110 comments/ 203810 views/ 30 favorites Her Blue Dodge Minivan Ch. 01 By: ohio [Author's note: This story is inspired in part by an incident from one of the many terrific stories by Harddaysknight. I hope he'll forgive me; after all, as Mark Twain should have said, "plagiarism is the sincerest form of flattery".] [Author's note #2: The continuation to this story will probably not appear right away.] * There are certainly lots of blue Dodge Grand Caravan minivans in the state of Ohio—probably thousands of them. But there's only one with the license plate RH-1016, and with a big sticker on the back that says "Chaminade Prep Hockey". That one belongs to my wife, Eileen. So why was it parked in the back lot of a Courtyard by Marriott in the suburbs of Dayton at 12:20pm on a Wednesday afternoon? I nearly didn't see her car. I was driving my truck around the motel towards the back service entrance; I work for a security-system company, and the manager had called in some sort of electrical problem. I'd never been out to this Marriott, so I was driving slowly, and I happened to glance over and see a car that looked all too familiar. I stopped suddenly, right in the middle of the parking lot, and wondered whether my lunch was going to come back up. I put the truck in Park and tried to think for a minute. Eileen worked for a real-estate firm in Dayton, and spent a lot of the day on the road showing properties to customers. But that didn't explain the Marriott. Her van was parked right in front of room 147, and right next to a flashy green Mercedes convertible that looked very familiar to me for some reason, though I couldn't recall why. There were only a handful of other cars in the whole lot, all parked in front of other rooms some distance away. So the only explanation for this that I could come up with was the one that was trying to bring my lunch back up. I pulled out my phone and called Eileen's cell, wondering if I'd hear her breathing heavily as she answered. Wondering if I'd go break down the door. Wondering if I'd kill her or her lover, and spend the next twenty years in jail. The phone went to voice-mail. Eileen simply NEVER turned off her phone during the work day—she didn't want to miss any chance of a call from a client. So that was more than a subtle clue. I looked again at the Mercedes, and thought about Brian Monteiro. He was the newest agent in Eileen's office, and she seemed to think he was sweet and funny. I found him smarmy and insincere, myself; plus he certainly wasn't shy about looking approvingly at Eileen. I had no reason beyond that to be suspicious, but....what the hell. I dialed her office and followed the phone-tree to Brian's direct line. "Brian Monteiro, how may I help you?" That was his oily voice, all right! I hung up. So my first thought was wrong. Eileen wasn't banging Brian Monteiro, at least not today. But she seemed to be banging somebody. My stomach calmed down a little. I realized that I was still pretty shocked. The anger and hurt were going to come later. I needed time to think, and I figured I might as well go do the job I was here for. When I got to the service entrance and the manager showed me the problem, I was able to take care of it in about eight minutes. A secondary relay, the kind that the manufacturer guarantees will never ever burn out, had burned out. I had several replacements in the truck, I popped one in and re-set the system, and I was done. All this time I'd been thinking about Eileen, of course, and I had an idea. "How would you like to save $168 on this service call?" I asked the manager. He was interested, of course. I explained what I had seen out back. "I'm not going to bust in or cause any trouble—I just want to know who's registered in room 147. Would you let your desk clerk check it for me?" Somewhat warily he agreed, and we walked up to the front desk. I showed the young man Eileen's picture and asked if he'd ever seen her or checked her into a room. He didn't recognize her. With the manager's approval, the clerk looked at the computer and found that room 147 was registered to Martin Netrebko. Now I knew why I knew the Mercedes! Martin and his wife Renata lived a couple of blocks away from us, and we'd met them a couple of times at neighborhood parties. "Can you check the computer and see if he's been here before?" I asked. After a minute, the clerk told me that Netrebko had taken a room five previous times in the last two months or so, always in the middle of the week, always on the first floor in the back. ******************** I went back to my truck and sat for a few minutes. By now the shock was wearing off, and the anger and hurt were coming on pretty hard. After 21 years of what I thought was a good, loving marriage—and a completely faithful one, on my side at least—learning that my wife was cuckolding me with some asshole from the neighborhood was a pretty bitter pill. Pounding on the door and catching them in the act didn't appeal to me much, after a few moments of consideration. It was too sudden, and not painful enough. I realized that what was making me the most angry right then was being deceived, being fooled by a woman whom I loved and completely trusted. And suddenly I wanted very much for her to know what it was like to feel jerked around. It was still only 12:55, and they'd presumably be there awhile. I parked my truck and went over to Eileen's minivan. Using the extra key I always had with me, I quietly backed her van out and re-parked it, three spaces away from Netrebko's Mercedes. I figured, if I moved it too far away, say eight or ten spaces, she'd know for sure, and guess that somehow I had been there. On the other hand, if I moved it only one space she might not notice, especially if Netrebko parked his car after she had already arrived. I wanted her to wonder—and worry. ******************** I called my dispatcher, told her I was getting sick—not far from the truth!—and took the afternoon off. I went and had a quiet beer, and found that the more I thought the angrier I got. Eileen and I had married at 22 and been pretty happy ever since. I certainly had been, and I think she would have said the same. We raised two twins, both hockey players (one of each: Emily and Frank), sent them off to college, and were now enjoying a quieter household once again. We'd been good friends and, I would have said, mostly satisfied lovers for those years too. Actually Eileen was always a bit more adventurous than I was. We both liked sex, but I would have been happy with just her and me in the bedroom—with an occasional trip to the kitchen table or the living room rug—in the usual six or eight positions we liked the most. Eileen liked all that, but she wanted to play, too. Over the years we tried a little bondage, she brought home a variety of dildos and vibrators we had great fun with, and we did a little role-playing: Eileen alone in a bar in a tight cocktail dress, men trying to pick her up, I come along pretending to be a stranger, and she goes off with me. That one really made her hot the few times we tried it (always when the kids were at the grandparents' or away at summer camp). We also had fun with her being in bed in the dark and me coming in and taking her forcefully, pretending to be a stranger. I liked that one—she absolutely loved it! But, fortunately, it wasn't always games. They were the occasional treat, and our usual love-making was intimate and loving. Maybe less exciting than it had been when we were first married, but pleasurable and satisfying for both us. (Or so I'd thought!) Once in awhile she wanted to go further than I liked, though, and I had to say No. Several times Eileen wanted to extend the "bar pick-up" game to letting some other guy come on to her, buy her a drink, even neck with her or feel her up before I would come along and rescue her. "C'mon, baby, it'll be a turn-on, you'll see!" That's what she said to me, the first and only time she talked me into trying it. I didn't believe her one bit, and I was right. I sat across the room at a table by myself, and let her have an hour while this greasy guy bought her drinks, got her to a booth in the back, and pawed at her chest. He may have gotten his fingers into her panties, too—I couldn't really see. I didn't get a hard-on, I didn't get excited, I just got angry. That was my wife! And so, not waiting for her signal, I walked straight over and said, "oh, there you are, honey! It's really late, we need to go." And I took her hand and dragged her straight out of the bar. All the way home Eileen sulked, and when we got there she blew up at me. "It was just a bit of flirting, Danny—why do you have to be such a stick-in-the-mud? I was having fun! It was exciting, feeling his hands on me and knowing he wanted me so badly! He was desperate for it, you know. And I was perfectly safe!" "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Eileen—but I didn't!" I snapped back at her. "Like all our games, we agreed that we'd do this only if it was fun for both of us. I HATED seeing another man touch you! It wasn't a turn-on for me, it was painful. And I don't want to try that again." It took us almost four days to get over that fight. And we never really worked through it, I realized later; we just both sort of agreed tacitly not to be mad anymore. We started being civil, and then affectionate, and then we got back to making love again. But something was left unresolved. The other big sex issue between us was swinging. About two years ago, around the time the twins were high-school seniors, a new couple moved in a few houses down from us and we became quite friendly with them. Dennis and Amy. Amy and Eileen became particularly close, and after a few months Eileen started telling me some of their secrets. "They're swingers, Danny, can you believe it? They go to these parties, I guess every month or so, and people just switch off and go at it!" I could tell right away that Eileen was tempted, and I wasted no time in making clear that I did not share her interest. "That's fine for them, honey. Different strokes, and all that. But I could never, ever, share you with another man. That doesn't seem sexy to me, just painful. You married a one-woman man, and I need you to be my one-man woman." She came over and hugged me, and told me I was sweet. But I could see the disappointment in her eyes. She would have loved to try one of those parties. Eileen brought it up only one other time, two or three months before the day I saw her minivan behind the Marriott. She was subtle about it--had a whole conversation about a lunch she'd had with Amy, where they'd gone shopping, and so on. But I could tell she was leading somewhere, and finally she got back to the swap-parties and how fabulous both Amy and Dennis thought they were. "Amy says that her sex with Dennis afterwards is like, super-charged! For weeks after a party they're just all over each other—it sounds incredible!" I smiled at Eileen, affectionately. "It sounds like you're leading up to asking me again, honey. And my answer is going to be the same. Screwing other women may be a nice fantasy, but I don't want to do it in real life. And the idea of you with another man is upsetting to me, not sexy." This time I went to her, and held her. "I want to be enough for you, all by myself." And she smiled at me, and hugged me back—but the same disappointment was there. And now it was two or three months later, and I was sitting in a bar wondering about the connection between that day and this one. ******************** Sitting over my second beer, I remembered a day about a month earlier that now—with the benefit of my new, unpleasant knowledge—seemed pretty strange. I'd dropped in to take Eileen out to lunch, and there on her desk was a bouquet of a dozen pink roses. I glanced at the note, which said, "From your Secret Admirer". "Beautiful flowers, honey—do I have something to worry about?" I said with a smile. She kind of stumbled in answering me. "No, Danny, they're...they were from a client. He...you remember that big house on Glen Terrace Road? Well, we were able to get it cheaper than we thought, and he was very grateful." By then she'd recovered herself, and she went on. "Believe me, the money I saved him and his wife will pay for that bouquet many times over!" That was the end of that—she got her coat, and off we went to lunch. But in thinking about it now, I realized that she'd been slightly strange, slightly tentative, the whole time we were together. A little worried, maybe. Now I pulled out my phone and called the receptionist at the agency. Julianne was a middle-aged lady who had known Eileen and me for years, and we always joked around together. I asked her if Eileen was in, and when Julianne told me she was out showing a house I went on to my real business. "Julianne, you remember those beautiful pink roses that somebody sent Eileen last month some time? Do you know where they came from? I'd love to send her some myself." Her response surprised me. "Actually, Danny, there have been three bouquets like that—all the same, pink roses. And each one with the same note, about the "Secret Admirer". I'm pretty sure they were from Hawthorne Florists on Tenth—do you want me to check?" "Oh, no, don't bother. But do me a favor—whatever you do, if more bouquets come don't let on that they're from me, all right?" Julianne agreed and we hung up. I called Hawthorne and ordered four bouquets of pink roses to be delivered, the first one the next day and then at two-day intervals, each signed "From your Secret Admirer". Let Eileen stew on that one! ******************** One more thing to do before facing my cheating bitch of a wife. I called my oldest friend from high school, Raymond Notisar, who also happened to be my doctor. After what was surely one of the strangest conversations a doctor and patient had ever had, he agreed to call in the prescription I wanted. "Now this stuff is reversible, right Ray?" "Absolutely—once it's 24 hours out of your system you'll be good to go again. And Danny—I really am sorry about Eileen. I hope that somehow it'll work out..." "I don't see how, Ray, but thanks." I picked up the prescription and headed home to cook dinner. ******************** At six pm I was chopping onions and sauteeing chicken breasts in the kitchen, waiting for Eileen to come in. It had been a strange afternoon emotionally, to say the least. At first I'd been shocked, and then deeply hurt and angry. But as I'd made my plans my anger had turned into a kind of manic glee. The woman I loved had cheated on me; she'd deceived me; she'd made me into a fool, a cuckold. And I had every intention of returning the pain with interest! I was more than ready to be just as dishonest, just as dissembling as she had been. When Eileen came into the house and put her purse down, I smiled warmly, watching her very carefully. She tried to smile, but her face and manner were filled with caution, even confusion. It was incredibly obvious: did I know, or not? Was she totally dead, or had she somehow dodged the bullet? I wasn't going to give a thing away! "Hi sweetie, how was your day?" I came over and gave her exactly the usual hug and kiss, neither more nor less. She smelled fresh and clean—obviously she'd showered at the motel, and her shampoo was one I'd never smelled on her before. A little something for me to keep in mind! I then casually turned back to my dinner preparations—all the time watching out of the corner of my eye. She was pale, and wary, but she made an obvious attempt to pull herself together. "Oh, okay—just long. You remember that house on North Wagner? Well, now the wife isn't so sure she's ready to sell! I spent over an hour with her on the phone!" I let her go on with her story for awhile, watching her relax, while I finished up the cooking and brought the food to the table. As we ate I said, "so, nothing else special today? You didn't go anyplace new or out of the ordinary?" Her eyes darted to my face, and her fork stopped halfway to her mouth. It was just a second, and then she recovered herself. "No, just the usual driving around. How about you?" "No," I lied, "not a single repair call I hadn't done before. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but once in a while a problem I've never seen before might be fun." She sighed to herself, and steered the conversation to a far safer subject: the kids. They were sophomores, both at Middlebury College in Vermont—they'd surprised us by wanting to be at the same school—and both were among the leaders on their hockey teams. In their spare time they appeared to be doing a little bit of studying, too! It was a happy subject, and I found myself warming to Eileen and our shared pride in our wonderful children. Until I remembered what she'd been doing that afternoon, and I had to restrain myself from jumping up and leaving the room. I managed to keep smiling throughout the evening, keeping everything normal, and waiting for the grand finale. I figured that Eileen would certainly want to make love—to reassure herself that we were all right, to reassure me, just to make sure that things were normal. That was the reason for my prescription, which I hid carefully behind a beam in my basement workroom. Raymond had told me, "30 minutes after you take it, you'll be all set—no erection. Not a chance of one, I don't care if twin 18-year old pornstars do a striptease in your bedroom!" Just to be sure, though, I took the pill at 10 pm and promptly had a shower, where I jacked off to visions of Eileen's younger sister Diana (not quite as busty as Eileen but still very sexy—and she loved to flirt with me when she visited, too). So at 10:45 when I climbed into bed, and Eileen put down her book and snuggled up to me, I was ready for action! Or, rather, for non-action. Sure enough, Eileen suggested that we have some bedroom fun, and I pretended to be enthusiastic, hiding the rage I felt at going anywhere near that pussy which had been so recently filled by Martin Netrebko! We kissed and cuddled and stroked; but there was no action below the Mason-Dixon line, as Eileen once whimsically put it. I claimed to be baffled, and she tried harder: she slid down and sucked me, caressed my balls, ran her hands over my chest and nipples, came back up and slid her big breasts all over my face, murmured dirty words to me, French-kissed me passionately. In short, she did all the things that usually would have me rock-hard within a couple of minutes—but nothing doing. I loved every minute of it! Not just the pleasure, but Eileen's frustration and concern. She kept looking up at me, wondering what on earth the problem was. (This was not something that had happened to me before.) I kept saying I didn't know, maybe I was just tired, but it sure felt good, and sorry, but could she try a little longer? After about twenty-five minutes she finally gave up, nearly in tears. Pretending to be distressed myself, I apologized again, and said, "do you want me to...do something for you, honey?" But by then she was far too upset to feel sexy, and we quietly went to sleep. I know Eileen was worried and frightened, and it took her a long time to fall asleep. I wasn't exactly HAPPY—how could I be, after what I'd learned that day? But at least I was beginning to feel like the shit that had hit the fan was beginning to fly in the other direction. ******************** The campaign continued for the next several days, and I tried to make sure that each new day had its terrors for my straying cunt of a wife. On Thursday just before lunch I checked with Julianne that my flowers had arrived; then in the early afternoon I went over to see Eileen "just to say hello" with a bouquet of my own, blue irises that I knew she liked. "Hi babe," I said, strolling into the office. "I just brought you these, and...whoa, I see your 'secret admirer' isn't giving up! Are those pink ones from that same client over on wherever it was, Glen Terrace?" Her Blue Dodge Minivan Ch. 01 She just stared at me for a moment, and then a deep red blush covered her face. Quickly turning away from me as if needing to reach into her handbag for something, she said, "yeah, they just came a little while ago. I guess I need to tell him to stop thanking me, or my husband will get jealous!" She turned back to me and tried a little laugh, but it was deeply unconvincing. I looked at her for a few moments, enjoying her terrible discomfort. "No," I finally said. "You know that I trust you, sweetheart. And anyway, didn't you tell me he was about 75, and married?" She tried to pull herself together, and extend the joke. "Yeah, but he keeps himself in pretty good shape, Danny. I think you'd better watch your back!" I pretended to chuckle at that, and watched her try to laugh along with me, as I gave her a kiss on the cheek and headed back to work. That night and the next we had a repeat of our "erectile dysfunction" problem, and Eileen grew more and more concerned. I acted apologetic and confused, continuing to say I had no idea what was wrong. On Friday she even put on her sexiest nightgown, turned on some music and stripped for me—but of course, nothing, thanks to the miracles of modern pharmaceuticals! Again I offered her relief with my hands or my lips, but she was too upset. She did make me promise to call Ray the next day and make an appointment—and I agreed, all the while laughing to myself. On Saturday I casually said, "oh, Eileen, I meant to ask you—what was that new shampoo you used the other day, I think it was Wednesday? It smelled great! I checked the bottles in the shower, but none of them smell like that." Her face froze. Then, faster than I would have given credit for, she came up with something. She pretended to look puzzled for a moment, and said, "oh, that must have been a free sample of something that came in the mail. Herbal Essence, maybe? If you like it, I'll try to find it at the store." Bravo, Eileen, I thought. As lies go that was not bad—and pretty quick. But I could see her watching me with worry in her eyes. The next few days were worse and worse—mostly for Eileen, but they weren't any picnic for me either. She grew steadily more nervous and jumpy around me. She was obviously terrified that I maybe knew something, but showed no inclination to raise the issue in conversation. She seemed to be hoping desperately that the "ostrich strategy" would somehow work, and that whatever was going on would blow over. And she wasn't SURE I knew—after all, I was continuing to be (or pretend to be) as affable and affectionate as ever. But on Monday, and then again on Wednesday, she got those damn pink roses! And I'll bet she called Martin and told him to lay off—and then was stunned to hear that he wasn't the one sending them. The look she gave me coming in the door at dinner on Wednesday made me virtually sure she was going to confess, or at least ask me what was going on with me—but then she turned away from me and the moment passed. Our sex life continued to concern her. For two nights Eileen and I skipped any mention of making love, and then Monday at dinner I told her I'd seen Ray for an exam and he hadn't found anything wrong. "He ran some blood work, just to be sure—but he said it sounds like I'm just tired. 'You're not as young as you used to be', and all that crap." Then I laughed. "Ray said to tell you that if you're really missing it, he could give you an hour or two of loving sometime this week!" I enjoyed watching Eileen's face as she scrambled for a suitably lighthearted reply, without much success. Tuesday and Wednesday night we tried again, with the same result. And after I pretended to fall asleep Wednesday I smiled to myself, listening to the faint hum of the vibrator in the guestroom, where Eileen had quietly sneaked to get herself off. From two guys' cocks she was now down to only one, or probably none (if as I suspected she was cooling it with Netrebko, at least for the moment). But as much as I was enjoying seeing Eileen suffer, I wasn't much better off. I was living in a house with the woman I'd loved all my life; and I knew she'd shat on me, lied to me and cheated on me with some jerkoff from the neighborhood, and I was sitting there and taking it. Yes, I was making her miserable—but it hardly made me any happier. On Friday I sprang what I hoped would be the ultimate sting. If Eileen didn't crack in the face of this one, I was just going to tell her what I knew and throw her cheating ass out of the house. I made a point of going to the grocery store on the way home, and as we were making dinner together I said casually, "oh by the way, honey, I hope you won't mind but I sort of committed us to a little barbecue tomorrow night." She looked interested. "That sounds okay—who did you invite?" "Renata and Martin Netrebko, from over on Walnut," I said casually, and I watched her eyes widen in shock. She quickly moved away from me to set the table, so I couldn't see her face. Finally she was able to say, "oh really? We hardly know them." "I know," I said, "but I ran into Renata at the store today. We were having a casual conversation, you know, the usual stuff, and I was telling her about our gas grill. She mentioned that Martin is really eager to buy a new one, and I thought it would be nice to invite them over, cook some steaks, and let him take a look at it. Could you throw some rice and vegetables together? Renata said they'd bring dessert." I turned and looked again at Eileen, whose face was nearly grey with anxiety. It was clear she had absolutely no idea how to get out of this one. "Weren't we going to do something with Dennis and Amy tomorrow night?" she asked somewhat desperately. "Oh," I said airily, "Amy left a message earlier saying they had to see her parents, and wondering about lunch on Sunday. So we should be fine." It seemed like this harpoon had finally gone deep. Eileen was practically mute all through dinner, despite my seemingly innocent attempts to keep a conversation going. I twice asked her what was wrong, and she said that her stomach was a little upset. I wondered if she'd sneak off to the phone and try to cancel my made-up "invitation", but I watched her pretty closely all evening. That night, far from trying again to seduce me, she went to bed an hour earlier than usual, and was pretending to sleep when I came into the room. I woke up once in the night, at around 2 am, and heard her crying quietly downstairs. ******************** I deliberately let myself sleep nice and late on Saturday morning, eventually showering and coming down around 10 am. Eileen had made a beautiful breakfast and was keeping it warm for me. She looked like a wreck—tangled hair, red eyes with deep circles. Clearly she hadn't had much sleep, and equally clearly she was beside herself. "Good morning, babe," I boomed cheerfully, and she positively cringed. "This looks like a great breakfast—thank you!" I went on, all innocence. Then, looking at her more closely, "honey, are you all right? Have you been crying?" The moment of truth. There was a long, long silence, while I looked at her in apparent sympathy and concern and she regarded me with doleful eyes. I expected to see her burst into tears, but she didn't. Instead, she got up and moved to the other side of the kitchen, putting her back against the counter as if to get as far from me as possible. "Danny," she began in a strained voice. "I've done something terrible. Something awful. And there's no excuse, and no way I can make it better, and I'm terrified of what you'll do." I pretended to look blank, and confused. No fucking way I was making this any easier for her! "I love you," she went on. "You're the only man I've ever loved, and you mean more to me now than ever, and that's what makes this so unforgivable." I let my face look concerned now. "Babe? What is this...?" She covered her face with her hands. In a quiet voice she said, "I cheated on you. I had an affair...with Martin Netrebko. It's over now, but I did it." More silence. OK, Danny, I thought, you got what you wanted—she confessed—so now what? I just looked at her, standing there in her blue terrycloth bathrobe, her dark hair jumbled and tangled around her head, her face still buried in her hands. The woman I'd shared my life with, shared everything with. And I felt the anger flow back into me, the anger I'd kept so carefully bottled-up during the past two weeks. I could have killed her with my bare hands. I could have torn the robe off her, thrown her down on the table, and pounded her ass with my belt until she screamed. I could have opened the basement door and hurled her down the steps face-first. I could have gotten two inches from her face and yelled at her until she cried out in terror. "You cheated on me," I finally said, in a choked voice. I hadn't moved. I realized much later that I probably was acting at that moment as though I didn't already know the truth. "You fucking CHEATED on me? With that asshole? Why? What's so special about him? Do you love him? Did you suddenly decide old Danny just wasn't getting it done in the saddle? What?" My last few questions came out as shouts, and I watched her cringe back against the counter. "No, Danny, no! I don't love him, I don't even particularly like him! And it wasn't you, it was...shit, there's no reason for it. I was thinking with my, with my cunt, that's all. I did something stupid, and selfish, and awful. "And I'd cut my own arms off to take it back, and that's the truth. All I want is to wake up and find out that this is a nightmare, that it never really happened, and that I'm safe at home in bed with you." Another long silence. It was kind of a shame I hadn't eaten that nice breakfast, because I certainly didn't have any appetite any more. I sat, and she stood. I looked at her, and she mostly looked down at the floor. And I felt the anger swirl through me, the blinding rage, making my heart pump, making my fists clench and my leg muscles tremble. And we stayed that way in silence; it must have been ten minutes or more. I'd been planning for this moment for nearly two weeks, and now I didn't know what to do with it. I was glad she'd told me, though I didn't really see why it made a fucking bit of difference—I'd pretty well tortured her into it, after all. I finally realized that my pulse rate had slowed and my clenched fists had relaxed; adrenalin doesn't stay in the system forever, I guess. Time to say something. "Okay, what now, Eileen? What have you got planned next? 'I'm sorry, honey—my bad, it was a terrible mistake, please forgive me'? And I'm supposed to sulk for a few days, like you spent too much on a dress or crashed the car, and then everything is just fine again? She surprised me then, by suddenly starting to sob. "No, Danny—I have no idea what happens now! All I can think about is how I would feel if it had been...if you had done this, what I would be feeling! Whether I could ever look at you again, or stand to let you touch me!" Her crying overwhelmed her then, and I just listened to her as she wept. "I don't know if our marriage is over," she said finally, sniffling. "I don't know if you're going to throw me out, or whether I'd do that to you if the tables were turned. "But I do know that I love you, and that I'm sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry! And I'll do anything you say, anything, to try to make this up to you." She was crying hard again, and it was difficult to hear the words. "I want you to love me! I want it to be like...like this never happened!" I sat stonily, thinking, 'well, not much chance of that, is there?' After another five minutes of silence I said, "go get cleaned up and get dressed. Be down here in fifteen minutes, we're going for a ride." She looked at me anxiously but obeyed without a word, and I listlessly picked at my breakfast until she came down again. She'd combed her hair, washed her face, and put on a sweatshirt and jeans, but she still looked pretty worn. We got into the car without a word and I drove straight over to Walnut Street, parking in the Netrebkos' driveway. Eileen looked at me in alarm and said, "Danny, what...?" "Shut up," I said. "Half an hour ago you said, 'I'll do anything you say to try to make this up to you'. Well, that starts now." I dragged Eileen by the wrist to the front door and pressed the bell. After a moment Renata came to the door and smiled at us, looking slightly confused but welcoming. "Hi Renata, is Martin here? We need to speak to the two of you for a moment." She politely led us into the living room and went to get her husband. As he entered the room his face blanched with alarm at the sight of Eileen with me next to her, both of us looking grim. I gave him no time to interfere. "Eileen, please tell Renata what you told me this morning." Looking down at the floor, Eileen said, "Renata, I...I had an affair with your husband. We saw each other...about six times. It's over now. I'm so sorry." Renata snarled at her husband, but her words came as a shock to me. "So fucking her at the swing party wasn't enough, you son-of-a-bitch? You had to go off and play your own little private games as well? Despite what we've always agreed?" I turned and stared at Eileen, but she was looking straight down and avoiding my furious gaze. I saw Renata grab a sofa cushion, whack her husband hard in the head with it, then toss it away and stalk out of the room. That left Martin and us. He looked a little dazed, clearly not knowing the proper etiquette for this situation. "I, uh, I'm sorry, Danny...I guess I owe you an explanation..." I let him trail off, clearly at a loss how to continue. Then I stepped forward and hit him hard in the belly with my left hand, doubling him over. I followed that with a right hand to his temple; that knocked him flat on his back. Standing over him, I put one foot on his chest to keep him in place; then I unzipped my pants and slowly, leisurely, pissed all over his face and chest. He covered his face with his hands, but otherwise made no attempt to get away. When I was done I zipped up, turned to Eileen, who was regarding me with horror, and without another word led her back out to the car. "Danny, I..." "Shut up." "But you need to..." "I said shut up. I'm not interested in anything you have to say." We drove for about fifteen minutes, Eileen staring unhappily out the window, neither of us saying a word. When I pulled the car to the curb and said, "out," she looked up in alarm. We were in front of her parents' house. "What? Danny, you..." "Out. This is where you get off, Eileen." "But Danny, what am I..." "Not my problem, Eileen. They're your parents, they love you. But right now I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't even want to smell you. So unless you want to be dropped off at a motel or the bus station, I'm leaving you here. Out." She stared at me, the tears beginning to flow again. Then she silently got out of the car and trudged up the front walk. Before she rang the bell it looked like she turned back to me to say something, maybe "I'm so sorry." But by then I was driving away. Her Blue Dodge Minivan Ch. 02 [Author's Note: It's been a long time since I posted Ch. 1 of this story. Sometimes things happen: a child gets sick; a house catches on fire; a spouse loses a job; an elderly relative gets pneumonia. That's life.] I was thinking with my cunt. That's what kept running through my mind. "I guess I was thinking with my, my cunt," I said to Alex. Alexandra Pearson regarded me neutrally. This was our fourth counseling session. It had been three weeks since I told Danny about my affair with Martin Netrebko, three weeks since he'd thrown me out and left me at my parents' house. They were angry and disappointed with me, to say the least, but they were letting me stay there for the time being. I'd been back to the house a few times to get clothes and things, always when Danny was at work. We'd only spoken two or three times, on the phone. He was cold, distant, always eager to end the conversation. When I told him I found a counselor and wondered if he'd be willing to come with me, he said, "no way. I'm not the one who ran around on you, who destroyed our marriage. This was your fuck-up, Eileen, you go see if you can figure out why you did it. Without me." So I'd been seeing Alex alone, twice a week. And for four sessions she'd pretty much listened carefully, without saying too much. Letting me tell her why I was there, what I had done, about Danny's and my marriage, and so on. "People don't think with their cunts, Eileen," she said now, a little pointedly. "We use our brains. "I'm not saying that sexual desire doesn't affect our behavior—of course it does. But you've had a good marriage for 21 years. A good, faithful marriage, and a sexually satisfying one for the most part too, from what you've told me. "So it wasn't your cunt that made you risk all that, it was your brain. It was a decision you made, or a series of decisions." I nodded, a bit chastened, and we sat a moment in silence. "When would you say you started disrespecting your husband? Or is it more the case that you've never respected Danny, at least not completely?" "Of course I respect him!" I said hotly, feeling my face flush. "I respect him and I love him—totally." "Eileen," she said, looking impatient. "You've told me all about the sex games you and he have played together. According to your own words, Danny made very clear that the fun stopped for him when any other man started to be part of the picture. He didn't like you being groped in the bar, right? "And he was very very clear with you, on two occasions, that he didn't want to get involved with swinging. "So, tell me how I'm wrong here. You went secretly to a swinging party behind his back, right? You said you had sex with three men there, including Martin Netrebko. And then you went on to have an affair with Martin that lasted two more months, until you began to think that Danny suspected something. Is that about right?" I nodded unhappily. I couldn't really disagree with a word she said. "The issue is respect, Eileen, pure and simple. Danny made his wishes very clear, and you didn't respect him enough to honor them. So I repeat my question: when did you start not respecting him?" She was right, and I had to think about it. "I guess...that it started when I became friendly with Dennis and Amy—Amy in particular. She's about five years younger than I am, and really sexy and pretty, and so bubbly. She always seems like she's having the best time! And she used to go on and on about sex with Dennis, how great it was, and how much swinging had enlivened their sex lives with each other. "And I tried to get Danny interested in checking it out, but he just shot me right down—it frustrated me! He wouldn't even really discuss it. "And then there was that weekend Danny had to be in Chicago two nights for a training seminar, and when Amy called and told me about the party, I guess.... "I guess I just thought, 'to hell with Danny, what he doesn't know won't hurt him, I'm just going to try this once!' " We sat some more. Then Alex said, "can you honestly claim that your decision was based on sexual dissatisfaction? Were you not getting what you needed from Danny?" "No," I shook my head morosely. "I love sex with Danny. It's not as exciting as it once was, after 20 years, but he's a great lover—energetic and sensitive, eager to please me. And he's perfectly willing to play games, and try fantasies. He just...doesn't want other men involved, or other women." "Plus," Alex said more gently, "even if you WERE dissatisfied, you would have owed it to Danny to talk with him about it, not to go find a solution with someone else behind his back." At this point I burst into tears. Alex wasn't so much saying anything I didn't know, as making all too clear to me how stupid and selfish I had been. I'd given her the rope, she was just showing me the noose. She waited patiently until I calmed down a bit, and then said, "Eileen, I think it's time you told me about the party. Why you really went, and what happened there." ******************** I sighed, and then I told her all about it. Dennis and Amy had been urging me to come with them for months, and I'd been resisting. But that weekend, with Danny away, I just gave in. Their descriptions sounded so hot! And they kept telling me how swinging had revitalized their own sex life, which sounded terrific to me. I made them swear an oath on their lives that Danny would never know. And they told me that everyone in the group was incredibly discreet—they all had too much to lose if word of their behavior got out. The ground rules were simple. The parties were for couples, but an occasional single was allowed if sponsored by one of the regulars. Everyone took off their clothes at the start of the night and wore thin robes that were provided by the hosts. Condoms were required for all vaginal or anal sex with anyone but your spouse—no exceptions. And there were no other prohibitions, except no one could be made to do anything against their will. When we got there I was incredibly nervous, but also excited. We went and changed into our robes, and when we came into the living room there were lots of people milling around, many of them with robes wide open. I saw more naked cocks in the first five minutes than I'd seen in my entire life! And women with their breasts showing, and even a threesome already fucking on one of the sofas. It was an incredible turn-on just watching, which I did for a few minutes while Dennis brought me and Amy drinks. She kept whispering to me about the men, which ones were well-endowed or had terrific stamina. Then she shocked me! She said, "I hope you'll let Dennis be your first—he's been having the hottest fantasies about you ever since we first met!" I hadn't imagined that I would...do it with Dennis, but didn't know how to say No without being rude, and a few minutes later Dennis took my hand and led me to one of the private bedrooms. He was terrible! Amy had gone on and on about what a great lover he was, but it was awful. I was excited but nervous, and he didn't show any patience. We got our robes off and lay down, and he just pawed and slobbered over my tits for a couple of minutes, then he put on a condom, pushed my legs apart and got on top of me. He has a very thick cock, not as long as Danny's but much wider. I guess he thinks that makes him a stud, because he didn't try anything to please me. Once Dennis got inside me he just pumped away, metronomically, never changing pace or angle or even really paying attention to me. I was just providing a pussy he could masturbate in. After a few minutes I realized I wasn't even excited any more, just bored; and then he sped up and came into me, grunting like an animal. "God, Eileen, that was fantastic!" he said, smiling at me. "I've wanted to fuck you forever, and I can hardly wait to do it again!" I couldn't believe it—he thought that had been great! I just smiled at him and said, "me too, but right now I just want to circulate, and see what else is going on." Anything to get away from him! For the rest of the party I avoided Dennis, though I saw him screwing a couple of other women. I had another drink and just wandered around, finding that watching strangers have sex in public was very weird but very exciting, too. I was watching a brunette with big fake tits getting fucked from behind by a fat guy, her body bent over a chair, when Martin Netrebko came and stood next to me and smiled. I recognized him from the neighborhood; we had met a couple of times at picnics. We just watched together for a minute, and he started to stroke my back gently through my robe. It felt really good, and I relaxed against him. After a few minutes I felt ready to go again. I started rubbing his back too, and sliding my hand down to his butt. He quickly got the message, and invited me into one of the bedrooms. Unlike Dennis, Martin was terrific! He took his time with foreplay, using his hands and his lips, caressing my breasts and then eating me out until I came like crazy. Then when we fucked he had a lot of stamina, and lasted until I had come two more times. We did it missionary, and then doggie, which I adore. It was as good as sex with Danny sometimes is. We lay together for a little while, just cuddling, and I told him how much I enjoyed it. Then we got our robes and went back to the party. I had another couple of drinks, watched some more, and eventually did it one more time, with a tall black man named Earl. Frankly, I was curious about black men, having never been with one. It was OK but nothing special, and by then I was kind of tired. I went and found Amy, who was lying on a sofa on her side with a guy's cock in her mouth while another guy humped into her from behind, and waited until she was done. Then we found Dennis and they took me home. It was nearly 4 am, and I collapsed into bed and didn't get up until about 1 the next afternoon. When I got up I felt a little sore, but really good, too. I'd been a swinger, for the first time! Seeing all those strange cocks, and having fucked someone besides my husband for the first time in 20 years, was a turn-on even to think about again. I knew it was wrong, and I felt kind of guilty. But I also knew that Danny would never find out, and I felt like now that I had tried it I didn't need to do it ever again—that itch had been scratched. When Danny got home really late on Sunday he came to bed very quietly, so as not to wake me. But I was so eager to see him that I attacked him! I was still feeling sexed-up, and to his delight we made feverish love for nearly an hour. I don't know if it was guilt or excitement or gratitude for having him—but whatever it was, the sex was fantastic that night. Best of all, the next day we both went off to work just glowing—very happy, very much in love. And I was so relieved that my little ... escapade hadn't hurt us at all. ******************** I sat back and waited for Alex to speak. She'd been listening attentively, and now she said, "and the affair with Martin?" I shook my head. "I know, I know.... I was such a fucking IDIOT! I'd gotten away with the swing party, and I had to go and press my luck...." "All that week I'd been feeling terrific. Danny and I were making love nearly every night, and it was as good as it had ever been. I had those sexy memories to tease myself with, and there was something so hot about having those secrets all to myself. Everything was perfect: I'd gotten to try swinging, I'd had one terrific fuck, Danny never suspected anything, and he and I were great. "I never would have done anything about Martin, though I did think about him. He had been a very good lover, the highlight of the party for me. But about ten days later he called and asked me to have lunch with him. "I knew it wasn't a good idea, so I refused. But he was patient and gentle, and kept teasing me, saying it was only lunch. After about five minutes, I agreed. I told myself I'd only flirt with him, and we both could enjoy the memory of what we'd done." I stopped talking, suddenly struck by a thought. "I guess I can see now what I was doing, Alex. You asked me about disrespecting my husband. As happy as I was that he never knew about the swing party, I think it also made me feel a little scornful—like, 'see what I can pull behind your back?' I got away with something, like a naughty kid, and maybe it made me feel like I could get away with more. Or even that since Danny hadn't figured out what I'd been up to, I respected him a bit less. "Anyway, when Martin and I had lunch we flirted a lot, and at the end of the meal when he asked me to spend the afternoon with him I didn't totally shut him down. I said No, I couldn't, I had appointments that day, but I didn't say I wouldn't ever do it. "So the next week we had lunch again, this time in the restaurant of a Marriott out in the suburbs. He made sure that we had a drink to start, and shared a bottle of wine. And afterwards when he told me he had a room, I just...went with him. "We did it all afternoon—twice in bed, and then once in the shower while we were cleaning up. And it was just like the party: Martin is gentle and takes his time, making sure that I'm plenty turned-on. It wasn't as terrific as the first time, maybe, but still mighty nice." I felt the tears coming to my eyes, and tried to blink them away. "And the part I'm ashamed of is how I kept thinking of Danny. As Martin and I...fucked, I kept seeing Danny in my mind, and feeling so incredibly excited that I was doing this behind his back. That I was doing something so...so fun, so dangerous, something he'd be furious about. And he'd never know. "I swear, thinking about hiding this was what made the sex so great. "The worst time for me was that afternoon, at home, the last hour before Danny got home for dinner. I'd cleaned myself up and washed my clothes, done everything to be absolutely sure there was no trace of sex on me. And I felt that wonderful after-sex glow, you know? That terrific feeling of well-being! "But at the same time I felt guilty as hell. A swing party was one thing, even though I knew Danny would have been very angry. But an affair? Meeting another man for sex in a motel? I knew I'd crossed a scary line, and I didn't understand how I could let myself do that. I still don't, I guess. "Anyway, I tried with all my might to be normal to Danny that night: affectionate, cheerful, but not too much, nothing out of the ordinary. And thank God, I got away with it! We had a typical evening together; we didn't make love but that was fine with me, I'd had enough for one day. But the next night we did, and it was as good as it ever is." I paused for a moment, thinking. "I guess you can figure out the rest. I told myself 'That's it, never again, consider yourself lucky you got away with it, don't press your luck'. And I said No to Martin's next two invitations, even after he sent me some beautiful flowers at work with a note from 'Your Secret Admirer'. "But after a couple more weeks, when Martin kept calling, I just didn't see why not. I mean, things with Danny were great, he didn't suspect a thing, why not have a little more fun with Martin? I knew it was just sex, it didn't threaten my marriage, and Martin felt exactly the same way. We even talked about it once. "So I...met him a few more times, had a few more afternoons at the Marriott with him. The sex got a lot less fun, actually. Once I got used to how Martin liked to do it, it wasn't such a turn-on. And as a person he didn't interest me, unlike Danny, so when we were done I just felt like getting out of there. "I knew it was going to burn out soon, and that was actually fine with me. The magic and fun of the secrecy were pretty much gone. And then..." I stopped suddenly, and began to cry quietly. "And then...Danny started playing his tricks. Like I told you, he must have moved my car, and I wasn't sure whether it had been moved. And then he stopped being able to, to get an erection. At first I was afraid he was sick; then I didn't know WHAT to think. "But I was terrified. I didn't see how he could know anything, and he was still acting nice and affectionate. But something was different, and I was scared to death. I called Martin and told him we were finished, and then I just hung on and prayed and hoped that nothing more would happen. "But Danny kept doing things, like I told you back in our first session—bringing me flowers and seeing the ones from Martin, or asking me about my different shampoo. And then when he told me he'd invited the Netrebkos over for dinner...." I cried for a few minutes; then I took out a tissue and blew my nose loudly. "At the time I just thought it was a horrible, unlucky coincidence. But now I'm pretty sure he did it on purpose—he must have found out somehow and was determined to torture me until I confessed. And I did..." ******************** Three more weeks went by. I kept seeing Alex, and getting a fuller understanding of how completely I had destroyed my marriage. Each one of my rationalizations, each attempt to justify or minimize my behavior, utterly fell apart as I examined it more closely. What I was left with was how badly, how monstrously I had screwed up. I realized that I had to move forward, somehow. For one thing I had to get out of my parents' house. I cried for two days at the thought of finding an apartment, because it felt like the end of my marriage, as big a symbol of "the end" as a divorce decree. Before I actually moved out, I left a note at the house for Danny in which I begged him to see me one more time, just to talk. I waited two days, then called him, and he reluctantly agreed to talk to me. It was a disaster! It was the most painful hour of my life, even worse than the morning I confessed to him. We sat in the kitchen, over coffee, and he looked at me silently and coldly as I told him the whole story, all the details that I'd been over with Alex. I didn't spell out everything about the sex, but I made clear that Martin had been a good lover (as opposed to Dennis and the other guy), which is why I'd allowed myself to keep seeing him. "Alex helped me see what I've done, Danny. This is the truth: I knew it was wrong, I knew it was awful, but I didn't fully understand what I'd done. Now I do. "I've disrespected you, in a way that's completely unacceptable for any wife to do. I knew how you felt about the idea of me with another man, I wasn't happy with your position, and I simply went behind your back. "There aren't any words I can offer that make up for what I've done. There isn't anything worse I could have done to us, and it was entirely my doing. I would give anything I have to undo it, but I can't. All I can do is throw myself on your mercy—and tell you that I understand how horribly I've behaved. "I'm begging you to give me another chance; and I SWEAR to you that I will earn back your trust and respect again, if it takes me 20 years. Just, please, give me the chance!" I'd been crying during a lot of this conversation, and my words didn't come out as smoothly as I've written them. Danny didn't say anything until it was obvious that I was finished. His face was calm and neutral, though listening to my story of the swing party and the affair with Martin must have hurt him all over again. What was awful is that he never got angry, never raised his voice. Everything he said came out cool, and distant. "Thanks for telling me the story, Eileen. It wasn't any fun to hear, but I've been curious for weeks about exactly what went on. "But I don't see how hearing it changes anything. I understand what you've said, and perhaps I even understand your behavior a bit better—but you still went behind my back to that party, you still cheated on me and lied to me and disrespected me, you still had the affair with that asshole. Her Blue Dodge Minivan Ch. 02 "I haven't stopped loving you, and I miss you very much. But it doesn't feel as though anything is different, at least not yet. I'm still absolutely furious with you, and I still don't want you around. If you thought this talk would end with me asking you to come home, you can forget it." All this was said in such a matter-of-fact way, it was chilling. In the six weeks since he'd thrown me out, his white-hot rage had changed into something even more scary, a kind of grim determination. I cried some more, trying not to make too much noise. Finally I calmed down a little, and I sort of whispered, "will you at least...think about it?" He looked at me for a long time, coolly, as though I were some sort of unpleasant object unexpectedly in his path. Then he got up to put our coffee cups in the sink. Without turning back to look at me he said, "yeah, I'll think about it." That was clearly my dismissal. I managed to make it back out to my car without breaking down completely, but once I was behind the wheel I just lost it. I sat and sobbed for twenty minutes. I don't think Danny saw me—he'd gone back into the house and closed the door. Her Blue Dodge Minivan Ch. 03 Whoever came up with the phrase "life goes on" certainly has a point. No matter what you're dealing with, life does go on. The trouble, however, is that life doesn't necessarily go on very well, or in a way you want it to—nor does life tell you what you should do next. My two choices were apparent from the moment I spotted Eileen's minivan parked next to Martin Netrebko's Mercedes at the back of the Courtyard by Marriott: 1) throw her cheating ass out of my house and get a divorce; 2) find a way to forgive what she did, and work on rebuilding the marriage. Of course, at the time I wasn't thinking clearly enough to see that those were really the only two choices. All that was on my mind was my rage and hurt, which led quickly to a determination that I would get my revenge (or some of it) by putting her through hell. I did that, and I don't regret it a bit. There was certainly some satisfaction at seeing her suffer, seeing her full of worry and fear for more than a week, as she wondered whether I knew about her affair. And it felt pretty good to knock Netrebko down and piss all over him—at least it felt pretty good for a few minutes. But neither of those things "made it all better"—and now, more than eight weeks later, it was clear that there wasn't anything that would make it all better. There was only a choice between two unappealing alternatives. For two months I'd kept myself busy at work, spent time with my work friends, done some fix-ups around the house, and tried not to dwell on how empty my house and life were without Eileen. I had always done a lot of the cooking and marketing, so feeding myself was not a problem. And it wasn't all that hard to learn how to do the laundry. What I hoped was that time would help me find a way towards understanding what I wanted. But the trouble was that missing Eileen and being furious at her were so tightly entangled that I couldn't separate them, nor could I see which feeling was stronger, which voice needed to be listened to. I spoke to her as little as possible—a few brief telephone calls. After six weeks she begged me to give her a chance to explain things, so I let her come over and tell me the whole fucking story, no pun intended. Hearing it answered some of my questions—now I knew how the affair had started, and what Dennis and Amy's role had been. But it didn't bring me a bit closer to a decision. I did have some helpful bits of information. Eileen still loved me, and she didn't love Netrebko in the least. She wanted to stay with me—desperately—and she was incredibly sorry for what she had done. And I had to admit, it seemed that her counseling sessions had helped her take full responsibility for the seriousness of her actions. She understood that this was no small matter. On the other hand....there was always an "on the other hand". Eileen knew very well how I felt about swinging, because we'd discussed it. But she went to the party anyway, and fucked three guys there! And then she let one of them talk her into an affair, because (if I could believe her) she'd enjoyed the sex they'd had at the party. How the hell could she expect me to live with that? After 20 years of marriage, I'm not good enough for her anymore, she has to have some strange cock? And even worse: a taste isn't enough to satisfy her, so she signs up for the full-course meal? I'm not a guy lacking in self-confidence, but there isn't any man who could easily take that without wondering about his own abilities as a lover. I always thought that Eileen and I did pretty well in bed—I certainly always tried to please her, and even to play games when that was what she wanted. But there's nothing like finding out you've been replaced, even if only in part, to make you doubt whether you were getting the job done. ******************** Life went on. Eileen's occasional phone calls dropped off to nothing after our get-together and her confession. She was probably terrified of what I would say to her, and figured the best thing was just to give me all the time I needed. I'd changed the answering machine message the first day after I threw her out; now it said that Eileen no longer lived here, and gave the phone number of her parents' house. Not surprisingly, I had to face several shocked and concerned messages from friends of ours, wondering discreetly or just asking straight out what was going on. The ones I cared about, I called back and told them the truth—that Eileen had had an affair, I found out about it, and threw her out. I didn't share the details, but I was determined that people wouldn't hear some mixed-up version of the story elsewhere and think that I was to blame! Two or three couples whom we'd known for years turned out to be terrific friends. They invited me over to dinner, called me regularly, just offered their support, without in any way trying to pump me for information or get in the middle of my marriage. I imagined there were probably others who were doing the same for Eileen, but I didn't particularly care. Talking to the kids about the situation was one of the hardest things I had to face. I called both Emily and Frank the first week. I had planned to say only that Mom and I were going through a difficult time, and that she was staying at her parents' house for a while. But I underestimated my children's perceptiveness and determination. One or the other called me every night for a week, full of concern and full of questions—no doubt they were talking to Eileen too—and not surprisingly they figured it out. "Dad, there's no way Mom would have left on her own," Emily said to me one night over the phone. "If she was angry at you, she would have made you leave! And you wouldn't have tossed her out for anything small. I can't believe I'm asking this, but did she cheat on you or something?" After a long silence, I said, "yes, Em, she did. But I'm not saying any more about it. She's your mother, and she loves you and Frank as much as I do. Whatever may happen, you will always have two parents who care for you more than anything in the world." Emily said, slowly, "I really can't believe it, Dad! But I know you—you wouldn't have done this unless you were sure. What are you going to do now?" "I have no idea, sweetie. Give it some time, talk to your mom, and see what happens. "I'm just sorry that you and Frank have to deal with this. You have enough on your plates with hockey and schoolwork, and just being college students." We talked a little more, and I was just so grateful for my level-headed, thoughtful daughter. Grateful too that she and Frank were out of the house. If they had still been at home it would have been far worse. ******************** As Easter week approached we faced a new problem. For more than 15 years our family tradition was to have Easter dinner at Eileen's parents' house, with the whole extended family, and even since the kids went off to Middlebury they always came home on their spring break and joined us. There was no way I was going to participate in that this year. I called Eileen and suggested that they have the regular dinner in the afternoon without me, and that l would see Emily and Frank in the evening instead. After trying in vain to convince me to come to dinner, she finally agreed. I met the twins at the airport on Friday night—they were going to stay at the house, as they always had, and visit with Eileen during the week. It was so great to see my two hockey stars, so full of energy and high spirits! I got a little emotional thinking about the years Eileen and I had spent raising them, and I had to wipe tears from my eyes after our hugs. On Easter Sunday I spent the afternoon alone at the house, eating a quick sandwich and doing some work in the garden. I'd refused all invitations from friends, preferring to be by myself. To my surprise Emily showed up about 3pm; she'd left the Easter dinner early to have some private time with me. We hopped in the car and drove over to a nearby park where we both loved to walk, enjoying the trails that wandered around a big scenic lake. Emily didn't waste any time, and what she said didn't come as much of a surprise. "Daddy, you and Mom are both so miserable—isn't there any way you can forgive her, and try to work this out?" I just smiled sadly at her, not knowing at first how to respond, and she went right on. "I mean, it would be different if you had a bad marriage—if you yelled at each other all the time, like Mona's parents, or if she'd cheated before. But this is the first and only time, right?" "Emily," I said, "you know I can't talk about this with you. I know you love me and Mom, and I know you want to help. But there's no way I can discuss the details of our problems with you—it's simply not fair to you or Frank to be in the middle." She didn't give up that easily. "Mom told me it was all her fault, that she was headstrong and selfish and disrespected you. And that she's told you the whole story, and begged for your forgiveness. Can't you see she means it? She has even been seeing a counselor!" "I know she means it, Em. I'm just not sure if that's enough. There are things you can forgive people for, and then....I guess there are things that are so destructive, that an apology just can't put them right." She stopped me by putting a hand on my arm, and we stood facing one another, on the quiet path next to the lake. "Okay, then, think of it this way. It's obvious you're not happy, Dad. You're lonely and angry and you've got too much free time on your hands. So what can you do to make things better? What's going to make you happy again? Is it getting divorced and starting all over at your advanced age"—she gave me a playful poke, and we both grinned—"or is it having Mom at home with you again, loving you and doing all she can to make this up to you?" "I always knew I raised a smart daughter," I said. "You've put the question just the way I've been putting it to myself: what would make me happy? The trouble is, Em, that I don't have an answer. "Being alone, dating again, trying to find someone to share my life with, someone who could mean as much to me as your mother, that's pretty unappealing. On the other hand, having her around, and knowing every time I looked at her that....wait, I can't talk about this with you." I closed my eyes for a minute, trying to regain my composure. "Honey, I simply can't discuss this with you any more. You're already more in the middle of this than I wanted, and I can't talk to you any further about my relationship with your mother. You're just going to have to trust me to do what's best—once I figure that out!" I smiled at her again, a bit ruefully, and she gave me a big hug. "Okay Dad. Thanks for listening, anyway. I love you!" "I know you do, sweetheart." ******************** It was about a month later when Eileen's sister Diana came to see me. I hadn't seen her, or any of Eileen's relatives, since the day I threw her out. My guess is that Diana and their father had both offered to come talk to me, but that Eileen stopped them. If that's what happened, Eileen did the right thing: it would have pissed me off even more to have to defend my actions to her father or sister. But now it had been more than three months. I didn't feel so angry any more, not as much as just weary and sad. I missed Eileen, yet I didn't want her back—in fact I didn't want to see her or talk to her. I didn't know if I ever would. To my surprise, Diana and I had a great time. She turned up on a Saturday morning, around 10, just as I was embarking on a big ham-and-cheese omelette. I added a couple more eggs and the two of us shared it. I'd always liked Diana. She had the same energy and humor as her older sister, and most of the same good looks. She was slimmer, but still shapely, and she loved to flirt. Diana had never married, but there was always a boyfriend in the picture, usually desperately in love with her and ready to do anything for her. Diana on the other hand never seemed to get too serious about any of them. I knew why she had come to see me, and she knew that I knew. But it didn't stop us from having a fun time. We chatted about this and that—her work, her latest boyfriend, my kids—all through breakfast and a couple of cups of coffee. Finally I said, "why don't we take our cups out on the deck, Diana? I'm pretty sure you have something to say, and you can say it out there." When we were settled in our chairs she looked at me, seriously but still with a twinkle in her eye, and said, "Danny, you know me too well for me to try to snow you. I thought about just telling you what a fool you're being, not to take Eileen back. I was going to point out how lonely you are, how sad and tired you look, how much you need her—all that crap. "But the fact is, we both know who the fool was. It was Eileen." She shook her head. "I still can't believe what an IDIOT she was! My own sister! The one person in the world I always looked to for good advice." Diana got lost in her thoughts for a moment, and I just waited, watching her. It struck me how beautiful she was—I could easily understand how her boyfriends got twisted around her little finger. After a minute or two her mind seemed to come back to our conversation. "So I won't give you any bullshit, okay? Eileen is miserable. She's desolate. She knows she fucked up bigtime, and she's doing absolutely everything she can think of to make it right with you again. "She's working with a counselor. She's moved out of Mom and Dad's house into an apartment, though it nearly killed her to do it—she said it felt like making the separation permanent. She's come to you and told you the whole story, and apologized as fully as she knows how to do. "And she's given you time and space, hasn't she? She hasn't pressured you, hasn't drowned you in phone calls or love notes. She knows that you're suffering, knows that it's her fault, and she's trying to let you deal with it at your own pace." Diana looked right at me. "Danny, what more could she do?" "I don't think there IS anything more she could do. That's not the problem. The problem is, did she break our marriage so badly that it can no longer be fixed?" We sat for a minute. Diana had no answer to that one. "I know that what happens now is up to me," I finally went on, "and I know that everybody is waiting for me to make up my mind about it. I'm not dragging this out to make a point, believe me. I'm trying to figure out what I want, which of two lousy alternatives—neither of which I deserve to be facing, by the way!" I stopped and glared at her, and she nodded her head, a little sadly. "Sorry—don't mean to take it out on you. But the alternatives both suck: try to make a new life without her, or swallow what she did to me and try to find a way to love and trust her again. "And I don't seem to be at a point where either one of them seems the least bit preferable to the other." We sat a little while longer. The fun was pretty much gone from our conversation, though a part of me was still enjoying just sitting and looking at Diana. Like her sister, she was a babe. I realized with a shock that it was the first time in more than three months I'd had a particularly sexual thought. Being cuckolded had completely turned off my own sexuality, something I would never have predicted. When she got up to leave, I surprised myself by getting a little flirty, reverting to the way Diana and I had teased one another for years. "Thanks for coming, Diana. It's always a pleasure to see you. I'm just disappointed you didn't offer to console me in my loneliness. Just think of how much better you could make me feel!" She grinned back at me, and flipped her hair in an exaggerated way, pretending to be a seductress. "Don't think I'm not tempted, Danny! But you still belong to Eileen, at least until you tell us all that you don't. And I don't think she'd be too happy about the idea of me easing your loneliness—she's just hoping to get the chance to do that herself." That night I spent a couple of hours in a local bar with Mike and Tommy, two friends from work. We'd gone out together 5-6 times since I'd split with Eileen, just to have a few beers and watch a game on TV or play some darts. Tonight something was different, and it took me a few minutes to realize what it was. I was leaning back against the wall of our booth, watching the women out on the little dance floor, when I figured it out. My last few times in the bar I hadn't even noticed the women—it hadn't even occurred to me to look. Tonight I was checking them out, aware of who had a lowcut top on (and looked great in it), who was flirting with her boyfriend, even who was sitting at the bar looking like she was waiting for someone to hit on her. Without taking the time to ask myself whether it was a good idea, I got up and strolled over to a redheaded woman sitting in front of a martini glass that was nearly empty. I perched on the stool to her left and said, "that one seems about gone—would you let me buy you a refill?" She turned and looked at me appraisingly, smiling slightly. "I don't mind having another, but what's that circular gold thing around your finger there?" I laughed aloud, liking her already. "I think they call it a wedding ring. Honestly, though, I was just looking for a little conversation. This is not a pick-up attempt—I wouldn't begin to know how to do that. I'm about twenty years out of practice." That made her laugh, and I found myself joining her. I got her a refill, and a beer for myself, and we had a nice chat for an hour or so. Her name was Adele, and she was in town from California for a week visiting her sister and brother and their new baby. "He's an adorable little guy, but God can he ever cry! I've been staying with them five days now, and I just needed to get away for a couple of hours and be around some grownups." I thoroughly enjoyed Adele's company, and she seemed happy to talk to me as well. We kept it light and casual. She mentioned that she'd been divorced about three years earlier. I didn't speak about my marital situation at all; in fact to my surprise we spent a lot of the time chatting about baseball—she was a lifelong Angels fan. When she said she needed to get back to her sister's house, we parted with a handshake and big smiles, and I strolled back to Mike and Tommy, who had finished their darts game and now proceeded to give me shit about what a pick-up artist I was. I pointed out with a smile that I couldn't be that good, because here I was back at the table with them! As I drove home that night I thought about Adele, and of course about Eileen. I'd enjoyed being in the company of an attractive woman, but she wasn't my wife. There had been the fun of talking to a new person, of learning things about someone else and hearing stories for the first time; but there hadn't been the warm comfort of spending time with someone you loved and trusted. Trusted? Yeah, I could remember when I trusted Eileen. But would I ever be able to trust her again? Probably, in fact, I could. That is, it was easy to believe that she'd learned her lesson and would never cheat on me again. But that doesn't mean that my feelings of suspicion and betrayal would disappear. I had the feeling that I'd be dealing with them for a long long time. ******************** That night at the bar, and the hour spent talking to Adele, began to break the logjam in my mind. Instead of just drifting through my days, obsessing about my situation without making any progress, I started to feel myself thinking more actively about it. Each day the pros and cons of my two alternatives got a bit clearer; it felt like I could see what each choice would mean for my future. Her Blue Dodge Minivan Ch. 03 It took about two more weeks before I was ready to talk to Eileen. I left her a phone message, asking if we could talk at her apartment. She left me a return message within a couple of hours, suggesting that I come over the next evening around 8pm. When she opened the door in response to my knock I could see she'd worked on her appearance. She was wearing slacks and a sweater, nothing fancy, but she looked terrific. Her hair and make-up were perfect, and the clothes were very flattering. I was reminded what a beautiful wife I had. "Hi Danny," she said, tentatively leaning forward to kiss me on the cheek. She led me into her small living room, where we sat and she poured us cups of coffee. I watched her put half a teaspoon of sugar and a lot of milk into mine, as she'd been doing for so many years. When we were settled with our coffees she looked at me, and said, "it's nice to see you." I knew she was terrified, and it would have been cruel to drag it out. "Eileen, I've been doing a lot of thinking, and—sorry, I guess you must have known that. "I'm going to file for a divorce." Her eyes started brimming over, but all she said was, "oh, Danny!" "There are only two choices for me in this situation, and they both stink. I don't want to be alone and lonely, wondering if I'll ever meet someone I can share the rest of my life with. I still love you, and I know that you love me. "On the other hand, it's been more than four months, and I still don't want you to come home. Every time I try to imagine it, I can see that won't work. However loving and considerate you might be to me, I'm not going to be able to get past what you did, and how it made me feel. "I'm not as angry as I was, but I still don't want to be around you, let alone live with you or sleep with you. When I think about it, it's very clear that it just won't work for me. "I know you've made a real effort, Eileen. I know that you've done the counseling and all, and really tried hard to understand why you did it. I give you credit for that. "But there are just some things that are too serious to get past. And I've finally realized that what you did is too serious for me to get past." I stopped talking. I'd been gazing at nothing while I spoke, and now I looked at Eileen. She was looking back at me, crying quietly, her shoulders shaking. I went over and sat down next to her on the sofa and she pulled me into a tight hug, sobbing against me. I held her for a few minutes, and then gently extricated myself from her arms. "I'm sorry, Eileen," I said very quietly. Then I moved to the apartment door, opened it, and walked out. THE END