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“You were so busy up front with the Jennifer and Chelsea that I didn’t think you were interested in me,” Heather said.
“Saving the best for last,” Zack said.
The two were kissing deeply and he had his hand in her shorts. She moaned again.
John felt sick but not from the liquor. Yet he sat there and pretended to be asleep, watching the thing unfold. Zack slipped off her light top and expertly unhooked her bra. Her skin glowed in the starlight as she sat on his lap, facing away from John. After a few minutes, she dropped to her knees and unzipped him.
“My, my, what’s this?”
It was a woman’s voice, husky, alien.
“You like, babe?” Zack said.
She laughed. “What do I do with it?”
As she moved her head, John stared at Zack’s penis, transfixed.
“Let me help.” Zack reached down to undo it. Heather leaned forward and her hair covered what came next. But it was clear what was happening. Her head bobbed up and down. The boat rocked gently and John wanted to kill them both. He wanted to kill himself. It was a feeling that only grew as he saw, through the slits of his eyes, Heather kick off her shorts and black panties, climb astride the captain’s chair, and reach down to put Mister Perfect’s penis inside her.
“Fuck me!” she whispered.
John felt his face grow a hot blush.
They rocked against each other. Heather laughed and arched her back.
It seemed to last for years. He watched the whole thing, the drill of betrayal boring into his middle, but also…arousal. Maybe he was a peeping Tom. A freak.
They moved with ever-greater urgency until both were groaning loudly.
Heather’s voice split the night. “Oh! You’re making me come.”
John closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing. After awhile the powerful engines of the boat started and idled.
“Hey, Borders, good nap?”
Zack was grinning at him, his stubble no longer so perfect, his clothes half-on and half off. Heather hung on Zack, looking like a new Burberry scarf around the neck of a homeless man. She didn’t look at John.
“It was what it was.” John sat upright on the bench.
The two other girls appeared from the front of the boat, ahead of the open cabin, which held two seats where you could stretch out.
“Did you girls have more fun?” Zack asked. He walked aft, leaned past John, and made fast the rope holding the Zodiac. “I love that boat,” he said.
“Me, too.” John glared at him.
They retraced their route back to the city, going slower this time, the little skiff barely noticeable behind them. The river was deserted now, the water nearly flat except for their unwelcome wake. He looked at his cell phone: almost four a.m.
“Check it out,” Zack said. “We’re not the last ones at closing time.”
The two other girls were exchanging embarrassed looks while giving John dirty glances. They dug into their bags and pulled on more substantial tops and j
eans.
Zack pointed to the cabin cruiser, still tied up by the railroad bridge. On closer inspection, it was an older boat.
“Rinker Fiesta 330,” Zack said. “Let’s have a little fun. Bet you somebody’s fucking in there. Probably one of our dads cheating…”
“Don’t,” John said.
