Chapter 1: The Bar, the Ex, and the Unspoken Tension
The air in The Rusty Anchor tasted like stale beer and regret. Dan traced a water ring on the sticky tabletop, the pulsing bass from the jukebox vibrating up through the soles of his boots. Across the booth, Susie laughed, a bright, fluttering sound that usually lit him up inside. Tonight, it grated. Her hand rested casually on Jack’s skinny forearm.
Jack. Susie’s ex from university. The guy Dan hadn’t thought about in years, until tonight. Skinny, all sharp angles and a slightly receding hairline Jack combed forward. Not Dan’s idea of competition. Not usually.
He watched them. Jack leaned in conspiratorially, lips brushing the shell of Susie’s ear. Susie’s head tilted, her smile widening. Then Dan saw it. A subtle, unmistakable tightening beneath the thin, clinging fabric of her pale blue top. Her nipples, hardening into distinct points.
His own beer turned sour in his mouth. He took a slow sip anyway, forcing his gaze away, scanning the dim, cigarette-smoke-hazed room. Stained wood, flickering neon signs advertising cheap domestic brands, the low thrum of conversations that sounded more like sighs. A classic dive. Susie’s choice, claiming it had ‘character’. Right now, Dan hated its character.
He looked back. Jack’s hand was moving, animated as he told some story. It swept wide, a broad gesture that just happened to graze the side of Susie’s ample breast. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. If anything, she seemed to press fractionally closer into the worn leather booth. Another giggle escaped her, softer this time. Intimate.
"Good yarn, Jack?" Dan forced his voice to sound neutral, almost bored. He caught the slight tightening around Susie’s eyes before her smile turned towards him, bright and suddenly brittle.
"Oh, Jack was just reminding me of that awful philosophy professor," she said, her hand still resting on Jack’s arm. "The one who smelled like mothballs?"
"Professor Dawson," Jack chimed in, his eyes glinting with amusement that didn't quite reach Dan. He was looking at Susie. Always at Susie. "Droned on about existential dread while projecting his own onto the class. Remember how Susie used to doodle caricatures of him? Brilliantly cruel." Jack’s fingers tapped lightly on the table, inches from Susie’s side. Another gesture? Accident? Dan couldn’t tell.
He remembered Susie’s doodles. Remembered her curled up on their sofa, sketchbook balanced on her knees, the tip of her tongue poking out in concentration. A wave of possessiveness, fierce and unexpected, washed over him. That was their memory. Not Jack’s.
"Yeah," Dan said, his voice tight. "Funny." He drained the rest of his beer. The cold glass felt good against his suddenly hot palm.
Susie shifted, leaning her considerable weight forward onto the table, making the wood groan slightly. The movement emphasized the swell of her breasts against the straining fabric. Jack’s eyes flickered downwards, just for a fraction of a second. A hunter noting his prey. Dan saw it. He saw everything now. The way Susie’s cheeks flushed. The way she kept smoothing her top over her stomach, a nervous habit when she felt self-conscious, yet simultaneously seemed to arch her back, pushing her chest forward. She hated her weight, fretted over it constantly, but she was fiercely proud of her breasts. "They’re my superpower, Dan," she’d joked once, years ago. Now, watching Jack’s gaze linger, Dan felt sick.
Jack leaned in again, murmuring something else. Susie’s laugh this time was breathy, a little shaky. Her eyes met Jack’s, held. Dan felt invisible. The cheap beer, the thumping music, the smoke – it all coalesced into a suffocating pressure behind his ribs. Insecurity, cold and sharp, pricked at him. What did Jack have? What could he possibly offer that Dan couldn't? He was fit, successful, loved her. He provided. He was there.
Then it hit him. Like a sucker punch to the gut. Memory fragments surfaced, unbidden: Susie, early in their relationship, tipsy and nostalgic after running into an old uni friend. "Jack? Oh god, Jack was... intense. Crazy times. And Jesus Christ, Dan, the guy was hung like a fucking fire hydrant. Seriously. It was almost... comical." She’d laughed, dismissing it as ancient history. Dan had laughed too, back then. Filed it under "quirky ex stories." A novelty. Harmless.
Now, watching Jack’s thin fingers brush against Susie’s side again, watching her nipples peak hard against her shirt in response to his proximity, the word ‘harmless’ evaporated. Comical felt like a lie. It felt dangerous. A wave of pure, unadulterated jealousy, hot and sour, surged through him, momentarily eclipsing the insecurity. His knuckles whitened around his empty glass.
"Another round?" Jack asked brightly, already signalling to the weary-looking bartender. His thin arm snaked casually behind Susie on the back of the booth. Not quite touching her. But the intention was clear. The territory marked.
Susie nodded, her smile back in place, though her eyes darted to Dan for the briefest moment. "Sure. Thanks, Jack."
Dan pushed his glass forward. "Same." His voice sounded strange to his own ears. Flat. Detached.
As Jack stood to go to the bar, Susie watched him walk away. Dan watched her watching. Saw the way her gaze tracked Jack’s skinny frame through the crowded room. Saw the unconscious way her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Saw the flush deepen on her neck.
The jealousy curdled, twisting into something darker. An intrusive, unwelcome thought slithered into his mind: What is it like? With a cock that size? He pictured it. Jack, skinny and unimpressive, except for that one monstrous appendage. Pictured Susie beneath him. Her heavy breasts swaying. The noises she’d make. Different noises? Better noises? The thought was grotesque. Vile. Yet it stuck, burrowing in, feeding a disturbing, voyeuristic fascination that warred with his revulsion and rage.
He couldn't breathe. The air was thick with smoke and betrayal. Susie fidgeted beside him, suddenly aware of his stillness.
"You okay, Dan?" Her voice was light, but there was an edge. A tremor.
He didn't answer immediately. He kept his eyes fixed on Jack, leaning against the bar now, chatting easily with the bartender, buying drinks that weren't his to buy for a wife that wasn't his to touch. "Fine," he finally managed, the word clipped. "Just thinking."
Jack returned, balancing three fresh beers. He placed Susie’s in front of her with a flourish, his fingers lingering near hers on the damp glass. "There you go, gorgeous."
Gorgeous. Dan flinched inwardly. Susie beamed up at Jack, accepting the compliment like a parched flower taking water. The gratitude, the pleasure in her expression, stung worse than any insult. He saw the flicker of something else too – triumph? – in Jack’s eyes as he glanced at Dan over Susie’s head.
Dan grabbed his beer. The cold was biting now. He needed air. Needed to move. Needed to do something. He stood abruptly, the metal legs of his chair scraping harshly against the worn concrete floor.
"Bathroom," he announced, not looking at either of them. He strode towards the dimly lit hallway at the back, pushing past a knot of people, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Jealousy, rage, and that insidious, sickening curiosity warred within him, a toxic cocktail bubbling over. He shoved open the grimy bathroom door, the stench of urinal cakes and desperation hitting him. He splashed icy water on his face, stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror. Dark eyes wide, jaw clenched. He looked like a stranger. A man unraveling.
Get it together. It’s just Jack. Skinny, weird Jack. She married YOU. But the image of Susie’s stiff nipples under Jack’s gaze, the memory of her drunken confession years ago, played on a loop. Hung like a fucking fire hydrant.
He dried his face roughly on a coarse paper towel. He had to go back. Had to face them. Prove he wasn’t rattled. He took a deep, shaky breath, squared his shoulders, and walked out.
Back in the main room, he scanned the booth. Empty. His stomach dropped.
He looked around frantically. Then he saw them. Near the pool table, half-hidden in the smoky gloom by the exit door. Jack had Susie pressed lightly against the wall. He was leaning in, one hand braced near her head, the other... the other was low, out of sight. Susie’s face was tilted up towards Jack’s. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were slightly parted. Jack whispered something, his mouth hovering near her ear. Susie nodded, a quick, eager jerk of her head.
Dan felt the world tilt. The music faded to a dull throb in his ears. A red haze descended. Every doubt, every insecurity, every vile, intrusive thought coalesced into pure, white-hot rage. He moved without thinking.
The heavy exit door to the parking lot slammed open under the force of his palm. Cool night air rushed in, thick with the smell of asphalt and distant traffic, doing nothing to cool the inferno inside him. He didn’t see Susie and Jack immediately in the poorly lit corner of the lot. Then a low murmur, a giggle – Susie’s giggle – cut through the quiet.
He followed the sound, his boots crunching on gravel. He rounded the corner of the building, the weak yellow glow from a single security light casting long, distorted shadows. And there they were.
Jack had Susie pressed against the side of his beat-up Honda Civic. Her back was against the driver's side door, her blouse pushed up, her large breasts spilling out of her bra. Jack’s thin frame was pressed hard against her, his pants shoved down around his scrawny thighs. Susie’s head was thrown back against the window, her eyes closed, mouth open in a soundless gasp. Her legs were wrapped around Jack’s waist as he pistoned into her with frantic, desperate thrusts. The car rocked rhythmically on its worn suspension with each slam of his hips. Squeak-thud. Squeak-thud. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet lot.
Dan stopped dead. Frozen. His breath caught in his throat, choking him. The image seared itself onto his retinas: Susie’s flushed face, the pale expanse of her belly, the frantic desperation in Jack’s movements, the sheer, undeniable reality of it. The size. The sheer, terrifying, undeniable size of Jack’s penis plunging into his wife. It wasn’t comical. It was monstrous. It was brutal. It was mesmerizing in its grotesque efficiency.
A low, guttural sound escaped Dan’s lips. Not a word. Just pure, animal anguish. Jack’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with panic. He froze mid-thrust. Susie’s eyes flew open. They locked onto Dan’s. Shock. Then terror. Then shame.
"Dan!" she gasped, trying to push Jack off, scrambling to cover herself.
Jack stumbled back, fumbling frantically with his pants, his erection flagging instantly, looking ludicrous and pathetic with his skinny legs exposed. "Shit! Dan, man, it’s not—"
Dan didn’t hear the rest. The red haze consumed him. Rage, humiliation, and that horrifying, unwanted fascination collided. He took a step forward. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles cracking. The parking lot light glinted off the sweat on Jack’s terrified face. The car creaked softly, settling on its springs. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by Susie’s ragged sob as she clutched her torn blouse. Dan took another step. The only sound now was the furious, ragged pounding of his own heart.