The First Timers Club Pt. 10

Clay watched me closely, studying my face. I tried to control my breathing and remain calm, gripping my knees to keep my hands from shaking. he looked over his shoulder to the hallway and my bedroom beyond.

"That Courtney, huh?" he said when he turned back around. "She cleaned up real nice, didn't she?" I clenched my jaw and he laughed. "Who knew? Told you she had a nice little rack on her, though, didn't I?"

"Come on, Clay."

"Come on, Clay," he mocked. "Man, just shut the fuck up!" he laughed, then his expression abruptly darkened and he lifted the pistol. "How long have you been fucking my wife?" When I didn't respond, he added, "You can talk now."

"I'm not fucking her," I said quietly, then instantly regretted saying it. It was technically the truth, but would he take it as a lie?

"Maybe not anymore, but you did. Didn't you?"

I had flashbacks to Erin's interrogation after she'd caught me in the pool with Ashley and her friends. She'd wanted to hear me admit it. I slowly nodded and Clay pressed his lips into a thin line and closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose.

"Erin," he said under his breath. "Erin, Erin, Erin. God, I hate that fucking bitch, sometimes." He opened his eyes and took another swig of whiskey.

"Clay, I'm sorry, man."

"Do you love her?" he asked.

I wasn't sure who he'd referred to. Erin or Ashley. I had a fifty-fifty chance of answering wrong and catching a bullet with my brain. I needed him to clarify.

"You mean Ashley?" I asked and he scoffed.

"Ashley? Who gives a fuck about Ashley? I'm talking about my fucking wife!"

The rage on his face caused me to flinch. I didn't know if it would be worse to say no or yes. "No," I said at last, which turned out to be the right answer, I guess, when he didn't pull the trigger.

His rage mask twisted into an amused smile. "That was you in the pool house, wasn't it? You left the light on." He tsked. "Dumb mistake. I saw it when I came home Tuesday. I went in there to turn them off. You could smell it the second you walked through the door." He breathed in deeply through his nose. "Pussy. Cum. Right away, you knew someone had been fucking in there. The whole place stank of it."

Brittney had slept over the night before and we'd fucked like animals for hours. Kayla the night before that. The bed sheets were covered in cum and baby oil. Tuesday had been the night I took the girls to Arcadium. When we'd returned, I'd found the pool house locked. For some reason, I'd assumed Erin had done it, though I couldn't understand why at the time. Now it made perfect sense.

"Saw the bed had been slept in," he continued. "Found the butt plugs and dildo and lube. The bloody towels in the bathroom. Fucking used tampons everywhere. At first I thought, okay, Erin's gone on one of her little benders again. Then I saw the laptop plugged into the TV, and the backpack. And then there was your fucking Rover. Parked right outside my fucking house for days." He tapped the gun against his temple. "You must think I'm the stupidest dumbfuck on the planet, don't you?" he asked, then his anger returned in a flash and he leveled the pistol at me. "Don't you!"

Someone knocked at the front door. Clay stood and put his finger to his lips, then walked to the vestibule with the gun held behind his back to peer through the peephole. Had Denise changed her mind and come back to fuck more? I prayed not. When Clay opened the door, I felt an odd mix of emotions to see Erin standing on the other side. Relief mixed with revulsion and dread.

"Inside. Hurry," Clay said, shutting the door behind her.

"Clay, what the hell's going on. Where's Ashley...," Erin asked, trailing off when she saw me sitting on the couch. She turned to face Clay. He held the gun on her.

"Sit down. Next to him."

"Clay. Please, honey. This isn't funny."

Even with a gun pointed at her, Erin remained remarkably calm.

"It's going to get downright tragic if you don't sit your fat ass down like I told you," he said. He shoved her backwards toward the couch. "Go on. Sit."

Erin lowered herself onto the sofa as far away from me as she could, then crossed her legs, but she didn't bounce her foot. Clay tucked the pistol into the back of his slacks and pulled his Sinclair Land Rover-branded polo shirt over it. He sat on the arm of the couch next to Erin.

"Ashley! Get out here!" he yelled toward the bedroom.

I began to rise, but Clay pushed me back into my seat with a malevolent glare that scared the shit out of me. He put his huge hand on the back of Erin's neck and gave it a not very gentle squeeze when the door unlocked. Ashley emerged from the hallway wearing one of my button down shirts.

"It's alright," Clay said, and then gestured to the stuffed chair he'd just vacated. "Why don't you take a seat over there."

Ashley looked scared out of her mind. She moved her eyes between her parents and me before crossing to sit in the chair. She hunched over and hugged herself to control her shaking.

"Dad...," she said in a tiny voice.

Clay huffed and tightened his grip on Erin's neck, and she inhaled a sharp breath and stiffened. Despite her immediate peril, however, she managed a calm smile.

"Ashley, honey. Why don't you get your things so we can all go home, okay?"

Ashley hesitated a beat, then started to rise, but Clay held out his hand and pushed it down. "No, sit for a minute," he said, and Ashley resumed her seat. "I think we all need to have a little family discussion."

"Clay," Erin said, but he cut her off with another squeeze to the back of her neck.

"Your mother," Clay said to Ashley with a malicious chuckle, shaking his head. "The mouth on this woman. She never knows when to shut up, does she."

Ashley hugged herself tighter and rocked back and forth. She couldn't look at her parents, so she fixed her gaze on the coffee table instead.

"You have a good time last night?" Clay asked. Ashley's eyes shot to his and the color drained from her face. "Sure sounded like it. You've turned into quite the little slut, haven't you? Just like your slut mother."

"For fuck's sake, man, she's your daughter," I said, but Clay whipped his head around and bared his teeth.

"If you don't shut your fucking mouth..."

I didn't need him to finish that what if? I faced forward. Clay turned his attention back to Ashley.

"Your mom has something she needs to tell you," he said, shaking Erin by the neck. "Go on. Tell her."

"Clay, please don't," Erin whispered. She winced in pain when he squeezed her neck harder.

"If you don't, I will." His deep, gravelly voice dripped with contempt.

Ashley trembled. She stared at her mother, her face mirroring Erin's terrified expression.

"Ashley, baby, your dad loves you so much," she began, then cried out when Clay sank his sausage-like fingers into her neck.

"Mom...?" Ashley whimpered, tears welling in her eyes.

"Tell her!" Clay screamed at Erin, causing her to flinch. Ashley jumped and let out a scared yelp, then covered her mouth. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Clay will always be your dad," Erin said hastily through gritted teeth as Clay clamped down on the nerves in her neck, "but he's not your father, baby."

Ashley froze, then flicked her eyes to Clay and let out a stifled sob. Clay let go of Erin's neck and then brushed his palms on the legs of his pants, as if to wipe her off. He took a deep breath and looked at Ashley with a bored expression.

"You're not my kid, Ashley. You never were. You're a goddamned fucking cuckoo's egg." He stood up and kissed Erin on the head. "See you back at the house, baby."

"Daddy?" Ashley cried, but Clay ignored her and walked to the vestibule.

How could he be such a cold, heartless bastard to the girl he'd raised for eighteen years? Everything about his behavior at the party that night, and his refusal to ever talk about Ashley, suddenly made sense. He'd resented her. A constant reminder of Erin's infidelity. Clay paused at the door and turned around, reaching into his breast pocket.

"I almost forgot," he said, pulling out a small grey thumb drive. He tossed it to me. A perfect flick of the wrist that delivered it right into my open hands.

"What is this?" I asked.

"I don't know if you remember, but I'm pretty sure I mentioned how some of my tools had gone missing. I hid a little WiFi camera in the garage to see if I could catch the little bastards who were swiping my shit. Imagine my fucking surprise when I saw my lovely wife here hog tying you to the rafters. She got you good."

Erin whipped her head around to stare in shocked surprise at her husband. He coughed out a scornful chuckle when he saw her expression.

"He got you back, though, didn't he? So all's fair, I guess. You might want to hang onto that," he said to me, "just in case she tries to pull any shit later." He opened the door, but just before he stepped into the hall, he turned back to say one last thing.

"This should go without saying, but I'll say it anyway so there's no misunderstandings. If you come near me or my family ever again, it won't go well for you. I suggest you get your vehicle serviced at another dealership."

And with those ominous parting words, Clay left my apartment.

Chapter 46 - Swedish Petitions

Ashley's three friends emerged from my bedroom the second the front door shut, rushing forward to surround Ashley. They all wore button down shirts from my closet, though the one Brittney wore barely covered her ass when she bent over to hug Ashley.

Erin and I exchanged a look, then we both turned to the whiskey bottle at the same time. I lunged for it, but she beat me to it, throwing it back to take a giant slug. Then she handed it to me and I matched her ounce for ounce.

"Holy shit," I said under my breath when I'd swallowed. "Did that just happen?"

Ashley broke from her friends and rushed to her mom, throwing her arms around her to cry unconsolably. Erin returned her embrace and swayed her substantial hips back and forth, crooning softly into her ear.

"It's okay, baby. It's okay."

I hunted around in the debris on the coffee table and found the pack of cigarettes Denise had left behind. My fingers shook as I fumbled to open it and Erin caught my attention. Her eyes flicked to the balcony and I nodded.

The girls waited inside and got dressed while Erin and I leaned over the balcony railing, sharing a smoke. Her hands trembled as much as mine.

"I thought you had an open marriage," I said, staring off into the distance at the towering columnar thunderheads forming over the hills.

Erin flicked her ashes over the side of the balcony and cocked her head from side to side. "Sort of. Not really. Fuck, I don't know," she said at last.

"And he's not really that overprotective, is he."

"Of Chelsea? Sure," she said with a laugh in a puff of grey smoke. "Ashley?" She shook her head. "No, not so much."

Erin turned her head to look at me. Her appearance had changed. I thought about those photo comparisons of a president's first and last day in office. She seemed so much older now than she had when I'd first met her. The puffy bags under her eyes had darkened, and I wondered if she'd slept much. The past week had weighed as heavily on her as it had on me.

"I'll leave him," she said, catching me by surprise. "If you asked me to, I would. I'd leave him in a heartbeat to be with you." When I didn't respond, she lifted her lips into a weak smile and moved her eyes away. "Yeah, I didn't think so. Can't blame a girl."

"You're not a good person," I said, which was the most charitable thing I could think of to say to her at that moment. She huffed.

"No, I guess I'm not." She moved her eyes back to mine. "But I could try, if you gave me another chance. And you could still fuck Ashley too. I wouldn't mind that. At all. Chelsea too, if you wanted. You know me. I could make that happen for you."

I sighed heavily and looked away. What a disgusting person she was. How could that possibly tempt me in even the slightest way? But it did. My depravity truly knew no bounds. I briefly imagined what it would be like to fuck Erin and her two daughters incessantly, every day, all day. Wonderful, I suppose, but awful and terrifying at the same time. I could never trust Erin. Not after all the horrible things she'd done to me and Ashley and Clay.

"You need to go home. Go patch things up with Clay. Your family needs you, Erin. Ashley needs you."

Erin turned to watch the clouds, then reached into her purse for a pen and an old receipt. She quickly scribbled something onto it, then folded it and handed it to me.

"What's that?" I asked.

She pressed it into my palm and folded my fingers over it. "My number. Any time, any place. You call, and I'll be there. No tricks this time, I swear. I'll make you feel so good, you have no idea. I'll drain your fucking balls dry."

Jesus fucking Christ. I couldn't believe it when my cock began to swell. This fucking woman. I opened my hand and the wind caught the paper and blew it over the railing. Erin watched it tumble and flitter away, then slowly put the pen back in her purse and sighed.

"One last ass fuck in your bathroom before I go?" she asked, but I turned away from her to go back inside.

The girls had mostly dressed, in the way a mechanic often has spare parts in a carboard box after rebuilding an engine. They held shoes and accessories and various small items of lingerie and hosiery in their hands, their bags slung over their shoulders. Erin joined me at my side.

"I'm going home to have a talk with your father," Erin said to Ashley. "He still loves you, honey, and he always will. Come home soon, okay? I think you and me need to have a long talk."

She walked to her daughter with her arms out and Ashley met her in a tight embrace.

"I love you, mom," Ashley said with tears in her eyes.

"I love you too, baby," Erin said, and I heard something real in her voice. She turned to me and said, "They all look so beautiful. You did a wonderful job."

For the very first time, I saw a true, honest to god emotion on Erin's face. She wiped away the tear that wet her cheek and smiled.

"Walk me out," she said, and I followed her to the door. She paused in the hallway outside. "No chance, huh?"

"No chance."

She lowered her head and nodded. "I understand," she said. Then she looked me in the eye. "I know this is going to sound petty, but I don't want you to ever see Ashley or any of her friends ever again, okay?"

I held up my hand before she even finished. "When they leave here in a few minutes, that will be the last time I ever see them."

She nodded, satisfied. "Good, because if I find out different, I'm sending those videos to their parents. All of them. Do you understand?"

I clenched my jaw. What a vile, disgusting woman.

"I understand. Goodbye, Erin. I hope our paths never cross again."

When she'd gone, I met the First Timers in the living area. The dejected, somber expressions on their faces matched the looming weather outside. I didn't want this final moment to spoil our amazing week together, and the sex Olympiad we'd all participated in that morning.

"Hold on a second, guys. One last thing before you go."

I disappeared into my home office for several minutes. When I returned, I carried with me a bundle of pens, several pads of sticky notes, and a couple of large, padded shipping envelopes. I laid everything on the kitchen island and then distributed a pen and pad of sticky notes to each girl, retaining one of each for myself.

"What's this all for?" Courtney asked, but I'd already started scribbling, narrating what I wrote.

"Erin Mitchell. Psycho bitch who bound and tortured me," I muttered as I wrote her name and her evil deed on the sticky note. Then I fixed it to the front of one of the envelopes.

"None of us is hauling any more baggage around with us," I told them. I looked at Kayla and put my hand on my diaphragm. "I don't want to hold onto this knot for one more day."

Kayla grimaced, and put her hand on her diaphragm. I addressed them all. "I want you to write down the name of anyone in your life who's ever caused you pain and the terrible things they did to you. Then we're going to put them all inside this envelope," I said, patting the envelope with Erin's name on it, "and then we're going to burn it in the fireplace."

I pulled a wand lighter from a cabinet drawer and went to the Swedish fireplace to light it. The gas flame roared to life. When I returned to the island, none of them had moved. I mimed writing.

"Go on. Do it. Anyone who's ever made you cry or called you a bad name or picked on you. Whatever it is, write it down and put it in the envelope."

The four girls looked at me like I was mad, but they all put pen to paper. In fifteen minutes, they'd each deposited dozens of sticky notes into the envelope. When they'd exhausted all of their painful memories, I put my hand on top of the shipping envelope.

"Kayla, there's a bottle of champagne in the wine fridge. Green bottle, yellow label, gold foil. Veuve Clicquot. Would you please get it for us? Brittney, would you please grab five flutes from the glass cabinet?"

Kayla found the bottle and handed it to me. When I'd unwrapped it and popped the cork, I filled the five flutes to the top. Then we carried our champagne and the envelope with Erin's name on it to the fireplace.

"Oh, sacred gods of the Swedish fireplace!" I intoned to the titter of giggling laughter. "Please accept these petitions as sacrifice to your benevolent, Scandinavian goodness. Consume these memories in your fiery sacrament, and free us from these terrible burdens under which we've suffered for so very long."

I tossed the envelope into the fire. The plastic bubble wrap lining ignited, fueling the gas flame into a giant, yellow fireball of blazing hydrocarbons.

Then I lifted my glass high, and in a loud voice I shouted, "The First Timers Club!"

With tears in their eyes, the four girls shouted in one proud, sisterly voice.

"The First Timers Club!"

Chapter 47 - Revenge of the Nerds

Months had passed since the fiery sacrament of the Swedish fireplace. When the girls left my apartment for the very last time that morning, I deleted and blocked their phone numbers. Then I locked myself in my bedroom to cry and wallow in sorrow for an entire day.

Then I got on with my life.

I took client meetings, finished a few projects, and fucked several new women. I made the photo that Ashley had texted to the group of the First Timers standing arm over shoulder my desktop background, until the pain of seeing it every day compelled me to remove it. The image still lived on my phone, though, and I looked at it from time to time, but less frequently now than I had in the beginning.

I never heard from them again. No surprise visits, no ambushes in my lobby, no stakeouts by my car. I suppose they may have tried to contact me by phone at some point, but finding me unreachable, they'd moved on with their lives, and I did too.

I eased the Range Rover into an empty parking spot in front of the convenience store and hurried inside, leaving the engine running. I had a lot to get done today. The clerk asked me what I needed.

"Pack of Marlboro Lights," I told him as I pulled out my wallet. I still hadn't managed to quit, but I would, I promised myself. Tomorrow.

The clerk set the white and gold box onto the counter and rang it up. "Eight seventy-eight," he said with a bored expression on his face.

"Fucking expensive," I groused, handing over a ten dollar bill. I clocked his name tag.

"Colton," I said, and he looked up briefly as he made change. "You wouldn't happen to be the same Colton Bryer who played defensive back for the Hilton High Hawks last year, would you?"