All this business with the green-eyed monster had me wondering: when have I felt jealousy?
I found this tale in the vault.
In the fall after I finished high school, my girlfriend was beginning her senior year.
Her best friend was dating my best friend, and on the weekends, the four of us were inseparable.
We gave up our given names in favor of those we gave one another. My friend was Peabo. His girlfriend was Coco. I was The Chef, as I liked to cook dinners for us.
My girl was Guini.
Guini was (and remains, for we are still friends) among the funniest people I had ever met.
She caught my eye one night at a party, when she kept a piece of raw chicken with her, dubbing it “Mister Chicken.”
Throughout the night, she would hold it aloft and say, in a nasal version of her rich Southern accent, “This is Mister Chicken. Mister Chicken wants to be your friend.”
It was only a matter of time before I fell in love.
She had a huge smile, wavy brown hair, and a lovely body—she named her large breasts “George” and “Martha”—that she moved to any groove she could detect.
She loved Van Morrison and Doctor John above all others.
She lived in the dorm, as her family had moved north. However, her father’s business required him to keep a residence in the state.
She had access to her family’s empty condominium.
On weekends, Peabo, Coco, Guini and I moved into the condo. There were parties with friends on Friday and Saturday nights, and long mornings in bed with our lovers.
Guini was the first woman to sleep with me on a regular basis.
I was eighteen, she was seventeen.
I had to overcome a few insecurities in loving her. She was the center of any party, and very pretty, and very much adored by all our friends.
One eighth-grader in particular, a cerebral chubby kid in our circle of friends, worshipped her. He thought I must be the coolest guy ever, to have such a cool girlfriend.
I had to get used to sharing her with everyone.
I also had to get used to intimacy.
One morning, I woke to find her asleep next to me. We were nude.
Her back was turned to me.
I was distraught. Was she mad at me? What had I done? Why wasn’t she facing me?
There was nothing wrong. She was just asleep.
I didn’t know any better.
At the time, I worked in a movie theater. My favorite duty was working the midnight shows. I couldn’t believe I was getting paid to party with the crowds coming to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
After the movies ended, I would say goodbye to the Transylvanians, wake the stoners who dozed through a Pink Floyd concert film, and pack a garbage bag full of popcorn to share with everyone at Guini’s condo.
One night I arrived to find that the party had dwindled down to our foursome and our pal Lawrence.
Peabo and Coco went to bed. Lawrence planned to crash on the sofa.
I needed to wash the popcorn oil off me before I went to bed.
I took Guini off to have a bath.
She lit a candle as I ran the water. I lay back in the tub. She sat between my legs, leaning back on my chest.
I kissed her hair and caressed her skin, her breasts. We talked, silly and happy to be together.
Lawrence popped his head in the door. “Mind if I join you?”
“Sure.” Guini said.
“No room in the tub, though.” I teased.
“Oh, I’m fine over here,” he said, sitting on the toilet.
The three of us chatted as my girl and I cuddled in the water, the candlelight reflecting on our glistening skin.
I was proud of how sexy we were.
When we had enough, we stood and drained the tub. I toweled Guini. She toweled me.
I was hard.
“’Scuse us, Lawrence,” I said. “We’re gonna . . . uh, you know.”
“I’m jealous,” he smiled.
We grinned back, sheepish and pleased.
We wound up fucking on the floor of the room where Peabo and Coco slept.
We went at it for a very long time. Dawn came.
I was at her from behind, waiting for her to cum so I could.
She wasn’t cumming. I suppose she was waiting for me to cum.
I wasn’t cumming.
Eventually, we stopped. We were beat.
I feel asleep in her arms.
I woke to the sound of her pants and moans.
It sounded abstract and odd, disembodied. How was it that those familiar sounds were coming from another room?
I walked down the hall to investigate.
As I turned the corner to the living room, I saw it.
Guini on her back, cumming as Lawrence fucked her.
I was stunned.
I didn’t know what to do.
I stepped back so they wouldn’t see me.
Should I go back to the other room? Pretend I was asleep?
And stood there.
How could she fuck Lawrence? And me in the next room!
He makes her cum with his horse dick. I didn’t make her cum.
So what does this mean . . . she loves him now?
Jealousy won out. I walked through the living room to the kitchen.
I opened cabinets.
I pulled out pots and pans, sending them to the floor with a noisy clatter.
I kicked one across the room.
Felt good. I kicked another.
I walked back through the living room. Guini look over her shoulder at me, Lawrence still in her.
“No!” I shouted, stopping and pointing at her. “No!”
Peabo and Coco rushed down the hall.
“Jesus.” Peabo said when he saw the scene.
“Guini!” Coco's hand rose to cover her mouth. “Damn it, Guini!”
I pushed past them.
I slammed the door to our room.
Yeah right, “our” room.
I pulled on my pants, and put my arms in my stupid fucking button down oxford shirt I didn’t have time to button God damn it.
I picked up my shoes, socks and tie.
I headed back to the hall.
Guini was between me and the door, naked.
“Baby, I’m so sorry . . .” She was crying.
“No!" I glared. "Fuck you!”
I ran down the stairs. I slammed the door.
I ran to my car. I slammed the door.
“God DAMN it!” I shouted in the car. I banged the steering wheel. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
I loved Guini. She loved me.
We made up.
And we didn’t mess around with anyone else.
A couple of years ago, Guini married the boy who had so worshipped her when he was in the eighth grade.
I suppose he is about the happiest man alive.