Estuary Ch. 02

Estuary: (n) - that part of the mouth or lower course of a river in which the river's current meets the sea's tide.

The radio was off, but nobody spoke. The silence was broken only by inconsistent snoring, the drone of the tires, and her own labored breathing. Carlton, her husband and the source of the snoring, was slumped in the front seat, intoxicated beyond all redemption. He was going to be sorry in the morning, but Bethany was struggling not to be now. Ten years of marriage, of stability and fidelity, that was the currency of the evening. The price of a dance. If only Carlton had danced with her, just that once. Was she thankful that he hadn't? Bethany forced herself to not hear her husband, to not sense his proximity. She couldn't bear to think of seeing that look in his eyes, the look she hadn't provoked since slow dancing with Kurt Lancing at their homecoming dance so many years ago. She had to forget him, to erase his presence. This she managed with incriminating ease but, in all fairness, there were distractions.

The backseat of the Saturn Ion was cramped, with half the space sacrificed to unopened boxes of textbooks. Like Bethany, Eliza worked in education and her car was always a clutter of the evidence. Bethany had always felt safe with Eliza. But tonight, the clever and adventurous girl who had been her best friend since college was also the architect of something Bethany didn't ask for and never knew she wanted. She still wasn't entirely sure she had wanted it, but it was too late for that. Now, she just didn't want it to stop. It was getting late, and the roads, slick from an evening shower, were deserted. The strobe of passing streetlights passed through the car like dim flashbulbs. From the driver's seat, Eliza angled the mirror for a better view. Bethany wasn't alone back there.

Their tongues danced, tasting and dueling each other. He was still inside her. Scott was Eliza's significant something. Bethany was never really sure what to call him, usually resorting to "boyfriend" when describing him to others. Eliza had met Scott near the end of her college career, when she was at her wildest and most experimental, and he was a roguishly charming art major destined to drop out. They were perfect for each other, but Bethany knew that their relationship was a promiscuous one. Until that night, it was a lifestyle Bethany had never been able to relate to. Still, on several occasions Carlton had unknowingly reaped the benefits of those long, often late night, phone calls when Eliza just couldn't wait to tell Bethany about her latest escapade. Sharing the sordid details of their flings and affairs with Bethany was one of Eliza's favorite pastimes. Eliza would talk and Bethany would fantasize. More than once she'd even locked herself in the bathroom with the phone and pleasured herself while Eliza's story, told in a husky voice amid heavy breathing, unfolded. It never occurred to Carlton to question why his wife occasionally came to bed possessed with such an inexplicable but immediate hunger.

For as long as they'd known each other, Eliza had been openly, if not enthusiastically, bi-sexual. Bethany's own curiosity had been quashed, held back by Carlton's conservative sensibilities. So they limited themselves to "playful flirting", the free intimacy of the dance floor, and the mutual masturbation of those clandestine bathroom conversations. It was safe, sterile. It was okay for Bethany to explore her sensuality in that sheltered place devoid of mornings after or consequences. Everything was different now. Only moments ago, in the backseat mere feet from her husband, Bethany had traded in a decade of faith and security. That dance had been bought and paid for. For the first time, Bethany fucked another man. Soon, she was going to fuck Eliza too.

On empty streets, the drive from the nightclub to Bethany's townhouse was a short one, a matter of fifteen or so minutes. To Bethany, however, it felt like some terrible union of an eternity and an instant spent hovering on the precipice between guilt and ecstasy. Her eyes burned with stayed tears, but still her mouth worked against his. Scott's hands, calloused from years of fretwork and so very different from Carlton's manicured touch, slid beneath and lifted her short black top. Exposed, Bethany broke the kiss, lolling her head back and drawing Scott's mouth down towards the soft contours of her breasts. Staggered breathing yielded to a low raspy moan as he kissed then suckled her sensitive flesh.

The world scrolled past the windows, and inches away her husband slept, but these were peripheral things, made more distant with each caress. For more than a decade, Carlton had been the only lover she'd known. He'd been adequate in that service, typically considerate and eager to please, but time had dulled their passion into predictable routines. Scott was so unfamiliar, this night so unpredictable. It had been too long since she'd felt anything new. She felt so alive, like someone accustomed to a grayscale world seeing in color for the very first time. With each compromise and rationalization, she slipped just a little farther from the person she thought she was, and with each slip, she cared a little less how far astray she was heading. Just briefly she caught a glimpse of Eliza's eyes, full of promise and anticipation, in the rearview. With that, the final ephemeral vestiges of doubt flickered and died. Bethany pivoted, wrapping an arm around the seat, and slid her hand into Eliza's tank-top.

"Almost there," Eliza said, grinning mischievously and taking one hand from the wheel to squeeze Bethany's against her breast through the thin fabric of her top. There would be no phone between them tonight.

"Drive faster," was all Bethany could answer, before Scott demonstrated his approval with searing kiss that left her both breathless and surprised when the car came to halt outside her townhouse. Preparing to get out, Bethany withdrew her hand from Eliza, and just in time.

"Bethany?" Carlton slurred, stirred by the stop.

Bethany twisted violently, unceremoniously releasing Scott in the process, pulled her top down and leaned forward between the seats. Carlton was still catastrophically dazed and clearly several leagues beyond anything resembling sober. He looked outside and, judging from his furrowed brow and vacant eyes, had no idea where he was or how he'd managed to find himself there. Bethany kissed his cheek and rubbed his shoulder. "You got really drunk, baby. Eliza and Scott drove us home."

"What about the car?" Carlton asked in a vague semblance of clarity.

"Eliza and Scott are going to crash in the spare room. They'll drive me back in the morning for it," Bethany answered, only just stifling a gasp. Behind her, Scott rested a hand high on her thigh, slowly raising it into her skirt as she spoke. She struggled to hold her voice steady as fingers abandoned her leg for the damp flesh between, parted lips and threatened penetration. "We should get you upstairs and," she paused, color rising in her face, as a single finger sank into her. The pause lingered and Carlton, finally noticing it, looked to his wife with burgeoning scrutiny. Bethany was desperate. She didn't dare speak when she could only just contain the shuddering moans brewing inside her. He was getting curious. She had to do something!

Bethany kissed her husband. Hard. Her tongue almost involuntary invaded Carlton's mouth and, despite his awkwardly drunken attempt at reciprocation, Bethany threw herself into it. Ripples of taboo arousal washed over her, subsuming her thoughts with raw, carnal sensation. She was kissing her husband while another man's fingers moved inside her. Scott not only continued, he added a second probing finger, causing Bethany to groan with pleasure into the mouth of her intoxicated husband. Scarcely contained shivers wracked her as she feebly resisted betraying the evidence of a climax that seemed to explode into the pit of her stomach. Muscles quivered and then seized, but still her husband pursued the kiss. It was a terrible rapture, equal parts unforgivable and irresistible. Gently, she withdrew from her husband, whose eyes were a mix of inebriation, arousal, and affection. She pet his face. "We need to get you to bed," she said softly.

Carlton kissed her hand and nodded dreamily, sinking back into his fugue. He really didn't deserve this. She knew that. It just didn't matter tonight. Moments later, Bethany and Scott were helping Carlton, who was the perfect mix of dead weight and incoherent mumbling to make it a considerable chore, up the stairs and inside. Eliza followed behind, limping precariously on her casted left ankle, broken a week prior at the gym. Every few paces, Bethany looked back to her. The growing sense of immediacy was palpable between them. Each time their eyes met and each time they wordlessly reiterated a single sentiment. "Soon."

As far as townhouses went, Bethany and Carlton's was relatively luxurious. They weren't rich, but between Bethany's salary and Carlton's real estate agency, they were very comfortable. Their townhouse was strategically located in mid city, nestled amidst seven clones that were just dissimilar enough to avoid that tedious cookie cutter feeling. First floor brick exteriors, reserved for garages, gave way to broad lattice work indicative of the Tudor style for the second and third. An adjoining building of the same fashion provided spaces for guest parking along with an indoor pool, hot tub, and several other athletic amenities. The entire community was enclosed by a large stone wall, easily eight feet tall, that bristled with imposing ironwork which, while aesthetically pleasing, certainly discouraged any attempts to scale it.

The interior was equally charming with a spacious kitchen, dining room, and living space dominated by an oriental rug and color coordinated furniture rounding out the second floor. Hardwood floors ran throughout, and the walls were lined with cluttered bookshelves populated with the byproducts of Bethany's years in academia. Carlton's sole contribution to the decor came in the form of a wall mounted plasma television, complete with an impressive array of Bose speakers. The third floor consisted of an office space, the master bedroom, and a spare room typically reserved for guests. Once or twice there had been talk of converting the latter into a nursery. This had actually been Carlton's idea, but Bethany just wasn't sure she was or ever would be ready for that. They'd never fought over it, but she kept her birth control pills out of his sight in the hopes of keeping them equally out of his mind.

By the time Carlton was ushered up to the third floor, he was moving under his own power. Guided by Bethany and Scott, he stumbled into the master bedroom after doing the same to virtually every possible obstacle along the way. Scott paused at the doorway as Bethany walked her husband to the bed, where he promptly collapsed with the kind of gleeful chuckle that only the absurdly drunk are capable of. "Bethany?" he asked, slurring her name so badly it sounded more like "beftnee", as she took off his shoes.

"Right here, baby," Bethany answered, moving up to sit beside him to work on his pants.

"I love you."

Bethany paused, stricken and perfectly abashed. Carlton was hammered, and his voice rang with the unfettered sincerity so common to that condition. For a moment, she was utterly paralyzed, unresponsive and reeling. She'd been hastily undressing her husband fully intending to abandon and betray him, eager to rush into the embrace of another. Her appetite unleashed, she'd even begun to envision fucking Scott and Eliza at the same time. In that instant, every previously dispelled ounce of doubt and guilt was reborn and redoubled. What had she done? What was she doing? Thoughts of escape, even suicide, raced through her mind provoked by the memory of those homecoming eyes. Unsure she'd heard, Carlton repeated himself. This time Bethany was able to conjure a smile and face his unknowing eyes. "I love you, too," she said, almost whispering. Any louder and her voice would have cracked.

Carlton smiled back. "I didn't mean to get so," he began, trailing off briefly as if searching for the right word before triumphantly adding, "drunk!"

Bethany smiled again. It took most of her strength just to muster it and will her hands back into motion at his belt. Carlton was a good man. He was flawed sure, but who wasn't? Any innocence she may have had was irredeemably lost now, another hidden cost. Just weeks ago, she'd listened sympathetically to Avery, their neighbor and occasional friend, explain how he'd caught his wife Melissa cheating. Bethany had scathingly condemned her, calling her a whore, a tramp. So what was she now? "It's okay," she said, lifting his shirt over his head. From somewhere near the doorway came the click and scrape of a Zippo lighter. That was Scott. Eliza, who probably wouldn't have wanted to struggle up another flight of stairs, always used disposables. Bethany closed her eyes, opening them to look again into her husband's. He didn't know. He didn't need to know. Knowing would only hurt him, maybe even destroy him. She would protect him from that, but it was too late for her. Even the simple sound of the flicking lighter had sent a shiver of remembered anticipation across her. "You can sleep it off. I'm going to go make sure Eliza and Scott are comfortable," she said. The decision was made. Carlton nodded sluggishly. Bethany kissed him lovingly with wayward lips, caressed his face with undeserving fingers, and moved for the door, the word "soon" slipping out almost subconsciously as she closed the bedroom door behind her.

Scott met her in the hallway, wrapping his arms around her as she plucked the cigarette from his mouth and took a deep drag. "Everything cool?" he asked with what Bethany thought might have even been genuine concern.

She mused over the question for the length of a second drag, while Scott tried to puzzle out the meaning of her silence. His hands, resting on the small of her back, pet her in what she assumed was meant to be a reassuring way. She released the smoke slowly, prolonging his exposure to the ambivalence for her own amusement. She had no interest in consolation, no further need for reinforcement. Her season of uncertainty had passed. "No. No, it's not," she answered, withdrawing the cigarette and taking his mouth in a demanding, invasive kiss. Momentarily set aback, Scott rallied quickly, his hands lowering to cup her ass. Not this time, Romeo, she thought. This time, she would do the taking.

She dropped the cigarette onto the hardwood below and took fistfuls of Scott's shirt, forcing him back into the wall only inches from the closed door of her bedchamber. Whatever passion he'd experienced in that parking lot paled like a candle against the sun now. Bethany's tongue furiously dominated the kiss as her hand slid from his shoulder to his abdomen, and then to his belt. Her mouth left his and attacked his neck, kissing and teasing with teeth. How many times had Carlton benefited from the effect Eliza had on her? It was only fair, she mused, that Scott share in that bounty. He panted, uttering inaudibly, as Bethany almost violently pulled the buttons of his fly open and seized his throbbing cock. For several moments she alternated between stroking him and grinding her body against him. His hands trembled and his mouth gaped, emitting a constant whispered litany of "oh God", "Yeah", and "Fuck". She dragged her mouth down the seam of Scott's shirt, pulling at the buttons with her teeth as she went. Earlier that night, she'd allowed a man other than Carlton to fuck and cum inside her for the first time. Now, in the hallway outside of her bedroom, Bethany was going to suck his cock.

She slid down before him, still stroking his thickening shaft, spreading the precum up and down his length. He watched, eyes half lidded and mouth still agape, as she leveled him off with her lips and gently blew warmly on his head, before taunting it with a peck. Scott clutched the doorframe over his head for support with one hand while the other moved into the golden hair at the back of Bethany's head. He fought desperately to swallow the groan that seemed determined to burst free as his shaft vanished into her soft, sucking mouth. He was bigger than Carlton, but not so much as to matter on her knees. It was his taste, saltier and perhaps a little less bitter, that struck her most, as her tongue flicked in serpentine patterns against the now throbbing penis.

Bethamy stroked him relentlessly into her ravenous mouth, and his whole body reverberated with her escalating rhythm. Suddenly, his knees buckled and she felt the surge that heralded his climax. Sounds escaped, but speech was beyond him as he released into her mouth. Her lips sealed around him, allowing none of his seed to escape. Swallowing with each squeezing stroke, Bethany drained Scott completely as he squirmed against the wall, gasping for air. When she was satisfied that he had nothing more for her, she released him with a final flourish of tongue work, and looked up into his eyes, those treacherous Caribbean waters, the tip of his cock still pressed against her lips.

From somewhere wicked, a smile blossomed across her face. The bridge was burned, and she didn't know what would happen or who she would be tomorrow. It didn't matter tonight. Neatly, she folded Scott's spent flesh back into his trousers, refastened the buttons, and buckled his belt before returning to her feet and turning for the stairs. "Where are you going?" Scott rasped, still chasing his elusive breath.

"To keep a promise," she answered, pausing just long enough to pick up the still smoldering cigarette and take a drag. "Wait here." Eliza was still waiting downstairs, and now Bethany was sure there'd be no distractions.