Dirty Thirty

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An Excerpt From: DIRTY THIRTY

Copyright ?
CARA MCKENNA, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing,
Inc.

Chapter One

Evan
Hennessey glanced at the clock on his computer screen for the thousandth
time that hour, the day crawling, limping ever more slowly toward five. He
was turning thirty tomorrow, no big deal really?except tonight he going to
get his brains fucked out, one last hurrah before his twenties were
officially over.

This
evening?s festivities were his wife?s orchestration. Margie had planned the
whole thing and done a damn fine job, just as she did with everything else
she put her mind to.

Evan
picked up his cell phone and held down the two button.

Margie
picked up on the second ring. ?You?re not chickening out, right??

He
laughed, kept his voice low so his officemates wouldn?t overhear. ?No way.
Just obsessively checking the time. He said eight??

?Yup,
eight.?

?And I
don?t need to pick anything up on my way home??

?Nope.
Your gorgeous charming wife has it all under control.?

Evan
toyed with the tin robot next to his computer, straightened the framed
wedding photo beside it?Margie in torn white lace, tattoos, spiky pink
hair, Evan in a tuxedo tee shirt, mohawk longer
than it was these days and dyed deep red to match his silkscreened bowtie
and carnation.

?I
love you, Margie.?

?Why
wouldn?t you?? He heard the smirk in her standard reply.

?I
love you for doing this.?

?I
love that you asked,? she said. ?Listen, I?ve got to finish something for a
six o?clock deadline.
See you in an hour-ish??

?Yup.
See you soon.?

He clicked
his phone off, drummed his fingers on his thighs. Four nineteen. Christ, this day was never
going to end. Why did the laws of physics have to pick today to rewrite
themselves? Didn?t they understand Evan needed this, the slowest Friday in
history, to be over already?
Didn?t they know tonight was the night Evan was finally going to get
properly and thoroughly fucked by another man?

*
* * * *

Five o?clock did eventually arrive and the
second it did Evan was slinging his bag over his back and mounting his
bike, his brain three hours ahead of his body. He cycled the twenty minutes
from his office at one end of Portland
toward his and Margie?s little house on the other. Usually on a Friday as
glorious as this one he?d be savoring the June breeze, appreciating the
sunshine and the distant white peak
of Mount Hood against
a rare, nearly cloudless sky?but not tonight.

The
events scheduled for this evening were four months in the making. It had
started one drunken night in February after a friend?s Valentine?s
engagement party. Too much champagne, or perhaps exactly the right amount.
At any rate, Evan and Margie had stumbled into the house giggling, kissing,
tearing each other?s clothes off as a good husband and wife should. At the
height of Evan ?performing his marital duty?, as Margie liked to call it,
she?d done that thing that drove him nuts?two fingers teasing his asshole
as he drove into her, rough. No new feature, until Evan?s drink-addled
self-censorship filters had failed and the words came tumbling out.

?God,
I want to get fucked by a guy.?

She
hadn?t missed a beat, hadn?t paused for the thinnest of seconds. ?Oh yeah??

?Yeah.?

Her
fingers had slowed, pressure building as she penetrated him. ?For real, do
you think??

He?d
held his tongue, body lost in the pleasure, brain cloudy. ?Yeah. Just once.
For real.?

?God,
that?s sexy.?

And so
that little confession grew, the topic making its
way into their dirty talk, the thought working as a hit of some exciting
new drug. A month after the initial drunken revelation, Margie had brought
it up outside the bedroom?outside their house, even?over a picnic lunch.

?You
know your dirty little secret?? she?d asked,
spring sunshine lighting up her blue eyes, a chicken salad sandwich in her
hands.

?Sure.?

?Do
you think you might ever want to go for it? Like, bring in a guy??

Evan
stared off toward the river, pondering the offer. His body sure as hell
wanted it?his rational brain wasn?t a hundred percent on board yet. Dirty
talk was one thing, but this was their relationship
she was offering to experiment on. ?I dunno.
Maybe.?

Margie
took a big bite of her sandwich, licked mayonnaise off her thumb. ?I?m down
for it,? she said, mid-chew.

He
shrugged, hiding the hot jolt of curiosity zapping through him. ?I wouldn?t
even know how to go about finding somebody.? They ran with an eccentric,
liberal crowd, but Evan didn?t know about asking acquaintances for tips on
finding some random gay guy to fuck his straight ass. Semi-straight. Heteroflexible.

?I
think I already did find somebody,? Margie said.

?What?
Who??

?Paul.
Paul Seeto.?

Evan
blinked. ?Paul our bouncer??

She
nodded. ?Paul the Wall.?

Evan
pictured the doorman who worked at their favorite bar,
the tall thug Margie called ?that hot bitch?, often within his earshot.
Hot, yes. Bitch?Evan wasn?t so sure. ?Is Paul even gay? He doesn?t seem
gay.?

?He?s
close enough.?