Snowballing My Cuckold: A Hotwife Gives Back (Eroticulture) by Parker Pascal

Author:Parker Pascal [Pascal, Parker]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Trudy and me, we eat noodles at the Thai House, which isn’t far from home. It’s after six, and we make small talk while we eat. I tell her about this guy who came in complaining about his engine making noise after a tune-up the day before, and she talks about Marla finally getting the script for the drive-thru right. We go home, listening to the radio. I shower the day’s grease off and pull on some sweatpants and an old t-shirt. I laugh when I realize it’s a Papa’s Dairy Barn shirt.

Then Trudy showers while I sit and watch Netflix. When she comes out of the bedroom she’s wearing a loose-fitting red blouse that ties at the top and falls low on her shoulders and a pair of culottes. She puts on sneakers with no socks and ties her hair up behind her head in a ponytail. She takes the remote from me, plops on the couch, and changes to a show she likes. I watch with her, even though I don’t much like the series she’s into.

One episode gives way to another, and before we know it it’s 9:30. I look over at her, and she clicks off the TV.

“You ready to go,” I ask.

“Yep. May as well head that way.”

“Trudy, are you sure you want to go through with this interview?”

“A hundred percent. But only if you are.” I can tell she’s made up her mind and that by backing out I’d be disappointing her. We get in the truck.

I drive slow, but by 9:50 we’re in the lot behind Papa’s, just one parking spot away from the dumpster, and I sort of feel like we’re hiding behind it. There’s only two other cars: a little blue Civic with some fender damage, and a big black Suburban with silver trim that gleams under the floodlights. I assume the Suburban belongs to Nicholas Pappas.

Five minutes later, I see Tomyka come around from the front. She gets into the Civic, which makes a terrible noise when she gets it running. She drives off into her Friday night.

“Well, she’s the last one,” says Trudy. We’re parked facing away from the building, and I eye the back door in my rearview mirror. My hands are on the steering wheel, the engine still running.

“Babe, are you really sure you want to go through with this?” I say. I feel, strangely, like I have to get one last confirmation. Give her one more chance to back out. But she’s having none of it. She takes me by the hand.

“Yes. You relax. This won’t take long.” She grabs her cell phone off the dash, gives me one more smile, and she’s out the door. It slams shut, and I’m alone. I could watch her walk away in the rearview, but I don’t. I hear the door at the back of the restaurant open and close, faintly, but if Nick is there to greet her I don’t see it because I don’t look. I cut the engine.

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