My Boyfriend's Dad, page 2
I stare at him. I had hoped against hope that this affair was confined to messages only. Now my boyfriend is admitting that he’s been sleeping with someone else?
“I don’t know,” he continues, babbling nervously. “Maybe it’s because she’s French? But she lets me do backdoor, and I know you don’t like me even touching you there, and…”
“Shut up, Jasper,” I snap. People in the library are beginning to stare daggers at us for speaking so loudly. Some of them undoubtedly even overheard some sordid details, and my face burns in shame, embarrassment, and something completely new: hatred. “Just shut up,” I hiss again, stuffing my laptop back into my backpack. There’s nothing else I need to say to him. Except, I guess, for one thing.
“We’re done,” I grind out, meeting his gaze levelly. “This is done. I don’t ever want to see you again. Do not contact me, do not speak to me, do not even look at me.”
“Oh, no, Lucy, please,” Jasper apologizes, trying to take my hand. I swat him away, feeling tears prickle at my eyes again. I feel like the world’s biggest idiot. Why did I ever want a baby with this man? How did I believe that Jasper was fit to be a father? Clearly, everything I thought was wrong.
Bile rises in my throat again, but I raise my chin. All I know is that in this moment, there’s only one thing I can do: maintain my dignity. So I sling my backpack over my shoulder, take a deep breath, and leave the library without a backwards glance.
2
Lucy
* * *
Teddy bear? Gone.
Pretty beaded necklace that I got for my birthday? Gone.
Pictures of Jasper and I on vacation together? Gone, gone, gone.
It took a full week for me to do anything but mope and cry and feel sorry for myself. I spent a lot of time in bed, wrapped in my blankets, neglecting everything. I couldn’t eat and sleeping yielded nightmares, so most of the time I just dozed in a half-sleep, half-awake state when I wasn’t at school. How could he? I can’t get those images out of my head. The ones with Celine’s big breasts bobbling and her inner pinkness glistening, just waiting for Brandon’s touch. How could he do this to me? Utter despair claimed me.
Now, though, it’s been a week and I’m burning with righteous fury, as if I’ve been set on fire by a warrior goddess. I woke up this morning and knew that my crying was over. It’s time to move onto phase two of the grieving process: anger.
Sitting on my bedroom floor, I mercilessly toss things into a cardboard box. It was hard, at first. The teddy bear that Jasper gave to me on our third date seems to be staring reproachfully at me from the bottom of the box. He looks like he’s crying too, given his glassy eyes and sad little face. But I can’t stop because the more items I throw in, the better I begin to feel. Purging Jasper from my life feels like purging toxins from my bloodstream, and it’s a painful but necessary process.
Casting my gaze around my room for more things to trash, I land on a card pinned to my bulletin board. “I love you to the moon and back!” it reads in Jasper’s scrawling handwriting. I scowl and pluck it from the board, rip it in half, and cram it in the garbage. If he truly loved me that much, then why did he cheat on me? If he really was devoted to me, then why did he break my heart so carelessly? It must have all been a lie.
Tears threaten to well up, but I stubbornly blink them back. No more crying, Lucy, I tell myself sternly. There’s no use wasting tears on someone who doesn’t deserve them.
I stand back up and seize another empty box from my closet, dropping it onto the floor. This one will house Jasper’s stuff. He seems to be pretty careless with his clothing, and already I’ve spotted two hoodies, a pair of pajama pants, and a spare pair of earbuds. I carefully fold the clothing items before stopping myself, shaking my head, and tossing them into the box. Let them get messed up. See if I care.
As I hunt around my room for more of Jasper’s things, my mind wanders to my future. I wince involuntarily as I remember yet again that I wanted to have kids with Jasper upon graduation. What was I thinking? God, what an idiot I’ve been. Clearly, he’s not worth my time, much less my DNA, so I’ve dodged a bullet. But what am I going to do now? How am I going to get a baby?
I stop myself from going down that road and try to focus on the task at hand. After going through the bathroom, I throw a toothbrush, a half-empty bottle of cologne, and a stick of Old Spice deodorant into the box. He should be grateful that I’m even giving him his things back. One of my friends suggested that I simply light it all on fire, and I seriously considered it. That would be awesome because I’d love to start a bonfire in Jasper’s front yard, so long as he doesn’t call the cops on his insane ex-girlfriend.
I shake my head and seal the box closed. I’m going to be the bigger person, and I’ll be damned if I give up on that now. He’s not going to make me seem like the crazy ex when in fact, he’s the one who has no morals and no honor. I doubt that Jasper will come crawling back, but I certainly don’t have to drop to his level.
I grab my phone and, after making a face, start to text him. There are a million things I want to say, but I decide to stick with short and sweet.
I’m dropping off your stuff. When would be a good time?
The answer comes quickly, as if he’s been staring at his phone.
Whenever is good, Lucy. I’m at tennis practice right now.
I definitely don’t want to see him, so my fingers fly over my keyboard again.
Perfect. I’ll drop it off now then.
I grab the box and throw it onto the passenger’s seat of my car. The sooner I get rid of his things, the better, and a good riddance it will be.
I pull into Jasper’s circular driveway, trying not to stare at the mansion he lives in. Although I’ve been here a million times, its grandeur always gets me each time I’m here. After all, my family lives in a nice house, but it’s like a cardboard box compared to Jasper’s. After all, Jasper’s dad Brandon is a real estate mogul, and their home is like a castle. The lawn outside the big grey house is emerald green and there’s a fountain lightly splashing in the circular driveway. The huge windows gleam, and behind the large stone façade, I can just glimpse their eternity pool in the distance. It’s fit to be the setting for a movie.
But I have work to do. With determination, I step out of my car, the box grasped firmly in my arms. But my feet falter before I reach the front door. I know Jasper isn’t home, and his dad, I’m almost certain, is still at work. Their housekeeper might answer if I rang the bell but I don’t particularly want to see her either because she never liked me very much. It’s almost as if she thought I was too plebeian for her little prince.
I ponder my options for a second, shifting the box uncomfortably in my arms. I guess I could try the back door because it’s usually unlocked if someone is home, and that includes the staff. If all else fails, I’ll just leave the box behind a bush near the door. It’ll be fine.
I tiptoe around to the back of the house, trying to ignore the sharp pang of sadness in my chest. This is most likely the last time I’ll ever be here. Jasper and I made some great memories in this mansion, watching movies and enjoying each other’s company, or so I thought. Maybe it’s best that I won’t come back after all.
Walking awkwardly to the back door, I tug on the doorknob and to my surprise, it swings open. For a second, I hesitate in the doorway, but then steel myself and head inside. It’s not like I’m breaking in for a nefarious purpose. In fact, I’m doing the opposite by returning Jasper’s things in a semi-nice condition. At least I didn’t opt for the start-a-bonfire-on-the-front-lawn approach.
I enter into the huge kitchen, which is all silver appliances and black marble countertops. The inside of the house is, as always, spotless. I listen for the footsteps of the housekeeper, and then realize that she could be anywhere. This mansion is enormous, and Harriet could be on the opposite side of the property, or even out running errands. I let out a breath of relief because I don’t want to see that witch any more than she wants to see me.
After a few moments, though, I realize that I don’t have a plan beyond this. Should I leave Jasper’s things in his room? I shudder--definitely not. I don’t need to be flooded with any more memories. I’ll just set them right here, I decide, and plop the box onto the kitchen table. Surely they won’t mind that I came inside? And even if they do, who cares? It’s not like I’m going to see Jasper again any time soon.
The thought crosses my mind just as I notice an odd sound coming from upstairs. At first, I’m unable to discern what it is because the the hum of the kitchen appliances and the ticking of the clock on my left are too loud. Then, I focus, and realize the sound is moaning. Female moaning, to be exact.
My heart feels like it lurches into my mouth. Did Jasper lie? Is he home, after all, having sex with Celine? Was his statement about tennis practice just a ruse? Holy shit!
I’m suddenly dizzy and lean against the kitchen counter for support. My vision blurs and I blink rapidly to clear tears from my eyes. Bursting into Jasper’s room to catch him and Celine in the act would be a victory because I’d be catching him red-handed. But then again, it’s also Damocles’ sword because it would give my mind’s eye a terrible image to replay whenever I’m feeling down. Do I really need that?
I imagine Jasper’s face, handsome yet filled with scorn, and my stomach clenches. Damn the sword. I’m doing it.
Taking a deep breath, I start to climb the cream-carpeted stairs, listening to my heart drum steadily against my ribcage. The moaning gets louder as I approach, and now there are slapping sounds of flesh on flesh too. I swallow bile in my throat, disgusted. OMG, Jasper really did lie to me, and he’s having sex with Celine at this very moment. Even worse, am I going to see them doing backdoor, the way Jasper said he craves?
I feel as though I’m watching a horror movie, knowing that I’m about to glimpse something awful. Yet I’m unable, or unwilling, to stop on my descent into Hell. I want to shout and scream, but I keep my mouth shut. I want to see his face when he sees me in the doorway, his pole halfway into Celine’s bubble butt.
But when I get to the top of the stairs, I realize that the sounds are coming from the master suite, and not Jasper’s room. Holy shit. Brandon is definitely still at work, so is Jasper having sex in his dad’s bed? How depraved is that? I grimace as I tiptoe to the door of the master bedroom. My ex is even more twisted than I thought.
Finally, it’s the moment of truth. I pause outside the bedroom door, feeling sick to my stomach as Celine moans and sighs and purrs with gusto. But instead of busting in and surprising them, I decide to peer through the crack in the door first. I need another moment to gather my courage, and to get my wits about me.
Silently, I lean forward to look inside, and my mouth drops open. A gasp escapes my lips and my heart starts going double time because I can’t believe what I’m seeing! The moaning woman, it turns out, isn’t Celine. In fact, it’s someone with almost my exact body type, lush and pear-shaped. I can’t see her face, but her hair is long and dark, and her voice is melodious. But it’s not the woman that has the air stopping in my throat. It’s the man she’s with: Jasper’s dad, Brandon.
I know I should flee, but I’m frozen in place, watching Brandon pound into the curvy woman. The man is built like a gladiator with broad shoulders, six pack abs, and huge, muscular thighs. At the moment, he’s behind the woman, thrusting in and out of her smoothly, and to my surprise, he’s claiming her bottom. The woman’s back buttonhole is stretched and gaping as she buries her face in the pillows, almost screaming with pleasure now.
OMG! How is she able to take it? After all, a certain part of Brandon’s anatomy has ensnared my attention almost immediately. My eyes are as round as saucers as they fixate on Brandon’s huge, thick rod as it thrusts in and out of his curvy partner. Jasper has a gros penis, sure, and I never had any complaints. But Brandon’s… I shake my head, utterly awed. It’s bigger than any I’ve ever seen. It’s a work of art, and the way he’s using it is masterful.
But I must have made a sound because as I’m staring at the dirty tableaux, Brandon suddenly looks up and locks eyes with me. Oh my god, does he see me? He can’t, right? I’m still hidden behind the door and not much more than a shadow.
But alarm races through my veins and I jump back about six feet, trembling with shock. Shit, he knows! Then, like a frightened rabbit I scurry down the hall, down the stairs, and out of the house. When I’m safely back outside, I pause to catch my breath and reflect on what I just saw. I hope to god Brandon didn’t see me. But what if he did? In fact, what if he goes to the window and sees me now, standing like a fool on his lawn?
I slap my hand to my forehead and scramble into my car before zooming away. I’m such an idiot. Why couldn’t I just leave well enough alone and drop off the box like a normal person? Why did I have to creep upstairs, hoping to catch Jasper in the act? Because instead, I got an eyeful of his dad, and now I can’t stop replaying the image in my mind. Brandon’s bronzed body was pure muscle, and those blue eyes seemed to go black as he neared climax. OMG, how can I even know these things?
When I get home, I race upstairs and immediately hurl myself face-down on my bed and groan into my pillows. I should just block Jasper’s number right now. I already didn’t want to speak to him again, and now I definitely can’t. Because if Brandon tells his son what happened, I’ll fling myself off the nearest bridge and hope to god the current takes me far, far away. Another country would be ideal.
Great plan, Lucy, I tell myself sarcastically. Really plausible. Excellent idea.
As I lie in bed, though, the image keeps replaying in my brain, despite my best efforts to banish what I saw from my memory. In my mind’s eye, I can’t stop watching Brandon nail that moaning, writhing woman, who obviously was loving every minute of it. I can’t stop watching the bronzed muscles of his arms, his back, and even his ass flex and clench. I can’t stop hearing his deep groans of pleasure.
And I absolutely can’t stop thinking about the smirk on Brandon’s face when he saw me.
3
Brandon
* * *
Patricia, she said her name was. I always make it a point to remember their names, or at least the names they give me. I never want to be one of those assholes who doesn’t even know what to call his escort at the end of the night.
When we’re finished with our third roll in the hay – or is it the fourth? – Patricia stretches languidly and smiles at me. She’s a bigger woman, with curves that demanded to be seized and caressed and kissed, just the way I like them.
“That was fun,” she purrs. “I liked it.”
I laugh, running a hand through my tousled hair. “I can only imagine,” I say with a wry smile. “I do my best to please. Cash only, right?”
She nods and I get out of bed as she dresses. This was our second time together, and I decide that there will probably be another one, perhaps in a few months, so I decide to tip her well. After all, this is a way of life for me. I like using escorts because it’s no fuss, no muss, and the City Girls agency provides women who are top of the line, leaving nothing to be desired. The girls know their role, and leave when it’s over with their purses stuffed full. After all, I don’t enjoy chasing the illusion of monogamy, and there’s no sense in pretending at my age. It’s just what works best for me at this point in my life.
After throwing away the condom, I grab my wallet and pull out five one hundred-dollar bills, placing them in Patricia’s expectant hand. “Thank you,” she murmurs, putting them in her purse. “You know how to get a hold of me if you want to do this again.”
“Sure do. Thanks, Patricia. Let me walk you out.”
“Call me Patty,” she giggles. “Bye, big boy.”
After her Uber has departed, I take a long, hot shower, and then head to the kitchen for a drink. I decided to leave work early after a particularly long week, and don’t regret my choice at all. A good lay followed by a strong cocktail or two is always a good way to start the weekend.
As I pour whiskey into a glass, I notice a cardboard box on the kitchen table. I quirk a brow and walk over to peek into it. Pajama pants, a jacket, a toothbrush… Ah. This must belong to my son. And this must be the reason why his ex-girlfriend, Lucy Church, was here about a half-hour ago.
I can’t help but chuckle, passing a hand over my face. When I saw the curvy brunette peering at me through the crack in the door, I almost burst out laughing, but then I figured that Patricia probably wouldn’t appreciate it. Not that she would have noticed, seeing how focused she was on getting her bottom pounded hard. It was only me who saw Lucy’s big brown eyes staring at us, her mouth open as her breasts heaved.
I take a sip of my drink, shaking my head. Oh, I know I shouldn’t be into my son’s ex-girlfriend. There isn’t a parenting manual, but even if there was, this would clearly be under the list of taboos. But I’m not exactly blind, and I’ve seen that sweet smile and big brown eyes. I’ve seen her curvaceous figure, and the way her hips swing as she walks.
I know, too, the details of her breakup with my son. Jasper confessed his cheating ways, and I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes with disgust. My son had some bullshit excuse, saying it was Lucy’s fault because he wants backdoor, and Lucy wouldn’t go there. But as a boy, what my son doesn’t realize is that it’s the man’s responsibility to take charge and to make sure anal is enjoyable for both parties. So ultimately, the fault lies with Jasper, and not Lucy.
It took every ounce of willpower I had to not snort while Jasper complained, but I stopped myself. After all, my son has his own share of issues, and I’m sure Lucy picked up on some of them while they were dating. Most obvious is his insecurity. Jasper’s a great athlete and has a posse of fans at school, but I know he’s anxious about his already-thinning hair and the acne on his chin. We ordered him some Accutane and that’s been working well, but I wonder if it’s been negatively impacting his personality. He’s always been a bit mercurial, but lately, his moods have been swinging like a pendulum.
