Date: Tue, 20 Nov 2018 16:42:35 +0000 (UTC) From: Nils Huim Subject: Hector (of Troy) HECTOR (of Troy) By Nils Huim Whether you like this story--a comedy--or not, please consider donating to Nifty so that the site can continue to publish the erotic stories you enjoy reading. Your feedback is welcome. Thursday, Brooklyn, circa 1988 Kathy had hardly touched her pasta. She was toying with the multi-colored rotini spirals rather than eating them. She wore a sly smile. Or rather, she seemed to be having a hard time suppressing it. I asked her a couple of times if anything was wrong but, giving her long dark hair a toss, she insisted everything was just fine. The pasta was delicious, she insisted. Finally she put down her fork, took a greedy swallow of Sauvignon Blanc and let it out. Let everything out: words, the smile she'd been suppressing... It was a Thursday. It was panty night. Which meant it was also veggie night. I'd simply boiled the pasta then tossed it in the pan I'd fried the minced garlic in. Then I added freshly shaved Parmesan. Our side salad consisted of fresh greens and a thick slice of beefsteak tomato Kathy had bought the previous day at the 14th Street Farmers Market. I'd dressed it with a hastily made vinaigrette. I'd paired our simple vegetarian fare with a Pouilly Fume. Thursday was also the night we both went around the apartment in women's panties, though Kathy was revealingly attired in a matching B-cup bra as well. Dressing me in panties had been Kathy's idea--after I confessed to her one night during foreplay that her use of her vibrator on me had given me the irresistible urge to dress up in her underwear. Which I sometimes did when I was alone in the apartment. Devoting a whole night to our mutual panty-wearing had been my idea. "Hey, maybe we should play a game. You know. Maybe both of us should..." I'd made dinner while wearing nothing but one of Kathy's microfiber bikinis, while a distant neighbor looked on with binocs from across the tangent backyards, and now I sat at the table in the same. Kathy wiped her undisguised smile and said: "You know that guy at school I've been telling you about?" "Which guy?" "You know." "The other teacher?" "The math teacher. He's Hispanic?" Kathy taught art. "The one who's been hitting on you?" Kathy's head dipped--as if to hide from me her broadening smile, its hint of embarrassment. She rose up nodding. "What about him?" "Well," Kathy swallowed, "I finally took him up on his offer to have coffee today. Well...," she unnecessarily added, "he had coffee, I had herbal tea." I glanced down at my lap--at the paper napkin covering Kathy's scant nylon. Fortuitously, we both wore a size 6. "How did that go?" I asked warily. "Fine. We just talked." I watched as Kathy nervously sloshed some more Fume down her throat. "He's the married guy?" Another nod. "Married...two kids...another on the way." Kathy barged ahead adding, "He says he doesn't get any at home when his wife's pregnant." "He told you this?" "He was just joking." No he wasn't, I thought. Fortified by the wine, Kathy said: "He asked me where I lived and when I told him he said, `Jeez, that's right down the street isn't it?'" Maybe he should teach geography, I sat there thinking. "He asked me if I lived alone and I, um, said no, with you, and then he asked what you did for a living and I told him and he wanted to know what time you got home from work." "Why?" I asked stonily, my pasta having gone cold. Kathy lifted a thinly bra-strapped shoulder in half-shrug. "His idea was, is, that maybe he could come over some afternoon and we could...spend a couple of hours together." Adding, after an air-swallow, "Before, you know, you get home." I was glad at that moment a table stood between us. Because the napkin covering my lap was rising. Not in a peak, exactly, but more like a mound. Constrained by an underlayer of stretched nylon. "What did you say?" "I said that's a pretty big step from having coffee together." My heart was racing. "What did he say?" "He agreed. Said it was pretty big all right," Kathy's smile exceeding its boundaries again. I rolled my eyes at the double entendre. How crude! How trite! "So what are you going to--" "Then I told him something I shouldn't have," Kathy blurted. "What?" "Promise you won't get mad at me?" "I won't get mad. What?" "Well...I told him--I shouldn't have done this...I told him that you were kind of into it." "Into what?" "The idea of me, you know, being with another man. It was something we talked about a lot. I shouldn't have told him this," Kathy repeated, her guilt seeming at least half-sincere. "What did he say when you told him this?" "He said, `Well I don't see the problem then.' And I said, `Well maybe not but let me talk to him'--you--`about it tonight.' And he shook his head and said, `Takes all kinds, I guess. But what kind of man, boyfriend whatever...would want to loan out a beautiful chick like you?' And I told him, gently but firmly, you know, "I'm a woman not a chicken. That's the first thing you need to know about me.' And he apologized and he ended up reaching over and taking my hand and--" Even before a startled Kathy rose and said, about the ringing phone, "I'll get it!" and even as she danced away in her pink panty and bra adding, "I'll take it in the bedroom," I knew it was him. I knew it was Kathy's new "friend" calling as I sighed and slid my hand under the napkin (which in fact fell to the floor) and caressed my pantied erection. I wore baby-blue. Saturday We were sitting in the middle row of a crowded--what else?--Manhattan movie theater. The lights had just gone down and I slid my right hand onto Kathy's left thigh. Her hand covered mine, tenderly. Then, after a pause, she abruptly leaned into me, kissed my cheek and whispered rather too loudly in my ear: "I love you so much! I'm so lucky to have you!" As the movie started and we settled back in and ate our popcorn I was reminded of something I'd learned in a Spanish class once. In Spanish the meaning of the word love--Amor--when modified, transforms into "like." In other words, if someone says to you "I love you very much," rather than declaring, simply, "I love you," it translates as "I like you very much." That night in the dark theater as another depressing movie unspooled I got the feeling that Kathy's juicy kiss and hissed affection was in fact telling me: "You're so good to me! I'm so grateful to have a partner who's willing to let me experience other men!" Kathy had been, after all, a 22-year-old virgin when we first met, seven frustrating (for her) years before. And no, the movie had not been her choice. About Three Weeks Later It was early June, the end of the school year, a warm night, and the party at the P.S. where Kathy taught was the one chance every year for teachers to relax socially together without any pesky brats or, worse, their parents, around. Teachers and staff were invited to bring along their spouses and significant others as well. I'd attended with Kathy, reluctantly, the past three years. As parties went it was a pretty dull affair, and I could never wait to get the hell out of there. Even with school out and the kitchen shut down there was still this...smell. This sickly-sweet vegetal odor that permeated the cafeteria (where the party was held) and took me back twenty or more years to the existential dread of having to attend schools replete at every grade level with left-behind bullies. It had always been as if I had a target painted on my bony chest. Add to that the fact that I hadn't reached puberty till age 13 while gym class, meaning collective showers, had started at the beginning of the 7th grade, when I was just 11. I still to this day remain self-conscious about the size of my genitals even though I've seen more than enough gay porn, and had sex with more than enough bi and gay men, to know my balls and certainly my cock fall within the "normal" range, size-wise. A solid 4.5, say, my balls, on a ten-point scale. Though they remain hairless to this day--albeit thanks to Gillette. At any rate, it was at this Saturday night soiree that I first met Hector. He was standing off to one side of the cafeteria by himself holding a plastic cup of piss-yellow jug wine when Kathy dragged me--literally dragged me--over to him. "Hector? This is my friend..." Kathy introducing me to someone as "her friend" was her way of jabbing a metaphorical elbow into my ribs and telling whoever would listen: "I've been living with this jerk for seven years now and he still hasn't asked me to marry him!" Although, curiously, now that she was sleeping with another man--Hector--the heretofore dreaded urge to marry was stirring in me for the first time. We'd talked more than once about getting out of the city, moving upstate. Kathy could get a teaching job anywhere while I, well, I could always get some kind of job somewhere. Doing something. While writing (wholly unsuccessfully) on the side. As for sleeping with other men...well, there were horny men everywhere in the world, right? Even upstate? Just as she could always find another teaching job, Kathy could always--always--find another man to fuck on the side. Right? After introducing Hector to me Kathy hurried back to the serving table, where she was helping pour the swill. Such is the life of art teachers. Hector and I were now alone--and he was looking me up and down, sizing me up with a thinly disguised sneer, like a bully on the playground. Hector was a couple of inches shorter than me but much stouter, bull-like in build. He had dark features, looked to be about 40. I guessed that under his button-down shirt and trousers he was quite hairy, and I wondered if this primal look appealed to Kathy now that I kept my body shaved. The shaving had started with my balls, as mentioned, spread to my entire pubic area and then up my chest and down my slender, "girly" as Kathy called them, legs. If you were going to be a pantywaist it seemed absurd to have hair on your body, y'know? I even shaved my pits. Maybe Hector, in build and hirsute manliness, represented to Kathy everything her live-in boyfriend was not. By my reckoning Hector had boned Kathy three times now. Maybe four. When I asked her if he was good in bed she'd drawn a zipper across her lips. Though her lip corners were upturned in a telling smile. After looking me over Hector said: "So what is it you do?" "For a living?" (What else, stupid!) "Oh, I work for a photo lab company." "You run one of those machines?" "No, I manage one of the stores." "Oh." Hector did not seem impressed. Even being a public school teacher was a couple of steps up, in status and pay, from being a lowly photo lab manager. He sipped his Chardonnay. "Kathy tells me you dress up?" "Huh?" I wasn't sure I'd heard him right. I glanced over a shoulder. Hector's free hand, index finger pointing, was running up and down me, from a slight distance. He spoke with a rather heavy Spanish accent, Hector did. Probably good that he taught numbers. "You dress?" Adding, "Like a woman?" I was mortified. I glanced over my shoulder again. Was anyone else within earshot? I couldn't believe he'd brought this up. I just met the asshole! And I couldn't believe Kathy had betrayed our trust, our secrets, like this. Had she laughed when she told him about me? Had Hector, perhaps, expressed post-coital concern about me coming home early while they lounged together in bed? At which point Kathy waved a hand and said: "Don't worry about him! He's a pantywaist!" "He's a pussy, your boyfriend?" "Well that too. But I mean literally, he dresses up in my panties..." Is that how it went? "No. No!" I now replied, in embarrassed denial. "You don't dress like a woman?" I found myself having to choose between the lesser of two evils. It was obvious he knew the core truth. He just didn't know the specifics. I looked Hector in the dark eyes and said, with lowered voice: "Not totally, no. Just underwear and stuff. In private with Kathy." Hector smiled at me for the first time. Snorted laughter--one note--through his wide nostrils. "So then you dress like a women then," he deduced. "Well, as I say..." I looked sharply right--at the serving table Kathy was standing behind, pouring wine. Darling! Help! "And you know about Kathy and me," Hector went on. I was already a wet dishrag on the cafeteria floor. Was it now his intention to rub it--me--into the linoleum with his shoe? "You mean...?" Another snort. "We do more'n teach in the same school you know." "I know," I nodded. "And you OK with that?" "If Kathy is." "She is, believe me. Says she never have an orgasm before. Said she thought she did, but...now she know." Hector's narrow-eyed smile seemed permanent now. I looked away from it. His intention was to humiliate me and I was unavoidably playing along, as if straight man to a comedian. What else could I do? Turn and run? (Yes! TEACHER!) "You like I fuck her in your bed. You like that?" I said nothing. I felt myself inching away, backwards, even though I was rooted to the floor. "She suck my big cock, too. I bet you'd like to suck it too. Would you?" Hector was baiting me. I didn't take it, however. Meanwhile I nervously had to wonder: Could he see I was getting hard in my jeans? Could everybody in the cafeteria see? This was shaping up like a bad dream... It was Hector's turn to look in serving table's direction. He lifted a dark-stubbled chin. Did it feel like sandpaper when he kissed my girlfriend, when he necked with her? Did he push his tongue down her throat while they fucked? "Maybe someday Kathy not around. I come over. You dress up in your little sissy panties, get down on your knees and suck my big cock. Kathy tell me you like to eat her nights after I fuck her. Bet you'd like to drink from the tap, eh?" I was mortified. Not only had I just been introduced to my girlfriend's lover, not only had he just finished humiliating me, picking me apart like a deep-fried chicken wing, but now he was...propositioning me? And when he said drink from the tap did he mean sperm or urine? Kathy, at her kinkiest, sometimes squatted over me in the tub and let loose, peed all over me. Made me sit in it. Had she told him about that too?!? Did we have any secrets left at all? "How are you two boys getting along?" a somewhat breathless Kathy asked, having, at last, run to my rescue. I watched as Hector put an arm around his colleague's waist and pulled her into his bulk--as Kathy tried to wriggle free. "Not here!" she protested. Hector merely grinned. "I learn a lot tonight," he claimed. "He," lifting his stubble at me, "tell me everything." "Oh?" Kathy blinked. At me. As if this whole fiasco tonight had been my fault. Hector's arm, though loosely now, was still around Kathy's slender waist. Valiantly, she tried to make the most of the absurdity. "Well I'm glad you two got to know each other..." About Two Hours Later Kathy still sat on the foot of the bed, a second, though much smaller, wetspot having issued from her. One thing was for sure: Hector was a big cummer. I'd just returned from the bathroom after washing my lower face off and bringing back a damp hand towel. Hector had gone home to the wife and kids. Kathy, naked, had seen him as far as the apartment door, where they kissed goodbye. From there the bull-like man who'd just inseminated my girlfriend thumped down the stairs and out the building's front doors to his second-hand teacher's car. I sat down next to Kathy as she wiped herself cursorily, latently, before handing me back the towel. I placed the wet thing in the vee of my thighs, just down from the triad bulge in my panty. "Thanks," she said. Then: "Well that was weird." "What?" "I wasn't expecting that tonight." "What? Hector coming over?" "Everything. Him coming over. You in the bedroom with us. You...?" "What?" Kathy looked over. "Sucking his cock?" "He told me to," I protested, meekly. "Even at the party he suggested I dress up in my panties for him and suck him someday." Kathy's astonishment pulled her back, away from me, like arrow from bow. Though her bare ass remained firmly planted. "He said that to you?" I nodded. Kathy slapped both thighs. Sighed. "Christ! Is everybody gay these days?" "It's not gay." "Sucking another man's cock isn't gay?" "Not in this case," I claimed. "He just wanted to humiliate me. In front of you. Like making me go and fetch you guys beers after he finished fucking you. Like I'm his servant or something." "Well, you were already standing. Not doing anything." "OK, but still..." "And I don't think he had you suck his cock because he wanted to humiliate you...though maybe that was a little of it. I think he wanted you to suck his cock because he wanted to be sucked off by another man." "In panties," I added, perhaps contradicting myself. "OK. Whatever. I think telling you to eat me afterwards...if anything was humiliating that was." "But he told me at the party you told him that I always eat you on nights after you've been with him." Kathy blinked more astonishment back at me, her lips parting. "I can't believe...at a faculty party of all places...he'd tell you all these things?" "I can't believe you told him!" "About what?" "Us! The shit we do! Did you tell him we do Golden Showers sometimes?" Kathy wagged an index finger much as she probably would at an errant grade school kid. "That I most definitely did not tell him." "Well you told him a lot of other stuff about us!" "So?" "So!" Kathy ran hands down the smooth length of both pale thighs. "You're turning this into a fight," she said in near whisper. "No I'm not." "Yes you are. What have we agreed to about you and your little temper? You don't raise your voice to me and you don't--ever--talk back to me anymore." "Yes ma'am." "Now you're mocking me." "No I'm not, sweetheart." Kathy, gripping her thighs just behind the knees now, let out a short exhale. "Well, what's done is done. Now you've seen him in action." "I only sucked him, darling, cause he asked me to." Pause. "Because he said at the table..." "What table?" "The party I mean. Tonight." "What did he say? What else, the little tattle-tale." "Nothing. Never mind." Kathy grabbed my upper arm, twisted it. "No, tell me. You've told me all this other stuff he told you tonight. What else did he say?" I took a deep breath. Let it out. As if breath were the truth and I was expelling it from my lungs, my body and soul. Fake news: "He said..." I paused. Kathy, looking on wide-eyed, expectantly, was still gripping my arm. As if my skinny biceps were the point of pressure that produced words, confessions. At any rate I spoke my lie in a single burst: "He told me that you gave even worse head than his dumbass frigid wife and that he bet I could do a better job." "He said that?" "In my, quote, little panties," I added, nodding. "That's the truth." "Jeez...I thought I knew Hector. I can't believe he'd say that about me." Kathy raised a startled look: "I suck cock well don't I?" No comment. "I've sucked you enough times over the past seven and a half--" Talk about startled. The bedside phone was ringing. "I'll get it!" Kathy said, jumping up. And leaving in her wake the small outer moon of a wetspot as distant companion to the much larger planet in bed's center. A kind of damp grey Jupiter. It was surprising, when I put my mouth to Kathy moments after Hector pulled out, the soles of her feet on my shoulders, toes curled, that there was anything left to lick. To suck. And savor. Even as Kathy ran to get the phone I knew who was calling. The clock next to the phone, now blocked by Kathy's naked backside, had read 10:22. What the hell did he want at this hour? I looked away, then back. The sheets need changing. That was my job. I did most of the housework these days--happily, in my panties, leaving Kathy free to go out shopping on Saturdays for, among other things, more sexy underwear for the two of us. I almost felt like Kathy was my sister now and we lived together and were secretly engaged in some sort of bizarre, though increasingly sexless, form of consensual incest. And that my sister now had a horny boyfriend who not only, as of tonight, liked to fuck her in front of her brother but liked to-- I stood up. Turned. I had an erection in my panties. I was the only who hadn't cum yet tonight. Kathy saw it. Rolled her eyes. The phone drooped limp from her right hand while her left had risen to a boxy hip. Her heavy-lidded look was to kill. Though whether the urge was directed at Hector or me or at both of us I couldn't tell. "It's for you," she deadpanned.