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The Pine Cones..
Mom’s crying again. Not loud. Just this quiet thing she does when we’re leaving. Her hands on Elizabeth’s shoulders, looking at her like she’s seeing someone precious. Someone she wishes was her daughter instead of daughter-in-law.
Fine lines around Mom’s eyes catch the afternoon light. Crow’s feet. When did those happen? Makes Elizabeth look younger somehow. Thirty-seven but standing next to Mom she could pass for late twenties.
“You take care of my boy,” she says.
Elizabeth laughs. “Samantha, he takes care of me.”
“I know.” Mom pulls her close. “That’s why I said it.”
Dad’s next. He hugs me first. Quick. The way men do. Then he turns to Elizabeth and it’s different. Longer. His hand on her back. I watch how it lingers there. Twenty years he’s known her. Since she was seventeen and pregnant with Brandon. Since we got married in a rush because her parents wouldn’t tolerate anything less. I watch this. I always watch this.
When he pulls back, his eyes find mine for half a second. There’s something in them. Or am I reading shit that isn’t there.
We get in the Taurus. Elizabeth’s BMW X6 is in the shop. Transmission or some expensive thing I didn’t listen to when she explained it. So we’re in this. Our backup car. The one that smells like old french fries and has a rattle somewhere in the passenger door that I’ve never fixed.
I turn the key. Engine coughs. Catches.
We pull out. Mom’s waving. Dad’s got his arm around her shoulders. They look good together. Still. After all this time.
I wonder if they’ve ever..
Stop.
“God, I’m gonna miss Sam,” Elizabeth says. She’s got her feet up on the dash. Barefoot. Toenails painted that dark red she likes. “I love your mom like she’s mine. You know that? My mom was such a—such a controlling bitch. Put me and my brother on our knees on rice when we misbehaved.”
“Liz. I’ve heard the rice story a thousand times.”
“Samantha would never. Your mom would never do that.”
“No. She wouldn’t.”
“Why did I drink that wine again?” She’s looking out the window. Trees going past. “Your uncle makes it so strong and I just—drank it like water. Now I’m gonna have to pee every twenty minutes.”
“We’ll stop.”
“You’re the best husband.” She says it soft. Like she means it.
And maybe she does. Maybe that’s the fucked up part. That she means it.
“You had a good time?” I ask.
“Yeah. Your family’s…” She pauses. “They’re good people.”
I think about Dad’s hand on her back. The way it lingered.
“Yeah.”
We drive. The highway opens up. Less traffic now. Mid-afternoon on a Sunday. Everyone’s already where they need to be.
Elizabeth shifts in her seat. Pulls her legs up. Sits cross-legged like a teenager. Dangerous. Her skirt rides up. I can see her thigh. The curve of it.
“Remember when we last—” She stops. Looks at me. “When we last had fun?”
“Of course.”
Month ago. Exactly. The cable guy. Young. Confident. Had that look.
“You were so—” She doesn’t finish. “Like when we were young. Like—”
“Yeah.”
We both know what she means.
That night after. How I’d fucked her in the shower. Hard. Desperate. Like I was twenty-two again instead of forty-two. Like I wasn’t a hotel administrator with a son ranked in the low hundreds on the ATP circuit and a daughter who just got her learner’s permit.
The road curves. Trees on both sides now. Less houses. More nothing.
That’s when I see this guy.
Standing on the shoulder. Not thumbing. Not with his arm out. Just—standing there. Like he’s waiting for someone specific.
He’s young. Twenty-five maybe. Big. Not gym-big. Work-big. Latino. Shaved head. Blue t-shirt tight across his chest. Work boots. Duffel at his feet.
Elizabeth sees him same time I do.
She glances at me. Quick. Her eyes do this thing. This spark.
She’s already decided.
“Baby, we should give him a ride.”
“Liz. Come on. We don’t know him.”
“He’s just standing there. How long do you think…”
“Sweetheart…”
She looks at me with those eyes. The ones that make me forget how to say no. The ones that have been making me forget for two decades.
I sigh. “Okay.”
We’re already past him. I slow down. Stop about fifty yards ahead. Put it in reverse.
Elizabeth’s out before I even stop fully. Door open, leaning out.
“Need a ride?”
I watch in the mirror. He picks up his bag. Starts walking toward us. Not fast. Unhurried. Like he knew someone would stop eventually.
“Get in quick,” Elizabeth calls. She’s smiling. That smile.
He reaches the car. Opens the back door behind me. Slides in.
I can smell him immediately. Not bad. Just work. Sweat. Something clean underneath.
“Thank you, miss. Sir.” His voice is deeper than I expected. Confident. English is good but there’s an accent. Not thick. Just there.
“We’re going to Boston,” Elizabeth says. She’s turned in her seat. Looking at him. “That work for you?”
“Yes, miss. Perfect.”
“Call me Elizabeth. This is Andrew.” She gestures at me. “My husband.”
“Lorenzo.”
“Lorenzo,” she repeats. Like she’s tasting it.
I pull back onto the road. Check the mirror. He’s looking at her.
They always do.
“So what brings you out here?” Elizabeth asks. “Work?”
“Yes, miss. Construction. My uncle runs a crew. I’m new. From Argentina.”
“Argentina! That’s far. You here alone?”
“My uncle brought me. We were working on a site back there. The crew left already. I stayed to finish something.”
“They left without you?” Elizabeth sounds concerned. Motherly almost. Though she’s maybe ten years older than him. Maybe.
“I told them to go. I had my own ride.” He pauses. “It fell through.”
“You have family back home? That’s so far. Your family must miss you.”” she asks.
I pull back onto the road. Check the mirror. He’s looking at her. Not staring. Just—looking. The way men look at my wife when they think I don’t notice.
“My girlfriend does.” He shifts. “She says I’ll forget her name before I come back.”
“Will you?” Elizabeth’s voice has this tone. Playful. Dangerous.
I feel my hands tighten on the wheel.
“No, miss. I won’t.”
“Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth.” He says it carefully.
She’s smiling. Turned halfway around now. I can see her face in my peripheral. She’s lit up. That thing she gets.
“You know,” she says, “they say distance makes the heart grow fonder. But I’ve never believed that. I think distance just makes people—” She pauses. “Lonely.”
Lorenzo doesn’t answer right away. I glance in the mirror. He’s looking at her differently now. Trying to figure something out.
“Maybe,” he says finally.
“Are you lonely, Lorenzo?”
“Liz—” I start.
“What?” She looks at me. Innocent. “I’m just making conversation.”
But she’s not. We both know she’s not.
I drive. The road curves. Trees everywhere now. We’re in that stretch between towns. Where it’s just forest on one side and scattered houses way off in the distance on the other.
My brain starts working. Calculating.
This is it. This is the moment.
If I’m going to—if we’re going to—
Now.
I feel it before I decide it. This thing in my chest. Not fear. Something else. Anticipation maybe. Or just—acceptance.
I let off the gas slightly. The car slows.
“Everything okay?” Elizabeth asks.
“Yeah, just—”
I downshift. Wrong gear. The engine sputters. I do it again. Too low.
The car jerks. Shudders. Dies.
“Shit.” I say it to myself. Like I’m surprised.
“What happened?” Elizabeth.
“I don’t know. Let me—” Turn the key. Nothing. “Fuck.”
Pop the hood. Get out.
Lorenzo’s already opening his door. “Need help, sir?”
“You know cars?”
“No. Honestly.”
“Then don’t worry.”
But he’s out anyway. Standing there.
I’m bent over the engine. Touching things that don’t need touching.
Elizabeth’s still in the car. Looking at the trees.
Then she glances at me through the windshield.
Our eyes meet.
Her mouth does this thing. Lips together. Like blowing a kiss without actually blowing.
Thank you.
She knows. Of course she knows.
This is permission. Like always.
Her mouth does this little thing. Not quite a smile.
She opens her door. Gets out. Stretches. The blouse pulls tight. Those buttons.
“God, look at those pine trees.” To no one. To everyone.
She starts walking. Hips moving. Deliberate.
Gets maybe ten feet away. Stops. Turns.
“Lorenzo—could you help me? I want to collect some pine cones. For Christmas. Might not be able to carry them all myself.”
Christmas is nine months away.
Lorenzo looks at her. Then at me.
I keep my face blank. Like this is normal.
“Sir—”
“Hm?” I’m bent over the engine now. Touching spark plugs that don’t need touching.
He doesn’t wait for more. Starts walking after her.
I watch them go. His broad shoulders. Her hips swaying. Deliberate. She knows I’m watching.
They disappear into the tree line. Behind juniper bushes. Pine trees. Gone.
I count to thirty. Then I follow.
Quiet. Careful.
I can see them through the branches. She’s bending over. Way more than necessary. Showing him everything. Her ass in that skirt.
He’s frozen. Watching.
She picks up a pine cone. Turns. Hands it to him. Smiling.
He takes it. Says something I can’t hear. She laughs.
He steps closer.
Her hand goes to his arm. His bicep. Feels it. She’s probably telling him how strong he is. How big.
His hand finds her hair.
And then she’s kissing him.
She melts into him. Arms around his neck. Like she’s been waiting for this. Like she’s been thinking about this since we picked him up.
Maybe she has. Maybe she knew this morning she’d be sucking some stranger’s dick today. Not mine.
My cock is already hard. Pressing against my jeans. Painful.
I reach down. Adjust it. Touch it through the fabric.
Don’t jerk off. Not yet. This is—this is material. For later. For the next time we fuck and I need that edge.
Elizabeth drops to her knees.
Jesus Christ.
Her hands on his belt. She’s fast. Efficient. Like she can’t wait. Or like she’s pretending she can’t wait. Playing the part. Doesn’t matter which.
His jeans are down. Then those too.
His cock springs out. Even from here I can see it. Long. Thick. Dark.
Bigger than mine? Thicker. The way she likes it. For a second I feel a sick satisfaction that she’s getting what she loves. The thought is terrible but there’s a strange fulfillment in it. She’s looking at it, her smile slightly frightened. She understands what she’s about to try and take into her mouth. She started this.
Elizabeth doesn’t hesitate. Takes him in her mouth. He groans. Loud. His head tilts back. Her full lips stretch around his shaft. She tries to take as much as she can right away, gags, has to pull back. A string of saliva follows. She goes down again, deeper this time. Her mouth is getting used to it, adapting to the size. She’s done this a hundred times. With a hundred thick, hard cocks.
His hands go to her head. Not gentle. Just controlling her moves. He starts moving. Fucking her mouth. I can hear the wet, sloppy sounds. Her hands are at her sides, showing her complete submission, working only with her mouth, trying to take him all the way to the balls without using her hands. I see him pull out for a second. She starts licking his balls, taking them into her mouth. She looks up at him, waiting for approval, maybe. Because she’s trying so hard. He slaps her cheek with his wet dick. That’s his approval. I smile for a second. The thought: When was the last time she sucked me off like this? Not just sucked my dick, but… mindlessly worshiped it? The thought is sweet in its painfulness, but I push it away.
She’s moaning. Making these sounds. The ones I know. The ones she makes when she’s really into it.
Is she acting? For him? For me?
Does it matter?
I touch my cock again. Through my jeans. Press against it. Relief and torture at the same time.
The black energy comes. That thick sick feeling. Shame. Humiliation. Pain.
And my brain—my brain that’s learned how to do this over years, over dozens of times like this—takes it and transforms it.
Converts it.
Into something else.
Into this: She’s mine. I’m giving her this. I’m the one who stopped the car. I’m the curator of her pleasure.
Not everyone can do this. Not everyone can give their wife this freedom.
But I can.
And the pain becomes something beautiful. Aesthetic almost.
She turns around, presenting her ass to him. He must have asked. She wiggles it, her skirt still hiked up, inviting him, calling him. He yanks the skirt up higher, quickly. She’s wearing narrow black thong panties. He slows for a moment to squeeze that appetizing, offered ass. She laughs when he spanks it. Too loud. I can hear it from here, by the car, pretending to fix it. Lorenzo glances back, genuinely worried, it seems, that I might see or hear. He moves the thin strip of her thong aside. I only catch “…so wet…”
Her ass. White against the green. The brown of his hands on it.
He lines himself up. No hesitation.
Enters her.
She cries out. Loud. He leans forward. Says something. Probably telling her to be quiet. So I don’t hear.
Too late.
I can hear everything. The slap of his body against hers. The wet sounds. Her moans. His grunts. He needs a long stroke, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, deeper each time. I can tell by her whimpering. The bitch is whimpering in a way that makes me understand… she’s found what she was looking for. She’s being used like a roadside slut. I hear the squelching of her beautiful pussy. I imagine her lips stretched around that young, rock-hard cock.
Pounding into her. Hard. Fast. Like he’s been thinking about this since he got in the car. Since he saw her legs. Her smile. Her eyes.
Maybe he has. Or maybe he only figured it out when it happened. She’s the only one who knew from the start. Only her.
She’s pushing back. Meeting him. This isn’t passive. He spanks her ass while she arches her back so beautifully, while she impales her hungry cunt on his granite-hard erection. He’s just an object with a dick she’s using. She’s not controlling her sounds. He calls her a bitch. Fuck, who gave him permission? Maybe she asked him to?
My wife.
Getting fucked by a stranger in the woods while I watch.
And I’m hard. So hard I can barely think.
My hand goes to my zipper. I touch myself properly now. Through my underwear. Grip myself. Once. Twice.
Stop.
This is the special spice. The thing that makes our sex better than anyone else’s.
Years of this. Growing it like a garden. Like that tree with roots so deep you can’t pull it out even if you wanted to.
And we don’t want to.
Not anymore.
He changes position. Pulls out. She whimpers. Turns. On her back now. Legs spread.
He enters her again. Face to face this time. Kissing her while he fucks her. My vision is too sharp. I see him enter. Glad for this angle. She spreads her legs obscenely wide. He drives his cock into her and with every thrust she moans louder. They don’t care that her blouse will get dirty. Right now they only think about driving that cock deeper, about her wet pussy taking him deeper… He’s groaning softly too. No condom – you son of a bitch!
I think: This is intimate. This is more than just—
Stop analyzing. Just watch.
His rhythm changes. Faster. Harder. She’s close. I can tell by her breathing. The pitch of her moans.
“Oh fuck—” Her voice carries. “Don’t stop— Fuck me! Fuck me like that, deeper, baby… deeper!” And he’s trying, trying so hard she almost loses consciousness. At one point he’s on his back and she’s sucking him again. I see her from behind. Fluids—her slick.. maybe his cum—are running down her thighs. The skirt is still up. It’s like she’s showing me. Look. Look how he’s wrecked my hole. My cunt is gaping.. from something so big.
Fuck.
That’s when I hear it.
The car alarm. Blaring through the trees.
Fuck..
I turn. Run. Fast and quiet as I can.
Back to the car. Behind the wheel.
Hit the button. Silence it.
My heart’s pounding. Did they hear me running? Did Lorenzo see?
I wait. Breathing hard.
What if they didn’t stop? What if they heard the alarm and just—kept going? Finished what they started?
Where did he come? In her pussy? Her mouth?
When she kisses me later I’ll know. Or I won’t. Depends where.
Lorenzo appears first. Walking carefully. Slight adjustment to his jeans.
His face when he sees me. Trying to hide it.
“Sir—your wife—she went deeper into the trees. I lost track of her.”
I can see it on him. The lie. The way children lie. Obvious. Desperate.
And something else. His eyes. They’re saying: I just fucked her. And it was good.
“There she is,” I say. Point.
Elizabeth emerges. Arms full of pine cones. Cradled in her shirt. Has to hold the bottom up to keep them from falling. Her stomach shows. Flushed. Sweaty.
“Car fixed?” Lorenzo asks. Voice too casual.
“Yeah. Reset something. That’s why the alarm went off.”
He nods. Believes me. Or pretends to. Or knows I’m pretending and we’re both pretending together.
Respect. There’s respect in this. Somehow.
Elizabeth reaches the car. Leans in through my window. Kisses my cheek.
I smell her. Smell him on her. Sweat and sex and forest.
“Did you get lost?” I ask.
“I was looking for a place to pee,” she says. Makes this sad face. “Went too far. Lorenzo couldn’t find me.”
“Liiiiiz,” I say. Looking at Lorenzo. Like I’m apologizing for my tipsy wife.
Lorenzo makes a sound. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a cough.
We get back in. Elizabeth in front. Lorenzo in back. Pine cones on her lap.
“It’s beautiful out here,” she says. “Not like the city.”
“No,” I agree.
We drive.
Silence for a while. Just the engine. The road.
Radio crackles. I turn it on. News.
“—unseasonably warm March temperatures expected to continue—”
I smile.
Yeah. Warm.
More silence. Then Elizabeth: “Brandon’s tournament results post tomorrow. The ATP rankings.”
“He’s got a shot at top fifty.”
“God, I hope so.”
“He’s worked hard.”
Normal. Like nothing happened.
Lorenzo’s quiet in back.
“Where can we drop you?” I ask.
“Before the city is good. Anywhere.”
We’re approaching the outskirts now. Buildings appearing.
“Here’s fine,” he says. “This corner.”
I pull over.
He gets out. Grabs his duffel.
“Thank you,” he says. “Really. You saved me.”
“No problem,” I say.
“Safe travels, Lorenzo.” Elizabeth. Warm.
He nods. Walks away. Disappears.
We pull back onto the road.
Toward home now.
“That was nice,” Elizabeth says. “Helping him.”
“Yeah.”
She looks at me.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
And I do.
We drive. The city growing around us.
I’m thinking about tonight. The shower. My hands on her. Washing away the evidence. Making her clean.
So we can do it again.
Whenever she wants.
I glance over. She’s looking out the window. Peaceful.
My wife.
After twenty years. After two kids. After that thing that happened before Brandon was born. That first time. When I thought everything would end.
But it didn’t end.
We found a way. Through the pain. Through the shame that became something else.
Like keeping a zombie alive because you can’t kill what you love. Even when it’s already dead. Even when you know you should.
You just—don’t.
You learn to live with it instead.
And sometimes. Sometimes it becomes beautiful.
The road stretches ahead.
Traffic thickens.
Almost home.