Oscar Night

This year's Oscar bash chez moi was a grand sort of affair. There was a viewing party complete with cocktails, Red Carpet screening on the huge screen my husband originally bought to watch his European soccer teams - which paid for itself many times during the World Cup, ha! - a very laidback ambience - we even allow the guests to swim in our pool and hot tub, and then watching the ceremony itself on the screen. The food was prepared by me and my gaggle of friends, Sammy and Joey and Kyle, finger-foods with mixture of fruits and salads to take off the edge from all the cocktail business we had.

My husband Jamie just watched the proceedings magnanimously like a quiet wolf before retiring to our bedroom. He said he was going for a swim, presumably he was changing into his bathing suit. I was busy in the kitchen with Joey preparing the food, with Sammy whipping up the drinks like a seasoned bartender - that was then I realized Kyle was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Kyle, Joey?"

"Umm, dunno, last I saw him he was making his chocolate mousse."

"Oh yeah I need that for the dessert, let me call him after I finish this bit."

Jamie came up suddenly behind me, and gave me a hug. His compact warmth was welcome, and I could feel against my ass he was slightly erect in his bathing suit. That, or the bathing suit was too tight. Anyway it felt nice. "Oh baby. Go, talk to the guests, have a swim. Have a cocktail - but not too much, honey."

"Okay babe." He leant down and gave me a smoldering kiss, earning ourselves a whoop from Sammy and Joey. "Thanks guys for all this help."

"You're welcome Jamie," Sammy said in a low throaty imitation of Katharine Hepburn. Jamie smiled and went away. "Ohh, your man's so hot Damien! Some people do have it all, you bitch."

I laughed heartily. Jamie was hot, always had been ever since our first date ten years ago, up until our marriage, six years and counting, knock on wood. I could not believe my luck that this Asian hunk of a man fell in love with little me and found time of the day for me, asked me out that first time, and finally asked me to be his lawful wedded husband and partner. Every day I gave thanks, on my knees, with my mouth. Mother did instill good values in me.

Kyle was found belatedly, looking slightly flushed, and he finished his chocolate mousse just in time for the red carpet viewing to start and the stupid "Who's you're wearing, who's you're wearing?" commentary to begin. I climbed to our bedroom to clean up and caught my husband holding his cock inside his black underwear, his hand moving slow and sensuous in that international language, watching someone down below at the pool, that if I bend slightly at my neck I could probably see the person my husband was masturbating to, and just caught a glimpse of strawberry-blond hair against the last of the sun falling on the water. Kyle, I thought.

I let my thought reflect on that and simmer about for a bit as I cleaned up in the bathroom. Kyle, Kyle. Kyle was taller than me, but still shorter than my husband, and his strawberry-blond hair was teased and permed like Blanche Deveraux if she was born 5'9'' and a male. It was an old fashioned look, a calculated look that always drew attention to him because of the color of his hair which was so striking in the light, be it the sun or a lamp. We were work-colleagues, that was how we knew each other, working together for the music publication and blog Blue Notes, blue because of jazz haha. Suddenly I remembered one cold snowy night just after me and my husband were married - a post-honeymoon to our honeymoon - when my husband confided he found blond hair a turn on, which I replied with a guffaw seeing as I was a bonafide brunet.

I watched them hawklike as I played the gallant host. My husband was dressed in his favorite black polo, the one with shimmery mesh-like fabric overlying the shirt, that made him look slinky and tall and dangerous. He was holding his margarita close, sipping it little at a time to not to succumb too early to the alcohol. Kyle was seven out of ten times standing close to my husband, though he masked it with his catering duties. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they laughed, sometimes my husband whispered something in Kyle's ear, his halo of golden hair covering his cusp, and then they would laugh at some inner joke.

On the screen the red-carpet proceedings drew to a close, and there was a pause before the ceremony proper, a lull during which the guests topped up their food. Then the ceremony started, and the guests sat at the many couches and chairs around the pool and beside the house. That was when I realized Kyle and Jamie were nowhere to be seen. I staggered over the hosting duties to Sammy and Joey, and crawled inside the house. I actually really needed the rest, holding up plates and glasses could be tedious work.

The house was dark, in order to make the screen outside more luminous. But now it was almost kind of hard to orientate oneself if one did not have the memory of the placement of furniture and everything else. I made my way slowly across the landing to the stair, up to the second floor. I was almost at the master bedroom's door before a squeak and a moan stopped me in my tracks.

I never really did see them, just heard the sounds and noises they made, but they were enough to dispel whatever doubt I had.

"Fuck, your ass' so fucking tight, so smooth."

"Yeah, fuck me with that Asian cock, that big Asian pole."

"Fuck yeah, I'm fucking you with my cock."

A moan. "Fuck you're hitting my pussy button, I'm leaking so much all over your sheets, your good boy husband's sheets."

"Yeah, leak all over them, my cock's gonna make you come."

"I'm coming, I'm coming, UNNNNNHHHHHH!"

"Fuck, I'm coming too, fuck yeah YEAAAHHHHHHH!"

"And the Oscar goes to-" thunderous applause, and not a few groans, masking my husband and Kyle's cumming. Perfect timing.