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I Hate Surprises Ch. 01

By: ohio



[NOTE TO READERS: This story will be in three chapters; I will post the other two over the next two days. There is some sex in the story, but that is not its main focus.]

My wife Jennie is the one who loves surprises. I have always hated them myself. Surprise parties, unexpected schedule changes—they make me uneasy. I'd rather know ahead of time what I'm going to be doing, and then do it. I like anticipating things, looking forward to an event several days in advance, having the pleasure of imagining how it will be.

Still—I love Jennie very much, and she loves surprises. Throughout our marriage, the best way for me to show her how much I love her has been to arrange some sort of surprise for her. Our twenty-fifth anniversary is coming up, and I was determined to give her the biggest and best surprise ever.

Which is how I've come to find myself sitting here in the bedroom of my house as darkness falls, looking at the unmade bed she and her lover have just climbed out of and wondering what the hell I'm going to do now.

********

GETTING TO KNOW JENNIE

To understand Jennie at all, you have to begin with the fact that she is beautiful. And I don't mean "very attractive"—I mean beautiful in a way that you almost never see. Unless you live in New York or Paris, you have probably not seen four more beautiful women than Jennie in your entire life.

Jennie is the kind of beautiful that makes people on the street stop walking and stare at her. I've seen cars come to a dead stop in the middle of the block as their drivers lean out the window, forgetting for a moment where they were going. She has the kind of beauty that makes people run back to their offices and say to their co-workers, "you won't believe what a beautiful woman I just saw!"

In short, we're not just talking about an attractive woman here—we're talking about someone who, after you see her, you feel like your whole life has been changed.

Jennie is about 5'8", with a slim figure that is perfectly proportioned.. She has honey-blonde hair that she wears straight, about six inches past her shoulders. Her features are very regular, with a small straight nose and high cheekbones. Her complexion is dazzling—even now in her mid-40s—and her blue eyes are amazingly, startlingly beautiful, like the loveliest sapphires you have ever seen. 

Of course, there is more than one kind of female beauty. Some beautiful women exude sexuality and sexual attraction—you take one look at them, and all you can think about is going to bed with them. (Think Angelina Jolie.) But that was not Jennie's kind.

With Jennie, you looked at her and felt you were seeing Nature at her absolute best, a kind of perfection that you didn't know existed. It was like looking at the masterpiece of an art museum's collection. You wanted to be around Jennie, look at her some more, and of course take her home if you could. But the feeling wasn't overtly and immediately sexual—it was more misty and romantic.

Jennie has always had this spectacular beauty, and she has always lived the unusual life that goes along with it. She stood out among her schoolmates from kindergarten on, getting the attention—positive and negative—that went along with such attractiveness. 

Teachers were all too ready to assume the best of her, to believe that such beauty had to be the outer manifestation of a superior person. All the way through elementary and middle school, Jennie tended to get As, even when her work might have earned her A-s or B+s. 

In high school things were different only in one respect. There the teachers, most of whom were male, were abashed and tongue-tied with Jennie. They simply weren't capable of treating her in the same peremptory way as they did all of her classmates. Her beauty intimidated them. She continued to get As without having to work very hard, and their college recommendation letters for her were glowing and enthusiastic. 

While Jennie had a few girlfriends growing up, the boys her own age acted like her high-school teachers, only worse. The flirting and teasing they could comfortably do with her female classmates failed them when Jennie was in the room. Even the bravest of them could only manage to stammer, "Hi Jennie," when she walked by. 

Tim Kramer, the captain of the football team and the most popular boy in her class, tried for weeks to get up the courage to ask Jennie out to the movies. He even worked himself up to calling her on the phone, only to lose his nerve and pretend he was calling to ask about math homework. After that, he gave up and contented himself with the numerous moderately attractive girls in the school who were dying to go out with him.

It was only older men—and not too many of those—who could overcome the urge simply to gaze at Jennie, open-mouthed in wonder, and actually make conversation with her. Jennie's first romance was a love-affair with a 36-year old man, the younger brother of a neighbor on her block. Stephen met her at a pool party on her street the summer after her junior year. Like everyone else who had ever seen her, he was smitten. But he was also a sophisticated, experienced man—recently divorced after an eight-year marriage—who had moved to her small town in central Pennsylvania after living and working in Chicago.

Stephen knew how to talk to women, even dazzling ones like Jennie. She, on the other hand, had very little experience with men who could overcome their admiration for her beauty enough to be charming, and Stephen had no trouble getting her to go out with him.

Their affair lasted nearly a year, ending just before Jennie's graduation when Stephen's work took him back to Chicago. Her parents were uneasy about the relationship she was having with a man twice her age—and Jennie's younger sister Elizabeth, herself very pretty but nowhere near Jennie's league, was unspeakably jealous—but Stephen was a considerate and gentle person, and his treatment of Jennie reassured her family.

It was a true affair, in both senses. By that I mean first that Jennie really loved him, and if he didn't love her in quite the same full-throttle, adolescent way, he was very fond of her. And second, it became a fully sexual relationship after a month or two. Jennie might have been able to date a teenage boy for some time and retain her virginity, but Stephen had very different expectations (and his own apartment). After they began sleeping together, he took her to a birth-control clinic several towns away and she started taking the pill.

Jennie was lucky, in that Stephen was a loving and patient partner. He did care for her, she was not just a conquest for him. And so he taught her the pleasures of sex with tenderness, and she avoided those grubby first sexual experiences that so many inexperienced teenaged girls suffer at the hands of equally inexperienced teenaged boys. She learned what it meant to make love, learned about giving and receiving oral sex, and even tried anal sex with him, though she found she disliked it.

While she is a warm and loving person, Jennie has never been particularly passionate. She enjoyed sex with Stephen but rarely initiated it, and seldom longed for it in his absence. For her its pleasure had a lot to do with the intimate closeness of it, and the pleasure of his complete focus on her.

This is not surprising, after all—as an extraordinary beauty Jennie had grown up with an extraordinary amount of attention from those around her. She had no conception of what it might feel like to be anonymous, to move through a crowd of people unnoticed, the way most of us can do in any large city. On the contrary, the constant feeling of people's eyes on her, and even the sound of approving murmurs around her, were aspects of existence that she took for granted.

I hope I'm not creating the impression that Jennie was a self-absorbed monster. She was not. She was and is a kind, cheerful, and affectionate person, with a great sense of humor. But there's no question that she missed out on a lot of the give-and-take of normal human relationships. Much was always given to her, and far less was asked of her. It was inevitable that such an imbalance would begin to seem normal after a while.

********

Jennie was heart-broken when Stephen moved away, but within a few weeks her spirits were lifted by the approaching start of her first year of college, at Penn State. Life at the university was a great deal like life in high school: everyone was pretty much struck dumb by her beauty, teachers gave her As, most of her male classmates were way too intimidated to talk to her.

But at a big university like Penn State there are also lots of older men, both graduate students and faculty members. And while the sight of Jennie was just as ravishing to them, they were more able to approach her. In her first couple of years at Penn State Jennie had no shortage of admirers, and very few weekend evenings without a date. While she did not have any serious relationships like the one with Stephen, she certainly went out a lot.

I met her when we enrolled in the same sociology class, when she was a sophomore and I was a junior, majoring in business administration. The class of 120 students was divided into study groups of six, and by good fortune Jennie and I were in the same group. The six of us met twice a week for two hours in the evening, and after a few weeks I was not only bowled over by her beauty (as was everyone else she met), I had come to admire many other things about her as well.

Jennie was kind, and she was generous. She noticed early on that two members of our group were weaker students than the rest of us, and she looked for ways to support them and boost their confidence. Nothing obvious—just complimenting their contributions to our group, or cheering them up a bit if a midterm didn't go so well. She was also a lot of fun—she laughed as much as anyone at our jokes, and frequently contributed a quip or a mild teasing remark of her own. So it is no surprise that I began to think about Jennie in a more serious way than just admiring her from afar.

While I was a pretty good-looking guy, I was nowhere near Jennie's league. On the other hand, neither was anybody else at Penn State, so I didn't worry about that too much. I had a fair amount of self-confidence, so I began to think about how I might get Jennie to go out with me.

Learning about how she interacted with her dates was easy, because she was pursued by men so often. Nearly every one of our study group sessions ended with one of her current admirers coming to pick her up, or with her remarking that she had to go meet someone at the Student Center or at her dorm. It was easy to see that she was fully in charge of each of these relationships. The guys, in fact, were somewhat at her mercy.

She might agree to meet Ted at 9 pm, and not show up until quarter of ten. Or she might accept a dinner invitation for Friday with Bob, only to call him on Friday afternoon and tell him she had to cancel. Or she might ask Andy to meet her at study group when it ended at 9:30, then make him stand around in embarrassment for ten minutes or more while she continued to laugh and joke with us, as the group took its time about breaking up for the evening.

It may seem strange that the same woman who was so thoughtful to colleagues in her study group could be so unfeeling with her dates, but I found it easy to understand. To a degree most of us simply cannot imagine, Jennie was used to receiving intense male attention and admiration. I don't think she ever understood that some of these young men were incredibly, desperately smitten with her, and that her behavior hurt their feelings. To her, each of them was just another boy who wanted to take her out. She didn't dislike them, but since she was only casually dating them, she didn't go out of her way to treat them with consideration.

From the beginning, I decided that I would not let Jennie treat me that way. If I could get her to go out with me at all, I was determined to establish that our relationship would be based on mutual consideration for one another. I was not going to make allowances for her incredible beauty—I planned to treat her the way I would treat any other woman I was interested in. I also thought, frankly, that by standing up for myself and not letting her walk all over me, I might distinguish myself from the many other guys she seemed to be dating.

On the Tuesday before our sociology midterm, I called Jennie and asked her out to dinner that Friday, after the exam. To my pleasure, she said yes, and I agreed to pick her up at her dorm at 7:30.

But when I arrived at her dorm room, her roommate told me she wasn't there. I hung around in the dorm lounge until 8 pm, and when Jennie still wasn't back I simply left. I made a point of not calling her—I let it go, and waited to see what would happen when I saw her in class on Monday.

Since the class was a big one, I didn't see her at first; but after class I left the room slowly, and gave her a chance to find me and come over. With a warm smile she apologized for being late, saying she'd been having a conversation with a friend in the library and lost track of the time. Then, having given me an apology that was more superficial than heartfelt, she asked, "but why didn't you wait for me?"

"Well, Jennie," I replied calmly, "after it had been a half hour I was feeling pretty hungry, and since I had no idea when you might return I went off and had dinner by myself."

She seemed a little taken aback by this, as though she hadn't really thought through what it might have been like for me (or any other of her dates) to be kept waiting so long. Finally she said, "of course—I really am sorry, Brad," this time sounding much more like she meant it.

As we walked along, I kept silent, watching out of the corner of my eye to see her glancing at me several times. Then she said, "well, shall we try again?"

I said, "that depends, Jennie." Surprised, she said, "what do you mean?"

"If you'll be on time I would be delighted to take you to dinner. But if you're going to be late, then I think I should make other plans."

An annoyed look flashed across her face—but then it disappeared, replaced by a grin. "Fair enough! How about Friday at 7:30 again? And this time I'll be ready!"

On Friday, Jennie was all set when I arrived, and we had a terrific evening. For one thing, she looked sensational. She wore a simple skirt and blouse, with a wool sweater over it, but she was still a vision. Even though I'd been seeing her several times a week in our study group, it wasn't easy for me to get past her beauty and just see her as a nice girl.

But more than that, we found that our values and our senses of humor were a great match. We talked easily about everything under the sun, told stories from our pasts, laughed a lot, and felt amazingly comfortable with each other. Our dinner stretched out through a leisurely dessert and two cups of coffee, and we didn't leave the restaurant until nearly 11, when the staff did everything but throw us out into the street!

I was afraid I was already falling pretty hard for Jennie, but determined to be very cool about it—not to behave like all the smitten young men I'd seen her manipulate. When we got to her door I was ready for a handshake, or just a brief kiss. Jennie said to me with real feeling, "Brad, thank you so much for dinner. I had a terrific time!"

"Me too, Jennie. I haven't met anyone in three years here I've felt so comfortable with. You are great company."

Encouraged by the look on her face, I leaned forward to give her a quick kiss, but she held my lips with hers much longer than I expected. It was absolutely delicious kissing her, and I suppressed a happy sigh as we pulled apart.

Determined not to be too eager, I was ready to say good night and walk away. But to my delight she said, "I'd like to return the invitation. Can you come for brunch on Sunday?"

"I'd love to. What would you like me to bring? How about something for dessert?"

"That would be great. How about 12 noon? And bring your sociology books too—we can at least pretend that we'll be doing some studying!" she said with a laugh.

As I walked back to my dorm I was as happy as I'd ever been. Jennie really seemed to like me, and I was crazy about her. Still, I remembered my determination to be wary, and above all not to get walked all over.

********

Within a few weeks, we were dating very seriously. I was enchanted by Jennie's beauty, of course—but beyond that her intelligence, sense of humor, and warmth all had their effect on me. We decided early on to keep our relationship secret from the study group, so we were very discreet around them.

After the first couple of weeks, when our dates ended with increasingly passionate make-out sessions, I asked her point-blank if she would spend the night with me (I was lucky to have a single dorm room). She smiled and said, "I wondered when you would ask me that!"

When we got back to my room, after having a relaxed time at a movie, I found that I was a bit nervous. It wasn't about the prospect of having sex with Jennie. I had had two serious girlfriends, one in high school and one as a college freshman. I had been to bed with both girls many times, and had no fears about inexperience. My concerns had more to do with the nature of Jennie's and my relationship.

We were sitting on the couch, snuggling and kissing a bit, feeling good, when Jennie gave me a look that seemed to say, "bed now".

"Jennie," I said, "can we talk about something for a moment?" She looked surprised but nodded.

"You can surely guess how much I am looking forward to this—to holding you in my arms all night, and ... all the rest. But it also is a big moment for us, and I need to say something first."

Jennie didn't reply, just looked seriously back at me.

"We haven't talked about ... about what our relationship means to each of us. So far it's been casual and lots of fun. I have enjoyed every minute of our time together, but we haven't ever talked about whether ... we're seeing each other exclusively.

"For me, making love with you isn't a casual thing. It will mean that you're the only woman in my life, for as long as we are together. And I want to make sure that you feel the same way about me."

Jennie just continued to look at me seriously, then finally she smiled. "I feel just the same way, Brad. I have had a couple of dates with other people since you and I started dating—but lately they haven't been much fun. I don't really know why I was even going out with other guys, except from habit.

"But I am more than ready to be all yours, if you want me."

I smiled, and gently pulled her to her feet and into my arms. "I want you—very very much!" Catching her by surprise, I reached down, put one arm behind her knees, swooped her up into my arms, and carried her across the room to my bed.

Making love to Jennie that first time was as wonderful as our first date had been. Her beautiful, slim body excited me, of course—but the real joy came from our ease in being together. We were both very eager, but neither of us was in a hurry (thank heaven for each of us being experienced sexually). We prolonged the looking, the kissing, and the touching until we were both incredibly excited, and then Jennie murmured, "now, Brad!"

I reached into a drawer for a condom, but she put her hand on my arm, smiled, and said, "not necessary!" I rolled on top of her and she guided me into her for the first time. Looking down at her beautiful face smiling up at me, I reveled in the pleasure of being inside Jennie. We coupled smoothly for a long time, sometimes kissing, sometimes looking at one another.

It didn't seem as though Jennie would cum in the missionary position, so after a while I rolled us over and let her ride me. Being able to see her beautiful body was incredibly exciting. I stroked her breasts, then her clitoris, which made her gasp and jerk around on top of me. I kept up my finger-stroking until she groaned, and I felt her pussy clench tightly around me. Holding her gently, I waited until the aftershocks passed and she relaxed on top of me, then I thrust faster and harder into her, reaching my own joyous climax.


I Hate Surprises Ch. 01



Jennie slept sweetly that night in my arms, and we showered and made love again in the morning. From then on we were nearly inseparable, or as much as two busy college students can be. We made love whenever we could, which was often! And I loved everything about being with Jennie—little things like watching her eat a yogurt, and daintily clean the spoon with her tongue, filled me with happiness.

As our relationship got more serious, we talked in general terms about our future plans, without quite coming out and saying that we would be together. I intended to work in the business world after graduation, probably back in Missouri where I was from; Jennie didn't know what she would do, but wanted a career that involved working with people, and with some flexibility in her schedule. 

I was already thinking about marrying Jennie, but it seemed far too soon to raise that subject with her—both of us still had lots of college left.

Our first big fight came in April when we discussed the upcoming summer vacation. I was committed to an internship with a company in St. Louis, which might lead to a good job offer after graduation. Jennie had promised her parents she'd come home to her small town in Pennsylvania, and take up her usual summer job as a secretary in a law office.

Would we continue our exclusive relationship while we were apart for three months? I said yes, Jennie said no. We argued.

"I'm not talking about sleeping with anyone else, Brad!" she told me. "But I don't see why I should sit home every evening, when I could go out casually with someone and have some fun—see a movie, or go to a party!"

"Isn't our relationship important enough to you to sacrifice a little 'fun'?" I replied heatedly.

We went on in that vein for some time, both of us increasingly irritated. Then Jennie won the day, by saying something I really couldn't disagree with.

"OK, Brad. Listen to me for a minute. If I promised you I'd only go out socially with women friends—to movies, to dinner, to a party—would you be comfortable with that?"

I said without hesitation that I would.

"Well," she continued, "why wouldn't it also be fine to go out with men friends—as long as I give you my solemn promise that it will only be as friends? No kissing, no making out, no hand-holding, no sex? Just friends."

She looked at me, and I reluctantly conceded.

"Yes, Jennie, you're right." I sighed. "I love you, and if you give me your word I will trust you." She smiled and gave me a kiss.

"You can trust me, Brad. I love you too, and I promise not to do anything that you wouldn't approve of. I will behave as though you're always in the room with me."

"All right, sweetheart. But I need to say one more thing, OK? You are not just any woman—you are extraordinarily beautiful, and there's not a man in the world who wouldn't want to be with you." Jennie beamed at me. She knew all that, of course, but she still really liked to hear it!

"So that means you really have to be careful, OK? You have to think about what you're doing, and not let any guy get the wrong signals."

She smiled again at me, almost pityingly, which stung a bit. "Believe me, Brad, I've been handling male attention for a long time. It won't be a problem."

Then, seeing that I was still a little concerned, she came and sat on my lap, putting her arms around me. "I love YOU, Brad. Do you want me to say it again? I love YOU—I am your woman, all yours."

The only thing left to do was to kiss her, hold her tight, and make love to her. A great way to end an argument!

********

The summer was hard, but it went by fast. I worked my tail off in St. Louis, learning the ropes at a large food-service company that supplied hotels and restaurants in the area. I managed to visit Jennie twice, both times staying the weekend with her parents, who seemed to have taken to me. But I was pointedly assigned to their guestroom. Only once in those two weekends did we manage even a half hour for a quickie; the rest of the time we frantically grabbed and kissed one another in every private moment!

In between visits we managed with regular phone calls. I tried to do little surprise things, like sending her a cute "Thinking of You" card or putting a single Hershey's Kiss in a large box and mailing it to her. I made her laugh by sending her a fake letter from the IRS, informing her that she owed $90,000 on her taxes for the previous year. She thought it was very clever, and showed it to her parents.

Next fall, my last year at Penn State, we more than made up for a summer apart. I had a small apartment off-campus, and Jennie pretty much lived with me, so we could have sex whenever we liked. Things just got better and better between us, and I was sure I had found the woman for my lifetime.

In April I asked her to marry me and she happily agreed, asking only that we delay the marriage one more year until her graduation. Both her parents and mine were very happy with our news.

But first we had to endure a year apart: Jennie doing her senior year at Penn State, me working in the food-services business in St. Louis. She visited me three times during school breaks and long weekends, and I made trips to see her at least every other month.

There was only one really bad moment during that year. I arrived at Penn State early one Friday evening in February, about an hour ahead of schedule, and hurried to Jennie's room. Her roommate told me she was out, probably at the Cafe in the Student Center.

When I came into the crowded room I looked around, and there at a small table near the back was Jennie, sitting over two cups of coffee with an extremely good-looking guy in his early 30s. Probably a faculty member, from the looks of him.

I was on the verge of going right over to her, when something in their body language stopped me. I was picking up a little more intimacy than I was happy with—so I sat down alone at a table 40 feet away, out of their line of sight but so they couldn't avoid seeing me if they left. I wanted to know more.

There was nothing obviously inappropriate in their behavior—they were talking and laughing, drinking their coffee. But their heads were awfully close together, and my gut feeling was that something wasn't quite right.

After some time, the guy reached out for Jennie's hands and held them in his, talking to her earnestly all the while. She laughed and pulled them away; but he kept talking, looking directly into her eyes, and after a minute he reached for her hands again.

This time she didn't resist, letting him hold her two hands in his as he continued to talk seriously to her.

After a couple more minutes she looked at her watch, and she must have told him she had to go. She withdrew her hands and stood up. I watched very carefully as she said goodbye, but there was no kiss or further intimacy, and they didn't seem to make a date to get together again.

As Jennie headed for the door she spotted me at the table where I sat, just looking at her. Her smile froze and she hesitated, almost coming to a stop. Then she pulled herself together and ran over to me, saying "hi, sweetie! You're early!"

All my life I have been able to summon coolness and control when I am upset. I think it goes back to days in childhood when my father taught me to box. He had been an excellent amateur boxer, and he trained me seriously for a number of years. I boxed in some novice Golden Gloves events, but never pursued it after high school. My main sport had been lacrosse, where despite being on the small side (about 5'9") I twice made the All-County team.

But my boxing training had helped me learn to stay calm in tough situations, never to panic or get emotional under pressure. It's a trait that has proved very valuable over the years, both in personal matters and in business.

As Jennie approached me I was filled with anger and jealousy, as well as doubts about her faithfulness. But instead of lashing out at her I simply said, "hello, Jennie", and let her give me a hug and a kiss without getting up out of my seat.

She sat down across from me and began talking rapidly, about what a hard week it had been, how glad she was to see me, how had I gotten to town so early, etc. It seemed as though she didn't know how much I had seen, and was rattling on while watching me closely, wondering how to handle the situation.

My continued silence clearly worried her. Finally she stopped talking and said, "honey, are you all right?"

I just looked at her and said quietly, "Jennie, maybe there's something you need to tell me?" I had learned a long time ago that you can get better results when you don't show all your cards first. I was angry, and I was going to let Jennie worry about what I knew rather than tell her.

"You saw me with that guy?" she asked, blushing. I didn't reply, just kept looking at her, and finally she went on. "His name is Jamie Atherton, he's my professor in the English Lit class I'm taking.

"He suggested we get together for a cup of coffee, to talk about my last paper. I wrote an essay on Dickens that he thought was really good, and he wanted to encourage me to expand it and think about publishing it. Really, Brad, that's all there was."

I continued to stay silent, and she grew more uneasy. Finally I said, "why don't we take a walk?" We buttoned up and headed out into the cold, in the direction of Jennie's dorm rather than towards the campus hotel I always stayed in when I visited. 

I neither spoke nor took Jennie's arm, just walked along briskly, so that she had to make an effort to keep up. As we neared her dorm she said anxiously, "please, Brad, aren't you going to speak to me? I've been looking forward so much to seeing you!"

I said only, "I'll call you in the morning, Jennie. Maybe we could have breakfast and talk then. I need to do some thinking in the meanwhile, and perhaps you do too."

I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and walked away. I heard her say "Brad, honey, please wait!" in a quavery voice, but she didn't follow me.

It was a rough night for me. I thought a lot, and slept very little. What had I really seen? A guy coming on to Jennie, and her letting him succeed just a little bit too much for my taste. He hadn't kissed her, and there was no reason from the body language to think he was sleeping with her. On the other hand, she hadn't withdrawn her hands from his the second time, and clearly she wasn't displeased by his attentions.

I knew that Jennie was used to large quantities of male admiration; I could hardly blame men for being attracted to her, or for trying in my absence to get somewhere with her. But she was MY fiancée, wearing MY engagement ring, and I wasn't happy that she had let that clown's advances get as far as they did.

Jennie called me at 8 am, asking in a trembling voice if we could have breakfast. When I met her in front of her dorm she threw herself into my arms and started to sob.

"Brad, please, honey, talk to me! I know you're angry. I know I was wrong, but ... really ... it wasn't very much. Please, please, let me explain everything!"

She continued to cry and I held her, secretly pleased and relieved by her outburst. What I wanted was for her to feel guilty, to tell me everything, and for me to find out that there really was as little to it as I hoped.

"OK, Jennie," I said soothingly, stroking her hair. I got out a handkerchief and wiped her wet cheeks. "Let's go sit and eat, and we can talk."

She held my arm tightly the whole way to the restaurant, and insisted on sitting next to me in the booth so she could hold onto me. Once we had ordered she started right in.

"Honey, what I said last night is the truth. He IS my professor, and he did say he wanted to talk to me about my essay. It's the only time I've ever been anywhere with him outside of class.

"But ... but that's not the complete truth, either. I knew that he was interested in me—that if it were some other student's Dickens essay he wouldn't have invited her out for coffee.

"It just seemed ... harmless to me, that's all. I was flattered by the attention, and I knew nothing would happen. We were in the middle of the Student Center, for gosh sakes! So I just drank my coffee and let him go on and on about my talents.

"Honestly, Brad—I knew I'd be seeing you in an hour, and this was just something to do to pass the time. Then towards the end," she looked up at me, "I don't know if you saw this, but ... he started talking about how beautiful I am, and he ... reached over and took my hands."

I nodded, indicating I'd seen it.

"Well, I pulled away from him—but after a minute he took them again, and ... I just let him do it. It seemed too prissy somehow to yank them away again. So I let him go on with his nice words, I was so lovely, both inside and out, blah blah blah. Then after a minute I looked at my watch and saw it was nearly time for you to get here, so I had the perfect excuse to get away from him.

"I swear to you, honey, that's all there was! I said goodbye and was headed out the door when I spotted you—and you looked so calm, so silent, you frightened me!"

I had heard enough to feel a lot better. I embraced Jennie gently and gave her a big kiss. "I was pretty upset at the time, Jen—but I'm feeling better about it now. Thank you for telling me the whole story."

She looked incredibly relieved, and I realized how frightened she must have been.

"I can understand it was harmless flirting, and it didn't go a great deal too far. But it DID go a bit too far—do we agree about that?"

Here I looked at her, very seriously, and she bit her lip and nodded. "Yes, Brad. I shouldn't have let him hold my hands. I'm sorry—truly."

With peace restored, we enjoyed our breakfast, catching up on the weeks since our last visit. I knew that Jennie was used to lots of male attention, that she expected it and basked in it. But I needed her to know that she had to control how far that attention went, especially when I wasn't around. And when we headed back to my hotel after breakfast, I brought up the subject again.

"Jennie, do you remember the discussion we had before last summer, when you talked about dating guys back at home? The promise you made me was that you'd always behave as though I was right there in the room with you."

She nodded, undoubtedly knowing what I was going to say next. But I surprised her by merely adding, "that was a good way of putting it."

She pulled me tightly to her, there in the middle of the walk. She put her mouth to my ear and said, "I understand, honey. I'm really sorry! And we won't have to have this conversation ever again."

Then, pulling back so she could look at me, she smiled and said, "could we get back to your room? There's something I need, something I've really been missing..."

Once again, make-up sex was just about the perfect way to end a fight!

********

JENNIE'S FIRST AFFAIR

The first few years of our married life were unbelievably happy. We were married in her parents' backyard two weeks after Jennie's graduation, took a ten-day honeymoon in Maui thanks to my parents, and settled in a small house in the suburbs of St. Louis. I was doing very well in my food-services job, and after a couple of months happily working on setting up our house, Jennie decided to study for her realtor's license and work selling houses.

Within six months of joining a local real-estate firm, Jennie was their third-largest producing realtor. This was no surprise to me—she was so beautiful that clients, especially male ones, were eager to work with her. When she suggested to sellers that they drop the price just a bit, or to buyers that they go up a few thousand dollars, people were more than willing to take her suggestions. In no time she was showing, and selling, as many houses as anyone in her firm.

Our life together was a joy. Jennie continued to be the same lively, funny, affectionate person I had fallen in love with. We had a nice group of friends, mostly from her work or from mine, and we spent just enough time in company that our time alone felt like a treat.

Sex with Jennie was always sweet and fun, if not all that wild. She loved the intimacy and closeness of sex, and was less interested in new positions or role-playing or sex-toys or anything like that. In other words, the physical pleasures of sex mattered much less to her than the emotional closeness.

She was also somewhat conservative, in part because of her upbringing. She never swore, was uncomfortable when I did (so I pretty much gave it up), and didn't like to talk explicitly even in bed. About the farthest she ever went was one night during our honeymoon. We'd had quite a bit of champagne, and as I was climbing on top of her in bed she giggled and blurted out, "fuck me, husband!". Then she laughed some more, delighted by her daring.

In later years she would occasionally whisper "fuck me" or something like that in my ear during sex, because she knew it excited me. But it never came naturally to her. She was just not a particularly open person sexually, nor ready to experiment.

But if that meant that she rarely initiated sex, and almost never surprised me by greeting me naked in the kitchen, say, or suggesting that we have sex late at night out in the backyard—we still made love regularly and with great pleasure. The intimacy of it, her little murmurs and groans, the way we looked at one another, all these things became very precious to me.

I had learned early on in our relationship how much Jennie liked surprises, both big and little, so I made sure from time to time to bring home flowers for no reason, or to show up at her office on a Tuesday afternoon with a pint of Forbidden Chocolate ice cream and two spoons. A couple of times she returned from work and found that I had come home early, made a special dinner, set the table with candles, and was waiting for her in my tuxedo! 

And once, for her birthday in the second year of our marriage, I arranged a surprise birthday party, complete with both sets of parents and a dozen of her closest friends from college. I sent her off to the mall on a Saturday morning to do an errand, and when she returned, there we all were in the back yard. There were balloons and a "Happy Birthday" banner, as well as some really good catered food. She absolutely loved it.

Frankly, surprising Jennie in this way was something I did not only out of love, but out of concern. She had been so used to ceaseless male attention, virtually all her life, and I didn't want her to start to feel deprived now that we were married. I knew that being out in the world, dealing with a lot of people in her real estate work, was a good thing. But by the same token I wanted to keep giving her attention in special ways that she would notice.

One of the ironic things about living with a beautiful woman is that you inevitably begin to take it for granted—you become less aware of it than the people who see her only occasionally. I didn't stop noticing, but it didn't bowl me over the way her looks did for people meeting her for the first time. Still, there were moments when I gazed at her in absolute wonder. How lucky I was that this extraordinarily beautiful lady was mine!

In our third year of marriage we conceived Diana, our daughter, who forever changed our lives for the better. We both took to being parents, despite the usual sleepless nights and worries about not knowing what we were doing. Jennie worked very hard to get back to her pre-pregnancy weight, and when Diana was six months old Jennie went back to her real estate job a couple of days a week, while Diana was watched by a wonderful Irish grandmother who lived a few doors down from us.

When Diana was about three I left my job, took out a bank-loan, and started my own small food-services company. I had pretty much learned everything about how my large employer did its business, and I was convinced that I could work harder and smarter and do a better job of it myself.




I Hate Surprises Ch. 01



For the first six months I worked incredibly hard, including late nights in my office and occasional out-of-town trips, but things were starting to come together. I had recruited three or four substantial clients, enough to sustain the business and give me time to grow it further. 

I had hired my closest friend Terri from my previous job to be my assistant manager. She was a divorced woman about five years older than I was, who had become good friends of both Jennie and me. She was pretty (though not like Jennie—who was?) and really smart, and I knew she was utterly dependable.

So all was going well, and I thought I had the world by the balls. Until I found out it was the other way around.

On a Thursday afternoon I was in the restaurant kitchen of the Commonwealth Hotel, talking to the manager about becoming a client of my firm. The meeting had gone well, and I was hoping that he'd call me in the next week or so and sign on. He led me out to the hotel lobby to say goodbye, and as we were chatting he suddenly looked over my shoulder and interrupted me, saying "my God, is that a beautiful woman!"

I turned and looked across the lobby, and sure enough the woman he was staring out was absolutely gorgeous. She was slim and blonde, wearing a tailored suit and a light blue silk blouse, and she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was also my wife.

She was walking arm-in-arm with a tall, distinguished-looking man in his late 40s. After a minute I recognized him: Marlon Anderson, the loan officer at the bank who had given me the start-up loan for my business. They headed for the elevators, chatting amiably, and both the restaurant manager and I watched them in silence.

They hadn't seen us. When the elevator doors opened they got in, and just as the doors closed again I watched him pull Jennie into his arms, and I saw them kissing. I wanted to throw up, but I kept my cool. The restaurant manager said, "boy, she was something! I guess he's in for a nice afternoon."

Of course, he had no way of knowing that it was my wife! I just said, "yeah, she was really something," and we went on to say our goodbyes.

As I've said, I tend to be calm and organized in moments of emotional stress, and this one certainly qualified. I sat quietly on a bench outside the hotel for a few minutes, working out how to handle the situation. It was about 2:45. I knew they'd be in a hotel room together for at least an hour—how could he possibly want less time than that with her? And I also knew she'd have to leave the hotel by 4:30 at the latest to pick up Diana from day-care.

So, after careful thought, I went and made some preparations. I had a quick lunch at a sandwich shop; then I went and bought an elaborate floral arrangement and a white jacket that looked like a delivery boy's coat.

Returning to the hotel, I approached the desk and asked for Marlon Anderson's room. The bored clerk looked at me and the flowers and told me "617" without hesitation. I took the elevator up to the 8th floor, left the flowers by someone's door, ditched the jacket, and walked down to the 6th floor. There was one turn in the corridor between 617 and the elevators, and I waited just around the turn, so I could see the door to 617 but avoid being seen.

Standing there and waiting, I thought back to my first meeting with Anderson. I had taken my wife to the bank for the loan meeting, knowing what an effect she tended to have on people. Sure enough, she had bowled Anderson over. A Senior Loan Officer, he was tall and extremely handsome, like what a U.S. senator looks like in the movies. And he clearly knew it. He was the consummate smooth banker: great-looking suit, mid-40s, some silver in his slicked-back black hair, with the easy smile and the glib words.

He met me at his office door, saying "Mr. Holywell? Pleased to meet you! Marlon Anderson, with an 'O', not like the fish!" I bet it was a line he'd used a thousand times. Then his eyes took in Jennie, and they widened visibly. He drank her in, as I had seen so many other men do over the years.

"Mr. Anderson? This is my wife, Jennie." "VERY pleased to meet you, Mrs. Holywell," he said, turning the charm up to full. And then to me, "you certainly have a lovely wife, Mr. Holywell!"

Getting the loan had been pretty easy after that. I had prepared a solid proposal, with everything just so; and once Anderson got a look at Jennie I don't think he would have said no anyway.

In the months since then I'd neither seen nor heard from him. Until, I remembered, about ten days earlier. He'd called out of the blue, apparently just to see how my business was progressing. He'd asked a few casual questions, and I recall he'd wondered whether I had been doing a lot of business traveling. I'd told him about some of my trips, and mentioned that I was heading to Chicago for a few days the next weekend (that is, the weekend before I saw him with Jennie in the hotel).

Now as I stood in the 6th floor hallway, it wasn't hard to put two and two together. He'd been scouting out for when I'd be away, no doubt hoping to get a little private time with the lovely wife of his client! If I was right, then today in the hotel wasn't their first tryst. That kiss in the elevator certainly hadn't looked like a first-time get-together. He must have been with her the past weekend as well.

I used my cell phone to get his home phone number and dialed it. When a woman answered I said, "Hello, I'm calling for Mr. Marlon Anderson, please."

The woman replied, "my husband is at the bank. Shall I give you that number?"

"No thanks," I replied. "I tried him there but he was out. I'll call again later." I hung up and made sure the number was ready on my re-dial button.

The hallway was quiet, with no one coming or going, until about 4:10. Then I heard a door open and peeked around the corner. The door to 617 was partway open, and I saw Jennie and Anderson, both fully dressed, coming out. They stopped for a long kiss. I saw his arm holding her tightly around the waist as he bent down a bit to reach her mouth. Then they smiled at one another, and started down the hall towards the elevator.

I stepped forward, waiting for them to see me. Jennie looked up first and froze, in total shock. Her face went white.

"Brad! What ... you ... wait, I can explain! This isn't what you think!"

"Jennie," I said quietly, "do me the courtesy of not insulting my intelligence, OK?"

I began to turn away, but Anderson grabbed at my shoulder and turned me back around to face him. He looked at me with an extraordinary expression on his face. It was a mixture of embarrassment, disgusting smugness, and glib affability.

"Brad," he said in his unctuous voice, "your wife is an unusually lovely woman. I'm sure you can understand how something like this ..."

I didn't let him finish. Up until that moment I hadn't decided how I would deal with Anderson, but his bland insincerity made the decision easy for me. I gave him a solid left hook to the belly, doubling him over. While he groaned, and Jennie backed away in fright, I grabbed his head with my hands and brought up my right knee, smashing it solidly into his face.

I could hear the cracking sound of his nose breaking, and he cried out in pain as blood spurted all over his pants and mine. Jennie screamed, and as Anderson crumpled to his knees I turned and walked to the fire stairs.

I had already planned out what came next. I grabbed a cab and was quickly back home. I knew I had a little while before Jennie could get there, so I packed clothes for a few days, took my laptop and a few important business files, got back in the cab, and went to a Marriott around the corner from my office.

On the way there I hit re-dial and was soon speaking to Mrs. Anderson again. "Hello, Mrs. Anderson? I'm sorry to have to give you some bad news. I just caught your husband coming out of Room 617 of the Commonwealth Hotel with my wife. They had been in there about an hour and a half. If you call the front desk, you can confirm for yourself that your husband took the room."

I heard her gasp, and say "who is this?" I just went on. "When you see your husband tonight his face is going to be in pretty bad shape. I'm afraid I broke his nose. I'm sure he'll have an interesting story to tell you, but the truth is I caught him coming out of the room with my wife and I broke it with my knee.

"I'm very sorry to have to tell you this in this way, but it seemed to me that you should know the truth about the man you're married to. Good luck."

I hung up, turned off my phone, and sank back in the cab. I had one more immediate piece of business, but it would have to wait until the next morning.

In the room I unpacked, ordered a sandwich and three beers from room service, then lay on the bed. The adrenalin that had fired me up for hours, helping me act coolly and decisively, drained out of me, and before long I was sobbing.

I guess I felt at that moment like every unsuspecting husband in history has felt when the moment came and the roof fell in. I thought I was happily married. I was sure my wife loved me, just as I adored her. I couldn't imagine why she would want to cheat on me (let alone with that glib asshole, though he was the least of my worries). What was wrong with me? What had I not given her? How had I failed to meet her needs? Or did it have nothing to do with me—had I fallen in love with a cold, selfish, unfeeling bitch?

I had stopped crying and was brooding, chin in my hands, when my dinner came. The beers didn't help—I just felt a bit fuzzier, no better. I called my friend Terri and asked her to come over for a drink. When she arrived I immediately filled her in.

Terri looked truly shocked. She knew Jennie well, and I didn't see even a whiff of anything but horror and disappointment in her face. That made me feel a little better—at least I hadn't missed some obvious signs that even our friends had seen.

After listening to the whole story, she just sighed. "Jesus, Brad. I have to say you're the last husband in the world, and the last friend of mine, I ever expected to hear a story like this from. I am SO sorry. I think if anyone but you had seen her, I simply wouldn't have believed it."

After a minute she asked, "what are you going to do?"

"Christ, Terri, I haven't any idea. Talk to her, I guess. But not for a couple of days. Let her sweat, right?" I gave her a bleak smile. "In any case, I'm so angry and hurt I don't know what I feel. I still love her—and I want to wring her fucking neck! I want to be with her—and I'll never trust her out of my sight again for more than 30 seconds. How can I?

"We have a little girl that I can't live without, that's one thing I know for sure. If for no other reason, I suppose I'll think about seeing whether there's some way to work this out.

"Maybe I'm finally learning the error of my ways, huh? People say 'Don't ever marry a beautiful woman', and I married the most beautiful woman any of us has ever seen. So maybe I had this coming."

"That's bullshit, Brad, and you know it." Terri spoke firmly. "I don't know why the hell Jennie did this, but it isn't because she's so damn beautiful, and it isn't because you're not a terrific, loving husband. At least from where I sit. It's just a mystery to me. You didn't 'have this coming'."

We talked for a couple more hours, and then I sent Terri home to get some sleep. "What can I do for you?" she asked me.

"The main thing is to keep Jennie off my back. I'm sure she'll call tomorrow at work—can you make sure Alice and Don get word that they're to tell her I'm out of the office? I want to wait until I'm sure I'm ready before I go see her."

"Are you coming in tomorrow?" she asked, looking at me.

"Yes—I think we're close on a couple of accounts, and I need to follow up with letters and phone calls. Also, if I don't work, what the hell am I going to do with myself?

"So, yes, I'll be there. I just have one early errand to take care of first."

The next morning I was at the bank when it opened at 8:30. I asked to see the Director of Business Banking—Anderson's superior—and by being firm and unyielding, and threatening several times to raise my voice, I was sitting in Mr. Daniel Greenwood's office by 8:50.

I wasted no time. "Mr. Greenwood, I am here to register an official complaint about the misconduct of my loan officer, Marlon Anderson. Not only has Mr. Anderson been conducting an affair with my wife"—I saw Greenwood's eyes narrow—"but he has pumped me for information about my business and taken advantage of that information to further his affair. I am considering legal action against your bank, but I wanted first to give you the chance to deal with this matter."

He hemmed and hawed and sputtered, said that this was a grave allegation, and he'd need more information, and so on. I told him all about it: Jennie's and my meeting with Anderson about the loan, his mysterious phone call to me about my planned business trips, and above all my seeing him with Jennie the day before. I briefly mentioned the broken nose as well.

By the time I left his office I was pretty sure that Anderson was through at the bank. Greenwood as much as promised that if my story checked out, he would fire Anderson for inappropriate conduct. It also seemed that he was resigned to having to settle with me financially—and since the bank's insurance company would cover it, that didn't seem to worry him much. I would contact my lawyer later in the day, and see how much he could wring out of the bank. From the sound of Greenwood's words, it might be almost the six-figure range.

(Anderson did get fired. His wife left him, and he found another banking job out of state. I suppose he could have charged me with assault, but as I figured he didn't want to explain in court what he'd been up to. Eight months later, my lawyer happily handed me a check from the bank: $112,000. It went straight into Diana's college fund.)

All that remained—all!—was to deal with Jennie. I avoided that matter until Sunday. She had left a couple dozen messages for me at work and on my cell phone, but I ignored them. They had been full of tears and apologies, as well as fears for my well-being, and they all just made me angrier. Those goddam words of love and sorrow, coming just a bit too late!

Sitting in my bland, anonymous hotel room, I went over it and over it. What had I failed to do as a husband? Surely she had to know how much I loved her and appreciated her. I had given her lots of surprises—but were they not enough? Had the routine nature of married life left her feeling neglected, despite my efforts?

Was the affair about sex? Was Jennie unsatisfied because we didn't make love enough, or not wildly enough? It seemed very unlikely to me. She rarely initiated sex, and always treated it more like a chance for emotional connection than an opportunity to go wild with me. Was there something about our conservative sex life that left her yearning to be a slut with someone else? (If so, the dapper and smooth older banker hardly seemed like the right choice—she would have gone out and found a truck driver.)

I couldn't come up with a reason. Perhaps there wasn't one. I knew I'd been mildly tempted to stray myself, once or twice. In a hotel bar in Chicago or Cleveland on a business trip, lonely and horny, looking at someone fetching down at the other end of the bar. But the mild temptation had remained just that—I'd never done so much as buy a woman a drink or start a conversation, let alone try to get laid.

My sex life with Jennie was a little bland, but it was rewarding for all the other reasons: because it was close and intimate, it was relaxed, and it was with the person I loved best in the world, and trusted most. (Or HAD trusted most...)

********

I waited until Sunday morning to go home and see Jennie. Normally we would have been at church, but I doubted that she took Diana there by herself—she would have had to explain why I was absent.

I got to the house just after 11 am, when Diana would usually be napping. I quietly went around the side of the house and peered in the kitchen window. Jennie was sitting at the table, a coffee cup in front of her, gazing at nothing. She looked tired and unhappy.

I went back to the front door and came straight in. When I walked into the kitchen she jumped up. She looked as though she wanted to run into my arms, but the look on my face must have made her change her mind.

In a quiet voice, hardly daring to look at me, she started to speak. "Brad, thank God you're here! I've been so worried! Darling, I am SO sorry for ..."

I interrupted her, putting a hand up to stop her. "I'm not letting you have custody of Diana."

She gasped, and then literally staggered. I thought she might fall. Instead she collapsed back into her chair and started to cry.

I had done it on purpose, of course. Years ago I had a boxing match against an older, more experienced fighter, who expected that I'd be easy pickings. Instead of beginning the fight in the typical way, by dancing carefully and using my jab to keep him away, I answered the opening bell by coming straight at him and launching an overhand right to the side of his head. It rocked him, and the fight was essentially over at that moment. I'd taken away his confidence.

This moment reminded me of that one—I was furious beyond words at Jennie, and so I got in the first blow. But it saddened me almost to tears that I was thinking of her as an opponent! How had we gotten to such a sad point?

I watched Jennie cry, compassion and sorrow and love and fury mixed together in my mind. I loved her so much, and I thought I had been a loving and attentive husband. Was I wrong? And if not, how the fuck could she have done this?

Finally, still crying, she looked up at me and said, "are we really at that point, Brad? Are you going to divorce me? Won't you at least let me talk to you?"

"Is there any point in bothering?" I asked.

She cried harder. "Don't you know that I love you?" She struggled to get the words out between sobs. 

"Let's just say that my faith has been shaken a little," I said coolly. "Your behavior the other day didn't seem like that of a wife who loves her husband."

"I know I deserve that," she said. "I deserve whatever you want to say to me. You have no idea how ... low I feel, how ashamed I am.

"But please, Brad, please! Won't you ... listen to me, give me a chance?"

I sat quietly for a minute. I knew I couldn't end our marriage without having the conversation that she wanted to have. And in fact I didn't want to end our marriage—I wanted it back the way it was.

But I knew I could never have that again, and it made me furious. As I sat thinking, Jennie gradually calmed down, watching me.

"All right," I said finally. "Why don't you go wash your face, and I'll get a cup of coffee. Then we can sit and talk."

"Thank you, Brad," she almost whispered. Then she stood and left the room.

When she returned I said, "OK, here are the ground rules. You tell me the truth, and you tell me everything. You don't know how much I know already, and if you lie to me our marriage is over.

"In fact, it may be over anyway—I don't know about that yet. But if you won't be totally honest with me, it'll end right here, right now."

"I understand, Brad. I will tell you all of it. There isn't that much to tell, actually."

What followed was one of the saddest half-hours of my life. The story was so predictable, I felt like I was a human cliché. 

As my new business had started to take off, I was deeply involved with it, working longer hours and spending less time with Jennie and Diana. She was proud of me, but she also felt neglected. Keep in mind her life history—an astonishingly beautiful woman who never lacked for attention.




I Hate Surprises Ch. 01



About two months after we first met Marlon Anderson, he had called Jennie. He knew about her real-estate job and said he was interested in steering some potential clients her way. For a couple of months they talked from time to time, always just about business. He did send her a number of clients, for which she was grateful; and he was always very charming but completely appropriate.

After she sold a house for one of his clients, making a nice commission, Anderson called to congratulate her and offered to take her to lunch to celebrate. Jennie was far too experienced with men making passes not to be alert, but a mid-day lunch at a downtown restaurant seemed perfectly safe to her. Besides, she confessed to me, she liked him. He was pleasant, and though a good deal older he was a very attractive man.

At lunch Anderson was again perfectly appropriate. He made a lot of flattering remarks to Jennie, but as many were about her real-estate talents as about her beauty. But he did subtly introduce the subject of my business trips. He wondered if she was feeling lonely, with me away so much; and he dropped a casual remark about how often men away on business stray from their wedding vows.

By the time of that lunch, of course, Anderson had spoken to me, and he knew I'd be away the following weekend. On the Friday he called Jennie, said he'd heard I was away, and asked her to dinner on Saturday night. "My wife is away too," he lied to her, "and we can be a couple of lonely spouses together".

The dinner led to dancing, and then to a hotel room (which Anderson had booked in advance). Jennie's account made clear that he was very smooth about it—it was obvious that he'd done this before. There was no crude groping, no obvious pass made. Just a dinner full of champagne and charm; an occasional remark to remind her that I was undoubtedly away screwing some other woman; and a steady stream of compliments and attention.

Jennie was honest with me, or so it seemed, about two things. First, she admitted that her adultery could not be blamed on alcohol. She was tipsy, but she knew what she was doing. And second, the actual sex was the least of it for her. As I have said, she is not a passionately sexual woman. What she loved about being with Anderson was all that charm and attention pressed on her, at a time when she was feeling the lack of it from me. 

She as much as said that if she could have had all the attention without the sex, that would have been her preference. But she knows how desirable she is; and she understands that for men, the only culmination of a romantic evening of seduction is a night in bed.

As Jennie told the story, in a steady voice, I was unable to sit still, and I began to pace around the kitchen.

"Making ... having sex with him was nothing special, Brad. He's not bigger than you ... that way, I mean. And he's not such a great lover, not tender with me the way you are. There was nothing so great about it, for me at least. But I could tell he was very excited, and he ... we ... had sex twice that night. He wanted me to spend the whole night with him, but I had to get home for the babysitter.

"So that was the first time, a week ago. The second time was at the Commonwealth Hotel last Thursday, when you ... saw us. He invited me for a 'long lunch', but I knew what he had in mind. 

"I'm trying so hard to be honest with you, Brad. The pleasure for me of being with ... with Marlon was the romance, the attention he gave me at lunch, the looks and the compliments. The sex was even less fun than the first time. He got very excited, and ... entered me without much foreplay. It didn't exactly hurt, but it wasn't fun for me. This time I only let him do it once. We rested, and when he wanted to ... do more I said I needed to pick up Diana. 

"We were headed out the door of the hotel room when you saw us. How did you know we were there?"

"I was with a client and saw you two get into the elevator," I said in a strained voice. I was beside myself with anger, and with hurt feelings. My fists were clenched, and I couldn't stop pacing. But I didn't want to blow up—and I knew that keeping cool was the only way I could hear how she really felt.

"So what do you want now, Diana? Do you love him?"

"Oh my God no, Brad! How can you think that?"

I restrained myself from saying, "gee, honey, the fact that you've been fucking him might have led me to that hypothesis". Instead I just replied, "what do you want then?"

She looked straight into my eyes. "I want you back. I want our marriage back. I want to do whatever you tell me I need to do, to make up for this horrible, stupid ... thing I did. And I want you to come home." She had started to cry again. "I want to beg and crawl and plead, I want to love you and spoil you"—now she was sobbing, making it hard to speak—"and I want you to forgive me, and love me again, and hold me in your arms. I want our life back, Brad!"

The unstable mixture of love and anger, of tenderness and hurt, shifted within me. I knew the shift was just temporary, but I let it move me anyway. I stood, went around to her side of the table, and pulled her up into my arms. Holding her close, I stroked her back while she sobbed, her head on my shoulder, soaking my shirt with her tears.

I waited several minutes as she gradually calmed down, holding me fiercely the whole time. When she had stopped trembling I gently stepped away from her and looked into her eyes. I was about to speak when we both heard Diana's cry—she had wakened from her nap.

Without thinking we smiled at each other. Then I said, "why don't you get our big girl and bring her in? We can give her lunch, and then we'll talk some more."

Lunch with Diana was a good respite for both of us. She was delighted to see me—I hadn't been home in three days—and we laughed and played in the kitchen as we all had lunch. Then Diana wanted to go outside and play, but we let her watch a TV cartoon for a little while so Jennie and I could talk.

When we were alone I said, "I don't know what's going to happen, Jennie. I know that I still love you. And I know that a part of me wants to kill you—I'm so angry and hurt. I don't know if I will ever be able to trust you again."

She looked at me sadly, but said nothing. I went on.

"I'm prepared to give it a couple of months. I really miss Diana, so I'm coming home, but I'm sleeping in the guest room. You can have our big bed to yourself, and remember each night why you're alone in it.

"And we need to see a marriage counselor—maybe that will help each of us understand why this happened, and whether there's enough left between us to get over this."

Looking at me gravely, Jennie said, "thank you, Brad. If it takes a while for you to know what you want, just remember that I already know what I want. I want you, and Diana, and our loving home. I know I'm the one who messed that up, and I'm the one who has to make it right. And I'm going to try as hard as I know how!" 

Her voice quavered, but this time she held off the tears. 



I Hate Surprises Ch. 02



PICKING UP THE PIECES

I won't say that Barbara McDonald saved our marriage, but I'm not so sure we would have made it without her.

From the very beginning of our first session she impressed me. A slightly heavy-set, dark-haired woman in her late 30s, she had an intelligent manner and a sense of humor. You could tell right off that she didn't waste time on bullshit.

We told her why we were there, and she asked a couple of general questions. Then she said, "I'll want mostly to listen to both of you for a while; then after a month or so I'll probably have more to say, once I have a preliminary sense of what the main issues are. We should begin with two sessions a week—later we can see each other less often, if that seems appropriate. Do you have any questions for me at this point?"

"Actually, I have two," I said. "First: are you straight?"

She looked amused. "That's rather a personal question; why do you ask?"

"Because my wife is very beautiful. Ever since I've known her I've seen the effect her looks have on men—they lose a lot of their common sense, and react to her differently because of her beauty. That's why I insisted on a female marriage counselor. And that's why I asked if you were straight."

She nodded. "I understand, Brad. And yes, I am straight."

"Thank you. Here's my other question. Several people who have had counseling like this have said to me, 'no matter whose fault it is, by the time you get done with counseling you're each 50% to blame'. Is that really true?"

She laughed, enjoying the question. "There's a bit of truth there, but it's certainly exaggerated. All my experience and training have taught me that when two people are truly happy in a marriage, neither of them cheats. So since Jennie has committed adultery"—she said this very matter-of-factly—"it's reasonable to conclude that there are some problems between you that you may not be aware of.

"That doesn't mean the blame is 50-50, as you put it. Infidelity is a deeply destructive act, and Jennie has to take responsibility for it. But it's likely that somewhere along the line, Brad, I'll want to suggest things you might think about in terms of your own behavior in the marriage."

"Fair enough," I said. "Thank you, Barbara."

Our work with Barbara lasted for fourteen months. At first the sessions were very emotional, as we talked about our past relationship, our marriage, and the events of Jennie's affair. Jennie felt incredibly guilty, naturally, but she also had little idea of why she had gotten involved with Anderson. I was full of anger and hurt feelings, and equally baffled about the why. 

Above all I wanted our old marriage back, the one that was full of affection and trust—and it took a long time for me to accept that I could never have it back. It was a vase, smashed to a million pieces. It simply couldn't be repaired; it had to be abandoned and replaced with something else.

After a few weeks Barbara began drawing our attention to what she saw as the central issue in our marriage. We talked about it over and over, and gradually the point became clearer to both of us. It also helped that I had such a good friend in Terri, with whom I talked regularly about what was going on with Jennie and me.

In short, Jennie wanted and needed an unusual amount of attention, above all from men. She had grown up with it, had had it all her life, and depended on it. The dissatisfaction and restlessness that had let her be a willing prey of Marlon Anderson arose from a period in our marriage in which she had felt neglected. I was still a loving husband—but I was also building my business, and the level of attention she was getting from me had dropped somewhat.

Barbara stressed to both of us that this was not a moral issue, on either side. "Brad, no one could possibly say that you actually neglected Jennie. From your account and hers you continued to be attentive and loving, to support her emotionally, be available to talk to, and so on.

"On the other hand, the fact that Jennie's need for attention—above all for reinforcement of her feeling of being loved—is unusually high is not a moral failing either. Human beings vary in their appetites and needs for all sorts of things. Some people eat lots of sweets, others very little. Some people have a high sex drive, and want or need sex nearly every day, while others are truly content with sex once a month.

"The need for attention and love also varies. There are people who need to hear 'I love you' constantly, or to be praised and thanked for what they've done; and then there are others who say 'I know she loves me, she doesn't have to say it', and they mean that sincerely.

"So there are two issues here, and we should try to keep them separate. First, of course, Jennie's affair was a deeply hurtful mistake, as she fully recognizes. Jennie, you could have expressed to Brad in a variety of other ways your emotional need for more demonstrations of his love. The choice you made, to seek reassurance and attention outside the marriage, was a bad one, and both of you are still paying the price for that.

"But, Brad, the other issue is that Jennie's 'baseline' need for attention and love is high. You obviously love her, and I hope that—as time passes, and as your anger about her affair diminishes—you will keep that need in mind."

I can't really summarize everything we talked about over fourteen months, but that was at the heart of it: Jennie needs a lot of attention, a lot of affection.

Surprisingly, sex did not come up all that often in our work with Barbara. It was quickly clear to her that Jennie's affair had nothing to do either with sexual dissatisfaction on Jennie's part, or with any sort of desire to experiment. Instead, sex was what Anderson wanted, the natural culmination (to him) of all the flattery and the charm; and she gave him what he wanted, without enjoying it all that much.

Knowing this made it a little easier for me to let go of my rage. One of the other things I learned from Barbara had to do with my reactions to the affair. As she put it, "Brad, you can't control what Jennie did. But you can control how you respond to it. What's done is done—she betrayed your trust, and in a serious way.

"But YOU are the one who gets to decide whether you hold a grudge forever, or let it go. You can let your anger and pain overshadow the love you obviously feel for Jennie, or you can try to let the love govern your behavior more than the anger."

This was a hard thing to accept. I realized that I was holding on to my anger as a way of not accepting that my old marriage was gone forever. Somehow being angry kept alive the illusion that I could have back what I had lost. Once I understood that, then accepting what had happened was the only choice that made any sense.

In one session, fairly early on, I more or less demanded that Jennie tell me all the sexual details of her two encounters with Anderson. To my surprise, Barbara interrupted. "Brad, I don't think that's a good idea. Jennie has confessed what she did, and you know the broad outlines. I don't see how your knowing the details will be good for either of you. It's more likely, in fact, to increase your anger, and make it take longer to dissipate."

I wasn't convinced right away, but on reflection I thought Barbara was probably right, and I didn't ask again. The fact that Jennie hadn't enjoyed sex with Anderson helped, at least somewhat.

And there was one other aspect of our work with Barbara that helped me. In a number of our early sessions I expressed how painful it was for me to think about Jennie's cheating—and I cried a lot. This was a shock to Jennie, who had rarely seen me cry. Being made to listen to me talk about my pain, my anger, my despair at the loss of something irreparable in our marriage made a deep impression on her. Seeing me so deeply wounded, she couldn't avoid facing the consequences of her actions.

For a little over a month I continued to sleep in the guest room. Then one night, without planning it, I got up, walked down the hall, and slipped into bed beside Jennie. The light was out, but she was still half-awake.

"Brad! Oh, honey, I ..."

"Shh," I stopped her. "It's all right, let's not talk." I was afraid she'd accidentally say something that would make me angry again. So I just reached out for her, and she moved to me, putting her arms around me and her head on my shoulder.

I felt the oddest mixture of pain and utter bliss. They did battle for a while, but the bliss won out. We fell asleep in each other's arms.

Strangely, I didn't move right back into our bedroom after that. I continued to sleep many nights in the guest room, sometimes returning to hold Jennie, sometimes staying away. She was wise enough not to press me—always she was delighted when I got in bed with her, but silent and patient on the nights I didn't. It felt like I was working through my own drama of reconciliation, with the many ebbs and flows of feeling.

It was nearly three months before we made love again. By then I was very horny, at least intermittently, and had begun masturbating regularly in the shower. But I felt that I shouldn't rush into sex with Jennie again—I feared that my hurt and anger would blaze up, resulting in a very unhappy scene.

When I thought I was ready, I turned the evening into a surprise, Jennie's favorite form of attention from me. She came home from work one Friday to a note from me on the kitchen table, saying only "We're going out to dinner tonight—please dress for a fancy restaurant, and be ready by 8pm. Your Date"

I'd arranged for the babysitter to come at 7:30, and at precisely 8 pm I appeared at the front door—I had taken my nice suit to work with me, and changed there. I had flowers for Jennie, as though it really was a date. She met me with a big smile, looking absolutely ravishing. She had put on a dark maroon velvet dress that accented her slim figure, and put up her hair in a way she knew I loved. And her eyes were full of sparkle and happiness. She may not have known all that I had in mind, but she knew this was a good sign.

We had a marvelous dinner at the best Italian restaurant in St Louis, with just enough wine to enhance our pleasure without making us drunk. I knew she wondered what the evening was all about, but I responded to a couple of probing questions with a smile and "You'll see," and she realized she had to be patient.

When we got home I paid the babysitter and we looked in on the sleeping Diana. Then I took a wrapped package from the coat closet and presented it to my wife. "Jennie, I'd be grateful if you'd take this with you into our bathroom and get ready for bed. I'll meet you in the bedroom in ten minutes."

She looked at me with shining eyes, kissed me, and hurried up the stairs. Ten minutes later I was naked in our bed, the lights low, when she emerged from the bathroom. Her golden hair was down now, over her shoulders, and she was wearing the very sexy lavender nightie I had bought for her. By now she had figured out what the rest of the surprise was!

It may seem bizarre that I had gone to all this trouble for our first night of sex—almost as though I was the guilty party, going to great lengths to make things up to her. Shouldn't I still have been furious, still making her suffer with every word out of my mouth?

The answer is that Barbara's words had really reached me: I DID have a choice about how to handle my anger, and letting go of it seemed like the best way to make myself happy again. In addition, I had realized that one of the worst things about being cheated on is how passive it made me feel, how much like a victim. Setting up this romantic night for Jennie and me was an active step, a positive step that I was taking to move us beyond the pain of her adultery. I felt ready to take that step.

I got up out of bed, already partly aroused, and went to Jennie. I held her close and said, "you look so gorgeous in that nightie, it's almost a shame to take it off you. That's exactly what I'm going to do, though, so I hope you don't mind if I take my time."

"Take all the time you need, sweetheart," she said into my ear. "I've got no other plans for tonight!"

We lay together on the bed, kissing and touching. After so long, and after what had happened, it felt in a strange way like our first time, which made it intensely exciting. When I caressed her breasts she groaned into my mouth, arching her back to push them harder into my hands. I slid the nightie down off her shoulders and stroked and licked her breasts, feeling her hips start to move against my rigid cock.

I rolled onto my back and pulled her up over me on her hands and knees, so that those beautiful breasts dangled above my face, and I continued to lick and kiss and suck them, using my hands to stroke her legs. I slowly moved up her legs, easing the nightie up past her waist. Then I spent a long time sliding my hands up and down her thighs, coming closer to but never quite reaching her pussy, all the while kissing her breasts and sucking the nipples.

It had probably been years since I had spent so long arousing Jennie, and she was getting more and more excited. She was usually pretty quiet in bed, but her groans of pleasure became more frequent, and her hips churned as she tried to urge my hands into her pussy. Finally I slid one finger all the way up, finding that she was soaking. Using the finger to stimulate inside her vagina, I used my other hand to arouse her clitoris, until her hips were jerking back and forth and she was gasping, "oh, oh, Brad! ohh!"

As she twisted around above me, I kept my mouth at her breasts and my hands on her clitoris and vagina. When she got very close to an orgasm I slowed my motions for about a minute, then built her up again. I did it twice more, and the third time kept right on stroking as she gasped, stopped breathing, jerked uncontrollably, and then sighed, collapsing flat on top of me.

I held her, my face buried between her breasts. I knew that bastard Anderson hadn't made her feel like this—and while that had not been the point, I still felt good about it.

Without lifting her head, Jennie said, "oh, baby, you've killed me. I'm dead. God, that was marvelous." Her voice was deep and totally relaxed. Then after a minute she rolled to one side and tucked herself in next to me, her head on my shoulder, looking at my face. "I have missed you so much," she said simply.

"Me too," I said, meaning it. At that moment I loved her so much—the anger was still inside me, but in a distant place where it didn't seem to matter.

We lay a few minutes longer, our hands idly stroking one another's backs. Then one of hers began to trail, delicately and pleasurably, down to my cock. In no time it was rigid and waving in the air. 

"What shall we do with this, Brad?" Jennie asked me with a grin. "Do you want to put it inside me, or ... should I love you with my mouth?"

I was amazed—that was a lot more explicit than Jennie almost ever was in talking about sex, and I liked it. No doubt she was trying to make up to me, but at the moment that didn't bother me a bit.

"Inside you," I answered. "I'm hoping you'll use your mouth later, to get me ready for round two." She looked surprised for a moment, then pleased.

Without speaking we both moved to missionary position, perhaps both wanting to be face-to-face this first time, and in one another's arms. After all the foreplay I was very hard, and she groaned low in her throat as I slid into her, slowly, in one smooth stroke.

We began to couple, moving gently together, savoring every sensation of my cock in her pussy, my chest against her breasts, our arms around one another, her thighs pressed against the outsides of mine. It was a reclaiming—for me at least—but a gentle, loving one. I didn't want to punish her, or fuck her into oblivion. Instead I wanted us to pleasure each other, as much as we possibly could.

For several minutes we fucked in this gentle way, my head tucked into her neck, enjoying one another. Then, without stopping, I raised up so I could see her face. Her cheeks were wet with tears, but she smiled at me and whispered, "I love you so much!"

"I love you too, Jennie."

Still whispering, looking right into my eyes, she said, "I'm so glad you're back!"

Then she pulled me tightly back down to her. With her hips she spurred me into faster strokes, and we gradually built together, increasing the speed and force of our thrusts. I heard her gasping, and I had to remind myself to keep breathing as I approached my climax.

Jennie never came from intercourse alone, and she'd long ago persuaded me that it was fine to go ahead and come when I was ready. But this time when I knew I was only seconds away, her vagina clutched me spasmodically, her breath caught, her arms tightened hard around me, and I knew she had come. Moments later I was shooting into her, lost in my own pleasure, unable to think of anything else.

We lay there in utter collapse, both sweaty, both very happy. I couldn't even think about round two! I pulled the topsheet up over us, and in no time we were both asleep.

What woke me were Jennie's smiling face and the smell of coffee. She was smiling down at me from the side of the bed, wearing a robe, holding two cups. I glanced at the clock—only 7:15.

"I know it's early for a Saturday, but I hoped we could have a little more ... time together before Diana wakes up," Jennie said. She let her robe fall open a bit in front, and there was nothing underneath it. I'm always amazed at how seeing a partly-clothed woman can be so much more arousing at times than a fully naked one!

"Well," I said, feigning gruff reluctance, "you might be able to talk me into it." Then I smiled. "How about a few minutes of coffee and conversation, and then round two?"

She just nodded, sitting down next to me in bed and handing me a cup. Ten minutes later she was getting me ready as promised. She brought a warm washcloth to clean me up first—Jennie was never all that comfortable face-to-face with our fluids on my cock—and then she caressed and teased me with her lips and tongue deliciously, until I was nearly ready to burst.

"From behind this time?" I asked, and she happily agreed, obviously still eager to please me. She knew this was my favorite position. We settled her comfortably on several pillows under her middle, and then I climbed onto the bed behind her.

Her pussy looked so inviting that I couldn't resist a few preliminary kisses, lavishing them along with strokes of my tongue up and down her labia as she made noises of pleasure. Then I slid up close behind her and gently buried myself in her.

I don't know what it is about doggy-style exactly, but something about being behind Jennie is incredibly pleasurable and exciting. The grip of her pussy around me is different, and I get very aroused looking at her gorgeous back and ass, which I can stroke with my hands while we fuck.

"Just ... take me, sweetheart." I heard Jennie's voice. "Don't even worry about me this time, just ... take your pleasure with me. I want you to."

I leaned forward for a moment and kissed her ear, then her cheek. Then I began stroking in and out, smoothly, going as deep as I could, revelling in the heat and tightness of her vagina. I took Jennie's advice, pacing my thrusts to maximize and extend my pleasure, letting my orgasm build in me bit by bit. Knowing that she had given herself to me in that way, that she was available purely for my pleasure, added to the excitement.

I wanted it to last forever, but it was only a few minutes before I was pumping into her rapidly, hugely excited, holding her hips, my thighs smacking her buttocks each time, totally beyond thought. When I came I don't know if I quite saw God, but I certainly went somewhere far away, the sensations rushing through my body like electricity.




I Hate Surprises Ch. 02



Afterwards I lay on my back, gasping like a fish for a few moments. Jennie gazed at me lovingly. "Sweetheart, that was amazing! Thank you!" I felt like I ought to say something else, but I didn't know what.

She kissed me gently on the cheek, then on the lips. We lay together quietly, enjoying the silence and each other's warmth, until Diana's murmurings from her room drew us up out of bed.

********

That night, and morning, were the turning point in the resurrection of our marriage. I moved back into our bedroom full-time, and for some time our sex life was as intense and as pleasurable as in the first months of our relationship. Inevitably it slowed down after a while, but a certain glow of rediscovery seemed to linger. For years after that I think sex was better than it had been in the period before Jennie's affair, maybe just because of our mutual sense of how close we had come to losing one another.

Our next session with Barbara after that night of spectacular sex was funny. When we came into her office she took one look at us and said, "I'm not usually given to speculation—but it's so obvious here that I can't resist. You finally went to bed together, right?"

We nodded. "And it was really great, right?" We nodded again, smiling broadly.

Barbara smiled too, as unreservedly as I'd ever seen. "I'm so glad for you. There were steps leading up to this one and there will be more in the future, but this was a really big one. I'm happy that it went so well."

********

HAPPY YEARS—AND A DEVASTATING SURPRISE

My moving back into our bedroom didn't mean our marital troubles were over. Nor did our finally stopping the sessions with Barbara. But both were steps leading along the right path.

I found that my love for Jennie was strong, even unshakeable, in the months and years after her affair. My anger ebbed and flowed. There were moments when thinking of her with that scumbag Anderson made me wild with fury, and I had to walk around or take deep breaths to calm myself down. But the general trend of my anger was downward—my episodes of rage grew less frequent and less severe. Whoever came up with "time heals all wounds" was onto something.

What took the longest to return was my trust in her. I simply wasn't able to take her fidelity for granted any longer, as I had been for the first seven years of our marriage. Now, any time she was at all late getting home from work; any time she was out of my sight for more than five minutes at a big party; any time she seemed out of sorts, or on the other hand more than usually amorous; and my heart tightened in my chest.

We talked about this, of course. We had discussed it with Barbara, and we kept talking about it. Jennie understood the reason for my feelings, and understood that she was the cause of them. She never reproached me for my jealous worries, and was always prepared to give me every last detail of where she had been, why she was a few minutes late, etc.

It was probably more than five years before these worries diminished to a level where they were easily manageable for me. But Jennie was not only faithful, she was resolutely patient and sympathetic.

What helped me, finally, to relax my level of suspicion and fear was that our life together was so happy—perhaps even happier than before the affair, because we were both trying harder. Jennie took every opportunity to show her love for me: in words, with little gestures like a special dinner, or going out of her way to find my favorite wine that was hard to get. 

My favorite way she demonstrated her affection, of course, was in bed. She sucked my cock much more frequently, and at times volunteered to do it without my asking. She occasionally whispered to me in bed, "is there some new way you'd like to try?" though previously she had been rather conservative about sexual positions. She bought sexy lingerie every once in a while as a treat for me, and kept it on while I made love to her, which I found very exciting.

Not that Jennie had become a wild woman. She didn't use dirty words, and dirty talk from me still turned her off. And she didn't propose wild fantasies for us to act out, or offer to have me tie her up, or buy dildos and vibrators for us to play with. I would have enjoyed trying all those things, but I was happy with what we did have. Our sex life wouldn't have made for best-selling pornographic videos, but it was very loving and very satisfying for both of us.

My business continued to grow. I had a number of large clients, and after a few years the company was doing more than $5 million of business each year. Terri was wonderfully capable at tending to the day-to-day operations and managing the staff, which left me free to work on attracting new accounts. 

Jennie also continued to be successful in her real-estate work. By the time Diana was nine our family income was up over $300,000, and we bought a large home in a beautiful suburb west of St Louis. We also applied for membership in one of the fancy country and golf clubs in the area. I had played a little golf growing up, and I really enjoyed the game. I hoped Jennie would take it up too.

Our final interview for club membership was typical of so many events in our life together. We'd passed all the financial hurdles, and the interview was for the snooty types who ran the club to see if we would be socially acceptable. Well, one look at my wife was all it took! They about fell all over themselves being ingratiating to her; if I'd been a drooling idiot they probably wouldn't even have noticed! We were accepted within a week.

After that the club, and in particular golf, became a more and more important part of our life. It turned out that Jennie loved to play, and with some lessons she improved rapidly. Within a couple of years she and I were both shooting in the 80s (well, some of the time...).

It also turned out that our daughter Diana was a natural. She'd played soccer as a youngster, but once she tried golf she got very serious at it. She became good enough to win some local and state-wide junior tournaments in her teens; and with her excellent high-school grades she wound up receiving a golf scholarship to the University of North Carolina.

Somehow Jennie and I had never gotten around to having any other children after Diana. The years after the affair were very unsettled—and then after that it maybe seemed too late. I don't think we regretted it very much, at least until Diana went off to UNC. Then we both felt the "empty nest" very keenly—the house sure seemed quiet!

But there was a positive side too, of course. Jennie and I now had the time and freedom, along with the money, to travel and do what we liked. In Diana's freshman year I surprised Jennie with a mid-winter trip to South America, where we had never been (and where it was mid-summer). We both liked to try new golf courses, so in September one year we flew to England and played some of the great old courses there and in Scotland.

When we weren't vacationing, my desire to keep my business growing meant that I had to travel more. Even ten years and more after Jennie's affair, this made me nervous. I tried hard to give Jennie a lot of attention and affection just before a trip, and to keep in close touch with her while I was away. I had stopped saying "Jennie, I'm still afraid you might cheat on me", or anything like that, but I imagine she still knew of my worries.

For our twentieth wedding anniversary, back when Diana was still in high school, we'd had a big surprise party. Frankly I'm not sure Jennie was all that surprised—I suspect she knew I was up to something, and twentieth anniversaries are usually celebrated in high style—but she pretended to be surprised. It was a big gathering of family on both sides, as well as many of our oldest and best friends from out of town. We had it at a fancy rooftop restaurant in downtown St Louis, with a fabulous view by night over the city.

Our twenty-fifth anniversary would be in the June of Diana's senior year. Knowing that Jennie would be on the lookout for any sort of surprise around that time, I decided more than a year ahead to arrange something special, and to do it months ahead of time.

Jennie loved the ballet—we had made a couple of trips to New York and Chicago over the years to see the best ballet troupes perform. So I ordered tickets for a Saturday night performance in early December by the American Ballet Theater, on tour in Chicago. I planned an elaborate weekend for the two of us: hotel, limos, champagne, fancy restaurants, the works. And I even collaborated with Diana, in secret, to shop for a new evening gown for Jennie to wear.

With years of practice in surprising my wife, I tried to think of everything. I told her a couple of weeks ahead of times that I would be away on business the weekend of December 9-10. There was nothing unusual about that, so she was not suspicious.

Then I had my friend Terri, who was also good friends with Jennie, call to invite her to the theater on Friday Dec. 9. This was a ruse—I just wanted to make sure that Jennie wouldn't make any other plans for that night. I had Terri arrange to pick up Jennie at our house at about 6 pm. They would go have dinner, then see the play together.

I never left town that day—I just said a pretend farewell to Jennie, then spent the day at work. My plan was to get home before her, around 3 in the afternoon, and have the rest of my surprise all ready when she came home from work around 5 pm.

The first sign of trouble came around 2 that afternoon. Terri came into my office, a worried look on her face. "Brad, Jennie just called me to cancel for tonight. She said she's not feeling well, and she's going to rest at home."

I thought for a moment. "Well, Terri—it might be true, or she might have made some other plans. Either way it looks like my surprise might be in trouble. Was she calling you from home?"

"I think so, but I'm not sure. I didn't hear any of her office noises in the background."

"OK—thanks Terri," I said. "I think I'll head home quietly, and see what's going on."

********

A NASTY SURPRISE

I didn't know what I'd find when I got home, but I already feared something worse than just Jennie not feeling well. As I drove slowly towards the house, her car was there—but so was a dark blue BMW. I thought I recognized the car, but couldn't remember whose it was.

My heart sank. Could she possibly be screwing around on me again, after all this time? After nearly eighteen years? Trying hard not to jump to conclusions, I drove around the corner, parked my car out of sight, and walked back to the house.

I silently entered through the back door, and stood still in the living room, listening. There was no one downstairs. Upstairs I could hear music playing softly. Worse and worse... I climbed the stairs quietly. The music was coming from the radio in our bedroom.

Even before I reached the open bedroom door I could hear, over the music, the unmistakable sound I dreaded. The squeak of the bedsprings, the rhythmic grunting of two people fucking. My wife, fucking some other man—in our bed.

My first reaction was not anger so much as an absolute sadness—a sense of utter despair. This was the woman I'd been through so much with! We'd fought our way back from the brink after the first time I caught her cheating. Eighteen years later, I had gotten to be so sure that was the last time too.

We were in our mid-forties: I'd been looking forward to 30 more happy years with Jennie. Years of traveling, playing golf, relaxing; maybe playing with our grandchildren some day. My beautiful, loving, fun wife, who was going to be with me through our happy golden years together. Except that she was screwing some other guy in our bed.

I've said before that in times of emotional stress I tend to get cool and decisive. And it happened again. After just a minute of despair—even grief—the adrenalin kicked in and I began thinking, planning.

I went quietly downstairs, got the digital camera, and returned to the bedroom door. Because of the shape of the room I knew I could lie on the floor, inch slightly into the room, and be able to shoot photos of the bed without being seen. I had to know who was fucking my wife, and I wanted to have proof.

When I cautiously slid into the room, there was Jennie, and there on top of her, gasping and lunging, was George Atherton. He was a handsome, distinguished-looking man of about 60, the President of our church congregation. We knew him and his wife Angela quite well, and Jennie had worked with him as Vice-President of the Ladies' Auxiliary of the church. 

Even at that bitter moment it occurred to me how much he was like Marlon Anderson, Jennie's first extramarital lover: handsome, charming, and substantially older than she. Just like her boyfriend in high-school had been; just like the faculty member I'd caught her flirting with at Penn State had been.

Turning the flash off, I silently took about a dozen photos, more than enough to get all that I needed. I made sure to get George's face clearly in several shots. It may seem surprising, but I didn't then jump up and spoil the party. I had other plans in mind. I lay there and watched.

They were in missionary position, and it looked like George was getting close to coming. He had been saying things to Jennie earlier, talking about how lovely she was, but now he was doing nothing but thrusting and grunting, holding himself up on his elbows.

I watched Jennie lying under him, her head turned to the side. I knew her well enough to know she wasn't enjoying the fuck. There was a look of strain on her face, not pleasure, and she wasn't responding at all to George's increased intensity. Whatever this was about for Jennie, it wasn't sexual pleasure or excitement.

George reached his orgasm, climaxing with a roar of pleasure. Under him Jennie just grimaced, looking as though she was just waiting for it to be over. After a minute, he rolled off and collapsed beside her. I quietly slid myself back out of the room into the hall, where I sat against the wall and listened.

After a minute George began to speak to her. "Jennie, sweetheart, that was marvelous! You are so beautiful, so desirable ... making love with you is like a miracle! I never dreamed it could be so exciting."

Jennie didn't respond—instead I heard the sounds of them shifting in bed, and then a couple of kisses. Then he said, "darling, let's get cleaned up, then I'll take you to dinner. I made a reservation at Il Trentino for us tonight." Il Trentino was a very fancy place, but somewhat out of town. I guess he figured no one he knew would be likely to spot them there.

"All right, George," she answered. "Let me take a shower first, it will take me longer to get ready." I heard her move into the bathroom and shut the door, then the sound of the water began.

I thought about what I'd just heard. Jennie's response to George sounded cool, even a little distant, certainly not particularly affectionate or aroused. Combined with what I'd seen, it was clear she hadn't enjoyed the sex the way he had. And his words to her made it sound like this might have been their first time in bed together, In any case they certainly hadn't been doing this for weeks.

Knowing what I had to do next, I waited quietly in the guestroom, listening to them get dressed. From their conversation it was clear that they'd had lunch that day, and then he'd talked Jennie into coming back here and going to bed with him. I knew that Jennie had called Terri at 2 pm to cancel their theater plans, so Jennie must not have been planning to jump into bed with Atherton until after their lunch. He must have poured on the charm then.

It was also clear from their words that this had been their first fuck—and I could tell that Jennie was regretting it, although she didn't let Atherton know it. And she seemed perfectly ready to go out to a nice dinner with him.

I waited until they headed down the stairs, and then I heard the sound of the front door opening and closing, and Atherton's BMW driving away. I figured they'd come back here after dinner—perhaps for another session in bed, or if not then he'd drop her off. In any case, he had a wife at home, so he wouldn't take Jennie back there.

I had a couple of hours. Oddly enough, I was hungry—so I made a quick sandwich, ate it, and cleaned up the kitchen. Then I headed for my computer, downloaded the photos, and did a little digital editing. I picked out the six that most conclusively showed Atherton fucking someone other than his wife, and then I carefully fuzzed out Jennie's face and enough of her hairstyle so that she wasn't identifiable.

Then I emailed the six photos to my office computer, printed out one copy of each of them, and deleted all of them from the home computer and the camera.

Two more things to do. I called Terri, told her the short version of the bad news, and asked if she was free for the weekend. "We don't have to go to the ballet, but I've got the ride to Chicago, the suite in the hotel, and the restaurant reservation. I'm sure as hell not going to hang around here this weekend, Terri, and I'd be grateful if you could come with me."

"Of course, Brad. I'd like that. Let's try to have some fun, even under the circumstances. I'll pack a bag, and you can pick me up at my house whenever you're ready. And Brad .... I am just so sorry!"

"Thanks, Terri. I'll see you in a while."

Sitting back down at the computer, I composed a letter to Jennie, laying out in detail what my plans for the surprise weekend had been. I really wanted her to suffer, knowing what she had missed by fucking that son-of-a-bitch!

****** Dearest Jennie:

This year will be our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I so much wanted to express my love for you by doing something special, and I knew I could never surprise you near the date of our actual anniversary, so I had planned a wonderful getaway for us this weekend. Here's what we would have been doing:

I would surprise you today around 5 pm when you came home from work, with flowers and a bottle of champagne.

At 6 pm a limousine would pick us up and take us to the airport—I had already packed your things for the weekend.

We would fly to Chicago on a private jet that a client and friend was lending us for the weekend.

In Chicago another limousine would take us to the Top of the Mark Hotel, where I've reserved a penthouse suite for us. Waiting for us in our suite would be more champagne and a late supper I ordered for us.

When we went to bed you would have found a new nightie I picked out for you waiting there.

Tomorrow we could have spent doing whatever you liked: going to a museum, some early Christmas shopping, walking around town, or just enjoying some private time in our suite.

We had a dinner reservation for tomorrow at Chez Louis, the best French restaurant in Chicago. After that, two seats in the center orchestra for the American Ballet Theater.

To make sure you had something to wear, Diana and I picked out a gorgeous evening dress for you—it's hanging in the closet in our suite. And I was bringing along a sapphire necklace and matching earrings I bought you to go with the dress.

On Sunday, we were going to have a leisurely brunch, perhaps a stroll, and then fly on the jet back home in the early evening.

It would have been a special time for us, and a way for me to show you how much I love and cherish you—a way for me to thank you for twenty-five happy years and look forward to twenty-five more.

I am so sorry that it won't be happening.

Your loving husband, Brad

******

I wrote it on purpose in the most affectionate way I could. I felt no need to throw curses and recriminations at her—I figured she'd be harder on herself than anything I could say.




I Hate Surprises Ch. 02



And I continued to feel much more sorrow than anger. I was just so sad! For the loss of the happy future with Jennie I had been so confident of just a few hours earlier. For the loss of my trust in her, which I'd so painfully regained after years of struggle. And even for Diana, who would have to know why her parents' marriage was suddenly coming to an end.

My preparations made, I turned off all the lights I'd put on and waited for Jennie's return with Atherton. I had no intention of letting that prick fuck my wife again, but I wanted to see whether it got that far before I intervened.

When I heard them in the driveway I moved quietly to a corner of the kitchen, from which I could see the front door and the foyer. As they came in, Atherton was holding Jennie's arm and smiling, finishing some anecdote he'd been telling.

She turned to him and said, "George, thank you for a lovely dinner ... and lunch!"

He laughed and said, "and for the lovely time in between! Listen, Jennie, how about if I make us each a drink and we relax for a little while. Angela thinks I'm at a meeting—she won't expect me home until 11 at least."

"No, George, thanks—I'm feeling a bit tired. Let's just say good night." She smiled at him, looking to me a little strained.

He wasn't ready to give up yet. "Jennie, you are the most ... marvelous, most attractive, gorgeous, most intoxicating woman I have ever known. This afternoon with you was ... the most unforgettable experience of my life! I would give anything to hold you in my arms again."

"Thank you, George. But I'm not sure of my feelings just now—I need a little time. I think we should just say good night." She was being firm, being the woman I knew so well who was perfectly capable of handling a pass. Why the hell hadn't she done that a few hours earlier?

He just sighed, and said, "very well, my dear. I will look forward passionately to the next time we can be together." He gave her a long kiss, which she didn't seem to enjoy very much, and then departed.

I watched Jennie as she closed the door behind him. Her face fell, and she looked tired and very sad. "Jesus," she said to herself, shaking her head. She hung up her coat and headed for the stairs.

I didn't want to scare her half to death, so I waited until she'd started upstairs, then turned on the light behind her. I heard her whirl around, and waited a moment before I said quietly, "Jennie, it's me."

She still couldn't see me, so I stepped out of the kitchen and came to the foot of the stairs, looking up at her. Her face was ashen. She tried to speak, but all that came out of her mouth was "Brad ..." She looked as though she was unable to move.

I walked up the stairs, took her hand, and gently led her back down to the living room, where I sat her on the couch and sat down on a chair facing her. For some strange reason I was feeling tender, not furious. I knew I was about to make her very sad, just as she had done to me—and I felt grief for both of us and what we were losing.

I waited, and finally she said slowly, in a desolate tone of voice, "I thought you were out of town."

"It was a surprise for you—for our twenty-fifth anniversary. I had planned a weekend trip for us. Here are all the details." I handed her an envelope containing the letter I'd written so carefully.

She didn't open it, just held it in her hand, looking at me numbly, despairingly. "How long have ... when did you get here?"

"I've been here for a while," I said gently. Then after a minute I said, "Jennie, we're going to have to talk. I'm going to go now. I'll call in a few days, OK?"

Without waiting for an answer I headed for the door. As I opened it I turned back to look at her. There were tears on her cheeks, and she looked as though she'd lost her best friend. I guess she had. 

As I was about to go out the door she said, "Brad ... I'm so sorry!"

"I know, Jennie. I am too." 



I Hate Surprises Ch. 03



If I wasn't capable of being angry at Jennie right then, I had no trouble being pissed off at that bastard George Atherton! A smug, smooth, self-righteous asshole. It took me just ten minutes to drive to his house.

When I rang the bell his wife Angela answered. "Hi, Brad! Nice to see you—this is a surprise!"

"Hi Angela. I'm sorry to bother you, but is George here? I need to see him for a moment—it's urgent."

"He just came back a few minutes ago. Let me get him. Come on in!"

As I stood in their front hall, George emerged from the back of the house. He was clearly shaken when he saw me, but he recovered after a moment and came forward with a big self-satisfied smile and his hand outstretched. "Brad! How nice to see you. How is everything? How's your lovely wife?"

Ignoring his hand, I stepped forward and kneed him hard in the balls. He collapsed with a loud groan, bringing Angela back into the room. As she watched in horror, I grabbed him by the hair, pulled up his head, and slapped him across the face, back and forth, a dozen times or more, until I was sure I was raising bruises.

"So you think you have the right to fuck my 'lovely wife', you self-important, hypocritical cunt? I ought to cut your balls off and shove them down your throat!" I punctuated this last remark by kicking him in the nuts again, leaving him groaning in agony on the floor.

Angela ran to me and pulled me away. "Brad, have you lost your mind? What is going on here? Why did you hit George?"

"Because, Angela, I'm sorry to say that I watched your husband fucking my wife this afternoon in my marital bed." I handed her the six photos. She looked quickly at the first few, then gasped, "that bastard!"

I calmly sat down on the sofa, watching George's writhings. "Angela, why don't you bring your loving husband a glass of water? He seems to need it. And then I need to speak to you both for a minute."

Looking shell-shocked, she did as I asked. A few minutes later, George had managed to get himself into a chair, where he was still hunched over in pain. He didn't look at me once. Angela sat across the room, looking at him furiously.

"Okay, George, here's how it is. You certainly demonstrated this afternoon that you're not a fit leader of our congregation, wouldn't you agree? So tonight you're going to call the pastor and the Board of Governors, and you're going to resign your position. You can tell them it's for personal reasons, or health reasons, or whatever you like. I don't give a shit.

"But you're going to do it. Because if you haven't done it by noon tomorrow, copies of those photos are going to be emailed to every member of the Board of Governors. I'm sure they'll be quite concerned about the morality of what you've been up to.

"And one more thing. Don't even think about dragging Jennie's name into this. Because if you do, I promise you I will come back to this house and kill you with my bare hands. Slowly. And it will be a pleasure."

He didn't even try to fight me. He caved instantly, still not looking at me. "All right, Brad, I'll do it. Do you promise you won't send the photos?"

"You resign, and the photos stay with me. Though it's kind of a shame, don't you think, that more people won't know about the other side of George Atherton?"

I turned to his wife. "I am sorry, Angela—truly. Maybe it wasn't my right to make you face this too, but I couldn't help thinking that you'd want to know the truth about him."

She nodded grimly at me. "No need to be sorry, Brad—I've known for a long time he's been chasing skirts all through the congregation. It's actually sort of nice to have proof of it."

Without another word I headed back to my car.

********

AFTERMATH

Terri and I made the best of our weekend in Chicago. I felt sorry for her, actually, because I was so sad and it didn't make for a lot of fun. We ate well, we both enjoyed Christmas shopping with the city all lit up, and we skipped the ballet in favor of a entertaining musical. In other words, I did the best I could.

On the way to Chicago, I filled her in on everything I'd seen, both of us remembering sadly that eighteen years earlier I had done the same thing, the first time Jennie cheated on me.

As before, she listened to me with loving sympathy and concern, holding my hand gently when I cried. The worst of it was over by the time we reached the hotel, and we managed to enjoy the dinner and the terrific view.

Over the years I had thought idly about Terri—who at 53, five years older than I, still was a beautiful woman—and wondered what it might be like to have her as my lover, rather than as my best and most trusted friend. There was no question I found her attractive, and I imagined she felt the same way about me. But it never came up between us, which always seemed like a good thing.

That night in the suite, there was a mildly embarrassing moment. Terri wandered into the bedroom and came out holding the beautiful—and incredibly revealing—nightie I had left there for Jennie.

"God, Brad, this nightie on Jennie could have given a dead man a hard-on!"

I laughed, but then wondered if I should offer it to Terri. She saw my thoughts in my eyes, and smiled ruefully. "No, Brad, I don't think so. I love you better than any man I know—certainly better than that jerk, my ex-husband—but you and I are better off as friends. And tonight of all nights, neither of us would feel very good about me giving you THAT sort of consolation."

I went to her, smiling, and gave her a big kiss on the forehead. "Bless you, Terri. You are my very best friend. And a big part of why I love you is that you're smarter than I am!"

We hugged, fondly, and then went back to our coffee and dessert.

When I got back to St Louis I found a couple of short phone messages from Jennie. In a listless, hopeless voice she said that she was ready to talk with me whenever I wanted. 

I called her Sunday night and suggested we meet at the house the next day after work. She agreed, and after a moment asked, "did you go ahead and go to Chicago anyway?"

"Yes, I went with Terri. We had an OK time ... but needless to say, it wasn't the same, Jennie."

There was a long silence. I could hear her quietly crying. I waited, then said, "I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart," and hung up the phone.

I didn't feel angry. Intellectually, I knew that I was angry, and that I was supposed to be enraged, furious, ready to kill my unfaithful bitch of a wife. For the second time she'd taken my happy marriage and stomped on it! I should want to kill her, right?

But those thoughts didn't connect to my feelings. What I felt was just sadness, as much for Jennie as for me. I didn't know why Jennie had fucked George Atherton—or rather from the looks of it why she'd let him fuck her. I imagined it was all about attention again—about her need to feel loved and attractive.

But I knew that she was now regretting it deeply, bitterly—blaming herself (and rightly so, of course) for killing her happy marriage once and for all. Given the pain she was in, I just didn't feel like piling on with my own anger.

********

On Monday I called Barbara McDonald and asked to see her. A little surprised to hear from me after so long, she said that she'd prefer to see Jennie and me together. 

"I'd really like to come in by myself," I said. "Jennie's cheated on me again."

She took a deep breath. "Brad, I am so sorry to hear that." We made an appointment for later in the week.

Jennie met me at the door Monday evening. She looked like a zombie—if a zombie could be breathtakingly beautiful. She was pale, with deep circles under her eyes. She hadn't spent much time or attention on her make-up, and from the looks of things she hadn't gone to work that day.

It was so hard for me to know what to feel. Should I be pleased? Good, you bitch, suffer and die, you deserve it? Or, this is my wife who is suffering here; and yes, she brought it on herself, but it still saddens me to see her so miserable? Or even, the hell with her, I'm facing the death of a marriage that meant the world to me?

We sat together in the living room. She seemed to want to begin. Looking straight ahead of her, she said, " you won't have to worry about the water-works tonight, Brad—I'm all cried out." Then she sat silent for a minute.

Suddenly she said, "I've been an idiot, Brad ... I've been a fucking idiot!" Her use of the swear word startled me—it was completely uncharacteristic of her.

"I've been over this and over this, as I'm sure you can guess. Why did I do this, how could I have done it? With George Atherton, that pompous political skirt-chaser? Did you know, by the way, Brad, that a bunch of ladies in the congregation think he's hot stuff? Everyone knows he screws around, and I heard a few rumors about how great he is in the sack. What bullshit!" Her voice had risen from apathy to spirited mockery—but then it subsided again.

"And the note you left me, describing the weekend you'd planned for us—it just about killed me, Brad. I just about cried myself to death. I guess that was your intention. What a lovely, amazing, generous surprise it would have been! If I could only go back and undo Friday ... I've had that thought ten million times this past weekend."

She lapsed into silence. I waited, then said, gently, "can you tell me about you and George?"

She sighed. "He's been sniffing around me for months, Brad. I see him all the time at church business meetings, as you know, and he's been giving me lots of attention. It wasn't as though I couldn't see where he was headed—I just don't understand why I didn't give him a big No weeks ago, even before the question became imminent.

"We had a lunch date Friday—but I swear, Brad, there were supposed to be three other committee heads there, just a working lunch. Instead when I showed up at the restaurant it was just George, a little table for two in the corner. He said that two of the others had to cancel so we'd re-schedule the meeting. He hoped I wouldn't mind the consolation prize of having lunch with him." She grimaced.

"I go over it and over it, Brad .... We had lunch, we had some wine, he was charming. I have to confess that turning 47 last summer kind of depressed me, made me feel old. I know I'm still good-looking, but I sure don't look the way I did at 27, don't get that total attention when I walk down the street.

"Anyway.... he brought me here after lunch, made a pretty strong pass, said he'd take me out that evening for dinner to a really nice, quiet place out of town he knew about. And I gave in. I just don't get it, Brad!" She looked at me, genuinely bewildered.

"I called Terri to beg off the theater for Friday night, and I let him take me to bed. In our bed!

"And it was awful. He practically tore my clothes off, pawed at me, gasped out compliments and endearments, and then pretty much jumped on top of me. For the first time in my life I felt like a whore—felt what it would be like to be a whore, letting a man take his pleasure with your body, you trying the whole time to pretend you weren't there.

"I could hardly wait to get into the shower and wash him off me, Brad. There is nothing I've ever done in my life that made me more ashamed than letting George Atherton masturbate inside me—because that's what it was.

And then I went to dinner with him, because I didn't have any easy way to get out of it. I knew you were away, and I didn't want to have a big fight with him, so I thought, I'll just have dinner and get rid of him. And when we came back here, I did. I don't know how much of that you saw." She looked at me.

I said, "I was here for a while, honey. I saw the last bit of your fucking with George." Her face reddened furiously, and she looked down. "And I could tell you weren't enjoying it—that it wasn't a pleasurable experience for you."

I started to say more, but she put up a hand to stop me. She got up off the couch, came to me, and kneeled before me, looking up seriously into my eyes.

"Brad. It may not make any difference now ... but I have to say it. I am sorry.

"This was the lowest, smallest, cheapest, most repulsive thing I have ever done in my life. If you knew nothing about it, it still would have been bad enough, believe me! I would have wandered around this house all weekend reproaching myself, wanting to scream, trying to scrub the whole thing off myself like Lady Macbeth with the blood.

"But the fact that you ... were here, that you know ... what I did ..." She broke off, starting to cry. "I said I was all cried out," she said, trying to smile, "guess I was wrong.

"The fact that I betrayed your trust, again ... after all the work that both of us have done ...." She stopped, still crying, but kept looking up at me.

"Brad ... are we done? Is this it, have I destroyed our marriage once and for all?" She was trembling.

"I don't know, Jennie. I've just been feeling so sad, the whole weekend. Not even angry as much as sad. I wanted to grow old with you, have you as my best friend for the next 30 years or whatever we've got left.

"And I don't know if that's still possible. I ... I don't know."

She started to sob, kneeling at my feet, her head hanging down; and I fought the impulse to pull her up into a reassuring hug. I simply sat, dry-eyed but wishing I could cry too.

Twenty minutes later, we were sitting in the kitchen, calmer, having coffee. It was dinner time, but neither of us was the least bit hungry.

"Do you want me to move out, Brad?" Jennie spoke wearily, quietly, without energy.

"No, Jennie, not for now. I have a hotel room for a few days. I've been thinking I'd look for a decent apartment downtown, near the office. Just until ... until we've decided what's going to happen."

"Diana will be home for Christmas break on Saturday," she said, in an unsteady voice.

"I know. I've been thinking of that too. We'll just have to ... see about Christmas.

"And I'm going to see Barbara McDonald on Wednesday," I added. She nodded, saying she thought that was a good idea.

After five minutes of unbroken silence, I got up and said I thought I'd better go. She came to the door with me, and before I opened it she spoke.

"Brad? I'm not sure I even have the right to say this."

She looked at me very seriously. "I love you. More than ... more than anything."

"I know, Jennie." I bent to kiss her cheek, resisting again the impulse to take her in my arms, and went out the door.

********

My session with Barbara was pretty somber. She listened sympathetically to the story, giving me time to recover when I broke down into storms of tears. I told it all, my surprise weekend plan and all that I'd seen and done at the house. And she waited a while after I finished before she spoke.

"Brad—I'm struck by the fact that you are full of sadness, but seem to have very little anger at Jennie. Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know. I've noticed it too. I guess it seems so obvious to me that Jennie didn't mean to hurt me, that she loves me, that ... that she's just a weak person. Weaker than I realized. Unless I'm the world's most gullible jerk, she really loves me. And she wants us to be together pretty much as much as I do.

"As I've said, what she was after with Atherton certainly wasn't sex—seems like it was just a bit of flattery and reassurance. I guess the only thing that really does make me angry, is knowing that she could have had that from me simply by asking!"

"Yes, well," Barbara smiled wryly, "sometimes coming from a spouse it isn't quite as satisfying. She already knows you love and desire her. Most of us need to get some of that flattery elsewhere every once in a while. And in and of itself, there's nothing wrong with that. It's just that, now for the second time, Jennie went way too far."

"Yes," I said, "but I have to pay the price for it as much as she does. Dammit, now I am getting angry! SHE fucked up, but now we're BOTH looking at the end of our marriage!"

"Brad, she's hurt you deeply—again—and you have every right to feel angry, victimized, unfairly treated. But keep in mind that you also have a choice about what you do with those feelings.

"Let me ask you a question. Forget what Jennie might want. What do YOU now want?"

I thought. "I'm not sure ... but the only happy future I can imagine is one with Jennie in it. I have looked forward to us growing older together, traveling, doing things together that we both enjoy; to making love, though perhaps less often; to having grandchildren."

"Well," she said gently, "there's no reason you can't have that if you want it."

I snorted. "But if I can't trust her? And how can I trust her now, after this? The second time, after all our hard work...."

"Brad—in the past eighteen years, how many men do you suppose have expressed their interest in Jennie?"

I gaped at her. "Hundreds, for sure."

"And how many of those has she gone to bed with?"

I saw where she was going. "Just one. I guess ... how can I even be sure of that any more?

Barbara said, "let's assume for now it's just the one. Doesn't that suggest that Jennie has been trying to be faithful to you?"

I sat, thinking about her point. "Does that mean I'm just supposed to say 'no problem' when she does this, like it was some meaningless little accident, like she dropped the eggs on the floor?"

"No, it doesn't mean that. But you might think about reacting to this admittedly awful decision in the context of all the love and affection—and faithfulness—she has given you in your marriage.

"Look, Brad, cheating on you stinks. It was an awful thing to do. I've seen it destroy marriages. But I have also seen the strength of the bond between you, and how much you enrich one another's lives."

An idea began to occur to me. "Barbara, would it be reasonable for me to say to Jennie that I want to save our marriage, but that she has to earn it? Not a punishment exactly, but by acting in a way that proves to me that she really wants it and is willing to work for it?"

"I think so, yes. Obviously it depends on the specifics. What do you have in mind?"

I leaned forward and spelled out my idea. She nodded thoughtfully, gave me her first response, and we discussed it for the rest of the session.

********

On Thursday night I called Diana at school. I didn't want to bother her until her finals were over—but she needed to know that I had moved out of the house. I didn't want that shock to greet her when she got home.

We talked first about school, her exams, her plans for her last year on the golf team in the spring, a little bit about Christmas plans. 

Then I said, "Diana—I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but ... your mom and I have separated for the time being."

"I know, Dad. Mom called me a couple of nights ago. She was crying—it was awful. She wouldn't tell me any of the details, just kept saying that it was all her fault. What is going on?"

"You don't need to know more than that we're going through a rough patch, sweetie. It happens to a lot of couples. Doesn't mean we're headed for divorce, just that we need to work some things out." I expressed a lot more confidence than I was feeling.

"But in any case," I went on, "we won't both be at the airport on Saturday to pick you up. I think I'll let Mom do it, and I'll call you on Sunday and we can get together, OK?"

We talked a couple more minutes, then said goodbye. I was actually relieved that Jennie had called her first. And I guess I was also relieved that, if our marriage was really over, our daughter was a college senior, and not a much younger child.

********

The Christmas season was a pretty dark one for us. Jennie and I met two more times to talk through things. Our meetings were calm, not angry, but pretty gloomy. I satisfied myself that Atherton really had been her only affair since years ago with Anderson. I no longer trusted her much, but her voice and words and body language all persuaded me she was telling the truth. She also had the insight not to resent the question, but to see why it was inevitable that I would ask it.




I Hate Surprises Ch. 03



Our talks also confirmed to me that she loved me very much, and that she wanted our marriage to continue; but she didn't have much hope that it would. She seemed even more convinced than I was that I could never get over what she had done a second time.

I saw Barbara McDonald twice more, talking through the idea I had in mind, until I was confident I had thought it all out and it made sense.

Neither Jennie nor I wanted to subject Diana to a cheerless Christmas with both of us, so they shared Christmas Day and Diana spent Christmas eve with me in my hotel suite—I'd put off finding an apartment until after the holidays. Diana asked a few more questions about our marriage, but I was determined not to draw her into it—and certainly not to mention her mother's cheating.

Between Christmas and New Year's Day, Diana and I went off for a few days of skiing together, and that really cheered me up. The being away, the physical activity, and the delight of my daughter's company were all what I needed.

When we got back I called Jennie and asked if we could talk on January 4th, after Diana had gone back to school. She asked if she could make dinner for us, and I said that would be great.

********

CAN THIS MARRIAGE BE SAVED?

Dinner with Jennie was harder than I thought it would be. We had lots to say to one another about Diana, how well she was doing, what she was planning for after graduation and so on. But when we were done with that topic, a new one was hard to find.

So we found ourselves eating mostly in silence, though the dinner was delicious. Jennie had obviously gone to a lot of trouble. She had also planned her outfit carefully, and she looked fantastic.

After dinner, I suggested we take our coffees into the living room. Without waiting any longer, I plunged right in.

"Jennie, it seems like it's time to talk about our situation. Can you tell me: what would you like to see happen now?"

She looked at me, very surprised. "Do you really have to ask me, Brad?"

"Humor me," I said. "As if I didn't know—just tell me what you want."

Slowly and thoughtfully, she responded. "I ... would like our marriage to continue, Brad. I would like you to ... be able to forgive me ... somehow, and live with me again. And love me." Suddenly there were tears in her eyes. "All I want is for you to love me, Brad—the way you have loved me, so wonderfully, for so long. And the way I love you." She stopped for a moment as crying overtook her.

"But how can that happen?" she cried. "How can you possibly ... get past what I've done a second time? And in our own bed? Honestly, Brad—I don't see how I could ever live with you if you had done such a thing!

"I've been thinking of how I could possibly make this up to you—and I can't! I just can't—I can never make it right!"

She cried, her face in her hands, and I watched her. If remorse was part of what I needed to see, to help me heal, I was certainly getting a full dose of it!

I moved over to the couch and gave her a handkerchief, waiting while she calmed down a bit and dried her eyes.

"Jennie—if we both want the same thing, there ought to be a way to make it happen."

She looked up at me. "But how? Even if you ... take me back, how can you ever trust me again? Or look at me without thinking ... of what I've done?"

"I actually have been thinking a lot about this, and I have an idea. Do you think you want me back enough to work for it—to prove to me that I really matter to you?"

"Of course, Brad!"

"Jennie, don't say 'of course' too quickly. What if I asked you to do something very difficult? What if I said, Do this difficult thing and I will believe in you again, believe that you love me enough to be faithful? The thing is, it IS something very difficult."

She was past her tears now, calm and very serious. She looked straight into my face. "I can't imagine what you're talking about, Brad. But I know that I owe you, and that I have something terrible to make up to you. Please just tell me what you're talking about."

I took a deep breath. "Jennie, I think we should separate for a year. And in that year, I don't want you to go to parties or date at all. I also don't want you to see any men alone—ANY. If you have to have lunch with a client, let him bring his wife, or else you bring a co-worker.

"I know how much the attention and admiration of men means to you. It's certainly what got you into trouble with Anderson, and it seems with Atherton as well. So I'm asking you to live without that admiration for a whole year. If you can pass that test, I'll be able to believe that you can be faithful to me."

I sat silent then, watching her face as she thought about it.

"So—I could go out with women friends, but not men friends, no matter how innocent?" I nodded. "And no parties either?" I nodded again, and said, "and none of those big charity dinners or dances, with lots of men and women around."

She thought some more.

"Brad," she said, a bit hesitantly. "What about ... well, what would you be doing for that year?"

"I'd be living my life," I answered. "Working, traveling ... probably dating, if I met someone who interested me. I promise you that I won't let anything get serious—if at the end of this year you've lived up to your side of the bargain, I'll be ready and waiting for you. But I'm not going to live the same life of social deprivation that I'm asking you to live—because I'm not the one who cheated on our marriage."

Her lip quivered as she looked at me. "I don't know what scares me more—being so cut off from ... from social life, or the idea of you ... dating someone else."

She started to cry again. "I betrayed you twice, Brad—and I'm so jealous of you with another woman that I just can't stand it!"

I put my arms around her, but said nothing, letting her crying subside.

Finally she got up, out of my arms, and paced around the room. "I'll do it, Brad. It seems terribly hard—but that's obviously the point.

"And you need to know: I am scared, scared to death. I don't know what it will feel like without men around to flirt with, to tell me I'm lovely, to let me see that they desire me.

"But I'm even more scared of you with someone ... younger, sexier—someone who will excite you, and make you forget me."

She was trying hard not to cry again. "Listen," she said. "Can we stay in touch? See each other, maybe every few weeks? It would be so much easier for me if I could see with my own eyes that you were still in my life."

"Of course," I said. "And in any case, we'll be together in North Carolina for Diana's graduation in a few months. We can even fly down there together if you like."

She smiled at me, looking like a little girl trying to be brave. "I would like that, Brad."

********

With Terri's help, I went looking at apartments in downtown St Louis, and settled on one within a week or so. It was nice having a lot of money—I could simply choose what I liked without worrying about the cost.

The place I picked was nothing like our suburban home. It was up on the 28th floor, new and modern-looking, full of light, with floor-to-ceiling windows in several of the rooms. There were three bedrooms (I intended one as a study, and one as a guest room for Diana's visits). The master bedroom had room for a king-sized bed, it had an enormous walk-in closet, and the bathroom had the largest Jacuzzi I'd ever seen. It was clearly meant for two, but it looked like a family of five could fit!

It also had a beautiful modern kitchen, not that I did very much cooking. And it was just a 6-minute walk to my office. It felt perfect—and since I had no desire to 

see my old bedroom again, having witnessed Jennie and George Atherton fucking in it, it was nice to have a new place that I felt good about.

I went back to the house a couple of times to pack my things, and Jennie helped me. I told her about the apartment, but we didn't say too much besides that. She was looking better than when we had our "big talk"—I think having something difficult she had to do had gotten her determined side fired-up. She was back at her real estate work with a vengeance, and she mentioned to me that she'd already had to turn down three social invitations because of her commitment to me.

********

One of the things I least wanted to do was check up on Jennie, but I wasn't comfortable not doing it. I called Sam Abbott, whose detective agency I had used once in a difficult case involving an employee I thought had been stealing from me. Sam's people had handled it quietly and effectively, and I trusted him.

Sam and I met in a diner for lunch, and I explained that I had a private job for him—I wanted discreet surveillance on my wife. "I'm sorry to say she cheated on me, Sam. Now we're separated, and she's promised me she won't see any other men for a year." 

He said nothing, just raised his eyebrows at me.

"So I'd like her watched, but not continuously. Maybe two weeks out of every month for the first few months. And above all, very discreetly. I absolutely don't want her ever to know that she's being watched. If your guys lose her while tailing her, that's better than letting her know. They can always get her again the next day or something."

"OK," he said. "What would you like exactly?"

"Above all, photos and video of her with men, if there are any. If there aren't, then a weekly phone message to me at my apartment." I gave him the number.

"And I'd like the phone at our house tapped, unless that's illegal."

"Technically, you're still the homeowner, right Brad?" I nodded. "Then technically you're asking me to put a tap on your own phone—perfectly legal."

We arranged a time for me to let his men into my house to put in the tap, while Jennie was at work, and I thanked him.

"I'm sorry you're going through this, Brad. You don't need me to tell you, but that is one beautiful lady. I hope things work out."

********

I buried myself in hard work, trying not to think too much about Jennie, and before I knew it spring was coming. She and I talked about once a week on the phone, and we'd had a couple of lunches together. The stiffness we'd had back in January had eased a lot, and I think we both enjoyed one another's company. We managed to stay away from sore subjects, and got great pleasure talking about our daughter. Diana was due to graduate in a couple of months, and had lined up a terrific job in an art gallery in New York.

In March I went out on my first date in 28 years with anyone other than Jennie. I'd gotten to know Kate while bidding on a job for a hotel chain that had a branch in St Louis; she was the purchasing manager for the hotel. They ended up not hiring us, but a few months later I ran into Kate at a charity fundraiser I went to each year.

Kate was a beautiful brunette of about 35—I say "beautiful" advisedly, because neither she nor anyone else is the equal of Jennie. But she was tall and very striking, with dark eyes and a curvy, rounded figure. She also was single, and she liked me. We shared several dances at the fundraiser, and a few days later I called and asked her to dinner.

Over steaks and baked potatoes and some really good red wine, we told each other our stories. Kate had grown up on the West Coast, in a very difficult family situation—alcoholic mother, emotionally distant father—and had moved away for college and stayed away. Perhaps because of her parents' bad marriage, she had shied away from marriage herself. There had been a few serious boyfriends, but she'd found it safer to be primarily committed to work than to another person.

I gave her the short version of my situation. In a few words I said that my wife had cheated on me, and that she and I were separated. I made clear that Jennie and I still talked, and that we might get back together, but that it wouldn't be right away.

"So I'm not very good date material," I concluded. "Or perhaps, if you're not interested in marriage, I'm perfect date material!" I laughed. "In any case, Kate, I needed you to know what my situation was. I'm really enjoying your company, but I'm not 'fully unattached', whatever that means."

"Thank you, Brad. During our business discussions together I got the feeling you are an honest person, and you have just been very honest with me.

"So let me do the same. I like you, and I have to admit I'm attracted to you. But it sounds as though we ought to take it slow for a while—though I hope we'll be having another date soon!"

I laughed again, and said that it sounded like a good plan to me.

********

As May approached, I spoke to Jennie about travel plans and then booked tickets for us down to North Carolina, along with two hotel rooms. We had a wonderful weekend, enjoying being together with the focus on Diana. Because the weekend was all about our daughter, there wasn't any pressure on Jennie and me to do more than bask in our love and pride for her.

Diana was in her element. It pleased us that she was proud of us, as she introduced us to everyone in sight: her golf teammates, her coach, her major advisor, several of her good friends. When Commencement Day came, both Jennie and I had happy tears in our eyes, watching our little girl stride confidently across the platform to receive her diploma.

Sadly, it was just two weeks later that our 25th Wedding Anniversary came and went, unobserved and undiscussed. I didn't want to talk to Jennie about it, or even be with anyone. I spent the day alone, driving around in the countryside for a while, then back in the apartment watching bad movies on TV. Hardly the happy anniversary I thought I would be having!

It was about three weeks later, in early June, when I was greeted by a very unwelcome call from Sam Abbott. I'd been hearing from him regularly, always with a brief report that Jennie had not been seeing any men—nor had the phone tap turned up anything at all disturbing.

But this time he said, "Brad, I'm sorry to have to tell you this. But Jennie had a long lunch last week with a tall guy, maybe a little younger than she—early 40s, probably. They ate at one of those outside cafes downtown, and sat there for a long time. It didn't look at all romantic, though. And earlier this week she had a couple of phone conversations with a guy named Art, who told her he was coming to St Louis for a business meeting. They clearly know each other very well."

"Is the guy dark-haired, a little bit of a pot-belly, and he wears horn-rimmed glasses?"

Sam said yes, and I sighed with relief.

"Sorry, Sam, it never occurred to me to let you know. That's Jennie's brother. He's in town for a couple of days. Jennie called and told me he was visiting, and I should have called you."

"No problem," Sam replied. "I'm glad to know it's nothing. I'd be delighted if all this money you're paying me turns out to be wasted!"

"Me too, Sam, believe me."

********

When Jennie and I met for lunch the next week, something within me had changed. The "man" who turned out not to be a man, but her brother, had calmed me down a bit. I felt less on my guard, a little less worried that any day now Jennie would be seeing someone else. It had been six months, after all.

Whether or not she sensed the change in me, we had a particularly nice time. After lunch I proposed a drive along the river before we both went back to work, and she enthusiastically agreed.

We didn't speak much, just breezed along, enjoying the warm air and the sunshine. A couple of times I felt the urge to say something encouraging about our situation, but I resisted. Instead I glanced at her whenever I could, marveling as I often did at her beauty. I knew her so well—and yet looking at her sometimes could be utterly thrilling.

When I drove Jennie back to her office, she hesitated before getting out of the car.

"Brad, I haven't asked you anything about this—but I worry about it all the time. Are you ... seeing anybody?"

I wanted to answer her carefully. "Yes, Jennie, I have been dating somebody. But it isn't serious, and it isn't sexual."

She looked at her hands. "Do you think ... do you think it will be?"

Again I thought a moment before answering. "It might, Jennie. But even if it does get sexual, I think it will still be a casual relationship. I still love you—very much. And I'm committed to you for the course of this year, as I promised."

She sat in silence, still not looking at me. Finally she said, "OK, Brad. That's fair. You know that I just hate the idea of you ..." Then she shook her head.

"No, sorry," she said. "I know the deal. Thank you for answering my questions."

I leaned over to kiss her cheek. She surprised me by throwing her arms around me and hugging me tightly, almost desperately. When she let go, she managed a brave smile, then got out of the car and went swiftly up the path to her office.

********

Perhaps it was the memory of that passionate, desperate hug that prompted me to surprise myself the next week. Kate and I had another dinner date, our fifth or sixth evening out together. A couple of those had ended with some very intense necking in my car, but we hadn't gone further than that.

This time, though, Kate pulled back from our kissing and said, "I'd love it if you'd come inside for a while, Brad."

While I hadn't been pushing her, I'd been looking forward to this moment. Kate was very attractive and exciting. I hadn't had sex with anyone in more than six months, and I'd had a couple of fabulous erotic dreams about her. I was separated from my wife, who had cheated on me twice. So why hesitate?

But I did. I sort of froze for a moment, and Kate saw it instantly. She smiled ruefully, then stuck out her tongue at me.

"Jesus, Kate," I said in some embarrassment. "I've been looking forward to that invitation, even dreaming about it! But ... I think we shouldn't. I still feel ... attached to my wife, and you deserve better than just a part of me."

She grinned at me. "Even this part?" she teased, caressing my erect cock through my pants.

"It's all right, Brad, really. I do want you, and I think we could be really great together. But to be honest with you, I'm a little afraid that if we started having sex, it might start getting way more serious with you than I want it to—especially since your wife is in the picture."

"To be honest, Kate, now that we've decided to do the smart thing I'm incredibly disappointed! You are so beautiful, and so sexy!"

She kissed me again, then got out of the car. Coming around to my side, she leaned in and said, "let's make this a rain-check then. I can't bring myself to hope you and your wife don't stay together—that wouldn't be very kind.

"But let's just say if that if it doesn't work out, your first call damn well better be to me."

I laughed, thanked her for the kind words, and promised that it would be. In a few more sentences, we agreed that it would be best to stop seeing one another for the time being.

Someone once told me that the way you can tell you've done the right thing is that it feels terrible! Judging by that axiom, my refusing to go to bed with Kate may have been the rightest thing I've ever done.

********

By the end of the summer I was antsy and restless. Work didn't hold my interest, but nothing else did either. Even playing golf was less fun than usual, in part because I enjoyed it most when Jennie and I played together.

My get-togethers with Jennie had become a bit more frequent, and more relaxed. We were able to enjoy one another's company without stressing out too much about, or even really talking about, our odd situation. But I don't think I acknowledged to myself how much I was missing her.

My wise friend Terri came into my office one day and said, "OK, boss, I'm dragging you out to lunch. Let's go."

When we were sitting, eating our sandwiches, she said, "what's the problem, Brad? I haven't seen you so distracted in a long time."




I Hate Surprises Ch. 03



"I don't really know, Terri. Nothing seems like much fun. And it feels like a long long time until January..."

"You mean, until the end of Jennie's 'year of exile'? You moron! Who decided that it would be a year?"

I began to see her point and I blushed, feeling foolish. "Okay, I see—it was me, so there's no reason I couldn't change that. But until it's over, Terri, how do I know she'll follow through?"

"Wake up, Brad," she said with a big smile. "You told me about the reports from Sam Abbott—she's totally lived up to her part of the bargain for eight months. And you've known all along it would work out—you're the only one who doesn't see that."

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

Terri grinned even more broadly. "Funny thing about the apartment you chose 'just for yourself', Brad. The master bedroom is gorgeous, with a huge walk-in closet for a woman's whole wardrobe; the bathroom has that big Jacuzzi for two people; the building is a short walk both from your office and Jennie's.... C'mon, you dope! You knew you'd both be living there!"

"So what are you telling me, Terri?" She just laughed again, and said, "you're so smart, you figure it out!"

********

I called Jennie and asked her out to dinner for Friday, September 14, but I made it sound casual. When I picked her up, we went to an informal but really nice restaurant that my company supplied. The food was great, and we talked easily about work, and about how well Diana seemed to be doing in New York.

After dessert and coffee, still keeping it light, I asked if Jennie was interested in seeing my apartment. She'd never been there, so she was eager to see it.

I gave her the whole tour, and she oohed and ahhed about the great view, the enormous bedroom and closet, and the Jacuzzi. She said a few nice things about my decorating style—though I really owed most of the nice touches either to Terri or to Diana.

Then I said, "Jennie, I have a little surprise for you, if you don't mind." I sat her down on the living room sofa, then disappeared into the kitchen. I came back with a cold bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a flat wrapped object.

"Why don't you open this? Then, if you like, maybe we'll have some champagne."

Knowing it had to be some sort of good surprise, she smiled happily at me, and then took the package in her hands. She unwrapped it carefully, then gazed at it for a long time without speaking.

Finally, she looked up at me, tears in her eyes, and said, "really, Brad?"

Smiling, I nodded, and she threw herself into my arms. We hugged tightly, kissing again and again. After a minute I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.

We were both so eager that our love-making was frantic. Too excited to linger or to draw it out, we tore one another's clothes off. She took me in her mouth, but almost immediately after I was fully erect she lay back on the bed, saying "now Brad—I don't want to wait any longer!"

I was hard as a rock. I slid into her slowly, but in no time we were madly pounding against each other. I don't think I lasted more than two minutes, but those two minutes were unbelievable. She bucked and twisted under me, saying my name over and over, just adding to my excitement. I roared when I came, shooting what felt like months of cum into her.

We lay gasping together for several minutes.

"Sorry I got so carried away, sweetheart," I said, "but I was pretty excited after more than eight months without any sex."

She started to say something, then stopped and looked at me, a huge smile growing on her face. "Really, Brad?" I nodded. She climbed up on me and gave me a long, delicious, sexy kiss.

Then very seriously she said, "thank you. You couldn't possibly have given me a kinder gift than what you just said. I know ... I know I don't deserve it, but ... thank you, Brad."

We had some champagne, lay in bed happily for awhile, then fell asleep. But the make-up sex just got better the next morning.

We took a quick shower, then raced back to bed. I was suddenly desperate to eat Jennie, to lick and kiss her pussy until she went crazy. She pulled me up into a 69, and we loved each other for a long time. I gave her three orgasms before she took me over the top and I came, jerking and gasping, into her mouth.

When we'd caught our breath Jennie looked at me and said, in a mock-scolding voice, "now Brad, I'm going to need another shower!"

I smiled and said, "why don't we have some breakfast first? We might wind up back in bed again after that, and I'd hate for you to have showered too soon."

Jennie got up, borrowed my robe from the closet, and wandered into the kitchen, where I could soon hear her puttering around, and the smell of fresh coffee. After a few minutes she called me in to eat.

When I came in I stopped in my tracks, just looking at the scene and smiling.

The kitchen table was beautifully set for two, with cloth napkins and all. A platter of bacon and eggs sat in the middle, along with a plate of toast, a pitcher of orange juice, and the pot of coffee.

And in the very middle Jennie had propped up the gift I had given her the previous night. It was a wooden plaque, with this inscription:

Brad & Jennie's Calendar:

January 4 – September 14

=

One Year

********

EPILOGUE

We were standing in the living room of our suburban home, surrounded by full and half-full boxes, feeling very discouraged.

Jennie had agreed with me at once when I proposed that we sell the house and live together in my apartment. The bedroom certainly had bad memories for me—I didn't ever want to sleep in it again. And, more benignly, our daughter was grown and had moved away. We both worked in the city, and loved the idea of being close to restaurants and night life.

So we had sold it, and were now facing the last of the packing—sending some of the stuff to the apartment, the rest to an auction for charity.

"Brad," Jennie said with a funny grin, "there's 'somebody' I want to introduce you to. Not here, but tonight, back at the apartment."

I didn't get it, but I could tell I wasn't meant to. I simply agreed, and we continued with the endless packing.

That evening, back at the apartment, we showered off a day's worth of sweat, which happily led to an hour in one another's arms in the bedroom. It was five months since our reunion, but we were still fucking like newlyweds—or at least like newlyweds in their late forties.

When we'd eaten and were undressed for bed, I said, "Jennie, you were going to introduce me to 'somebody' tonight—but first I wanted to tell you something I thought about today. Can I go first?"

She said, "sure," and I continued. "It may sound sort of serious, but I think it's actually kind of funny.

"I noticed, and I'm sure you did too, that both the 'gentlemen' you strayed with were more than fifteen years older than you."

She looked suddenly pale, as though I was about to rebuke her. I reassured her by taking her hand and smiling at her, then went on.

"I actually find it reassuring," I said. "I mean, it was eighteen years between the first and the second. So, if you can promise to be faithful to me for eighteen more years, the lover you'll be looking for at that time will have to be eighty years old. I think I'll be ready to fight off any horny octogenarians who come swarming around you then!"

Jennie laughed, relieved, understanding that my words were a lame attempt at humor, not any sort of punishment for her.

"Brad—how about if I promise to be faithful for eighteen years, and then eighteen after that? Then I'll be 83; and my lover would have to be 98."

I laughed at the thought of it, and said, "it's a deal—but in return I get a fling with a 95-year-old hottie too!"

We kissed lovingly, and then after a minute I said, "all right, what about this 'somebody' I'm to meet?"

Jennie's face had a sly and very sexy look. "You can't really meet him unless you're ... excited, Brad. So I think I'm going to have to help with that ..."

Slipping out of her nightie, she pulled off my T-shirt and boxers. Then she slid herself all over me, rubbing her breasts over my face, down my chest, and all around my hardening cock. When it was pretty hard she kneeled between my legs and sucked lovingly on it, giving me lots of tongue, until I was very very excited.

Pulling off me suddenly, she said, "that should do." She disappeared into the closet, where a moment later I heard a low buzzing sound. Returning to the bed, she said, "Brad, meet Brad," and put into my hands a large brown vibrating dildo.

"Brad?" I said in surprise. "You couldn't come up with another name for him?"

Jennie laughed, and said, "I picked him to stand in for you, silly!" Taking the dildo back from me, she held it right next to my erect cock, and I could see the the two were much the same in length and girth, though the dildo's "balls" looked a bit different from mine.

Still giggling, she said, "for all those months I REALLY missed you, Brad. My co-worker Darlene—you remember she's kind of wild—told me about a store outside St Louis that sells stuff like this, and she took me there. I was very embarrassed, but she helped me look at the dildos, and I picked out the one that was most like you. So naturally I had to name him Brad!

"I knew from the very first day we had our talk that I was going to be a year without a man. And the only one I wanted was you. I hope you don't think it was cheating," she winked at me archly, "but I figured a substitute Brad would be better than none. 

"And it was," she concluded, straddling me and sliding my cock gently inside her, "but not as good as the real thing."