Reluctant Cuckold Read Online Free PDF Page B

but there really are good people out there. And you know,” I added, “I bet you that guy really is going to donate it to charity.”
     
    I was ecstatic. I could treat Ashley to a proper dinner. Our date had turned from disaster to magical and auspicious.
     
    We stayed out past midnight on a work night. We shared a cab uptown. I gave her a quick kiss on her cheek as I dropped her off.
     
    I was giddy and enthralled.
     
    I had a skip in my step as I walked through the lobby.
     
    I did a little jig back up in my apartment living room.
     
    It was nice to think about that magical date as she slept on my shoulder.
     
    I gave her a slight nudge and said, “Let’s move to the bed, babe, it’s late.”
     
****
     
    The next morning at 7 a.m., Ashley was already dressed in full business presentation mode. As I lay there in bed, I silently marveled at her beauty, watching her shuffle between our bedroom and bathroom. In her trim little, fitted suit and blazer, getting ready in front of the mirror, she was in A-game mode.
     
    I pictured her standing in front of a roomful of sales people, mostly men, who had probably all heard the story of that night at the party. I imagined them strolling in with their coffee, checking my wife out. They would stare at her tits as she talked, check out her ass as she leaned over to straighten the projector. They would be mentally undressing her, thinking of her now in a different light—no longer the wholesome, proper, untouchable, faithful married girl in the office. Now she was the married girl who got fucked by a junior salesman in a sleazy little bathroom.
     
    Maybe they’d be thinking they had a chance of fucking her, too. After all, she got fucked with her husband there. If a junior salesman can close the deal, what would that say to others?
     
    I asked Ashley if she was nervous, and she replied, “Yeah, right now I am, but that’s par for the course. I’ll be fine once I start talking and I’m a few sentences in.”
     
    I was sure she was right. She’s a very, polished and natural public speaker.
     
    But I knew Ashley had to realize what the guys would be thinking. They would be objectifying her. Thinking of her having sex. She would have to block that out and maintain the focus of a field goal kicker. But I admired the way she was brave-facing it.
     
****
     
    Friday afternoon had me on another walk, thinking about that night at the party.
     
    I thought the story must have come from either Jim Murta or Tamara—at least originally.
     
    Who else would be privy to such specific details?
     
    I had mostly ruled out the possibility that it was pre-planned. If Ashley had intended to have sex with Jim Murta, she would have chosen a far more discrete place. She would have anticipated the potential danger, consequences, and drama of such a public location.
     
    I also couldn’t see Tamara setting this up beforehand. Tamara considered Ashley a BFF. She might not like me, but she wouldn’t deliberately put Ashley in a situation she might regret.
     
    Instead it seemed spur of the moment, with one thing quickly and unexpectedly leading to the next.
     
    Craig had told me Ashley and Tamara went into the bathroom together before inviting Jim Murta in.
     
    Why did the two of them go into that bathroom together, I wondered. I understand going to the women’s room together—I’ve seen them do that. But this was an apartment bathroom with one toilet.
     
    I knew Tamara smokes pot, and Ashley has joined her at times. That was a possibility. Or perhaps Tamara had told Jim prior to coming in that she’d give him the signal to enter the bathroom under a pretense of them all getting high.
     
    I thought about the “pseudo mock lesbian show.” Craig said it involved kissing and some topless fondling in the bathtub. That sounded very Tamara-inspired, in a “let’s be provocative and surprise him” kind of way.
     
    But I could also picture a guy like Jim Murta pushing the envelope,