Slick Ch. 02-09

This is a continuation of my story Slick. You should read that introductory chapter first,

Chapter 2

My wife Jude and I had recently celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary. At the time, we had one kid in college and another set to graduate high school soon. I was contemplating retirement and Jude was bored. She had been a stay-at-home mom for the past ten years and, with the kids all but gone, she was looking for something to do with her time. It should have been an occasion for us to think about our future together. Instead, It became all about Jude.

It was around that time that Jude first got into yoga. Her best friend Melissa was taking classes at a small studio in a strip mall not far from our house and raved about it every time Jude spoke to her. I have to admit, Melissa did look happier and in better shape than I'd ever seen before. So, when Jude told me she wanted to start going to class with Melissa, I was all for it or anything that kept her happy. Well, within reason, of course.

I remember how excited she was after her first class. She came home invigorated and couldn't stop telling me all about it. I listened patiently but didn't understand half of what she talked about. She enjoyed the physical challenge but was even more intrigued by the spiritual aspects of yoga and yogic philosophy. It sounded like claptrap to me, but I've never been known for my free thinking. To top it off, so she told me, the instructor was this gorgeous hunk of a Frenchman, named Marcel.

Friday morning, over breakfast, she brought him up again. That was unusual, and I started getting a slight twinge in my gut. "Should I be worried?" I asked her across the kitchen table.

"About Yogi Marcel," she asked, not realizing how silly she sounded. I couldn't help but chuckle.

"Yogi? Is he smarter than the average bear?" I fired back, sure that my wit would win me some Brownie points.

"Huh? Bear?" she had an angry look on her face until she figured out my joke. "Oh. Yogi Bear. Cute. He's a yoga master, so he is known as a Yogi. It's a title, you know, a sign of respect."

"Yes, I know what a title is," I replied, then went on, giving her my very best attempt at a Yogi Bear accent, "Whatever you say Boo-Boo."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. I couldn't help myself. I figured I'd worn out the Yogi Bear jokes, so I shifted my humor to the only other Yogi I knew.

"You know," I said with a smirk, "when you're in your class, you can observe a lot just by watching."

Jude didn't seem to get the reference. She nodded, "Well, Yogi Marcel wants us all to participate to the best of our ability. So, nobody gets to stand around and watch. You should come sometime. You might like it."

No chance that would happen, and I was pretty sure she knew it before she suggested it. Yoga was not something I anticipated ever needing, at least not in this lifetime. I got my physical challenges in the gym and enough pseudo-spiritual mumbo jumbo from my Aikido classes.

"Well, make sure you don't give up during class because you know what they say," I said, trying my best to keep a straight face, pausing for dramatic effect. Jude stared at me like she had no idea what "they" say, so I continued, "It ain't over 'til it's over."

Jude squinted at me. "Wait a minute," she said suspiciously, "are you quoting Yogi Barret?"

"Yogi Berra," I corrected her. "He was a great spiritualist, too."

"Ha ha ha," my wife fired back. "Do you ever take anything I do seriously? This is important to me."

"I'm sorry, honey, you're right," I said, in all sincerity. "You never answered my question?"

"What question was that?" she asked getting up from the table to freshen our coffee. I seriously doubted she didn't know which question I was referring.

"I have deja vu, all over again," I quipped, then with a serious face, repeated my earlier question, "Should I be worried?"

"If you keep belittling the things that are important to me, yes, you should be," Jude said with one hand on her hip, then added, "but about Yogi Marcel, no you don't have anything to worry about. He's not my type."

I grinned. "What type is he?"

She replied, raising her eyebrows as she delineated each point of comparison. "Well, he is young. He is handsome. He is very athletic, lean and limber. From what I can tell, he seems to have amazing stamina. He is brilliant and doesn't put my interests down. And his package looks fucking huge in tights."

"Oh, so nothing like me at all," I replied, laughing.

"He's about as unlike you as one man could be," she replied with a sigh and sat down to sip her coffee, putting my cup near me. She had a dreamy, far away look in her eyes.

"He must be gay," I snorted.

"You think every good looking guy is gay," Jude replied.

"That's not true. How could you say something so incorrect and uncaring? I only say that about the good looking, well-dressed, perfect teeth ones, who you seem to be routinely impressed by. And anyway, I'm always right. Tell me one time I was wrong."

"The actor who played in the movie about the love note, I forget his name," she said, pretending ignorance. I knew she knew his name. She put him on her celebrity hall pass list, just after Bradley Cooper and ahead of Brad Pitt. Poor Brad had dropped several slots in the post-Angelina years.

"He's still in the closet," I replied confidently. "Wait, you'll hear about it soon enough. There will be some scandal, and he'll admit his passion for teenage boys."

"He's married."

"She's a beard."

"You're just jealous of all hot, young, studly men. You hate that you're getting old and you're projecting."

"Projecting? Is that one of those words they teach in Psychology 101?"

"Mmmm-hmmm," she replied, pursing her lips at me.

"I flunked Psychology," I lied. I graduated with a double major in Criminal Science and Psychology and went on to get a Master's degree. Several years back, I had been one of the lead detectives that caught the North Dallas Rapist. I'd gained some national notoriety and had a short-lived semi-best seller called the Pathology of a Serial Rapist that had been made into a movie on Lifetime.

"Right now you're flunking at making up to me," Jude said with a smirk.

"Making up? Did we have a fight?" I asked, playing along. "If you want to make up, I know a good way. Makeup sex."

"It's too late," she chirped. "You'll be late for work. It's too bad, too. All this talk of Ryan Gosling has me in need of a quickie."

"Fuck work," I said as I stood and pulled my beautiful wife into my arms. "I want to retire anyway, but you won't let me."

"Don't fuck work," she said as she wrapped her arms around my thick shoulders and jumped up to encircle my hips with her legs. "Fuck me, instead."

I leaned her back onto the kitchen table. I had built the table myself; It was extra sturdy from solid Texas pecan. I knew it would handle any abuse we gave it. I pushed her t-shirt up over her bare breasts and began to maul them with my mouth. Her nipples were rock hard and protruding fully.

"You're such a caveman," she groaned, her fingers moving through my short-cropped hair.

"Ugh," I said, with a grunt, as I pulled my hard cock out of my pants and rubbed the bulbous head between her legs, forcing her labia apart.

Jude moaned and spread her legs wider. "Hurry up," she whispered, "I don't want to be late for yoga class."

I lifted my mouth from her breasts and stared down into her face, feeling a bit of anger and jealousy well up inside me. I shoved my hips forward and penetrated her roughly. Her cunt was slick, and she adjusted quickly to my thick shaft. I pounded her pussy hard, my curved cock pumping in and out of her like a fleshy piston.

Jude grabbed the back of my shirt in her fists and cried out, arching her back and bouncing her ass off the table to meet my cock. I hammered thrust after rapid thrust into her. Neither of us spoke. We fucked. I could feel my orgasm approaching, and instead of slowing down to take more time, I went faster, harder, fucking her like I would fuck a slut.

Suddenly, my wife cried out and bit down on the fleshy part of her hand to keep from screaming. She shook and rocked as her whole body spasmed through an intense orgasm. I reached my climax just after she did and groaned hard as my sperm shot out, thickly, filling her completely.

Spent, I pulled out and kissed her hard on the mouth. I pulled my pants back up and put my still-wet cock away.

"Aren't you going to shower?" Jude asked, surprised.

"No, I want to be able to smell your pussy all day," I said.

"That's just gross," she said with an upturned lip. However, the smile on her face belied how proud she felt knowing that I wanted to carry her scent with me all day.

"I'm old and gross," I told her, using her own words. "If you want a young, well-kept pretty boy, go to your yoga class and stare at your Yogi. I bet he smells like Patchouli."

Jude was wiping her pussy up with a tea towel, absentmindedly. She had that dreamy look in her eyes again.

I stepped forward, leaned down and kissed her hard, "I love you, Jude. But, if you ever cheat on me, you know what will happen, don't you?"

"I would never cheat on you, my big, hairy caveman," she said, then kissed me back.

"Yeah, well, keep telling yourself that when you're staring at Yogi Boner's package."

I said my goodbyes and went to work. I had a big case that was taking a lot of my time. We had another serial rapist at work in the North Dallas and Collin County area. There were three victims that we knew of, and we wanted to stop the creep before there were more victims or he escalated to more than just rape.

Chapter 3

Originally, Jude started out going to yoga class only on Wednesdays and Fridays, in the afternoon, while I was at work. After a couple of weeks, she added Monday morning. Shortly after that, Jude was doing yoga every day. When she wasn't in a class, she was practicing yoga at home. Yoga became a dominating activity in her life. She was either doing yoga or talking about it. She was into everything about this New Age lifestyle.

She redecorated the house, turning it from Cowboy Rustic to Bohemian Chic. Our home looked like we lived inside an Earthbound store. There must have been two rules in her decorating: 1) use a shit-ton of pillows, and 2) no two pillows could look alike or match anything else in the house. Her wardrobe also changed completely. She seemed to wear a cross between Altar'd States and 1970's Haight Ashbury, with a healthy dose of Lululemon tossed in for good measure. The house stank of a variety of incense, candles, and potpourri all day long. Strange crystals appeared all over the house, even in our Brita water pitcher. Why the hell we needed crystals in our water was beyond me. I was even beginning to wonder if Jude wasn't smoking The Weed with her friends when I was not home.

Jude didn't limit her excitement about her new lifestyle to just annoying me with it. She told all her lady friends, and several of them joined her class. She was spending all her weekdays with her lady friends and at the yoga studio, but when it started encroaching into our evenings and weekends, I decided to put my foot down.

"Jude, why do you have to take our time to go do your yoga stuff? You have all day, every day. I would really like to have my wife with me when I'm home and enjoy her company."

"I'm here more than you are, Mr. 'I have to work late, again', what are you talking about?" she asked defensively.

"Twice this week you were gone in the evenings when I got home until around nine. Now you're telling me you're going to spend this Saturday at the studio. We are supposed to go to the Lake this weekend with the Clarks." The Clarks were our neighbors and friends.

"Oh, I forgot all about that," she said as she seemed lost in thought. I expected her to change her plans, but instead, she totally surprised me. "Can you call them and put it off a week or two? We have an open house at the studio, and I promised Marcel that I would help out."

"It's 'we' and 'Marcel,' now?" I asked. "When did that happen?"

"When did what happen?" she asked, fixing me with that look she got whenever she was perturbed.

"When did you drop the all-important honorific title? You used to call him Yogi. When did he become Marcel to you?" I was getting an uneasy feeling.

Jude blushed.

Oh shit.

That could not be good.

"We work very closely together, and he told me that I could call him Marcel when others aren't around. I call him Yogi during class, but I'm just so used to calling him Marcel," she said, then quickly added, "It's not a big deal."

"Whatever you say Boo-Boo," I replied, watching her closely. The Detective in me was kicking in. I studied her body language, looking for deception.

"And anyway, you've been working so much overtime lately," she said, trying to shift the focus to me. "You're home much less than I am. This case you're working on is taking all your spare time. You probably shouldn't take the weekend to go on a boondoggle anyway."

What she said was true, to a point. I was working a lot of late hours and even some on the weekends. There had been two more attacks, one in Plano and one in Fairview that seemed to fit the same profile as the three we already knew about. The worst thing was we had no evidence and no real leads.

"So you'll call them?" she asked.

"No, I won't."

"Ok, then I'll call them. I'm sure it will be fine. One weekend's the same as any other, right?"

"No, not really. This weekend is the annual summer celebration. Bowling for Soup is playing and will be fireworks, a balloon festival, all kinds of stuff happening. We agreed to go weeks ago, and the Clarks paid extra to book the cabin you insisted on getting. Why am I having to tell you all of this? Are you so obsessed with your yoga stuff that you forgot about our marriage and our friends?"

"Can you not call it my 'yoga stuff'? That's very condescending." She asked, ignoring everything else I said.

"Ok, what do you want me to call it?"

"Yoga."

"So, yoga is ok, but yoga stuff is not ok?"

"Right."

I shook my head as if to say, "Whatever," but I knew better than to vocalize my thought. Instead, I let her know what I expected.

"So, you need to call Marcel," I told her, deliberately not using his title, "and tell him you can't make it to his open house. It's not like you work there or are an owner. You're just a student. These are our best friends, and we have been looking forward to this trip. You were looking forward to it, too, before you changed. There will be more open houses. We are going to the lake."

I didn't want to be an asshole, but sheesh. Jude was being ridiculous; She could sense my mood and my determination. She relented and called Marcel later in the day to tell him that she couldn't attend the open house. Jude gave me the cold shoulder all weekend. She was moody, short-tempered and acted like a woman with a perpetual case of PMS.

I knew this was neither reasonable nor acceptable behavior on her part. I was determined to find out why she was this obsessed over an exercise class. Come Monday, I would start using my detective skills on more than just work.

Jude's cold treatment of me was apparent. My buddy Tony could tell something was wrong, and he asked me about it.

"Yoga withdrawal," I said, then went on to tell him everything that was going on as we drank beers out on the docks overlooking the lake.

"You know Tammy was going there for a while," he said, "but I made her quit when I met that asshole Marcel Marceau or whatever his name is."

"Beaufils," I corrected him. "Marcel Beufils. Why what happened?"

"He was just this smug, punk-ass little bitch that acted like he was God's gift to the Universe and women in particular. You know the type. He thinks he can fuck any woman he meets. You know damned well that asshole is banging half the women that go there, and probably all of the men."

I wasn't sure whether to get angry or laugh. "You think he is a two-sport guy?"

"Oh, I'm sure he plays for both teams," Tony chuckled.

"I told Jude I thought he was gay," I laughed. "She told me I think all good looking men are gay."

"Well, they are, but that's unrelated. This guy is not that good looking. Haven't you met him?"

"No, I haven't."

"Bro, what the fuck are you doing? You need to get Jude out of that place. Nothing good can come of it. You're a cop, by God. Haven't you checked into this dude by now?"

I shrugged. "No, I never really thought about it. I mean, I figured it's just yoga. I trust Jude. I just thought she was all-in on a new hobby. She was that way with pottery years ago and tole painting before that. We have painted chickens all over the house as a result. I figured she just had a harmless infatuation with the Yogi."

"Yogi, my ass. And you know what else?" he asked, leaning closer in a conspiratorial way, "I don't think he's really French. I'm from Lousiana. My family is fucking cajun, and I rattled off some Patois at him. The fucker didn't catch any of it. He said my accent was too strong and my pronunciation was 'sheet'. I call 'bullsheet' on that. He's about as French as French fries."

I sipped my beer and stared at the sunset. Fuck. Had I been asleep at my post? Had I let a fox into the henhouse? I needed to talk to Jude, but I didn't think she was going to be very open to talking about it. I would need to tread carefully.

On the drive home, I decided it was time to wake up and be the detective. I came up with a plan to get more involved in Jude's 'yoga stuff.' We had been riding in relative silence for about an hour when I startled her by speaking softly.

"I want to apologize for making you give up the open house; I'm sorry to make you do that. I thought about it all weekend and realized it was important to you. I also want to thank you for coming along, even though you didn't want to. I've missed you lately, and I loved getting to spend time with you."

"Even though I was a bitch to you all weekend?" she asked, admitting what I'd been thinking.

"Even then," I said, not denying her mood.

She smiled and took my hand. "Thanks for saying that. I had a great time. I missed spending time with you and getting to hang out with Tony and Tammy was great, too. We should get together more often."

"Yeah, I agree," I said, then took a deep breath. "You know, I was thinking about ways we could spend more time together. We're both so busy. I want to take you up on your suggestion."

"Suggestion? What suggestion is that?" she asked.

"To join you for your yoga class. I can't go as often as you do, obviously, but I should be able to free up enough time for one or two classes a week."

If it weren't for the road noises, you might have been able to hear the crickets outside. The level of excitement Jude demonstrated was underwhelming.

"You want to start coming to yoga class?" she asked, more as a statement than a question. "With me?"

"Yeah, it would give us something to do together, and I could start learning to share your passion for the thing that brings you so much joy. If you like it so much, maybe I'll like it, too."

There was a long pause as the crickets chirped by in silence.

Finally, she responded, "You know, I'm in the advanced class. You would need to start as a beginner. So, we would not even be there at the same time. I don't even think the classes are on the same days."

Shit. Was that the truth or did Jude not want me around the yoga studio?

"Oh, well then that's no good. Never mind., then."

As I tried to guess the truthfulness of her response, another idea came to me.

"You know, you said we should get together with the Clarks more often, right?"

"Yeah, I'd like that."

"So, why don't we have a party. We haven't had our friends over in a long time."