A Dark Awakening
Mary Not Wollstonecraft
Shocked, jealous, humiliated, and angry described my reaction to that day’s events. But shamefully and strangely, what happened, excited me, so very excited me. It was a week ago.
Someone we’d known for only four weeks invited my wife and me to a cookout.
I knew that my wife, Chris, had been fucking around. She never told me. But word gets around. I learned a few of my friends fucked her. But I loved her dearly, and I looked the other way.
After we got to our friend’s home for the cookout, three other fellows who had supposedly dropped by unannounced were present. All the other guests, like Dewayne, were black. Still, I thought nothing about the situation.
We got a great welcome from the get-go. What a pleasant kick-off to the afternoon. Our friend offered us mixed drinks, and we started imbibing freely. I took a sip of my cocktail. It was good. Not too sweet, not too strong.
Almost from the moment the libation hit my stomach, an odd sensation came over me. This dreadful wooziness swept over me. I staggered to a chair and sat. Rubbing my head, I glanced at my wife, talking to our friend, laughing, and touching him. To say the least, it was somewhat disconcerting seeing my wife flirting with Dewayne.
At the time, I couldn’t tell why it bothered me so much. The effect of the drink, the fear of what might happen? But bother me, it did. I wanted to say something.
Taking another sip, trying desperately to clear my head. The drink made me feel somewhat better for a moment. Taking pleasure from the swill, I gulped the beverage down. No sooner than I finished my first cocktail when one of the other guests brought me another. I guzzled the cold drink. My head turned to mush. My arms felt heavy as lead, and I lay back in the lounger, almost paralyzed.
I was dizzy as hell. Also, my mind was in a fog. Thick and heavy, the mist covered my thoughts and emotions.
At this point, the shorter of the other guests turned on the music and jacked the volume up. As the party was in the country, it wouldn’t disturb anyone.
Music made me want to scream. The beat and rhythm created a desire deep inside me to die. The melody became loud and distorted. The song drowned out the voices and laughter of everyone else. Like some worn-out kitten, all I could do was listen to music, watch the others, and wonder why I was getting so dizzy-headed.
The music pounded in my ears like a jackhammer. The thumping bass caused my chair to vibrate, rattling my bones and teeth.
Pounding, hammering, pulsing, the beat punched inside my brain.
All the while, Chris and Dewayne laughed at some joke. They leaned closer, touching one another’s faces, running their hands over their arms and shoulders. Dewayne’s hand glided down her back as he pulled her body close to his.
The two of them stood there, their eyes together in lustful gazes. But their statue-like stance didn’t last as they swayed with the music. That fucking hard-pounding music pulled them into an embrace.
In a few seconds, Chris and Dewayne clutched each other and danced. They moved with a synchronicity of purpose, touching and caressing each other. The dance turned nasty, and Chris gazed at me, daring me to do something.
My lily-white wife dirty danced with a black man. A man we knew less than a month. Anger flared, and I tried to stand, but fell back into the lawn chair. My head buzzed and spun, and the tune bore into my brain.