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It came about one New Year's Eve, when the four of them got together at Evelyn and Marcus' house. Marcus had a brain fart and said, "What's that word, bukkake?" and Evelyn snickered and Mary's eyes grew wide, and Stede...tried not to let on that he had no idea what the word meant.
Because they were drinking champagne, and because they didn't know half the bands on Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve (and Alma and Louis were away at university and couldn't make fun of Mary and Stede for being out of touch with the latest in '90s pop), they started to talk openly about sex acts they'd tried.
And Stede and Mary had simply...not tried anything. They'd gone down on each other a handful of times and they had, in the first year of their marriage (all arranged by their families, to shore up their wealth), christened every room in their new house. There'd been a gap, after Alma was born, then a period in which they'd forced themselves on each other more often than usual, until Louis had been conceived.
Since then, a drought. Stede could blame his long hours working under his father's thumb, or the fact that Mary came to bed so late, busy in her art studio till all hours, or chatting on the phone with her friends, gabbing about who knew what, likely complaining about what a terrible person Stede was.
Only Mary didn't actually say anything to him, so he told himself there was no reason to blame anyone.
They were older, and once every few months, to scratch an itch, was fine. Mary rarely came when he did, so, once he'd spent, he'd let her take his hand and use his palm and fingers however she needed. They'd shower separately, and she'd head to her studio, and he'd roll over and go to sleep. Middle age, long marriage, what can you do.
He knew, though, that his mental imagery was all jumbled up. He focused a lot on some of his favourite actors, imagined touching an upper arm or palming a bulge, even as he set a hand to Mary's chest. None of the books he read addressed this sort of mess, so he figured that, as with so many other things, it was a problem he alone had.
He certainly couldn't tell anyone, not colleagues, nor Mary; and the Bonnet family was a small one, only an estranged sister on his mother's side, grandparents long gone, no siblings or cousins. All the weight sat on his shoulders—
Until this year. His father had died and, as Stede slowly worked through the assets and consolidated and divided, his mother had up and gone to live near her sister, giving Stede a warmer hug in farewell than she'd ever had in greeting, promising that her door was always open for her grandchildren.
He'd asked, "Don't you want—"
"Not a cent," she'd told him cheerfully. "I have a nest egg from my grandmother, and that will be more than enough for me."
Stede, inspired, had begun to think about taking extra early retirement.
Next year, he'd decided. Once he found an all-absorbing hobby.
And now it was New Year's and Evelyn was asking if they'd attempted a 69 and Marcus was laughing, and suddenly it was out there, voiced by Evelyn or Marcus (or Mary?), he wasn't sure.
"Imagine if we swapped?"
And for one wild moment, Stede thought, "Me and Marcus? How—"
His brain stuttered to a halt, because Marcus was reaching for Mary's hand.
Of course, of course, his idea made no sense. He was expected to go with Evelyn.
"Now?" he squeaked. "We've been drinking—"
"Only a couple of glasses of champagne!"
"We should talk about safety—"
"We've never had any other partners before, but— Okay. Safety."
A flurry of activity. Mary left with Marcus, to go find a gas station or anywhere else that might be open and would have condoms for sale. Evelyn downed a glass of water, grabbed a bowl of popcorn, and held out her hand to Stede. "Come on. We'll use the guest room upstairs; Mary and Marcus can use the one in the basement."
Mary and Marcus sounded odd; ruminating on it was distracting enough that he didn't quite realise Evelyn was leading him away, until suddenly they were upstairs, with the door closed, seated side by side on the bed. Evelyn set the popcorn on the night table.
"Why don't you make yourself comfortable?" she purred. "I'll be right back."
Comfortable? Comfortable would be pyjamas and a robe, and the armchair in his home library. This situation was beyond comfortable, beyond nervewracking—it was outlandish.
He shut off the overhead light, turned on the nearest lamp. Stripped in a hurry, hung his clothes over the back of a chair, and climbed under the covers in his boxers. Piled up the pillows at his back and hiked the blankets up to his chin.
Evelyn reappeared, with a jug of water, two glasses, and a couple of foil packets. She kicked the door shut behind her with one foot, then strode over and set everything down next to the popcorn bowl.
"Marcus and Mary are still out," she said cheerfully. "I stole these condoms from Melvin's room."
Stede did not want to entertain even a single speck of a thought about whatever affairs Marcus and Evelyn's son got up to. Melvin was also away at uni, even further off than his own children.
"Good thinking," he croaked. Was he expected to use two condoms in one night?
Evelyn grinned, and began to undo the buttons on her waistcoat.
Evelyn was tall; of a height with him, nearly a head taller than Mary. She smoked, using a 20s-style cigarette holder. She'd injured an eye at a young age, and wore a black eyepatch. She—
She was letting her long skirt fall to the floor. She didn't have stockings. She was taking off her blouse—
She was crawling over his legs in her bra and panties and rucking up the blankets as she got in next to him, long blonde hair swaying.
"So." She pounded the pillow behind her back, and shook out the covers over both their legs. "What do you like?"
"Like?" he asked, oh so logical and coherent. He might be able to form a complete sentence soon. In the meantime, he stared at a spot on her shoulder. She had very smooth skin, did Evelyn. Kind of like Mary, for all that he'd seen (they tended to leave the lights off in the bedroom, save for Stede's reading lamp).
Evelyn ran the fingertips of one hand up his arm, raising goosebumps. "Yes, dearie. Like. As in, do you want me to ride you? Suck you off? I like being taken from behind, what do you like?"
He'd felt his cheeks growing hotter and hotter as she spoke, and now his mouth fell open. No sound came out. His mind fired up an image of himself buried deep inside Evelyn as she writhed atop him, and he shuddered.
Evelyn reared back. "Something wrong? We all agreed to this— If you've changed your mind—"
"I don't know!"
Evelyn softened. Her hand returned, this time resting over his where it lay shaking on the coverlet. "Stede. Dearie. It's okay. It's just supposed to be a bit of fun, to ring in the new year. Marcus and I have talked about it a lot." She grinned, feral. "We both kinda fancy Mary."
"Oh."
"You are an attractive man, Stede. But Marcus is mostly straight. And you're just not my type. I like 'em kinda slow, kinda malleable. You're not slow, you're smart." She patted his hand. "And despite the fact that you look like quivering jelly right now, I have a feeling you do know what you want. D'you need Mary back in here?"
He shook his head, mute.
Evelyn tapped her forefinger on her lips. "Do you want Marcus?"
"I— No— But—"
He wrenched his hand from Evelyn's and clutched at the blanket, pulling it higher up his body.
Marcus? Marcus was reedy, and had a high-pitched laugh.
Marcus had broad shoulders and, in the summer, when they all sat about by the pool, Stede...
He could tell anyone who asked, if there had been someone to ask, about how Marcus held the barbecue tongs. How he had a pattern of surfboards on one pair of board shorts, and palm trees on the other.
He couldn't even recall the colour of Mary's swimwear.
"He's just not my type," Stede echoed, managing a smile.
"Hmm." Evelyn reached into the night table on her side of the bed and pulled out a stack of magazines. A couple of Vogues, a few US Weeklys, People, and Life. "Let's see what we can agree on."
She held the first one open between them, and began to flick rapidly through the pages. "Tell me when to stop. Ooh, look, Cindy Crawford, she's hot."
"Eh."
Evelyn kept flicking. "Val Kilmer? The dude in the Obsession ad? Claudia Schiffer, Carla Bruni—"
"Wait, stop." He held his hand over a page, to keep Evelyn from turning to the next one. Slowly, he slid his palm down, uncovering the Armani advert that had captured his gaze, showing nothing more than a cologne bottle and the profile of a man. A man with longer hair than many of the other models, whether men or women. A man with full lips and an intense gaze... He whispered, "Him."
He grabbed the magazine and slammed it shut. As if doing so could stuff that single word back into the past, back into the dust of all the years in which he'd skirted, and skated, and ignored, and never once admitted any kind of truth to himself.
What did it all mean? For his marriage, his life—his future?
Evelyn was peering at him, studying him like she'd fitted a cigarette into her holder and was bringing a match to the end. "And Mary?"
"I— I like her. I love her," he amended. "I just don't feel...any attraction."
His thumb was still stuck inside the magazine. He flipped it open again. "Not the kind of stirring I feel when I look at this."
"Yeah, he's hot. Got that Wanted Poster bad boy look about him."
"He's just been blowing off steam."
Evelyn laughed. "Well, dearie, seems like you and Mary have some talking to do."
"Yeah. I don't—" He didn't want to speak the word divorce out loud. It seemed more momentous than his father's death, than the Bonnet Foundation's deconstruction. Divorce meant telling the children, finding a place to live, and— What? Going to a bar? A bar for... A gay bar. Gay.
He looked down at the ad again. Pictured his thumb smoothing over the man's eyebrow, his hand coming down and cupping the man's cheek. Leaning in for a kiss.
A soft groan escaped him.
He slammed the magazine shut once more, and glanced at Evelyn. Thankfully, she didn't seem to have heard, skimming Vogue and fiddling with her watch strap. Then she dropped the magazine and slid out of bed. "Come on. Fifteen minutes till the ball drops."
They got dressed and headed downstairs. Mary and Marcus were seated on the couch, laughing their heads off, clinking champagne glasses.
Marcus patted the seat next to him and Evelyn settled in right away.
Mary, still with a trace of laughter in her eyes, glanced up at Stede. "How'd it go?" She didn't wait for him to answer before adding, "We only just got back. We were driving around the entire time."
"And we had ice cream!" Marcus said. He tapped his glass to Mary's again, and they drank. "But no one had any condoms."
"Oh, we had some," Evelyn said suggestively. "Didn't we, Stede?" She winked.
"We sure did. Very ably sourced." He filled a glass and passed it across Mary and Marcus to Evelyn, then filled his own. On TV, the crowd was cheering in Times Square. "They're still in their original packaging," he said with a snicker.
Evelyn dug an elbow into her husband's side. "We can use 'em with someone else, next time."
"Oh?" Marcus cut his eyes to Mary. "Cool beans."
"What happened?" Mary whispered in his ear, as they all stood up and Evelyn went over and turned up the volume knob.
"We talked about our preferences," Stede whispered back. "And mine are—and always have been...men."
Mary smiled at him. Whatever she might have said was cut off by the countdown starting.
"3...2...1... Happy new year!"
Mary kissed him on the cheek, and they hugged, lingering longer than they usually did. Evelyn kissed his other cheek, and they hugged, holding their champagne glasses out to the side.
Marcus stood before him. In his peripheral vision, he could see Mary and Evelyn with their arms about each other. Marcus leaned in.
A peck on the lips. He barely closed his eyes, just a long blink. He tasted champagne, and a hint of something sweet. Of possibilities. But not, perhaps, with Marcus.
"Happy new year!" Evelyn cried again. She wrapped her arms about his neck from behind. "I've got someone I can introduce you to," she said, low-voiced, for Stede's ears alone. "A friend of a friend."
"Yeah? What's her na— His name?"
"Ed. His name is Ed."
