Chicken Soup for the Cheater's Soul

Chicken Soup for the Cheater's Soul

Copyright 2023 by B. Watson

As Julie Garcia barreled down the slope to her third orgasm, the thought crept in: "Is this even what I want?"

Followed closely by "Wait, what the fuck?!?"

And that was all the thinking she managed for a while.

Ramon—perhaps noticing that she was distracted—focused his attention on her pussy. Between the feel of his tongue sliding along her sensitive flesh, his fingers deliciously stretching her, and his soft stroking of her G-spot, Julie's thoughts fled, her distractions disappeared, and her back arched as a wave of ecstasy tore through her. For a moment, it felt as if it would break her in two, but then a desperate cry flew forth from her:

"Gaaah! Oh! Oh my God..."

And then her vision blurred as her release exploded. "Oh GOD! Pleeease! Oh my Godddd!"

For a moment, all she could do was pant as her body and mind slowly returned to her. When she finally opened her eyes and rolled her head to the side, Ramon was there, staring back through his impossibly deep brown eyes. They sparkled with mischief, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. "Tell me," he said.

She worked her lips, trying to find the words. "N-nobody..."

"Tell me!" he teased, as his hands caught her wrists. Held them over her head, pinned to the mattress.

"N-nobody... better," she panted. Her breasts ached, hungry for his touch.

He slid his hand down. Cupped her sex. "And who does it belong to?"

"Yours... all yours... it's your pussy," she breathed.

She felt his fingers stroking her. Evil fingers. "And what does my pussy want?"

Her breath caught. "She wants your cock."

His voice hardened as his hand held her tighter. Found her cleft. "I don't believe you."

Julie arched up, stared him in the eye. "Please... Please fuck your pussy."

"Make me believe it," he growled.

She bit her lip. "Please... need you sooo bad. Fuck me. Please, please... YESSSSS!" she gasped as he entered her. Stretched her wide.

"Yesss... please... fill your pussy..."

"You want more?" he whispered.

"God, yes! Give it all to me!" She arched against him. "Oh-own me. Oh God, yes!" She gasped as he filled her. He still held her hands over her head, denying her access to his flesh as she thrashed, pushing herself up to him. Tried to pull him in deeper. Tried to control his onslaught against her body, the wave she felt building within her.

But there was nothing she could do. She was a leaf on a river, a feather on a breeze. Carried away by Ramon as he teased and tortured joy from her flesh. Took her to the edge, then denied her, then took her back again until he finally let her fall over, let her mind explode in a blaze of white light.

An hour later, the pair finally collapsed against the sweat-soaked sheets of their bed. Julie's mind was scrambled, her body exhausted, her spirit devastated.

"I love you," Ramon said. "You're... everything."

"Yeah... you too," she whispered as sleep crept up on her.

In other words, it was just like every Wednesday night.

*

The next morning, Julie was distracted, her mind repeatedly circling back to the stray thought that had flicked through her head the night before.

Is this really what I want?

She tried to dismiss it; after all, it wasn't unusual for stray thoughts to wander through her mind when she was in bed with Ramon, her walls torn down by the inexorable force of his love and closeness. Some were the usual daily musings, like "Do I need to get gas?" or "Did I remember to pay the water bill?," but her first couple of orgasms generally drove the ordinary thoughts from her brain. By her third orgasm, the thoughts going through her head were more of the cosmic consciousness variety—things like "Do we exist outside thought?" or "Is Ramon deciding what to do next, or am I telling him with my mind?"

Or, last night, "Is this really what I want?"

It was a big question, and she resented the way it buzzed around inside her head. Being an assistant manager in the gift shop of the Alfred E. Michon Museum of Modern Art wasn't exactly rocket science, and she'd often lamented that she was barely making use of her BA in Art Management, but on this particular day, she was grateful that her job wasn't more demanding. Still, her distraction drew the attention of her coworkers, and by the time lunch came, her friend Carolyn Murray was desperate to know what was going on.

"Okay, spill," she said to Julie after they settled at their usual table.

"What are you talking about?"

"There's something on your mind," Carolyn poked through her salad in search of a mushroom. "What's going on?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Julie muttered, her eyes sliding away.

"Come on, Julie, do you think I was born yesterday?" Carolyn scoffed. "You've been out of it all morning. Everybody's noticed. You've been ringing up the wrong items, staring into space. Did you wonder why Darren put you on inventory?"

"Shit."

"Yeah, you're not fooling anybody," Carolyn said. "So, come on, honey, what is it?"

"It's Ramon."

Carolyn laughed. "Of course it is. What's he doing wrong?"

"Nothing, really." Julie sighed. She rolled her eyes. "It's just, do you ever look back and wonder if you made the right decisions?"

"Every day," Carolyn put her hand over Julie's. "You having second thoughts about marrying him?" She smiled reassuringly. "Honey, we all look back sometimes and wonder about what if. What if we married that hot guy we dated in college. What if we zigged when we could have zagged? Hell, that's why I'm still single. Too many options, and I couldn't settle on one of them. Never found someone who hit all the points on the checklist."

"My problem's a little different." Julie shrugged. "Then again, I AM thinking about the guys in college."

"Ramon's not as good as your college boys?"

Julie laughed. "Oh, no, Ramon's much better than anyone I dated in college. Better than anyone I've ever had." She shook her head. "My god, those college boys were terrible. It was like I was giving them lessons. Ramon rocks my world."

"That sounds great."

"Is it?" The smile left Julie's face. "That's the thing about having your world rocked. Do you always want it?"

"What are you talking about?"

Julie glanced around the cafeteria. They'd taken a late lunch, and there was only one other person in the room, a shlubby-looking guy sitting at a one-top table, reading a book. She looked back at Carolyn. "So here's the thing: Ramon is amazing. I mean, seriously, I think the man might be some kind of sexual savant."

Carolyn cocked an eyebrow. "Still not seeing the problem."

"Every night I'm with Ramon, It feels like he flips my world upside down. Like he turns me inside out. I fall asleep feeling completely fulfilled, completely used up."

"Still not seeing how this is a bad thing."

"Well think about it. Imagine getting that every night."

"I'm beginning to hate you."

Julie closed her eyes as she tried to find the right words. "Imagine getting world-changing, mind-blowing orgasms one on top of another. Imagine getting one wave of pleasure after another, each one knocking you down as soon as you start to get your feet under you. Imagine orgasms so intense your thoughts fly apart. You forget your name, who you are."

Carolyn shifted in her seat. "Okay, now I know I hate you."

"I know, I know, it sounds great." Julie shrugged. "Maybe too good to be true. But really think about it, Caro. Think about losing track of yourself, forgetting who you are, feeling like your edges are blurring as you combine completely with someone else."

"I-I've never had that. It sounds amazing."

"It IS amazing. But it's also scary. It's like I'm disappearing. Dissolving. Like I'm not Julie anymore. Not myself."

Carolyn shook her head. "Okay, let's say I get it. I don't, but let's say I do." They both chuckled. "That still doesn't explain why you're thinking about your college boyfriends."

"Well, that's the thing. I mean, they were terrible." Julie laughed. "I was lucky to get one measly orgasm out of them before they rolled over and fell asleep." She froze, a crooked smile on her face. She realized what her brain had been dancing around. "Sometimes, I kind of miss it," she whispered.

"I don't understand you."

Julie looked again at the guy across the room. Thinning blond hair, a little chubby. Khaki pants, white shirt, brown cardigan. His book was Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Yeesh. "It doesn't sound great, but it was enough, you know? Sex with them was kind of fun and kind of hot, but not too hot. Not too exciting. We'd have sex, I'd go to sleep, and the next day I'd be back to normal. Sometimes, it didn't even mess up my hair." She chuckled. "With Ramon, though, it's SO much, every time. It leaves me wrecked and wrung out. The next day, it's like he's still inside me somehow. It usually takes most of a day to find my feet. Then, just as I'm getting it together, we tear up the bedroom again, I lose myself again, and the whole process starts over."

Carolyn's eyes were wide. "That sounds... incredible."

"But that's the thing!" Julie cocked her head. "What if I don't want my world rocked, Caro? What if I just want those normal, easy little nights of college sex? No messy hair, no messy emotions."

"God, I really hate you." Carolyn tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow. "But why not just tell Ramon what you want?"

"What, tell my husband I want boring sex?"

Carolyn snorted. "Well, maybe not quite like that... maybe just tell him that you feel like the wild monkey sex is getting in the way of your emotional relationship, and that you want something a little more intimate. A little more low key."

"You think he'd go for that?"

"I don't know. A man going for sex? It's crazy, Julie, but it just might work." Their laughter was easier. "Just tell him that you want to connect more. He'll probably be over the moon. Especially when you let him know that you want to try it out immediately."

Julie gave the guy across the room another look. So normal. "I'll give it a shot."

"I still hate you. Seriously."

*

Ramon came home to the spicy smell of chicken and wine, hot chorizo and sharp chilies. Basque chicken—the dish Julie made every time she wanted something. He smirked as he shucked off his jacket and shoes. "Julie, I'm home!"

"In the kitchen!"

Julie was feeling skittish, so she covered it by being almost Disney-level cheery. She'd prepared carefully for her conversation—after all, critiquing a man about the way he makes love was dangerous. Probably more so with a man like Ramon, who put so much of himself—of his soul—into it.

She wasn't sure how to proceed. She'd never really had anything to complain about before.

Dinner provided cover for most of the night, and the familiar routine of compliments and conversation, of passing dishes and giving meaningful glances while sipping wine carried her through the meal. But when dinner was over, Ramon sat back, wiped his mouth, and gave Julie that smouldering look that seemed to come like second nature to him. Damn Latin lover! Even when he isn't trying, he heats up the room.

"Okay, what is it?" he finally said, lounging back in his chair.

"What do you mean?"

Ramon snorted. "Basque chicken. Flirty dress, fresh makeup. You doing your best impression of Jackie Kennedy. All the signs are there. Do I need to start inspecting the car for dents, or are you going to tell me what's on your mind?"

Julie gave him a sexy little pout, but when she saw that he wasn't going to give in, she let out a sigh. "Well, actually, it's about...our sex life."

"Yes...?" he said.

"Well... that is... It's so... um... intense." Julie looked up, caught his expression. "Not that that's a bad thing!" she exclaimed. "Sex with you is the best I've ever had! The thing is... well... the intensity. Sometimes I feel like we get lost in it."

Ramon's expression clouded. "So you want to stop having sex?"

"No... NO!" Julie let out a light little giggle. "Absolutely not! I want to keep having sex. I LOVE our sex!"

Ramon sighed. "So what do you want, Julie?"

"I want to try it slow tonight. Tender. Not our usual intense, blowing-me-out-of-the-water sex. I want to try... connecting... differently."

Ramon's shoulders slumped in relief. "That's it? Jesus, you had me scared! To be honest... that sounds great!" He grinned. "Are you down for giving it a try tonight?"

"Really? You don't mind? I was worried..."

"Julie," Ramon interrupted. "Think about it: you're offering me sex with the woman I love. Like I'm going to say no?"

*

Sex that night was everything Julie had asked for: slow, romantic, intimate. None of the searing pillow talk or genital fireworks that had characterized most of her relationship with Ramon. He spent his time. Tasting her. Savoring her.

When he finally entered her, Julie felt their connection pull at her. And as he slowly slid back and forth inside her, cradling her in his strong arms and staring into her soul with his deep, dark brown eyes, she felt every morsel of herself pulled into her man. Drawn into the love that they shared. When they finally came for the last time—simultaneously!—she felt herself, once again, exploding apart. And, just as every other night, she felt herself no longer a singular being. Part of something larger. Larger, but less personal. She clenched her eyes closed.

*

"It was terrible."

Julie was at lunch with Carolyn again. And, again, she was poking and probing at the unease she felt with Ramon.

"He couldn't go slow?"

"No. Worse. He was perfect. He took his time." Julie chuckled humorlessly. "It was agonizing. Feeling him stretch me. Savor me—"

"Stop. Seriously." Carolyn leveled her eyes at her. "If you finish that sentence, I don't know if we can be friends."

"It was perfect, Caro. There was nothing I could complain about, nothing he could have done better. And it was... different. Most nights, I end up physically wrecked—"

"I know. I've seen that day after look on your face," Carolyn said. "Lucky bitch."

"Last night, I was just... emotionally ruined. It was like he looked so deep inside me. Like I was seeing the world through his eyes, and he was seeing it through mine." Julie scanned the room. The bland guy was at a different table. Today, he was reading Love Story and wearing another cardigan. Same glasses, same thinning brown hair. She shook her head. "I didn't know where Ramon stopped and I began. I feel like I'm losing track of myself."

"You know you're describing pretty much every romance novel I've ever read, right?"

"I know! And the thing is, if anyone was telling me about this, I'd assume that she was the luckiest girl in the history of the world! I mean, who wouldn't want to have a man that much into her? Julie growled with frustration. "Me, that's who! I mean, seriously, who complains that the sex is too good?"

Carolyn rolled her eyes. "I'm asking myself the same question."

"I just feel like there's nothing of me. No I that he doesn't touch. I need sex that doesn't take me out of myself." She threw up her hands and stared at the man again. He just seemed so... normal. So bland. For God's sake, Love Story? "Ramon's like modern art. He's a Lichtenstein or a Picasso. He's Guernica. Bold. Intense. Consuming." She laughed. "And I'm whining because I want something from the Hudson Valley school. Or, hell, maybe a Bob Ross! Something that looks good over the couch and goes well with beige!"

"You've got a masterpiece and you want one of those canvases they sell at the starving artist shows at the airport Hilton. You're killing me, Julie!"

"Right? And it's not like I can complain about anything else, either. Ramon owns two gyms, buys me a new car every couple of years, pays for our house. Hell, I couldn't afford to have this job if I needed to support myself." She sighed. "In every way it's possible for a man to show his love, Ramon does it. He's perfect."

Carolyn rolled her eyes. "You poor bitch. Whatever are you going to do?"

"Jesus, I have no idea."

*

It was raining when Julie got off work and her car wouldn't start. She was getting ready to call an Uber when there was a knock on her window. Looking through the water-specked glass, she saw the man from the cafeteria holding up a black umbrella. She cracked open the door.

"Um, yes?"

"Hi!" He gave her a tentative smile. "Car trouble?"

"Yeah, won't start." She looked him over: rain-speckled glasses and a khaki trenchcoat. "Don't I know you? From the cafeteria?"

"I'm Harold. Harold Layton." He adjusted the umbrella, gave her his hand to shake. It was clammy, but she figured that was probably the rain. At least, she hoped so. "I'm in admin, in the accounting department."

"Julie Garcia. I'm in the gift shop."

"I know. I've... uh... seen you there." He blushed. "So, uh, do you need any help?"

"I was about to call an Uber..."

"My car's over there," he said. "I'd be happy to give you a ride."

Julie had never seen him this close. Average features, average height. A little overweight, but he wore it well. Bland. Like an unoffensive landscape. Perfect for hanging over the couch. "Sure, uh... Harold. Thank you. Just give me a sec." She sent a quick text to Carolyn and grabbed her bag. Harold's Camry was parked two spaces over, and they shared his umbrella.

The car told Julie a few things about Harold. He was tidy, but not obsessively so—there was a little clutter in his ashtray, and his carpet could use a vacuum. Still, a few steps above what she expected from a bachelor. As for music, he seemed to have a thing for generic, relaxed, lounge and easy listening. The most challenging thing he played seemed to be Jason Mraz.

They talked about the weather, the town, work. Bland conversation, but oddly comforting. It didn't require too much from her.

He was also gentle and tentative when he "accidentally" slid his hand over hers. A moment later, she not-so-accidentally gave his a squeeze.

"So this is where you live," Harold said as he drove up Julie's driveway.

"It's a nice neighborhood," she said. Bland small talk. Bland and comforting.

"I live a few blocks over, on Crescent."

"We're neighbors!" she said.

"Just about!" he answered. "Anyway, I'll... um... see you at work."

"Yeah, see you. Thanks for the ride." There was that slightly awkward moment, when the ways they could say goodbye loomed like a social faux pas in the making. Then she decided to give him a handshake and he gave her a warm, dry squeeze in return. Not clammy anymore, she thought. Then she was out of the car, in the house, and back in Ramon's loving arms.

*

A week later, Harold walked across the cafeteria from his table to hers, just like in some high school movie. He offered to carpool with Julie, listing out his reasons as only an accountant could: he only lived a couple of blocks away, so it would be convenient for both of them; plus, he noted, there was the matter of gas and parking. And, not incidentally, it would be nice to have somebody to talk to on the drive to and from work.

She quickly agreed, even though his reasons weren't all that convincing: after all, gas only cost a couple of bucks a week, besides which, she often stopped by the grocery store on the way home from work, so commuting with Harold would probably be less convenient, less time-saving, and more expensive.

But then there was the whole "company on the drive" thing...