and took a deep breath, and without any further hesitation reached down and lifted her dress up over her head. As usual, she was wearing sexy underwear, lacy boy-shorts and marching bra that barely contained her large breasts.
He let out a soft wolf whistle. "Now the rest."
Her eyes flashed with anger, but she obeyed him. Without a word, she unsnapped her bra and dropped it to the floor, and then slid her shorts over her hips and stepped out of them.
Standing there naked in Butch's well lit loft, I was struck again by how beautiful she was, and how much I often take her for granted. But she's just got a stunning body, with a lovely hourglass figure and an impressively flat stomach. She has perfect c-cup breasts, and sensitive raspberry nipples that are almost always erect. She's a natural blond, and I prefer when she has a bit of muff, but today, as often, she was completely shaved because she likes how "clean" it feels.
"Damn girl," hooted Butch, "you're even finer than I remembered. You were a little scrawny back when I was fucking you, but damn you've filled out nicely."
Despite herself, Mandi blushed at the compliment.
"Now make your way over here."