Inferidelity Ch. 03 - Family

As if to emphasize his point, he said nothing else. I took my phone out and tried his hypothesis. Sure enough, it was slim pickings.

"Whole generations," he continued, continuing to speak without prompting as if he had been lost in thought and suddenly seized on something, "Hundreds of years, parents say this is worst betrayal ever if you no marry Indian girl. Friends condemn you. Everybody hate you. Not like it matters. White girls think we smell, we stupid animals."

He sighed and cleared his throat.

"You have friends who think it is ok for man to touch wife? Man to kiss wife?"

I shook my head, "No. We would have our lives ruined if anybody knew we were here."

"And you, you here," he continued in his jilted English, "Because it frees you from prison. Well...here I am."

He sort of nodded in contemplation.

"Girl like your wife? Not possible for me. But all I want."

My wife burst in, brightening the situation, and he cleaned himself up. I felt I had shared an oddly intimate moment with another living being. My deeper humanity had been touched by a man who orgasmed while undressing my wife. In the past, I may have seen some humor in that. Now, I understood the intersection...the things that bound us.

---

Summer was turning to fall. On the weekend, we had a function at our church, a social mixer for helping the elderly and needy. My wife had baked some treats and brought some charitable donations. We were tasked with handing out T-shirts and informational pamphlets as people arrived to hear a few pastors speak before we played carnival games outside.

Fellow parishioners kept coming up to us and chatting. I kept looking over to my wife, dressed conservatively in a cardigan and jeans, as she smiled and talked about kids and the weather. These intense waves of guilt and pleasure would wash over me as I thought of her, sitting in a dark strip club, letting those men ogle her. I saw Sai's fistful of cum and her surprised face as her cleavage lay strewn out from her blouse. Some folks must have noticed my altered state as they avoided speaking to me or kept our conversations short. I couldn't contain the weird thrill I felt. I had flashbacks to Patel, to the store...

The Edwards were a couple, about ten years older than us, and Reginald had played a game or two of golf with me in the past. He was a well-built man, an avid cyclist, with a full head of hair and a big smile. When Reginald came to greet us, my wife stood up. Reginald leaned in and took a long, lasting hug, before withdrawing and placing his hands on her shoulders. His waist didn't move, so his crotch was lined up with hers as her hands fell to the side of her arms.

He said some spiel about how wonderful a day it was, how much fun they were having, but for the first time I had this crazy vision appear...as though an image had been in plain sight but I had never seen it until I could refocus my eyes (and mind). If his cock was erect, and he held her under her arms instead of with his hands over her shoulders, he could easily be inside her. LIke a diagram from a 9th grade science book, the crook of his cock would be nestled in her, preparing to cum deep inside her. The hug he gave her was just an extension of that desire...to pick her up and nestle himself inside. He didn't give that hug to any of the other women in our church group, and my wife didn't receive it from just any man. When his wife walked up, I couldn't avert my eyes as our spouses stayed paired in this socially acceptable, yet blatantly primordial, exchange.

After an awkward moment, I recovered, and went back to the zombie world of small talk. With my eyes open, I made a record of my wife's interactions with every man there. Some men she nodded at and waved, others she gave short hugs to. Others were lingering, with wide smiles. Others she held like Reginald. I remembered their names and faces: Mike, the contractor, Jared, the insurance agent, Don, the deacon...it was as if she had a quiet, unspoken language with each. Some were worthy of close contact, others were not. After we were outside, and her cardigan was tied around her waist, Don walked up to her and placed his arm at the crest of her back. When he said something humorous, she turned and smiled, and I watched as his other hand quickly came around in the thrill of the moment and rested below her navel, on top of her cervix during his polite laugh before returning to her back. Incidental, fleeting, but the subtle message was there. Or was it? Was I insane?

Don and his wife always gabbed about their five children, calling them blessings, and my wife always loved to goof around with them. The whole brood walked up as he bantered with her and Nicole lit up like a Christmas tree. She got down on one knee and talked enthusiastically with them about school, tickled them, and laughed at their antics. I didn't notice her giving the same treatment to any of the other kids surrounding us during those gatherings. Don's kids also seemed very comfortable with her, hugging her and showing no signs of apprehension when talking to her. When their mother, Diane, came to them, I noticed that Nicole tampered her enthusiasm and was much more reserved and polite when talking to Don's wife. Her arms were crossed and she restrained her words. The body language of everyone involved spoke volumes. From my distance, I didn't hear a single thing they said, and yet I understood everything Nicole felt.

There was something intoxicating and awful about it all. For the first time I was seeing what I didn't before: the entire world was the strip club. All of these men, tired of their wives and lives, subconsciously were getting cheap thrills from being in close proximity to my beautiful, model-esque wife. But they were operating on a deeper, nefarious level. The same feelings were there that the men in the club felt for Nicole. When these moral, white men let loose physical actions...these subtle nods to their subconscious desires...indicators of their true intentions, they were letting unconscious desires bubble to the surface. If they could be alone with her, if they let their truth be free, they would mate her spread-legged and wish death upon me. Somehow, I was certain of this. I sensed this growing undertone and it was threatening to overcome my senses when we were in large groups.

I'm not sure if I was crazy, and I don't think any of the men had hostile intent nor were they aware of their actions on a conscious level. I just felt...in tune with the world around me, observing a wavelength I had never perceived before. In no way was it lost on me that my wife was a willing participant. She had her own telling signs, her own perceptions, her own quiet desires dictated her daily life. And somehow, this gave me the clarity I needed to confront her about the past.

--

Later that night, we were laying together after making love, holding each other. Our relationship had been so elevated for the last month I had barely taken the time to come down and confront the reality of what we had been doing. I never felt closer to her than I did in that moment. But, I had to lay flat the sadistic nature of our extracurricular activities. These men were people. If things were going to continue, I had to take their thoughts and feelings into consideration. Sai's words were honest, and they persuaded me.

"No more holding back on my account," I said, "I don't want you to tease these guys because you're afraid of how I'll feel."

She turned to face me as I stroked her hair.

"I don't know what I want," she said, "I feel like they give me everything I need without surrendering my body to them."

She swallowed and continued.

"I know I don't want actual, like...sex. For some reason that left me really...confused...after the other times we did this. Having another man inside me makes me feel irrationally about them. It makes me feel irrational about us. I hated trying to 'quit' those feelings. It wasn't any easier the second time."

My wife had said something out loud that we both knew to be true, but never shared with one another. There were a lot of things we should have been discussing rather than messing around in a strip club with strangers. I decided to start airing our dirty laundry.

"Is it because we're not conceiving?"

Her eyes shot open a bit and she turned away from me. "I'm not...that's not a part of it..."

"It's been almost two years..." I said. I began massaging and kissing her back.

She gulped, "The doctor's said it's still possible for us to conceive..."

I scratched her skin, which I knew she loved. "That was years ago. It's me. And we both know it."

She didn't follow-up. I knew she would protect my feelings until I probed her into a corner, where she couldn't escape. I cleared my throat since I was about to make an accusation that bubbled up from my gut. The new wavelength of perception I was riding helped to inform my instinct. Something one of the men had said in passing told me my instinct was correct. If I was wrong, she could be deeply hurt.

"What about Patel?" I asked.

Her expression went blank and she turned away. She brought the blanket around her incredible breasts and pressed it against her. Her body language told me she felt threatened.

"What about him?" she sighed.

I had an erection emerging. Certainly, I felt some shame about it, but the thought of finally finding out new details about what had transpired over the last few months turned me on. I deftly moved her body and nestled the head of my cock inside her, entering from behind. We were beneath the sheets and she recoiled a bit when I entered her.

"Wha...how are you ready to go again?"

"You were with him," I finally blurted out. She could have feigned ignorance, acted perplexed, or simply pretended the liaison in her swimsuit was the only thing that transpired. Instead she froze up a bit. Even her pussy turned apprehensive.

"That's a lie," she said.

"At the club, Krish said you 'kept coming back for more' when you were talking to him about knowing Patel. I don't know if you noticed that I had entered the party room when he said it. You laughed and didn't dispute it."

I pushed in a little and tugged at the blanket covering her chest. She held it firm, insulating herself. A long time passed before she closed her eyes and turned her head away from me.

"It was stupid," she finally volunteered after an eternity, "Should we really talk about this now?"

I planted my hands on her hips and pistoned myself in and out of her. "Yes,"

I fucked into her some more. She seemed very determined to cover herself. It was psychological. She felt vulnerable. She stayed silent as I pressed into her. I could almost taste her shame.

"Did he cum inside you the night of the party?" I asked as I pushed in and out of her.

"Do you need me or do you love me?" she asked, breathlessly, "I'm going to need you to love me. Love means forgiveness."

I nibbled on her ear, "Don't feed me that bullshit, answer me."

Silence showed the trepidation growing inside her. I felt her pussy get warmer.

"....yes."

I felt deeply turned on. Some sort of worthlessness thrived deep inside me and I loved to touch its face. I didn't know what was wrong with me.

"Tell me about the sex after I left," I said.

"Please stop this."

"I knew you couldn't control yourself. Tell me about what happened after I left the party..."

"Tongue...ugghh....tongue kissing and sex. He told me he loved me over and over."

"Did you tell him you loved him too?"

"Nobody falls in love in one night."

"You were in the moment."

"It was just sex talk."

"Answer me."

She let go of her grip on the sheets.

"I wasn't going to, but he bit my tit just right. He has good hands. I felt guilty, like I had to say it."

"At that moment, you were in love with another man. Just admit it."

"John..."

"Yes or no,"

"I loved how he made me feel..."

"Yes or no...were you in love with him at that moment?" I gently pressed the side of her face and made her look me in the eyes.

"He's such a creep..."

"Nicole..."

Her shoulders shuddered and she let loose her grip on the sheet.

"They were words."

I kept pistoning in and out of her. Her skin looked amazing and realer-than-real to me as we proceeded. I rode the wave of dread, guilt, and lust to a conclusion. My cock twitched inside her and her pussy felt warmer and tighter than usual. We fucked in silence, and she finally let me grab her breast. Our mutual breathing began to slow.

I cleared my throat, "There's a deeper connection between us after each time you venture out."

Another long silent moment passed between us. "That is true," she said, agreeing.

Her breathing began to slow. "Look me in the eye and tell me how you feel about Patel."

Her head shook, "We didn't see each other after that night. I just didn't tell you about the two times we went at it after you left. That's it. Stop this."

I stared in silence, playing with her breasts. She sighed and looked away from me, knowing I needed an authentic answer.

"One day...when my cycle was late...I thought I might actually be pregnant," she said softly, "I had my bikini top from the party, hidden in my desk drawer. I kept it up there afterwards. And I smelled it a lot, because it smelled a little like him, and it made me feel less nervous as I waited."

I tried to hold my composure. It felt like a rain of depression balled up and flooded my gut. The sick feeling of arousal mixed with disgust was overpowering. My eyes shot down to her uncommonly nice breasts, acting on instinct, since they always calmed me in times of discomfort.

"John?" she asked. I looked up at her. "We don't have to do this again," she said, "We can end this."

I nodded, "I mean...you're human. I don't think you did anything that a sensitive, human being wouldn't do. I'm not mad."

We waited a bit as the sobriety of post-coital mundanity washed over us.

"Are you ok now?" I asked. "Do you have feelings for Patel or the man from the store?"

She shook her head, "No. They were never fully realized, true feelings, John. Just...residuals. Aftershocks."

I nodded, "I understand." They must have been similar to the feelings I received from the lap dances I had enjoyed with Heartland.

"We're not going to get answers tonight," I said, "Or ever. Not from talking about this."

Her hands found my cheeks, "Then from where?"

I looked at her with solemn eyes, "We have to follow the road. We have to get to some kind of breaking point."

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against mine.

"We would never do this if there was another way," she said.

I kissed her, "We can still have a baby together. We just need...motivation. Time."

"And if the road takes us in another direction," she said, "I just want you with me. But this is so stupid...there's in vitro...specialists..."

I smelled her hair and thought hard before I spoke.

"You know those aren't an option...I have nothing to give you..."

She rubbed my back and then squeezed me in silent affirmation. I felt good about moving forward. I had given her tacit permission to do something unthinkable. And yet, the tension between us was gone, and we were deeper in love. I felt good about what I had proposed.

—

Out of nowhere one day, while staring out the kitchen window, she blurted out a confession.

"It was the Indian guy at the restaurant me and my mom went to."

I turned from what I was doing and looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

"When my dad was having his problems with booze, and he'd start yelling, my mom took us to this restaurant. It was like a Chinese/Indian hybrid place, it was a small town. And the owner was the nicest guy ever. He was overweight, and kind of disheveled , but he was so nice to us. I remember, I mean I was only four but I distinctly remember, that I wished my dad was like him."

She had never told me about that time in her life. I leaned against the countertop and crossed my arms.

"This was all my fantasy. I admitted it in therapy."

She turned to me with sunken eyes.

"A wife can have an effect on her husband. You didn't notice but...I talked a lot about Patel looking at me in the hottub at those parties. I brought him up right before we had sex. I talked a lot about how annoyed I was when he looked at me, but I really wasn't. I liked it. And I asked you if you saw him, all the time, and pretended to be disgusted when we mocked him. But I was actually toying with you. Every time we've been around an Indian guy...or a guy with some personal problems, I accentuate them. I talk about them more than other men." She sighed and turned back towards the window, "This was all my fault."

My mind searched for memories of what she was telling me and I was piecing it together. She was right. I'm not sure how the man in the store fit in...maybe she was just trying to make me happy.

"If this is all true then you haven't been having any fun," I said, "You've been dealing with something closer to self-loathing than self-love."

She sighed. Her tits looked amazing with no bra in a low-cut hoodie. "Oh no, it's been fun. The wrong kind of fun. Like eating too much cake."

I rubbed her shoulders and we kissed a bit before moving on with our day.

—

We were walking in a park and watching our child play on a nearby jungle gym. She started softly crying. I didn't notice until I saw a tear stream down her face.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said. Her back turned to me and I could tell she was trying to contain herself. I put a hand on her shoulder.

"Please, Nicole..."

She looked to ensure our child wasn't within earshot. "I need you to be more mad that I cheated. Even if you told me to do it."

My head shook, "Please don't call it cheating. Nicole, I did this to us."

Her face contorted, "How can you still love me?"

"That's overdramatic."

With wide eyes, she said, "Oh, really?"

I gave a slow exhale. "You would never actually leave. It's the riskiness and the gamble. You're addicted to it. I'm addicted to it."

For a moment she was dismayed, but then her expression appeared to show a certain calm. Her tears disappeared.

"Passionate anger isn't indicative of passionate love," I said.

She shifted in her seat and looked off into the distance.

"I'm sick," she said, "I'm not well. I don't want to have to take care of a...problem...because of the games we're playing. I don't want to...get rid of it."

Yet another elephant in the room that we hadn't yet discussed. A breeze washed over us.

"Then we should stop this," I said. If we kept on, that would be the end result. That was the end of the road from rolling the chamber over, and over, again.

We walked in silence.

--

A couple of days passed and, after jilted discussion, we both agreed to not go to the club any longer. Now that the churning, terrifying beast that laid beneath the surface had been exposed, we thought it best to put the genie back in the bottle and return to normalcy. I texted her gentleman admirers and their disappointment was palatable. I assured them she would, at the least, return to Snapchat soon. None of them asked for refunds on their money, but only expressed concerns for her welfare. In fact, they offered her even more to return. I told them we would keep in touch, and to please give us our space.

Three months passed and the doldrums returned. It's amazing how ordinary life can feel so oppressive after you've lived on the edge for so long. On this particular downslope, we began to lose all interest in sex. I was deeply attracted to her, and we had kissing, intimacy, and the like. But the thought of following through on the act itself, knowing that it would be such a pale imitation of the reclamation glory I enjoyed on a nightly basis after visits to the club, made us sour on the thought. Fucking your wife when other men are falling over themselves trying to do the same...well, let's say it's a new high.