93 comments/ 282155 views/ 31 favorites Twenty Minutes Ch. 01 By: ohio I was only twenty minutes early coming home from work. When I thought about it later, that's what amazed me. They were fucking in our bed only twenty minutes before I was due home! Was I that boringly predictable? I could tell you I expected it, that I was suspicious of her, but it would be a lie. I was flabbergasted, paralyzed, dumbstruck. Angie and I had been married eight years—very happy ones, if you ask me. And our sex life had been great: energetic, fun, full of surprises. We still did it 2-3 times a week. Sometimes it may have been routine, but at other times it was mind-blowing. I hadn't been neglecting her, I hadn't taken lots of business trips, we hadn't been fighting, she hadn't been moody, she hadn't been staying at work late. There was nothing, no sign to warn me. Because I saw the strange car out front, I slipped into the house quietly. Right away I could hear the creaking of the bed in our bedroom, and I knew. Time stopped. I stood still, listening. Not listening. Not thinking. I idly wondered if I was still breathing, if the blood was still circulating in my veins. Then I felt the pounding of my heart, so strong I was amazed they couldn't hear it in the bedroom. I kept standing there—I don't know how long. I heard the creaking, heard the moans and the sighs, heard the gasping sounds Angie makes when she gets close to coming. And then I quietly turned and walked out the door, got in my car, and drove away. *** *** *** *** I found a bar, sat at a table, had a cold beer. Thought about having another one but stopped. I didn't want to get plastered. I felt numb. I remembered reading that when a guy takes a bullet, like in combat, the pain doesn't come right away—the numbness is first. That's how I felt. But I knew the pain was coming. I sat for an hour, and sure enough the pain came, and the mental images. I saw Angie writhing in some guy's arms, biting his shoulder, gasping into his mouth. I saw her sucking his cock, bending over so he could fuck her from behind. I saw the two of them relaxing and laughing in our bed, saw her giving him that ravishing smile, saw her pulling him on top of her for more. My stomach knotted, my heart pounded, my fists clenched. I was a wreck. I couldn't see the future beyond the next few minutes, and they looked pretty fucking bad. What the hell should I do? What does a husband do in this situation? What would Angie expect me to do? A crazy idea came into my head. Absolutely insane—utterly the opposite of what a typical, loving, predictable husband would do. In my condition I couldn't tell if it was good insane, bad insane, or just plain insane. Without hesitating I decided I'd do it. Maybe it was time I stopped being predictable. *** *** *** *** I drove to an electronics store and got the high-tech gadgets I needed. Then I drove straight back to our house. I was more than an hour late, and I knew Angie would be wondering what was up. "Alex, what happened to you? I was ... I ... are you all right?" Angie looked great. She was freshly showered and made up. And she's beautiful, always. But she was puzzled, and a bit worried, as I came into the house with my head down, wearing the most hangdog expression I could manage. Looking miserable, I just said, "Angie," in a voice that started to break. I looked at her, letting the grief that I felt show in my face. "Please come sit in the kitchen with me. I have to talk to you." She followed me in and we sat together. I looked at her bleakly for a few long moments, then I spoke. "Please ... just let me say this, and try not to interrupt. "I've been having an affair. For three months, with Christina Blodgett." Christina was a casual acquaintance of ours. I'd never laid a hand on her, and she had recently moved out of state with her husband, but Angie didn't know that. "It's over now—I ended it. But I had to tell you. I had to ... tell you the truth, and beg for your forgiveness." I'd been looking down, but now I turned my haggard face up to hers. "I ... thought it was just sex, that it ... that it had nothing to do with you and me. Because I love you, desperately! "But I realized ... that I was lying to myself. Every time I ... was with her, I was hurting you, even though you didn't know. What kind of loving husband would break his marriage vows, give himself sexually to another woman? "I convinced myself that you would never find out, so that it would never hurt you. But that was a selfish lie, one I told myself so I could keep the affair going. "And I saw that ... that what I was doing was an act of hostility to you. Sleeping with her ... even though it was just casual sex, pulled me away from you. How could running around behind your back not be a slap in the face to you, an attack on what we have together? "Angie ... honey ... I am so ashamed. I cannot even imagine the pain this must be causing you. I am so sorry." And I started to cry, for real—my tears falling not because of my invented affair, but because of her real one. I looked up at Angie, and her face was a study. She was utterly stunned, of course, but not the way an innocent wife would have been. She clearly hadn't the slightest idea of how to react. Before she could pull herself together, I went on. "I want you to know one thing. Christina and I were ... never together here, in our house. I could never have ... been with her in our bed. I just wouldn't have done that to you." I thought to myself, I hope that one stung, you bitch! "I'm going to pack a bag, and stay in a hotel for a few days. I'm sure you won't want me in the house. I want you to have a little time, to think, to ask yourself whether there's any way we can get past this. I love you, and I want to be married to you always. But ... to be honest, I don't know if I could handle it if you had cheated on me. "I'm so sorry, Angie! I'll run upstairs, pack my things, and I'll be gone in five minutes." Without waiting for her reply I hurried upstairs. I packed, but I also attached a micro-transmitter to the phone line behind our bed. It would transmit all phone conversations made on that line, from anywhere in the house, to one of two small recorders I had hidden in the back of the garage. I was eager to see how Angie would handle my "infidelity". Coming back downstairs, I returned to the kitchen, taking a moment to hide a tiny microphone under one of the counters. It would transmit to the second recorder in the garage. Angie was still in shock—her eyes glazed, her mouth still hanging open. She pulled herself together a little as I came in. "Alex ..." she began. "I ... just can't believe this! How could you ....?" She truly didn't know what else to say, and I didn't give her time to find any more words. "Baby, I am so sorry, so very sorry! I'm going to go now. I pray that you won't shut me out of your life! I'll call in a couple of days, and we can talk whenever you want to. I love you!" And with that, looking guilty and ashamed, I kissed her forehead and walked out the door. *** *** *** *** I had never done anything so bizarre in my life, and I didn't know how I felt. Well, that's not completely true. I knew that I felt better than I would have had I just gone home and played the betrayed husband, just told Angie what I'd heard her doing. I didn't want to hear her apologies, her explanations, see her tears. I didn't want to be that cliché, the cuckolded husband. Was I still suffering? Did I still watch the home movies of Angie and her lover playing on the screen in my head? Of course. I was dying inside. I was out of my mind with anger, and even more with grief. But I took a bit of grim satisfaction in knowing that I was fucking with her head at the same time. So much for being predictable! What did I hope to accomplish? I'm not sure I knew even after I did it. But I did know one thing: Angie's reaction over the next few days would determine whether we stayed married or whether I kicked her cheating ass out. *** *** *** *** I went and had a quiet dinner by myself. It seemed to me that the more time I gave Angie to think, the better. Her first impulse would be to let me have it, to abuse me for my "crime". I wanted her to think it through. At best, I hoped that she'd actually reflect on how bad it felt to be cheated on. It might be too much to expect, but I wanted her to play home movies of me and Christina Blodgett inside her own head. I wanted her to feel hurt, empty, and devastated—as devastated as I felt. But I didn't know if that was likely. She'd been fucking around on me—for all I knew she was already one step out the door. Did she even still love me? Or had we been only days away from a surprise farewell scene? And even if she loved me, my revelations might not hurt her all that much. How could she feel the pain I was feeling, if she'd been doing the same thing herself? It might just seem like "turnabout is fair play"; or even "no harm no foul". And it sure as hell didn't feel that way to me! In any event, I decided to wait a week before talking to Angie. In the meantime I'd let her stew—and listen to the hidden recorders to see what she was up to. I called my office and left a message saying I had to go out of town suddenly to take care of my sick mother, and I would use my saved-up personal days and vacation days. Then I put a new announcement on my cell phone: "Hi, this is Alex, I'm away for a few days but please leave me a message and I'll call you when I get back". I checked into a local Holiday Inn, put my car around the back, and walked to a Budget Rental place and rented a nondescript sedan. With that it would be easy to drive around town unnoticed, even in my own neighborhood. *** *** *** *** You may have had sleepless nights in your life, but there's no sleepless night like the one I had, seeing Angie and some anonymous hunk together, over and over again. It wasn't the pleasure she was getting that hurt me the most. I wouldn't resent her having a terrific massage, for instance. It was the intimacy: the way that lovers open themselves to one another. The playful smiles and touches, the mannerisms that each of us has in bed. All those things I loved about Angie, all those things that were supposed to be only for me! I didn't imagine I could ever make love to her again. How could I see any of those familiar gestures without thinking of her with another man? How could I ever know whether the pleasure I was giving her matched what he had given her? Would she always be comparing my body and my cock and my stamina to his? Would she be disappointed with me? Since I hadn't a clue about the affair, I also hadn't a clue about her reasons. Maybe our life was predictable—maybe we were in a rut, and I hadn't noticed. But I was so happy with her! And I thought she was happy too.... I never solved it that night, but I didn't sleep either. *** *** *** *** After breakfast at the motel I drove to my house, parking a couple of doors down. I waited until I saw Angie drive off to work. Fifteen minutes I was inside, settled in the kitchen with the two recorders. There had been only one phone call, about an hour after I'd left the house. Angie called her best friend Connie, sounding very emotional, and asked her to come over. Connie and her husband Brad were neighbors; he and I were casual friends, but Angie and Connie were very close. When Connie arrived Angie was in tears, and Connie said, "My God Angie—what's happened?" "Something terrible! You won't believe it!" Connie immediately said, "Oh Lord—did Alex find out about you and Tommy?" Interesting, I thought angrily—Connie knows all about the affair! "No, Connie, it's even worse. Alex has been having an affair with Christina Blodgett. For three months! He came home and confessed to me tonight. He was crying, Connie—he looked destroyed. He said it was over, that he was so sorry, but that he had to tell me the truth. I've never seen him so upset!" There was silence for a few moments. Then Connie said, "Angie, you need to calm down. Let's think this through a minute. "Actually, I don't see why this is so bad! You've really got it over him now. If he ever does find out about you and Tommy, you can tell him it was all for revenge on you! It's like a Get-out-of-jail-free card!" Listening to this, I groaned to myself. Thanks for the help, Connie, I thought. Angie said, "no, Connie, you don't get it! I feel completely shattered. It doesn't make any sense, I know—I was doing it too. But just thinking of Alex with her—it feels like a knife in my guts. "You remember what she looks like, don't you? That glossy red hair, and those big tits she shakes at every man in the room. All the time I thought Alex was loving me, and only me ... he was humping that bitch! I can't believe what a fool I am, not to have noticed anything!" Connie kept trying to calm Angie, but she got nowhere. Angie was caught up in some of the same devastating feelings I'd been having. "Connie, I just don't know what to do. The past two hours I feel like I've been going out of my mind. You know as well as I do that Tommy was only a fling—a little harmless fun. It didn't mean anything more to me than the excitement of doing something illicit, like you and Henry last year." This was new information to me, that Connie had also had an affair. Angie went on. "And I never thought that much about what my affair might do to Alex. I just figured I'd be careful, and he'd never ever know. Just like Brad never found out about you and Henry. You had your fun, it's over, and your marriage is still great. "But now ..." She stopped, and I could hear her crying. "Now I feel so torn-apart! How can I ever trust him again, that bastard? All the ... the special ways we are with each other, the way he holds me and talks to me. You know what I'm talking about. That shit! I could fucking kill him!" "Listen, Angie," Connie spoke soothingly. "It's not the end, it doesn't have to be. You said it yourself: Tommy is only a fling, and you still love Alex. Henry was only a fling for me, and I still love Brad. If it was the same for Alex, why can't you both get past this?" Angie's voice was hollow. "Because now I see what it feels like, Connie. Because every time he ... stuck his dick in her, it was like ... like laughing in my face. The delights of fresh pussy, behind my back! He may love me, but how could he not be chuckling to himself? 'My poor old wife, here's a little extra thrill for me and she'll never know.' Plus the thought of Christina, laughing to herself at what she was pulling over on me! "It just kills me! My oh-so-predictable husband. You know how we joke that you can set your watch by him, when he gets up, when he leaves for work, what he has for breakfast every day. I guess I was wrong about all of that. "I feel so used, Connie! I feel like he's wiped his hands on me and tossed me in the trash!" "Let me make us some coffee, Angie." There were no words for a while, just the sounds of cups rattling, water running. From time to time I could hear Angie crying quietly. As they drank their coffee, Connie continued to try to calm Angie down, without much success. When she left, Connie made Angie promise not to do anything rash. "Whatever you do, don't tell Alex about Tommy! Right now he's feeling terrible about what he's done—and that's the way you want it. That's the only way you're going to be able to control the situation." Angie sighed. "I don't know, Connie. He was honest with me—I don't know if I can go on lying to him. "The only thing I know for sure is that Tommy and I are done. At least for now. Until I know whether I still have my marriage—or whether I even want my marriage." *** *** *** *** I waited nearly the whole week before I called Angie. It was a long, unreal time of my life. I didn't call friends, because I didn't want commiseration or advice. I took a lot of walks in the woods by myself, thinking or just rambling aimlessly. I tried to read a couple of books, but they didn't hold my interest. I went to the current action-thriller hit at the movie theater, but left after half an hour. I thought, as best I could, about the future. The only decision I made for sure was that if Angie and I split up, I would move away. I would need a fresh start somewhere far from where my memories of happier times were. I spoke to a divorce lawyer recommended by an old friend. Turns out that no-fault divorces between couples without children are pretty routine—you can be done with the whole thing in a few months, as long as the property settlement is not contested. I asked him to start things in motion, to file the initial papers, but not to serve Angie yet. Instead I kept the notification papers—I had the idea that I might want to drop them in her lap personally, depending on how things went. The life I had had with Angie made me happier than I had ever been. She was loving, thoughtful, and more fun than anyone I'd ever been with. She made me laugh, and I seemed to make her laugh too. We were easy and comfortable with one another—I always felt able to be my real self with her, practically from our first date. And I figured that was because she liked the real me—I didn't have to put on airs or try to impress her. She teased me about being so predictable in my habits, but she respected my seriousness and sense of responsibility. Above all, I had always trusted her. I thought of her as honest and loyal. So what now? Obviously "honest and loyal" were worth about as much as WorldCom stock. I knew that I still loved her—I just couldn't imagine a life in which I wasn't able to trust her. More than any other thing, I felt humiliated. When you cheat on someone, as I had said to her, it's an act of hostility, however unconscious. You are putting something over on your spouse; you're making a fool of them. And that sense of superiority, of being in on a secret they don't know, infects the whole relationship. I couldn't believe that Angie didn't secretly think a little less of me, knowing that she was getting her ashes hauled by somebody else behind my back. Mixed with her love for me would be a little bit of condescension, of contempt. How could I ever, ever forgive her for that? *** *** *** *** Every day, making sure Angie was out, I went back to the house and listened to the recorders. The day after her conversation with Connie, Angie called Tommy and told him she was ending their affair. I didn't learn too much about him from their short conversation. He was clearly younger, and it didn't sound like there was anything much between them beyond a sexual attraction. When she told him she was having marital troubles (not specified) and couldn't see him anymore, he didn't sound crushed—just disappointed (presumably about losing a nice piece of ass!). He didn't beg or plead, and he didn't get angry. His reaction was more like, OK, sure, I understand—well, it's been terrific, no hard feelings. I also learned that they'd been screwing for about three weeks—usually at his apartment, but once or twice in my house. I never did learn how they met. The casualness of their relationship both comforted me and sickened me. I was relieved that Angie wasn't in love with him, and that he wasn't a threat to take her away from me. Their tone on the phone was almost like he was her tennis pro or swim coach or massage therapist. This made me feel a little less like I'd been replaced. On the other hand—how could she have jumped into bed with the guy so casually? Just because he had a hot body, and was available? Did our vows to each other really mean so little? What was Angie's love for me worth, if it didn't stop her from fucking this guy just for the fun of it? I couldn't begin to answer that question. Twenty Minutes Ch. 01 Aside from some routine phone calls, the only other conversations I heard were Angie's many long talks with Connie—some over the phone, others in the house. In all of them Connie's message was the same: Don't tell Alex about your own affair! Maintain the upper hand, keep him feeling guilty. Angie was miserable. She was jealous, furious, and guilty. She was feeling all the pain I hoped she would feel: tormented by thoughts of me with Christina, insecure about how much I cared for her, devastated at the destruction of her trust in me. She was incredibly angry at me, so much that she sometimes said she didn't care if she never saw me again. But at the same time she was forced to look at her own behavior. She tried to get Connie to see how what each of them had done was selfish and destructive (though Connie resisted acknowledging this). I had trusted Angie just as she had trusted me, and she had betrayed my trust. The fact that I didn't know about her affair (so she thought) didn't make it less wrong. She admitted out loud that cheating on me made her think less of me, even though I wasn't to blame. After 5-6 days, Angie was no closer to a decision about what to do. Connie basically advised her not to confess, but to attack me—but Angie wasn't convinced. I was mildly surprised that Angie hadn't even tried to call me. I wouldn't have answered my cell phone if she had, but I would have known about the call. I assumed she felt that as the guilty party, I was the one who needed to approach her again. *** *** *** *** Exactly a week after my "confession", I came home at 4:00 and made a nice dinner for me and Angie, while waiting for her return from work. I'd picked a day when I knew that Connie wouldn't be around, because she was going out with her husband. I didn't want any interference in what promised to be a painful confrontation. Angie walked in about 5:45, cautiously. She'd seen the strange car out front, and had no idea who might be in the house. She gasped in shock when she saw me, and the dining room. The table was set with a tablecloth, candles, and two place settings of our good china. I was wearing an apron, standing at the stove stirring things. She could smell the sauce I had made for the veal, and the roasted potatoes in the oven. "Hi, Angie," I said, trying to look eager but frightened. "I hoped ... I hoped that if I made us some dinner, maybe we could ... talk tonight?" "Alex, you scared me to death! Where is your car?" "Oh, it's in the shop for a few days, and I have a rental. Sorry about that." "And why on earth haven't you called me sooner? I've been ... I don't know. Angry, confused, worried." "Well, Angie, I was scared too. I wanted to give you a little time. I was so afraid that you'd just scream at me, throw me out of your life forever. I'm still afraid you're going to do that," I said, looking at her. "I might," she said. "I don't have any idea what to do, Alex. I've been hurting so badly this week. I've been crying, and thinking, and worrying. How could you betray our marriage like that? How could you destroy my trust in you?" This wasn't going so well, I thought. Perhaps following Connie's advice, Angie was being aggressive and attacking, not honest. "Angie," I said. "I was wrong. Cheating on you was wrong. It is the worst thing I have ever done, and I will regret it for the rest of my life. I'm here tonight hoping that we can talk some of it through, and see whether there's any chance for our marriage. "You may not think that I know what you have been going through this past week—but believe me, I do." She started to reply angrily. "Damn it Alex, how could you possibly know what I've been going through?" Then she suddenly changed her tone. "I'm sorry," she said more quietly, almost wearily. "It looks like a lovely dinner. Why don't we eat, and then try to talk about things?" We both relaxed a bit over dinner, managing to talk about neutral topics. Her work, our families, how her brother's new company was going. I told her that I'd taken vacation days to try to sort things out. She asked where I'd been staying, and I told her about the Holiday Inn. "It's been pretty lonely there," I said with a sad smile. "Yes, well it's been pretty bad here too," she replied, with an almost wistful expression on her face. I waited. I wanted either of two things: for Angie to confess her affair to me, or for her to go on suffering, believing I had also cheated. When she remained silent, I prompted her. "Well, what shall we do? Do you want to ask me things? Do you want to tell me things?" I'll never know what she might have replied, because the kitchen door suddenly opened and we heard Connie's voice saying, "Angie, are you here?" She came into the dining room, saw us, and immediately jumped on me. "Alex, what are you doing here? You have some goddam nerve coming back here—do you know what poor Angie has been suffering?" I tried to control my annoyance. Damn it, she was supposed to be out with Brad tonight! Angie had the same thought. "Connie, I thought you and Brad were going to dinner." "Oh, he's working late and we had to postpone it. Angie—you're not letting Alex sweet-talk himself back into the house, are you?" I began to see an opportunity to use Connie's surprise visit to my advantage. I could argue things out with her, letting her say all the things a self-righteous, innocent wife might say, and I hoped that then Angie wouldn't say them. "Connie," I said quietly. "I know you are Angie's friend, but I'm not sure this is your business." "Oh, no?" she blustered. "Who do you think has been holding your wife's hand, bringing her coffee, listening to her as she cried? Do you have any idea what this last week has been like for her?" "Yes, Connie, I do," I replied, as Angie said, "now Connie, please calm down." "No, I won't calm down," Connie persisted. "Alex, cheating on Angie and then throwing it in her face is the worst thing you could have done to her! How could you be so callous?" I stayed calm. "Are you saying it would have been better if I had had an affair and NOT told Angie? Would that have made it all right?" This struck home—she looked less sure of herself, a bit embarrassed. I also saw Angie flush, and look away from us for a moment. Pulling herself together, Connie cried, "No, Alex, that's not what I'm saying." "OK, Connie, please help me understand. Is it wrong for a married person to have an affair behind their partner's back? Or is it OK, as long as the partner never finds out? Or are you saying that revealing the truth about an affair makes things worse? Please clear this up for me!" I watched Angie as Connie and I argued. She seemed intent, as well as happy to let Connie do the talking for her. That also suited me fine for the moment. Despite her predicament, Connie stayed aggressive. "It's not complicated, Alex. You cheated on Angie. That was wrong—it was despicable. Even if you hadn't told her it would have been a horrible breach of her trust. "But I have to wonder whether your 'confession' wasn't just to get over your own guilt. It obviously didn't make Angie happy to hear it!" "Connie," I said, "it sounds to me like you are saying that cheating is not that bad as along as it's a secret, but that confessing it makes it worse. Do you agree with that, Angie?" My wife looked troubled. "I ... don't know what I think, exactly. I just know that since you told me about you and Christina, I've ... just been beside myself. It's horrible, what you have put me through!" "All right, let me ask you as directly as I can. Should I have kept my affair with Christina a secret from you—just ended it, and left you forever in the dark?" Before she could answer Connie jumped in. "The answer is No, Alex. You would forever have had a secret over Angie, a nasty, dirty secret. You would always have felt a little bit of scorn for her, knowing that you'd had this hot thing going on behind her back, and her too blind to notice. Don't you see how that belittles her?" I didn't reply, though I was delighted by her answer, and there was silence for a long minute. Then I said, "OK, Connie, I guess I see what you're saying. But I think that it's time now for you to leave Angie and me to our discussion. We have a lot of difficult things to work through—just the two of us." Connie looked over at Angie, who nodded to her. "Yes, Connie. Thank you for being such a good friend, but Alex and I need to talk alone." Reluctantly, Connie said her goodbyes and left. When I turned back to Angie, she looked more uncomfortable than ever. I offered to clear the dishes, and she came in and made coffee as I straightened up. I poured two cups for us and carried them back to the table. "Angie, what should we do? What do you want me to do? Is there any chance for us?" "Honestly, Alex, I have no idea. This is ... it's even more complicated than you realize. I never thought that anything you ever told me could have made me so unhappy, so confused. "Was I wrong to tell you about my affair, Angie? Should I have hid it from you?" "No!" she cried, suddenly bursting into tears. "No, doing it behind my back would have been even worse! Oh my God, I think I'm losing my mind!" I leaned over and took her hand, holding it gently as she sobbed for a few minutes. Finally she calmed down enough to say, "Alex, I think maybe you should go. I know we haven't talked this through yet, but I don't seem ... I just don't seem ready to do that yet. "Can we get together in a couple of days?" I knew that she was wrestling with the dilemma of whether to confess the truth to me—and it was pretty crucial to me that she do so. "Of course, Angie. How about if I cook dinner here again on Friday?" "No, Alex, I want to cook this time. It will make me feel ... I don't know, a little more in charge of things." We said our goodbyes quickly. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, hesitantly, as if wondering whether I dared, and then I left. Throughout the evening Angie's behavior had been completely unlike that of an innocent, cheated-upon spouse. There was little yelling, no angry denunciations. Of course, I knew why she didn't act that way—she wasn't innocent! But I wondered whether she considered how odd I might find it that she wasn't expressing any rage about what I'd done. *** *** *** *** Over the next couple of days Angie and Connie continued their conversations. Connie kept urging Angie not to confess to her own affair, and Angie kept feeling undecided and lost. It was clear that the points I made in my argument with Connie were weighing on Angie, but neither she nor I knew what she would do in the end. By Friday I decided I had had enough. One way or another, this evening the truth would come out. I hoped for honesty from Angie, but if I didn't get it then by God she would get it from me! I realized that I'd almost been feeling sorry for her. I knew exactly what her pain was like—all too well, in fact. But my pain was the result of her real affair—hers was just a bit of temporary suffering that, in my mind, was the least she deserved. When I came into the house that evening our roles almost seemed to be reversed. I was tired of acting the submissive, guilty husband, so I came in feeling relaxed. Angie was supposed to be the angry victim, but she looked tense and uneasy. I said, "Hi Angie," and kissed her on the cheek again. "You look beautiful, and dinner smells great. Can I do anything to help?" "No thanks, Alex. Maybe pour the wine, it's in the refrigerator. I'll serve the plates now." As we had on Wednesday, we tacitly agreed not to tackle the central question during dinner. Instead we ate, talked about light subjects, and enjoyed Angie's cooking When we were sitting with coffee I decided to plunge in. My marriage might be over at the end of this conversation, but I was no longer willing to wait. "We shouldn't dance around this any longer, Angie. You need to tell me honestly how you're feeling, and what lies ahead for us—at least from your point of view." No guilty husband, trying to win his wife's favor back, would ever have spoken so forcefully, but Angie didn't seem to notice. Instead she just looked at me, shaken, with tears at the corners of her eyes. "Alex, I ... I still don't know what to say to you. Every time I think of you with Christina, I start to cry. I feel an emptiness inside me, a hole in my heart like I've never felt before. I don't see how it could ever go away, how I could ever trust you again." I said nothing, hoping for a "but". "But ... but I haven't been honest with you either. I cheated on you too—I had an affair!" Her last words came out haltingly, as she burst into tears. In a minute she looked up at me, still crying, presumably expecting a shocked or angry outburst from me. Instead I sat quietly, looking at her. "Can you tell me about it, Angie?" Avoiding my eyes, she said, "it was ... just a guy I met at that tennis class I took. A bunch of us used have a couple of drinks after the class, and he would always flirt with me. Then one night we were the only two left in the bar, and ... and ..." She stopped talking, and cried quietly, her face in her hands. Then she looked up. "Wait a minute, goddamit, Alex! Here I am confessing to you, and you've never told me anything about you and that ... whore Christina! Don't I deserve the truth too?" "Well for one thing, Angie, did you notice that you haven't ever asked me about it? But yes, you deserve the complete truth from me too. And I have two things to tell you. "First, I already knew about your affair. I came home a little early last week and heard the two of you fucking in our bed—in OUR bed, Angie! "And second, I never had an affair with Christina Blodgett. She and her husband moved to Vancouver last January. I made it up, Angie—I've never cheated on you, ever." Angie looked at me, not only stunned but uncomprehending. "Wait a minute—you LIED to me Alex?" Then, as my first statement hit her, the color drained from her face. She stared at me, her confusion turning to shame. "You heard us?" she whispered. "Yes," I said coldly, feeling my pent-up anger surging through me. "Yes, Angie. I heard you fucking another man in our bed! "So I left. And I came back here an hour later and told you a crazy story about me and Christina Blodgett. I wanted you to feel just a bit of the pain—of the anguish that I was feeling." I could tell that she was struggling to put all of this together. She looked completely bewildered, which was not hard to understand. I waited a couple of minutes, and then went on. "Angie. We have a lot of talking to do. Please call me when you're ready, and I'll come back to the house. But it had better be soon, and you had better be ready to be completely honest with me. Otherwise this marriage is over." I got up and, without looking back, went out the door to my car and drove away. *** *** *** *** I hadn't forgotten the divorce papers in my pocket—I'd decided not to pull them out. As angry as I was, I wasn't yet ready to take that step. Angie's confession hadn't made everything better, because nothing could do that. But she had been honest about something very difficult—maybe loving me meant more to her than just being able to lord it over me as the (supposedly) innocent victim. I went off and had two beers in the Holiday Inn bar, went upstairs and fell asleep with a ballgame on the TV. I was tired, depressed, angry, and hopeful—an interesting combination. My cell phone woke me at 8:15. That early on a Saturday it had to be Angie, and it was. "Hello?" I said blearily. "Oh Alex, I'm sorry if I woke you." Her voice sounded tremulous and frightened. "It's all right, Angie." I stopped, and didn't say anything else. "Alex—I know I need to ... oh my God, how are you ever going to forgive me?" She broke off and started to sob. Finally she calmed down a little and said, "can we talk today? I'm just going out of my mind. I'm so scared I'm going to lose you, and I can't even think!" "What are you doing today, Angie? Maybe we can meet later. Do you want to go out for lunch?" She seemed to calm down a little. "Lunch is great, but please, not out in public." "OK," I said. "I can pick up some sandwiches and bring them over. What's your schedule this morning?" Angie said, "I've got to run some errands and go to the supermarket, but I can be back by 12:30. Is that OK?" "Yes, that's fine. Alex?" "Yes, Angie?" "Ilove you," she whispered. Then before I could reply, she hung up. *** *** *** *** I had a quick shower, grabbed breakfast, then went to a delicatessen and picked up things for lunch. I got to the house by 11, giving me lots of time to hear the tapes of what went on the previous night after I left. First there was just the sound of Angie crying. After a while she calmed down, and cleaned up the dinner dishes. Then she called directory assistance, asked for the Blodgetts, and was told that number was no longer in service. A couple of minutes later she called a woman named Rosemarie Burke, who had been friendly with the Blodgetts. Angie casually asked if she'd seen them lately, and Rosemarie said, "oh no, Arthur got a job in British Columbia around the first of the year and they moved up there." After chatting a few moments longer, Angie hung up and immediately called Connie and asked her to come over. Connie was hardly in the door before Angie was crying again. "Connie—I'm afraid I've lost him! I think Alex is going to divorce me!" "Angie, what are you talking about? He's the guilty one, not you—at least that's what he thinks!" "No, listen!" Angie explained to Connie what I'd told her at dinner. There was a long silence. Finally Connie said, "holy shit!" in a low, almost admiring tone. "That's unbelievable, Angie! What a bizarre thing for him to do! But how do you know it's true? Maybe he lied tonight, just to put you in the wrong!" "No, Connie, I called Rosemarie Burke. She said the Blodgetts moved away in January. No, I've thought and thought about this. Alex had to be telling the truth tonight—there was no affair. "But what really matters is that he heard me and Tommy! In our bed!" She stopped talking and began to sob. I could hear Connie get up, presumably to give Angie a hug as she cried. Their conversation went on for over an hour. All of Connie's bravado had disappeared—she saw as clearly as Angie did how I must be feeling. They even went over my argument with Connie from two nights earlier, realizing with dismay how bad all of Connie's high-and-mighty pronouncements about adulterers looked now. In the end, the best Connie could offer my wife was a little bit of consolation. "He still must want to be with you, Angie. Otherwise he never would have done this. He would have come home and thrown you out of the house." "I know," Angie said, sniffling. "I keep telling myself that. But after all those things you and I both said about cheating, how awful it is—he just sat there and let us hang ourselves." "Angie, none of what we said that night matters. All that matters is whether Alex still wants to be married to you. Whether he loves you enough to give you another chance. That may be partly up to you, but mainly it's up to him. You'll have to talk to him and see." Bravo Connie! The first sound advice she'd given Angie since this whole thing started. I was finished with the tapes before Angie returned, and I just sat thinking in the living room. When I heard her car, I went and opened the door for her. Angie came in with a couple of bags of groceries, looking as meek and frightened as I had ever seen her. Without a word I went out to the car and brought the rest of the things in, and we worked together putting everything away. Twenty Minutes Ch. 01 When we were sitting at the kitchen table with our sandwiches Angie murmured, "Alex, I am so sorry ... I just don't know what to say to you. I feel so ashamed..." "Angie," I replied. "How did it feel for the last ten days, thinking that I'd cheated on you with Christina?" Looking straight at me she said, "it felt awful--horrible. I was the most hurt and angry I have ever been in my life. It brought up all my insecurities—all the feelings I have ever had about whether you really love me, whether I'm smart enough or fun enough, whether I'm enough for you ... you know, in bed. "I kept seeing you, kissing her ... having wild sex with her, hotter than we've ever had. I kept imagining you playing with those big tits of hers. I saw the two of you screwing, smiling at each other, laughing at me, the fool of a wife who doesn't know what's going on behind her back!" "Well, Angie, that's exactly how I've been feeling too. Except that as you know I didn't really cheat on you—you cheated on me. You can forget those feelings now, but I have to live with mine." Without meaning to, I had started to raise my voice. "And, I might add—you knew about my so-called affair because I confessed it to you, while apologizing and telling you how much I loved you. I found out about yours because you were fucking someone else in our house, in our bed, for me to hear as I came home from work! "Is there something about our marriage vows that I didn't understand? Did the minister mention that the 'forsaking all others' part was optional? Or did you just decide that fidelity wasn't all that important?" I realized I was shouting, and that Angie was cringing from me, sobbing. I stopped abruptly, got out of my chair, and paced around the kitchen, trying to calm my suddenly immense anger. I paced for several minutes without either of us saying a word. Then I couldn't help it, I started up again, though keeping my voice quiet. "It was such a fucking stupid, thoughtless, selfish thing to do, Angie. Do you know how much I've loved you? Being with you has made me as happy as I've ever been! I was looking forward to spending the rest of my life with you! "If there was something ... missing, something lacking in your life, you could have come to me, talked to me. If I don't satisfy you, as a husband or a lover, don't you think I would have tried to give you whatever you needed?" "Stop, Alex!" Angie cried, jumping out of her chair. "I deserve everything you've said to me, but not that! You DO satisfy me. I've never been happier in my life than with you either. You are the best husband I could ever imagine! And I love how you make love to me. "This didn't happen because of anything you did or didn't do. It happened because I am stupid and selfish, just like you said. I was like a kid who has plenty of money, but steals a candy bar from the drugstore just for the thrill of it. "You figure you'll never get caught, it'll just be a little thrill." I broke in. "Do you think that Connie's affair with Henry has anything to do with this?" She looked at me, shocked. "You know about that?" I just nodded. After a minute she said, "yes, I think it did. Connie went on and on to me about how hot it was, illicit sex with her lover. And then she ended it, and Brad never knew, and their marriage is better than ever. She told me," blushing a little, "that it really perked up their sex life." "And so you thought you'd like a bit of that yourself?" I asked, more calmly. She looked at the floor. "Yes, I guess so. I mean I'd never even thought about an affair before, beyond the idle fantasy, you know, about Brad Pitt or something. But what Connie did ... made it seem more possible." I went back and sat down, waiting, and finally Angie told me the story she'd begun the night before. Tommy was in her tennis class, they'd gone out for drinks with the group every week. One night it was just the two of them, and he'd come onto her. "I didn't give in then—but I didn't firmly close the door either, Alex. It must have been because I was thinking about Connie. "And I was just so fucking Stupid, I was sure I could do it like she did, and you'd never know." "What is it like with him?" I was quiet, but I wasn't going to let her get away without telling me. "WAS, Alex, not is. It's over with Tommy. I called him and ended it, the day ... the day you found out." "OK," I persisted, "what was it like with him then?" She avoided my eyes. "We got together six times. It was exciting, because it was someone new after eight years, and I knew it was wrong. He's only 24, and he was ... really eager. "He's not tender like you are Alex, and he doesn't love me. I didn't feel wonderfully safe and loved, the way I do with you. It was energetic, and fast, and a little clumsy. "I'm trying so hard to tell you the truth now, now that it's too late!" She gave me a rueful smile. "Sex with him was exciting, but there's no way I would have wanted a steady diet of it. "But I got to have your tenderness and gentleness too." I burst out again. "Plus the pleasure of putting one over on me, right? That delicious feeling of 'guess what I'm doing, and you don't know about it'? "You remember what Connie said to me the other night, when you both thought I'd had the affair? 'You would always have felt a little bit of scorn for her, knowing that you'd had this hot thing going on behind her back, and her too blind to notice.' "Well, isn't it true? Weren't there some condescending feelings, my dear wife?" She looked down, silently, and I continued my attack. "Tell me, which was more fun? Thinking about Tommy while you were fucking me, or thinking about me while you were fucking Tommy?" I wasn't quite shouting, but my voice was loud and cold, and I'm sure my angry face was terrifying. Angie was cowering away from me, as far on the other side of the kitchen as she could get. Seeing her frightened face drained the rage out of me all at once. I was left feeling exhausted, and terribly sad. Neither of us spoke for several minutes. The only sound in the room was that of each of us breathing, both gradually calming down. "Angie, if nothing else good has happened in the past ten days, at least my lie about Christina Blodgett has forced you to see my side—to feel what it's like when the person you love fucks around behind your back. "I don't know what to do now—I haven't the foggiest idea. I love you very much, but I'm furious and hurt and I don't know how I can ever trust you again. Or how I can ever make love to you again. "Why don't you make up your mind what you would do if I were the one who was caught in an affair. When you've thought about it, let me know and we can talk again. I don't see how we can get any further today." And I headed for the door. I heard her cry, "Alex, please, wait!" But when I turned back, she just sighed. "No. It's all right. I'll do what you've asked me to. But Alex—do you want to come home? I mean, you could ask me to leave, it seems only fair." "No, Angie. I don't want to be in this house much anymore. Certainly not in our bed, and not in the guest room either, knowing why I'm there. I'll stay in the Holiday Inn for now. If I need to, I'll find an apartment." I heard her start to cry again softly as I left. Twenty Minutes Ch. 02 [Sorry for the long delay since Ch. 01. The third and final chapter will be posted very soon.] I drove back to the Holiday Inn, my mind filled with conflicting thoughts that swirled around and around. I knew I loved Angie, and that she was sorry; I also knew I was furious at her. I knew I wanted our marriage to survive this; I also knew that I couldn't imagine ever trusting her again. I quickly packed my bags and checked out, then drove to the airport. Within 45 minutes I had my ticket and was checked in for a flight to Florida. I was going to take a few days at Sanibel Island, at a resort that had been highly recommended to me some years before by friends. Waiting for the flight, I called my boss at work and had a somewhat testy conversation with him. Not surprisingly, he was angry when I told him I'd be taking two more weeks of vacation time for personal reasons. He basically threatened to fire me. "John," I said calmly. "My marriage is in trouble, and I need this time to figure out whether it's going to survive. You know as well as I do that I've been your most reliable employee for nearly ten years, and I've gotten the company out of some sticky problems. Ross and Ed in my division are up to speed on all our projects, and they can keep things going in my absence. "I also know, and you know too, that if you fire me I'll have another good job in two weeks. It will take you a lot longer than that to find someone as competent as I am to fill my position." There was a silence. I was telling the truth, and John knew it. Finally he said, heavily, "OK, Alex. I don't like this, but I guess I understand. Please get back as soon as you can, all right?" Smiling to myself, I replied, "if I don't need the whole two weeks I'll be back sooner, I promise." *** *** *** By 8pm I was checked into a nice suite overlooking the pool at the resort. I had decided not to worry about money for the moment. I'd been Mr. Conservative for years, putting aside money for the kids' College Fund even though we didn't have kids yet. Now it was far from clear if I even had a marriage, and I wasn't going to keep on being a fanatic about building my nest egg. The pool was big and gorgeous, and it tempted me. I jumped into a swimsuit, went down, and did 40 laps. I'd been a swimmer in college, and though I was long out of competitive shape I still loved the feeling of stroking smoothly through the water. I decided to make sure I gave myself a good workout in the pool each day I was down here. Even if nothing else went right, by the end of my stay I'd be much more fit than I had been. The next day I spent relaxing—and trying not to think to much about Angie. I got up late, had breakfast by the pool, went for a long walk, had lunch and then took a nap. In the afternoon I drove around, just enjoying the warm sunshine, then came back and did my laps in the late afternoon, when the pool was less crowded. I had dinner in the hotel's restaurant on the veranda, then sat in the bar for a while, nursing a beer and watching a ball game on the TV. To my surprise, I soon had company. A very attractive brunette woman in her late 20s sat down two stools away. After ordering a drink, she struck up a conversation with me. It began with a comment about the game, but soon we were talking freely about the resort, how pleasant it was, and so on. I was a little mystified by her obvious interest in me. I am reasonably good-looking, but I certainly wasn't used to glamorous women in tight revealing dresses trying to pick me up. I wondered if perhaps she might be a "working girl". After a bit I suggested we take our drinks to a quieter table, and she happily agreed. The conversation flowed onward, as she asked me about my work and where I was from. She also asked about my wedding ring, and I confessed that I was there without my wife, and that we were going through some troubles. When I asked about her line of work, she gave me a long, slow, very sexy smile. "I'm in 'personal services' ", she said after a minute. This pretty well cleared things up for me! "And might I be a potential recipient of your 'personal services'?" I asked. "Absolutely," she replied, still smiling. "Just say the word." I'd never been with a hooker, and had never thought about it much. But I was definitely interested at that moment. Nicole was beautiful and had a gorgeous body, well-framed by her tight dress. I hadn't had sex in more than two weeks, and I certainly wasn't feeling held back at that moment by any sense of loyalty to Angie. In a few minutes we were up in my suite. A brief conversation revealed that she wanted $150 to have sex with me. I asked what her company for the whole evening would cost, up until I went to sleep, and she replied $300. Going to the safe in the closet, I got out $400 and gave it to her. When she looked at me in surprise I said, "you are a lovely and charming woman. I'm absolutely sure I would want to give you something extra before you leave, so why not get it out of the way now?" Nicole came into my arms and kissed me lightly. "You are a real gentleman, Alex. I think we are both going to enjoy this." We both enjoyed it—at least I'm sure I did! I won't presume to know to what extent Nicole was faking her pleasure for my benefit, but she at least seemed to have a good time. I undressed first and then asked her to let me undress her, which was a treat. Beneath the tight dress she had on no more than a black thong and some thigh-high stockings. I dropped to my knees and rolled each one slowly off her, taking advantage of the chance to stroke her beautiful long legs and look up at her shapely breasts. Once we were on the bed, side by side, Nicole took the initiative. She kissed and stroked up and down my body, taking her time, in no hurry to get to my erect cock. I did likewise, reveling in the feeling of her flesh, intensely aware of being with someone besides Angie for the first time in so long. Was this what it was like for her with Tommy, experiencing the thrill of someone new? We had at least 20 minutes of pleasure before she slid down and took my cock in her mouth, bathing me with her wet tongue until I was extremely excited. I didn't want to come so quickly in her mouth, so I pulled her up on top of me. Giving me a smile, she reached to the night table for the condoms she had taken out of her purse and opened one, quickly unrolling it down over me. She straddled my hips, still smiling, and raised up to capture my cock inside her. What a feeling, sliding into her hot pussy, knowing it was the first one beside Angie's I'd experienced in years! Then she gave me a long, slow, intensely exciting ride. She wasn't any tighter than Angie, and it wasn't that she knew any special tricks. But she was sure of her beauty and sexuality; there was no shyness or hesitation, just a confident determination to drive me crazy. Sometimes she bounced up and down vigorously, getting my heart rate up as I felt my climax threaten to boil over. Then she would slow down, grinding down on me so her clit rubbed against the top of my cock--she seemed to love that! My hands stroked her sides, and cupped her gorgeous firm breasts. She seemed to be very excited herself, if I could judge from her moans and from the look on her face. She took me up towards a climax and eased me back about three times, and then the next time she got me going hard I couldn't wait any longer. I held her hips firmly and plunged up into her, meeting each of her downward strokes. She began to grunt each time we slapped together. I held back as long as I could under this assault, then groaned as I shot off copiously into the condom. She seemed to come with me—-I felt her pussy spasm around me as I climaxed into her. She climbed down and snuggled beside me, almost like a girlfriend or wife, as we caught our breath. "Thank you," I said, meaning it. "That was one of the most exciting experiences of my life. You are a fabulous lover." She grinned at me, as if sincerely pleased by my obvious enthusiasm. "You are awfully good too, Alex. And I don't just say that. If you and your wife are having troubles, it certainly doesn't have to do with your abilities in bed." Then, seeing the pained look on my face, she said, "I'm sorry, Alex. Really. That was tactless of me. I apologize." I smiled ruefully at her. "It's all right, Nicole. I think about Angie all the time, it's not as though I forgot about her. And being here with you is a pretty wonderful way to get a bit of distraction!" After relaxing for a while, Nicole and I made love again. I began by stroking and massaging her all over, while she relaxed and let me enjoy touching her body. Then I got her up on all fours, lay beneath her and ate her pussy. She seemed to like that a lot, and after a while she moved her hips so much I had to keep chasing her pussy with my mouth. Then we fucked again, this time from behind. I have always loved that position, being able to reach down and hold my lover's breasts while thrusting into her, and it was intensely exciting with Nicole. She finally left at about 1:30 am, each of us thanking the other warmly for a great evening. The next day I walked a lot, and thought a lot. I'd come down to Florida on an impulse. I'd gone to bed with Nicole on an impulse. My impulse now was to get Angie down here. Of course I was still furious at Angie; but I also knew that I still loved her, and I missed being with her. All of a sudden I was ready to talk with her, to see if we could find a way to make our marriage work again. I'd had enough time alone. I drove into town, found a travel agent, bought a plane ticket for Angie and FedExed it to her. Then I went back to the hotel and called her. "Hi Angie, it's Alex. How are you?" "I'm really glad to hear from you, honey. I'd been meaning to call you, but it's been hard to get up the nerve. Can we ... would you like to get together to talk?" "Well, listen. I'm in Florida. I took time off from work. I've sent you a ticket and I want you to come down and join me for a week." "Alex, wow! That sounds great, but I'm not sure I can simply drop everything at work and get on a plane." "Angie, I've been thinking a lot—I guess you probably have been too. We need to see if we can save our marriage. That's a lot more important than both your job and mine. I told John that he could fire me if he had to, but I was going to Florida. If they fire you, you can get another job—we both know you're the best paralegal in the whole firm. At least, you can probably find another job more easily than a new husband." There was a silence. Then Angie said, slowly, "this doesn't sound like you, Alex. What happened to the steady, cautious, reliable man I've been married to all these years?" "I'm not sure I'm him any more Angie. Now I'm a guy who decides what he wants, then takes action. "It's important to me that you come down here. I have a nice suite for us, and I've sent you a ticket for tomorrow afternoon. If our marriage means as much to you as it does to me, you'll come." Again, silence. Then, hesitantly, "OK, honey. This scares me, but I'll be there." "Good. I'll meet you at the airport when you get in. Bye, Angie." *** *** *** I didn't have a clear plan. It was the old serious Alex, Mr. Predictable, who always planned. All I was going by now was my feelings. It felt like Angie and I needed to be together, if we were going to work this out. It also felt as though we needed to start having sex again. And I was pretty damn sure that I wasn't ready yet to do that with Angie in my own house after having heard her there with Tommy. I spent the day thinking about what Angie and I needed to say to one another, but nothing really came into focus. Finally I stopped worrying about it, did my laps in the pool, showered, and went off to pick her up. Coming off the plane Angie looked lovely, and nervous. She'd pulled one of her nicest summer dresses out of the closet, her hair was up, and she was ready for Florida. But she was also pale, and I could see her eye me warily as I approached. "Hi, Angie," I said warmly, and gave her a gentle kiss. She was surprised and pleased, and she held onto me a moment. "Could I have another one of those, please?" she asked, and I obliged. We chatted amiably on the way back to the hotel. I showed her the suite and let her freshen up, then we went down for a nice dinner on the veranda. We weren't talking about anything important, sort of by mutual unspoken agreement. We were keeping it light, but having a nice time. She told me about arguing with her boss about her sudden request for a week of vacation, but it wasn't that hard to convince him. I realized that it had been a while since Angie and I had even gone out to dinner together. One of the ways in which our lives had gotten into a rut. After dinner we strolled around the hotel grounds. I showed her the pool, and told her about my daily regimen. Then we headed upstairs. Angie was more and more nervous as we got ready for bed. She disappeared into the bathroom for quite a while, then shyly came out in a silky black negligee that she knew I liked. "Is this OK, Alex? I ... I didn't know what ... well, what was going to happen tonight." Wearing only my boxers, I went to her and kissed her. "You look beautiful, Angie. Come to bed." She lay in my arms, still tense. I said, "Angie, we have a lot of things to work out. I love you, and I think you still love me. But that doesn't mean we don't have problems. "I hoped one way we could start to figure this out together was by making love—and I thought that would be a lot easier to do here than at home." "OK, Alex," she said very quietly. "But ... I guess I'm a little afraid of you. After what I did, I mean. You were so angry when you left the house ..." "Yes, honey, and I'll probably be angry again at some point. But right now I just want to be with you." I turned the light out, pulled her gently to me, and kissed her. Angie was shy and wary for a few minutes; then she started to relax, warmed up, and began to respond eagerly. We kissed and stroked each other with increasing pleasure. I pulled her nightie up over her breasts so I could lick and suck her nipples, making her sigh. I kept doing that while sliding my hands down to her pussy, using my fingers to spread her increasing wetness around her lips and up over her clit. Meanwhile Angie was breathing heavily, and starting to rotate her hips around. I continued to caress her gently, alternating light and firm touches, until I could tell she was close—then I picked up the pace and she groaned her pleasure into my mouth as she came. I was too excited to wait any longer. As soon as she had caught her breath, I rolled on top of her and slid smoothly inside her, making us both groan with pleasure. I wanted to have her completely—I wanted to fuck the Tommy out of her, to fill up her mind and body with me, and just erase him from her. I didn't do it by screwing her hard or wildly, but by taking my time and concentrating on her pleasure. Angie loves a slow, steady rhythm that gradually builds up, and that's what I gave her. I varied my motions a little, sometimes grinding into her clit at the bottom of each stroke, and I kissed her neck and ear as we fucked. After her first orgasm she had relaxed completely, and now she was riding with me, going along happily with my motions. I drove into her for ten minutes or more, then started to move faster, building to my own climax. Angie was enjoying it, but I could tell she wasn't going to come again, so I focused on my own pleasure. The last minute was intense and single-minded; I lost track of everything but the joy of sliding in and out of her, and I came with a loud sound halfway between a groan and a yell. When I came back to myself, Angie was holding me tenderly, smiling into my eyes. "Alex, thank you for loving me like that!" I'll be honest, I couldn't help but think, "oh yeah? How does that compare to old Tommy?" But I bit back the words, and just smiled at her. We snuggled up cozily and were soon asleep. *** *** *** The next morning we had breakfast on the veranda, then strolled around the grounds of the resort. I was looking for a comfortable place for us to talk, and I found a bench off by itself in the shade. As I steered us to the bench, Angie's wariness returned. She knew as well as I did that we had some serious talking ahead of us, and she can't have been looking forward to it. "Angie—I'm glad we're here, and I'm glad about last night. It was certainly a good first step. "But we have to talk about things, and I'm pretty sure it's going to be difficult for a while. I don't even know if we can get past this." Angie just nodded, looking serious and unhappy. "One thing," I continued, "is that I think we have to try to be as honest as we can with each other. We're both feeling painful things: I'm angry and hurt, wondering how I can ever trust you again; and I'm sure you're feeling guilty, and afraid about our marriage." She nodded again, and said, "I know we have to talk, Alex. And I will try as hard as I can. Please, just give me a chance to make it right!" I looked at her for a long moment, and then I said, "Angie, I had sex with a hooker a couple of nights ago." She gasped. "Oh my God, Alex!" "I won't lie to you and pretend I didn't do it. I didn't plan it, but she picked me up in a bar and when she offered, I said yes. "And I won't tell you I feel guilty, either. I am still so hurt, Angie! Thinking of you with Tommy ... hearing the sounds the two of you made that day—they never leave my mind! "So I did it. I felt like, I deserve a little pleasure, too. And there's not much point in denying myself out of loyalty to Angie at this point, is there? "It was nothing but sex—with condoms--and it was exciting and fun. She was beautiful and sexy, and willing, and uninhibited. I enjoyed every minute of it." I sat quietly, watching Angie. She wasn't crying, but her face was pale and her jaw was tight—tears weren't far away. I decided to wait for her to speak, however long it took. Finally she said, "I guess I understand that, Alex. How could you not be hurt, and how could you not want to strike back at me?" "No Angie," I said. "This wasn't about you. It wasn't a revenge fuck, and I didn't do it so I could throw it in your face. I guess I felt tired of being Mr. Responsible, Mr. Predictable, the guy everyone can always count on to look out for other people. I had an opportunity for something exciting, something pleasurable, and I took it." I sat quiet a moment, then I spoke again. "Wait, that's not ... I haven't gotten it quite right. Angie, I'm trying to be honest ... let me start again. "It's absolutely true that I didn't have sex with Nicole to hurt you, but it's not true that doing it had nothing to do with you. Of course you were in my mind while I was with her. "In the same way, I don't believe you had your affair with Tommy to hurt me—but that doesn't mean it had nothing to do with me. I was in your mind every time you were with him, right? It wasn't like a single woman just having a fling. And I think you'll have to admit that part of the excitement was that you were doing it behind my back." Angie gazed at me, looking troubled. "Alex," she said, with a little tremble in her voice. "You've changed a lot lately—so much that I wonder how well I know you. You've never been so direct before, it's like there's nothing held back when you talk to me. And you seem ... harder, maybe, or colder." "Yes, well, that's probably true. But I think you've changed too, Angie." My voice sounded bitter. "The Angela Ravenna I used to know so well could never have fucked another man in our bed." Twenty Minutes Ch. 02 Author Note: You'll need to read part one of this story, Twenty Minutes, or it will not make any sense. She was shaking with fear when she left the police station. Had she been followed? Were they waiting for her? She stood out front for a few minutes, absolutely terrified, until the cab she'd called finally pulled up and she slid inside. She turned every which way frantically to make sure no other cars followed them. She wasn't sure she could spot a tail, not if they knew what they were doing, but it made her feel better to look around anyway. Shy had told her not to return to her apartment, but how could she do that? She needed her birth certificate, her social security card, her nursing license...and there were photos, keepsakes. But she might have to leave some of those things behind. If she went to her apartment, rummaging around and packing bags, she'd probably be killed. So, that was probably not a good idea. Maybe she could ask someone they'd never seen to get her important papers for her? She leaned forward to give the driver a different address, ignoring his groan when she mentioned a location in the opposite direction. She'd go to Janet's house. It was the only real option she had. If they had any clue where she lived, Janet would probably confuse them. A gorgeous, white, blonde woman showing up in her stead? Since she was amazed they were friends, surely that would amaze anyone else. The cab let her out five blocks from Janet's house. If she was going to risk a life, she would risk her own, not her friend's. And if she couldn't tell that someone was following her on a residential, deserted street at 2am, then all was lost for her future. Walking slowly, she tried to pretend it was simply a leisurely stroll in the dead of night (hey, if anyone was paying attention, it didn't matter because they would most likely kill her anyway). She stopped two doors down from Janet's moderate sized home and called her friend with shaky hands. "Robbie, what the fuck? Do you know what time it is?" Janet growled. "J-Janet," she tried to keep her voice from wavering, realizing it wasn't working. She swallowed hard, "J, I need you." She didn't hear a trace of sleep in her friend's voice when she spoke again and she knew Janet was definitely awake now, "what's wrong? Where are you?" "Near you." "Well get over here." The line disconnected and she quickly walked to her friend's home just as Janet opened the front door. After closing and locking the door, Janet drew her in for a hug. "What's wrong? What happened? Are you okay?" She tried to remain strong, tried to hold back, but it was a lost cause. The story poured out of her amidst a torrent of tears. * They sat at a small breakfast table in the kitchen an hour later. Janet had managed to make a pot of coffee even though her hands were now shaking. The cups sat before them untouched. "Fuck Robbie. What are you going to do?" Robbie shook her head, wiping at the last of her tears. "She told me not to go back to the apartment, to just leave...I-I-" She struggled past the fear. "I have no idea where to go. I can't go to Chicago, what if they follow me? I'm not going to put my family at risk." Janet nodded, picking at a piece of cheesecake she'd managed to dig up. They were silent for a while, both thinking about possibilities. "Did she really leave you all that money?" Janet finally asked, her curiosity getting the best of her. Robbie unzipped the black nylon bag and shoved it toward Janet. Janet could do nothing but stare for a moment. It was a lot of money. Mostly small bills, some large...a lot of money. She reached for it and removed it all from the bag, piling it onto the table. Robbie watched her count it, not really caring about the total sum. She'd rather have Shy back, quite honestly, instead of a bag filled with money. The thought made her smile bitterly. A bag of money at the beginning of their relationship and now a bag of money at the end...how ironic. "It's really $200,000 Robbie. Actually, it's $218, 342." Robbie shrugged, "I don't care." Janet looked over at her friend, sighing. She replaced the money and zipped the bag closed as her husband strode into the kitchen. "Hey, you gals okay?" Janet smiled as he leaned down to kiss her forehead, "yea, just a little girl problem. Nothing to worry about." He smiled, pouring a glass of water for himself and then leaving. When she was sure he was gone, Janet looked at her friend intently, reaching out to cover her hands. "What are you going to do Robbie?" Robbie closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I don't know...I really don't know." "Well, you went to New Orleans a few years ago...you said you liked it down there. All those beautiful trees and lovely swamps." Robbie smiled a little, "I didn't say anything about loving swamps, you idiot." But she had loved the area. So rich, so green...huge, heavy, weeping trees, old mansions in desperate need of renovations, so much history. It truly was a beautiful part of the country. "I don't know, I mean, after Katrina-" "They are probably desperate for qualified nurses down there. You don't have to actually go to New Orleans, you can move to one of the neighboring towns." She shrugged, thinking of her huge apartment, her mother's furniture, her job, her co-workers and friends. She would have to start all over. She sighed, but that decision had already been made for her, hadn't it? "Maybe J...but I need a favor," she hedged. "Yea, I know. You need me to get your stuff. I'm up for up. Let's just wait until daylight, okay? We can go when Larry leaves for work." Robbie nodded, folding her arms on the table and resting her head on them heavily. She'd never felt like this before...adrift. That was probably the best word for it. In just a few minutes, everything had been taken from her. All her ties, her connections...as if she was an alien and she'd just landed on earth with nothing but the clothes on her back and a bag filled with money. It was the most bizarre feeling. And she was terrified of leaving. She was a planner, she always thought ahead, she never did anything out of the ordinary. After college, she'd moved out of her mother's house and into the same apartment she currently occupied. She'd always worked in the immediate area. There was hardly any real change in her life. She knew it was because of the chaos from her childhood. Her Dad's death, the loss of their home, their way of life, her mother's death...she liked feeling grounded. She needed to feel grounded. And now? She sighed. She'd met a woman that had altered everything. She'd taken risks, sexually and emotionally, she'd faced danger...and now, she was alone. She didn't even have Shy with her to cushion this blow. Once Janet retrieved her belongings from the apartment, she'd have to turn her back on everything and everyone she'd known and start all over again, alone. She sighed again, not realized how heavy her lids were. She was so stressed, so angry, so scared...and she missed Shy. She wanted her...desperately needed her... Janet sighed as she watched her friend fall into a restless sleep. * There were no goons waiting at the apartment for Janet. Relieved, she stayed on the phone with her friend, helping her to locate the paperwork she needed and pack just a photo or two. When her friend returned to the Jeep parked a few blocks away, Robbie hugged her with relief and then encouraged her friend to get behind the wheel and leave the area. She didn't glance back as they pulled away from the curb. Janet drove her to the bank so she could deposit some of the money. She remembered from a television program that as long as it was under $10,000, the bank would not ask questions. So, she deposited $5,000 into her checking account and $4,500 into her savings. They then drove to Janet's bank and did the same thing. After a week, Janet would withdraw the money from her account and deposit it into Robbie's account. Robbie didn't bother mentioning that the account numbers she wrote down for her friend were bogus. She didn't intend for her friend to return the money. After a trip to the drugstore for a few necessities, Janet drove her to the Philadelphia Airport. She didn't want her friend to wait, so she hugged her friend goodbye with a promise to call that evening. She wasn't sure she would, not comfortable with the idea of putting her friend in any more danger. It was when she stood, alone, in the terminal that the situation became horribly real all of a sudden. She looked at the monitors listing all departing flights and tried to ignore the nausea and fear that threatened to overtake her. She sat down in one of the uncomfortable chairs, clutching the nylon bag to her, trying to take a deep breath and calm down. It suddenly dawned on her that they would scan her bag. Surely a bag filled with money would raise flags? What should she do with the money? She couldn't deposit it all. And although she knew Janet would do it for her, she didn't want to invite the police into her friend's life by asking her to deposit small sums until all the money was transferred. She sighed, she didn't have the wherewithal for criminal behavior. She'd spent her life trying to follow the rules. What would she know about depositing large sums of money? What did the criminals do in the movies? Where did they deposit their money until they could find a safe way to launder- Jeez, did she really have to figure out how to launder drug money? She closed her eyes, this was not the time to panic. But she did need to figure out what to do. The thought suddenly came to her, a safe deposit box. People always had tons of cash shoved into those things. She would go to one of the larger banks in the city, open an account in order to deposit a little more money, and then put the rest in a safety deposit box. Surely $19,000 was enough money to relocate? People moved across the country with much less, right? At the thought, she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She knew what to do with the money and she knew where she was going. Not New Orleans, but a neighboring city. Someplace with those lovely, hanging, lush, wispy trees. Maybe she could do this. Maybe she would survive this ordeal. Maybe things would work out. Maybe. *** There were so many of them, kicking, punching, snarling at her. She just lay there, trying to protect herself, the sickening thuds from their assault muffled, the wet thwacks of their flesh against hers imprinted on her brain as she watched them strike her bloodied body over and over again. But she ignored the question they asked over and over again, "where is it, where is it," simply taking the beating. She saw the glint of the weapon in the light before he lowered it, sinking it into Shy's flesh, twisting it as she screamed and screamed and screamed... She woke, her breathing uneven, a cold, clammy sweat clinging to her. She closed her eyes for a moment, hugging a pillow to her as the remnants of the dream faded. It was always the same one, Shy, beaten, bloodied...and then stabbed. She took a deep breath, and then another, wiping the tears from her face as her pulse slowly returned to normal. She looked around the room, disoriented for a moment, before awareness crashed in on her. She'd rented a two bedroom house in a working class neighborhood in Thibodaux, Louisiana. She was working at a private nursing home ten minutes from her house, had bought a small Toyota, simple furniture, and was going about trying to live a normal life. It was working, unless one considered her general uneasiness and the regular nightmares. She'd decided to use her own name, hoping the men who were searching for her hadn't managed to secure that information. Besides, she knew it would be much too confusing if people started calling her a different name. It had only been a year, but her life was normal now. She could wake up in the morning without the suffocating gloom of missing her old life...and Shy. Of course, the feelings were still there, the fear, the anxiety, the heartache. They would sneak up on her when she saw a familiar commercial on television, when she phoned Janet or her sister, or when a large figure walked past her on the street with a shape that was oh so familiar. But each day was a little easier and she knew the feelings were fading. At least that's what she told herself. She should probably thank her co-workers. Once it had been determined that she was single, they kept her pretty busy trying to fix her up with eligible bachelors in the area. She didn't have the heart to tell them she was gay and she rather enjoyed the charm of Southern men, so she left them to their match-making. She'd even dated a few of the men more than once, allowing one to kiss her goodnight. His name was Reginald, he was a coach at one of the local high schools, and he was very sweet. There were no fireworks when he kissed her, but it was still nice. She stood from the bed and made her way to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. She stripped off the soaked nightshirt and donned a dry one before climbing beneath the heavy quilt again. It wasn't cold outside. In fact, in August, the weather in this part of the country typically hit the hundred mark and kept going. But she liked to keep the house just a little chilly at night, so she always set the central air for 65 degrees. The nightmare had probably been triggered by her upcoming trip. It was her first time returning to Philadelphia since she'd left so many months ago. And she was only returning because of Janet. She'd taken a short leave from her job and would spend the next two weeks with her dear friend as she changed statuses from "mother-to-be" to "mother." Personally, she'd never understand the joy some women felt when they were about to become parents. Her maternal instinct had never kicked in, living proof, in her mind, that it wasn't a biological drive. Or if it was, the drive had clearly skipped over her. But if Janet wanted her in Philadelphia for the birth, she would be there. After all, Janet was practically family now. Well, after she'd forgiven her for forcing $9,500 down her throat. She was the only person who knew who she was and what she was running from. If that didn't make her family, she wasn't sure what would. She glanced at the clock. 4am. She doubted she would be able to sleep again. Besides, her flight left at 10am and she had a lot to do before then. Sighing, she stood from the bed, straightening it out before heading back to the bathroom for a shower. *** She could not believe how huge her friend was! Was this the petite blonde who valued her figure like others valued diamonds? Now she sat behind the steering wheel of her Jeep, the seat pushed all the way back to accommodate her protruding belly, chatting away about Larry and how he was driving her crazy. It was an old song, so Robbie felt comfortable tuning out. Instead, she took in the familiar sights as they entered the city, trying to ignore the tightening in her chest and the knot in the pit of her stomach. "Hey, you okay?" She blinked and turned to look at her friend, smiling weakly, "yeah, first time back and all that." Janet nodded and then jumped a bit, "oh! There she goes! Here, put your hand here!" She refused to worry about her friend negotiating the traffic as she reached out for Robbie's hand to place it on her taut belly. Sure enough, something was moving around in there. Some oddly shaped part of the baby's body had even made its way to the surface. The idea that "she" had started as an egg and currently lived in a sac of fluid was off-putting to say the least. Still, Robbie ooohed and aaahhed as expected. She really didn't get the whole pregnancy thing. Janet managed to drive them to her house in West Philadelphia without crashing or giving birth, and for that Robbie was grateful. She was only staying at the house for a day and then she would pick up her rental car and move into a nearby bed and breakfast. Janet had begged her to stay with them, but she knew they would have their hands full with a new baby. They chatted comfortably as Janet prepared a health shake and took a handful of vitamins. Then she apologized for abandoning Robbie, explaining that if she didn't take a nap she would become a mega-bitch. With time on her hands, she borrowed Janet's Jeep and set off to run a few errands. Janet had opened a PO-box for her local mail so that it wasn't forwarded. Janet hadn't had time to mail the latest batch to her, so she picked up three months of mail and sorted through it. It was mostly junk mail which she discarded. Then she made a trip to the bank. She hadn't needed any of the money in the safe deposit box since moving, but she wanted to stop by and check on the contents just in case. She spoke with an associate upon entering the bank, not at all concerned when the woman furrowed her brow and then asked her to see the Branch Manager. She was escorted upstairs and into a nicely decorated private office. A moment later, an older man joined her. He was certainly someone with power considering the size of his office, the cut of his suit and his manicured fingernails. He sat behind his desk and typed some information into his computer. He was also furrowing his brow. "Is there a problem? I have identification." Robbie offered. He shook his head, "no, that is not the problem. The problem is that our records show that you emptied that box two months ago." Robbie raised a brow, her stomach tightening, "what are you talking about? I was out of town. I didn't close that box." He quickly printed out a form and placed it in front of her on the desk. She had to admit the signature was damn close to her own. Except she knew it wasn't hers. She had not emptied the box. "Sir, it's very close, but that's not my signature. Are you telling me everything I had in that box is gone?" He frowned again, comparing the driver's license she handed him and the signature. He then typed in more data. "Ma'am, someone with a valid photo ID and forging your signature emptied that box. I'm not sure what else we can do besides call the police," he stated politely. And although she was pissed and her stomach churned painfully, she hesitated. She would have to tell the police what was in the box and explain what she was doing with $190,000 in cash, wouldn't she? She swallowed. She'd been saving that money...well, if she was honest with herself, she'd been saving it for Shy. She'd never given up hope that somehow, some way, Shy had escaped that horrible night and was laying low. Shy would need that money and now it was gone. She stood, her legs unsteady beneath her. "Uh, I need to make some calls before we call the police. I'll be back." She hurried from the bank, trying to quiet her stomach. There was another reason she had held on to that money and that was just in case Ronnie and his goons tracked her down. And now, here she was, in Philadelphia, without the only leverage that could save her life. She looked around, the panic crawling across her skin, clinging to her. Forcing herself to remain calm, she rushed to get the Chinese food she promised Janet she'd pick up and hurried back to her friend's house. * She didn't tell Janet about the missing money. She didn't want to burden her very pregnant friend considering she was due any day. Instead, she managed to make it through dinner and then retired to the guest room to ponder her dilemma. She wasn't sure it was a bad thing necessarily. The money was gone, end of story. Of course, she wondered who would have thought to look for it. And who would have gone through the trouble of falsifying identification and forging her signature when they could have been caught? But there really wasn't anything she could do considering that amount of money, once reported to the police, would have to be accounted for and she simply could not explain it. So, the money was gone and that was it. Twenty Minutes Ch. 02 She only wished, as she lay down and tried to sleep, her churning stomach would agree to let it go as well. *** She was in labor for 17 difficult hours. And at 2:31am, a beautiful baby girl, named Olivia Roberta, was brought into the world. Robbie, while elated for her friend, was pretty sure she would never, ever give birth. The many hours of waiting, the enema, the hormones, Larry's worries, and the horror of that head finally emerging through that little, tiny slit...yeah, the experience pretty much cinched it for her. No movie watched in nursing school could match what she'd witnessed tonight. She would be Janet's daughter's god-mother, but she would most likely never have a child of her own. She was chuckling to herself as she waited in front of the hospital for the taxi to arrive. The miracle of birth, yuck! She was happy for her friend...and would regret her preoccupation later. She should have been more careful, more cautious, but was too exhausted to take in her surroundings. She noticed the male approaching her much too late, wondering what might be on the cloth that he shoved over her face before she saw black. * The nausea hit her first. Considering she'd been working at keeping it down for days, it was no surprise she wasn't successful. She rolled over, hanging her head over the bed, and grabbed a garbage pail that seemed to be placed there just for her. Her stomach felt no better when she finished heaving up the little she'd ate the day before, and the pain screaming in her head didn't diminish at all. She lay on her back, looking up at the ceiling, trying to ease the discomfort a little. It was the stucco pattern on the ceiling that caught her attention. That and the small cracks she'd counted so many times over the last few days. Was she in her own room at the bed and breakfast? After a few more deep breaths, she forced herself into a sitting position, holding onto the garbage pail just in case. When nothing more rose from her depths, she took in her surroundings. She was still wearing the jeans and tee shirt from the hospital. All of her personal items were gone, but her bag was packed and waiting for her by the door. Why would someone kidnap her, take her back to her own rented room and pack for her? She'd paid extra for a private bathroom and it was there she went to wash out the garbage pail and rinse her mouth. Whoever had packed for her was kind enough to leave out some of her toiletries, so after brushing her teeth, she took a quick shower, rummaging through her packed bags for a set of clean clothes. Most of the nausea had passed, but her head was still throbbing. She wasn't sure why, but she finished packing her few remaining items. Someone clearly wanted her to leave and perhaps she would oblige them. She'd just finished combing her hair, pulling it back into a pony tail, when someone tapped lightly on the door. Her heart hitched. Things were so out of whack, she had no idea what to expect. The person didn't wait for a response, opening the door and stepping inside. Robbie simply stared. Her eyes combed over the woman's figure from head to toe, taking in her full breasts and small waist, the long, slim legs encased in tight jeans, those hazel-green eyes and soft, enticing lips. She was still attractive. It was her first thought, just like before, until reality penetrated past the haze in Robbie's mind. How? How could she be here? "You're dead." They were the only words that came to her. Terese smirked, closing the door behind her and leaning back against it. "Clearly not." "B-but...the news. They said-" "Hardly a reliable source. Sorry about the chloroform, didn't realize it would make you that sick." They stared at each other for a moment, Robbie's mind swirling with confusion. How could she be talking to this woman right now? This woman that had caused Shy so much pain...this woman that had cost Shy her life? "She thought you were dead. She went after them because she thought-" It was the first time she'd seen the woman respond with any kind of emotion. Terese shifted as if she was uncomfortable and then shrugged it off. "Yea, I know. Look, there's a hit out on you. I thought she told you not to come back here?" Robbie couldn't stop staring at the attractive woman, trying to understand the words, the shift in conversation. But all she could think about was the fact that this woman was here, standing before her, and Shy...Shy was gone. "She's dead because of you. They killed her." She choked on the words, the tears trapped in her throat. The smirk was back although it was halfhearted, "you listenin'? People here want you dead. You can't be here. Your flight leaves in a couple of hours, let's go." Terese grabbed her bag, turning to open the door. Robbie rushed at her from behind. She pushed her into the door, pounding on the tall, slim woman with her fists, her tears blinding her. "She's dead because of you! You have no right to be here! They took her from me because of you!" She repeated the words over and over, screaming them, the sobs stealing her breath. Terese turned to face her, grabbing her wrists, wrestling her to the carpeted floor. She straddled the hysterical woman, waiting until she calmed a bit before easing her grip. When Robbie was simply crying, the fight gone out of her, Terese shifted her position, kneeling beside her. "Jeez, you really are a feisty one, aren't you?" She teased. But she took pity on the raw pain she saw in the woman's warm, dark eyes. "Look, I'm sorry. And I wish I could explain. But there's a cab waiting for you downstairs and you have to make this flight. I can't promise you'll be safe otherwise. Everything will be okay, alright? Just calm down." Robbie closed her eyes, trying to take control of her emotions. When she spoke, her voice was cool and flat, "nothing will ever be 'okay' for me again Terese. Don't kid yourself." Terese watched the smaller woman compose herself, unable to stop herself from admiring her full breasts and well rounded hips. She shook her head, chastising herself mentally. Robbie had already retrieved her bag and left the room. Terese followed her from the building. * She wasn't sure why Terese wouldn't leave her alone. She hadn't wanted her company during the cab ride and she definitely didn't want it at the airport. But the woman refused to leave her side, even following her to the bathroom. She thought she should care about this "contract" on her head, thought she should ask some questions about it, but she couldn't force herself to do so. She didn't care. Seeing Terese, realizing Shy was killed for no reason...she just couldn't comprehend it. She didn't understand why Shy was gone and this woman stood here, alive and breathing. It wasn't fair. It simply wasn't fair. She bought magazines to keep herself occupied, lest she attack the taller woman again. She called Janet, apologizing profusely without providing all the details. She walked around the terminal, looking in shop windows, trying to waste time, ignoring the woman following her to the best of her ability. And when she was done with all of that busy work, she still had 30 minutes before her flight. She sighed, making her way back to the sitting area and finally turning to Terese. "How are you alive? We saw the news report." Terese shrugged, having the decency to look mildly apologetic at least, "again, hardly a reliable source." Robbie simply stared at her, then shook her head slowly from side to side. "She went after them...she killed people because-" "Look, it's gonna work out." "Really, how?" Robbie couldn't help but spit the words in her face. There was a quick flash of some emotion on the woman's striking face, and then nothing. They sat in silence for a moment, Robbie trying to piece things together. "The money in the safe deposit box. Did you take it?" "Wasn't your best move, putting it under your own name. Didn't take much to find it." "It wasn't yours to take. Shy died for that money. She wanted me to have it." Terese looked at her for a moment, raising a brow, "and what would you do with it? Go shopping?" "Fuck you. I'll do whatever the hell I want with it. She gave it to me. It's all I have left of her. I want it back." Terese shrugged again, "and people in hell want ice water, but they ain't gettin that either." Robbie resisted the urge to hit the woman again, wrapping her arms around herself instead. She felt so cold...so empty. And the space that Shy had left inside of her was quickly being replaced by rage toward this woman. She only had one more question. "Why the hell do you care if I live or die? If you didn't care about a woman who thought you two were best friends, why do you care about me?" She hoped the words hurt. She wanted this woman to feel pain. It would be nothing like the sick, hollow feeling she'd been forced to carry around with her for the past year, but she still wanted the woman to suffer just a little. But Terese didn't react to the words, ignoring her instead. They sat in silence after that, and when her flight was finally called, Robbie couldn't help but feel a little relief that she would hopefully never see this woman again. "You can't come back to Philadelphia," Terese told her as she boarded the plane. "Don't worry, I have no reason to come back here." *** It was Spanish moss hanging from the branches of Cypress trees. That is what created the rich, green, weeping effect on the trees in Louisiana. And as she passed those trees, and the lovely plantation style homes, on the way to her small house in Thibodaux, she felt herself starting to relax. She'd missed the thick, heavy accents of the people living here, the slower pace, the friendly dispositions. This was as far from Philadelphia as she could get and it felt...good. She should probably buy a place down here and settle down, making this her home now. She needed to feel grounded again...and she needed to start over after losing Shy. That thought sickened and depressed her. She wondered how a year could have passed and yet it seemed she was processing her feelings for Shy as if everything had happened yesterday. Maybe she'd been in a state of shock...or maybe seeing Terese brought all the feelings up. It sure felt like she was starting all over again. Glancing at the lovely trees as the cab continued to make its way along the highway, she brushed tears from her cheeks. She'd taken a leave of absence, but maybe they had space for her at the nursing home. She couldn't imagine sitting around doing nothing all day. The cab driver carried her bag to the front door and she smiled at the southern hospitality. So unlike cab drivers in Philadelphia. She gave him a hefty tip, waving as he pulled away from the curb. She stared at the front door for a few minutes, damning Terese to hell. She had stolen the sense of comfort this place brought her. Now she could only imagine how lonely she would feel in the queen-sized bed tonight. Sighing, she fit the key in the lock. She wasn't sure what she noticed first. The packed bags in the corner or the smells coming from the kitchen. She felt her body tense, worried that the Philadelphia nightmare had followed her here. But why would someone be cooking if they wanted to kill her? Had Terese followed her here? She sure hoped not. She closed the door with a loud thud, hoping to alert the person inside. She was curious to see who would emerge. Except nothing could have prepared her for the person emerging from her kitchen. Nothing. Not the subtle hints that Terese had dropped or the familiar nylon Reebok bags. It was utterly incomprehensible that she was here, in Louisiana, in her small kitchen, cooking. It couldn't be... "Shy?" It was a croak, just a whisper. This was not happening. How could this be happening? She was alive? She was okay? How? How? But it was her. Larger than life, dressed in a familiar tank top and fatigue bottoms, the broad face she'd dreamt of so often still colored that beautiful bronze. Those eyebrows, dark, thick and unruly, the crooked nose and thick lips...and those eyes, slanted, almost like an Asian person's, and gray, a dark, smoky gray that she'd missed so terribly these many months. "Hey you," that deep, throaty voiced caressed her, filled the empty space inside of her, easing the pain and suffering she'd carried with her for so long. "Shy?" It was all she could say. Her entire body was shaking violently, the shock settling over her. How could this be? How could this be? The question kept repeating in her head. "Hey," Shy was at her side, concerned, helping her to a small, overstuffed sofa, "sit, baby." Robbie could only stare at her, tears clouding her vision, "Shy?" She hadn't noticed the cane until Shy set it aside and knelt before her on one knee, her good knee evidently. "Baby, you okay?" Robbie choked out a laugh. It was an odd sound, filled with emotion and disbelief. Was she okay? Was that a joke? "Shy." Nothing else would come. She raised her hands, framing Shy's face, caressing the soft flesh, staring into those bottomless gray eyes. How could this be? Shy was alive. And she was here, in Louisiana, with her. How could this be? She didn't care, pressing her lips to Shy's hungrily, her arms encircling Shy's neck to pull her close. If this was a dream, she would enjoy it. She inhaled that familiar scent of Shy and soap, her tongue hungrily seeking out Shy's. Suddenly she was on her knees, her body desperate for the feel of this woman who had disappeared from her life and left her alone, so alone. They were shedding clothing with lightning speed, lying beside one another on the carpeted floor caressing, exploring, confirming. Her body knew this was Shy, but her brain kept repeating the same question, how was this possible, how was this possible? She was trembling, afraid she would wake and Shy would be gone again, desperate to keep her near, enjoying the feel of those calloused hands against her heated flesh, creating wickedly delicious sensations. Shy nipped at her flesh, tasting of her as if starved, wreaking havoc along the way. Robbie knew she wouldn't last long, her body was so hungry, so taut, so ready. When she felt the heat of Shy's mouth against her breast, licking, teasing, nibbling, she wanted to scream. She couldn't be toyed with, not now. She needed this woman within her, atop her, completing her, like she needed air. It had been so long, so very long. "Shy, please," she begged, hoping to motivate her. But Shy would not be rushed. She took her time, stoking the fires, savoring the taste of her. Robbie thrust her pelvis against Shy's massive thigh, desperate for any relief, but Shy shifted, moving away. She pouted, frustrated, but then smiled. She never thought she'd be in this woman's arms again, never thought she would feel this way again. She wouldn't rush it. She wouldn't. Shy took a hardened nipple in her mouth, lashing at it with her tongue, suckling it as hungry as any infant. Her tongue burned a path to the valley between Robbie's full breasts, memorizing the texture and scents, the sweetness of Robbie before moving on. The other nipple was just as ready, just as hard, and received the same lovingly devoted attention. When she finally decided to explore further, moving downward slowly, Robbie couldn't help but whimper, writhing against her. Had it really been a year since she'd held this beautiful woman in her arms? Yeah, it had. And it was this, this headiness, these sensations, this constriction around her heart that had kept her going after the coma, the surgeries, the long months of painful rehabilitation. It was Robbie's face, her scent, her soft, luscious body that made Shy determined to walk again after the bullets had pierced her body, one shattering her knee. And it was this moment, knowing she would be welcomed, knowing she would be loved, that had helped with the months of depression and desperation when no one could find Robbie. Terese had been there, through the thick and thin of it, but it was this woman that had saved her life. She was as certain of that as she was of the love she felt for her. She dipped her tongue into Robbie's navel, smiling to herself as the woman squirmed uncontrollably beneath her, anxious for her touch. Then her mouth covered Robbie's heady center, her tongue seeking out familiar buried treasure, her arms holding Robbie in place securely. She knew it would only take a few moments before she was rewarded for her efforts. She smirked as Robbie's body froze and then bucked violently, coating her tongue with sweet liquid heat. She didn't stop, couldn't, desperate for the taste of this woman, anxious to please her as well. Robbie cried out as she crashed into another orgasm...and then another. It wasn't until she heard Robbie whimpering, softly begging her to stop, that she finally did. They held each other close later, satisfied for the moment, snuggled beneath the quilt on the queen-sized bed. Robbie breathed Shy in deeply, imprinting the feel and smell of her on her brain just in case she woke and this was just a dream. She didn't want to sleep, she wanted to talk, to listen, to share, to spend every moment possible with what could be a figment of her imagination. But she was tired, so very tired. *** The other side of the bed was empty when she opened her eyes. It was dark and she reached over to turn on a lamp, holding her breath and praying as she looked for any sign that Shy had really returned. Besides rumpled linen, she saw no evidence that anyone else was in the house. Her foggy brain recalled their bout of lovemaking started in the living room, so Shy's clothes would be there, right? Perhaps it was enough of a sign that the clothes she'd worn earlier were no where in sight. Certainly her body felt as if someone had been there. She ached in a sweet, familiar way that she never wanted to forget. It hadn't been a dream, had it? Shy was alive and had finally come for her? It just couldn't have been a dream. She stood and pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt, taking a deep breath before opening the bedroom door. She was trying to prepare herself for anything, especially an empty house, but she knew she would be devastated if Shy was no where to be seen. But she had little to worry about. The tantalizing smell of food greeted her as she stepped from the small bedroom, as did the clothing, haphazardly strewn about. She couldn't stop the smile from spreading as she slowly made her way to the kitchen and simply stood in the doorway, watching the hefty woman moving around her tiny kitchen as if she'd lived there all along. She was here. She was alive. She was okay. The words wouldn't stop repeating themselves. It wasn't a dream. She took in the imposing coco-colored frame, covered only in an oversize sports bra and fatigue bottoms. There were scars where none had appeared a year ago. Small, round wounds that had healed over and marred her body. She counted four of them, two on her back, one on her left shoulder, the other on the lower part of her right arm. And then there were long, jagged scars, some the result of stitches. She noticed that Shy limped as she moved around, plating the simple meal, and then smiling with surprise when she turned and encountered Robbie's gaze. They stared at each other for a moment before Robbie stepped forward to take the plates and carry them to the tiny dining area off the living room. She noticed Shy had grabbed her cane before she joined her in the small space. They sat across the table from one another, but Robbie didn't have much of an appetite. "They shot you." She couldn't seem to stop the absurdly simple observation. Shy watched her carefully for a moment and Robbie could see her calculating how much she should share. She didn't know what she would do if Shy held back now. Not after everything they'd gone through. She watched impatiently as Shy scooped up some of the flaky fish she'd broiled and placed it between her lips, chewing and swallowing slowly. Twenty Minutes Ch. 02 "I was technically dead for two minutes and eleven seconds they said, so I guess you could say he killed me, as promised." The words were sluggish, as if this was the first time she'd said them aloud. She ate a bit more of the fish, absently tasting the instant rice and realizing it was a little overcooked before looking across the table into those worried, warm brown eyes. She took a deep breath and blew it out, remembering she didn't have to be on guard with this one. Not with this one. "They removed seven of the ten bullets. The others posed too much of a risk. Then they said I was out for a month...in a coma. I didn't know where I was when I finally opened my eyes, wasn't sure what had happened...they said I asked for you as soon as I could talk." That brought a bitter-sweet smile to her full lips. It still amazed her that even when she was so close to death, she had worried more about the petite woman sitting across from her than she had herself. They sat in silence for a while. Shy was so focused on reliving the nightmare of those first few hours, those first few days, that she didn't realize Robbie was crying until she saw the woman quickly wipe the tears from her cheeks. "Why Shy? Why did you do it? Why did you lie to me, leave me there all alone?" The questions were tortured, pained, reflecting the horror both had been forced to deal with for the last year. Shy pushed the plate from in front of her. "I couldn't let them hurt you," she insisted passionately. "I fucked up, not you," Shy swallowed, trying to keep her own tears at bay, "I wouldn't let them hurt you." Robbie watched her closely, recognizing the tension in her shoulders, in the fists she held tightly clenched at her sides. So much pain...so much guilt. She shook her head, this woman had no idea, did she? No idea that she would have accepted anything they did to her as long as Shy was okay. She would have let them end her life if they'd promised to spare Shy's. Of course, those were probably the thoughts and feelings that had led Shy to make the choices she'd made. She shook her head, how could she have remained clueless for so long? She'd been angry with the gentle giant sitting across from her for months on end, when the woman had simply made the same choices she would have made. Robbie swallowed past the constriction in her throat before speaking again. "I wish-" She had been about to chastise her, but what was the point after realizing she would have done the same. "I thought..." She had to swallow again before the tears overwhelmed her, "I th-thought you were dead. I-I thought-" She shook her head, she couldn't continue. The words wouldn't come, not yet. She wiped at her tears impatiently, smiling weakly when she looked over into those bottomless gray eyes. For a moment, they could do nothing but stare at one another. Shy finally continued. "They were shocked when I woke up. The nurses, the doctors, all thought I was dead. But...-I-I couldn't walk. One of the bullets had shattered my knee. I was in the hospital for another month, then a rehab place for six. They had to teach me how to walk," the words were strained, those intense gray eyes reflecting the pain and fear she'd felt at the thought that she'd be confined to a wheel chair or on crutches for the rest of her life. She shook her head, forcing herself to keep talking. "Then, one day, I look up and Terese is standing in my door," she chuckled. "If I could stand, I would have kicked the living shit out of her." Robbie smiled just a little, she knew that feeling well. "She told me it had been a set up. They wanted to take Ronnie down. She was working with Jules, his competition. She said she didn't realize I would-" She choked on the words and Robbie was at her side, kneeling, forcing her hand to unclench so she could hold it. "She said she didn't think I would be upset. Could you believe that bitch? She thought we weren't tight anymore-" Shy took a moment to take in some air, closing her eyes for a second before continuing, "she said her boys found me, they'd left me for dead. If she hadn't heard about it when she did, I would be." Another pause before she continued. "She was there for the rehab and everything. All those months. She paid for everything...said it was all her fault, she should have told me. And then she couldn't find you." Shy finally looked down at her, their eyes meeting. The larger woman reached out and gently caressed Robbie's check. "It was the only thing I wanted from her and she couldn't find you. She found the money-" The words jogged Robbie's memory, "the money!" Shy squeezed her hand, "don't worry. Terese gave it to me. She had someone following Janet, so when she picked you up from the airport..." Robbie nodded, pressing her cheek against Shy's calloused hand. It was enough for now. It would have to be, she couldn't listen to anymore. She just wanted to enjoy being with this woman. She stood, helping Shy to her feet and waiting for her to grab her cane before leading her to the sofa. She sat beside her, snuggled against her side, and sighed. She didn't want sex, she didn't want any more conversation, she only wanted this woman to hold her. Just hold her. They held each other close for hours, sometimes watching television, other times just enjoying the sound of each other's breathing. For both of them it was a miracle to have found one another again after so much pain, so much time. Robbie realized she'd fallen asleep against her gentle giant when she felt Shy shift just a little as she leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I came back from the dead for you," Shy's husky voiced caressed her ear, warming her. "I love you." Robbie smiled at the feel of Shy's lips against her forehead and returned to the first peaceful sleep she'd had in a year. Twenty Minutes Ch. 02 She looked as though I'd slapped her. After a minute she started to cry, hard, and put her face in her hands. I could hear her saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" in between her sobs. I slid over next to her and held her in my arms, letting her cry. Neither of us said another word for a long time. *** *** *** When Angie had cried herself out, she sat up and used a tissue to dry her face. Then she said, "Alex, before you left you asked me to think about what I would do if you had been the one who ... had an affair. "I have thought about it a lot, and I have my answers for you. I'd like to share them with you after lunch, if that's OK." I nodded, and then she said, "would it be all right if you ate lunch down here? I'd like to go ... wash up, and have lunch alone in the room. It'll give me time to get organized." We agreed I'd come up after an hour, and she left me. When I returned to our room Angie was ready for me. She'd showered and brushed her hair, and didn't look as sad and lost as before. She asked me to sit on the sofa, and sat facing me in a big armchair, a pad and pen in her hands. She had on the glasses she always wore at work, which gave her a pert secretarial look that I secretly adored. "Alex, I thought a lot about this. I think that what you really wanted me to do was think about how I would feel if you had ... cheated, then understand how you were feeling about what ... what I did, and finally think about how I could address those feelings and try to make things up to you. "So I've set up three columns: the first is how I would feel, the second is how you must feel, and the third is what I will try to do." As she sat there, glasses on her nose, explaining her neat little system to me, sounding just like the first-rate, highly organized paralegal who was so valued at her job, my heart just swelled up with love for her. I had been so angry and so hurt, it had been hard to remember how much I loved Angie, or even why. This reminder of another side of her—her work-side, and her organized, efficient approach to problems—brought back vividly to me why she was so special to me. And why it was worth trying to save our marriage. She went on. "I'm afraid that for some of these there isn't anything in the third column, because simply I don't know what to do." She looked up at me with pain in her eyes. "So I'll just read an item in the first column and the one in the second—then if there's something in the third column I'll read that too." "Okay, Angie," I smiled at her. "First, I'd just be angry that you cheated on me. And I know you are angry, Alex—and I deserve it! "Then, I'd want to know how you could possibly justify or explain doing such an awful thing. And you deserve that explanation too. I think I tried to give it to you at home, before you left. How Connie's affair seemed so exciting and harmless—and I just stopped thinking, and stupidly thought I could do the same thing and you'd never know, and I'd never hurt you." I interrupted and said, "well, your friend Tommy's behavior is surely part of the explanation, too—but we'll get to him later. Why don't you just go on." "Well, I would be beside myself with insecurity, Alex—scared that your lover was sexier, more fun in bed, than I was. So you must be feeling some of the same feelings too." I growled, "and what's in your 'fix-it-all' third column for that one, Angie?" She looked at me sadly. "Nothing that can just make the pain go away, sweetheart. What I wrote is 'show Alex how much I love and desire him, convince him over time that he is the only lover I will ever want from now on'. "But I'm not such a fool as to think I can just snap my fingers and make it happen, Alex. I don't know whether it would be better never to talk about ... what I did with Tommy, or tell you all the gory details and then we can put it behind us." "Actually I have decided that I am going to want to know every detail, Angie—but we don't have to do that now." I saw alarm in her eyes, but she didn't respond. After a minute she went back to her list. "Well—my pride was hurt, thinking about Christina, and I'm sure yours is too. To think that there's a person for whom you're Number 1, and then learn they're screwing someone else ... it's just not forgivable, is it, Alex?" Suddenly she was crying again. Without a word I went over and held her for a few minutes, and she gradually calmed down. "What else is on the list, Angie?" "Just two more things. The first is trust. How can you ever trust me now? How can I earn back your trust?" I said, "I think I know the answer to that one. It will take a lot of time, and both of us will have to work hard at it. For a while, I won't trust you a bit, and you're just going to have to live with it. I'll want to know where you are every minute, who you're having lunch with, who called on the phone, what you talk about with Connie—" I stopped, and grimaced. "Oh yes, Connie. That's another conversation we'll have to have." Angie nodded. "The last thing, Alex, is reassurance. You used to be able to believe that you had all of my love and my desire. That you were my first and only choice for a husband and a lover and a best friend. That when we made love I was entirely with you, not thinking of someone else or comparing you to him. "And I ... fucked up, and I took that away from you. And now I need to find ways to give it back to you again. She looked at me, fiercely, her cheeks still wet. "And I will, Alex! You just watch me—I will do it! Every day you let me stay in your life, I'm going to show you just how much you mean to me, and how sorry I am for hurting you." She got up suddenly, came straight over to me, and dropped into my lap, throwing her arms tightly around me. She squeezed me hard, putting her lips near my ear. "You are my best lover, my best friend. You are the only man I want, and the only man who will EVER have me again. And if you let me, I'll prove it to you every single day." Without another word, she got up and pulled me over to the bed. She had a determined gleam in her eye as she pulled off my shoes and socks, my shirt, and finally my shorts and boxers. Then, quickly stripping off her own clothes, she knelt between my legs and caressed my half-erect cock. After a moment, still gazing into my eyes, she opened her mouth and drew my dick deliciously inside. Using her hands to gently stroke my balls and my thighs, she tongued and sucked my cock, taking her time, getting me rock-hard. Angie couldn't quite manage a full deep-throat, but she had most of my 6 ½" inside as she worked on me. Her face wore a look of fierce concentration, as though she were doing multiplication in her head or cooking from a complicated recipe. I almost had to laugh at those thoughts, but I was enjoying her oral loving too much. Keeping her eyes fixed on my face, she brought me closer and closer to my inevitable, intense climax. Finally I asked, "Angie, don't you want to come up here with me?" She shook her head, and then began to slide her lips more rapidly up and down my shaft, intensifying the pleasure by using one hand to cup my balls gently. She got me into a rhythm that had me pushing my hips forward, and after another delicious minute I began to pump my cum into her throat, groaning with the wonderful pleasure. She stayed on me all through my orgasm, and then delicately continued to suck and clean my cock as it softened. Only when my excitement had completely subsided, and I was lying back in total relaxation, did she let me slide from her mouth and climb up next to me on the bed, gazing down with a look of triumph on her face. She saw my own smile, and said, "consider that a down-payment." I had to laugh, and after a moment she was laughing with me, as we lay on the bed in each other's arms. Angie had never been wild about oral sex. She had done it occasionally to please me, but it was far from her favorite thing, and she'd never been very comfortable about swallowing. So I understood that this "down-payment" on her part was a conscious act of love and atonement—an attempt to tell me how much I mattered to her. We spent the rest of the day in bed, separating only long enough for a leisurely room-service dinner. I even skipped my swimming for the first time all week. Some combination of desire and determination to reassure me had Angie hotter than I'd seen her since the first days of our relationship, and I was happy to go along for the ride. Sometimes we made love, with great tenderness, and sometimes we just fucked. By about 10 pm we were both happy, both exhausted, and both fast asleep. *** *** *** The next day, after a relaxed breakfast in the sunshine, we had another serious talk, and I shared with Angie the things I'd been thinking about our return. "I need to hear about you and Tommy, Angie, and I'll tell you why. "What I wish you could do is just un-do your affair with him, just erase it somehow. But it's not possible. So what I've decided I want us to do is 'write over it'." She looked at me in confusion and I said, "don't worry, I'll explain. But first, can you tell me please how the affair started?" Unhappily but willingly, she told me the story, some of which I'd heard already: the tennis class, the casual drinks afterwards in a group, the evening just the two of them were left and he made a pass at her. "I said no, Alex, but I didn't slam the door tight. And he kept after me, not at all forcefully but persistently. The night of the last tennis class he walked me from the bar to my car—and he kissed me. And I let him, Alex. It was a short kiss, but we both knew what it meant. "Then the next week he called me and said we ought to play tennis together, just to keep up our skills from the class. He's a phys. ed. teacher at a middle school, so he's always free after about 2:30 pm. I agreed to take an afternoon off and meet him at his apartment, and we'd go to some nearby courts." She looked at me, the pain clear on her face. "I have no excuses, Alex. He took the lead, Tommy was the one who made it happen—but I knew what I was doing, too. "When I got to his apartment he offered me a quick soda before tennis, and then he ... put the moves on me. Gently--he flattered me, and he stood behind me and rubbed my shoulders.... God, it is just awful having to tell you this! "When he had me nice and relaxed—and turned-on—he took my hand and gently led me into the bedroom. You can guess the rest." Her voice had turned flat, empty. "Just one more question for right now, Angie. Did you use condoms?" She nodded. "Yes, always. The first time we weren't even talking at all, except when I said 'you have to use a condom'. He had them in a drawer by his bed." "What else do you know about Tommy?" "Well, he's a phys. ed. teacher, like I said, and he's originally from Buffalo. And he's engaged, though that obviously doesn't mean he's faithful to his fiancée!" She made that last remark in a bitter tone. After a moment, I said, "OK, Angie. Here's what I meant by 'writing over'. I want you and me to re-create what you did with Tommy. I'm going to ask you to write down for me the details of each time you two were together: what you did sexually, where, what it was like, who took the lead, what positions, how many times each of you came—everything. "And then I want you and me to do all those things, in all the same places and in all the same ways. So that each time you had sex with Tommy, it'll be 'written over' by you and me. "That may sound totally nuts, but it's the closest thing I can come up with to 'un-do' your affair." Angie gazed at me, a very serious look on her face. "Yes Alex, it does sound nuts—but it sort of makes sense to me too. If you give me some time today, I'll write down all the stuff you've asked for. But can I ask you one favor?" I nodded, and she said, "could you ... read it when we're in bed together, with me in your arms, after we've made love? Somehow that way I'll be less utterly terrified about ... how you'll react when you read it." I smiled and said, " sure, Angie." Then she asked me one more question. "Alex—you said 'all the same places'. Do you mean we're going to make love in Tommy's apartment!? How can we do that?" I gave her an evil smile, and said, "just leave that little detail to me!" After lunch we separated for a few hours. Angie sat in the room and made her list—not an easy or pleasant task, I'm sure. I made a couple of phone calls, then did my laps in the pool. After just a few days my wind and stamina were already improved, and I vowed to myself that I'd keep up my routine at a pool back home. It felt great to be a little more fit. We had three more days together at the resort before we had to be back at our jobs, and we made the most of them. I didn't bring up the dreaded list for a while, and we just played. We swam, we lay in the sun, we went out to eat, and we spent a lot of time either talking or making love. Angie's determination to make things up to me came out energetically in bed. We spent more time on foreplay than we were used to, often with Angie making me lie down and giving me delicious massages, that turned into caressing and sex-play. She asked me several times if there were new things or new positions I wanted to try. The one I enjoyed the most was screwing her standing up against a wall, with her legs tight around my waist. Once we got our balance settled, I would lift her by her ass-cheeks, then gently drop her back down on my cock. It took a minute or two to get the rhythm right, but that was really exciting! We both were gasping and groaning as we came, and then we collapsed onto the floor together, giggling, my cock still stuck inside her. We also had some good talks about our marriage. Before her affair we both had thought we'd been doing great—but surprisingly, our conversations revealed to both of us that things had gotten a little stale. We loved and appreciated one another, but we'd each gotten a little lazy about expressing it. Some of that is surely inevitable—being married is far different from dating, after all—but we agreed that we could do better. An occasional dinner out, a weekend getaway, taking the time some evenings for a walk in the park—we had lots of ideas for ways we could be more attentive to each other, once we started thinking about it. Angie proposed the idea of planning an "Alex" night or an "Angie" night, when the person whose night it was would have everything he or she wanted: a favorite dinner, being waited on by the other, and then (of course) being served sexually by the other one in his or her favorite ways. Finally, we talked about starting a family. Both of us looked forward to having children, and we'd always felt that we'd "know" when the time was right. I said, "Angie, I still want to have children—but only after I know that our marriage is going to continue. And I don't think I'll be sure about that anytime soon." She just nodded, looking meek. "I can't blame you, Alex. That was something I worried about when I thought you'd had an affair with Christina. How could I have children with a man I couldn't trust to be faithful to me? And now you're in that position." I took her hand and smiled. "Yes I am—but I look forward to not being in it. This week has been terrific, Angie. It hasn't made all my anger go away, but it has reminded me how much I love you." She leaned over and gave me a kiss, pulling me tightly to her with her arms. When we broke apart I said, "one more thing. When I do feel like we've made it back, like we're really going to be OK, you'll know. Because I'll come to you and say, 'Angie, let's make a baby.' " As we sat together on the flight home, I found myself getting more and more tense. My time away with Angie, despite the circumstances, had felt like a honeymoon. She'd been loving and passionate, desperate to show me how much I mattered to her and how much she wanted me. The sex had been fantastic, and just being with one another had been great too. In a thousand ways I was reminded of how much I loved her, and why. But that was in Florida, at a beautiful resort, a thousand miles away from our regular lives, and from the house where she'd fucked someone else. I had real doubts about how well my loving feelings would survive once we were back home. We'd each be back at work, with the stresses that brought. And most of all, I'd be back to not knowing every minute where Angie was and what she was doing. I'd either have to start trusting her or drive myself crazy. Angie must have sense some of what I was feeling. She held my hand for hours on the flight, and kept glancing over to me with a look of increasing concern. Finally, soon before we were to land, she turned to me and squeezed my hand tighter. "Honey," she said quietly, almost whispering. "Please don't give up on me now! Please believe everything I said to you in Florida, and remember everything we did. "I know it's going to be hard. I can tell some of what you're thinking, just from watching your face. But I'm the same Angie who adores you, who would give anything to take back what I did. Please give me a chance!" I looked into her face, seeing the tears in her eyes, and forced a smile. "I'll give you a chance, Angie, I promise. You're right, I'm tensing up, just thinking about what it will be like. But let's both try to hold on to what the past week has been like." She smiled at me, pulling my hand to her lips and kissing it fiercely. "It's a deal!" she said. Twenty Minutes Ch. 03 When we'd dragged our suitcases into the front hall of our house, I stopped and took Angie by the hand. "Honey, I'd like us to sleep in the guest room for right now. I'm not ready to go back into our bedroom yet, but I do want you with me." She nodded, looking troubled but not surprised. "That's fine, Alex. I was afraid you'd want to sleep apart from me." We got unpacked and settled in, had a lazy dinner, went through the mail that had piled up. When I heard the phone ring, I instantly thought, "Connie!" I called to Angie, "don't answer it, OK? Just let the machine get it." She came into the room, looking quizzical, and I said, "I just had the feeling it was Connie calling, and I didn't want either of us to answer until we'd talked about her." She instantly blushed. "OK, Alex." "What I have to say is pretty simple. Connie is your close friend, and you're entitled to have the friends you want to have. On the other hand, I blame her in part for your affair. Not that it wasn't your choice and your responsibility, but Connie's filling your ears with the delights of her own adultery didn't exactly help. "So I won't ask you to stop seeing her. But from now on, the details of our marriage are off-limits, OK? I'm sure she'll want to know all about our trip, and how we're doing. "You can tell her that we had a nice time, and that we're working on getting through this. But beyond that, it's none of her damn business. Fair enough?" I wasn't angry but I'm sure I sounded firm, and Angie didn't even attempt to disagree with me. "Yes, honey. I've been thinking about that too. I guess I'm a little mad at Connie myself, even though I have no right to be." "Oh, Angie, one more thing. Connie doesn't know that I know about her affair, and I want to keep it that way. All right?" She nodded, and I let the subject drop. We talked for a few minutes about work and some other things. Then, not wanting to wait, I took Angie by the hand and led her upstairs into the guest room. I was feeling more apprehensive than sexy, but I wanted to make love—I wanted to see if I could still feel affectionate and loving, so close to the scene of Angie's adultery. To put it more bluntly, I wanted to get the first fuck out of the way. We undressed, got in bed, kissed and snuggled and touched one another. But the spark wasn't there. Angie looked more and more uneasy, and I was afraid she was going to cry. "It's all right, baby," I said, stroking her shoulders. "We knew it wouldn't be so easy at first, back in this house again." She nodded, and kissed me gently, then planted sweet little kisses all over my face and neck. I lay back as she slid gently down my body, leaving a trail of kisses, until she reached my cock, still only slightly erect. It was clear what she had in mind, and I was happy to let her proceed. Her lips and tongue didn't drive me as crazy as they had—repeatedly—down in Florida, but they were more than enough to produce a satisfactory hard-on. With an enormous smile, Angie slid on top of me, straddling my waist, and guided my cock inside her. We went slowly at first, as she wasn't all that wet. But gradually we both relaxed, and the slow gliding of her pussy up and down my cock turned into a more energetic plunging. Both of us seemed to relax and stop worrying—instead we were just fucking, enjoying one another. I loved having Angie in this position because I could cup and hold her breasts, and this time she pushed them hard into my hands, arching her back and groaning. I caressed and pinched her nipples, enjoying as she moved faster and faster on me. Then when I knew she was close I put my hands on her hips, guiding her down on me as I humped up into her. With a gasp, she came, and I felt her spasms as my own orgasm overtook me. We lay together, both of us feeling happy and very relieved. It seemed like we'd just cleared an important hurdle, as silly as that might seem. After a few minutes I said, "Angie, why don't you bring me your list?" Looking stricken, she went to her suitcase and returned after a minute with a legal pad. Climbing back into bed and handing me the pad, she snuggled tightly against me. Her face pressed into my neck, she said, "OK, Alex. I knew this was coming. But I am just scared to death! Please, please don't throw me out now!" I kissed her hair. "Angie, I know this won't be much fun for either of us. But I'm still convinced that 'writing over' what you did with Tommy is going to help us get past it. So I've got to look at what you've written." She just nodded, and clung to me more tightly. I picked up the pad and began to read. "The First Time. At Tommy's apartment. He gave me a soda and rubbed my back. Then he took me into his bedroom. "We didn't talk. He undressed me, then himself. His cock was sticking up at me. He lay me down on the bed and started kissing and touching me. I was very excited. He got a condom, and we did it in missionary position. He was excited too. He went very fast, no subtlety. He came in just a couple of minutes. I was excited but I didn't come. "We lay there for a while, kissing and talking. He went to the bathroom and washed, then came back and wanted to have sex again. He asked me to suck him to make him hard, and I did. Then he put on another condom and we had sex in the doggy-position, with him standing on the floor. "This time he lasted a long time. He held and stroked my breasts, and he made me come once while we were doing it. Then after a while he came. We rested for a little while, then I took a shower, got dressed, and left." I stopped reading and just lay there, feeling the adrenalin course through me. I realized my jaw was clenched so tight that my teeth hurt. Angie lay beside me, no doubt feeling the tension in my body, afraid to move or make a sound. "You asked for this, Alex," I said silently to myself. "Now be a man and take it!" It wasn't that she'd written anything surprising. In my own imagination I'd created scenes that were far wilder, far more upsetting than what I'd just read. It was rather the simple reality of it—the difference between my own unhappy imaginings and the cold facts of how Angie had had sex with another man. It hurt a hell of a lot. I took some deep breaths, found myself growing a bit calmer, and read on. "The Second Time, three days later, at Tommy's apartment. We met in the afternoon. "In the car on the way there I changed out of my work clothes. When I got to Tommy's I only had on a halter top and my skirt, no underwear. "When I came into the apartment Tommy kissed me, and I took his hand and slid it up my leg. When he realized I had nothing on underneath he got very excited. He sat me on a kitchen chair and went down on me, kneeling on the floor in front of me. "He pulled down my top and caressed my breasts while he ate me. I came twice, the first time right away and then again after five more minutes. "Then he carried me to his bed and we had sex, missionary position, me still wearing the skirt and top. I put the condom on him first. I had another orgasm before he came. "After we rested, we took a shower together and washed each other, also caressing and exciting each other. Then we dried off, went back to bed and had a 69, with me on top. We both were very excited. I didn't come again, but felt a lot of pleasure. When Tommy got ready to come he held my head down on him, and more or less made me swallow. Then I showered again, and went home." I stopped again, considering how I was feeling. I was angry and hurt, but no worse than I had been after reading about their first tryst. I decided to push on, read all of the rest and get it out of the way. The other times were much the same, with the variations you might expect. They did it four times at his apartment and twice in our house, the second time being the time I heard them at it. That day he'd been held up at school, arriving nearly an hour later than expected. They'd had one quick fuck, and when she tried to get Tommy to leave he'd insisted on another round. Trusting that I wouldn't come home from work any earlier than usual, she'd given in. As furious as I was, I also felt relieved that it wasn't worse. He hadn't ever fucked her bareback, she hadn't let him take her anally (as far I as I could tell he hadn't asked), and they hadn't done anything she and I hadn't done ourselves many times. Irrational or not, these things helped me feel a little better. I realized that Angie was still clinging to me, and I could feel her trembling. I said, "all done, Angie. I've read it all." She looked up at me, waiting for an explosion, but I just gazed at her. "Yes, I'm mad," I said. "And hurt—hurt most of all. All I could think of as I read it was, 'how could you?' "But I was also glad that it wasn't worse. Frankly, Angie, I was scared that he'd have done something you and I have never done, or excited you in a way I'd never been able to do. "I'm sure you can understand this: I was afraid that you'd want to go back to Tommy, for more of something he'd given you that I couldn't." She sat up in bed, looking at me fiercely. "There was nothing like that, Alex! It was ... exciting, you know, just because it was somebody different. And it was ... secret, like you said. I knew it was wrong. "But there's nothing special about Tommy in bed, believe me! He was eager and fast, but not terribly considerate or sensitive. Never once did I feel like he was making love to me—or even that it had much to do with me at all. It was fucking. My body turned him on, and he liked fucking me." I looked at her. "And his body turned you on, and you liked fucking him." She blushed and looked away, nodding. I pulled her to me, holding her, stroking her hair, feeling her sobs begin. "It's all right, Angie. We're going to do everything you and he did, only better. We're going to write over it, OK?" She nodded vigorously against me, still crying. We held each other tight until she was calmer, then without another word we slept. ******** I awoke to the smell of coffee and quickly headed downstairs. Angie, in her bathrobe, was standing in the kitchen smiling at me, getting ready to scramble the eggs I always ate for breakfast. "Why don't we do something different today, Angie—how about I take you out to breakfast?" She looked surprised but pleased, and I added, "not what you expected from your predictable old husband, is it? Well, I'm trying to be a little less predictable." She came over and wrapped herself around me for a long hug. "Just as long as you keep on being the wonderful, loving man I married, I'll be happy with a little unpredictability." When I got in to work I was greeted by a lot of smiling faces. People were glad to have me back, and maybe also glad that I seemed to be OK—John must have mentioned something about my marital troubles. I spent the morning getting caught up on the past couple of weeks, and was pleased to find only a couple of small fires for me to put out. My staff had indeed risen to the occasion, and I praised them sincerely for how well they'd kept things running. The only difficult thing that day was not worrying about Angie, not wondering what she was really doing at work or whether she would call Tommy. It was hard to believe she would—but then when your trust is gone, imagining the worst turns out to be awfully easy. The afternoon brought me the call I'd been waiting for, from a security whiz named Caleb whom I'd contacted from Florida. I knew about him because he'd once done some work for our company. I'd put Caleb on Tommy's trail, asking for any information about Tommy's life, specifically including his fiancée and his own activities. And he'd struck gold. It turned out that Emily, the fiancée, was also a teacher: she taught history in a local high school. Even more interesting, she was a distant relative of the Heinz family, and worth a lot of money. And it also turned out that Angie had not been Tommy's only recent playmate. He was fucking Darlene, a secretary in the principal's office at Tommy's school, a couple of times a week. Caleb, that wizard, had a lovely set of pictures of the two of them doing naked acrobatics in Tommy's bed—somehow he'd gotten access to an apartment in the building right across the alley from Tommy's. That evening I explained to Angie how I proposed to deal with Tommy. My plan began with Angie writing a letter to Emily, revealing to her that Angie and Tommy had been sleeping together while he was engaged to Emily. Angie was reluctant to write the letter, but I was firm with her. First, I said, it would never be sent. I only intended to use it as leverage with Tommy. Second, I asked her bluntly, was she more interested in protecting Tommy or in reconciling with me? That question brought a few tears, but without further protest Angie wrote out the letter I dictated to her. Later that evening I set up a new Hotmail account and emailed Tommy. Using a made-up name, I introduced myself as the Superintendant for a neighboring school district: I had heard about what a good teacher Tommy was, and was interested in possibly hiring him for one of my schools (at a considerable raise, of course). Since luring a teacher away in mid-year was a bit "irregular", I suggested that we meet privately some afternoon that week to discuss the possibilities. We met on Thursday afternoon in a local coffee bar. Tommy was a big, open-faced guy with sandy hair and bright blue eyes. He wasn't unusually handsome, but I could see that women would find him attractive. After we shook hands, he began at once to ask about the job. I held up my hand to stop him, said, "why don't you just read this first?", and handed him a photocopy of Angie's letter. After only a few seconds he looked up at me, confused and angry. "What the fuck is this?" he hissed, trying to keep his voice down. Without losing my cool I said, "just read the rest of it, Tommy, and then we'll discuss things. And you should know that there are several other copies of this, all in the hands of friends of mine, all ready to be mailed if anything should happen to me or Angie." As Tommy read the rest of the letter his face flushed with rage. Finally he put it down and glared at me. "All right, asshole—what is this all about?" I smiled. "First, let me introduce myself. I'm Alex Ravenna, Angie's husband. "Second, you had an affair with my wife and I'm not happy about it. "Third, you're engaged to a very wealthy young lady, and if she sees this letter you'll be totally fucked. "How am I doing so far, Tommy?" There was a silence as he glared at me, undoubtedly considering his options. He didn't have a lot of them. He said, "Emily would never believe that letter anyway—I could convince her it's all bullshit." "Oh?" I replied. "What about the part where Angie perfectly describes your bedroom, even down to the nice photo of you and Emily on the dresser? And what about the part when she talks about those cute little birthmarks you've got, one on your shoulder and one just to the right of your pubic hair? How are you going to explain those away, lover-boy?" "All right, all right!" he spat at me. "What the fuck do you want?" "It's very simple," I replied. "I promise that Emily will never see this letter. In return, you give me a key to your apartment, and the right to use it for the next three weeks." "What the hell are you talking about?" "You fucked my wife in your apartment, Tommy. Now I'm going to fuck her in your apartment. As many times as I like, in your bed, on your kitchen table—wherever I want, for the next three weeks. Then we're done. You don't see me, you don't hear from me, I give you your key back, and all the copies of that letter go right into the trash." He sat and stared at me, no doubt wondering why he was getting off so easily. "That's it? Three weeks, and then I'm done with you?" I nodded. "And how do I know that you won't send the letter anyway?" "That's a good question, Tommy," I said. "You don't. You're going to have to trust me on that. But you don't have much choice, do you? "I give you my word, once the three weeks is up you get your key back and Angie and I are out of your life." There was more silence. Then he said, unwillingly, "Jesus H. Christ! OK. But when will you be using the place?" "Only on weekday afternoons—that's when you were there with Angie, right? So you'll need to stay out of there from 2:30 until 6:00 every weekday for the next three weeks. Nights and weekends are all yours—knock yourself out." After a few more questions and answers, we got up together. Three stores down was a hardware store, and Tommy had them copy the keys to his building and his apartment. He sullenly handed them to me. Smiling, I gave him the copy of Angie's letter. "You can dispose of this one—I have more. Today's the 3rd. If you don't play any stupid games with me, Tommy, I'll mail these keys back to you on the 24th. Then it's bye-bye Alex." I waited to see if he had anything else to say. He didn't. Shrugging, he turned and left me. I caught myself whistling as I came in the door of my house. I must be feeling better! As I entered the kitchen I saw Angie at the stove and Connie sitting at the table. Both women turned to me, looking vaguely guilty. I said "hi" and went over to give Angie a kiss. Before I could speak to Connie she said, "hi Alex. Listen, I've got to be going—hope to see you both soon!" "She seemed awfully strange, Angie," I said after a minute. "What's going on?" Angie said, "Connie came over about an hour ago, and we caught up for a while. As you can imagine, she asked a lot of questions, but I fended most of them off. I told her that we were working on our relationship, and that we'd had a good time in Florida. But I also told her that I felt incredibly guilty for what I had done with Tommy—and that in the future I was going to have to keep the details of our marriage private, even though she was my close friend. "She didn't protest that at all. I think she realizes how all that raving about Henry contributed to what I did, and to the trouble we're having now." "And that's what that guilty expression was about?" "I guess so," Angie said. I wasted no time telling her about my conversation with Tommy. Her face was a fascinating mixture of eagerness and dismay. I told her I wanted to begin right away, and asked that she meet me at his apartment tomorrow at 3pm. "OK, Alex. Can I just say, though ... I'm feeling a little bit freaked-out about this? I want to do what you want, but it makes me feel even more guilty, you know? Like going back to the scene of the crime." I held her, and stroked her hair. "I can understand that, I guess. But let's both keep in mind what the goal is: to enjoy each other, to have a good time, to make some new memories on top of some upsetting ones. "When I think of you with Tommy, I want to be able to replace those thoughts with memories of you and me together, doing what you did with him, enjoying each other." She pulled away far enough to look into my eyes. "I don't deserve you, you know that? Instead of ... punishing me, raking me over the coals, throwing me out on my ass—you're being so loving and patient with me." I answered her very seriously. "Well, perhaps right now you don't deserve me. God knows you've hurt me. But I love you—and when I think about our whole relationship, all these years, you've made me happier than anyone I've ever been with. "I hope that after a few weeks, or a few months ... we'll both feel that you deserve me." She gazed into my eyes, and without another word gave me a long, intense kiss. ******** The three weeks of writing over Angie's affair were weird but fun. I knew that I'd have to cope with feelings of rage, and I did. But doing it in Tommy's apartment was also exciting—it almost felt like we were having an affair together. And Angie, as I'd anticipated, was desperately eager to make it good for me, to follow through completely on my idea. Twenty Minutes Ch. 03 The first day we stayed pretty close to the script: I offered her a soda, rubbed her shoulders, flattered her, then led her to the bedroom. Without saying anything I gently took her clothes off, then my own. She was trembling, and looked terrified. I laid her down and caressed her, and when I was very excited I fucked her, not bothering with a condom—that much realism we didn't need! Even though it was the same woman I'd been screwing for years, the strangeness of the situation made it unusually arousing. I lost myself in that first fuck, and hearing her moans and murmurs brought me to a quick and intense orgasm. As we lay there afterwards, talking and kissing, it continued to be strange. I didn't literally pretend to be Tommy, but our talk steered clear of anything that would identify us as husband and wife. Mostly I talked about how beautiful and exciting she was, how much I loved being with her. Angie relaxed after our first fuck, losing the deer-in-the-headlights look, and after a half-hour it was she who took the lead towards our second round. She slid down and took me in her mouth, using her whole arsenal of delicate touches. Blowjobs are wonderfully different after you've already fucked once. Because your cock isn't already hard, both you and your partner get to enjoy the feeling of it beginning soft and limp, then gradually growing big and hard in her mouth. When she had me very aroused, I pulled her gently up onto her hands and knees, arranging her ass at the end of the bed, and stood behind her. I loved this position (thanks for choosing it, Tommy!), and was looking forward to a long session of it. Of course one of my motivations was to make the sex better for her than it had been with Tommy. Sliding in, savoring the sensation of Angie's hot wetness, I reminded myself to take my time, pay attention to her responses, and make sure it was as satisfying for her as I knew it would be for me. We coupled for nearly half an hour this way. I loved holding Angie's breasts, teasing the nipples, and I brought her to orgasm once this way. Then I held her hips, and we just slid and bumped against one another for a while. Later I caressed her clit with my finger and brought her to another gasping climax. This time my own excitement reached a peak as well, and I came fiercely into her just a few moments later. As we showered in Tommy's bathroom, we didn't speak much, just smiled a lot as we washed one another. Even that night at home was quiet—not silent or uncomfortable, but relaxed, companionable. It felt delightful to hold her tight in my arms as we went chastely to sleep (neither of us with the energy for any more sex that night). The next time in Tommy's place, a few days later, Angie was as hot as she'd ever been. Perhaps she was more relaxed, because the first time had gone so well; or perhaps appearing for me with no underwear (as she had for Tommy) was a turn-on. Whatever it was, she went absolutely crazy when I put her on a kitchen chair and ate her out. She came again and again, pulling at my hair, crying out and gasping as she did. I got so excited that I dragged her into the bedroom and fucked the hell out of her, coming inside her with scalding pleasure. It was our fourth tryst, the first one in our own bedroom, that had me worried. Of all the things Angie had done, fucking Tommy there hurt the most. She must have known how I felt, because for the only time during this whole three-week escapade she "stepped outside the script". She was leading me by the hand into the room, where she was going to sit me down on the bed, take my clothes off, and give me a blow-job (all as she had done for Tommy). As she did so, no doubt seeing the pain on my face, she stopped for a minute, looked into my eyes, and whispered, "I'm so sorry, honey!" Somehow, and I don't know how, that made the difference. We continued with our game, but my pain greatly diminished. She blew me with loving tenderness, and when I was very aroused I pulled her on top of me for a 69, not caring that she and Tommy hadn't done that. We loved each other for a long time—it turned into a game, to see who could tease the other and stop short of bestowing an orgasm for longer. In the end she had to pull her mouth off my cock to gasp as I brought her off, using my lips on her clit and my fingers deep inside her pussy. Our next tryst was the last one in Tommy's apartment, and I had a couple of parting gifts to share with him. I began by eating Angie as she lay on her belly on his kitchen table, making sure her juices were left all over it. Then, when we fucked in the bedroom, I pulled out of Angie just before coming and went over to his dresser. Standing on a chair, I jerked myself to an orgasm, shooting my cum all over the dresser-top and making sure to aim a fair amount of it on the framed picture of him and his fiancée. He'd either have to clean it off or explain it to her, I thought! Finally, I made sure that our last fuck in his bed was anal. Angie and I had done it that way just a few times, and she and Tommy hadn't done it at all. She and I liked it every once in a while, though. We took lots of time, used plenty of lube, and went very gently. And we enjoyed it. But I had an ulterior motive, of course. When we were done I made sure to wipe my shit-covered cock off very thoroughly on Tommy's sheets, and I had Angie do the same with her nasty bottom. Just one more thing for you to enjoy, you son of a bitch! The final chapter of our "affair", a few days later, was back home in our bed, re-enacting the day I had come home twenty minutes early. We fucked, rested, and then as Tommy did I insisted on a second round, even though it was getting late. We were on our sides, our legs tangled together, thrusting our hips at one another, getting more and more worked-up. "Shall I hurry up?" I asked breathlessly. "You worried about your husband coming home and hearing us?" Angie looked at me and smiled. Still humping against me she said, "you are the only lover I ever want—I don't give a damn who hears us!" Smiling back, I pulled her tightly against me, and a minute later I was spurting into her. That night, after a shower and dinner, I was sitting in my study paying the bills when Angie came in. Wrapped in her robe, her hair clean, her face without makeup, she looked relaxed and beautiful. She pulled a chair up next to mine, sat down, and took my hand in hers. "You can probably guess what I want to ask you, Alex. Where are we now? We've written over my affair—and thank God it wasn't what I feared it would be. It was exciting, and loving, and intense, and it made some wonderful memories to push out those other ones. "It still just kills me what I did—what I did to you. And I love you more than I can say, for not just divorcing me. For finding a way for us still to be together. For making me feel that you thought I was worth it. "But I'm still a little frightened, and I don't know what's in your mind." I gently pulled her into my lap and she nestled in against me, her head on my shoulder. "What's in my mind is that I love you. And that if you ever cheat on me again I will fucking kill you." I said it without heat, and then I kissed her hair. "I can't say I'm 'over' what you did—certainly not all the way. "But I made the decision that I wanted us to try to stay together—that you were 'worth it', as you said. And it still seems like the right decision. "I guess you should still be frightened, but only a little. And you should know that it's still very hard for me to trust you, and it probably will be that way for a long time. "But I know that you love me, Angie. I know that you want to be with me, and that you're trying as hard as you can to show me that. And I know that you make me happy." She didn't say anything else, and we sat silently, holding one another, for a long time. ******** About a week later I had the conversation with Connie I'd been looking forward to having. Angie called and invited her over for coffee—but when she arrived, Angie was out and I was waiting for her. "Come in, Connie—I asked Angie to call you. I'd like to talk for a few minutes." She looked surprised and a little nervous as I poured us two cups. I sat and gazed at her. Then I said, "how's your friend Henry these days?" She gasped, putting her cup down so hard that the coffee slopped onto the table. Her face got pale, and she said, "who's Henry?" in a quavering voice. I just laughed. "Not too convincing, Connie. Henry would be the name of the fellow you were fucking regularly for several months last year—remember him? The one Brad never found out about. The one who was so much fun, just a fling, and Brad would never get hurt. You remember now? "And before you ask, no—Angie didn't tell me anything about it. I found out another way, not that it matters." She looked at me, biting her lip. She was obviously pretty scared. "OK, Alex—I'm listening. What do you want to say?" I smiled genially, and said, "well, in brief, Connie: I own you." She gasped again, and I went on. "You remember, I'm sure, all the high-minded opinions of yours on the subject of adultery that you shared with me and Angie a few weeks ago? "Let me see. I believe you said that my cheating belittled my spouse, that I would always feel a bit of scorn for her, knowing that I'd fooled her. Is that how it is for you with Brad? Do you feel that your cheating belittled him? Does it feel good having a nasty, dirty little secret?" She wouldn't look at me. "Here's what you said to me, Connie, about my pretend affair with Christina Blodgett. You said it was wrong—it was despicable. Even if I hadn't told Angie it would have been a horrible breach of her trust. "So, Connie, now we have to decide about how to handle YOUR horrible, despicable breach of trust, don't we?" Her hands were trembling. She said, "are you going to tell Brad, Alex? He'll divorce me, you know he will. Is that what you want? I waited silently for a long time, letting her search my impassive face. Finally I said, "no, Connie. I like Brad—and I have no desire to see him suffer the way I have suffered the past few weeks. He loves you, and apparently he trusts you. I don't see anything good coming out of destroying his feelings and his happiness. "But I do feel that some payback is in order, don't you? Since we agree that what you did was despicable, a breach of trust, don't you owe Brad something?" She was beginning to look a little less terrified. "If you ... if you won't tell Brad, Alex, I will do just about anything you ask." "What I have in mind is simple, Connie. You're going to make it up to him. You're going to embark on a campaign to make Brad Williamson the most loved, most pampered, most appreciated and most sexually satisfied man in the Midwest. "Of course, you're going to have to be a bit subtle about it. If you come on too strong too suddenly, he'll surely wonder whether you have something you're feeling guilty about. That would defeat the whole purpose. "But you'll be cooking his favorite dinners more often. Telling him you love him more often. Going golfing with him or watching a football game with him more often. And above all, fulfilling all his sexual desires more often." She began to smile slightly. Clearly what I had in mind was far less onerous than what she feared. "Tell me, Connie—do you and Brad talk about your sex life much? Do you share fantasies, do you know what sorts of games or positions turn him on the most?" "No, Alex—we have a good enough time, but we've never been all that ... experimental, I guess." "Well, you'll be taking the lead now, Connie. Buy some sexy lingerie and see what kinds interest him the most—then buy more of that kind. Ask him to have sex with you in different parts of the house, or in different positions, and see which ones he really likes—then repeat those. "Make sure he gets oral sex from you—frequently, and without his having to be the one to ask for it. And let him go down on you a lot too, if he doesn't already. "Surprise him with a weekend away at a hotel somewhere, and fuck his brains out for two days. Are you getting my drift here?" Connie's face, pale a few minutes ago, was now flushed with embarrassment. She wasn't used to this sort of conversation with me! "Yes, Alex. I can ... do that." "And if he does get suspicious, Connie, there's an easy answer you can give him. 'Honey, I've watched what Alex and Angie are going through—how close she came to losing him—and it just frightened me. I love you so much, and I want to keep making sure you never forget it!' "He'll buy every word of that, Connie—trust me. Especially if you're also keeping him tired and happy in bed. "Just one more thing. I'm not going to be taking all this on faith. Brad and I will be having regular chats. I'm sure he won't be able to resist asking how Angie and I are doing, and I'm going to respond by casually asking how things are between him and you. I don't want to hear that things are just OK, or about the same as always. "I expect to see big smiles and hear happy stories, is that clear?" Connie just gazed at me for a minute. She was relaxed now, no longer abashed and frightened, but she had an odd look on her face. "Alex, I've known you and Angie for years, but I've never seen this side of you before. I wouldn't have guessed it was in there. "And yes, I understand. I'm going to do just what you've said. Trust me, Brad will be giving you glowing reports about our marriage in no time." "Good," I said. I stood and helped Connie to her feet. Kissing her cheek, I guided her to the door. "Glad we could have this little talk, Connie," I said with a smile. "See you again soon!" ******** I had sent Tommy's keys back to him in the mail once Angie and I were finished with his apartment. I didn't take any further action for a couple of months. Then I called Caleb and asked him to take care of something for me. "Caleb, you still have those photos of Tommy and that girl in his apartment, right? Would you do me one more favor? Please make a copy of the set, and send them to..." I gave him Emily's name and address. "They don't need any return address, and no cover note or anything—they're quite self-explanatory! But please do one more thing. Look through the photos and find one that shows clearly the framed photo on the dresser—it's of Tommy and his fiancée. Then just take a grease pencil and circle that, so she'll be sure not to miss it. I want her to know that these photos are recent ones, taken since she and Tommy got engaged." I smiled to myself as I hung up the phone. ******** Angie was trembling in my arms. I was behind her, both of us lying on our sides, and we were fucking vigorously. My left arm was underneath her, reaching around to hold her left breast and pinch her nipple. My right leg was pushed forward between her legs, holding her spread open, and my right hand was stroking her clitoris in time with our thrusts. This had begun as a lazy, almost drowsy bit of loving, with sweet kisses and gentle caresses in the late-afternoon light of our bedroom. We'd moved on to coupling spoon-fashion, but gently, easily. Gradually, though we'd picked up the pace. My cock and my hands had already roused Angie to two orgasms, and now she was twisting and arching back hard against me, grunting and gasping as a third orgasm approached. I was myself far beyond being able to hold back, hoping only to keep going long enough to help her reach her climax. Suddenly her joyful gasps reminded me of what I had heard from downstairs that day three months earlier, when I'd come home and she'd been fucking Tommy in our bed. The memory hit me like a blow to the chest—but almost immediately it gave way to another, happier memory, of Angie and me 'writing over' that episode with our own tryst in this bed. I thought of us together in Florida, her sucking me with such loving determination. I thought of us together in Tommy's apartment, me licking her and driving her crazy in his kitchen. So I kept my momentum, kept plunging into her, kept stroking her with my fingers. In another moment all the memories faded from my mind, replaced by the pure sensory joy of Angie's climactic cry and the intense spasms as I emptied myself into her. We lay together quietly, neither of us changing position, both of us sweaty and happy and spent. Neither of us felt the need to speak, but after a few minutes I gently stroked her arms and shoulders. She gently kissed my arm, then turned and kissed my mouth. I smiled at her. "I talked to Brad this morning." "And?" "It sounds like he and Connie are having something of a second honeymoon. He was bursting to tell me about their weekend away. Seems like she put on quite the show for him: sexy underwear, fucking in the hot tub, going out to dinner in a short dress with no panties. He asked how we were doing, of course, but he could barely wait through my answer before launching into his story. I guess we can conclude that Connie's living up to her part of the bargain." Angie smiled back at me. "And how ARE we doing, Alex?" "I think we're doing pretty damn well, Angie. Pretty damn well."