Chapter 15
“I’m really not sure about this, honey…” I croaked, barely able to get the words out, my throat as dry as my face was red as I thought through Sasha’s request.
(Although when I say request, with any member of the MacAlister clan, that was a relative term… those staunch Scottish genes of theirs weren’t hardwired to accept the word no.)
“I know it might be a little embarrassing,” she grinned mischievously, “but isn’t that the whole point… with my hubby’s strange hobby, you need the pain to get the pleasure…”
Still grinning, big brown eyes locked on, she playfully dared me to disagree.
How could I? How many times had we examined the anatomy of my strange predilection over those six years of highs and lows?
“There you go, baby,” she preened. (MacAlisters loved their little victories.) “Put on your big-boy pants and try not to blush too much as you get hard at the thought of what all the other guests will be thinking!”
Fuck, Sash!
I love you, and I love the game we play. But remind me, just how the hell did we end up here? Discussing how Mrs. Sasha Spencer wouldn’t be bringing a ‘plus one’ to our friend group’s social event of the year.
No, that would be far too simple… Mrs. Sasha Spencer would be attending her best friend’s wedding with a ‘plus two’. Because, as you’d expect from a professor’s daughter, her logic was impeccable.
‘Jason, honey, everyone at the airline already knows about me and Thomas, and about my kinky husband loves living as part of a Throuple…’
She didn’t actually say the words out loud, but she may as well have done! Fuck! Why had I been so stupid as to marry a professor’s daughter? I told myself one day I’d win an argument with Sasha… but likely not any time soon.
So that was settled, we’d be attending Lisa and Samuel’s wedding tomorrow as a three—as a Throuple. The average-looking five-foot-nine White guy with the stunning brunette flight attendant on his arm.
The stunning flight attendant who just happened to have a younger, taller, richer and much, much darker man on her other arm.
A man she spent more time than she spent with me…
a man who fucked her way better than I ever could or would…
a man who thank fuck would be out of our lives when Sasha finally moved back to monogamy and parenthood.
So, nothing at all embarrassing there then!
Nothing for Lisa’s family or Lisa and Sasha’s airport friends to look at and wonder ‘WTF!’ or ‘Poor old Jason…’
Haaaah, I sighed. I’d be so, so happy when this day was finally over! Two hours past midnight, me being me, an engineer to the core, I’d counted the hours of this torment.
Ten fricking hours… Ten!
Two hours, waiting , ceremony and photos.
Three hours for formal meal, speeches and toasts. (Thank fuck this was Lisa’s second go-round—it helped balance out the Nigerian love of going long.)
And now I was seriously flagging as we reached the five-hour mark at a party that had started out slowly at nine. Had accelerated and gotten hot as all of Samuel’s Nigerian friends arrived… and which was now, finally winding down to the smoking weed and coupling up part of the evening.
Which meant any discretion Sasha and Thomas might have shown earlier—we’re just friends dancing, honestly—had long since disappeared, about the same time Lisa’s parents, aunts and uncles disappeared.
The only people left now were Samuel’s Nigerian friends and Lisa’s airline friends…
with more than the odd hook up between the two groups in evidence…
involving, by my count, at least half a dozen flight attendants who I knew damn well had significant others who’d have been shocked to see the extreme levels of cultural outreach their partners were selflessly offering to their Nigerian guests…
Which explained why my own angst had finally fallen to only four-out-of-ten pain and discomfort. Because sat at the side nursing my beer, watching Sasha and Thomas’s hybrid dance / make-out session, my guts were a tangled mess.
But as all the oldies had gone and half the dance floor was filled with other illicit interracial couples, my pain and angst felt tolerable.
Which was well as—never mind the publicness of the venue—Sasha and Thomas’s hybrid was becoming more make-out and less dancing with every extra minute.
Lips mashed together, Sasha’s long nails teasing his scalp and teasing what she’d found inside his unzipped fly…
his hands just as active, squeezing her big boobs and twisting at her nipples.
Fuck! Why the hell was my cock so hard? Humiliation in the privacy of our home was one thing… but this public-style outing of the guilty secret of my marriage… how I loved watching my beautiful wife with superior men from an ethnic group so different to my own…
Fuck, fuck, fuck… would I ever really understand this side of myself? Understand why it made me so hard… set my pulse racing as my whole body floated on a dopamine high…
Another deep sigh… it had been another long, stressful week of travel… I was done in, ready to take Sasha home when out of the corner of my eye I saw the happy couple approaching… maybe they had the same idea…
Lisa looked radiant.
Radiant and proud. Her choice of party top—a low-cut camisole crop top—a statement choice so no one could miss her small baby bump or the way her boobs had already growing for their new, dual role.
Keeping her new husband happy, and feeding their sixteen-week-old little baby boy growing in her tummy.
Lisa leaned in and gave me a big hug. She looked over at Sasha and Thomas who, if anything, had managed to get even more amorous.
“You okay, Jase?” she asked, face half warm, half worried.
“I’m sure, Lis… nothing I’ve not seen many times before, but thanks for asking…
“Anyway, Lis… today’s not about me or Romeo and Juliet over there… today’s about you and Samuel… about your love and future… and about that little bump of yours,” I smiled, touching the bump to show how happy I was for her.
“Thanks, Jason,” she murmured, putting her hand on mine, holding it in place in a way that celebrated our decade-plus loving friendship.
“And, Jase… always remember how much Lisa loves you… I know your game can be up and down… but never doubt her love for you…”
Another hug, a kiss on the cheek, her hand squeezing mine tight as she looked into my eyes… then she was gone…
Something felt odd, but before I had chance to wrestle with what my antenna were telling me, Sasha and Thomas appeared from the other side of the room.
“She said goodbye to you, but not to me!” She sounded a little pissed her bestie had headed off to her hotel and honeymoon without checking in with her.
“Maybe she thought you and Thomas were otherwise occupied,” I said with a sarcastic tone far greater than I’d intended. I needn’t have worried, Sasha was too buzzed and loved-up even to notice.
“You’re probably right,” she said, actually smiling, nuzzling closer and squeezing her boyfriend’s hand as my sarcasm sailed harmlessly over her.
“Anyway, honey… I know Saturday’s normally your night… but would it be okay with you if we swapped? Thomas and I are totally wrecked… we were thinking of going back to his place… then I’ll be home early Sunday morning so we can have a lovely romantic Sunday…
“Would that be okay?”
Fuck, she was already pulling on her coat… calling an Uber before I’d had a chance to draw breath… never mind actually form an opinion and answer…
Sasha must have taken my silence as consent.
If she was buzzed, I was buzzed squared…
after all, her lips and mouth had enjoyed other distractions while mine had mostly been helping Mr. Sam Adams keep pace with Mr. Jack Daniel.
So, I don’t remember giving my agreement…
but the pickled nature of my brain means I can’t be certain.
But what I can be certain off is that when my brain finally fought through the booze to wake me on Sunday morning around nine, there was no sign of the woman who’d said ‘I’ll be home early Sunday morning..’
‘Early Sunday morning’ turned out to be eleven a.m. Sunday morning, precisely one hour before she needed to head off to the airport for her pre-flight duties.
The only good news being that as Sasha headed off to the airport—with her and I only really having had Friday night as couple time—I was too tired and hungover to do much thinking.
If I’d been less tired and booze-fogged, I might have pondered some of the ‘read between the lines’ signals Lisa had sent me as she’d left.
Or dwelt more on just how casual Sasha had been about getting my genuine buy-in to her change of plans…
or how casually she seemed to have defaulted to a place where what nights she spent with me felt transactional rather than emotional and connected.
At least during the next few day’s calls from Seoul she seemed extra loving and considerate—maybe she was feeling guilty!
An attentiveness that lasted all the way through the next weekend.
No friend weddings, I had her all to myself from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon.
Only having to share her with Thomas for Thursday and Sunday nights…
which after so much apart actually felt like a win!
My next round of trips set in, but at least Sasha would still be there when I arrived back Thursday—it was one of those horrible schedule clashes where she’d only be there for a night and a breakfast before she flew off, leaving me to my own devices for the whole weekend.
But when I got home on Thursday—things weren’t even that good. When I got home mid-evening, no Sasha. And not even a note, a text or a Voicemail.
“Sash… everything okay? Where are you?”
“Hey, honey,” she whispered, “it’s difficult to talk…”
“Why? Where are you?”
“Let me find somewhere quiet…”