A Wager With Sadie: 009

There was a bar on the arrival jetty where he sat for almost two hours now. The jetty was where they’d disembarked when they arrived at the resort four days ago, and the bar had a deck patio on raised posts that connected to the jetty. But he wasn’t on the patio, wasn’t out in the sun and enjoying his vacation, instead he was under the shade of the open air bar, sitting at the counter under the thatched roof, a great spot that gave him a view of where he’d last seen Sadie, and assumed to be the spot where she would return.

Only it’d been almost two hours now. His wife was gone way too long—and in the company of another man.

But there was something wonderful about the dread feeling that consumed him right now. In his whole life there was no one he trusted more than his wife. That trust allowed him the thrill of conjecture. Would she really do it? . . . Was he sure he wanted her to? . . . Every minute sitting at this bar had his skin tight with goose bumps, his heart thudding strong. It was a crazy thing to be aroused by the thought of her off with this yoga instructor from the resort, under her husband’s instruction to deliver the man one of her amazing hand jobs. Fuck, even now, his cock was hard as he hunched with elbows on the bar, poked out on either side of crumpled paper from straw wraps, nut shells, and the tail end of his fourth Whiskey Soda.

She probably wouldn’t do it, but for the first hour he enjoyed the possibility she would. Sadie sharing a dirty moment with this big buff young guy, his wife watching her own hand on the guy’s dick, but because of the scenario he’d created, she would be thinking of her Teddy Bear. Fuck, it was wildly hot and he had no idea why. And the guy probably had a big dick, too. Had Sadie ever been with a Black guy before? The thought of his wife’s pretty hand on a large black penis was too much, and he’d had to push that thought away. It made him lightheaded, and he’d laughed to himself thinking of fainting, tumbling off the bar stool, everyone rushing over thinking he had a heart attack or was piss-drunk, only to find him splayed out with a throbbing erection tenting his shorts.

That was the first hour.

Second hour was more worrisome. Sadie went without her phone. Off with some guy neither of them knew, heading out into the Bay in a fishing boat who-knew-where. Was she safe? It was a big mistake to let that boat drift away from him. The sexual dread poisoned its way to real dread.

Sadie in jeopardy. Sadie hurt, taken advantage of. Or what if? . . . That was a bad thought, too: What if the hand job became something else? Sadie getting carried away, enjoying the masculine pleasure of this other man; they begin to kiss, biology takes over, she lays back on the fishing boat deck, that muscle guy gets on top of her, puts his big dick inside her and Sadie doesn’t fend him off, no, in fact she encourages him . . .

Despite how worried he was, the image of her tanned and perfect legs folding around that man’s muscular back had him dying.

But he didn’t want that. That was too far.

“Fuck, Sadie, come on,” he sighed as the smiling bartender brought him a fresh cocktail, backing off, bowing and hands-clasped. It was obvious now this was a big mistake. Getting Sadie to do this was selfish and weird and now maybe his wife was in jeopardy. The only way he could lighten himself now, was to think Sadie was off somewhere, parting ways with the guy she’d gone off with, maybe she was hiking, and laughing to herself knowing how crazy she was making her husband . . .

This was madness.

But now, swigging his cocktail, he could see over the curve of his tipped up glass a boat coming around into the Bay. There’d been other boats, but he was sure this was the fishing boat she’d left in. Checked his watch. Almost two hours on the nose. What had she done in that time? Had she used her hand on the trainer? Fucked him? God, no . . . Had she done nothing?

And, oh man, what would he do if she wasn’t on the boat at all?

***

But she was on the boat.

And as relieved as he was to see her alive and well, the sexual terror still had a good hold on him. Because Sadie was smiling, laughing, still in the company of the big trainer. She stood near the front of the boat, in the shade of its roof, the sun still catching her, Sadie with a hand up at her brow like a visor casting shade. She scanned the beach, and he hoped it was her Teddy Bear she was searching for. Of course she was. Two hours with that guy wasn’t enough to erase all they had together. No dick was big enough, no sex good enough—get a hold of yourself, Teddy boy. And what was she wearing? It looked like a dress, strapless, tropical print . . . where did that come from?

The Black trainer stood behind her, looming large over her shoulder, watching as well as they came to shore. Shit, did the guy have his shirt off?

He did. Unless his shirt was black. The guy’d left in a white shirt. It was hard to tell—but he couldn’t wait for the boat to stop already. With the cocktail napkin he’d swiped from the bar, he patted down the sweat on his brow, watching from the raised platform of the deck by the jetty. The beach worked out ahead of him in a crescent, the sand dotted with sunbathers on towels and loungers, no one paying much attention to the boat coming in, not knowing the importance of the boat’s precious honey-haired cargo.

His throat burned with the fresh Whisky Soda he’d knocked back in one gulp, seeing the boat coming, bolting up and tossing tip money onto the bar before hustling out into the sunlight almost tripping up with his foot stuck in the stool.

One step down to the beach, he stopped. As joyous as he felt right now, what was he going to do, go out and greet her, throw open his arms to receive her? Right, and explain that to Mr. Jacked Trainer how? Oh, you didn’t know she was married? How do you feel about that hand job now? . . .

No he was relegated to the suffering pose he held on the stairway, waiting for his wife to disembark and disengage before he took her up in his arms and told her while he was serious about her jerking the guy off, he was secretly hoping now it didn’t happen. It was too much to bear. His system had overloaded being made to wait, and his system had so flooded with stress cortisol, he’d probably have to nap the rest of the day.

The boat slowed, drifted its way without the motor’s into the center of the Bay, one of the younger Vietnamese fishing guides coming up near the front of the boat now, talking to Sadie and the trainer. Everyone having a good time. Must’ve had a good day out on the bay. He wondered if the fishermen watched while Sadie jerked that guy off.

Now the whiskey burned in the center of his chest. His face had pinched to a scowl, and he chewed on his lower lip. Sadie was having a good time. Even from this distance he could make out the features of her face, could see the shine on her lips and the gleam of her white teeth. And he couldn’t help a certain jealous anger happening now. Which was crazy. He’d asked her to go out and do something wild, something crazy and sexual—and now he’s mad that she had a good time doing it?

The feeling couldn’t be helped.

Then the boat was in shallower water, sun gleaming off the waves, the water in bright turquoise. Sadie stepped out from the boat’s shade and into direct sun. She untied a knot above her left breast and let that dress thing she wore come apart. It was a sarong or a wrap, and he wondered how it came to be that she wore it. But now with it off, he could see her body in the bikini, stepping near the open deck platform. Where was the wrap she’d worn before? She jumped out and down, splashing, the water coming up to her waist. Hands over her head, she held high the brightly colored fabric she’d untied.

She was bouncing now, turning around and talking to the trainer who was also smiling. His shirt was draped over his shoulder, and the sunlight gleamed off his ebony skin, bright highlights zipping over all the edges of the muscle on his almost naked body.

Then he jumped in, too, holding his shirt over his head, and the two of them waved then to the fishermen, and began bouncing and wading their way toward the shore, talking the whole while.

He slunk down to the beach, but instead of making his way toward them, he shifted aside, walked into the shade of the jetty’s dock above him. Watching.

They stood in the lapping water, Sadie looking up as the big man talked, using his hands, gesturing up to the hotel, rubbing his own arms. The muscles he had were round and well-defined, the shine on his black skin making him look almost non-human, or above human. Shit, godlike.

Now his own hand dipped between his legs, tugging his shirt’s hem to make sure it covered the throbbing bulge filling out the front of his shorts. Any second now he’d be crossing the beach and he didn’t want any of these sunbathers to get the wrong idea seeing this man with an erection lurching across the sand toward the beautiful woman in the bikini.

But they were still talking; Sadie doing some of her flirty hair-toss moves, laughing still. Was he going to have to move in and break this up? . . .

He didn’t have to. At last, they broke apart and he was relieved. It’d crossed his mind they could suddenly hold hands, stroll up the beach together, disappear into the hotel, his Sadie looking to get horizontal in the guy’s bed, get some real action.

But the big man strode Teddy’s way, and he slunk deeper into the shadows again, afraid to come face to face with a guy his wife maybe jerked off. But, shit, the guy didn’t know who he was, he’d just be some other dude walking across the beach . . .

While the instructor headed his way, Sadie stood now, hand on hip, holding the sarong, the fabric fluttering in the breeze, her other hand shielding her gaze again, Sadie scanning the beach and the resort’s raised tiered decking, looking for her Teddy Bear since he wasn’t in the lounger where she’d left him.

He strode out to the beach, coming out into the sun, tentative at first, then his pace becoming determined. Sadie headed up the beach to the stairs, but he couldn’t call after her, the yoga instructor walking straight toward him right now. Twenty meters apart, fifteen, ten . . . then they were passing, and he was getting a good and close up look at the guy his wife might have just given a hand job to. As big as Teddy, at least, jacked though, skin paper thin and a deep black. He got caught looking, and they shared a friendly head nod and smile, both saying, “Hey,” then passing. Teddy shot a look over his shoulder, looking at the moving humps of glimmering muscle writhing on the guy’s back as he walked. “Jesus,” he whispered in fearful admiration, before turning now and trotting, trying to catch up with Sadie . . .