A Dedication and Description: To my wife, mrssecondsamuel who original request this story.
Everything always came back to Samuel.
Not that I was complaining – or at least I wasn’t complaining at the moment. I knew the man I married was soft spoken, studious, thoughtful, and completely devoted to his dual jobs as a father and a public school teacher. During the school year, it made for long hours, little pay, and a frantic, whirlwind schedule that left out a lot of time we needed for each other.
Not to mention Samuel.
My husband Billy knew Samuel from high school. Before he became the famous writer splaying his words all over Rolling Stone, Playboy, and whatever other magazine he happened to drop in the conversation.
Billy discovered Sammy, albeit in the most mild way. He lived in sort of an idolization of Samuel after seeing him play as the frontman of some stupid garage band. Billy had worked his way up to the editor of East High School newspaper, and offered Samuel a column writing a music review.
Samuel’s first column was horrible. But Billy taught him. Eventually, Samuel adopted the surname Clementine and started writing for the big papers and magazines, making a name for himself as a wild bisexual rock and roll writer in the vein of Iggy Pop, Lou Reed, and David Bowie. But while Samuel’s life descended into sex, drugs, and rock, Billy continued editing at the college rag, completing his teacher’s certification and returning to East Central High to quietly work on a book he never finished.
They remained best friends, even as Samuel trotted around the globe, touring with musicians and detailing their exploits. But Billy stayed put, working as an English teacher, never seeming at all troubled that his closest friend lived such a widely different lifestyle.
For a while, it seemed a fair trade, family instead of fame. Until Samuel married Rachel, his favorite groupie who carried two of his children. After that, it became easier for me to sometimes hate the man who had it all without any appreciation of the work it took for the rest of us.
Not that there weren’t perks. Samuel never forgot all that Billy did for him. And more often than not, Billy was the first person he called to see some show or fly someplace special. Even if Samuel often forgot about our family… and his own, as Billy so often did whenever his friend called to whisk him away.
I didn’t hate Samuel, not really. Just sometimes it was like being the third wheel, strange as it may seem to be jealous of my husband’s bestie, especially as he offered us his lake house for Valentine’s Day. There has just always been something about Samuel that made me seethe under my skin.
Maybe it’s how little he seemed to work. How effortlessly he made conversation. His undeniable good looks and charm overcame any lapse in social etiquette. He could, and often did, speak at length about his sexual escapes. Details that of late reached into my imagination and left me wanting more from my own life.
Both Billy and I had been raised as fundamentalist Christians. Our big sin was premarital sex and an unintended pregnancy that preempted the marriage we always intended. Because of the twin boys, we never had much time even for each other, let alone exploring the fetishes and freaky sexcapades Samuel enjoyed so casually.
But no matter what he did or said, Samuel Clementine was impossible to be mad at, so long as he was in the room. It was a fact that disturbed his ex-wife Rachel and his grown children, Scott and Alice, more than me. But the realization never seemed to dawn on Billy, who remained an awe-struck teenager around his wayward friend.
“Samuel has the best spot on Lake Travis… “
“I’m so glad you took some time off,” I wanted to cut him off before the adulation became too thick. “We really needed this time together.”
It didn’t work.
“He’s got that heated pool, and the hot tub if the water in the lake is too cold. I think we should try it anyway. It is supposed to be up to nearly 80 on Valentine’s Day.”
“You just want to get a view of the nude beach!”
Billy cracked a smile.
“Maybe we can make our own nude beach…”
I laughed at this. Attending the nudist park at Hippie Hollow had always been a long standing joke between us. Not that either of us would ever follow through with it. It was just a joke and a little bit of a fantasy for me.
I never knew how to bring it up, but sex between Billy and I had grown more than a little stale over 20 years of marriage. Only recently, as the boys neared college, had I begun worrying about being more of a mom than anything else.
Maybe that’s why I started reading erotica.
I knew Billy looked at porn. I’m not naive; every man, no matter how beautiful his wife, indulges in a little window shopping. At first, I couldn’t care less. Anything to keep him from groping, grabbing, plotting and pleading on those nights when I couldn’t manage to cuddle let alone cum. He would browse the net for a while, do his thing, and come back to sleep şırnak seks hikayeleri long after I passed out.
Only of late, this became more of an everyday routine.
I found myself searching online and finding stories on that aroused me in ways I never imagined before. Not nasty pictures or way too graphic videos, but instead I devoured intricate stories, exotic ideas, and compelling characters who reminded me of myself.
At first I found myself overcome with shame after every orgasm, only to have desire build up again over the next week or so until I went back for more. I was completely caught up in everything: BDSM, group sex, loving wives, even forbidden taboo fantasies, things I might have found perverted or disgusting back when I still went to Sunday School weekly. I even watched one video on pornhub almost religiously, a series where a girl would be taken to a bar, led around naked on a leash like a dog, and used by everyone there.
It took a while, but soon I realized we had a problem. I continued pleasuring myself before my husband got home from work. He would sneak to the bathroom with his iPad to jerk off at night. I told him I didn’t mind him sharing his pornography if that got things started, but he never went for it, making up excuses while our sexual compatibility withered on the vine. I probably should have instigated, but after so many years of vanilla the idea of sharing so many secret ideas seemed to hold such high stakes for our relationship.
I suppose I was hoping for something to jump start our marriage. And if my husband needed to see another pair of breasts, so be it. I’d been Mommy long enough. And guiltily enough, I’d sloughed off a lot of my duties onto Billy as our boys awaited their letters from college. I’d had enough of taking the twins to soccer practice, helping them study for the SAT and ACT, washing clothes and making dinner, all while working the circulation desk at the San Antonio Public Library. I had nearly demanded Billy take a few days off as an ultimatum.
“Well here it is,” Billy said as we saw the state sign for Hippie Hollow. “What do you say? Feel like a dip?”
“Don’t tempt me!”
I couldn’t bring myself to say how much I wanted to strip off all my clothes right then and there. So we kept driving, pulling up to the large, imitation cabin Samuel had constructed near the lake.
After we parked, Billy acted like he owned the place. In truth that’s exactly how Samuel treated him. For all his faults, Samuel was perhaps the most generous man I knew and never hesitated to offer us things. Billy found exactly the right rock and pulled out the house key, opening the door for me with a comical tada gesture. I didn’t really laugh, just enough to acknowledge the lame joke before entering the living room.
I could’ve said I noticed the extravagance of his miniature mansion, the open living room, the oversized sectional, or the many pieces of exotic erotic art hanging all over the walls. I might’ve been drawn to the grand piano that stood on the side of the room facing Lake Travis, where a large open glass wall presented the view to anyone that cared to venture out to the other side of the living room. There were thousands of different luxuries scattered around the faux cabin that might’ve drawn anyone else’s eye, especially as Samuel decorated like a stoned rock star with more money than sense.
Instead, I stepped into the living room and stared directly at the gorgeous hunk of naked flesh standing only a few feet in front of me.
Samuel’s body had been chiseled out of gristle after a lifetime of hard living. His frame held a wiry, almost skeletal tone that seemed to accentuate every muscle. He wasn’t ripped, swoll, or at all like any overdone gym rat obsessed with his own body. He had a natural sort of allure, an almost leathery, well-worn body that seemed perfectly designed to do whatever he asked of it. He had a practical sort of physique to match his dark hair and features– tall, lanky, with well-defined and well proportioned muscles barely bulging in the right places..
God, he was fucking sexy.
The only part of him with any sort of weight other than bone and muscle was a breathtaking butt that bulged out and curved almost like a woman’s.
I knew I was staring, but I had to take in that ass.
Caught in such a state of undress, he might’ve scampered away, covering himself while muttering muted apologies. Only Samuel Clementine was completely nonplussed about his nude body, turning around to face both of us as my husband entered the living room, neither of us reacting to this unexpected shock.
Of course I stared at it.
It swung from one side of his body to the other as he turned, my eyes fixated on the only other penis I had ever seen in person. It hung down, swinging back and forth for a second like a pendulum, drawing me in with its almost shocking size. Even as it hung limply in front of him beneath a full mound of pubic hair, it easily eclipsed anything that Billy had.
Not that I had ever had complaints, but I could hardly imagine such a piece of meat engorged, let alone inside me. I found myself not really making eye contact with Samuel, my eyes darting back and forth between the definition of his pecs and that perfect pink head dangling between his legs.
“Did you forget we were coming, man?” Billy asked.
Part of me couldn’t believe this reaction. That he wasn’t outraged, furious at his friend making such a display of himself in front of his wife. Billy should have been a husband, a dominant protector guarding his women from the advances of other men. Instead, he seemed willing to indulge his famous friend in whatever we wanted, even if it was exposing himself in such a deliberately lurid display.
Sam took a drink from the open bottle of whiskey. Though he had clearly been drinking heavily, he still maintained some sense, adding to the insult.
“Either that…” Samuel’s voice came out dripping honey. “Or I am a very special Valentine’s Day present…”
My mouth hung open at the remark. He couldn’t actually believe that I was going to enjoy such a spectacle as a present. That seeing him naked was somehow a gift rather than an imposition and an insult.
I could feel my ears burning white-hot resentment not at the implication. Clearly he intended a joke, but because the comment hit too close to home. Despite the perversity of it, my body had a natural reaction to the sight, and I could feel the excitement, tingling inside me as I stared openly at the naked rock star standing in front of me.
“Oh my God-” I started, no idea how to react.
“Judith, let me stop you there and start with a series of apologies, each more profuse and determined than the last.”
Again that look, that dark, mischievously playful face that made it impossible to hate him, no matter what he ever did. It somehow stemmed the quiet rage building inside me for the past 20 years, to my own chagrin. The rest of us worked, minded our manners, while this poor boy from San Antonio got away with everything because of that stupid grin, those soulfully piercing eyes, and the basic ability string a few sentences together.
Inside I was completely indignant…
And completely unable to express anything as I stared wantonly at his dangling cock.
“But first, if you’ll indulge me in a little bit of modesty, then I promise to vacate the premises after a thorough scolding.”
He turned around so effortlessly as if nothing was amiss, even as I watched each of his cheeks flex and bounce with each step. I must confess that I ogled every inch of that man, angry at myself, angry at my husband, angry at the world, and yet not nearly angry enough at Samuel Clementine.
I didn’t know why I was so mad. Maybe it was everything, a moment that makes someone discard everything and everyone in their life in a derogatory and casual dismissal. Maybe it was just a frustration at needing such a man like Samuel to provide the finer things. There was a lack of leverage in the relationship, an unbalance that Billy seemed completely comfortable avoiding.
To be fair, the same could be said for the rest of the world. Samuel was allowed to continue living out his wildest fantasies without anyone saying no or stopping him, leading a life of excess that endeared everyone except those closest to him.
“Can you believe him?” I hissed at my husband.
“Come on, honey. It is his house. After all, besides I’m sure it was a mistake.”
“I can’t believe you’re taking his fucking side in this.”
“It’s not like he has anything you haven’t seen before…”
“Not exactly.. I mean, his is…”
The sentence just hung there after pulling so involuntarily out of my mouth, dangling between us.
Billy perked up at this.
“His is what?”
“You know…”
“I don’t,” Billy said. “His is what?”
“I dunno… big!” I stammered.
But before he could answer, Samuel came back wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of tight fitting shorts that really more resembled boxer briefs than anything else.
Again, I found myself staring at the same spot between his legs, imagining the bulge almost clearly defined underneath his shorts. He sat across from us on the opposite side of white sectional, crossing one leg in front of the other, obscuring his package from my wandering eyes.
“So, seriously, Billy, Judith, I’m sorry you walked in on me like that. I didn’t think that you would be here until eight, and I just got back from the lake.”
“It’s not a problem, man. Thanks for letting us use your house.”
“So, you just walk around the lake naked?”
Samuel let out a loud laugh, it was the kind of infectious laugh that tends to disarm anyone. But in my current state I was having none of his antics.
He shrugged.
“I can’t say it’s the first time I’ve been caught, but what can I say?”
“An apology would be nice…”
Samuel perked up at this, his chin resting now on his arms as he leaned forward to meet my eyes, his hand on one knee in almost the same pose as the thinker.
“Judith, I am beyond myself with grief, besotted with remorse at having violated your innocence. Please tell me what would make this right?”
“How about not making a joke!”
“Come on, Judy. He is sorry.”
“So let him say it!” I spat.
“Judith, in all seriousness, I’m very sorry for offending you. I’m only trying to make it less awkward.”
“Shouldn’t you be off following N’Sync or some other boy band?”
“Ouch… I’m afraid Justin Timberlake is not returning my phone calls anymore. I’m sexy, he knows it, but… It’s going to take him some time to come to terms with his burgeoning sexuality.”
“This is our weekend…”
I gave an exasperated sigh of rage and disbelief, mostly at the fact that I had to defend Valentine’s Day alone on my husband’s behalf.
“I know… I’m sorry. I’ll be leaving soon.”
“What are you even doing here?!”
He dropped his hands on his knees, looking down at the ground in front of him, trying to steady his voice as he spoke.
“Rachel and I… Well we’ve been spending some time together…”
This is hardly news. Samuel and his ex-wife had an off and on again affairs with each other and with anyone they were interested in. Rachel was just prone to proclivities as Samuel, and the two had a contentious if consensual ongoing thing.
“So?”
“So let’s just say we aren’t spending as much time together right now…”
“Oh God I’m sorry man. What’s going on?”
I looked at my husband, incredulous, unable to understand how he could so easily switch on pity for a man who had everything anyone could ever want.
Samuel ran his hands through his hair, pulling it back for a second as he stroked his own temples in exasperation. He tried to gather his thoughts, to put his emotions to words, and stopped, deciding instead to make a joke.
“I thought, this time she might want to do something on Valentine’s Day, you know like old times. Turns out she was only after my rocking bod…”
He let out a loud sigh. And despite everything, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. For the first time ever I heard pain sinking into his voice as he spoke the next word softly.
“I didn’t even think about you guys… really, I’m sorry,” Samuel said. “I’ll be leaving… Just… Just give me a few minutes.”
*****
“You can’t be fucking serious!”
“We can’t ask him to leave. It’s his house!”
“It’s our Valentine’s Day!”
The fight had been going on for several minutes until I heard the loud opening gears of the garage door. We both looked at each other, then raced to the garage, suddenly self-conscious about how loud our fight had been.
We found Samuel sitting in the driver seat of his beloved bright orange 1970 Camaro SS. In one hand, he held the bottle of Jack Daniels, half gone. In his mouth fumed the last few puffs from a poorly rolled joint.
He stretched out his arm, holding out the bottle of whiskey.
“Oh good, take this would you. It’s best not to break more than one law at a time.”
He stretched out his arm, holding out the bottle of whiskey. I grabbed it and his arm, holding onto the strong fingers in his hands as he looked up at me. His eyes were bleary, his face uncharacteristically dour and sunken.
I’d seen Samuel in every state of inebriation known to man, but never without a smile and a song. This was different, the character dropped, and the man beneath stared sadly back at me.
“Come on in Sam,” Billy said.
“I’ll drive it off,” Samuel said.
“You aren’t driving like this,” Billy said.
“I’m not gonna stay around and ruin your Valentine’s too,” Samuel said. “Samuel Clementine isn’t a cock block.”
I laughed a little as my own joke came forth naturally.
“No, you certainly can’t even block out your own cock.”
“A dick joke from Judy Prudie? Now I’m really living,”
“Come on inside,” Billy said. “Sleep it off. Valentine’s Day isn’t until tomorrow anyways.”
I then realized I was still holding his hand, big and strong, filled with calluses from years of playing music.
“No, no, I’ll call a cab…”
“Please stay,” I caught myself saying sincerely.
I stroked his hand, looking into his eyes. He squeezed back, before sitting upright in the car, suddenly alert and focused.
“Okay, but tomorrow night is all about you two.”
He spoke out as he jaunteed into the living room, putting the act back on full display.
“So what are we doing tonight? Full on faux rock star treatment! I’m sure I can fill this place with skanky girls and sketchy guys with the snap of my fingers.”
“It’s just been such a difficult week,” Billy started. “I didn’t get back from driving the bus until nearly midnight last night, and you can imagine how fun that was, especially with a pack of hormone-addled teenagers to supervise. Why don’t we just do something relaxing tonight? Maybe watch a movie?”
I did my best to stifle a yawn. Like Billy, I could feel my body betraying my more youthful impulses. There was something insidious about the way middle-age creeps into your body, tempting you more with a nice bed and a good night’s sleep than a memorable evening.