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Paul & Me

By: Pilgrim



Here’s my story, though I’m a bit concerned that some people will think differently of me for sharing it. Thankfully, there are forums like this where these kinds of adventures are shared and accepted more readily than they would be in polite society. But still, this is not something that you go out and share with just anyone. 

I’ve known Paul for a long time. We work together in the same office. Our spouses also work together, though in a different organization. Our kids all go to the same school. We’re all roughly the same ages and from similar backgrounds. As you can see, the opportunity for friendships to grow in many different directions is ever present. 

Never in our wildest, freest, most comfortable moments together, though, did we imagine our relationship leading to the events of this past Tuesday. Paul and I sat on the couch together, facing each other, knowing what could, or more likely would happen that night. It’s hard now to recall what twists and turns of our conversation that evening took us down a road we’d never intended to travel. But there we were. It was unmistakable and undeniable. 

And against all that I knew, or thought I knew to be right and wrong, I was the one that made the first move. At the appropriately critical and energized moment of our conversation, I stood up and started to undress for him. First came my favorite loose-fitting T-shirt. Paul watched intently as the shirt slipped over my shoulders, exposing first my belly, then my chest. He watched, not talking or even showing much obvious reaction at first. He just watched, his eyes scanning from my face down across my chest and over my hips. 

I took a step closer, unbuttoning the top button on my Levis, then the second button, then a third. As I slid the jeans over my hips, he reached out and helped push them down. His movements were quick and strong, forcing down my jeans and my underwear simultaneously. He stood, sliding his long fingers and soft palm between my thighs. He explored me, probing, caressing, fondling. The touch of someone new is always exciting, but the awkward mystery of an intimate touch from a close friend, someone who knows you too well to be doing something like this, makes the moment even more thrilling.

I pushed him back. Not far enough to let him release his touch. Just far enough to tug at his belt buckle. I was naked now and I wanted to him to join me. I slipped the belt out of the loops and unfastened the top button of his khakis. His arousal, like mine, was obvious. Pulling the waistband of his boxers up, out and down, I freed an enormously thick and massive cock. He was not unusually long, but the sheer girth and the muscled tension underneath the thin foreskin surprised me. I pulled on his cock, sliding the looser foreskin over the top of his shaft. Releasing my grip with one hand, I squeezed the soft pink head of his cock with my other hand. 

He was hot to the touch. Hot, soft and fleshy at the tip. Warm, hard, immense along the length. I reached between his legs and cradled his balls. They were large and heavy. The sack sagged loosely, then tightened as my fingers tickled the course hairs underneath. With his balls resting in my palm, my middle finger silently slipped further back, sliding through the sweat into the warm crease of his ass. Paul moaned, long and low. 

I pushed him back on to the couch and knelt down by his knees. “You don’t have to do this”, he said. “Don’t stop me now,” I replied. He leaned back. His legs parted and I moved between them. His thick penis lay across his stomach, the dark pink flesh emerging from a thick tangle of dark hair. His cock pointed upward along the dark line of stomach hair to his perfectly smooth chest. I wrapped my hand once again around his shaft. My thumb and index finger were barely able to fit all the way around his thick member.  I stroked my friend. Long and slow strokes at first, intermittently tossing in a few quicker strokes to vary the routine.  

Paul’s eyes were closed now. His head rested comfortably on the back of the couch, but his body was taut and tense. His energy focussed entirely on his body’s core, concentrating on the small area between his stomach and his thighs. Likewise, my world narrowed down to the few inches surrounding his cock. I lifted myself higher on my knees and pointed his cock at my face. Pulling the delicate foreskin down to the base of his cock, I hovered above the single hole atop his pink cock head. 

“Don’t”, I heard him whisper reluctantly, but we were too far along to stop now. My lips slid easily over the tip of his cock, slowly enveloping the steaming head and the first few inches of his wide shaft. Paul’s cock felt even thicker inside my mouth. Sweaty, steamy, salty. Many flavors mixed as one. He groaned and lay back, raising his hips to meet my lips, his cock pushing further back into my mouth. I released my grip at the base of the shaft and felt the foreskin slide upward, crinkling up under my bottom lip. 

With my hands on his thighs, I started to move my head and shoulders. Perfectly positioned to slide my lips up and down Paul’s amazing penis, my hands pushed his legs farther apart. I remember the feeling of my tongue curling around the underside of his penis and trying to stick my tongue farther down the shaft with each downward stroke. The softer cock head pushed at the back of my throat before I pulled back up the shaft, each time leaving only the tiny exit hole encircled between the thin curls of my lips. 

In this way, I sucked my good friend, moving, bobbing, sliding my lips, tongue and mouth around his hardened penis. Fingers on one hand found folds, creases and holes to explore underneath, while the other hand rolled through the full mound of pubic hair and across his legs and stomach. With each downward stroke of my mouth or each new reach of my fingers, Paul moaned. 

We forgot time. I don’t know how long I was down there, whether it was but a few moments or an hour. I only remember the taste, the sensation of flesh and sweat and heat shared between friends, and the long, slow, erotic climb to his ultimate release.  

I knew when he was close. There was no question now as to how this scene would play itself out. His cock was hot, the heat gradually intensifying until I knew it couldn’t get any hotter. My mouth eagerly released its hungry saliva and slathered it over the entirety of his penis, nearly replicating the feel of a young, wet and tight virgin. A new flavor emanated from his cock, slowly permeating my taste buds. Salty, oily and smooth, Paul’s own body added the gentle ooze of pre-come to our moment. Through my very full mouth, I moaned when this new sensation emerged. And that deep, low, guttural moan was, apparently, all that Paul needed.

He pulled back suddenly, pressing his hips down into the cushions of the couch. I followed, my lips never losing contact with the head of his cock. Then he pushed up just as suddenly, forcing his cock deep into my mouth. He grabbed the back of my head, holding me in place. I completed the eager lockdown, reaching behind him and grabbing the cheeks of his ass, pulling him into me, my lips brushing the course hairs at his base. 

His first shot struck deep in my throat. I remember the soft, wet, almost audible thud at the back of my mouth, right where it takes its downward turn to the throat. The shot was full, heavy, and strong. Paul jerked backwards again, leaving only the fleshy head of his dick between my lips. I took his next two loads from this position, come spraying hard and fast and hot inside my cheeks. I felt the frenzied pulses of semen surging through its canal across my bottom lip as it rushed up the length of his shaft. I pushed down on his cock, sucking now, swallowing what I could, wanting and trying to draw all of his juices from inside him. I wanted him to completely empty himself inside me. 

I don’t recall how many shots my friend Paul fired that night. He told me later that he couldn’t remember ever coming that hard, that long and that much. I took that as a compliment. When his spent cock finally ceased pumping and was too sensitive to withstand the attentions of my mouth and tongue any further, Paul gently pushed me away. Still on my knees, I teased him a little by squeezing his softening sensitive pole, caressing the sticky tip, and watching the last little drops of come dribble out the top of his cock and on to his thigh. 

“Amazing,” he whispered, catching his breath. “That was the most incredible blow job I’ve ever had. No one has never done me like that.” All I could do was smile and mutter a humble “You’re welcome.” 

“And now, let me try to return the favor.”

I was only too eager now to accommodate my good friend’s wishes. I moved from between his legs and lay down on the floor exposing myself completely to him. Paul moved over the top of me, dangling his now soft cock briefly over my face. I reached up giving his empty balls a quick squeeze as he found his place next to me. Kneeling down, his hands ran over my chest, across both nipples and down my belly. I closed my eyes. I moaned softly when he finally wrapped his long, strong fingers around my own stiff cock, which had been waiting anxiously for its own release. 

Paul And Paula



By Daniel Quentin Steele © 2011

Author's note: Let me start with a warning to readers. This is not a complete story. It's a fragment. If you want a complete story, don't start this one. I decided to post this because I felt some readers might be curious about how the story of the Donnallys – Paul and Paula – detailed in the next to last published chapter of WWWM began. If any readers are curious, I think this opening to their story will give a more complete and well rounded picture of this couple, before their marriage went completely to hell. This takes place about a month or so before they come into contact with Bill Maitland and the Jacksonville court system.

PAUL – Tuesday afternoon. September 2005

It used to be that bad news came at night. People dying, serious accidents, husbands leaving wives or vice versa.

Paul Donnally remembered the old saying that nobody ever received good news at night later when he thought about that afternoon as he pulled into the circular driveway of their Mandarin home. It was a rambling three bedroom Spanish style single story home that had once been big enough for Paula and their son and daughter. 

It had been just big enough for all of them before Ben and Patricia had grown up and graduated high school and gone off to college, Ben to the University of Florida where he was due to graduate with a Masters in Business Administration the next July and Patricia to FSU in Tallhassee where she was working toward a Masters in Education with emphasis on handicapped children.

Now it was too large and Paula and he had talked a few times about looking for a condominium, maybe at Jacksonville or St. Augustine Beach, that would be easier to maintain and more comfortable for empty-nesters.

It was especially large now that Paula was gone for a week to a real estate seminar in Miami. She had flown out on Sunday and even now on Tuesday it seemed entirely too long for Paul's taste. He could almost hear his 40-year-old wife when he sat on the couch watching television or reading a book, could smell the perfume that she sometimes wore to bed for hot sex. It had been a long time. They were on the downside of 40, he was about to celbrate his 42th birthday and the sex drive yielded to age, but he still remembered.

He was getting ready to slide out of the car when the T-Mobile cellphone he carried in his shirt pocket beeped the message that he had a message waiting. He wondered if it was Paula. It was early for her to call. She had told him this would be one of the busy seminars, every day chock full of meeting with other real estate types, lectures about how to survive in the world of falling house prices, and in the evenings she'd probably be wining and dining or being wined and dined by other agents while they tried to pick each other's brains for good contacts and sales prospects.

Paul had sighed when she told him the news. He'd been through it before. Since entering real estate on a whim in her early 30s, it had become a second religion. She ate and drank real estate and ARM mortages and all the esoterica of residential home sales. But she made a good living at it, which neatly supplemented his respectable salary as the Public Relations Manager for Duval University, a very expensive and prestigious private four year college tucked away in the port and insurance city of Jacksonville, Florida. 

So he didn't expect to hear much from her, but if she had a break or a few minutes, sometimes she called him, as she said, just to remind herself what he sounded like.

He punched in the top button to access the call and waited a few seconds while scratchy static screeched out at him. There were background noises that might have been a radio or stereo playing some sort of Latin ballad or Salsa type and then through the bouncy music he began to make out words, or at least sounds.

"Ooooooooooohhhh God....that,....so good....more....deeper....uh...please....you like that Baby.....oh yes yes yes.....where....you want ...in my pussy baby...in my pussy..."

Interspersed between the words were the wet sounds of flesh colliding with flesh and Paul knew it had to be the sound of a cock entering a very wet pussy.

What the hell? Since when did they broadcast porno over telephone lines? 

"ooohhhhh...yes....no...don't tease me....fuck me baby...fuuuuuuucccckkk me...." and there was a shrill feminine scream of pleasure.

As he sat there, his mouth open in amazement, he realized what had happened. It had happened before. 

Sometimes a number would be entered inadvertently, by something as simple as somebody rolling over a cell phone and accidentally hitting the transmit button. He smiled, wondering what passionate couple was unaware that their frenzied fucking was going out of the electronic medium to provide a cheap thrill to a stranger sitting in his car and listening to it all.

He knew he should have shut it off, but there was an irrisistable voyeuristic impulse to listen a little longer. 

There was a long drawn out sigh and then silence for moment, then the sound of movement on a bed and a little later a wet sucking sound that could never be mistaken for anything else. 

"Oh, my god, Paula, nobody does it better...nobody...you know..i think you could suck the chrome of a trailer hitch with those lips...flattery will get you another hot cum, baby...just get it big and hard for me and let go...I want to drink all of you.."

For a few seconds Paul thought he might have had a sudden attack of vertigo as the world seemed to circle around his head.....What were the odds? A woman with the same name as his wife was sucking another man's cock...how the hell could that happen....

He thought of the look on his Paula's face when he told on her return about listening to another Paula give as strange man a great blow job. There would have been a time when they would get so hot talking about it that they would drag each other up to the bedroom if the kids were out. Their sex was still good and she gave the best blowjobs in the western world, but sometimes it almost felt like – she was doing it to pay him back for being away from him on long trips. A small sensation of pain ran through his insides as he realized it had been a long, long time since she had been carried away with the kind of wild, spontaneous passion he heard over the phone.

"do this for Paul?"

Paul's attention suddenly returned to the voices. Had he heard the name Paul?

"yes, but not like I do it for you...he's (slurp) happy with my 'B' game. ....he's (SLURP) not like you baby..."

"...suck it all in,baby, down to my balls, that;'s the way...jesus, I can see it bulging out of your throat,,,.how do you do that?"

"...practic,e baby, practice (laughter)"

...and you love practicing on that 10 incher don't you"

"...oh yes....was it hard to get used to sucking a big one? at first... Paul's is kind of...dinky compared to yours. I doubt he's more than 6 – 6 and a half inches and he doen'tt know what to do wth it anyway..next to you he's very vanilla - just stick it in, pump till I cum and then he gives me his load..."

".....he must be a fucking idiot...and he has never guessed about us?"

"...he's one of those guys with more brains than common sense"

"..so why the fuck do you stay with him.? Your kids are out of the house..you make more than he does...."

"– not that he knows, baby – "

"– and you don't love him, obviously..."

There was more wet sucking while Paul felt the sensation of intolerable pressure like a thousand pound weight settling on his chest. He wondered when he would wake up.

"not like I love you baby..that's right, get it big and hard for your cum slut...I want... cupful at least..."

"...well then why stay?"

"We've had this conversation, Greg....Paul and I have been together 20 years. We have two kids. He's...comfortable...you can't fuck all the time...we're better off like this. i get all the hot sex I want from you and when I get home poor dull Paul is there to drink coffee with and discuss the news and he takes me to parties...he's a husband, not fucking machine like you...oh yeah, baby...I feel it starting...nooo.. give it back..i need it."

" ...not till you say you love me more than poor little dull Paul"

"..no, damn it let me suck it

"...no not till you tell me you love me more than that loser of a husband of yours

"...you bastard..you bastard, give it back to me...okay...I love you, damn it...I love you more than I love paul now , I love you more than I ever loved that pitiful bastard..i love you more than I'll ever love him....oh yes.....oh ...ess.s... mmmm...mmmm...how can you squirt so much....come on..."

It seemed to keep going on forever,,,.but eventually after more sucking and fucking sounds the message ended and the computerized operator's voice came on asking him if he wanted to save it or kill it. Without thinking, he hit the number 9 to save it. Then he let the phone in his hand drop to his side and he just sat there looking at the home where he and Paula had lived and loved for 15 years and raised their kids.

He must have sat there for five minutes and he could never remember what went through his mind. Finally he hit the replay button and listened to the whole damn thing again. His mind went round and round like a dog worrying a bone. What the hell could it mean?

In some way, beyond the conscious level he knew what it meant, but if he had admitted it for a second he was afraid he would start screaming and never be able to stop. 

The first thought that entered his head was that somebody – with a very cruel sense of humor – had set up the call to drive him crazy. Any minute now the phone would ring again and his next-to-best friend and frat brother Sam calling from Houston would say, "Got you Paul, you dumb sack of shit. I really had you going, didn't I?"

Except that Sam would never be this fucking cruel. And as he sat there and reality crashed in on him he realized that unless it was an astronomical coincidence, the only way a cellphone could accidentally call a number was if it was programmed in automatically, the way his number was programmed into Paula's phone so touching one key would automatically send the call his way.

It had been Paula, he knew. It was her voice. After 20 years he couldn't have mistaken that voice.

Had she done it deliberately? Even now as his world shattered into tiny little pieces and he realized like a character in some horror movie he had been married to a human appearing but very alien monster, he couldn't understand WHY she would have done it. It sound very much like she was being honest with her lover when she talked about how comfortable, if dull, her life with him was. 

Why would she deliberately expose her betrayal of him, of everything they had had together? Why would she destroy the life they had built together. She had to know that he wouldn't be able to live with this knowledge. And that their good, safe, dull life would evaporate like dew under the morning sun. She could have a life with her lover, but their life would vanish as if it had never existed.

UNLESS...she knew he would never have the guts to leave her. Knew that he would swallow the hurt and pain and pretend he had never heard the voice message. Knew that she could fuck around and enjoy a comfortable life being waited on hand and foot and twist the knife in his back and enjoy his pain.

But what kind of fucking monster could do that to a man who had loved her for 20 years, had worked and sacrificed with the dream of spending their last years together? 

He realized he was sobbing and rubbed at his eyes with fists that were clutched so tight he couldn't release his fingers. The answer was that he didn't know what kind of monster, just as he didn't know any more who the woman was that wore his wife's face but wasn't his wife or the mother of his children.

Somehow he was inside the house without any knowledge of how he had gotten inside. He staggered to the cabinet in the den across from the wide screen TV and took the bottle of Bourbon out and took the cap off, then chugged the fiery liquid until he started to vomit it back up on the hardwood floor. Then he fell to his knees and cried the way he hadn't since the night his father had died 20 years before.

The rest of the night was a blur in which he moved from the den to the master bedroom without removing his clothes or cleaning the vomit from himself or his clothes. He must have turned the television on because the second hour of the Today Show was dispensing cooking advice the next morning when he came to and sat up on his elbows on the bed.

There was something in his right hand. When he turned his bleary eyes to make out what it was he saw the gleaming heavy weight of the loaded Glock pistol. He rolled to his side and picked up the Glock, holding it up in the air to inspect it. The safety was still on.

There was something so grimly funny about that that he couldn't stop laughing. Christ, when you're too drunk to be able to release the safety on a pistol and blow your fucking brains out, you know you're fucked up.

He lay back, laughing until he lost his breath and choked. Wouldn't that have been so great, he thought, imagining Paula walking back into their house with a well fucked and happy expression on her face until she walked into the bedroom to find it decorated with his brains.

Then he thought about what would have happened if it had been Ben or Patricia who had walked in to find his body. He laid the gun down gingerly on the side table and put his face in his hands.

God damn you, Paula, he said softly. God damn you to hell. I could have done it if I hadn't been so drunk. And maybe ruined Ben or Patricia's life. And for what. A cheating mother fucking lying whore slut of a cheat. A woman who wouldn't deserve his piss if she was on fire.

He realized even as he said, even though he had heard her voice tearing his soul to shreds, he still couldn't believe it.

But, as he took his face out of his hands, he knew how he could make himself believe it. And when he did, then what? He took a deep breath. He didn't know what he'd do. He didn't know what he felt. He didn't know what he would feel when he could deny it no longer. But he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. 

The phone rang just then and the way he knew he was very, very sick was that he didn't leap to answer it. Paula had always joked that if someone held a pistol to his head and would shot him, he would still leap up to answer a phone. It was instinctive after many years as a newspaper reporter and PR guy. You always answered the phone.

But it kept ringing and after awhile he picked the portable off its base and checked the caller ID. It was his office at the university.

"Where are you, Paul?" his secretary Sherry said. There was a note of unconcealed concern in her voice. The joke around the university was that the Greenwich Observatory set their time by Paul. He was never late and had never missed a day of work and most years cut his vacation short to get back to work.

When he didn't answer Sherry sounded even more worried.

"Paul, are you okay? You know today the trustees are meeting to discuss the next year's budget. You're supposed to be there as one of the University staff for your input."

Finally he heard himself say, sounding like a 70-year-old, "I...I'm sick, Sherry. Really sick. Make some excuse for me. Richard can cover for me. He knows as much about the PR budget and operations as I do. He'd love a chance to show he could do my job anyway."

Even as he said it he wondered why he'd say such a shitty thing about a guy who had always been loyal to him. Maybe because there wasn't much milk of human kindness left in him. When Sherry spoke again he knew she was shocked by the gratuitous cruelty.

"Oh...okay, Paul. Richard is here and I'll tell him to take over. You...you need to take care of yourself. You sound terrrible. Do you want me to come round. I can get Betty to cover for me. I know that Paula is down at that meet in Miami. I hate to think of you all alone and so sick."

"No," and the instant he heard his voice he regretted that also. But he didn't seem to have much control over what he said and did right now. "I mean, Sherry, thanks, but I don't want you to catch what I've got. It's a really nasty bug. It's a good thing Paula is down south. I know she's having more fun down there than she would have here."

His damned body betrayed him again and he sobbed until he caught his breath and tried to cover with a fake cough. There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. Then finally, "when did you start getting sick? You seemed okay when you left work yesterday?"

'I got sick last night," he said, wanting to add it only took four minutes to become sick to death.

"Well....take care of yourself, Paul."

Ten minutes after he hung up the phone rang again. Jesus Christ, his house was turning into Grand Central Station.

Thank God for caller ID he thought a second later, dropping the phone as though it were a poisonous snake. The name on the caller ID said simply, "Paula." He let it ring. He had no idea what he would have done if he had simply picked up the phone and heard her lying, traitorous, fucking, beloved voice. But he had a feeling he would have been able to work the safety on the Glock.

After the phone rang a dozen times the voice mail came on and he heard her saying, "I just got off the phone with Sherry, Babe. She said you were home sick. You never stay home sick. I'm a little worried. Call me back. I – I don't know what to say. I'd come back, but I'm really tied up with appointments this time. I've getting a lot of work done, getting a lot of contacts. Not much fun, but it's going by fast. Please call me so I'll know if I should come back."

He shook his head in disbelief. If it hadn't been for that four minute message right now his heart would be swelling with love for his adoring wife who was willing to give up her business to come home and care for her ailing husband, was willing to give up all those boring business meetings to come back and stay by the side of her beloved husband.

He didn't think there was anything left in him, but he was hurling the last of the bitter liquid inside him before he actually made it to the toilet. He lay with his head against the cool porcelain and laughed and cried at the same time; laughed at his stupidity and cried for it at the same time.

He probably sat there for an hour before he could get up the strength to sit up and then strip and lurch into the shower. He hunched up against the wall feeling the boiling water scour his skin until all the hot water was used up and cold water eased the pain of the boiling water.

He found a pair of slacks and a shirt in his closet, made himself eat a couple of slices of honey ham to get some protein in him and picked up the phone to call his closest friend.

"Hey, Paul, how're things going at the University? You got time to call and shoot the breeze with a slacker? Things must really be slow around there?'

"I'm...not at the university, Gil."

"Oh, Christ, the end of the world is here already?"

Like all his friends, Gil assumed that if Paul wasn't at work the Apocalypse was an accomplished fact.

"I...something's happened, Gil. I need your help. I don't have anywhere else to turn."

Gil was silent for a moment, obviously realizing something was badly wrong. 

"You want me to come over there or you want to come here?"

"Let me come over there."

"No," Gil said forcefully, so unlike his standard laid back personality. "You sound like shit, you sound like you're drunk, and you sound like somebody just stomped your heart into a blot on the floor. It's Paula, isn't it? You don't get behind the wheel. I'll be there in 15 minutes."




Paul and Paula



Dear Paul,

I can not believe how wonderful it was to see you at the twenty year reunion a few days ago. It feels like only yesterday that we graduated high school and promised to stay in touch. Yet then life happened. We both went away to college and then by the time we goth got home we had grown apart.

Then I went back for my master's and that's when I met Charlie. He was a good man. He treated me like a queen. The problem was not only did he treat me like a queen but he also treated Sandy and Erica like queens. Of course, I did not realize that until we had already been married for ten years and we had two children. Caleb was seven years old and Caitlyn was four years old. At the time of the divorce, he tried to fight me for custody of them but in the end I won. I guess the judge did not sympathize with a two timing bastard.

Well enough about how lousy my marriage turned out to be. How have you been? How has life treated you the last twenty years?

Love,Paula

Dear Paula,

It most definitely was wonderful to see you a few days ago. It was also great to receive your letter. It is sad that it has taken so long for us to reconnect.

I am so sorry hear about your marriage. Some things are just not meant to be. I know that it may sound insensitive of me. I guess I have just grown a bit callous but I, myself, have dealt with my share of heartache since our high school days.

I was married too. Her name was Denise. We met our sophomore year of college. At least for me, it was love at first sight. We married only a year after we met. From the outside, our marriage seemed ideal yet from the beginning cracks developed. Then about five years in, she met a businessman from London. Two weeks later she was on a plane to London and I was being served divorce papers. She didn't even have the decency to come back to the states for the proceedings. Everything was done through her lawyer. The only blessing I have is that we never had any children to get stuck in the middle of it. I feel bad for Caleb and Caitlyn. They are the innocent parties that Charlie probably never even thought about.

So I guess we are both in the same boat. We have been burnt by love and have made it through with only a few scars to remind us of the past. How have you and the kids been since the divorce?

Love,Paul

Dear Paul,

We've been doing good. We went through a rough time shortly after Charlie and I split. Caleb did not really understand why mommy and daddy were no longer together. I tried to explain it but he blamed himself . I guess he was just too young to understand it. Thankfully we made it through. I think it made us closer as a family.

Caleb is now eleven years old . He's an extremely active preteen boy. He loves playing sports. His favorite sport to play is baseball. He also loves to play video games.

My little girl, Caitlyn, is now seven years old. She is the typical little girl. She loves playing with Barbie dolls and pretending to play tea party with all of her dolls.

They are both such good kids. I know everyone says it but I truly do feel blessed to have such amazing children. You should meet them. I think they would really like you.

Love,Paula

Dear Paula,

It is great to here that you and your kids are doing well. I may not have any kids of my own but I have my niece. Her name is Marie. She just turned six years old. Since my divorce from Denise, little Marie has been the only girl I have any time for in my life.

My sister and brother both work full time. Uncle Paul babysits whenever she is not in school. Marie would correct me if she saw this letter. She would say that I big girl sit because she is no baby. She is a sweet girl but most definitely has her opinion and is not afraid to speak her mind .

I would love to meet Caleb and Caitlyn . Since they are so close in age maybe Marie and Caitlyn would enjoy playing together. Why don't we meet next Saturday at the park on sixth street around two?

Love,Paul

Dear Paul,

It is great to hear how happy Marie makes you. Of course, she is welcome to come along. I am sure Caitlyn would to have another little girl to play with. She so rarely gets to play with a girl her own age.

Saturday sounds wonderful. The weather is supposed to be beautiful. We look forward to seeing you and Marie there.

Love,Paula 



Paul And Paula



Paul was sitting in the den watching Regis Philbin doing something outragously out of character for a sexagenarian when Gil Tucker walked in without knocking. The 48-year-old tall, sandy haired, lanky individual who still looked ten years younger and who had been Paul's best friend for 20 years took one look and knelt down beside him.

"Oh, fuck, man" he said, looking like he was about to break into tears. "What the fuck did she do to you?"

"How-"

"I know stuff I've never told you because you're my best friend. Besides that, there is nobody and nothing else that could tear the heart out of you this way, other than that miserable bitch."

He felt like he ought to defend Paula for a moment, then realized she was indeed a miserable bitch. He held the cellphone out to Gil and pushed the play button.

Four minutes later Gil reached out with one trembling finger and pushed the end signal button. There were tears in his eyes but Paul thought they were tears of rage and incoherent anger.

'It's a damn good thing she's not here, friend," Gil said. " I don't think I could stop myself from killing her. I've never heard or, or even imagined anything like that before."

"I – I – even now I can't really make myself believe it, Gil. It's like this is a bad dream I can't wake up from."

Gil put his hand on his friend's arm and said, "Paul, I don't think I would ever have said anything to you, but I've known about this for a long time."

"How?"

"Let's just say this is not the first guy she's played with. Actually, she was fucking around on you before she ever got into this real estate game, but that just made it easier for her to play without worrying about getting caught."

Paul pulled himself away from his friend and glared at him.

'You've known about this for YEARS and you never said anything?

Gil bit his lip for a minute, then said, "Are you happier now that you know?"

"No, God no. I wish with everything in me that I'd never heard that message, that I was still ignorant and happy. Even though she's a cheating, lying bitch, I wish I didn't know."

He bent his head forward and laid it against his friend's shoulder. He felt like a little boy, a child as tears gushed forth and he sobbed. He was ashamed of himself for behaving like a girl, but Jesus Christ, how are you supposed to act the morning after your life ends.

Gil held him and said, "It's going to be okay Paul. I know you won't believe me now, but it will be okay someday."

Paul remembered in his agony 13 years ago when Gil's wife Lynn walked out on him aftter telling him one night she had fallen in love with a pre-med student at the University of Florida in Gainesville 10 years her junior. She left him and married her young stud and even had a little boy before showing up in Gil's front yard two years later begging him to take her back.

Then it had been Gil in agony and Paul and Paula who had held his head while he threw up after all-night benders spent trying to forget the woman he had loved. But, as Gil said, he got Okay eventually. Fucked Lynn for six months before kicking her out and refused to take her calls for a solid year. Eventually she had given up and disappeared.

Oh God, was that going to be the way it was with Paula and him, he wondered? All that pain and chaos and in his and Paula's case there were two grown kids. And in the end, he'd be alone, just another old bachelor like Gil cruising the bars and trolling the online dating sites to get some action, but never finding that special someone again.

Gil leaned back and suddenly pulled him to his feet.

"You need to get out of here, man. This place and all the memories must be killing you. Come to my place and sack out in the spare bedroom while you sort things out."

He knew it was the right thing to do. It felt like the entire house was closing in on him and choking him. It was all THEIR house, everything in it held memories of her. It felt like poison ivy over his entire body, burning and itching at the same time in places he couldn't scratch. He needed to get away.

But there was another reason to get away. On the ride to Gil's house after packing enough clothes and his blood pressure and a few other medications, he told Gil what he needed him to do and Gil agreed.

Once he'd settled in and Gil had called for a Pizza Hut pizza, Gil had used his bachelor's den equipped with electronic equipment you would be hard pressed to find outside of a University laboratory, to make copies of the inadvertent phone call. Then Gil fed the call into a computer and they watched the computer screen as Gil pushed buttons while two jagged lines ran along parallel to each other across the face of the screen.

The bottom line was a message he'd recorded from Paula two weeks before to him at work telling him to buy steaks on the way home for a cookout. The top line was of her sucking and fucking another man's cock. As Gil played with the computer, the two lines grew closer and eventually overlapped until there was only one pulsing line.

This is the moment, Paul told himself staring at the single line, when it all ends. Scientific proof that the voice of the fucking slut who had told another man she loved him more than dull old Paul was his wife. There was no mistake. He'd known it all along, but he told himself, "I had to be sure."

After awhile the pizza came and Paul managed to choke down a slice of Supreme with a beer to wash it down. Normally he loved pizza but it had as much taste as cardboard. They didn't talk until his cell phone suddenly rang at about 8:30 p.m. Paul actually jumped and then stared at it, while an increasingly familiar sense of dread filled him.

It could have been anybody, but he knew somehow who it was. He stared at it while it rang again and again. 

Gil picked it up and hit the intercom button. 

"Paul..Paul..are you there? Paul...."

"It's me, Paula, Gil."

"What are you doing answering Paul's phone? Is he there? Is he alright?"

"Yeah. He's over at my place. He called me this afternoon. He got the flu, running a fever and going at both ends. But he'll be alright."

"God, I was starting to get a little worried. I tried to call him at work and they said he hadn't showed and only called in once. You know that's –"

"Not Paul-like, I know. But everybody gets sick. He's only human."

"I know, I forget that sometime. He's a rock. He never gets sick. Hey, let me talk to him."

"I can't Paula. He crashed a little while ago. He needs to sleep."

"Oh, okay. I understand. I'm glad you're there for him, Gil. He doesn't have many friends, but you're a good one. Anyway, I called because I'm going out with a bunch of guys and some girlfriends for drinks. You know how it goes. I always lose my cell at these things so I'm leaving it in the room tonight. I didn't want him to try to call me and worry when he couldn't reach me."

Gil and Paul exchanged glances. Paul felt a shouted obscenity rising in this throat when Gil pantomimed a "shut it" motion and said, "That was thoughtful of you Paula. I know you hate it when Paul gets worried about you. But really, he knows you can take care of yourself. Anway, in the shape he's in, I think you're the last thing on his mind tonight."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line before Paula finally said, with what Paul thought was an odd tone in her voice, "Yeah...yes, I guess you're right. Just watch out for him, okay."

"He's my friend, Paula. I'm not going to turn my back on him."

There was another long silence and then a soft click at the other end of the line.

The two men started at each other, until Gil finally broke the silence. 

"What a mother fucking bitch. What a mother fucking bitch. She's being so thoughtful calling you before she goes out to fuck some stud's brains out."

Paul shook his head, saying, "Let it go, Gil. I know it's true, but I don't want to hear it right now. A few hours ago I loved her beyond anything in the world. And now I know she's a piece of shit. I've kind of got psychological whiplash."

After another moment, he said, "God, I'm glad you answered the phone. But she's going to keep calling. What am I going to say to her?"

Gil gave an evil grin and said, "How about, don't bother coming back you miserable slut. Because you don't have a house or a family or a husband back here anymore."

Paul shook his head and tried to eat another bite of cooling pizza.

"How can I do that? I don't know what I'm going to do?"

"You're kidding me, right? You heard the same thing I heard, you heard me tell you she's been cheating on you for years, and you don't know what the hell you're going to do? Paul, I'm telling you, if you don't throw her ass out, she'll be fucking guys right in front of you and making you eat their cum out of her pussy. She'll turn you into a joke."

"You don't know that, Gil." The two friends glared at each other for a moment.

'I know you feel the way you do because of what Lynn did to you. But she walked out on you. You and I both know the call has to be a mistake. There's no way Paula could have planned to let me know what she's doing. It was an accident. She'll come back and she'll still be Paula."

Gil grabbed his friend's knee and pressed his fingers in hard.

"Listen to your fucking self, you idiot. I love you man, but you're a fucking idiot. She'll still be Paula? Of course she will. She'll still be cheating on you, fucking other men behind your back, laughing at you behind your back, loving another man more than she loves you. Jesus Christ, how can you be around her for more than a second and not try to strangle her. She cut your balls off, man. There is no marriage to save. At least Lynn was honest with me. She tried to do the right thing. She didn't make me a joke for ten years."

Paul couldn't let that stand.

"If I confront her it's over. But, she's gone to so much trouble for so long to keep this secret from me, there's got to be a part of her that still loves me. She could have divorced me anytime. Apparently she doesn't need me for money. Why else would she have stayed with me and gone to so much trouble to lead a double life?"

"Didn't you hear the same conversation I did? You're comfortable. You're a husband, someone to take out the trash and take her to restaurants and parties and talk to over breakfast. You notice she didn't say anything about a man to love and fuck and hold at night when she is feeling lonely? You used to be that man, the way I used to be that man for Lynn. But Lynn threw me away, just like Paula threw you away."

Paul stared numbly at the scraps of pizza on the old oak coffee table where he'd eaten pizza and drunk beer with Gil even back when Lynn and Paula were still there in the kitchen or watching something on TV. Back when the world made sense.

Gil tapped Paul on the knee as if to draw his mind out from the dark place it had been heading.

"You can live through losing your wife. You can live through losing Paula. You can live through losing the life you had. But you can't live without your pride, your pride as a man. You try to swallow the poison that Paula is to you now, and it will kill you. You'll hate yourself and you'll probably lose your job and your friends and any chance of a future beyond this. And if you can keep your lunch down day in and out, one night you'll either stick that Glock in your mouth and finish the job or drown in a bottle. That's why I finally had to throw Lynn out. I didn't want to, God I didn't want to, but I was drowning and I had to save myself."

"Maybe you're right, Gil. I don't know anything right now, but I know I'm not ready to make that decision right now."

The two men stared at each other. Finally, Gil said, "Alright. I know it's too soon. It took me months. You've had a day. Are you planning on going to work tomorrow? You can crash here and get yourself ready before you go in to face anybody."

Paul just shook his head. He wasn't sure, but he thought he wanted to hide out at least one more day.

"But whatever you do, I think you need to start protecting yourself for when this goes to a divorce and gets ugly."

"What? I don't know if this is headed to divorce and even if it does...the kids are grown. Even if she's not as independent as she indicated, money shouldn't be a problem. Why should things get ugly?"

"I don't know, but this is war, man. You're not a happy couple anymore. You need some ammunition in case shooting starts. Ammunition like pictures and video. The phone message is pretty damning, but I'll bet a good attorney could fill it full of holes."

"Pictures and video? How..."

"Leave it to me. I still know some people from my time with the lab."

Before patenting an electonic device that Paul still couldn't understand that had something to do with sending information more quickly and reliably between computers, Gil had been a scientist working with Bell Labs in New Jersey. He had been good enough that he'd had contacts up and down the chains that led from the CIA to NSA to Congress to Wall Street. He had been an important man before he became a multi-millionaire, his father and mother died in a stupid accident and he decided life was too short to spend it doing anything he didn't want to do.

He made one phone call and a few minutes later the phone rang again. He took it up and explained that he had a black ops job that needed doing quickly. Investigators' report, still photos, video and audio. He gave them Paula's name, the hotel where she was staying, the name of the event.

"Try to get us something solid by tomorrow, Thursday. Send it special courier and I'll pay for it. Oh, and continue the surveillance until she leaves. That should be on Sunday, right Paul? Yeah, through Sunday and then send everything to me at the Jacksonville address. I'm the only person that can sign for it, understood? Okay, thanks, man."

Then to Paul, "These guys are good. You'll have good solid proof of what she's up to by Thursday night, assuming she screws around like we both know she will tonight. These guys are black ops, but their cover is a legitimate private detective agency working out of Miami. They can testify in court, give us whatever we need. And by Sunday you'll have enough that the judge will probably order her to pay you alimony!"

"None of this gets out, understand, Gil? I mean, you understand? Your people can be trusted, and you can keep your mouth shut. If this goes south, yeah, I might need this. But there's still a chance I might decide to do nothing and if I do, Paula can't ever suspect that I know."

"Jesus Christ, man, didn't you listen to a word I said? You want to stick your head into a hole in the ground and pretend nothing's wrong? How can you?"

"Dammit, Gil, I love you like a brother. You're the best friend I ever had, but this is MY life we're talking about. I make the decisions. I can't help thinking, maybe, I don't know...People have affairs and sometimes they just stop. Sometimes they come to their senses and just go back to their husbands or wives. It's not impossible..."

"After nearly ten years of fucking other guys? Ten years of lying to you. Ten years of leading a secret life you know nothing about including, I'm sure from what we heard, salting money away in secret from you so she can do – what? I don't know but you don't hide income and a whole life away from your better half and then suddenly one day decide to go back to being Suzy Homemaker. You're living in a dream world."

Paul shook his head stubbornly.

"It's my dream world. If my whole life goes to shit, disappears, it will be MY decision. I appreciate everything you're doing, but remember, when it was you and Lynn, Paula and – I didn't try to force you to do anything. We – I - let you decide how it played out. Now give me that same respect, that's all I'm asking."

The rest of the night was spent between Paul refusing to hear what Gil knew about Paula's running around and finally giving in to the irresistible urge to know, like pulling off a scab even knowing the blood would flow. Even though it should have surprised him, it didn't that Gil had come by their house several times to find a strange Hummer in the driveway while Paul was working. After the first few times he got suspicious. This was only two years after his breakup with Lynn and it wasn't hard to suspect the worst of any woman. When he found out that the Hummer was registered to a Danny Ortiz he checked Ortiz out.

"He was 28 at the time, owned half of a landscaping company and best of all, I found out he and Paula were both members of the same gym. I later found out he actually was one of the partners who owned the place. I was very careful but I nosed around and made friends with a few people. Found out Ortiz, about 6'3 and according to a few guys who'd seen him in the showers hung like a bull, was a stud about town. They said he had woman all over him. 

"I did a little more delicate checking and found a couple of guys who described your wife right down to those huge tits for a slender body, dark hair and looking a little like Demi Moore. They said Ortiz had been working on her for months and one day came back in after taking a break from the heavy weights and told some friends he'd just plugged the bitch in the back seat of her SUV. And it was off to the races from there."

Gil took another sip of the Tequila that he liked and rubbed his chin for a moment. He wasn't looking at his friend as he spoke.

"I didn't know what to do, man. Part of me wanted to tell you. It wasn't right what she was doing to you. But...I remembered what I went through when Lynn left me. God knows I didn't want that to happen to you. So, I decided to try some direct action. One day I cruised by there and saw her SUV and his Hummer. I couldn't help wondering how she could be so fucking stupid. Some of her neighbors must have noticed that Hummer. How was she going to explain that if anyone mentioned it to you?

"So I went up to the door and knocked. I figured if they were fucking even if they got it together and got their clothes back on, it might throw a little scare into her. I waited and knocked. Then I rang the doorbell. Nothing. I was about to try the spare key you'd given me a long time before when Paula opened the door. She was hot and sweaty and wearing shorts and an oversized t-shirt. God, her tits were bulging out even of that. Sorry man, but you know they're the 8th and 9th wonders of the modern world.

"She looked at me a little surprised but I couldn't' read anything else and asked me what I was doing there. I told her I'd been in the neighborhood and saw a Hummer that I'd spotted there a few times before. I apologized for being nosey but I told her I hadn't talked to you in a while and just wondered if you had succumbed to the urge to buy a really BIG car."

"A big dark haired Latin guy stepped up behind her and said that no, it was his. I looked at Paula and gave her a funny look. I couldn't believe it. She was cool as a cucumber. She introduced me to Ortiz and asked me to come in. She said he was a landscaper she'd met at the gym and they had got to talking. She walked me to the back yard and I saw where they had been pulling down some trees, putting in a flower bed and a few other things. 

"In other words, Paul, I knew she'd been fucking his brains out but without taking a swab of her pussy for semen, there's no way I could ever have proven to you that she wasn't being a housewife trying to beautify her home. She and Ortiz were just good friends talking lawns and proud of what they'd been doing. She was so fucking good. She even said she hadn't told you about Ortiz coming by because she knew you were so absent minded you never noticed the back yard. She wanted it to be a surprise for you."

Gil shook his head.

"I swear to God, Paul, she gave me a look then. It was clearer than words. She knew I knew she was fucking Ortiz. And she was daring me to tell you. If I did, I knew she'd have an explanation for everything, even the guys who said Ortiz had bragged about fucking her in the back seat of the SUV. She still have you and I knew you'd never forgive me for lying about her. We'd be through. I'd have lost my best friend, and she'd still be screwing you over. She was just too damned smart.




Paul And Paula



"What could I do? I left. I remember you told me not too long after that about Paula's home improvement project and how proud you were of what she had done and how she had kept it a surprise until all the work was done. I know that I came by a few times and the Hummer was never there again. She was meeting him somewhere else. And then I realized that even if I caught her, what was the point. Anybody that smart, and that cold blooded, and that willing to hurt you, wouldn't stop. She'd never have any trouble finding men. At that time I thought she might hurt financially if she lost your income, but she'd wind up on her feet. It would be you that would be torn apart."

He looked into Paul's haunted eyes.

"Your kids were young and you were happy – fat, happy and ignorant. I knew she'd keep going because in that moment in the house looking into her eyes while she lied knowing that I knew she was lying, I knew she wasn't your Paula any more. I'd known her for 10 years and this wasn't the same woman. The only thing I hoped was that she loved you or cared for you or was comfortable enough with you that she wouldn't deliberately destroy you. I knew then she was smart enough she could cheat on you for the rest of your life and get away with it if she wanted to. And I was right – for ten years."

He thought he'd been cried out, but hearing the details and knowing he'd lost his wife a lifetime ago broke him again. This time Gil let him finish and then said, "Why don't you use the guest bedroom upstairs. I've got something that will help you sleep. That's what you need right now. Sleep."

Gill had been right, and he felt better physically the next morning. He slept late, then went downstairs and had coffee and toast along with the blood pressure pills he'd been on since his early 30s. As he expected, Sherry called and he told her he was still under the weather but would try to come in on Friday. He kept the conversation short but before they finished, Sherry said, "Paul, you take care of yourself. And if you need anything, we're friends right? You would tell me. You know I'd do anything in the world for you. You were there for me."

"It's nothing like that, Sherry. I appreciate it, I really do. I know we're friends. But I'm just sick."

"If you say so."

He sat on Gil's couch while Gil prepared for an outing with a 35-year-old divorced housewife he'd met on a public tennis court.

"I can cancel, Paul. We're not serious. We're just friends – right now. She's got a nice little body, but we can get together later."

"Get out of here. All we're going to do if you stay here is I'm going to hurt and you're going to try to make me feel better and it isn't going to do any good. Have fun. Hopefully, have a lot of fun."

Paul realized he was smiling, probably for the first time since he'd received what he'd dubbed "the bad call" on Tuesday afternoon. He tried to figure out why and realized it was the first time he hadn't been thinking about what he had just lost. Instead he was hoping that his friend was going to get lucky. It was good to know that someone, somewhere, might be happy with a member of the opposite sex.

Gil accepted his offer with ill-concealed eagerness.

"Well, as much as I'd like to stay here and hold your hand, the chance to ogle a pair of genuine 34ds and possibly engage in a little slap 'n tickle is a more appetizing prospect. If I get lucky I'll dedicate the festivities to you. But I'll be back by 6 p.m."

Paul nodded, just as willing to leave the prospect of the package coming from Miami until he had to face it.

When Gil had left Paul got himself cleaned up, made a few calls to his bank and credit union to check the state of his finances and his retirement and also called a friend he hadn't seen in a few years. At one time Harry Pierce and his wife had lived in Jacksonville and they had been good friends. But Harry had gotten a chance to join a law firm in Los Angeles and they had only exchanged a few calls and cards over the last five years. 

But he was pretty sure Harry would remember their friendship and he thought Los Angeles was far enough away that there was no way the contact could get back to Paula.

"Paul, Paul Donnally you old bastard. Five years of only a few calls and all of a sudden you call me up with a message that you've got an emergency you need help with. What's going on?"

"I lied, Harry, sorry. There's not an emergency, but...well it could become one. I wanted to know if you still practiced civil law, particularly divorce cases."

"Yeah...they're not as much of my practice as they once were but I still keep my hand in occasionally. Wait. You're not going to tell me.."

"Yeah, maybe."

"I got to tell you, man, if there were any two people on earth I'd have bet would have made it, it would have been the two of you."

"I thought so too. Now, I'm not so sure."

"Are you ready to start..."

"No, I'm just calling to give you a heads up. I might need some advice. I don't expect you to handle the case on this coast, but I want to know what my options are."

"You know I'll be glad to help, but let me give you one piece of free advice, okay. And I'm only going to tell you this because you're a friend. If there's any way you can keep your marriage together, if you or Paula haven't done something so terrible that the other one can't live with it, try to stay together. Nobody is ever a winner in a divorce except the attorneys. Divorce is the last resort, not the first. But enough preaching. You want to talk to me about it now?"

"No. I'm not sure where this is going. I'm going to try to take your advice, but...this might be something I can't live with. I just don't know. I'll call you, okay?"

"Okay, friend. Good luck."

For the next couple of hours Paul prowled Gil's large two-story house. He felt like there was something he should be doing, but he didn't quite know what. He couldn't start working on separating finances without making a decision on what he wanted to do about the rest of his life and he wasn't ready to do that. There was no one he could talk to. 

Finally he took a chance and called his son. He didn't know if he'd catch him between classes, but he lucked out. His son answered on the third ring.

"Ben, hey son, how are you"

"Dad, what – hey I'm fine. Just getting ready to head out to a boring lecture on business theory I'll never use while I'm daydreaming about going to the movies with Justine tonight. You remember her. She's the hot blonde with the short haircut I introduced you guys to the last time you came over. Hey, is mom there"

"No. I'm actually taking the day off today. Had a touch of the flue, I think. I was getting bored rattling around the house actually and thought I'd call and see how you were. Your mom's in Miami on one of her real estate deals. She hasn't called you, has she? I've had a little trouble getting through to her."

"No, haven't heard from her since the last phone call from both of you a couple of weeks ago. Anyway, you know you shouldn't be letting her go down there by herself don't you? A couple of my friends are still raving about her from the last time you guys came by. I tell them to take cold showers."

Ben had laughed at the last comment but Paul shivered. His son had no way of knowing what his comments actually brought to Paul's mind. He couldn't fake a laugh in reply.

"She's still a very attractive woman, Ben. Guys always notice her. But she'll be fine. Anyway, I just wanted to say hello. When will you be coming back here for a visit. Your mother and I miss you."

"Maybe next month after midterms."

"Okay, we'll be looking forward to it."

After he hung up his rubbed his eyes to relieve the pain of what felt like a building migraine. That was the trouble. Paula had always been a magnet for men. It wasn't just her slender willowy frame with breasts that although they weren't huge seemed huge on her body, topped by pencil-eraser thick nipples that poked out of anything she wore altogether too easily. It was her features, her lips, her eyes, just something that oozed sexuality. He'd always been a little nervous when she was around men in party situations, but although she flirted, she'd never given him any reason to be too jealous.

It was while entertaining those thoughts that his cell phone rang again. Dammit. Once again he saw her name and almost reached out to pick up the phone, but he stopped in mid-motion. He had no idea what he'd say and it was entirely possible he'd either start screaming at her or burst into tears. Either of which would make the decision of what to do moot. She'd know.

Once again the phone rang and rang. And once again her voice came out of the air, loving, concerned and lying.

"Paul, where are you?I hope you're not still badly sick. I'm beginning to get worried. You know you never get sick. Are you okay? I hope Gil gave you my message last night that I was leaving my cell at the apartment while a bunch of us went out for drinks and shop talk. It was fun, but I miss you. I really don't like these long seminars away from you. I hope you're missing me as much as I miss you. By the way, Gil sounded...strange.. last night. Is everything okay with him? When you get this message, call me please."

After the call ended, Paul snatched the phone up and rang Sherry's extension. When she answered, he spoke quickly before she could say anything.

"Sherry, listen, this is Paul. I need you to do a big favor for me. Don't ask any questions. Paula should be calling you pretty soon. I want you to tell her that I called you guys and said I was going to turn off my cell today because I'm trying to get some sleep."

There was a long silence on the other end before she said, "You really don't want to talk to her, do you."

"Please don't ask any questions. Just do this for me, okay? I'll be into the office tomorrow at the regular time. But don't tell her that."

"Okay, Paul, but...you're going to have to talk to her sooner or later."

"Preferably later."

He couldn't believe, and he knew Sherry heard, the anger in his voice. 

"Paul, please, let me come over there tonight. I don't know what's going on, but I know it's something bad. You don't know how shitty I feel remembering your being here for me and now you're going through this alone." 

"I – I can't talk about this right now, Sherry. You don't know how grateful I am for your offer, but...I'll see you tomorrow."

"O – Okay. But you'd better be here tomorrow or I am going to be camping on your doorstep tomorrow night."

After he hung up, he sat looking at the cellphone for a few minutes. He couldn't even remember what he was thinking. And then he realized he'd been thinking about Sherry. She was a tall, willowy blonde, only a couple of inches shorter than his six-feet. She was wholesome, more than pretty, but there was a certain something that made men forget she wasn't conventionally beautiful. He knew she had to beat men away from her office or students and professors and administration types would find some reason to hang around there. She was probably only a "C" cup but she had, as they said, legs all the way to the ground and an ass that made even happily married men stare when she was walking away from them.

He was one of the guys who had surreptiously watched her twitch away from him and he was intelligent enough to realize she twitched more around him as well as bending over more than she had too around him so he could catch a glimpse or two of soft white breasts cradled in thin bras. She probably had a crush on him from the time three years before when she'd almost gone to pieces after her cheating piece of shit boyfriend had left her following a miscarriage. He had given her a shoulder to cry on and went out of his way to rebuild her faith in himself. If he had been anybody else, he'd have been suspicious that he was setting her up to get into her pants. But he had Paula and that thought had never – well, almost never – entered his mind,

In a way, it had been comforting to know that he couldn't do anything about the unsaid invitation she was giving him. He had seen enough office romances, even between singles, to know they usually ended badly. Somebody got hurt and it gummed up the works as far as getting business done. As long as he was happily married, he could just peek once in a while and maybe fuck Paula a little harder that night imagining his tall willowy blonde secretary underneath him or maybe the two women – big titted brunette and willowy blonde - in a Ménage à trois fantasy, which actually usually did make him come a little harder. Of course Paula never suspected, but she got the benefit of it so he didn't feel too guilty about cheating on her in his head.

But if everything blew up and there was no more Paul and Paula, what would he do about the unspoken invitation? If he passed, would she have hurt feelings? If he wound up fucking her, could they keep it on a friends with benefits level or would she want more? More than he could probably ever give to another woman. And would that piss her off?

It was just too damned complicated. Or maybe he was just overthinking things, which was another thing Paula always accused him of.

His stomach hurt and he realized that being old and married was a hell of a lot more comfortable than being a bachelor on the prowl. Of course, he'd been pretty good at it at one time, which was the reason he'd wound up with the hottest piece of ass at the University of Florida in his bed for 20 years. But that had been a long time ago.

He hadn't gotten anything more settled in his mind when, at 5 p.m., a grinning and very relaxed Gil sauntered in.

"If you had a pussy, I'd say you had a well fucked look," Paul told his friend, who grinned what could only be described as a shit-eating grin.

"You are so crude for a University intellectual," Gil said laughing. 'If you're asking if I had carnal knowledge of the lady in question, yes. Three times in four hours which is something of a record for me nowdays."

"You dog," Paul said, glad for anything to take his mind off his own troubles.

"Not only that," Gil said, plopping down onto a bean bag chair 20 years out of fashion, "but it was a trifecta."

At Paul's questioning look, he laughed and said, "you are so out of date, friend, I fucked her pussy, her tits and her ass and made it all three ways. On the first damned real date."

Paul shook his head in amazement. 

"And this was your first real date? I mean, I knew things had changed in the last 20 years, but in her ass on the first date?'

"It wasn't really a first date, I guess. We've had coffee a couple of times and went to dinner a week ago at a decent Italian restaurant. We just hadn't – gotten to the physical stuff besides a few kisses and touching her tits a few times. But, yeah, it surprised the hell out of me too. I'd have been satisfied with one out of three, but she wanted it all and by God she wasn't going to stop sucking and playing with me until she got it all."

He stopped smiling.

"I probably shouldn't be rubbing this in your face, Paul, but I want you to know there is life after death – marital death anyway."

After a few minutes of mutual razzing, the doorbell rang and Paul felt like he was going to lose his lunch. Gil put a hand out to him as if to tell to sit still and he answered the door. A black guy in a nice suit shook Gil's hand and handed him a bulky package. They talked for a minute and then shook hands again and Gil closed the door behind him.

Gil walked over to the coffee table slowly and set the large, bulky manila envelope on top of it.

"There are still photos, two DVDs, and a couple of audio recordings as well," he said.

Paul couldn't make himself reach out to touch the package.

Gil grabbed it and headed for the staircase.

"Watch some television. Let me check it out first and see if it's anything you could stand to look at or listen to."

It was nearly 11 p.m. when Gil walked down the stairs. Looking at his face, Paul realized it had to be worse than he could have imagined.

Gil said down heavily on the couch opposite Paul, who could not have described one minute of the televison he had watched for more than three hours if a gun had been put to his head. It was as if he had been in a fugue state the entire time.

"So," Paul finally said, realizing how bad it was only when Gil refused to meet his eyes.

"You don't want to look at the photos, or the DVDs," he said. "But, there's a part of the audio recording you should listen to."

"Why? To make me hate her more so I'll dump her the way you want me to?"

Gil looked up at him with an emotion in them that scared Paul. It was pity, pure unadulterated pity.

"You're going to wind up hating her no matter how this goes, but you need to hear this to know where your marriage really is. Listen to it and then you tell me what the odds are that you could put it back together."

"...oh God, I can't believe how good that was. How many times did I ring the bell, baby"

" ....five the last time I counted. Every time we get together I can't believe how good it is with you."

"...I know, I feel the same way. I love Marianne, I really do, but we've got nothing in bed compared to what you and I have. It's like – we were meant to be together. It's more than just the sex. I know you feel it too."

"...I know. I didn't want this to happen. You know that. It was just good, make that incredible, sex for so long and that was enough. But, it's a fact that men fuck and women make love. I can't fuck you over and over for the last two years and not come to love you, at least a little. And in your case a lot."

"...I don't want to be an asshole and I know you still have feelings for Paul, but that's why I keep making you tell me you love me more. It's crazy, but I'm jealous of the bastard. I know he's nothing compared to me in bed. I know you love me more, the way a woman loves a man. But he's the one you go home to. He's the one you sleep next to most of the time. Sometimes when I'm lying next to Marianne and she's asleep, I think about you in bed with him. He can reach over and rub your titties, he can roll you over and play with your pussy. I know you still fuck him and suck him. I know you do it out of a sense of obligation, but still, DAMMIT, he has you and I don't. The longer we're together the more crazy it makes me."

"...I know, Greg. There are times when I'm in bed with Paul and he's sleeping and I try to remember what it felt like when I was in love with him. I was in love with him, you know. For a long time, for years. And now, I lie next to him and think about you and Marianne sleeping naked next to you and I'm jealous of her. But, with us it would be fairly bloodless. Our kids are grown. I wouldn't need alimony or support. He'll never know about the money I have, but he'll be alright. And he's still a fairly young man. That secretary of his, she'd jump him in a second if he was free. She's been in love with him for years but Paul is so damned clueless I don't even think he knows it. So I could walk away from my marriage without too much difficulty. But your kids are 5 and 7. You're younger than me. I don't think you would leave Marianne and your kids. It wouldn't make sense for me to leave Paul and still have to cheat with you."

"...I might, Paula. It would be hard, I know it would be hard, but it feels like I'm falling more and more in love with you the longer we're together. I tell myself one minute I couldn't stand to be apart from Jesse and Jennifer, and then I'm here with you and I don't think I can stand to let you go back to him again. It feels like I'm being ripped apart."

...soft sucking sounds and a man's gasping..

"Does that make you feel better, darling? I don't quite think even you can get it up again, but doesn't it feel good having it sucked like that, even when it's soft?"




Paul And Paula



"I just wish...somehow...that he was out of the picture. Everything would be...easier..if he was gone."

"Yeah, it would, but it's not going to happen. He's a young man and although he's let himself go the last few years, he's not going to drop dead. He's not going to cheat on me and fall in love with someone else. He's – I don't know how else to say it, he's such a Goddamned Boy Scout I don't think he has it in him to cheat or seduce another woman – if he even remembered how. He's one of the good guys, and unfortunately, I'm one of the bad girls."

..more sucking sounds, gasps and moans of pleasure.....

"..oh yeah, you are such a bad girl...."

"we're joking, Greg, but I really think that's a big part of it. He is so goddamned boringly good and rational and reasonable and loving and caring...it's like he's a fucking plaster saint...he looks good from the outside, but try living with one. you know, he massages my damned legs when I wake up with cramps..and makes dinner in bed for me...and if I feel like get my pussy licked he'll eat me but he won't force me to fuck him if I'm not in the mood. Can you see yourself letting me turn you away after you've eaten me and want to bury that big dick in my pussy...no I can't see it either...you're a man, and you'd force me to fuck and love it....he's...a nice guy and he lets me push him away...it's like...I don't know where his balls went..but how you can respect somebody like that...

"When we go to parties and I practically let guys milk my titties..., he just looks the other way or comes along and quietly and calmly gets me away from whoever I'm playing with..he doesn't get mad dammit...and that drives me crazy sometimes...it's like..he's 90 years old and I wonder where the man who used to fuck me went...but maybe he was never really there...

 "Looking back, I think he was always that calm and good and reasonable...I think that's what attracted me to him at the time. He was such a contrast to the guys I was fucking then, I'd let two or three of them bang me over a weekend aned call in their friends and I loved every damned minute of it. Loved those bad boys...and he came along with flowers and poetry and making love to me gently and all that Prince Charming shit went to my head..i thought that was what I wanted, and then the kids came along and I was a happy Haus Frau...but it was all a lie. It wasn't me and it took me years to realize what a mistake I'd made and then it was too late...."

Paul sat there on the bed in Gil's upstairs bedroom and wanted to cry but there were no tears. What he felt was deeper than sorrow. It was despair he felt and he thought he'd never known the true meaning of that word before. He had built his whole life on a lie, fallen in love with somebody who really didn't exist. He'd never known about the weekend fucking orgies or the bad boys. He'd never known that side of her, never known the contempt she felt for him. And what was worse, she wasn't angry when she had spoken. She was calm and he knew she spoke the truth.

Gil had stayed outside while Paul listened to the portion of the tape. He walked in and put his hand on his friend's shoulder and simply said, "I'm sorry."

**************      *******************   ************

Everything seemed strange the next day as he drove to the Duval campus, although he'd driven that route for over a dozen years. It was strange, dreamlike and he wasn't sure why. Maybe because his whole world was dissolving beneath his feet and he kept feeling that he had fallen into a nightmare that wouldn't end.

He took the elevator to the third floor of the central administration building, walked toward his office passing administrators and secretaries and making a general type of notice of them but not talking to anybody. Sherry was already at her desk, typing something into her PC when she saw him coming. She was about to stand up when he made a little negative nod of his head and walked into his office and closed the door behind him.

A minute later he heard the knock at the door and knew he had to begin his day. 

"Come in, Sherry."

She stepped in hesitantly, searching his face for something, then said, "Are you okay? You're feeling better today?"

"Yes. It was just a temporary bug. Probably not even as serious as the flue, but it knocked me for a loop for a few days."

She stood there for a minute just looking at him, then asked, "She's going to call again today. Do you want to talk to her?"

For a moment he even forgot that Sherry was still standing there and he was talking to himself.

"That's the $64 thousand dollar question. Do I want to talk to her? God, I wish I knew."

Then he looked back up and realized Sherry was standing there and had heard his thoughts spoken aloud.

After a moment she walked around the desk and he involuntarily pulled back, beginning to stand as she approached him. She launched herself into his arms before he could raise his arms to stop her and then he could only awkwardly hold her while she hugged him.

"Sherry-"

"It's okay, Paul. I'm not going to do anything stupid," but she sniffled as she said it. "I'm not stupid. Everybody that knows what's going on knows you weren't sick. Not with the flue anyway."

She pulled back and stared into his eyes from a foot and a half away and Paul thought suddenly how stupid he was not to have noticed that she was a beautiful woman. A very beautiful woman who'd been right under his nose for years and who would have fallen into bed with him if he'd once indicated he was thinking that way about her.

"I don't know what she did, Paul, but you're not the kind of guy to blow up over anything little or unimportant. Whatever she did, it was bad. You know you're so pale people that don't know there's any trouble would think you'd been in bed for a week with the flue. You're gray, actually gray. And you don't look like you've slept in a week and your socks and slacks and your shirt- nothing matches. You just threw on whatever was closest, didn't you?"

"Sherry-"

She turned her back and him and he thought she was walking out of his office but instead she went to the door, closed it and locked it. Then she came back.

This time she put her arms around his neck and stared at him from almost eye level and she closed in and kissed him. It was a hard kiss and after a moment he let her slide her tongue in and found himself kissing her back, at least a little. As she kissed her she rubbed her groin back and forth against him and he involuntarily found himself hardening.

Finally he regained some control and put his hands on her arms and pushed a little bit away so he could breath and look in her eyes.

"Sherry, this can't happen. I'm sorry but-"

She interrupted him with another kiss and it took him longer to remove her arms from around his neck this time.

'I don't know what you think is happening, but-"

He felt her soft hand wrap itself around his penis and slowly tug and jerk until it grew harder and longer and she rubbed it back and forth under the fabric of his slacks.

"God! Stop for God's sake. What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm squeezing and rubbing your dick, you idiot," she said with a sad smile. "I've wanted to do this for years."

"But, we can't. I'm married and you know we can't do this."

"Why?" She squeezed almost hard enough to hurt, and he couldn't stop the groan that broke out of his mouth. In another few seconds he'd be squirting and making a mess in his underwear. He had no idea Sherry could get him so hard so fast.

He forced himself put his hand over hers and she stopped rubbing his dick, but she didn't let go.

"We have to work together. I'm a married man. This is going to ruin everything, Sherry. I like you. I like working with you. But after this..."

"Shut up Paul," she said firmly and he couldn't believe she was talking to him that way.

"Let's be honest for a minute. You know I've wanted to fuck you for at least two years, and I know you love my ass and you always look down my blouse when I bend over your desk. But you're married, so I just let it go the way it was going. And you're a good guy so I knew you were never going to cheat on Paula. You're not that kind of guy.

"But you forget I've known you for six years, you and Paula. Something bad, really really bad has happened between the two of you. I knew it the first moment I heard you on the phone that day. Not just a fight, although I don't think I've ever known you guys to fight – about anything. No, whatever she did, she broke your heart."

He loathed the weakness that made tears appear in his eyes and he saw the look in her as she saw them.

"The miserable bitch. I guess she can probably fool guys because you all think with your dicks, but every woman around her knows she's a bitch, and probably a cheating bitch. I've been at parties when you stepped away for a few minutes. She's good, but I've seen her rub guys' dicks, get at least a couple of them off. That's why all the single guys make sure to show up whenever they know you two are planning to come to any kind of party or function."

He shook his head.

"I don't .-"

"it's true," Sherry said vehemently "No one would tell you because the guys all wanted a piece of her and the women could see you were head over heels in love with her. No one wanted to be the one to tell you.

"I don't know how you found out, or what you found out, but I know things are going to change now."

He pushed her further away from him.

"But I don't know that. I don't know what's going to happen and I can't get – involved – with anybody right now."

She let him push her away for a moment, then leaned back in for one softer, lingering kiss and he couldn't push her away again. He wanted to grab her and hold her and rub his dick against the softness of her belly and pussy and forget everything had happened over the last few days. But it wouldn't make what had happened go away.

She finally let him go.

"Maybe you two won't break up, this time, but I'm betting you will. I'm not the only woman on this campus that has looked at you and gotten wet thinking about what it would be like to be in bed with you...to live with you. Do you know how jealous every women, single or married, around here is of Paula? Nobody has a husband or boyfriend that treats them the way you treat her. So when it becomes official and you're on the market, there's going to be a run on Paul Donnally. "

She reached out with her left hand and gently wiped lipstick smudges off his lips and checks, then with a smile, reached lower and adjusted the bar of what felt like steel between his legs so it wouldn't be so noticeable.

"I'm just putting you on notice that when you are free, I want first dibs. We've been dancing around each other for years. I think we ought to find out if there's more than just this insane sexual attraction that we have for each other."

She turned and walked back to the door and unlocked it. Before stepping out, she looked back at him and said, "Think about it. Just think about it."

He thought about it. He really thought about nothing else but what she had said and done for the next three hours. He answered mail and memos and made appointments, and returned newspaper and television reporters' calls and popped his head in the door of the University's president to talk about the budget meetings, and he did it all on auto pilot. If he'd had to, he couldn't have told you 30 minutes later what he'd been talking about. But he knew Sherry was keeping track and had a better idea than he did what his actions and agenda was for the day. Which was why she was such a super secretary and personal aid.

But as he thought about Sherry and himself, what lingered in the back of his mind was Paula – and their life together. He remembered her conversation with her lover. So she really had loved him, or made herself believe she did, for a long time. He hadn't been completely fooled then. Only for the last 10 years!

It was hard to look that far back, but trying to remember when they had first met and how, he knew there was a wild edge to her, a fiery sexuality and he'd suspected she'd been fucking somebody when she wasn't with him. But they weren't committed then and he made himself believe that it didn't matter until they had made that commitment.

And he knew he couldn't let the suspicions and anger that sometimes swept through him when he was certain she had been with other guys grow into a firestorm of rage because he already knew where that would lead. He had to maintain self control, had to be rational and calm because there was no way he was ever going back to the person he had been before he gained control of his life.

"And what did it get me?" he couldn't help asking himself. "I never lost control of myself again, after that time, and I was calm and understanding and I never beat the hell out of any of the guys that put their hands on her at parties because that wouldn't do. And instead of making her love me more, it finally convinced her I just a dumb wimp husband who had lost his balls and his manhood. She didn't just leave me, I gave her away."

Looking at the smiling photo of the two of them taken on a trip five years before to a convention in the Bahamas,at a time when she was undoubtedly fucking other guys when he wasn't around, he felt the old stirrings arise in him and his fists clenched, but he forced those feelings down.

He had to think it through. If what she had said, and what Gil had said, was true, it was a fairly simple, and old story.Fifty percent of marriages failed in the U.S. And the seven year itch was such a cliché because it was so true. She had simply had a wilder sex life than he was aware of when they met. And she had tried to be faithful to him.

Then somebody else, or maybe it had been that bastard, Ortiz, had taken her by being the rough male that her husband wasn't. She must have needed a tougher, more dominating type of love than her husband was giving her.

Look at it that way and it was as much his fault as hers. She didn't know the secret that had shaped his life, made him the man he'd become. He had never told her, never told anyone because he couldn't. And she hadn't been able to tell him, 'dear husband, I need you to be more of a man and fuck me harder so I won't feel contempt for you.' 

What wife could actually tell her husband that?

So she had began her secret life, unaware of his secret life, and for ten years she had been drawing further and further away from him until she could tell another man she loved him more than her poor dull husband.

Looked at it that way, it was just a rather conventional domestic tragedy. Probably taking place in thousands of households around the country.

But...

Without any awareness of what he was about to do, he grabbed the photo and smashed his fist through the encasing glass into Paula's smiling face, and then again and again until he couldn't see her features or his for the blood smeared across the photo paper.

Sherry was standing there and he realized she was staring at him in horror. He wondered why until he realized he was holding the shattered picture frame, glass lay shattered across the top of his desk and his blood spatters where the glass had slashed his fist covered the photo and his desk.

"I-..."

"Oh, God, Paul, don't move. Let me get the first aid kite. Please, don't move."

He just stared at the picture and his desk and his bloody fist in dull amazement. What had happened? It had been so long since he'd let himself feel those emotions that it took a few minutes to realize that it was sheer, blinding, red haze rage that had swept through him as he stared at the face of the woman who had thrown him and his love into the trashcan of life. And he began to shake uncontrollably. Not in rage anymore, but fear. 

What would have happened if it had been Paula herself standing in front of him in that moment? Would she be lying lifeless at his feet? Could he have controlled his rage? There was a time when he would have bet his life that he would never give way to that type of anger again. But was he willing to bet Paula's life that he could control himself around her?

Sherry was rushing into the room with a first aid kit, followed by another secretary, Wendy, and Robert Hites, head of the Economy Department. There was babble until Sherry got to him and started picking the glass fragments out of his hand.

A half hour later he sat in the medical aide office in a nearby building where a nurse was always kept on staff and a doctor was always on call for medical emergencies on campus. Dr. Ben Steiner, whose specialty was emergency room medicine but who made nearly a half again as much by wasting his time at the university campus, was examining his hand, turning it over and then back again.

"Bend the index finger, Mr. Donnally," he said, followed by, "try to make a fist, slowly."

After a few more minutes, Steiner dropped the hand onto the examining table and stepped back toward a waiting Sherry and Dr. Hites.

"There's no real damage to tendons, ligaments and nothing that requires more than a butterfly stitch on that one long cut on the lower left back of the hand," Steiner said. "It looked a lot worse than it actually was. Cuts like that bleed a lot. I am curious, though, Mr. Donnally, how the hell did you do that much damage to your hand. By accident?"

Donnally looked down at his feet and tried to think of an answer. He came up with nothing.

Steiner gave him a penetrating glance and said softly, "If I was going by appearances, I'd say you smashed the hell out of that glass frame, kept smashing it even after you started carving your hand up, and didn't stop until there was no more glass to smash. They tell me it was a picture of you and your wife. Unless you've got suicidal tendencies, that makes me grateful that it was a picture of your wife and not your wife that you got your hands on."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Sherry said fiercely, stepping between Steiner and Paul. "We've already told you it was an accident. You're paid as a physician, not a detective."

Steiner gave first her and then Paul a knowing glance then turned to Hines, who nodded and Steiner accepted the order.

"All right, I'll write up an accident report. And I'll put that butterfly stitch in in just a moment. Won't take long....but..."

He stopped and rubbed his chin for a moment before continuing. 

"I've worked in emergency rooms in Atlanta and Baton Rouge before coming to Jax and I've seen all kinds of domestic disputes. Wives come in with their faces battered to hamburger by husbands and husbands come in with knives and forks stuck in their backs. One guy woke up after an argument with his head nearly cut off by his wife carving on him with a kitchen knife. People do all kinds of things when their marriages go sour. Mr. Donnally, I know you've got an important position here and everything I've ever heard about you says you're a decent man. So, I'll just give you a little bit of advice, for free. Don't meet face to face with your wife until you've got some resolution to whatever is going on between you two. Life is too short to spend it behind bars for any woman – or man for that matter."

Paul was still thinking about what Steiner had said at 3:30 p.m. It was only an hour until everyone started leaving for the weekend. Sherry was outside ostentatiously staying out of his way. What had happened terrified him, but he couldn't believe he could really hurt Paula. Even now, he wasn't sure if there was some way to keep his life together. If he could just contain his anger, somehow make her believe everything was still alright, there would be time to think about what to do.

 If the truth came out, everything would end. The kids would be devastated, their marriage would be over, he'd be alone for the first time in two decades. And he knew, he knew, he knew, that if they split, he'd never see her again. There would be men lining up, rich men, powerful men, handsome men, to capture her for themselves and there was no way he could compete. She was a lying, miserable bitch and there was a part of him that hated her, but the thought of never seeing her again, of losing all contact with her, shook him.




Paul And Paula



Regardless, in less than three days, she'd be home and it would be impossible to avoid her any more. Everything would come to a head. Unless...

As soon as the idea came to him, he went online to check on something he'd just remembered.

Twenty minutes later he was in the office of Howard Jennings, president of the university.

"Chicago? With only 30 minutes notice? Paul, you know what I think of you and the contribution you've made to this place, but how can I justify spending funds to send you to Chicago for a week-long conference out of nowhere, especially when I'm going to have to scramble to find someone to fill your shoes while you're gone?"

"This is an international conference of public relations officers from colleges and universities on four continents. There will be seminars and papers on cutting edge technology and trends that do affect us because other colleges and universities are going to be there. As to why I'm making this appeal at the last minute...I thought that I was going to have some personal issues that would make it impossible to go, but I worked them out."

"...but still-"

"I'll pay for the trip and my lodgings myself, Howard. That's how important I think this conference is. I just want the university to sponsor me so that I'll have your backing while I'm there. And Richard can fill in for me while I'm gone. He's filled in before, just not for a week. He can do it."

Jennings steepled his fingers in front of him on his desk and gave him a curious look.

"Alright, I guess, Paul, if it's that important to you. I'll okay it. Charge your airfare to the university and any fees and you handle the hotel? Is that fair?"

"More than fair."

As he walked back to his office he stopped by Sherry's desk. As he'd expected, she was waiting there for him.

"He went for it?"

"Yeah. Now remember, Sherry, when she calls, this was a last minute decision betwene the university and myself. And she's told nothing else."

She shook her head sadly.

"You know that isn't going to solve anything, don't you. You can't keep running from her forever."

"Not forever, Sherry. Just for a little while longer. I'll figure out what I need to do before too much longer."

"Alright, I'll do it for you. But I'm going to hate it. I'd like to rip her eyes out."

He was heading for his office but stopped and walked back to where she stood. He reached out to cup the side of her face, not really caring if any last minute stragglers saw anything.

"What you said earlier was true, Sherry. We've been dancing around each other and – our feelings – for a long time. But, what you don't realize is that it's not just that I'm married and I love – loved – Paula. You're too good for me."

She started to say something and he touched his fingers to her lips stopping her.

"No, it's true. I'm older than you and I'm married and I've had my kids. You still want and deserve children, but I'm through with that part of my life. We could go to bed and the sex would probably be great. Hell, I know it would if I could keep up with you. But besides having a great ass, you're a good person. You're loyal and loving and funny. If we had met ten years ago and I was unattached, I would have been all over you. But you need somebody closer to your age that can give you kids and love you the way you deserve to be loved. I'd love sex with you, but all it would do is stroke my ego and mess up your head and heart. It would be a selfish damn thing to do to a woman I really like."

Tears glistened in her eyes as she smiled and said, 'You know you've got a really shitty way of discouraging a girl from falling in love with you."

"It's the truth, and you know it."

"It may be, but how many guys would say that to a woman they know is dying to go down on them. Not that many."

At 3 p.m. Saturday Paul picked up two suitcases and walked to the front door. The cab was waiting outside. He'd be flying out in three hours and be in Chicago by 6 p.m. Chicago time. He took a last look around. He was almost certainly going to be coming back here, but somehow, it felt as if he were leaving for the last time. He felt that he was saying goodbye: to the couch where Paula had knelt while he spurted into her mouth and tried not to scream loud enough to scare the neighbors, to the entertainment center that held their marriage photo and the one-year photos of Ben and Patricia, to the floor where he had fucked his luscious, loving wife so many times over the years when they couldn't make it to the bed, to a life that seemed more precious than he could even imagine now.

He closed the door, feeling something die inside him.

**********************************************************

PAULA – Monday morning.

She dropped the carry-on handle to take out her house keys and unlocked the front door. As she stepped inside, dragging the two attached suitcases on wheel behind her, she took a deep breath and inhaled the scents of home. The house had a particular smell, the scented candles the two of them loved and kept going all the time until the smell had permeated the walls, the pinewood floors they had selected in preference to carpet ten years ago.

She took a second deep breath and felt some of the tension seep out of her bones as she did so. Not that it was a bad tension. Her pussy was still sore from the pounding Greg had given her over and over, but it was a good sore. Her breasts were sore despite her precautions to make sure he didn't leave any noticeable bruises. She felt good and sore and used, but still, it had been a hectic week of meetings and business and all-out fucking.

It would probably be the last time with Greg for awhile. He was getting too serious. He was magnificent in bed and he had that huge cock, but she had to cool him down before he did something stupid like tell his wife and Paul about their affair. Of course, Greg had no idea that he was only one of many she enjoyed, and there was no reason to hurt his feelings with the truth. She'd cool it and uncouple herself as she had done so often. It was almost down to an art now. Men were great at fucking, but their hearts kept screwing things up.

The house was quiet, and cool, the soft sussurrus of the big grandfather clock that Paul had loved and insisted they buy despite almost precipitating a monumental fight with her ticking softly in the background. Despite herself, the damn thing had grown on her and now she had a hard time sleeping in hotels without its background noise.

The first thing that caught her eye as she walked past it was the wedding picture of her and Paul on the entertainment center, flanked by photos of Ben and Patricia at one year of age apiece and then the grown up pictures of their children. Shit, somehow she'd have to talk Paul into replacing it and moving the pictures somewhere where they wouldn't always be the first thing she saw after walking in from a frenzied week of fucking another man.

"I shouldn't feel guilty," she thought, "so why do those fucking pictures always bring me down when I come home."

She smiled to herself, remembering a bushy bearded history prof she'd fucked for an 'A' back in the day who would have said that she was merely dealing with the lingering hangover of "bourgeois morality" The smile vanished as she told herself that Paul was the very living definition of "bourgeois" and they could have put his picture in the dictionary to define it. He was such a sweet man, but shit, he was also such a cliché.

In her bedroom she unpacked and put her clothing away. The fancy and sexy stuff was packed away in a locker that Paul would never know about and all the clothing that had semen and her own juices smeared all over them had been washed thoroughly before she ever left the hotel where Greg had fucked her to screaming climax after climax until Sunday morning when she called a halt to the proceedings. She'd kept him happy with four blow jobs until Monday morning when she flew out, but blowjobs didn't leave incriminating evidence for oblivious husbands to notice.

Not, she thought with a twinge of anger, that Paul would notice if she walked in naked with cum dripping down her legs. He'd probably come up with some damn reasonable explanation. Like maybe she'd been kidnapped by horny aliens. Anything to avoid the obvious conclusion that his loving wife was fucking around on him.

Why was he like that? She pondered it for the millionth time. Was he that stupid? But he wasn't that stupid about anything else. It was just about her that he was clueless, had been ever since college.

She remembered a conversation she had had with Greg, when she had let her inner feelings about Paul out. As she had talked about him, she realized for the first time in years she'd been talking honestly about he husband of 20 years. As she had talked about him with venom in her voice she couldn't believe as she heard herself, she realized that she was being honest with Greg as well as herself. 

They were the feelings that had been bouncing around deep inside herself as she fucked other men behind her husband's back, felt up his colleagues and made them come in their slacks at campus parties when her husband was only a few feet away in another room. They weren't new. They'd been growing all through the years of building a second, secret life for herself, of watching Paul sitting there fat, happy and ignorant and knowing how far distant he came up as a lover compared to the men who had deposited their cum inside her pussy and mouth and ass in some cases only minutes before she walked back into his life.

"It's not your fault," she told herself, talking to an imaginary Paul. "It's just that your dick isn't that big and you don't fuck me with passion anymore and I don't get wet around you the way I do around Greg, or any of the other guys I fuck because they're better than you."

She sat down suddenly on the couch in their den. 

"What the fuck am I doing here?" she asked herself. She looked at the picture of them on their wedding day. "Why do I keep coming back to you, dammit? Why don't I stay with Greg, the way he wants me to? Or with some other man that makes me come in quarts instead of coming back over and over to your sweet, caring goddamn boring fucking. Whoever said love had to last forever. I don't love you any more, you bastard."

She took a deep breath and buried her face in her hands. She realized what was happening. It had happened before, but maybe never this violently. It was the feeling of being trapped. She came back time after time because she couldn't stand the look she'd see on his face when he learned what she'd been doing behind his back for years. She didn't think she could do it. It would be like clubbing a baby seal. It was so damned pathetic. She was held to her husband by pity. What the hell kind of basis for a marriage was that.

How had she gotten here. How had she wound up trapped at the age of 40, trapped in a marriage that should have ended years ago. It should have ended when she started looking at him with contempt, ended when he was young enough to make a new life for himself. Not that 42 was ancient, but she wondered how he'd be able to bounce back when she left him.

"And I will leave you," she told the picture on the entertainment center. "I know it and it's coming closer every day."

She didn't cry. She had never cried over any man in her life. But she wished she could.

The saddest part of it all was that it was the part of him that drove her crazy, that had driven her to other men, was what had attracted her to him in the first place. It was that calm, that maturity, that air of being older and more grownup than anyone around them.

She could still remember the first few times she had seen him. He was in one of the Primo fraternities on the UF campus. He was a senior, herself a sophomore. Despite the fact that he didn't come from money and wasn't a jock, he was the kind of guy that everybody looked up to and wanted to be a friend to. Despite the fact that he was only 22, everybody went to him when they were in trouble, when they needed a cool head. And he never lost it.

Just as she'd never seen him drunk. While his friends were baying at the moon, dancing on tables or dashing naked through the campus, he sat back with a quiet smile, sipping on a drink and looking at his friends like they were overeager kindergartners.

While she was just the opposite. She loved the crazy feeling of losing control after she been drinking non-stop for hours, the rush of being stripped and tossed on a bed in some brother's room and in the middle of being fucked feeling a strange cock shoved in her mouth or up her ass and having absolutely no control, just bouncing along for an orgasmic ride.

And despite her being the wild child and his being Captain Cool, the two of them had been drawn together as irresistably as iron filings to a magnet. 

"And this is where we end up 20 years later," she said to herself, returning to the present.

She made herself get up from the couch. She had to settle back into the routine of being Mrs. Paula Donnally, to put on, as she often told herself, her loving wife face over her true slut face.

She got up and walked over to the liquor cabinet. A good stiff brandy, even at 11 a.m. in the morning, was what she needed right now. She pulled the cabinet door open and realized the brandy was gone. There were a few bottles of white wine, an old bottle of Jim Beam, but not the brandy. She stared at the bottles, puzzled. She had had a drink before leaving. Paul never drank at all except at parties. The bottle had been almost full. Where had it gone?

Without even realizing what she was doing, she found herself walking to the kitchen and looked into the trashcan near the back door. The brandy bottle was there. She reached in and pulled it out, then realized it was covered with dried slime. Shit. She dropped it and pulled her hand back but even a whiff was enough to make her realize it was dried vomit. Someone had been hurling and drinking.

What the fuck. She'd been married 20 years to Paul and even the night his father had died and she'd held him while he cried, he hadn't touched liquor. He'd never have gotten drunk, wiped out a bottle of brandy and vomited it back up. He could as easily had jumped up and flown.

She started looking around uneasily. It was strange, but the house...felt..different. She couldn't put her finger on it, but it wasn't a good feeling. She thought for a moment and then walked into the first of two bathrooms, the closest to the den. She looked at the toilet, the sink, then knelt down beside the toilet. There was nothing on or around the toilet, but around the base, there was a discoloration. She put her finger to it and then smelled. Dried vomit.

Which meant that Paul had gone to the trouble of cleaning up the bathroom, but like most men, he hadn't been thorough enough.

Then she went into the laundry room. As she'd expected, the washer was full of bedclothes and there was still that smell of vomit, only much stronger.

She couldn't believe what she was finding. Paul couldn't have done this. And he wouldn't have let Ben or Patricia do it in their house. Did he have a woman in here? Got a woman drunk? That made no sense either.

She walked into their bedroom and grabbed a copy of Van Gogh's "sunflowers" and pulled it forward, revealing a wall safe. She clicked the combination, Paul's birthday, and it swung open. Inside were some financial documents, jewelry and Paul's Glock automatic. He had bought it for her years ago when there had been a rash of home burglaries and he didn't want her to be without protection. She picked up the Glock. She'd taken gun handling classes and knew what to do with it. As she brought it to her face, she wasn't surprised to smell the familiar aroma of vomit.

Fifteen minutes later she sat at their kitchen table, trying to wrap her head around what she was finding. Paul didn't drink, never got drunk, yet somebody had spewed all over the bathroom, the bedroom and even knew the combination of their safe and only four people knew that combination. Two of them were off at college.

She swallowed hot coffee. Paul always left a brewed pot of coffee ready for her when she got in from trips. There was usually a note, some sweet little nothing by the coffee pot. Today there was nothing. No note and no coffee. She'd had to make her own. It was oddly disturbing. And that wasn't all, she realized.

She went out and looked through the house. They weren't there. Paul always left her roses, or flowers of some type, either in the den or the kitchen for her return home. He said it was his way of welcoming her home. There were no flowers anywhere. 

It suddenly dawned on her. In the confusion spawned by her discoveries, she'd forgotten the other thing Paul always did. As she looked toward the phone sitting on the kitchen counter she noted with a warm flush of relief that at least one thing was normal. The whole morning had turned strange, but the blinking light indicated that he had left her a message.

His voice was always there when she walked in, telling her in that calm sweet voice that he missed her and loved her and couldn't wait to walk in the front door after work. There were times the expected sentiments almost irritated her. He always did the same thing. Flowers and coffee and a voice message. For a woman that secretly held him in contempt.

But today....It was okay to feel these feelings she told herself. She might not love him anymore, at least the way she had, but they had been together for 20 years and he was as much a part of her life as this house, as solid and dependable. It was alright to miss his presence, even if the feelings she had toward him were more of a brother than lover.

She picked up the phone and punched in the play button.

"Paula, hey. I wish I'd been able to reach you to tell you this another way. Especially after you were in Miami all last week. But something has come up. There's a huge conference in Chicago starting Monday. I'm flying out today – I'm leaving this message Saturday – so I can get settled in Sunday. This is going to be really hectic and they don't allow cell phones at the sessions, so I won't be able to talk to you much and you won't be able to reach me very easily. But I'll leave you messages if we can't talk directly. I think this will be over by Sunday and I'll be coming home. If anything changes, I'll call. I hope you had a good trip home. Bye."

There was a click and the call ended. After a minute she realized her jaw was hanging open. She shook her head as if trying to clear away a fog of even more confusion. He had just flown out without ever talking directly to her. Without telling her he'd be leaving. What the hell was going on?

She punched the play button and listened to the message again. And didn't understand anything any more the second time around. What the fuck, what the fuck. Vomit and empty liquor bottles and no flowers and no coffee and no welcome home telephone message and somebody had taken the Glock out of their safe and Paul hadn't talked to her in a week and now he had left town without the decency of talking to her directly.

 Then it sank in on her. And despite the fact that it was early Fall and still felt like summer in Florida, she felt a cold chill run through her body. He hadn't said he loved her. She couldn't remember any time in the last 20 years that they had spoken and he hadn't added, 'I love you'."

He hadn't said 'I love you' and for all the emotion in his voice after being away from her for a week, he could have been reading the telephone book. She realized it was Paul's voice definitely, but it didn't sound like her husband. Something essential was missing.

She let the phone drop and there was a dull thud as it hit the table top.




Paul and Sharon



"Are you fucking that little bitch?"

"Pardon me? Who? Of course not."

"Are you sure?"

"I assume we're talking about Sharon. Look, she's your friend; you're the one that suggested the two of us play tennis together on Saturday mornings since you don't really enjoy the game. They live in our neighborhood and it's a very small neighborhood. You've got to be kidding me."

"I see the way you look at her." Said my wife of eight years.

"Honey, she's hard not to look at, particularly in those little tennis outfits. She's all of twenty-two, a decade my junior, she's a real sweet girl and I enjoy playing tennis with her. If I was single I'd jump her hard little body in a heartbeat, but I'm not and neither is she, remember? So let's just drop it."

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't plan to get bitchy about this, so let me put it another way. If I was okay with it, okay with you fucking her, would you?"

"What the hell are you suggesting?"

"I find her very attractive. I've never felt that way about another girl before but..."

"Go on."

"Look, be honest with me. Do you think you could get in her pants?"

"Probably. Her husband is in dental school and works a full time job. I don't think she's getting the attention she needs. She flirts and flashes those tight white tennis panties. What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that this coming Saturday morning you start exploring the possibilities. I'm suggesting that this Saturday morning when she comes over you pass on tennis. You make a move on her. The kids are spending the night with Claire's kids. Get her hot and get her wet. Then tell her you want to fuck her---but only in our bed. And only with me in that bed also."

"Are you shitting me? Are we talking swapping here? Do you want to fuck her husband?"

"I don't think so, not now anyway. I'm not even sure I want to fuck her but I know you do and that scares me. So, I guess I'm telling you that you can, but only with me involved. I'm just looking out for my interests and the kids. The last thing I want is for you to have an affair and fall in love with some little cunt and leave me out in the cold. We'll see how this works out. If it doesn't get messy and complicated maybe we'll try it again in the future. But you have to promise me that if it happens it never happens with just the two of you...fair enough?"

"Yea, I guess so. So what's your idea of the plan?"

"I'll stay in bed when she comes over as I always do; she knows I like to sleep in on Saturday morning. You get her motor running and then bring her upstairs to our bed. Look, one of three things is going to happen. She's going to rebuff your advances. She's going to want to fuck you but not have me involved or she's going to go for it."

Paul watched the nubile young blond come walking down the street, racket in hand, attired in another excruciatingly hot little tennis skirt. He was almost positive that she didn't wear a bra when they played tennis or if she did, it was very thin. He had watched her nipples harden on more than one occasion during a tennis match. Sharon was a couple of inches shorter than his wife, blonde versus brunette and, unlike his wife had a delightful little bubble butt. 

His wife had an unremarkable butt; Sharon's tits were smaller than Pamela's but very enticing; they stood up firm and proud while Pamela's had developed some sag after two children. Pamela liked fucking and was very orgasmic; she had become more adventurous over their eight year marriage. They'd experimented with some minor bondage and spanking and it got her hot. She loved to have her sweet little pussy eaten and had recently come to enjoy a finger up her butt. She'd shown a keen interest in fucking outside and in the car; she'd often wear open crotch panties and let him finger her juicy little cunt in public. Pamela was not very accomplished as a cock sucker. She tried her best and wasn't turned off by it, she just had a smallish mouth and her damned teeth always got in the way.

While Pamela never refused to have sex, she never initiated it. She'd move and respond but wasn't much of a talker. Perhaps the thing that frustrated Paul the most wasn't directly related to sex. He and Pamela had been seeing a marriage counselor for several months, sometimes individually, sometimes together. In the private sessions the therapist had asked blunt questions about their sex life. Paul had quickly responded that it was just great. The counselor hadn't bought it. They'd had somewhat of a breakthrough the previous week.

"Look, fucking with Pamela is just fine. She likes sex, she responds, she cums and then cums again. I can always get her off with my mouth and she has a sweet little pussy. I love eating her. I wish she was able to give a better blow job but she tries and she's gotten better. She's not sexually inhibited in anyway. I guess my problem runs deeper. I know this sounds like bull shit coming from a guy but even when we're having sex I just don't feel, you know, close. It's like the sex is almost mechanical. Even when she kisses me goodbye in the morning or I give her an impromptu hug, she just never seems to put her heart---or body—into it. Sure, we fuck regularly, but even after eight years of marriage and two kids I never feel as if the two of us are really connected. I guess I'm really talking about the intimacy issue...maybe I'm making too much of it."

"Paul, men and women have affairs more often due to a lack of intimacy than because they aren't getting enough sex at home. It's the number one reason marriages fail."

"Look, doctor, divorce is out of the question. We've got two young kids and I'm very involved in their lives. Pamela has no real job skills and can be a very needy person. She'd have a hard time making it on her own. In essence we got married too young. Her mother kicked her out when she found out Pamela and I were screwing. She moved in with me and we got married a few months later. In reality, her father took care of her for the first twenty years and I've been taking care of her the last eight. It's amazing the simple things she can't deal with."

Paul continued, almost on a rant. "She'll call me at work or page me for the stupidest, most mundane shit. When we first got married, I guess I got off on, 'being needed'. Chalk it up as my problem, based on my family baggage, I needed to be needed. We've already covered that. It's gotten old. I always assumed that she would grow---grow up—and become more self sufficient. What was cute at twenty is just fucking irritating at twenty-eight. Damn, I work my ass off; I make a very good living, better by far than our peers. I make three or four times what our friends and neighbors make, so money is not an issue. We'll probably move to a much nicer area within the year. I'll earn another promotion and we'll have to move, which seems to scare the hell out of her. I come home and the house is a mess and she's still in her bathrobe. Fine, so I hired a maid. She wanted to take responsibility for paying the bills---except she forgets to do it! She has an auto club card but does she use it? Fuck no! She calls me when she gets a flat or the car won't start. She seems to enjoy being a mother and the kids love her but she forgets their doctor appointments, school registration---and I have to handle it. In spite of the fact she doesn't work, I hired a part time nanny."

"Paul, I wish we had more time. You've made quite a breakthrough here. I'm hearing some pretty strong resentment at your perception of Pamela's apparent helplessness."

"My perception of her apparent helplessness? Give me a fucking break! You're the expert; for what I'm paying you I expect better than that crap! As we discussed at the onset, doctor, I have a graduate degree in clinical psychology; I even started working on my doctorate...with a bunch of graduate level course work in marriage and family. I spent a one year internship in a clinical environment. As I told you, I got tired of listening to people whine about their lot in life---or worse, dealing with true psychotics who will never get better---and decided I could use my skills better and make a better living in the business world. I made it clear that I wouldn't respond to games or psycho-babble. You're damned right I feel resentful. We're not going to sit here and play, 'how do you feel about that'. I need some fucking answers, not bill padding!"

"Okay, I'm sorry Paul. Probably because of your education you are not my typical client. I often end up working for months with someone trying to pull their feelings out of them. You are disarmingly candid and get to the point very quickly; in my line of work that's rare. Look, I have a little time before my next appointment, probably twenty to thirty minutes and, based on my observations, I'm going to lay it on the line. This is way out of bounds when working with a typical couple and I hope I'm making the right call."

"Talk to me." Paul responded, matter-of-factly.

"First, Pamela is totally dependent on you to an unhealthy degree. It is the primary strategy she uses to hold on to you. As you admitted, there was a time when you enjoyed that dependency---even needed it. You grew out of it; Pamela did not. Her apparent sexual accommodation is another part of that overall strategy. Pamela is incapable of separating love and sex; to her they are one and the same. As long as Paul is having, 'good sex' with me, he loves me. As long as Paul recognized how much I need him, he won't leave me. Now let me give you the bad news."

The doctor paused as he thought about what he was about to say. "First, Pamela will never get better as long as you are there to save her when she screws up. The marriage will get worse. Your resentment will increase and it will not be healthy for you---or the kids. As the years go on her dependence will become irreversible and could well lead to a psychotic break. Most people think marriage counselors are here to save marriages. They're not. They exist to try to save the individuals in a marriage from destruction. I know I'm painting a bleak picture here but there is a second issue. Pamela's mother had a long history of clinical depression to include periodic hospitalization. Pamela shows clear and irrefutable signs of that same depression. I'm not talking about feeling a little down or blue. I'm talking about classic, clinical, possibly organically based depression. It's often hereditary; we're just not sure whether it's environmental or genetic. In her current state---and it will worsen without treatment---she is incapable of normal intimacy, with you or, as the kids become older, with her children."

"Do you have any good news, doctor?"

"Not really. I'm currently prescribing a mild anti-depressive. It's not working. If we take her to something much stronger, one of the lithium compounds, for example, it might help but the side effects are unpleasant---as you probably know. Make no mistake about this. We're not talking about a classic adjustment disorder or neurosis as it were once called which responds well to psychotherapy or counseling. Pamela has a distinct personality disorder. She bounces from role to role in her hopeless search to discover, 'who she is'. The problem is, there is no real Pamela inside her head, so her search must fail. With that failure, one day, we will in all likelihood see a psychotic break. Let me give you one more piece of bad news. I've scheduled an appointment with a colleague with a lot more experience than I have in dealing with clinical issues but I see all the signs of a borderline paranoid schizophrenic. Be honest with me Paul, as is your nature, you must have had suspicions? Her symptoms are text book."

"I've always tried to avoid being the amateur shrink in spite of my training but the thought had crossed my mind. Where do we go from here?"

"There aren't a lot of easy answers. After my colleague sees her, I expect that he will suggest that she spend a couple of days at the university hospital. They are doing some radical work identifying and treating organically based depression. Often supplementing certain chemicals that the body is not producing in sufficient quantities can result in dramatic improvement. Even if medical treatment works, Pamela will need years of therapy. Let me put it this way. Assume for a minute that the depression has a chemical deficiency origin and we can reverse it. We can fix that but a lifetime of behaviors have been built up as she has attempted to deal with her own inability to function as a healthy adult. The personality disorder is still there and it's ingrained. There is no magic drug to fix that, only years of intense---possibly inpatient---psychotherapy."

"I've got excellent medical benefits and money shouldn't be an issue. What do I need to do?"

"Ultimately, you need to get a divorce---for the sake of both of you. Right now she would fold up completely if you left her. A separation won't work. As long as you're still married, you're still there for her to depend on. You need to continue normally, well as normal as she perceives normal to be. No radical changes in your activities. Try to be patient but don't suddenly change who you are---at least as she sees you. Unless she has some sort of miracle recovery---which is not likely---custody will not be an issue. I'm going to give you the name of an attorney with experience in this area. You'll get the kids but expect to pay her some form of alimony, or, rehabilitative maintenance as they now call it, for years."

It was following that conversation that Paul had decided that fucking his hot little blond tennis partner was not going to happen. He had awakened Pamela before sunrise and made love to her, bringing her off several times. He had told her that he had reconsidered and just wasn't comfortable making a move on Sharon. Pamela had been pleased as if that was the conclusion she had hoped her husband would come to. Paul and Sharon played tennis. She had flirted more than normal, finding excuses to touch him. It had started to rain and they had retreated to his car to wait out the shower. Her short tennis skirt was pushed up high enough to completely expose the crotch of her white tennis panties. He could clearly see the outline of her little slit through the thin material. His cock was rock hard. She moved their conversation in a dangerous direction.

"Are you and Pamela happy together?" She quietly asked.

"Happiness is sort of relative. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. Ben and I started dating in high school. I always believed we would get married---that he was the man of my dreams. Now I think he's having an affair."

"What? How could he find the time? If he's not in dental school he's working full time for the building company."

"I'm pretty sure, oh hell, I've found the evidence, a woman knows. It's with a girl in his school study group. I put off going for my graduate degree to help put Ben through dental school. Now it's almost as if I'm not good enough or smart enough or, something. Right now I'm somewhere between having an affair of my own or just getting a divorce. We don't have any children or any real assets. It would be pretty easy in this state. I don't want to be one of those girls who hangs on until her husband becomes a dentist for security. I've got a good job and excellent career opportunities where I work now. I'd probably have to move; I've had to turn down---at least postpone---one promotion since Ben can't move. Do you find me attractive?" Sharon said, putting her hand on Paul's arm.

"We need to talk, young lady, and it never leaves this car. I genuinely like you and love spending time with you. You and I are not going to have an affair, in spite of the fact that I find you extremely attractive and the temptation is very strong. Let me tell you why." Paul proceeded to give Sharon all of the grizzly details.

"And I thought I had stuff to deal with. I was just about to jump your bones, Paul. I find you very attractive. As we've gotten to know each other over the last six months, as we've become friends, I fantasized about the two of us, well, fucking, and maybe more. But you've convinced me I need to deal with my problems head on before I do something stupid. Is there a chance you might share the name of your marriage counselor? I need to talk to someone."

Pamela was admitted to the hospital two weeks later for treatment. She did in fact have a chemical deficiency which would not have been detected under normal procedures. She came home after two days. Her depression had responded well to the drug treatment initiated at the hospital. The marriage counselor passed her off to a colleague more experienced in dealing with her specific issues.

Unfortunately Pamela's case is like the analogy of the old car with a host of small problems. Fix the fuel injectors which solves the rough running engine and the valves can't handle the new increased compression. Replace the valves and the oil leak resulting from the increased oil pressure becomes chronic or the head gasket blows. The engine is restored to its original torque and the transmission can't handle the strain. Soon, the whole system just doesn't function anymore. 

Pamela's personality disorder, her almost total lack of a realistic concept of self, became her most serious issue once her clinical depression was alleviated. Had it been recognized and properly treated when she was fifteen or sixteen, the prognosis for complete recovery would have been excellent. At almost thirty her mechanisms for dealing in an unhealthy manner with her problems were too ingrained in her behavior. Her paranoia increased and her behavior became more erratic. Her medications were increased and combined; it's hard to know in retrospect whether the drugs were helping or hurting. Her borderline schizophrenia evolved into the full blown variety and she had a total psychotic break. She was admitted to the university psychiatric hospital in a near catatonic state.

Pamela never recovered. She never again even recognized her visitors. Over the years, she curled up into a fetal position, her physical state deteriorated and she became almost totally dependent on artificial means to keep her alive. Her feeding was exclusively via tube for over a decade. After fifteen years, most of it in a nursing home, she finally died one night.

While it may sound cruel, Paul was granted a divorce with full custody within a matter of months of her initial admission to the psychiatric facility. The divorce essentially left Pamela destitute but also eligible for government assistance. Paul consulted an attorney with the possible intent of filing suit against the doctors and the hospital. After all, think about how a jury of every day people would view it. Here was a woman who, to her friends, seemed normal. You experts decided to treat her and she essentially turned into a vegetable. Paul knew enough about her condition and the risks involved to feel confident that no malpractice had occurred. Possibly to forestall a lawsuit, the hospital and the doctors offered a settlement before any suit was filed which would ensure that Pamela received excellent care for her remaining years. 

Paul supplemented the settlement and the government assistance until the very end to ensure that she received the best possible amenities. 

Paul declined promotion for the first couple of years to be close to Pamela. The kids were devastated and had their own adjustment issues. Paul resumed weekly sessions with the same psychologist he and Pamela had once met with. His career was going no where and the full time responsibilities of being a single parent while holding down a demanding job were taking a toll.

Sharon did in fact get a divorce three months after her conversation with Paul. She immediately accepted a promotion and moved. At the time Paul and Pamela were still married and Pamela had not had her breakdown. Keeping up a long distance relationship with a married man with his own problems to deal with made no sense; Sharon severed all relations with her former tennis partner.




Paul and Sharon



Paul dated off and on but caught himself before he made a huge mistake and married another woman who he didn't really love, since he knew he was just looking for a mother for his children. He finally engaged a full time nanny and house keeper, an older woman, and the children responded well to her. Things on the home front began to settle down. 

On several occasions he tried to track down Sharon. She had evidently severed all contact with former friends and neighbors. Her ex-husband had become a dentist and moved and no one had a clue where. A neighbor was pretty sure that Sharon had assumed her maiden name and no one knew what it was. He knew Sharon had told him where she worked but he could not remember the name of the company.

Paul was offered another promotion and the company made it clear that "no" was no longer an acceptable answer. The counselor he was seeing felt that Paul should take the promotion and the associated move for his own good. There was nothing he could do for Pamela and it was unlikely that she would ever recognize him or anyone else again.

At first, the kids did not want to move. They had grown very close to the nanny and she was not able to move with them. He took the children with him on one of several house hunting trips to the city that would become their new home. Fate and fortune ultimately smiled on Paul and his family.

The house that he and Pamela had lived in had been a "starter home" in a modest neighborhood. They had scraped the money together to buy that first home when Paul had left the military. While he could well have afforded a better house in a better neighborhood as his earning increased dramatically, he simply never got around to it. Pamela and the children had friends there. By the time Paul and the kids moved, many of their friends had also moved as the other young couples in the neighborhood became more prosperous. The old neighborhood was on the verge of deteriorating as more homes were rentals and the groups of young children playing in every yard, the very vision that had first made it attractive, began to fade. Crime was on the increase and the children increasingly had few friends in the neighborhood.

Paul ended up buying more home than he had wanted to in the new locale. His company had a liberal housing assistance program which he would not benefit from unless he spent a calculated minimum on his new home. The new city was a pleasant one; the climate was much more reasonable, the schools were superior and the quality of life was superb. When he took the kids to see the new house he had chosen for them they were very excited. The large fenced yard meant they could finally have a dog. They quickly made friends with other children in the neighborhood. The recreational facilities available within the development were outstanding. He took them to visit their new school and they were ecstatic. 

His secretary in his new job provided the final piece of the puzzle. Her mother, a retired school teacher, had worked for several years as a virtual live-in nanny for another executive in the company; her former employer's kids had reached an age wherein they didn't need the same level of attention. The kids fell in love with her in short order.

As is often the case in corporate America, promotion to the next rung doesn't necessarily mean longer hours. Paul would have an office and not have to work out of a home office. His travel would decline substantially. Weekend panic calls from customers would not require him to leave his family on a Saturday or Sunday as had so often happened in the past. His new home was twelve minutes from his new office. He could have breakfast with his kids and see them off before going to work. The nanny would be there when the kids would get home from school, and she would get them cracking on their homework. Paul would get home between six and six thirty and they would have dinner as a family. He was there to tuck them in to bed almost every night. In short, life settled into a very comfortable routine and the children flourished. 

For the first couple of years, Paul's dating life was almost nonexistent. As the kids got older and had their own friends with whom they wanted to spend time on Friday or Saturday evening, Paul decided to venture back out into the dating world after nearly fifteen years. The rules had changed, he discovered to his consternation. The free love decade had been replaced by the decade of AIDS and fatal attraction. At thirty-seven, approaching the five year anniversary of Pamela's break down, he was not optimistic about his romantic prospects.

Most of the women he knew well and might have been attracted to worked for his company. Those of his own age were themselves married or had their own issues to deal with. His delayed promotions had not ended up hurting his career. He received several promotions in short order in the rapidly growing company. He had left the former city as a senior Region Manager and was now a Senior Vice President with the likelihood of becoming a division president within another year. The younger women, those five years or more his junior, those he found most attractive, were strictly hands off in the era of sexual harassment and workplace hostility for a man listed as a corporate officer.

His fortunes as far as the opposite sex were concerned were about to change for the better. As luck would have it, a traffic accident had diverted his car off the interstate one afternoon as he was returning from the airport following one of his few overnight trips. Stopped in a long line of detoured traffic in front of an industrial park not unlike the one which housed his own corporate headquarters, he saw a corporate logo and a light bulb illuminated in his head. As he thought back, he remembered that Sharon had often carried her tennis gear in a bag with a logo just like the one he was now looking at. On impulse, and realizing that he wasn't making any real progress in traffic, he pulled in to the parking lot, not sure what he was going to do.

Using the new cell phone which had recently be installed in his car, he called his secretary to tell her he would probably not get back to the office and to ask her to check on something for him. Could she look up this company on D&B and find out what the heck they did? He had the answer in a couple of minutes. He wasn't positive but he swore that Sharon had once mentioned the kind of work she did.

Exiting the car, he walked into the waiting area and began to chat with the receptionist. He was a good looking guy and he was wearing a suit which said senior executive. His business card said, Senior Vice President of a well known company. Rather than beat around the bush, he decided to just tell the truth after introducing himself.

"I know this sounds weird. About five year ago I used to play tennis every Saturday with a girl, a woman who lived in our neighborhood. She and my ex-wife were good friends. We completely lost touch with each other. I remember her married name but I think she went through a divorce and changed her name back. Her first name is Sharon." Paul proceeded to describe her general appearance.

"I don't know anyone that meets that description, certainly no one at this office but you're welcome to look through the management 'face' book. If she is in management her picture would be in there along with her bio. If she is a non-exempt, I can't really help you."

Paul flipped through the book slowly. Just as he was about to give up on what he was starting to think had been a foolish idea, there she was, Sharon Bartlett, Vice President and Area Manager. But what area? It didn't say. He returned to the receptionist. 

"I think I found her but it doesn't tell me where she is located or how to contact her. Can you help me?"

"Let me check the company phone directory, Bartlett...here she is! She's located in our Southeastern Area office, well she's more than located there, she's the area Vice President! She must have moved there recently. They also list a former number, out in Oregon, that's typical when someone is moving from one job to another and they're not sure which number is current. Otherwise they'd have to reprint the directory every other week. She was the area manager there, I would suppose, before she made VP. I can't believe I haven't seen her before, this office come under her jurisdiction; she must be so new that she hasn't gotten down here to review the troops, so to speak. Let me check the official visitor's calendar. Oh yes! She's scheduled to visit us in two weeks to meet with our local management. Here, let me jot down her office numbers, we don't list home numbers. Best of luck! She's a very pretty lady."

Thanking the young receptionist profusely, Paul returned to his car unsure of what he would do with the information clutched tightly in his hand.

He'd call her. Call her and say what? Hey, are you still interested in having that affair you wanted to have five years ago with a guy nine or ten years older than you are? Or, I'd really love to meet your new husband and see the children I'm sure you have by now. Would you like to play tennis? Paul lived four hours by car and thirty minutes by air from where Sharon lived or was soon going to live. If she had remarried his appearance in her life would not be appreciated. Maybe a little bit of amateur detective work was in order. He got back to the office just as his secretary was preparing to leave.

"Marge, I don't want to hold you up and unless you know off the top of your head, do we do any sort of business with this company?" He said, sliding the annual report he had picked up in front of her.

"It won't take a second Paul, let me check."

"Well, yes and no. They're a claims company. While our medical benefits are self funded we use several companies like this one, generally regionally, to handle some of our employee's medical claims. Regina in HR would have more details and I think she's still in her office."

Paul trotted down the hall to the Vice President of Human Resources. "Regina, have you got a second?"

"Why, anything for my favorite man on the executive floor." Regina replied with a grin. 

Paul knew that Regina was not really flirting seriously; she was happily married and had tried, unsuccessfully, to fix him up on more than one occasion.

"Regina this is hardly official. There was a girl I used to know, she and my wife were friends. I used to play tennis with her and we became good friends. I'm pretty sure she works for this company; can you fill me in on our relationship with them?"

Regina replied almost instantly. "They handle benefits claims for us. It started out very regionally, out on the west coast but they're growing almost as fast as we are so they're handling more and more of our area offices. I'm planning to meet with them in the near future. By the end of the year they'll have locations that geographically mesh with all of our locations and we're going to talk about single sourcing our claims requirements. Generally I meet with their corporate people out in Phoenix, but it's a hike, so I believe I'll be meeting with someone from their Southeastern office, a hop skip and a jump from here. She's the VP over there and is going to wear two hats effectively becoming our 'corporate account executive' if our talks go well."

"You wouldn't happen to know her name would you?"

"Let me check. I haven't met her yet, she's been bouncing back and forth from the Northwest. Her name is Sharon Bartlett."

Paul smiled and Regina didn't miss it.

"Don't tell me she is the girl of your dreams?" Regina said playfully.

"Have you got more than a second Regina?"

"Close the door, bothersome Senior Vice President."

And Paul told Regina the whole story. Regina had known that Paul was divorced and that his former wife had medical issues but the details were quite startling.

"So you two never, did the nasty?"

"Not my style, Regina. Look, I don't want be a complication for her or anyone else. I don't want to call her up at work and create an awkward moment. Even if she's not married with a second or third kid on the way, it never got any farther than a mild flirtation on a rainy Saturday morning. I was probably the only other guy she knew at all well and, as I recall, she was contemplating a grudge fling not a long term relationship."

"Well, as the resident match maker and founding member of the lonely hearts club in this building, at least let me make some discreet inquiries. My secretary can talk to her secretary and scope thing out. I'll give you a buzz in the morning. Now go home to those beautiful children of yours."

Paul received a personal visit from Regina a little before ten the next morning.

"Okay, I can only do so much, that's why you make the big bucks. Sharon Bartlett never remarried and has no children. She is one of the shooting stars in her company and will doubtless continue to move up rapidly. She has temporary accommodations near the Southeastern office and as far as the secretary grape vine goes, has no serious entanglements of the male variety. I did get her home number at her temporary residence."

"Thank you Regina, you're a God sent." Paul replied with a grin.

"I didn't give you the most interesting scuttlebutt. But first, if you and the lovely Ms. Bartlett should end up rekindling an old flame, you have precisely nothing to do with our choice of claims processing providers. That's pretty much my call and their company is head and shoulders above the competitors. Assuming we can strike a deal money wise, I've already sold a single source agreement to the big guys, so conflict of interest is not remotely an issue."

"Why are you telling me this, Regina?"

"Because rumor has it that, particularly if we end up in a single source with them, it's likely that they are going to move the area office here...right down the street."

"Oh."

"Yea, 'oh', now what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't have the foggiest idea."

"Okay, well I'm flying over there to meet with her in the next week, an in and out. Then she's going to come up here the following week---hopefully to sign the deal."

"Regina, I haven't exactly, 'been a courtin' in fifteen years."

"Men! You're are one hell of a 'take no prisoners', hang it out there risk takers I've ever met. That what I like about you---and so does the old man. You were a combat officer for Christ sake!"

"Right. And other than high school and college I have zero dating experience. The rules have changed and it scares the hell out of me. Regina, I really liked her. We spent six months or so getting to know each other. If my situation had been different..."

"Okay, I'll let you off the hook. Hell, I went through the same thing. I met my husband when I was only a couple of years younger than you are now and neither one us had a hell of a lot of experience in dating. Let me think about his. I've got to go out of town tomorrow; I'll be back Wednesday. Don't do anything until I've had time to mull it over, deal?"

"Deal!"

***

"Sharon! Regina Phelps, when are you going to be back on this side of the country?"

"Regina! It's good to hear from you. Actually, I'm about to leave rainy Oregon for the final time. I'm flying out this afternoon and I'll be in the Southeastern office tomorrow. What's on your mind?"

"Any chance I could hop over and see you for an hour or so tomorrow? No dog and pony show, just a little one on one time."

"Absolutely! I'll be a little jet lagged but my schedule is pretty open. Sometime after ten sound workable?"

"Hold on; let me get my secretary to check the flights."

"Every hour on the hour, on the half hour back. The 9:00 AM is open. You'll be walking out of the airport by ten."

"Book it with a return say, around 2:30 PM."

"Sharon? I'll get in around ten, by the time I rent a car..."

"No need to rent a car, Regina. The airport is ten minutes from our office; we plan it that way in all of our locations. I have an extended stay arrangement between the two locations. I can pick you up and drop you back off whenever you need to get back."

As Regina came out of the jet way she recognized Sharon immediately since the two women had coordinated appropriate recognition garments. Sharon looked very young, Regina thought to herself, and very cute, no more than cute, drop dead adorable. Oh, yea, I can see why Paul's heart is doing little flip flops over this one.

Sharon's knowledge of the business and Regina's company's requirements was astounding and belied her youthful appearance. All of her people were equally sharp. After meeting key staff people, the two women returned to Sharon's office.

"Sharon, we're very inclined to go ahead with this deal; you folks are head and shoulders ahead of the competition. It's going to come down to price. If you're equal, you win. If you're a little high, you'll still win. If you're less, I'll probably get a bonus. You've always been very competitive. Are you loss leading some accounts or what?"

"Not at all Regina. Most companies in this business did not start in this business. They did other things that made this a natural transition once the whole third party reimbursement system unfolded. Our competitors have large legacy systems to maintain and often top heavy management structures. Plus, in all humility, they just don't understand this business as well as we do. I started out in college entering claims data into a computer. So did our CEO and every other manager or executive in the company. Our founders cut their teeth working for the competition back in college and learned how not to do it. We designed our computer system and every single phase of the business to do one job. This is not an add-on or a side business. Our employees all participate in the profit-sharing plan. Half of my compensation is based on how well we do. We are very lean and exceptionally productive. Our cost per claim is substantially less than the rest of the industry---and no I'm not going to tell you how much less. The larger the client, that is, the more claims we process from a single employer, the lower the cost per claim. We don't have to change set ups to deal with multiple different forms or procedures. In essence, if you like the way we do the job, and our surveys tell us that your employees are very pleased with our turn around and customer service, then we'll be there at the right price point."

"Hell, Sharon, write it up and let's get together at our place early next week. I've been stalling the competition but I've got their numbers. Shoot me a number by the end of the week and if it looks reasonable we'll move on it."

"You've got it!"

"Now, I have another matter to discuss. We could probably have handled most of the business stuff over the phone but this second part is a little more personal. Two words, Sharon...Paul Davis."

"Paul? Do you know Paul? It's been five years; he and I used to play tennis...his wife was..."

The look on Sharon's face was a combination of, regret and remembrance, maybe even longing. It was a reaction that said Paul Davis was more than an old tennis partner who had slipped from her consciousness. It was a look which said, I've thought about him often and recently.

"Well, before you ask any questions, let me bring you up to speed." And Regina gave Sharon a synopsis of Paul's life over the last few years.

"So, Sharon, Paul thought of, thinks of you often; he had no idea where you were or what your last name was. He tried to track you down after Pamela went into a coma. One day as he was driving back from the airport he saw the same logo you used to have on your gym bag, found your picture in the company management book, and then a hour or so later, was in my office. He has absolutely no idea that I am here or that we are having this discussion. He's only known your scant particulars for a couple of days."




Paul and Sharon



"Why hasn't he called me?"

"Because he's a man and he's scared shitless. He didn't know if you'd remarried. He didn't want to cause you any complications; he wasn't sure if there was anything more from back then than a little flirtation. He hasn't done any serious dating since before he and his ex-wife were married. But maybe the sweetest part of all, if it turned out that you were married or entangled, if there was a chance that you weren't romantically interested in him, he didn't want to screw it up for you."

Regina paused, then went on. "Look, Sharon, like I said, Paul has no idea I'm here. I'm meddling. I like the guy a lot; he's one of the good guys. If you tell me there's no reason for him to call you or see you, then I'll go back and tell him something, I don't know, that you're gay! So, I need to know, was there something there five years ago more than a great back hand and a grudge screw that never happen?" 

Sharon smiled but she could not hide the moisture in her eyes.

"Oh yeah, you'd better believe it! I'd never met a man like Paul. He treated me like, like a friend. He cared about what I thought and listened to what I had to say. He had, has the most amazing eyes, and when he looks at you, you just feel special, you feel as if he's really listening, not just waiting to say something in response. He was fun and funny. He never once made a real pass at me. The longer I played tennis with him the more provocative I became in my wardrobe. I'd watch him on the other end of the court and my nipples would get hard. I was trying to get him to fuck me. Oh, he'd make a little joke, call me a 'hot little babe' or something to that effect but it was never a come on. The day I decided that I was going to seduce him, told him I wanted to fuck him and he said no is one I remember as if it was yesterday. And he was right. Even when he said he found me attractive but wasn't going to make love to me, he made me feel special. I never tried to look him up; he was married. Has he changed a lot with all that he's been through?"

"No, he's the same sweet guy he was when you knew him. And if I know anything, he wants to see you. Oh hell, girl, that's an understatement! You took a chunk of his heart five years ago. You can have the whole damned thing if you want it. Just don't break my good friend's heart. He's not looking for a roll in the hay, Sharon. He never married someone he didn't love so his kids could have a new mommy. He wants it all, for ever and ever, Amen. If that's not what you're into then don't even let him see you. If he does see you again, it's all over but the shouting. If it's not real, it would break his heart and he deserves better than that. Where's your heart Sharon?"

"I fell in love with Paul five years ago. I got over it because I knew I could never have him but I never got over him. I never did. If he walked in here right now, he'd own me, lock, stock and barrel. I can't wait until tomorrow. I don't want to talk to him on the phone. I want to look him in those big blues eyes and say, 'I love you, what do you have to say to that'? And if you're right, and I get the same answer in return then my reply would have to be, 'fuck me'. So maybe we shouldn't meet at an office." Sharon said, with a grin.

"Right answer, sister! Okay, I have a flare for the dramatic. Do you have any reason why you need to be in this office for the rest of the day or tomorrow for that matter, in view of the urgent needs of your, hopefully, soon to be largest client firm?"

Sharon shook her head.

"Have you unpacked yet? Have your secretary book you on my flight back. We'll work out the details on the way."

"Let's do it. Wait! One small piece of business. I don't need a week to put together your proposal. We've already crunched your numbers. Here's our proposal. Nothing differs from our current agreements other than the bottom line cost per claim at the bottom of the last page." Sharon said, sliding the contract across the desk to Regina.

"That'll work just fine and I might just get a small bonus for saving the company some serious money." Regina replied as the two women walked out together.

Before boarding the plane for the short flight home, Regina called Paul's secretary.

"Is there any reason why your mom can't stay a little later at Paul's this afternoon, like maybe all night?" Regina asked.

After quickly calling her mom, the young woman came back on the line to say that it was all arranged. Regina then called her husband at work and told him they were going out for dinner and dancing and a romantic night together at a four star hotel and he wouldn't need to pack any clothes but she'd stop by and pick up his shaving kit. She then called her own house and told the maid to change the sheets in the master bedroom.

After they touched down back home, Regina made one final call.

"Paul, look, I really need to talk to you about something urgent. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. I'm going to be at home in about an hour; the maid got sick and I have to wait for the plumber. Could you slip out a little early and stop by the house? You remember where we live. You're a doll! See you then."

Regina and Sharon arrived at Regina's house a short time later. 

"Make yourself at home, there's plenty of food and libation. I have only one favor; do it just like you said. Say what you told me you wanted to say when you saw him. Everything after that is up to the two of you." Regina departed to meet her husband for a delightful night of four-star fucking.

Sharon was nervous as she heard Paul's car pull into the driveway. She unlocked the door and left it open a couple of inches. He rang the door bell.

"Come in, the door's open." She said.

And there he was standing a few feet away from her, a look of genuine surprise on his face.

"I love you, what do you have to say to that?" Sharon said.

"I love you too, baby; I have for a very long time."

Sharon and Paul moved toward each other in unison. 

"Then fuck me like you wouldn't, couldn't, five years ago. I'm yours today and every day for the rest of my life if you'll have me."

Paul responded with action rather than words. He took Sharon in his arms and held her tighter than any man ever had. Paul and Sharon urgently removed each others clothing and were soon naked. They never made it to the master bedroom. Paul caught her foot as she was scampering up the stairs. He pulled her tightly into his body and pushing his hard cock against her delightful little ass. He'd always admired her ass, her beautiful, tight, perfectly bubbled, soft little ass.

He reached a hand around to caress her firm, proud tits while his other hand sunk to her steamy slot. He had thought they would fuck the regular way the first time, make love gazing lovingly into each others eyes. They were both too impatient for that. Sharon went to her knees and arched her back, projecting her exquisite young rump enticingly. Reaching behind her she found the object of her desire and placed it at the entrance to her girl hole.

"I want it now, right here, like this, from behind. Own me! Penetrate me. Put your beautiful cock in my pussy. Make me your woman forever. Fill me with your essence. I don't ever want another man but you. Take your bitch and make her yours and only yours."

Paul had less to say but quickly complied, jamming his hard prick to the very depths of his lover's tender canal. It was in that moment, as the two became sublimely connected, as Sharon held his magnificent organ inside her, unwilling to ever let it leave her body, that the truth was revealed. It was in this ultimate act of human intimacy that each knew that no other person would ever or could ever satisfy their longings again. 

As good friends as they had become five year before, as much genuine affection and respect as each had developed for the other, as much as they had liked each other, neither could have had a clue how extraordinary making love together would be. 

It was as if they had been selected according to some grand design to couple. It was as if they were reading the same book and were on exactly the same page and word. Their minds were fused as tightly together as their strong bodies were. They moved in perfect consort like two perfectly constructed machines bringing each other to the brink of ecstasy over and over. It was as magical as one might think the first man and woman had been in their first discovery. And when, nearing total exhaustion, they came together in perfect harmony, the earth moved and each was sure they heard a voice whisper, 'yes'. And they had only just begun. Paul swept his love into his arms and carried her up the stairs to the master bedroom.

Sharon rested her head on Paul's strong shoulder. She whispered in his ear. "I love you, Paul. Please tell me this is real. We're real. This isn't just a fling or an affair is it baby?"

"No, I'm pretty sure this is called premarital sex. I can't believe you came back to me. I love you and always will. Are you okay with that?" Paul said with a grin as he placed her nubile young body on the bed.

"Good answer!" Sharon replied, nipping him playfully and reaching for his still surprisingly hard fuck tool. She remembered something Pamela had once told her. She knew she could give Paul a pleasure that his poor ex wife had never been able to provide.

Sharon quickly engulfed his fat prick in her warm, wet young mouth. She loved blowing a man; she loved the power and the control but also reveled in the feel of a slippery cock inside her mouth and the ultimate reward at the end of her efforts. Sharon didn't just suck a cock...she made love to a cock and doing so turned her on almost as much as fucking. She planned to suck this particularly fine specimen every day---at least once---for the rest of her life.

It was in the early dawn hours when the two special lovers coupled once more as the sun broke the horizon that each knew that something wonderfully special and magic existed between them. Grinning like children on Christmas morning, Paul and Sharon began a tradition that would stay with them for the rest of their lives. As Paul's hard cock grazed the slick walls of Sharon's canal they were both filled with a sense of love and longing that would never leave them. As they came together, their tears of joy joined; they sobbed each other's names, collapsing in exhaustion and clutching one another desperately. 

As the morning sun popped over the horizon, each whispered those three magic words over and over as if fearing that the special tender words might be missed. Each would utter the special phrase over and over for many, many, sweet, tender and amazingly happy years together.

Paul's daughter was proud to be Sharon's maid of honor. His son bore the ring. Regina was the matron of honor. The family grew by two as Sharon and Paul had children together.

A number of years later they all flew back to the town where Paul and Sharon had first played tennis to attend Pamela's funeral. Sadly, Pamela had, in reality, been gone for so long that her own children hardly remembered her as they had grown into young adulthood. Their father had found them a new mother and they loved her every bit as much as he did.



Paul and Shayla



I am so lost, on the bus somewhere in Canada. I guess you can't count on the weather to be what you think. It's scary. It's so cold and I don't have the money for a motel. I stupidly left it in my booth at a diner while I went to the bathroom and someone jacked it. I still can't believe it.

It doesn't hurt though that I am an attractive girl and I might just have to use my charms to find a place to stay for free.

I ask the bus driver where to get off for the nearest bar. He tells me and thirty minutes later, I walk off the bus with nothing but my little backpack. 

When I enter the bar, I survey the clientele. It's some sports bar. Lots of men, many older and chubby. I don't mind bad looks and know they are much more likely to make a deal with me than some young good looking jock. I am not really attracted to one more than other. I have weird taste.

There is one man I notice. He is sitting at the bar, very large, about 6'6, 300 pounds, maybe 40s, burly, light brown hair, scruffy face. While I like big men, I know he is not conventionally attractive and the way he carries himself, well he looks a little lonely. 

I on the other hand am 22, 5',4," 120 pounds, slim hourglass shape, long red curly hair, blue eyes, and lots of freckles on smooth clear skin with a small round mouth with rose colored lips. I have a decent and innocent look. I still feel nervous about the upcoming conversation. I've never done this before and I feel my heart is thumping uncomfortably in my chest. I feel like it's audible to anyone near me. 

I sit next to him. 

"Hi, I'm Shayla," I start shyly as he looks over at me with appreciative eyes "Buy me a drink?"

He raises his eyebrows a little in surprise, then nods. He orders me a yummy dark beer. "I'm Paul."

"What brings you in town?" He asks, aware that I am not from around here. 

"Well I decided to do a solo trip to Canada, for an adventure, but my money was stolen at a diner and now I don't really know where to go." 

"Hmm that's a tough situation." He looks me over in my sparse clothing for the weather, tight jeans and a small sweater with sneakers. My raincoat in hanging by the entrance of the bar. 

"My place is not too far from here....if you want...."

I don't know why but I blush deeply at this. It's exactly what I wanted, but it's almost like a first time selling my body and that is a little scary. 

"Well...that would be very nice, yeah."

He nods and smiles. 

"Umm....ah...." I lower my voice, "I would like to stay a few days if that's ok and ummm...I would repay you how you want."

He looks at my wide-eyed and slowly nods. I smile and say,

"Thank you!"

He finishes his drink quickly and hustles us out of there. He puts his arm around my shoulder to keep me warm as we make our way to his car.

"Here's a blanket. I always keep it in the back for temps like these until the heat kicks in." He lays it out over my lap.

"Thank you" I smile. 

The drive is about 45 minutes. He seems shy and is mostly quiet as I make commentary on our surroundings as they are new to me.

We arrive at his house in the woods. It is more like a cabin, a little creepy and small, but also really fascinating and beautiful. 

"How are you feeling?" he asks me as we enter the cabin. He rubs my shoulders with his warm gargantuan hands.

"Cold and awake." I answer, leaning into him for his warmth. My physical contact seems to put him at ease. His hands move to my back to rub it warm as my full, soft breasts press into his belly. My head just reaches his pecs.

He tells me, "I can feel your heartbeat and your cheeks are on fire. You must be nervous, huh?"

I nod into him. 

"I don't want you to be nervous. The last thing I want to do is hurt you in any way." 

I smile and nuzzle my cheek against him.

"I'll get the fire going and we can drink something hot together."

I look up at him and nod. I find the kettle and get the hot water going for some tea. By the time he's done with the fire, I hand him a cup. 

"Oh! Thanks." 

We both sit down on the couch. He turns the TV on. I'm feeling annoyingly nervous now that we have a window for 'repayment'. 

I nervously steal glances at Paul and he keeps catching me.

"Look Shayla, we don't have to do anything tonight. You know I'd hate to pressure you into something you're not ready for."

I look up at him, "Maybe for tonight, just some snuggling?"

"I would like that. Why don't you get up on my lap?"

I hesitate. "Ok Paul."

I sit on his lap with both legs on one side. He circles his hand around my waist and with the other lightly rubs my hair.

It is immensely relaxing and I melt into him after a few minutes. He is warm, big, and so soothing.

"Maybe a little kiss?" I mutter into his neck.

He cups my cheek and gently turns my face to his and kisses my lips sooo nice. It is perfection. He has a full beard and mustache and it tickles my smooth face. I giggle.

"Hmm?" He mutters.

"Oh...your facial hair just tickles a little...but I like it!" I say, then I continue kissing him.

As we share kisses, his grip tightens around my waist and his erection pushes hard onto my thigh as he pulls me closer to him. While I am very aroused by the activities, I get a little scared by his aggressiveness since he is so big and strong. I remind myself that I don't know him very well. 

"Paul...I think we need to stop, for tonight I mean." I suggest, slightly fearing his reaction. 

"Shit" He catches his breath. "I'm sorry."

"No I am. I told you that I'd repay you for letting me stay. It's just that I'm a little nervous, but I promise by tomorrow night, I'll be ready." 

He looks a little disappointed. "I don't want to make you nervous sweetie" he rubs my shoulder, "but I understand".

"That said," he continues, "I need to go to the bathroom."

When he comes out, he hands me an extra toothbrush. I'm so relieved I can go to bed with a fresh mouth.

"You'll sleep in bed with me. I promise I'll be good." Paul says. I nod and head into the bathroom.

I come into the bedroom with the same clothes on and see that Paul has laid out some of his super big pajamas for me out on the bed, in which he is waiting for me. 

"I'll just do this in the bathroom." I say. 

I come back to the bedroom and get into the bed. The temperatures outside are about 15 degrees and inside the cabin is probably 50, which is still pretty cold. 

Although I don't want to tease Paul more than necessary, I cuddle up on him for the warmth and let's face it. I want to, anyway. 

He wraps his arm around me and I'm asleep within seconds. 

I wake the next morning to the smell of coffee. I'm alone in the bed and stretch my body thoroughly to find Paul watching me in the doorway. I sit up.

"Morning Shayla. I was just going to tell you that coffee is ready."

I grin. "Oh that's wonderful, Paul. Thank you!"

I climb out of bed and trip over my own feet as I am quite clumsy right after waking up. Paul rushes over to help me up. I thank him and explain that I am ok. It's just an a.m. thing. He laughs. 

The coffee is just the right temperature and really gets me in a good mood for the day. 

After coffee and breakfast, Paul explains to me that he's doing research on the wildlife in the area and I am welcome to come along with him around the forest. 

Due to my sparse clothing situation, I am stuck wearing his oversized clothes, but it's worth being so warm!

He walks around taking photos and notes, while I just admire the beauty. In my daydreaming, I wander a little away from him and encounter a coyote. I let out a scream. It stares at me and starts to make its way over, when suddenly, it whimpers and scurries away. I turn and see Paul running over. His size must have been enough to scare the coyote away. We embrace momentarily until he scolds me for wandering away.

"Paul, I'm not a child!" I yell, letting my immature temper get the better of me. He looks hurt and I feel awful for yelling at him after he saved me. 

"Oh I am so sorry for yelling at you." I say, hugging him again.

"I just worry that something could happen to you." He explains, "You're quite small.. and that can make you a target."

"Well I do just fine being my size...except the coyote..."

"You just have to act more threatening than you are. Confidence is key, okay?"

"Yeah...that makes sense. So does that mean I can still wander off a little?"

"Well, like I said, I can't force you to do anything, so yeah."

Paul gets back to his work and for now, I stay in his area.

We go like that most of the day. I help him out a lot just as something to do and a way to get to know him better. I find that he is sweet, gentle, smart, and I'm finding myself more and more attracted to him as I get to know him. 

He takes a pee without letting me know and I accidentally catch a glimpse of his privates and I hide behind a tree trunk. I peer around the side again and oh I like it. It is so big and soft and beautiful. He catches me. I gasp and return behind the tree. 

Lost in my embarrassment and plan of how to deal with this, I am startled by the tap on my shoulder. I turn to see Paul, his privates tucked back away out of my sight. I feel like a pervert, 

"I'm sorry for spying like that. It's so sick!" I confess. 

He just laughs. "Curiosity is completely natural, sweetie. You have seen one before, right?" He asks.

I look up at him and nod. "Just once when I was 15, but nothing since." 

"I see" He looks a little concerned.

"I really like you, Paul."

He brightens. "I very much like you, Shayla."

"I really like...being close to you."

He moves closer, puts his hands on the sides of my arms and squeezes.

"I like that very much." he says appreciatively. 

He takes my hand and leads me to a rock where he sits down and pulls me in for a kiss. With him sitting down, our heads are about level and he kisses me so good. I'm just in heaven. Oh his lips are soft and his kisses so gentle. His hand reaches for my bottom and I don't stop him. His hand is bigger then my butt cheek and he gives it a light squeeze, causing me to giggle. It starts to get dark and I get scared so we head home. He starts a nice big fire and the small cabin quickly warms up. 

I go to the bathroom and strip down to his large undershirt and boxer briefs. It is the most revealing thing he's seen me in so far. When I enter the living room, Paul is sitting on the couch reading the paper. He looks appreciatively at my change of clothes. 

"That looks much more comfortable, sweetie". His eyes traveling down my tight young body. 

He moves to the comfy rug in front of the fire and motions me over to sit next to him. He puts his arm around my shoulder and faces me, looking at my chest, then up to my lips, he leans in and kisses me softly and gently, knowing I get nervous easily. The height difference makes the position a little uncomfortable, so he lays me down on the rug and positions himself on his side next to me, and we continue to kiss. 

I suggest removing our clothes. He eagerly agrees and asks if we can take off each other's instead of our own. He asks me to start with him. We stand. I slowly lift up his shirt over his head to find a hairy barrel chest and a little bit of a belly. I like it. I then begin to un buckle his belt and unbutton his jeans. I pull them down and he steps out. Then I nervously pull down his underwear to find a huge erection. 

"Ok my turn" He says. He pulls his undershirt from over my head, then unhooks my bra from the front. He takes a deep breath. He then pulls down his underwear from my hips. We are both naked. 

He lies down and motions for me to climb on top of him. This makes me feel a little slutty but I comply.

I hesitantly climb onto his body making him very happy.

He initiates kissing and I let myself completely get lost in it. Next thing I know, his sausage finger is twirling around my opening, soaking up the gooey wetness. I continue to kiss him as he touches me moving closer to my clit, I forget to breathe. When he touches it, I let out a delighted squeal. He gently circles it, making it hard to catch my breath. The pleasurable tingling builds to an overwhelming surge of feelings and I buck and squeal before finally coming down. He kisses me a few minutes, then gently lowers me onto his long hard waiting penis. It slides right in and fills me completely. He holds on firmly to my bottom as he lifts it up and down. 

It's so good..so right. I feel like I could never stop. I really enjoy riding this big old man with his big hands all over me, squeezing my boobies and booty and grunting when I come down on his penis, enveloping it with my tight, hot, wet, soft pussy. He's so big and satisfying. I don't want to stop. After some time and gradual build up, I climax hard onto him, squirting juices that drip down his nice thick shaft that is still pumping me. He comes almost right after, a ton. Ke keeps his penis in me for a bit as we hold each other on the rug.

"Shayla, you are so beautiful. I am so lucky." he says to me.

I smile. "Paul, I really like you and I'm really attracted to you."

He smiles and gives my breast a soft little squeeze.

"You can stay as long as you like."

"I do want to, Paul. You mean it?"

"Hmm Yes sweetie, as long as you're willing to be intimate with me. I'd go crazy living with you without being able to...be with you."

"Oh me too! Don't worry about that!" 

We laugh and kiss deeply, leading to loving and gentle anal sex that just makes me burst with pleasure. I could never leave this man!