Opening Arguments free porn video

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said ""The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function..." The eternal argument about open vs closed marriage; about sharing vs exclusivity is one where I honestly can see both sides. I'm no genius; my wife - and every one else - is very clear about that – but here's a little diatribe about this anyway.

Edited by my good friend NoneTheWiser, who has a habit of coming up with better names for my stories than I do.

There is no sex in this story.

Sam was sitting at the bar, sipping his Bud Lite – 'Diet beer', his thirteen-year-old son called it, razzing his dad gently – while kind of watching the game on the big screen.

He looked around and counted. There were twenty-six different screens in the sports bar, showing twelve different sports. At least two of them he had never even knew existed. He shrugged. No wonder no one talked any more. Too busy watching other people do things than to do them themselves. Smart phones; TV's in bars; why actually bother with physical social interaction at all?

Speaking of that – and not even appreciating the irony -, he pulled out his phone to check the time. Damn, Jesse was late. He was never late. What the fuck?

He was into his second beer by the time Jesse arrived, plunking himself down on the stool next to Sam unceremoniously and without comment. He just nodded to Sam, and then gestured to the bar keep for a beer.

"What'll it be, sir?" the man enquired.

Jesse glanced at what his friend was drinking, wrinkled his face up when he realized what it was and said, "Well, it won't be the horse piss this idiot is drinking, that's for sure. A Sam Adams I think. It's cold outside. It fits."

The bar keep nodded appreciatively, doing his best not to make the same face at the Sam's "drink", and wandered off to the rack of beer taps along one wall, to pour the drink requested.

Jesse turned to Sam and said, "So, what is it that couldn't wait? I know it's Thanksgiving weekend, but I'll see you Monday at the office. What's up, man?"

Sam's face wrinkled in return, hearing the 'man' part of the sentence. Eighteen months in LA and his friend had returned with his speech peppered with "man" and "dude" and other California-ism's. He wouldn't have minded, but Jesse was forty-eight, balding and was never going to be mistaken for a surfer dude. He was still a fine figure of a guy – no appreciable fat on him, but he was also 'decidedly of the older persuasion', as Sam's son described his father. The description worked just well for Jesse as Sam.

He shook his head momentarily and said, "Lets get a booth. We're gonna need a little privacy for this."

He got up, moving towards the row of booths on the far side of the bar. Jesse picked up his beer and followed along, saying, "OOooh, now you've got my interest! Cloak and dagger stuff. Do you want to pat me down to see if I'm wired?"

Sam just glanced back at Jesse, a little annoyed at his free manner. This was going to be hard enough, without Jesse making jokes. He had to mentally gird up his loins to tell Jesse what he had to say. It was going to destroy him enough, without him thinking it was all a joke.

"Just ... sit, Jesse. There's shit to say. And I don't think you are gonna think it's good shit."

Jesse stopped and looked at Sam, trying to read him.

"Not good huh? Ok ... not liking the sound of that. Lead on, MacDuff."

They settled in the end booth, next to a wall and two away from the nearest occupied one.

"So, go on then, this is your party. Shoot."

Sam took a deep breath, considering his thoughts and how to express what he needed to say. Jesse and he had been friends for over fifteen years, off and on. They were casual friends at college, had ran into each other at a mixer three years after graduation, then worked together at a small advertising agency. They started to hang out together, their wives became friends, and five years ago started their own business together. Unlike a lot of business partners, they actually managed to remain friends. They'd even vacationed together twice, once on a cruise and once in the Bahamas.

Their business had done well in the last couple of years. They'd earned the marketing account for a small indie movie, made in LA but showcased at Sundance, and constructed a funny and imaginative marketing campaign around it for peanuts - when the movie won a short story Oscar, they'd been thanked in the acceptance speech. Suddenly the phone was ringing off the hook.

After signing two new and lucrative deals, they'd looked at each other, gone out and got very drunk and decided there was no option but to open an office in Los Angeles. Jesse 'volunteered' to go out and start it up, hire people, and stick around until he felt it was capable of operating without constant oversight, at which point he, and his wife Debra, would return to Minnesota. Sam would hold down the fort at home until Jesse returned.

It had been a relatively easy decision. Sam and his wife Janelle had children in school, and Jesse did not. Debra had a degree of wanderlust in her anyway, that Janelle simply did not, and so it hadn't been a decision the two disagreed over.

Jesse and Debra had moved to the Beverlywood area in LA, just off Venice Boulevard, set up shop in Santa Monica, and twenty-two months later returned in triumph to their four-bedroom house in Stillwater, Minneapolis.

They'd been back almost three months and Jesse had settled back in immediately. Sam had worried that there would be friction – they'd both been relatively on their own for the past couple of years, and working together again might have been hard, but none of his fears were realized. They'd fit together again almost immediately. They had, apparently, that type of friendship where they could be away from each other for a long period of time, and just pick up immediately from where they'd left off. Of course, they had been in constant communication and had seen each other on occasion during what they had called "Jesse's Journey".

And then, Janelle had come home after an evening out, cornered Sam after the kids had gone to bed and words had been exchanged. Now here he was, sitting with Jesse, his old friend, trying to find the right words to express and explore an extremely volatile situation.

"Ok. Well ... er, ok. I don't know how to phrase this without bein' fuckin' blunt. I know we are ad guys, but this isn't Mad Men and it's not nineteen sixty-five, and if I beat around the bush, I'll be waffling for the sake of it," said Sam, fully aware that he was doing just that. Sam's speech was decidedly more blue collar and 'colorful', as his mother in law had described it after meeting him the first time. The more uncomfortable or emotional he was, the more the bad language came out. It was another reason why he'd stayed home and Jesse had gone to Hollyweird land. While Sam was the better negotiator, willing to indulge in brinkmanship, Jesse was the easier to approach and talk to initially. Sam was way more blunt than Jesse. Jesse liked that about his friend – you were never wondering where you stood with him, although he could be considered aggressive by those who didn't know him – and even by some who did.

"I don't know if you know, but Janelle is part of a ... well, it's sort of a book group. Only, they sort of take it a stage further. Personally, I think it's a load of horseshit, but you know how women are. It's something this group started in college – they still get together now and pick a book and talk about it and all that other crap that women do when they've got too much time on their hands. You know what I mean," he said, rolling his eyes at Jesse, who nodded with understanding...

"Anyway, this little group goes further than just reading the book, right? They try and, well, involve themselves in whatever the book is about. I mean, it sounds fuckin' stupid to me, but they get their jollies out of it, and it's all very safe, so whatever, right? Keeps her happy, I'm all for it."

"'Involve themselves'?" asked Jesse, using air quotes.

"Yeah, well, I did say it was pretty stupid. But if the book is about, oh I don't know, police work or something, they go to a cop bar and yammer on about the book. Surrounded by real cops. If it's about horses or something, they go find a farm themed restaurant to talk. I dunno, explaining it to you, it sounds even stupider than when she told me about it. Whatever." He said, forcefully, trying to bring himself back to the point.

"So, right. The last book they decided to read was Dracula. The original version, by Bram Stoker. Lots of gory shit, so I'm told, all against some bullshit romantic old world backdrop." Sam was having trouble disguising his disgust.

"Apparently the only place they could figure out to talk about this was some gothic nightclub called 'Ground Zero'. Some sort of gothy place, with all sorts of weird events. Leather and lace night. Bondage night. I don't fuckin' know. Whatever." Sam was obviously embarrassed just bringing it up.

Jesse grinned at Sam, and took a large drink of his beer.

"Yeah, well. Here's the hard part. Janelle told me that it was not a place she would normally patronize, which made it all the more surprising that she saw someone else she knew there. She saw Debra there. Your wife Debra. Doin' shit."

Jesse stopped smiling. Instantly.

"And she ... damn Jesse, this is hard to tell you ... Well, from what Janelle said, she wasn't alone. She had a friend with her. A male friend. A very close male friend from what Janelle described to me. There were ... intimate moments." Sam was obviously struggling with the retelling. He couldn't look Jesse in the eye.

"She told me she wasn't dressed like the Debra we know and love either. She was wearing ... revealing attire. And it was definitely Debra. Janelle said she watched her for a while to be sure. It was definitely her. She didn't go over, because, as Janelle said, what the hell do you say in that situation? She didn't want to get wrapped up in having to keep confidences. You know what Janelle is like over keeping secrets like this. She can't. You know that. It would have blown up her – and my – face."

It was a now legendary funny moment, when Janelle had blown a secret birthday party for Jesse four years earlier. At the time, it had not been funny, but now it was something everyone could smile about. "Typical Janelle!" was how it was viewed today.

Jesse sat, no emotion showing on his face. Sam leaned forward, putting his hand on Jesse's arm and looking intently at him.

"I'm really sorry to have to be the one telling you this, man. Really I am. I love Debra ... but I think ... I think that all is not fuckin' well, you know? You need to know this. I love you too much not to pass this on."

Jesse, staring off into the distance, suddenly came to life, slamming his fist down onto the table.

"God FUCKING damn it. I'll fucking kill her," he said angrily, grimacing and not looking Sam in the eye.

"Jesse, I know this is hard, but ... be calm old buddy. As calm as you can be. We'll get past this. Together. Whatever is going on; whatever you decide to do, we are here for you. You know that. Janelle considers you the brother she never had," Sam's concern for Jesse was palpable.

Jesse took a deep breath, steadied himself, looked intently at his glass in front of him and then impulsively picked it up. Sam half expected him to throw it, but instead he drained the whole thing in one go, one mighty gulp.

And suddenly, the anger was gone. Just ... gone. Jesse just deflated. Sam was shocked at the sudden change. Whatever he expected, he hadn't expected that.

"Ok. Right, well, that was ... unexpected. I'm sorry Janelle had to see that, Sam. Thanks for bringing it to my attention. I'll take care of it."

There was silence for a moment. Sam looked at Jesse, looking for signs of incipient explosive next-stage wrath, when the reality of the situation had set in and Jesse just sat, staring at his empty glass.

Out of the blue, Jesse said, "So, my round then?"

Sam was ... astounded, surprised, confused, and worried, all at the same time.

"Jesse, you do get what I told you, right? What Debra was doing?"

"Well yeah. She was dressed up like a slut, dancing suggestively with other guys and not acting like a wife should, right? Janelle saw it, and now you are telling me, right?"

"Well ... yes... ?" there was an enquiring tone in Sam's voice.

"Same again then?" asked Jesse, gesturing at Sam's glass.

"What? Oh, yeah, I guess... ?"

Jesse got up and bustled to the bar. Sam sat, stunned. Then he whipped out his phone and dialed home. A quick hissed one sided conversation happened in short bursts.

"Janelle? Look, I'm here. I told him. He got really angry for a second, then just calmed down in a heartbeat and carried on as if I told him that the Twins signed a minor leaguer. He's getting me a beer for Christ's sake. Are you sure you saw what you said you did?"

"No, he doesn't seem that pissed off."

"I don't know."

"Well, I don't know, either. You should ask him."

"Sure, I'll just ask him about his erections. Yeah, right, for sure Janelle. No problem. I'm sure he'll be hugely forthcoming about that ... Hold on, he's coming back. I'll call you later."

By the time Jesse got back at the table, the phone was put away and Sam was all fake smiles. His smile became more genuine when he saw that Jesse had got the twenty-two ounce beers, not the wussy sixteen ouncers. Years ago, they'd spent three months together in England on secondment to an advertising group based in Manchester, and once a guy gets used to an imperial pint, a sixteen-ounce American pint is forever subject to disapproving glances. A twenty-two ounce beer was more like it!

There was silence as Jesse put the drinks down, and both took a large sip of their brews before Sam hesitantly said, 'Are you ok Jess? You seem..."

Jesse sighed, then burped.

"Ok. Well Sam, I really never wanted to have this conversation, but you kinda forced my hand. It was going to come out at some point anyway I guess. You are my partner and my friend so ... ok then. So be it."

He took a deep breath and put his drink down, one hand circling the bottom of the glass and rotating it, as he stared into the amber liquid.

"While we were in LA, things ... happened. Debra cheated on me. I caught her. It was traumatic."

Sam's mouth fell open. Sam couldn't believe it. After a moment he gathered himself and went into good friend mode. "I'm so sorry Jess. I had no idea. I don't know what to say? Not Debra? Were you totally sure?"

Jesse looked at Sam sourly and said, in a low voice, "Well, they were fucking on the couch when I walked in, so yeah, pretty sure Sam. You don't tend to mistake someone else's cock sinking into your wife's snatch, and hearing her moan. I am actually quite observant about things like that."

Sam couldn't help but notice that Jesse's implicit humor and way of expressing himself could come out even dealing with such difficult shit.

"What did you do? I mean ... you hit the guy, right? Tell me you decked him."

"What would be the point, Sam?"

Sam couldn't quite believe his ears. "What? That guy was fucking your wife Jesse! He should be punished. Capital punishment if you could get away with it. You don't just let the guy walk away. There is a line to be drawn. You know that. I mean, I am so mad right now, I want to find him and whack him upside the head."

"Well, sure. No question. But me beating on him, that's going to stop Debra from wanting more than me, exactly? She's already done it. Already taken that step. Is me smacking this guy going to stop that desire? I'd hit him. My anger would take over and god knows where it would stop. I'd be arrested, spend some time in clink, Debra's on the outside, and what do you think she's going to be doing? How would that that helpful?"

"Well, yeah, but still. I mean, you can't just walk in on that and go into fuckin' Vulcan mode and be all emotionless about it. You've got to ... do SOMETHING."

"Well, sure, I didn't just freeze. Out came the phone, got a few pictures, and then I walked out again. I mean, I was pissed. Beyond pissed. I could have killed the guy. And her, to be honest. There I was, trying to get our new office started and here she was, fucking some golf pro. That's who he was, by the way. Some golf pro she'd been taking lessons from."

"What then?"

"Well, the usual. I went to a hotel. She tried to call me, I ignored her, called a lawyer and so on. Turns out in California, you get burned big time in divorces. She might have taken half my ownership in the company. Or we'd have a huge fight about jurisdiction and I could have just funded lawyers for a while. Honestly, while I could have cheerfully strangled her, she would have the last laugh. I'd literally have been paying for her to have lovers. Well fuck that."

"I'm sure. So ... how did you get back together?"

"Well, that's the thing. While I had given up on the marriage, she had not. She fought tooth and nail to get me in the same room as her. And here's the kicker. I resisted because I knew if she did, I'd be lost. I would give in. I knew I would. And I didn't want to. Except that I did want to. But I knew I shouldn't. But I wanted to. But I was afraid to. And I was afraid not to. It's not simple, Sam. It seems simple when its not you. It's a whole lot harder and more complicated when it is you. I loved her. Still do."

"WHAT? But she fucking cheated on you!" Sam was outraged. His friend was no pussy. He knew this for a fact – they'd been arrested for drunk and disorderly and causing an affray more than once, one particularly memorable time when Jesse had taken on a group of college grads who were harassing a group of women.

"Look, I thought about just ending it, I mean the marriage. Once she'd had her say – she still loved me, more than ever in fact, the whole sex with others thing had proved that to her even more than she knew. She wanted to be with me, grown old with me, yadda yadda yadda. The sex with other people thing was not about me at all. All the usual shit you'd expect from a cheater caught red handed. I mean, she sure made it clear that I was the creative one in the relationship, because she was really kind of predictable. My favorite ... I was culpable to a degree..."

Sam could take no more of this, and interjected, forcefully. "Oh sure. You personally chose the cock for her to 'accidentally' fall on to, right? For fuck's sake, Jesse..."

Jesse looked at Sam, slowly, with an expression he couldn't read. Eventually he said, "Of course I'm not completely responsible. Yes, you are right. She decided to do it. She ignored our vows. I had no input and was not the catalyst for that. Well, I was, partly. You see I created the environment for her little affair to happen. Well, you and I both did. The work to set up that office was significant, you know. I was away from home, working at all hours. Even when I was at home, I was on the phone. People in Hollywood, well, whatever else you say about them, they work. They work hard. They are in the office at all hours. And so I had to be responsive. I won't say I abandoned Debra, but I certainly wasn't around as much as I used to be. We knew this going in, but still, saying you know what it's going to be like and actually living through it, well, that's a different thing."

"Well, ok. We work hard. We play hard too, Sam. This isn't our fault. It's not your fault. That is bullshit, that's just her guilting you"

"No, I'm not saying it is is my fault. She betrayed me. There's no doubt about that, and she knows it too. She's consumed with guilt about it. About how it made me feel, how hurt I was. From what I can gather, she never even really thought about what would happen if she was caught. It wasn't about disrespecting me, as much as it was finding something exciting to do while I wasn't around. She pledged pretty much anything to stay with her. I'd come home and find her in a cheerleaders outfit, or she'd come the office and give me a blow job during lunch. I mean, she pulled out ALL the stops."

"I should fucking think so too. Cheerleader outfits?" Sam asked, suddenly picturing Debra's smoking body in a skimpy cheerleader suit, before realizing he should stick to helping Jesse. "It sound great, but how does it make the betrayal go away"?

"It doesn't. It can't. The hurt man; oh, damn, the hurt. You start questioning all sorts of things. How you are as a man, what she really thinks about, if this other guy had a big dick, if he was better in the sack than you are. It's fucking demoralizing and soul-destroying pal. I hope you never have to go there."

"Yeah," was all Sam could think of to say. Both took a drink, deep in thought, imagining bad and worse situations. Then Sam suddenly had a thought.

"So, me telling you this, this has got to be the end, right? I mean, she's doing it again. You can't stand for that, right?"

"Weeeeelllll ... there's more to the story buddy."

"Seriously? What? How? I mean, Jesse, you know – fool me once, fool me twice – you know how it goes" exclaimed Sam, the drink on it's way to his mouth forgotten.

"Yeah," sighed Jesse.

"So, long story short, I got convinced." Jesse just simply shrugged. "Maybe I was a sucker. I dunno. I love that woman, and she loves me. She's way harder on herself for what she did than I was. She'd do things like give me the passwords to all her email and her phone, for texts. She'd download her gps location history, annotated with where she was and why. She couldn't even cum with me any more, not because I wasn't any good, but because her shame and guilt wouldn't let her. We did get over that one, by the way."

Sam just stared at Jesse. This was too much information, but still not enough. He didn't care if Debra came while Jesse fucked her; he cared that Jesse stayed while Debra fucked him over. He asked the question without speaking words. His eyes did it for him.

"Yeah, I know. I know dude. Believe me, I ranted and raged. And she cringed and kept apologizing. Telling me it wasn't anything to do with me, all that shit. All the usual shit you get, when someone is caught. I think 50% of it was genuine and 50% of it was how much she regretted getting caught. That changes over time though, once she got an idea of how it felt. I'll get to that though.

"And then ... well, we'd been stable for about four months when she approached me. Here's the thing Sam. We'd not really talked all that much about what she'd been doing with this golf pro – Angel Santino, his name was. Angel. What a fucking joke. More like the devil to me. Anyway, she just started talking one night. We'd both had a bottle of wine each, and it just started coming out of her. She'd been caught up with the whole 'new cock' thing. That's how she described it. The flush you get when you meet someone else who is into you. They even have a phrase for it in LA. NRE. New Relationship Excitement. Can you imagine, Sam. I thought we could do a campaign for it or something. Any way, she told me that the NRE for her wasn't so much the whole falling in love thing, more the exploration of a new sexual partner. What they like, what they don't like, what they can teach you, what you can teach them. She said it was like having two lives. She kept stressing that it was nothing about me. Nothing to do with our life together. That it was totally separate.

"She was just interested in the experience. There was no longevity to it. She said she'd been surprised when she embarked on the affair, how she had such zero emotional investment in it. It had fed her ego, she'd been interested and enjoyed it, but there was no question of leaving me, or rubbing my face in it or whatever bullshit she used to justify it to herself. I was there, I'd always be there, her number #1 guy. She never denied me anything, would never be some place else when I needed her, it was all done on a whim and never planned, so there was no way anyone else would ever or could ever be a priority to her.

Jesse stopped, and looked at Sam's face. "Yeah, I know. It all sounds like justification bullshit. But stop for a second. Think. What if it were true?"

"What?", asked Sam. "Jesse, you know better. That is just such bullshit. It's like no cliché left behind."

"No," said Jesse, "I mean think about it. What if it were true? What if she can do this and be emotionally distant from it? What if it is what she calls it, 'an extreme game of volley ball, where both sides win, and that's all the attachment there is'? What id the clichés are true? I mean things don't become clichés by accident"

"You're her husband. You aren't supposed to be her #1 man, you are supposed to be her only man. I don't see how those clichés can be true".

"No, I couldn't either. Took me a long time to think about that and even more time to come to any conclusions. But the thing is, Sam, I know her. I know when she's lying – well, mostly -, when she believes what she is saying. I know I am her top priority. I know she will always be leaving a party with me."

"Right up til she doesn't. She's not exactly earned much capital respecting those kinds of rules, has she?

Jesse took a sip of his drink and said, "Sam, would Janelle ever leave a party with someone else?"

"Of course not," Sam snorted derisively, "and I wouldn't let it happen if she wanted to."

"So, if you know Janelle wouldn't, why can't I know Debra won't?"

"Because Janelle hasn't already been sleeping with someone else behind my back. Come on Jesse, you can't seriously be buying into this crap?"

Jesse grinned and raised his glass to Sam to show there were no hard feelings about what he'd just said.

"Fair comment Sam. Fair comment. But, I do know about that now. I know what she did, why she did it, and how to protect against it. If it's a part of her, and she said it was a hugely exciting thing, what does it hurt me to let her have it again? In very controlled circumstances?"

Sam just stopped drinking and stared at Jesse in horror, the understanding of what he was saying slowly dawning.

"Are you saying ... You let her ... do this?"

Jesse shrugged again, with a rueful smile on his face.

"Look, as you already said, she's done it now. She might do it again, she might not. But if I'm aware, if I allow it – under very controlled circumstances, obviously, - she has nothing to fear and everything to gain by keeping her word. She wants to be married to me, have me as her priority ... It's not like there aren't processes in place to ensure that it's controlled. Rules, and so on."

Sam, despite himself, was fascinated.

"Rules? You mean like "forsaking all others? Isn't that a rule?"

"Yeah. No. I mean, yes she did break that vow. I know it. She knows it. But what I am talking about is rules we agreed to after that. To make sure its playing, not cheating. I mean, first we have post-nup that she signed, where if she cheats, or does anything sexual – or even emotional - with anyone without my express approval first, she's out the door with only the clothes on her back. That was non negotiable."

Sam nodded at this, still not buying into this nonsense but at least acknowledging to himself that the post-nup was a good thing...

"I get to decide if and when she plays, and get to approve the guy. If I say no, it doesn't happen. I've said no a couple of times just to see and she acquiesces without issue every time. She can't go out and flirt anywhere people we'd know might see her. It has to be discrete, which is why I'm pissed now. I mean, she was at a place where I think it's reasonable not to expect to see family friends, but still – she did. We'll be having words on that front. She's going to be grounded for a few months, I can tell you. The post-nup I mentioned? Only she had to sign that. I didn't. She wasn't wildly thrilled about that, but fuck that. She had the affair, not me. She's the one who needs to sign it, I don't. She wants to stick around, she had to put her John Hancock there."

"It's condoms all the way, no swallowing and no playing with any married guys,

unless his wife knows and approves. No one more than four times – so no chance of any long term relationship developing. No threesomes or, sub/dom games and the people she plays with have to have respect for her. You know, none of this pissing on people or anything like that. No marks and she can never stay overnight – no visits more than three or four hours, no weekends or time away with someone else or anything like that. Never more than once in a month, either. And I always have to know who she is with and where she is. She usually sends me a text with a picture of the guys drivers license, just to be sure. Assuming I even let it get that far. The power is in my hands here."

Sam was horrified and fascinated at the same time. Did this shit really happen to real people? To his best friend? Really?