53 comments/  179096 views/  40 favorites

A New and Delicate Balance

By: angiquesophie



There are a million signs to tell you that your wife has found a new and delicate balance in your marriage. The balance of cheating on you while still loving you. Don't ask for the logic in this.

You most probably are the only one who doesn't see even one of those signs. Or recognize them for what they are. Because all those signs are positive. They are also a balm for your ego. So why would you? 

She starts looking great. She becomes self-assured and outgoing. Her tastes in make-up and fashion get a daring touch. She is great company at parties and evenings out. She laughs about your jokes. And she sometimes even takes the initiative in bed.

Who would worry, who would complain?

My wife found her balance relatively early. We had been married for just over eight years when I found out. I had no idea, of course. I was still too busy admiring her as the saint and the sex goddess rolled into one delicious package. 

Don't tell me I should have seen it coming. Don't tell me we had less sex than we had at the start. Of course we had. But we also had what we didn't have at the start: the thousands of other great things a loving couple can acquire outside the bed.

We had shared interests. In arts, theatre. In travel and books. In cooking great food and entertaining friends. In finding new restaurants, great little delicatessen. We went and learned how to tango and salsa. We were busy being happy all over the place.


We had developed these interests together, they were ours. For yes, we adored each other. I married the wittiest person I knew. And what she had wasn't too dull either. We made friends together. We discovered things together, like eating raw oysters. We experienced first things. Found favourite cities, dreamed shared dreams... 

Like having a child together. Or even two.

We loved to talk about that dream. Over dinner, in bed, on vacations. We hugged each other and imagined the children, even thought of names. Funny thing is, though, that we always talked about it in the future tense. It was something we would do, might do one day.

Our lives were full, maybe too full for a third person. That is to say, as I discovered later, not too full for a third person, but for a child.

Elaine, my wife, works as an editor for a fashion magazine. A rather well known magazine too. I am Eric and a client services director at a New York agency. A rather good one too. We made a lot of money, but as you know, New York has this way of making you feel you'd always need more.

So we worked long hours, travelled for work, had shootings and late conferences. And as anyone who works hard can tell you: it is addictive. It starts feeling good. It makes you feel that you belong, that you are more alive. It makes you feel important.

But sometimes the body wants a time-out of that game. You get sick. You gulp handfuls of medicine, but even at 31 there is a limit. I reached that limit on a Friday, around lunch. The mere thought of eating drove me to the men's room to throw up. 

So I left the building early, hailed a cab and drove home.

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

No, there were no sounds from the bedroom when I got home. There was nobody, actually. The house was empty, the bed was empty. That is, until I dropped my aching body on it and fell into the swirling eye of a feverish dream.

It was a very strange, unsettling dream. It had voices in it, and peculiar sounds. It felt like walking through a Hiëronymus Bosch painting of sounds. Groans were there, moaning, even shrill screams. And under it rolled deeper sounds that grunted and rumbled.

I dreamed that I woke up. My throat felt parched and my head seemed on fire. I dreamed that I rolled out of bed, bare feet on the cool slick floor. I dreamed that I went to the bathroom to find some water, but my dream must have made me take the wrong door.

I found myself in the corridor that led to the sitting room of our one floor apartment. And suddenly the sounds were all around me, getting louder and more intense.

One or two times I have dreamed of Elaine fucking a guy that wasn't me. Both times I woke up with the huge relief that it had only been a dream. 

Not this time.

This time the dream went on and turned into a nightmare.

Did I tell you Elaine has the most glorious legs? They never end. And now they lay on the bare shoulders of a man. I remember noticing the dark red polish on her toenails. I also remember her yelling: "Yes!! Oh yes... so good...go onnnn...harder...harderrrr..."

It may have been the shock. It may have been the fever. But it seemed as if time had taken a vacation. Things moved in a jelly. Elaine's mouth opened and shut like that of a goldfish. And her hips pushed into the man as if she rode a sea of lazy waves.

I dreamed that it was beautifully elegant. My mouth must have fallen open as I just stood there in this crazy space of no-time.

Elaine was the first to see me. The man could not. His back was towards me. And he was way too busy. But Elaine's eyes met mine. They focussed. Then they turned away again and she resumed her litany of lust.

"Yessss...ooooh god yessss...do me harder...oh god, love, make me come...make me commmmmeeee....."

She wailed like I had never heard her do before. Her cunt was a blur by now. He was jamming his cock into her as if it were the piston of a crazy machine.

The moment time kicked in again and I stepped forward to interfere, she came. She came hard. In fact she did come harder than I ever saw her do. It was almost frightening. Her hips soared and her body arched on the leather couch. 

She was an animal.

The man came too. I heard his deep, barking sounds mingle with her keening wails.

They went on and on until their bodies slumped and they lay crushed together on the pillows. There was a sheen of sweat on their skin.

Somehow I had fallen to my knees. And the only thing I thought was that they lay on the leather couch we had bought from our very first bonuses in the second year of our marriage. We had visited all shops in the city. And we were so proud of it. We could hardly afford it, back then.

Elaine pushed against her lover.

"You better go now, Jason," she said in a hoarse voice.

He protested, but then he saw me. For a few seconds he didn't know what to do. Elaine kept pushing him. He got off the couch, avoiding my stare. He gathered his clothes and started dressing.

Elaine had by now found a way to sit up and cover her cunt. It was a silly modesty, but it felt quite natural for her to do that. The man had by now pulled up his trousers.

"We'll phone," Elaine said, waving him out.

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

"But honey, I love you. I'll always love only you."

Her voice was soft, as were her eyes. She even smiled.

I hadn't said much since the guy had left, minutes ago. She had been doing most of the talking in her calm and precise way. I had risen from my knees. My head seemed to float away from my shoulders. It contained a feverish buzz.

When the door fell in its lock, I had looked into her calm eyes.

"Why?" I had said. My voice seemed wrapped in cotton.

She had begged me to sit with her, but I ignored that. I just leaned on the arm of the club chair.

"Honey," had been her first word. It made me wince.

"I never had the intention for you to find out. But in a way I am glad this happened."

I felt as though I had never left the dream, really. I just stared.

"You love him? You want to leave me for him?"

That is when she said that I was silly. She only loved me. She even said that she could never have done this hadn't she been so sure of our love. Yes, don't try to fathom her logic, I never could.

"You see," she went on after my baffled silence. "What Jason and I have is wonderful, but it is only sex. What he gives me is something I never found with you. It fulfils me in a totally different way. It is primitive, it makes me soar. But it isn't love. I could never live with him and be without your love. You are my only love."

I turned away from her, leaving for the door.

She called my name. "Please," she said. "Don't be childish, honey. We need to talk."

I stopped at the door.

"I am sick. I have a fever. I can't talk now."

I went to our bedroom, where I stood for a second. Then I walked over to the guestroom, locked the door and fell on the bed.

Strangely enough, I slept immediately. 

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

When I woke, the sheets were soaked. But I felt clear headed. The fever must have broken during my sleep.

I rose and crawled out of the bed. My knees were weak, I felt very faint. 

I smelt coffee from the kitchen. It didn't turn my stomach, so I went there. Elaine sat at the table, wearing her bathrobe. She sipped coffee. At my arrival she rose and asked if I wanted a cup. That was the moment when all of yesterday returned.

I froze and swayed on my feet. She came to me, arms stretched to keep me from falling. But I moved out of her way, grabbing the table's edge.

"Are you all right, honey?" she asked.

I groaned that I was fine, I didn't need her.

At that her eyes widened.

"We really must talk, Eric. This is all getting way out of perspective. Please tell me you can talk now."

"I could use that coffee now," I said.

She poured it and when she put the cup in front of me she tried to touch my arm. I withdrew.

Her eyes flinched. She returned to her side of the table.

"Really, Eric. We are not children."

That exactly was the phrase that woke me. A flood of hot blood rushed to my head. I put the cup down hard, spilling black coffee on the white top.

"Are you out of your mind, Elaine?"

She hesitated, obviously confused by the direction the conversation took.

"Me?" she asked, her voice a bit higher. 

My voice trembled. I hated that, but it did.

"It seems you don't care that you ripped my heart out and trampled on it?"

Her eyelashes fluttered. A colour rose from her throat.

"But...but, no!" she cried, a hand in front of her mouth.

"Honey, you got it all wrong. You must not see it that way. I don't love him at all. I love you. He...he is a treat, a pastime. Please, honey..."

She rose again and came to me.

"Stay where you are!" My voice was sharp, it stopped her.

"How long has this been going on?"

She slumped back into her chair. Her eyes never left mine.

"You...you should never have needed to know, darling," she whispered. "Oh God...why can't you see it as it is?"

I then knew Jason had not been a one time "treat". And maybe not the only one either. I found back a calmer voice.

"I guess I do see, Elaine. I see it, don't worry."

Worrying was by now exactly what she started doing. The knuckles of her hands whitened on the table's edge. The blush had pulled away to be replaced by an ashen paleness.

"Honey..." Her voice broke. "Please don't shatter all we've got. Don't do it. Don't throw it away. Believe me, it isn't worth it. I love you, Eric. Please!"

My head spun. Who was this woman? Did she ask ME not to shatter what we had? 

I sat back, pushing the coffee mug away from me.

"Yes, Elaine," I said. "You must be crazy. I guess you always were."

I rose, making the chair screech on the tiles.

Eileen also rose, hands in front of her, in a beseeching gesture.

"No, Eric! Don't leave now. Please let me explain." 

She talked very fast now.

"It is all different from what you think. Jason is nothing. He is a game, a pastime. You must see that. It is like my BMW Z3 little sports car. I bought that just for me to enjoy. A private thing. You never minded that, did you?"

She looked up at me, all eagerness.

"What the hell do you mean, Elaine?"

"Ehm...eh...last week I went to that expensive spa with Cynthia, remember? That was just for me too. Pampering myself, see?"

"Please, Elaine," I said. "Let's try this again when your brain kicks back in. Until then I have no time for your bullshit."

I left to take a shower. She tried to stop me. There seemed to be a first tear in her voice.

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

When I returned, all clean and dressed, Elaine wasn't in the kitchen. She wasn't in the living room either. I made myself a cheese sandwich and started reading the paper.

The phone rang. It was Cynthia, Elaine's friend. She asked for Elaine. I told her she wasn't in. Then I said:

"Cynthia, I found out that Elaine is fucking behind my back."

There was silence on the phone. I went on:

"You knew all along, didn't you, Cynthia?"

There was another silence. I said:

"And of course you knew it all the time this went on, didn't you?"

Her voice now came in timid and low.

"Eric, that is something between you and Elaine. Please understand."

"Thanks for being a friend," I said and killed the connection.

A few minutes later Elaine came in. She carried a big brown bag of groceries.

I watched her as she put them away. I watched the almost feline grace of her movements. The beauty of her hair, her face. And I learned that I could no longer look at her without feeling my heart touch my throat.

I turned away and asked her if she wanted a sandwich too. She declined, but poured herself a glass of buttermilk.

I guess my offer made her think there were new openings for reason.

"Honey," she said. "You obviously take this all way too seriously. I feel so sorry to have hurt you. You really should not feel hurt. It never meant a thing to me. Not really. And it should never ever make you think that I don't love you."

I stared at her, making her nervous with my silence. Then I decided to talk with her as if she weren't totally demented.

"Elaine", I said at last and saw her exhale with relief.

"Please look at that couch." I pointed over into the living room to the leather couch they had been fucking on. She followed my finger.

"We bought that with our first hard earned money, remember? We went to see half New York for it. It took us two months to decide. We could hardly afford it."

She nodded silently.

"I can never again sit on it, Elaine. Not alone and certainly not with you. You poisoned it."

"Oh, but Eric..." she started. I stopped her.

"Remember that night, two months ago? When we ate at that new restaurant in Tribeca? It was for our eight's anniversary. I can't go there anymore, Eileen. I think I'll never be able to get down one spoon of that saltimbocca, which as you know used to be one of my favourite plates."

She just stared now, pale as a ghost.

"Afterwards we went to our favourite club in the Village to hear jazz and do some dancing. I doubt if I can ever hear jazz again."

I pointed to the far wall.

"See that picture? We bought it at Jean and William's gallery. We had seen it separately, but we knew both at once that it was ours. I remember how thrilled we were about that. How we raced over to the place to get it before someone else did."

My voice had risen in enthusiastic remembrance. It almost brought a smile to her face. Until I went on. 

"Please, honey, if you don't want to get it destroyed, save it. Put it somewhere out of reach before I tear it up."

By now her tears matched mine. She reached over the table to touch my hand, but I pulled it away. Her voice was a whisper.

"God, sweet Eric, please. I had no idea. Believe me, honey, please, nothing changed. I love you as much as ever. God, I should have known. I feel so sorry. Me and Jason, it just..."

"Don't say that name in front of me!" I screamed. "Or those of the others you fucked behind my back! Don't pollute this house more than you already did!"

I stood and pushed the chair over. Then I walked away to a closet and pulled out two suitcases. Elaine screamed when she saw what I planned to do, but I walked past her to our bedroom.

Half an hour later I carried the suitcases to the door. Elaine had long since stopped protesting. 

"Don't call me, Elaine," I said at the door. "Don't try to find me. I'll call in a week. I need time to think. I guess you do too."

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

It was a week of numbness. Nothing seemed to touch me. There was an invisible mist between me and the world. I went to work without really being there. I ate food without tasting it, drank a lot of strong drinks without feeling them.

I had found a small suite in a modest hotel in Chelsea, close to the post office headquarters. The days were drab, the nights endless. On the evening of the second workday my boss came by to ask what was going on. I told him I had left Elaine, whom he knew well. He never asked me why, but told me to take a few days off, as I wasn't worth anything anyhow.

I spent the next day in the park, watching baseball and skaters. It also seemed that there were more kissing couples around than I ever saw before.

I spent the next morning in Barnes & Nobles, trying to find a book that would hold me longer than the first few lines. I did not succeed.

I got a call on my cell. It was the first one that was not from Elaine, so I did not have to ignore it. It was Everett, a very good friend who owned a gallery in SoHo. We went to college together. He asked me what was up, as he had not been able to catch me at home.

That night we met at a small restaurant and talked. Halfway through the first course I knew enough. I put down my napkin, took fifty dollars from my wallet and thanked him for nothing. I left the restaurant and stopped at the first bar, a dark Irish hole. I got very drunk.

The next morning I woke quite a bit later than my body did. I took some painkillers and was amazed at the clarity of my head. I went over to have a good hot breakfast. Then I flipped through the numbers in my cell phone. They were mostly colleagues and business numbers. But some of them were friends and good acquaintances.

Quite a few worked or lived on Manhattan Island, so I decided to start and visit a few. After the second visit I regretted the plan and decided to forget the rest. The bar that night wasn't Irish, but it served me and my liver just as well.

When the next Friday rolled by, I knew that I was probably the loneliest person on the island, which must mean a lot, considering. I did not have contact with work, nor with friends or colleagues. Elaine kept calling me. I kept ignoring her, wiping off voicemail and text messages.

The last few days I had walked the length and breadth of Manhattan. I must have walked at least fifty miles and it did me well. I started seeing again. I saw buildings, birds, trees, cars, even people. Many of the places were connected with Elaine. Over the years we had loved to walk the streets of New York City, from Harlem down to Battery Park, from the piers to Brooklyn. So a lot of what I saw, I saw with her eyes. And it hurt. It hurt like a blazing iron cauterizing a bleeding wound.

I guess it helped, though. By Friday afternoon I felt quiet inside as I sipped a cappuccino at Starbuck's. That's when I decided to no longer ignore her calls. I guess she hadn't done much work this week either, for she was at the Starbuck's only minutes after I called her. She looked good, but drawn. I did not touch her or even say hello when she came in.

"You look tired and sad, Eric," she said after sitting down. "I am sorry to have caused that."

I felt my mouth try to smile. It failed.

"Last time I saw you, Elaine, you tried to explain things. I was not in the mood then. But maybe things are different now."

Her eyes lighted up, but I raised my hand.

"One thing you should know, though," I continued. "I have been seeing people, this week. I have talked and heard things. You should realize while explaining, that I know a lot by now."

She blushed.

"I won't lie to you, Eric. You know I never would."


A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 02



I went to work again, but after two days I took all the leave I had a right to. I avoided asking my boss directly, as seeing him was the main reason I could not function anymore. His secretary told me he didn't mind, but maybe I should not bother to return at all. 

I started to reel in a few long standing appointments for interviews at other agencies. I also went looking for a more permanent place to live. It gave me things to do, hours to fill and reasons to get out of bed for.

Empty moments were scarce. It suited me.

I did not want to hear Elaine's voice again or see her face. So I sent her an e-mail. I wrote her I planned to start divorce procedures. "Planned" might be the right word. I had not really done anything to start anything. I just could not get around the very idea of divorcing Elaine. It felt alien. In a way it felt as if I were stooping to a level she and I should never even consider. 

Yes, I am a hopeless romantic.

The apartment was small, but relatively clean, newly decorated and close to the new agency. They had told me I was welcome first of next month (be it at a lower salary). It also was rather expensive, but I had no inclination to pay one more penny for our old home. If she could stand to live there, let her pay for it. She earned enough anyway.

I got a constant stream of messages on my cell asking me to return to her. She even added please. She also clogged my laptop with emails containing the same message. I never answered, until, after another week, I got fed up. I let her know she could talk to me one more time. I also told her there was no need to repeat her gibberish about loving me, like last time. She'd better cut the bullshit and come clean with me. I liked that line, it made me feel a bit like Dirty Harry, although I knew she would not make my day ever again. Or night, for that matter.

* * * * *

The restaurant was rather dark and did not have many customers. It might be because of the food, but that wasn't my main concern there and then. I think she had chosen the place just because it was quiet and had a few rather secluded booths. She waited in one of them and waved at me as I entered.

She looked subdued and rather pale. She still wore her business suit, in contrast to my very casual gear. I slid into the booth to sit in front of her. She asked me how I was and I had to laugh at that. She blushed when I did.

"We know we both feel great, Elaine. Now tell me what you drink and I'll get it."

She asked for mineral water. I got a beer for myself.

"So, darling. A hundred messages told me you wanted to talk to me. I am all ears."

She searched for my eyes.

"Please, Eric. No sarcasm."

I took a gulp of my beer.

"Sorry. It is just hard not to, darling. Please tell me how you cheated on me and why."

She stared into her glass. She took a deep breath. Then she looked up.

"I met Jason at a photo-shoot. He is a model. I was impressed by his body and his suave, easygoing way. He is quite witty, actually."

She paused and blushed at that, then mumbled sorry.

"Don't be sorry," I said. "No need for that anymore, if there ever was."

She winced. After a second she went on.

"Well, we ended up in a hotel bar and he got me to go up to his room. There we had...ehm, did..."

"There you let him fuck your brain out and he was amazing, He had incredible stamina, a long thick cock and he made you feel things you never felt before and scream as you never did with me," I added.

A tear formed in the corner of her eye.

"Tears? Please, really, Elaine," I said. " It was just sex, girl. You told me, remember? Great sex, right what the doctor ordered. You can call it by its name, no harm done, darling. At least not anymore. So what happened after?"

She sipped from her glass, maybe to compose herself.

"We met a few times after that."

"A few times? A few times a week, you mean?"

She didn't answer.

"How long did it go on until I spoiled it all?"

"A few weeks," she said.

"A few, a few," I couldn't help but echo. 

She looked helpless.

"I really thought it would not mean a thing to our marriage. It didn't for me. I loved you just as much. Did I ever give you the feeling you came in second?" she asked.

"Ever?" I said. "That sounds like a lot longer than a few times or a few weeks, honey."

"Oh, no, no...", she hurried to answer, but her eyes were all over the place.

I grabbed her hand, squeezing it to get her attention.

"I know, Elaine. Don't worry about the delicacy of your lies. I know you have been fucking behind my back for years, two at least. And not just with pretty boy Jason."

She gasped. I went on.

"Elaine, I believe you when you say it did not matter to you where you and I were concerned. I believe that you really saw it that way. You saw no danger for our marriage, you don't even see it now, do you? I truly believe that you never felt different about me. You could curl up in my arms and talk about having my child, knowing that you would let yourself be fucked by my boss at that party the very next day."

Her face turned crimson. I took a gulp of my beer and continued.

"One night, remember? You came home dripping with the sperm of Everett, my best friend. You were right in time to shower and dress for our seventh anniversary party."

I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

"Elaine," I said. "I believe you. Your love for me never lessened. Your esteem stayed the same, as did your respect. And that was easy, cause it meant exactly NOTHING!!"

My sudden scream made her start. Her glass fell, spraying her lap with water. I handed her my napkin.

After a while I ordered a new glass of water and a beer.

"Well," I said. "That being out of the way, what exactly did you want to tell me, Elaine? That you wish for me to come home, or at least to the place where you live? That we should get over it, so you can find new models, bosses and best friends to fuck?" 

"Eric," she said and started to sob.

"Be honest, girl. My God, for once be honest with me."

"Eric, please. I can't help it. There is this, this great, deep love for you. It is true, Eric, I love you deeply...always have."

I gave no reaction at all. My finger ran around the rim of my glass.

"And then there is this, this thing with my body..."

She paused, looking away embarrassed.

"It needs, Eric. My body needs raw, hard sex and lots of it. The more sex I get, the more I need."

There was a sudden fire in her eyes, like a fever. I groaned, pushing away the glass.

"Elaine. You see...no, I guess you don't. So let me show you the utter bullshit of your words."

I allowed for a short silence, watching her. Then I went on.

"Darling, I sometimes have this need too, you know. The need to punch a damn client on his fat asshole nose. Or I sometimes have this urge to get out of my car and smash the face of the man who almost drove into me. I sometimes want to kill someone, lately even someone I thought I loved..."

She started. I continued.

"But you see, Elaine: I did not and I don't. Needs can be suppressed, honey, urges can be overruled. It is called restraint, civilization, decency...love..."

Her eyes now begged. Her head sunk between her shoulders. She looked so much younger, a child. Her voice rose into a whining.

"But I tried, honey! I really fought so hard, but there is no use. You asked if I had turned crazy when I told you that it was exactly for saving our love that I needed this...this hard sex on the side. It is true! It keeps me sane, honey. It saves my balance, it lets me be the caring, loving wife you deserve. I need you, Eric. I need your love and I need to love you. Please don't take that away from me. I'll die, honey. I'll die!"

I gaped at her as if at a rare specimen in a zoo. I had lived for nine years with this woman and knew nothing about her.

"Elaine..after nine years you tell me this. After a year of dating and eight years of marriage. Eight years of being together in the closest way two people can. You fought, you say. And never, ever did you ask me to fight with you, to help you. To use our love to shield you. All that time you never even hinted at it."

"I was ashamed," she muttered, looking away.

A cloud of hot denseness closed around my head and my field of vision. I looked at her until my eyes strained. Around her shone a halo, blotting out all of the background.

I must have fallen off my chair. My head hurt. There was something soft under it. A pillow? A hand? Two eyes were hovering over mine, soft hair caressing my face.

"You fainted," a voice said. "Are you all right?"

It was Elaine. Behind her I saw a waitress. Reality returned to me. I drank from the water she offered.

I thanked her. Then I pushed her away to get to my feet.

"Sorry for that," I muttered. "I have to leave."

She grabbed my arm, pulled herself against me.

"Don't Eric. Don't leave me. I can't be in that awfully empty house alone. Can't be there without you. I just can't."

I shrugged and tried to get her off me.

"Then fill it, whore," I hissed. "Pack it with all the meat you need. Send a few emails, place a few calls and you'll never fuck alone, honey."

She looked as if I had struck her face. Her mouth hung open.

I pushed her away.

"Let me know when you lack supply, Elaine. I might know a few guys. Should I first ask for size?"

Ah, God, how I hated myself watching her run off and leave the restaurant. I stared at my dead beer.

* * * * *

The phone call came in the night. It woke me from the deep well of a booze-induced sleep. It was Cynthia, Elaine's best friend.

"Eric?"

I groaned something that might have sounded like a yes.

"Elaine is in hospital. She has cut her wrists, but she made a mess of it. She'll be all right. She asked for you."

Damn, that woke me.

"Oh, God, no!" I croaked and got out of bed.

"Where is she?"

She told me and I slipped on some clothes. Ten minutes later I walked down a coldly lit, sterile corridor.

She looked awfully small and white as paper. There were drips and tubes. And there was the sick and hostile smell of hospitals. Cynthia was there too. She hugged me. She is a petite brunette with just enough overweight to disarm the sting of wickedness in her eyes.

I sat next to the bed, watching Elaine's closed eyes. There was a blueish shadow around them. She looked like someone I had never seen. Vulnerable, distant.

Then her eyes opened. A smile came to her pale lips.

"Eric," she whispered. "You are here."

I could not help but caress her cheek. She pushed her face into it like a kitten. I knew why she smiled. I knew why she had put the blade to her wrists. It weighed on me like lead.

"Shhhh," I said. "Don't talk. Get better."

I rose.

"Stay," she said. "Please stay."

My eyes found Cynthia's.

"I can't," I said. "Take care of her. I really can't."

And I fled.

It rained outside. It was still dark, but the city woke around me. Cars splashed water, plumes of steam rose at the corners of the street. I turned into a small and plastic place to have some coffee. It tasted awful, exactly as it should.

Goddammit, I thought. Will she shy away from nothing? Blackmailing me with her life. Where have I been all these years? Who was I living with? Love, she says. If this is love, who needs hate?

I never realized that I wasn't thinking, but speaking. Must have looked pretty silly. My only audience was a tired middle-aged waitress in a silly pink outfit. She smiled sweetly with shockingly pink lips. Then she walked over and added some new asphalt to the horror at the bottom of my plastic cup. I smiled at her, mechanically.

"Been a hard night, sweetie?" she asked. She had an unexpectedly warm and caring voice. It not at all matched her almost whorishly painted eyes and bleached hair. Let alone her mouth.

"Thank you," I said and returned my gaze to the wetness outside. Someone else might have found ways to let the woman into his privacy. I never was very good at that.

* * * * *

A week later the voicemails and the emails came in again. I had started at the new agency, drowning myself in new impressions, new challenges, as they call it. I clung desperately to the activities. But I knew from the start that there would never be the real interest again that I had felt in the past.

I guess girls smell it when a guy has lost his attachments. They were all over me and there were lots of them. It took me a while to understand that they were really after me. In high school or college I had never been the natural target for female attention. So it was hard for me to believe I might be worthwhile.

There was this tradition at the new agency to gather at Friday nights in a neighbourhood bar and have a few drinks. The first time I declined the invitations to attend. But the second week I went. It was good to be amongst people again. Especially nice and friendly people who have a good time.

I drank too much rather quickly. This last month had taught me that it was the shortest way out of my gloom and into an easier world. Aisha, a dark eyed girl of Middle Eastern origin, stayed my hand when I wanted to order another scotch.

"Have a beer," she said. "And get me one too."

Somehow we ended up at her place, a tiny Brooklyn flat she shared with a roommate, who wasn't in. We had sex and she was sweet. I guess I was pretty rotten, but she never complained.

Afterwards we lay together on her rather narrow bed. She seemed to have a soft spot for yellow. And for frills. Well, it surely set off her olive skin nicely.

"Thank you, Aisha," I said. "You sure know how to make a gloomy, uptight guy relax." 

I made tiny circles around one of her pretty nipples. She laughed.

"The girls call you Grumpy, you know?" she said. "But I think you are nice enough." She laid her hand on mine and pressed it down on her breast.

Well, again a lot of guys would have spilled their beans with a sweet girl like Aisha, but I am not that type. I just kissed her, got up and dressed. 

My apartment was waiting for me, yawning and empty. The patient little red eye on my telephone blinked to tell me I had voicemail. I took a shower and got a book to read. 

It slid from my hand a few minutes later.

Next morning the bleak daylight woke me. It shone straight into my face. I felt stiff, climbing out of the chair that had been my bed for the night. The familiar velvet of sweet depression sank all over me again.

Coffee.

Paper.

A run in the Park? Ah, well, no.

Groceries.

Lunch.

Emptiness.

Phone call.

"Fuck off, Everett!"

"Sorry you say? Ah yes. I think I know that word."

"No, I am fine."

"No, Everett."

"No!!"

End of phone call.

Silence. And some more.

Phone call.

"That's all right, Cynthia."

"Thank you for being there."

"I appreciate it, Cynthia."

"Good to hear she is fine."

"No, I think not."

"No, Cynthia."

"No."

End of second phone call.

Silence. And some more.

A number. I must have it somewhere.

Ah, here.

"Aisha? Eric here."

"Care for a movie?"

"Ah yes, I see. Maybe another time then."

"Bye, Aisha. Have fun."

Silence.

Music. Loud music.

Angry neighbour.

Monday arrived at last. It waded towards me through a sea of drinks and TV reruns. At work Aisha had returned to being just another face in the crowd again. I shrugged and plunged into the first meeting.

That night Cynthia was at my door. She must have noted my annoyed face, as she said: "I know, Eric. I am sorry to bother, but this can't go on like it does."

I let her in, asking what she'd like to drink. I poured her a juice and opened a can of beer myself.

"She loves you, Eric," Cynthia started.

I immediately yelled at her.

"I KNOW!! Dammit Cynthia, that word will make me throw up soon. She loves me! She loves me! Sorry, sir, would you kindly remove your fat cock from my wife's mouth long enough so that she can say she LOVES me??"

Cynthia was struck dumb by my aggression. I apologized.

"Sorry, Cyn. I should not have. Not your fault."

She shrugged. "Well," she said. "I guess you have a point there, though. This is the weirdest situation I have ever been in. But it is true, the damn slut loves you."

I finished half of the beer.

"What the fuck, Cynthia. Care to come with me and have a bite? Maybe a bit of music later on?"

She grinned. "Why not?"

We went to a Mexican place and had some fiery food that we extinguished with a few ice cold Coronas. I knew Cynthia ever since I had met Elaine. They were best friends and their friendship survived our marriage easily. I liked Cynthia. I always knew she was a lesbian. I also knew that she and Elaine might have been more than friends. But somehow it never brought up jealousy, not with her nor with me.

I loved her direct ways and great sense of humour. We had a wonderful time that night, ending up in a tiny bar in the Village. We were surrounded by the most extravagant transvestites, all in some way friends or acquaintances of Cynthia's.

Around two in the morning the place emptied and we were among the last patrons, hugging our mean brandies.

"You know, Eric," Cynthia said with a rather crowding tongue. "For years you have been the best thing ever happening to Elaine. And to me, for that matter."

I looked at her through a haze of alcohol and smoke.

"To you?"

"Yes. You see...," she slurred. "She allowed me to help her fight a bit too, those first years."

I stared. The meaning of what she said took a while to get through my rather thickened head.

"I see," I said, then. "What made you lose that battle that she never invited me into?"

She sighed.

"I guess she never really wanted to win, Eric. I know her since we were twelve. Elaine always got what she wanted. And she wanted a lot. She never had to fight for something or someone. She never had to save money or wait until she could have something. She is spoilt rotten."

I knew she was right. It must have been very strange for Elaine that she had to do all that mincing and saving when we married. Her grandparents had set up a huge trust fund for her, but I never allowed her to use a cent of that for our mutual household. She did not understand, but she went along with it, saving for things to buy or carefully looking out for bargains. 

For me it came natural. For her it must all have been rather exotic. But she complied and I always thought it gave her the same satisfaction it gave me. The satisfaction of having earned a thing.

Once more: romantic me, I guess.

Later on we walked the empty streets. The city was preparing for the holidays. It was rather cold, so I held Cynthia for some theoretical extra warmth.

She told me a lot about their teenage years. They sounded rather wild. When we reached her apartment she invited me in, but I kissed her cheek, excusing myself with an early rise and a lot of work.

She shrugged. "Thanks, Eric. I needed this evening."

"So did I," I assured her and kissed her, just a bit longer than I intended.

Quite a load had been taken off my chest when I walked on. It would last at least for a few hours.

* * * * *

In the next days and nights I found that I could for short times think of Elaine without wanting to flee the subject. Old and fond memories returned where first had only been this fucking wild animal, screaming her need for raw, primitive sex. Or just an empty void.

To my own amazement I felt a yearning to see her. It surprised me and at first I wanted to push it away. But it persisted.

I found a perfect excuse. There were still a few personal things of mine left in Elaine's apartment. I had not needed them these first weeks, but they were mine and meant a lot to me. So I went over and phoned from the street up. She never answered, which suited me well. I even felt relieved. Officially I only came for my things, didn't I? 




A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 02



I still had the key. I went up with the familiar elevator, remembering how we had made love in it several times during our first year here. There were more little memorabilia as I got nearer to my former home. 

Then, when I got closer, there was music. Heavy beats and the repeating monotones of black rap and hip-hop. It surprised me that it seemed to originate from our apartment. It wasn't at all Elaine's kind of music. And besides, how could it sound so loud?

This last question was solved when I got to the door. It stood ajar, allowing the music to blast through. I pushed it open and stood in the hall. I froze. The next door was wide open, leaving me with an unhindered view of the living room behind.

At the centre Elaine crouched on her hands and knees. She was naked and held her head up like a she-wolf howling. Then a black hand grabbed her hair and she took a long hard cock straight down her throat.

At her rear end was another black man fucking her, maybe in her cunt, maybe in her ass, I could not see. Two more men lounged on the couch, drinking beer. They slowly stroked their penises.

I could not move. My heart throbbed faster than the music. Elaine seemed to have become a machine. In perfect rhythm she smashed her ass into the man behind her, then returned with equal vehemence to slap her face into the other man's belly. 

One of her wrists still carried a bandage.

I could hardly hear anything over the music, but all four men must be screaming and cheering her on.

I made it to the corridor outside. There I emptied my entire stomach's content on the tiled floor. 



A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 03



Cynthia sipped her juice. 

"What will you do now?" she asked. 

Her face showed concern. I had called Cynthia to talk about what I had planned. It had taken me a long time to decide calling her at all. We sat in a small deli close to the Park. In the street the first wet snow was chased by the wind. It was a Saturday afternoon.

"I have met with an attorney. It was awful, unreal. I would never have thought I'd look for a divorce. Not with Elaine. It felt cheap."

My throat was thick. She touched my hand.

"It is all right," she said. I shook my head.

"The guy was all business," I went on. "I guess they don't care, it's what they do for a living. Seen one, seen all. As we have separate accounts and as I don't care about the house, it is all just paperwork. Unless she fights it."

Cynthia looked up sharply. Not easy to fool her. She must have heard the lingering in my last words. As if I'd hope Elaine would fight it. It would take a hopelessly romantic fool to hope that, wouldn't it?

I jabbed a fork into the salad. Poor innocent salad.

"Cynthia," I said. "Why didn't she use my love and shield herself with it? Why did she never ask for my help? She says she loves me but she never did. What love is that?" 

She said nothing, just nibbled on her vegetarian something. Then she looked up.

"You can't drop her just like that, Eric. You know that."

A flash of heat flared up in my chest. It was indignity, I guess.

"I can do whatever I goddamn please, Cynthia! SHE dumped ME!"

She never flinched.

"You know that is nonsense, Eric. She never dumped you. She'd never even be able to. She can't go on without you."

"Last time I saw her she perfectly well could," I retorted, trying my best at sarcasm. "She went on and on and on!"

There was disapproval in her eyes. 

"You know better than that, Eric. She'll be gone within a year if you leave her."

"Are you blackmailing me, Cynthia?" I asked, amazed at the calmness of my voice. Inside I was in turmoil. Claws seemed to grab at my soul, pulling me down.

"Of course I am," she said. "I won't let you kill her. Not you, not anybody."

I gaped at her. She was on fire.

"You love her, Cynthia. You really love her."

She sank back in her chair, her chubby fingers wriggling. Suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

"Yes," she said in a new, very low voice. "I fell in love with her when I was 12. I never stopped loving her, even after she dumped me for you. I followed her like a puppy, a fat sweet little puppy."

My hand crawled over the table in search of hers.

"I did not know, Cynthia. I feel so sorry. I knew you and she were more than just friends, even after we married. I did not know it was so much more for you."

"She laughs at me and my silly love," Cynthia said. She sounded sad. "But I still love her. Once in a long while she allows me to eat her out. I never say no. She likes to have it done after she has fucked someone and still has some sperm inside her. She says it feels better that way."

The silence was awkward. I could not look at her. Then she suddenly chuckled.

"Look at us!" she exclaimed. "Both in love with the same woman. And the one she loves wants a divorce. Is that fair, Eric? Tell me: is that fair?"

I watched her for a bit. Her hand felt cold.

"What about this, Cyn. Would you share her with half the male population of New York City? Would you love her that much? And then say it was fair?"

She looked away. She never answered.

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

The divorce papers were delivered at Elaine's home. She tore them up in front of the man who delivered them. I heard she had been very calm and composed. She said that she would not even start to think about reading those papers until I talked with her.

The attorney asked me what I planned to do. I asked him what the consequences would be of not divorcing Elaine. He said, as there were no children and the house was not an issue, the only consequence would be that I could not marry again.

Nothing was as far from my mind as remarrying. I told him to put the whole thing in the refrigerator. I'd be back when things changed. He smiled and showed me out. But not before he handed me a considerable bill.

I was at a loss what to do. As I walked through the snow I sucked in the tiny dancing flakes, blowing out huge clouds of steam. Central Park in the snow had been our favourite adventure, Elaine's and mine. The sensuous white clad hills. The muffled silence. The chill on our cheeks.

I would have to leave this city. Too many cruel memories. But where to go? I loved this town, always had. And my profession was here. True, there were agencies in other big cities. Chicago, Atlanta, even the Twin Cities. Maybe Seattle? Dammit, could I get farther away?

But yes, I could not stay. She was here, in every stone and every tree. And of course she herself was here, never ready to let me go. I sometimes suspected her to stalk me, but I could not prove that. Probably just a silly case of paranoia.

A shock of cold hit my neck. I swirled around. From behind a tree came a second snowball. I ducked, grabbed a handful of snow to knead into a ball. I made a half circle to see who was there. I only saw part of a dark coat. I threw the ball and rushed the tree before he or she could throw a new one.

When I was almost there, someone ran away from the tree and into the deep snow. It was a woman. I followed, grabbing some loose snow as I ran. She wore a fur hat and a big scarf that I vaguely remembered.

I reached her and soaped her face from behind with a large scoop of snow. She squealed and laughed. Then she sank to her knees and fell into the snow. I grabbed her shoulder and turned her around.

"Elaine!" I panted, out of breath.

Her face was flushed, her eyes shone. I just stood there, panting. My fingers tingled with the melting snow.

"Goddammit, Elaine," I said. "Can't you leave me alone?"

She sat up, wiping the snow from her coat and hair.

"Hi, Eric," she said, reaching out with her hand. I pulled her up, but stepped back when she tried to hug me.

"I mean it, Elaine."

"Won't you buy a shivering girl a cup of hot cocoa?" she said, ignoring my remark.

I shrugged and started to walk. She followed me.

"The pavilion is over there!" she said and pointed.

A moment later she hugged her mug of steaming cocoa with her hands. She looked adorable. And she smiled like the cat that caught the canary.

I hadn't said a word all the time.

"How are you, Eric?" she asked. I just huffed.

"Don't you like the Park in the snow? It was always our favourite time and place, remember?"

"What do you want, Elaine?"

She just looked, her eyes clouded by the cocoa's steam.

"You know what I want, Eric. And I know you want it too."

"You are totally wrong, Elaine."

"I have stopped seeing other men, Eric."

I looked at her. Her face shone with eagerness. Like a little girl with a big colourful present.

"Since when?" I asked.

"Since this!" she said triumphantly, pointing at her wrist. There were still a few pink traces where she had cut herself.

I stood.

"Fuck you, Elaine. I hope you choke on that cock-licking, treacherous tongue of yours. Get the fuck out of my life, you damn lying bitch!"

I turned and walked away. Tears blurred my vision. My God, what had I done to deserve this?

I heard her feet in the snow right behind me. She called me and asked me to stop. I walked faster. Then she reached me and pulled at my sleeve.

"Stop!" she panted. And when I didn't she ran in front of me and started walking backwards.

"It is true, Eric. I swear it! Please come back to me. I'll fight for us. Help me fight, Eric. We can do it. We can fight for our love!"

Her words were delivered with huge clouds of panted steam.

I stretched my arms and pushed her, almost making her fall. I kept pushing and pushing her with every step I took.

The words left my mouth through clenched teeth.

"Stop your fucking lies, you dirty whore. I saw you! I goddamn saw you fucking four cocks in the middle of your living room. I saw you howl like a she-wolf, slamming your traitor's ass into a fat black cock, while you took another one all the way down your filthy throat. Stop this goddamn lying, Elaine. You still had the bandages around your wrists, for Christ's sake. Remember? The wrists you cut because you LOVED me...Stop it now, Elaine. Get away from me! Lie to me one more time and I'll kill you! I promise I'll fucking kill you!!"

I pushed her aside, ignoring her ashen face. My hands were clenched into fists. I stabbed them deep down into my pockets, to keep them out of harm's way.

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

New York in winter can be hell. But when I arrived in Chicago I knew that hell has stages, this one being decidedly worse. I saw people needing ropes to navigate the iced and snowy sidewalks and not be blown away. There was a storm howling down Lake Michigan. It threw a million needles at me. All cars huddled inside white dunes. The cheerful weatherman said they'd stay that way for a while.

I came to Chicago to talk with the head of the Chicago office of the same company I worked for in New York. They were at one of the higher floors of the Hancock building. At least my view would improve. 

I planned on staying two days, but O'Hare had been closed right after I landed. Might take me a week to get back. 

The shops were all lit up for the holidays. They had this Magnificent Mile. It should be something, but I couldn't get there. I was staying at the Hilton. I would have to get a cheaper room if this would go on. I was watching the Malayan weather forecast on my hotel room TV. Not much snow there.

Yes, I planned on leaving the Big Apple. It tore my heart out, or at least what was left of it. But there was no way I could stay there. Maybe I was getting paranoid, but at that time I kept seeing men who looked at me funny. I avoided all circles I frequented before. It made my world pretty tiny. So, if I had to start all over anyway, why not elsewhere?

Even Cynthia was ignoring me. Elaine must have told her quite a tear-jerking story about our last meeting in the Park. Ah well, you see, things would get better now, in a way. Where before there was pain, by now you'd just find a big hole. I might rent it out and make some money out of it. It had a great view into my heart's Ground Zero.

Damn, had I become sorry for myself.

Why not look at the bright side for once. The little talk in the Park had put an end to the constant flow of emails, text messages and voicemails. I almost missed them. Not really.

I thought maybe I should go down and see if the bar was open. I mean, why not? There was no car to worry about, I could crawl back to my bed. Wouldn't hurt anyone but my credit card. And, who knew, there might be someone to talk to. To really open my mouth and let out some sound. Just like I did at least three hours ago.

They do have a nice bar at the Hilton. Comfortable stools. You must be quite drunk to fall off them. And they seem to have been designed for MacDonald's regulars, nice and roomy. There also was a forest of Christmas trees, bristling with tinsel.

I started with a beer, just to get my parched throat oiled. Apart of me there were two other early patrons. From the looks of them they were middle-aged businessmen. They rather well filled out their stools.

I chased the beer with a few others. The bar got fuller, mostly with hotel guests. They did not dare go elsewhere, afraid they might not be able to return later that night. I had talked with the fat businessmen, but they only seemed to have business talk. And talking about the weather was a rather worn subject by now.

So I went to the men's room to get rid of the beers. When I returned a woman had taken the stool next to me. I am bad at estimating women's ages. Got me in trouble at times. But I'd say she was about my age, maybe the other side of 30. She looked great from the back. Slim frame, a wealth of chestnut hair. Lovely ass on the leather seat. Tight skirt under a fashionably cut business jacket. 

I stood beside my stool, thinking up nice words to greet her. She smiled a lovely smile in my direction. Damn, she looked far too good to be this close. And yet she felt comfortable.

She informed if maybe her stool was mine. I stumbled through half the alphabet to assure her it was all hers. I just begged her to leave the one next to it to me. She waved her consent in a regal manner and with a throaty chuckle. I asked her what she'd like to drink.

Her name was Irene and she was from New York, stranded in a similar way as I was. 

I never used to look at a lady's fingers to see if she might be married. This time it was the first thing I did. And she was. She grinned as she caught me at it. I blushed and she grinned even more.

"No real danger there," she said. "The accompanying ring is right now in Namibia, Africa and has no plans ever to return. Just a matter of time and lawyers. I might hang on to it, though. It has a way of holding sniffing dogs at bay. Only the really brave keep trying."

She had a very musical laugh.

I told her I was from New York too, visiting the Chicago branch of the ad agency I worked for. She knew the agency well, she said. She used to work with them in a former job. Right now she was one of the many marketing directors of a huge multinational. She was here for a meeting at a plant close to Chicago.

I got the impression that by that time she felt like me: yearning to get this small talk behind us. So we both had a scotch to speed things up. And it worked. She had a great sense of humour and a favourable opinion on everything I liked.

An hour later we had dinner in the crowded restaurant. 

Another hour later I unclasped her bra and sucked on a very aroused nipple. She had lovely tits on a soft, curvy body. And they must have been very sensitive. She moaned and panted as soon as I touched them.

My head buzzed not just from the drinks. Ever since seeing her in the bar I was highly excited, both physical and otherwise. She was witty, sweet and very, very comfortable to talk to. There were a thousand things we seemed to have in common. And when the bill came, it had just been the most natural thing to walk her up to her room and not stop after the long and tender kiss outside her door. 

It was a thrill to be inside a warm embrace again. To relax and just kiss every inch of a soft, open body. She was very vocal, but hardly with words. She moaned and made funny little groans as my tongue reached her deep belly button. She pushed me lower until I found a wet and puffy slit. It welcomed my tongue with greedy little bumps and grinds.

I licked her and sucked on her clit until she suddenly clenched me between her thighs. She came with high-pitched screams. I pushed her legs apart and gasped for air. Then I rose to find her face and kiss her open mouth. We just hugged and waited for her to come down from her high.

"Oh God," she whispered. "Did I need that! Thank you, sweet Eric. Now please let me."

She put a finger to my lips when I started to answer. She clamped her lips around a nipple, nibbling on it with her teeth. Then she licked her way down my chest and belly.

I shuddered a sigh when I felt my hard, hard cock slip past her lips into a hot, weak world of swirling lava. I almost came there and then, but she expertly choked the base of my cock with her hands. Then she let the head pop out from between her lips and started sucking my balls while her slow hand stroked me.

God, I was so close. But I was not the one to control that. She was very good and careful and loving. She took her time and somehow kept me right below the edge of coming. Then she rose up to me, smiled into my eyes and said:

"Tell me, lover. Where would you want to come with me, this very first time?"

I kissed her hard, feeling her soft hand on my throbbing cock.

"Ride me, honey. Please take me inside you and ride me to heaven."

She grinned and licked my nose. 

"Ooooh yes!", she hissed. "But first we have to be good and responsible lovers." 

From seemingly nowhere she came up with a condom. She tore the wrapping open with her teeth and rolled the flimsy tube down the rigid flesh. "Mmmmm," she murmured, her finger tapping my covered mushroom. "Suits you well, honey. Now come with me."

She rose to her knees. She straddled me and sank slowly down on my proud, aching cock. It felt just amazing. The heat of her flesh sank down over me like a squeezing glove. 

She slowly started to fuck. I stared up past her dancing titties and into her flushed face. She grinned. Then she moaned again, biting her lip. She gasped and neared her orgasm as fast as I did mine. She arched her back right when I came up to embrace her. I felt the hot semen shoot up from my balls. Bolts of energy flashed from my body into hers. They totally drained me.

"Where have you been all this time, Eric?" she whispered when her breath returned. Our two bodies lay entangled with sheets and blankets. The sheen of sweat slowly dried on my back, leaving a rash of goose bumps. I grabbed the closest tip of a blanket and wrapped us inside it.

"I'm here," I said.

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

What creatures are we? Is it our inbred need for survival? Or is it just appalling shallowness? I don't know and let me tell you: I don't care. 

That night in Chicago was like the switch of a light bulb. It took me from darkest gloom to dazzling brightness. One moment I was staring at a dying beer in the desperate squeeze of my hands, the next moment Irene and I slipped and slid like children on the frozen streets of a city that overnight had become our capital of the world.

Christmas lights dazzled our moonstruck eyes. We laughed silly at the most kitschy of holiday rubbish and shared a huge mug of hot mulled wine. It was so sweet that we could almost hear the enamel crack on our teeth.

Those two days before O'Hare opened again were a haze, a blur of memories. We were in and out of bed. In and out of showers. In and out of each other. We even occasionally found the time to eat.

Irene told about her life. I told about mine. She cried with me. I laughed with her. Then we had to leave. Her plane was due earlier than mine. We kissed until they almost closed the gate on her.

It ought to have been a shock to be alone again. But somehow it never seemed to reach me. There was an invisible glow around me. The halls of the airport were filled with angry and frustrated people. All they wanted was leave, but flights needed reshuffling and more often than not things went wrong. It added up to one huge nervous ball of tension.

But I did not care. I floated around in a bubble of pink perfume, smiling at all and nobody. I was treated to dark and angry responses, but I just chuckled. I wished them all a great journey.

In New York the snow was still there in patches and dirty heaps along the curbs. For me it might as well have been May. I even found myself whistling as I entered my apartment.

A small mountain of mail had to be pushed away to get in. Amongst a lot of bills and ads lay a creamy envelope. It had the seal of a law firm on it. I tore it open and found the concept of divorce papers.

I sat down with a thud as I read them. There was nothing there that had not been in the papers I had made up. I remember having this thought about wasted money.

There also was a slip of lilac paper. It gave me a start, as I knew it was from Elaine's private stationary. Her handwriting was as bold and unfaltering as ever.

"Sweet Eric," she wrote.

I have been an awful, selfish monster. Of course I need not tell you that. Or Cynthia, for that matter.

I must have been crazy to think that I could just follow the cravings of my cunt without hurting your feelings. I guess I have never been a loving or even caring person. I insisted on having my pleasures, I felt I had a right to them. I even felt that I had a right to your love and understanding.




A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 03



Yes, I have my needs, a lot of them. One of them is my need for you to love me. It hurt me deeply when you took that away. I could not understand why you would do that. How could you be so selfish not to allow me my harmless pleasures? I was like a little girl not getting her candy.

You knew it, that night in the hospital. I saw how you knew why I had cut my wrists so clumsily. Yes, it was blackmail. I just could not let you go. Later I even sent Cynthia to you to blackmail you back into loving me. And I counted on your old-time sentiments when I tried to reel you back in, in snowy Central Park.

You have disturbed my precious balance, honey. The balance of love and needs. I had it all and I intended to keep it. I begged you to come back and at the same time I never stopped providing for my petty lust. You saw it with your own eyes.

After the disaster in the Park I went to see a shrink. She showed me what had of course been always right under my nose. The selfishness, the greed. The inability to love or even care.

She tells me that I'll always need outside crutches to sustain my inadequate self esteem. Or whatever. I guess she means your love for me, darling. And yes, I shall miss it. I can only hope I won't fall apart without it.

Honey, I know it is over. I'll be leaving New York soon. I have found a new job in Los Angeles. I did not want to go without settling this mess. Please help me. I want to get through this quickly and with as little pain as possible.

I am so sorry.

E.

P.S.: I know I can't ask you. But please talk to me one last time before I leave."

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

I walked into the bar. It was crowded. Icy rain poured down outside, so the place was clogged with wet raincoats and dripping umbrella's. It smelled distinctively swampy.

Elaine's letter had been a big relief. But it never interrupted my incessant stream of moonstruck thoughts of Irene. I felt like a schoolboy. Or worse: a 31 year-old schoolboy. I could think of nothing else.

I had phoned Irene as soon as I laid down the letter. My heart throbbed in my throat. I would hear her voice for the first time since Chicago. There was a fairytale quality to those days by then. It was all just a few hours ago, but the memory already seemed enshrined in a pink bubble. It got more and more unreal with time passing. 

The perfection of every remembered minute scared me. Her voice surely would sweep me back to reality. The breathtaking question was which reality that would be.

And yes, Irene's voice cut straight through all the dreamy mists. She was as close and real as she had been. It was the most perfect reality. I eased down and we talked as if we had never left. She wanted so much to see me, be with me again. But the lost Chicago workdays had turned back on her with a vengeance. She had to work late and then drive down to Baltimore for two days. I groaned. Her voice tried to console me. It almost hugged me through the phone. It made me feel like a puppy in a warm nest.

She promised to take Friday off and so would I. A three-day paradise opened at my horizon. We kissed our phones like teenagers. We never wanted to end the call.

Now I was at this bar, looking for Elaine. I had decided that I should reward her courageous and honest letter with a prompt answer to her final request. I called her immediately. Her voice had been small and timid. There were long pauses and her responses had hardly been more than two or three words.

I did not see her. Maybe she was late. The weather was awful. Work might have tied her down. I guess she'd call me. I fought my way to the bar to get me a drink.

A finger tapped my shoulder. I looked around and up into the face of a giant. He asked me if I was who I was. I said yes and he asked me to come with him. Elaine had sent him to pick me up.

I hesitated. Why hadn't she just come here herself? He told me that she had been tied up with work and had asked him if he would take me to her office. She could talk there and not lose too much time.

The whole thing had a strange and rather illogical feel about it. But as this was quite a thing for Elaine to do, I agreed to come with him. A moment later we were back in the wet streets. I felt his huge hand take my elbow and steer me to the narrow alley next to the bar. I tried to shake my arm loose.

"Where are we going?" I asked. He just pushed me on.

Then two other men came out of the alley. My heart stood still. They were as huge as the first man. One grabbed the lapels of my coat. He pulled me into the dark alley, then pushed me against the wall behind a dumpster. White flashes of devastating pain made me crumble. Hard and merciless fists hit me in the stomach. They took my breath away, spreading instant nausea.

I sank to the dirty wet concrete. I vomited. A hailstorm of punches and kicks crashed into me. I rolled into a ball to protect myself. After a while a growing numbness seemed to shield me from the ongoing punishment. 

I lost my consciousness. 

I must have regained some of it, for I remember long legs in leather, heeled boots. But it may as well have been a dream. A dream with Elaine's voice in it.

I don't recall all she said. There were words and shards of sentences. Shards like "not fair, Eric...you should have understood." And: "How could you do it to me?" "I needed it." "It had to be restored, you know?" There were words like "goodbye" and "I love you, Eric." Then I must have gone down again.

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

A sweet, but drawn face came out of the white. A wealth of curls danced around it, creating a reddish halo.

"Eric?" its mouth said. I guess that must be me.

My head was filled with church bells and jackhammers. The white light absorbed the sweet face again.

When it returned, I knew that I knew its owner. I felt she was dear to me. I groaned.

I guess all good things are three, as they say. I croaked her name. A dazzling smile flashed. It almost blinded me.

"I-rene..."

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

They counted two cracked ribs, a split cheekbone and a broken nose. There also was a lot of other damage, though nothing permanent. My skin seemed a labyrinth of blotches, bruises and swellings. My body hurt all over.

There was police too. They had a lot of questions but I could only give a few answers. And those were hardly audible

But thank God, there was Irene.

It seems I had been on the floor of that alley for hours, mixing my blood with my vomit and puddles of dirty rainwater. It seems the police precinct got an anonymous phone call close to midnight. A female voice told them to go look in the alley. The voice or the call were impossible to identify.

An ambulance had picked me up and taken me to an E.R. I still had my wallet and cell phone. They had assumed that the number at the back of the small portrait in my wallet should be called. So they had woken up Irene in her hotel in Baltimore. She had jumped in her car and driven back immediately.

I hurt. I hurt a lot, but I felt great.

It took them about a week to restore me enough to send me back home. Irene insisted that I should stay at her place. I was too weak to protest. I decided to stay weak for a while longer.

After another few days we made love again. It hurt in the sweetest way.

After six more months we got married.

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

Three years have passed, but the pink clouds haven't settled yet. They won't for a long time to come, I hope. 

It is summer, the city swelters. Good friends of Irene's invited us to their modest house in the Hamptons. Luckily not modest enough to have a huge pool.

I watch her from the shade. She lounges on a towel next to the water. She is topless to catch as much sun as she can. I love to watch her body. I love her sweet soft hills and valleys, the riot of curly hair. Maybe she watches me watching her. I can't see, she wears the sunglasses I gave her. She also wears half of the tiny bikini we bought on Aruba, last month. Her skin shines with the oil I rubbed into it.

They say there are a million signs to tell you that your wife has found a new and delicate balance in her marriage. You most probably are the last to discover them. Let alone see what they mean. Why should you? The signs are all-positive. They are a balm for your ego.

Damn, damn, damn you, Elaine, for all the poisoned little seeds you planted.



A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 04



(Irene)

There is a good chance the child is Eric's. A very good chance. So there is no reason to tell him. No need to hurt him, I tell myself for the thousandth time. And I feel the familiar rush of shame. 

Goddammit, girl, I say. At least be honest with yourself. What you really mean is: there is no need to risk his love. No need to lose his comfortable embrace, your comfortable life. 

And most of all, there is no need to bring up your child alone. 

Go on, Irene, delude yourself. What you really mean is: no need to hurt yourself. You are a selfish, immature slut.

The rims of my eyes burn. Tears are never far away, lately. Hormones, no doubt. There are so many convenient reasons to choose from, these days. You don't even have to pick the real ones.

I sit at my desk, watching the screen of my pc. I could have watched the doorknob. Or even have looked out of my proudest possession: my office window. 

Having no windows is for the lowly product managers. Two windows are for the VP's. I have one window. I am on the way up. 

Look out, you all; here comes Irene, the pregnant slut in residence.

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

I remember August. The torrid city. Long Island's lovely breeze. I remember Phil and Mary's house. The terrace, the pool. A little borrowed paradise.

I love to remember lying topless under Eric's adoring eyes. Just lying there and checking out his eager gaze from behind my fashionable shades.

What I'd also love to remember is how taut my body felt as I stretched out for him. How I displayed my sweetly tanned titties, the lush valley of my thighs, the golden shine of my freshly oiled skin. It ought to feel deliciously naughty, remembering that. All so securely contained within our perfect little marriage.

But of course all that is what I now prefer to remember. What I really remember is the shameful fuck I'd had that same morning. And not from Eric.

I lay stretched before him like a naked cat in heat. But what I really felt was the soreness of my well-fucked body. And the panic that I tried to bury inside, not to be found out, ever. 

Thank you, Eric, was what I thought. Thank you for the beautiful shades you bought me. They perfectly hide my shame.

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

Phil Mortensen married my best friend, Mary Eckstein. That would be about seven years ago. I had been her bridesmaid. I was by then already with Dean, my future husband. We married one year later.

Phil is rich. We use to make fun of it, calling him Philthy Rich. He does not like that. Phil can be amazingly insecure for a guy as witty and naturally suave as he is. 

I love Mary very much. We are like sisters. I like Phil too, but I also find him a self-centered ass at times. I can't ever say that. It would hurt Mary. And it might make her think I am a jealous bitch. Which I am not, I think.

Back then, as now, Phil was very attentive and charming. He always flirted with me. I didn't mind that as long as Mary didn't mind. I knew he tried it with every woman only halfway good-looking. I liked to tell him he was a Phlirt and yes, about that he could laugh.

Dean was another story. He had a jealous streak and didn't like Phil's attentions at all. Or any other man's for that matter. I tried to explain that it was all perfectly harmless, but I don't think I ever convinced him. 

Who knows, he may have been right all along.

Funny thing is that for all his jealousy Dean was already cheating on me before the second year of our marriage was over. It was a rather sleazy and embarrassing affair, as he did it so very openly and unashamedly.

He had hired this peroxide, fake-titted temp secretary. Secretary, well, what's in a word? Big hair and outfits tiny enough to take her an extra hour each morning to get into. At that year's company Christmas party he danced with her as if they planned to fuck each other right there on the dance floor.

I did not exactly feel welcome at that party. He hardly talked to me all evening, leaving me at the mercy of colleagues I hardly knew. Dean even had tried to dissuade me to come to the party at all. Which might have been better indeed.

I left early, alone. He did not come home until next afternoon, mostly to tell me he wanted a divorce. By then I could not agree more.

(At the signing of the divorce papers he had the gall to bring Miss Peroxide. Funny thing is, we got to talk and I liked her. I also felt quite embarrassed about how I had misjudged her. She was only working as a temp secretary to pay for her PhD at the university. She had a special scholarship because she was brilliant. She never said that, I found out later. Her screaming outfits and make up were just an echo of her trailer upbringing. 

Ah, and yes, her tits were real.

To my great satisfaction she left Dean two years later. She had not even taken the trouble to marry him. We often see each other. She will soon have her title, "Doctor".)

So I was single again. And it wasn't wasted on Phlirty Phil. What had been an innocent game started to get almost annoying. Phil made blatant advances even when his wife was present. It was after a dinner for Mary's birthday that I started to avoid them as much as I could decently get away with. At that dinner he had let his hand slip under my skirt as we were chitchatting in front of Mary. 

Of course Mary wanted to know what was wrong, but I could not very well tell her. I just tried to compensate by going out with her alone.

Then came those crazy, sweet, wonderful icy days in Chicago. I realized that I had never really been in love before. Not as deeply as I was with Eric. It seemed as if that blizzard blew away all the dust that had settled on my heart. All the ugly layers of distrust and cynicism were gone. I was sixteen again. I was an unwritten story. A wide-open invitation.

My memories of those days gained a golden hue. I never felt this complete, this free. I grew on his love; I soared with him and never looked back.

Then I threw it away in a few sleazy hours.

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

I remember sleeping in the sun, that morning in August. It wasn't real sleep. It was this glorious fading in and out of consciousness. I floated from sheer oblivion into the hot, hazy borderland of sun-toasted daylight. In and out I floated until I didn't even know where I was. Or if I existed at all. 

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

The evening before had been spent on talking into the night. We slipped into the pool, we lounged on the terrace. The evening had very reluctantly given in to darkness. It never lost its balmy sweetness. I sipped chilled white wine, so did Mary. Phil had turned in already, preparing for an early rise.

Mary and I never seemed to want the evening to end. We even sat in silence, which is quite an achievement for us. Then Mary groaned and damned her job. It insisted she return to the stifling city next morning.

Next day would be a Friday. I had juggled expertly to turn it into a day off. It would extend my weekend into a mini-holiday. It would save me from returning to the armpit soaking, shirt sticking hell that Manhattan is in August. 

I would sleep when Phil and Mary had to leave. Then I would take the slowest of breakfasts and lie in the sun to add to my already amazing tan. I would read my book and wait for my lover to be freed at last from his slaving obligations.

And so I did.

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

I remember dreaming.

Yes, I must have been dreaming most of the time. One day I shall get to the point where I tell myself it was all a dream. I dreamt straight through it all. It never really happened. 

Trust me, I am very good at deluding myself.

I remember dreaming that the sun came down from the skies to lick my skin. It licked my exposed nipples, making them reach out, begging for more.

Then the sun's fiery tongue licked down the centre of my chest and belly. It found the sweet dimple and I dreamt how I arched my body. 

Maybe I even dreamt how I moaned.

The hot sun's mouth closed over my cunt. Its heat radiated right through the flimsy material of my bikini thong. I loved the sun. I welcomed its rays. I spread for its piercing presence.

I shivered.

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

Eric and I make love all the time. Sometimes we even have sex when we do. Or should I say: we made love? I am sure he still does, but do I?

There was a time, not long ago, when the mere touch of his hand on my cheek gave me goose bumps. His soft breath on my nipple made me wet my panties. Just a stolen kiss could scatter my thoughts like a kaleidoscope.

Sometimes an awful thought invades my mind. It is evil, so evil that at first I adamantly refused it entrance. But it kept coming back. It kept knocking until I gave up and let it in.

This awful thought is about Eric's kisses, his touches, his mere presence. They have taken my senses to a whole new level. Chicago turned me from a nice and healthy vanilla girl into a very sensuous creature. There are times when I feel as if each and every one of my billion pores possesses a miniscule but highly aroused little clit. 

I always thought it was because of Eric, this instant arousal, this constant excitement. And I was certain that it would always only be for him. The motor of my new passion must surely have been my love for him and his for me. And the fuel of course were his touches, his kisses, his words...his presence.

Now, on my feverish search for explanations (read: excuses), I suspect the unthinkable. Is it possible that Eric prepared me for what happened? Oh my God, no! Not like that. He never meant to. Don't ever think I blame him. But...

But would that slow, mischievous sun of my dreams have seduced me if I had still been that girl from before I met Eric? Would sweet healthy Irene even have dared dream what she dreamt while the horrendously sweet fingers touched her slit?

My mind knew there was only Eric. My heart and soul also knew, but did they tell my body?

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

I remember how I spread for the probing sun. 

I remember the deep hot glow that flushed the insides of my thighs. Such a vivid dream, it made my juices flow.

I kept my eyes shut tightly, like a child. What I don't see doesn't exist, does it? What I dream is beyond my will. I never allowed it. I wasn't there.

The sun had Phil's voice. 

It used sweet seductive words at first. Then it whispered words that shocked me with embarrassment. Degrading words, humiliating expressions. But they were only shocking because they aroused me. They were degrading because I loved to hear them. In my dreams of course, in my innocent dreams.

They made my head spin and my mouth say:

"Aaaaaah, yessss..."

And my toes clawed into the towel I lay on.

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

There are sheets of rain billowing against my office window. They blur the gray city behind it and make the street below shine like a deep black mirror. 

Right now I love black mirrors. Especially the ones that flatter my reflection and don't care much for reality. The only ones I can look into right now.

You see, I can't ever tell Eric. Not just because I cheated on him. Not even because the child I expect might not be his. Those are reasons enough to keep the secret. But they are not the most horrible secret there is.

The most horrible secret is that I sold out our love to Phil. I sold out all that Eric and I had discovered and nourished together. The tender secrets of our love. The precious gifts we gave each other in the intimacy of our embrace. The shining gems we had mined together. The lustrous gold we had found in our streams.

I sold them and I sold them cheap.

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

Of course the dream had long ended when his tongue entered my slit and his finger rubbed my clit. No sun, no dream, no illusions. 

I let Phil fuck me with his patient tongue. Oh, he was good. I ground myself into him. And I screamed with ecstasy. I grabbed his head and begged him to make me come.

He did. He almost made me pass out. Then he looked up and we smiled into each other's eyes.

He rose and straddled my tits, so his hard cock could reach my mouth. My mind buzzed with blind excitement. It seemed the sun had burnt out all reason, as had his expert tongue. 

I just took his purple head between my lips.

I sucked it with all the finesse Eric and I had taught each other. Selling it to the lowest bidder. My tongue danced around his stem and tickled the delicate spot right under his glans.

Then I let him fuck my face until his head entered my throat. And when he came I swallowed all his sperm.

Oh believe me, I was wide-awake when he once more made me orgasm on his busy tongue and fingers. We did a glorious 69.

I was as greedy as your next slut when I sucked his cock into new throbbing hardness. I was bright and vocal when I turned and offered him my backside, crawling on hands and knees.

My voice was clear when I called him lover. There was no doubt about my blatant sluttiness when I begged him to fuck my cunt. And fuck it good.

He did. And he came hard, splashing his load into me. I came with him. I screamed harder than I ever did. My squeezing muscles milked the last of his seed until I had drained him.

Oh, believe me, I was wide awake when we lay there panting. I was all there when he brought me a drink and nibbled on my nipples. We rested. We even talked and laughed.

I needed no dreamy excuses to once again find his spent cock with my mouth. And even after he had come two times, I succeeded in sucking him hard. 

The sun beat down on our naked bodies when I felt him squeeze his previous load out of my dripping cunt. He scooped it up and used it to lubricate my ass hole.

I screamed in welcome pain when he rammed his cock in there.

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

Deluding oneself is quite easy. 

As long as you are the only one to know the facts, they are like chewing gum. You can't make them disappear, of course, but you can shape them, morph them into anything more suitable than reality. And a lot easier on your conscience. 

I got very good at that.

I knew, even as soon as that morning in August, that our secret would be safe as long as I could keep it that way. Phil had lied to Mary about his having to leave for the city. He would never tell anyone, he did not want to lose Mary over a fling. And I already started to block the whole sordid affair from my mind.

Sordid, yes. As soon as the bliss evaporated, a massive guilt hit me. But I knew at once that I had no use for that. I started to see what happened as a spell. A spell that had now been broken, a bad charm crushed. I ached to see it as a thing beyond my will, as anything but a deed of my doing. 

I had to. How would I otherwise be able to look Eric in the eyes, that same afternoon?

I stood under the never-ending shower that was meant to rinse Phil off me and out of me. I was already building the magic wall between what happened and what really happened. Of course I would tell Eric nothing. But I would do better than that. 

I would forget.

I would erase every trace, just as I was right then erasing every physical trace. I found no telltale spots or hickeys. I felt sore and stretched, but I knew that I'd tighten up quickly. Thank God I always did. And thank God Phil was not much thicker around than Eric. I just had to postpone my lovemaking until that night. 

The thought made me quake with pain: I was planning to postpone loving Eric. The downfall had started. It would just be the first in a never-ending series of painful thoughts to come. 

I knew that the biggest risk of betrayal would be me. Under that shower and later, over a half eaten salad, I tackled all the major risks I had to be careful of. But only when Eric arrived, around 4 that afternoon, did I realise that the true danger was in the tiny details. In all the little tender things that had built our love into the precious dwelling it was. 

Was.

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

Thank God Phil had left right after he fucked me. Obviously his lie about the city had been a half-truth. I saw him walk to his car with a spring in his step. Boys.

When Eric arrived, I had succeeded not to cry for over an hour. But of course he saw my red eyes when he took off my shades and kissed me. I admired how easy my explanation came. The chloride, of course. The damn chloride.

He had no reason to doubt me, so why should he? But of course he wanted to make love. We hadn't seen each other since the morning before.

I kissed him long and deep, then playfully pushed him away, scrunching up my nose.

"You stink of the city, lover. Take a dive. I'll fetch you a cold beer!"

First hurdle taken.

When I returned with the beer, he just climbed out of the pool. His skin sparkled in the sun. He had been training a lot, lately and Aruba had done him well.

I walked up to him. The water had glued his boxer to his crotch in a nice and sculptured way. I saw his half erection. It gave me a stab to watch how excited he was.

With another playful inspiration I pushed the icy can against his cock, making him jump. I laughed. It sounded shrill. Then I sank to my knees in front of him. I peeled the wet fabric off him and took his swollen cock in my hand. I looked up into his lovely face, feeling a deep shame gush over me.

Here I was pulling tricks to keep the man I loved out of me. I slowly stroked his penis, making the foreskin crawl back over his pink sweet mushroom. I kissed it, tasting the pool. Then I looked up again. The afternoon sun haloed his face. Cool droplets of water fell from his hair. They splashed right on my face.

I took him in my mouth and did the magic dance with my tongue. It reminded me painfully how I had done exactly the same for another man, not more than a few hours ago.

Don't think! 

I closed my eyes and sank down on his beloved flesh. I sucked it the way he loved. I played with his balls. My head bobbed, my tongue swirled. I knew he could not last long this way. I tried to stall him to gain time. But when he tried to take his cock out of my mouth, I grabbed his ass cheeks. I took him straight down my throat. No silly ideas, darling, like fucking your slightly stretched wife. 

I felt him tighten and expand inside my throat. He came hard and a lot. I almost choked on it. New tears started to run down my cheeks. He never saw them. His climax had taken him off the earth.

He sank next to me and hugged me. He actually thanked me. I had to look away. We talked a bit about the usual nothings. He drank thirstily. I urged him to go shower as our hosts might be back soon.

He hugged me again.

"God. Irene," he said. "How I love you."

I just held back my tears until he disappeared into the house.

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

I guess I did well enough, that evening. As far as well goes. It felt quite clumsy to me. I had a broomstick straight up my back. I moved like a robot, but no one seemed to notice.

Around six Mary returned, carrying a bag full of barbecue stuff. Phil came in half an hour later. Our eyes met immediately and I felt a blush rise from my throat. Luckily Eric was busy getting the barbecue going.

The evening was hell. We drank and chatted. I knew I'd give myself away if I would be too quiet. So I chattered like a squirrel. But I guess that is what I do usually. No one seemed to take notice yet again.

I could not eat.

I sat right over Phil. He was great. Amazing, actually. It was then that I started to doubt if he had one honest bone in his body. He joked as calmly as ever. He even flirted with me, dammit. I just sat there sweating and he was his cool, suave self as if nothing had happened. 




A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 04



I wondered at that. Maybe from his point of view nothing much happened. Maybe to him this had all been just regular run of the mill entertainment. Fucking the best friend's lil wifey, playing a round of golf...tennis, anyone?

It strangely set me at peace. It gave an unreal feeling to the whole thing. It seemed to move what happened to a different plane, another world altogether. A safe, far away world.

It was there and then that Phil taught me how to deal with betrayal. He taught me the art of double-cheat. How to first betray and then cover it with the lie of denial. It had happened and yet it had not. Open sesame!

My dream was born.

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

That night we made love. Well, that is to say: Eric made love. Or at least he tried to. I just fucked him.

It is hard to explain the difference. But I felt it at once and it broke my heart. For I knew it was a good-bye forever. I learned that Phil's "solution" had its price. The shield worked admirably. It was like a transparent latex membrane. All was there to see, I even could touch it. But I was removed. My essence wasn't there.

The sex was great. He made me come over and over. I even had to check my body not to betray this sudden expressive lust. It tended to make me impatient with his loving care. I wanted him to fuck me hard, to punish me, to hurt me.

He must have noticed. He did not say.

When I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, I choked on my tears. I knew how now, Phil had taught me. I had found the perfect hiding place for my cheating. I had found a way to live with it. 

I might never cheat again. But I knew now that I could. Phil had shown me that I was a slut at heart. He had also shown me that I could hide it. There was just a price to pay.

That price lay beside me, snoring innocently.

Four weeks later the little test thingy told me I was pregnant.



A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 05



(eric)

Sometimes the silliest thing can tear up the very fabric of your life. Just like the almost proverbial beat of a butterfly's wing can send its consequences around the earth.

The thing that did me in was quite profane. I saw it on the cover of a law firm's brochure. It was the picture of Lady Justice, the well-known statue of a blindfolded woman holding two scales. On one scale was a book, on the other a sword. The balance was perfect. She had nice tits too.

I love the symbolism. Blind justice, the balance of power and human rights. Of course I am not so naive to suppose that the daily juggling with law in this country is always a guarantee for justice. But it pleases me that they took the trouble to dream up the principle.

Irene has lawyer friends. There is a Phil Mortensen, who does billion dollar corporate law at the firm his father founded. And Mary Eckstein, his wife, who does a lot of pro bono stuff. I guess she feels she should counter the balance.

The picture on the brochure made me think of them. It also made me wonder why we hadn't seen them for such a long time. Irene, my wife, is very close to Mary. They are long time friends. They go all the way back to kindergarten, they are like sisters. I can see why, Mary is a likable girl, pretty too. But why she ever married this Phil may forever be a mystery to me.

He is the slick, cold, easy-going role model of an overpaid corporate ass-saver if you ask me. To begin with it doesn't help that he doesn't have to work for a living. He is rich. Not wealthy, but rich. Philthy rich, as Irene jokes. Which he doesn't like. Shows he is a humorless prick to boot.

I don't know what Mary ever saw in him. He must be cheating on her big time. He even flirts with Irene right in front of her. And even in front of me. Irene says it doesn't mean a thing. I am not so sure. But hey, she knows him forever. 

We were at their Long Island home a lot this summer. Posh place in the Hamptons. Big garden, pool, tennis court, you name it. Well, I never complained. Anyone living on Manhattan in summer would be mad to turn down an offer to stay there. We spent quite a few weekends. Sometimes just the two of us, sometimes all four or even more. It had three suites with complete bathrooms and all.

I never felt at ease, though.

Not that I ever told Irene. It must be my humble upbringings. I don't want to seem boorish or even jealous. They are Irene's long time friends. And I like Mary. She is warm and hospitable. I don't want to offend her. She has a calm beauty. Prettiness, rather. Braggarts like Phil would call her mousy. He wouldn't call Mary that, of course. Not to her face at least. 

Which gets me to my point. Why hadn't we seen them more often, lately? Sure, they were on a cruise in September. But it was halfway into November now. Irene said they were having problems. Wouldn't surprise me.

I wondered if Irene still saw Mary a lot. She never talked about her. She always used to. And a lot too. Should ask her when she returned from Atlanta.

I didn't like her travelling so much, being pregnant and all. Her bouts of morning sickness had abated by then. My God, was she sick. And almost greenish pale. Thank heaven that was in the past. She looked better. Still a bit withdrawn, but there was a sweet blush when I took her to the airport. Bright eyes, too, at last. 

God, did I love her. Wish I could show it more often. She had been so distant, even before she knew she was pregnant. Boy, was she eager in bed during those few weeks. I never saw her as hot as she was then. And yet...she was different, somehow. Hot, eager, yes. But almost...selfish.

Strange. I would never have used a word like that on her. To be sure, it only slipped into my thoughts now. It almost shamed me.

I was sure it will all get better, these coming months. I read somewhere how pregnant women need more sex and tender loving care. Hormone thing, I guessed. Well, I'd be ready.

My phone rang. Or teedeleedeed rather, as these things do nowadays. It was Mary.

First thing I remarked on was the amazing coincidence, but she wasn't in the mood for banter. She sounded nervous.

"Sorry to bother you, Eric, but we have to talk."

Oh dear.

"How are you, Mary. Such a long time..."

"Not too well, Eric. When can we get together to talk?"

Wow, she was in a hurry.

"You tell me, girl."

"Now? I am in the city."

Damn. What was going on? The clock said 5 p.m. 

"Sure. Starbucks down here?"

She already had hung up. I stared at the phone.

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

She looked worse than Irene had these months. When I kissed her on the cheek, I felt a tremble.

She sat down, arms tight, knees together, all closed up.

"What is wrong, Mary?" I asked. "You seem very nervous."

"Phil is cheating on me."

What's new, I thought. One look at her face made me regret the thought. 

"Of course I knew that", she went on. "I guess even you suspected it. I am not stupid. I knew he fucks women, but they are flings. I ehm...never liked it, but what was I going to do...?"

Her voice died away. She touched her coffee, but did not drink. Her eyes returned to me. Damn, so much hurt.

"This time it's different."

She dug into her purse and handed me a little stack of photographs. I saw a blonde woman on them that I had never seen. She was naked and really into getting fucked by Phil. I saw her sucking his cock. I saw her taking it in her cunt. I saw her taking it up her ass. It was all quite clear and explicit. 

"Damn, Mary. I am so sorry..."

She stared at me. I returned the pictures. Why is she telling me this, I wondered. Why show me this now, why not with all the other flings?

"There was a letter too, Eric. She says she is pregnant and the child must be Phil's."

Oh God. The bastard's nailed, I thought. I almost chuckled, but her miserable face stopped me.

"She wanted Phil to pay her off. A million dollars. He seems to have told her to shove it. So she sent me the pics."

I leant back in my chair, watching her, feeling genuinely sorry for her. I sipped my latte.

"As I said, Mary. I am so sorry. But why tell me? How could I possibly help more than just offer a shoulder?"

"I had to tell someone," she said, on the brink of tears. "I like you very much, Eric. I trust you. I know what you went through and I admire how you took it all in stride."

Great. Meet Eric, the expert by experience. The awesome confidant. All ye wronged females run to him. I almost felt gay. I muttered an embarrassed and inaudible response.

A vague notion hit me. Shouldn't this be Irene she was confiding to? Ah well, who understands women?

Mary once again threatened to take a sip and once again thought better of it.

"So what are you going to do, Mary? Did you confront Phil?"

"Yes. He denies it."

I almost choked on the coffee.

"He what?" I gestured at the pictures. "How could he deny those?"

"He doesn't deny the sex. He denies being the father."

"Well. I didn't see a condom. There are a few nice open shots where he is leaking out of her..."

She shrunk visibly from my words. I felt sorry.

"I know," she whispered. "But he denies it. He says: let the bitch take me to court. What do I care?"

Goddammit. This guy really was a bastard. Reckoned that he was untouchable or something. And his wife, her feelings? Tough shit.

"What about his father? The famous founder of the firm? He won't like it?"

"His father is demented. Sitting in his Palm Springs golden cage looking into eternity. No danger there."

"You really think Phil doesn't give a shit? Not about his reputation? Or yours?"

There were tears now. She caught one with a nicely manicured finger. God, did I feel uncomfortable. Let her go see Dr. Phil. (Ah, dammit, even in the privacy of my own mind I could not laugh at that one.) 

I rose and pulled my chair next to hers. I took her hands in mine.

"Mary," I said. "Divorce the prick. Tell me you'll divorce him and I'll buy you a drink."

I stood, pulling her up.

"Come, Mary. We both need one."

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

The second whiskey sour made her tongue slur. I never planned on getting her drunk, but she sure needed it. She is a white wine woman, normally. The typical chardonnay aficionado. It doesn't taint your teeth, you know.

I hugged my scotch and listened. She gushed by now. This Phil was worse than even I suspected. Mary already had a crush on him in high school. She had never been able to shake it, although she had had a million good reasons.

I supposed that Irene must know all about the flings. Mary said no. She had always been too embarrassed to say anything, until now. But she thought Irene was too clever not to suspect. I told her that Irene had indeed sometimes told me that she suspected it. But not on this scale.

We huddled together in a small booth close to the window. It had dampened up, creating a small and cosy world. Her knees were touching mine.

All of a sudden her mouth was engulfing mine. A stunned flash of panic hit me. Her tongue was inside me, finding mine. I was too surprised not to react.

Mary is a great kisser.

I reluctantly pushed her away. I must admit it was slow and half-hearted. Her eyes were misted over, her lip trembled.

"Sorry," she said. Her finger traced my lips to wipe away some of her lipstick. "I needed that, Eric. Please don't be mad."

I wasn't. I told her so. I even said she was a great kisser. It got me her first smile.

"You are a friend," she said. "Would you mind to be my friend?"

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

I knew her tits were small. I did not know how sensitive they were, though. I had never seen nipples rise so hard that they took their aureoles with them. They felt great, all swollen against my tongue.

She responded with a cascade of high-pitched moans.

Even while my tongue was sliding down her arching chest, I thought: what am I doing? My hand was caressing the spread insides of her thighs and I thought: what the fuck is this? Me, a married man. And look how my greedy tongue is searching for the clit of my pregnant wife's best friend.

I rose. I hung over her flushed face, finding her eyes.

"I can't do this, Mary," I breathed. "I can't do this to Irene. You should understand. Please understand."

I tried to sit up and started to close the buttons on my shirt. But she grabbed my neck and pulled me back to her.

"Forget about her!" she hissed.

I pushed at her, wanting to get away. This was all going wrong.

"Damn, let me go, Mary. What is this?"

She by now had my neck in a vice-like grip. She was strong for such a tiny woman.

"There is no need to be such a goddamn prissy about your precious little wife, honey," she said. Her words slurred from the drinks and the shortness of her breath. 

"She did it too, you know."

I stiffened. Then I grabbed her locked arms and tore them from my neck. I shoved her hard. It made her slide to the edge of the bed. 

"Fuck you, Mary!" I yelled. "You are such a bitch. Soiling your best friend just to get a revenge fuck. God Almighty, Mary. I thought I liked you!"

She hunched like a cornered animal. Her face looked scared, eyes wide. She breathed hard.

"It is true, Eric! It is the goddamned truth! My goddamn best friend fucked my goddamn husband! I know! He told me. He told me all the fucking dirty details!!"

She broke down in a torrent of tears. I just stared.

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

No place is as sad as a place where people are happy and excited while you are dying inside. Like an airport. People kissing and hugging all around you. Children running, happy screams, cheery laughter.

Her plane had been delayed. I stood waiting for almost an hour now. I felt as if I had been dragged out of the water right before drowning.

I had not phoned Irene since Mary. This morning she called me, wondering why I hadn't. I did not explain, just asked her when she would arrive. There was an awkward silence. I told her I'd pick her up, then disconnected. A minute later she called me, but I ignored her.

She called me twice again that morning. I deleted my voicemail.

She must be worried by now. Good. Why should I be the only one? I did not sleep all night. I went to work early but could not concentrate. I left around three in the afternoon.

I saw her. She walked through the sliding doors. She quickly waved her two colleagues good bye. Then she almost ran to me, her suitcase wobbling on its tiny wheels.

"Eric!" she cried from a distance. Her heels did a rap on the shining floor. I just stood. I just stood still even when her arms were around me. She shrunk back.

"What is it, Eric? What happened? Something bad?"

Her eyes were wide, searching.

"Yes," I said. My voice rasped with disuse. I cleared my throat. "Yes, Irene. Something terrible. And the most terrible thing about it is that you already know."

She looked puzzled. Nothing more, for a while. Just puzzled. She touched my chest.

"Please, Eric. I don't understand..." 

I removed her hand. Then I grabbed her suitcase.

"Let's get out of here."

"But, honey..." she said. I turned away and walked to the exit. I heard her follow.

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

The place was almost empty. It was also bright and colourful. Perfect. I shoved the suitcase into a corner and slumped down on a crazily designed chair. Irene carefully took the one facing me. By now she was very quiet. Scared too. Would she at last suspect what this was all about? Did she finally know that her worst nightmare had submerged?

"I think," I said and coughed. "I think you have something to tell me, Irene."

In a sick way I knew this was her last and only chance. I had no idea what chance and how big it was, but I knew that if she denied, there would be no chance at all. Would she know that too?

Irene blinked.

"So you know...," she whispered. Her face was a mask. I saw no emotions, no tears. Nothing.

"If it is true, Irene, yes, then I know...I guess."

"I am sorry."

"So am I."

"I could not tell you, you know."

She started fidgeting with her fingers. Her eyes never left mine.

"It was too...unreal."

I could sit no longer. I rose and walked to the huge window. I did not see even one of the many people walking by. I saw nothing. But I heard her voice.

"It scared me too much, Eric. What I had done, what I allowed to happen. I could not face it, not face you. I had to put it away. I..."

"How often?" I asked. Stupid irrelevant question. I had to ask.

"Once. Just that once."

I was with my back to her. I pulled up my shoulders until my ears were between them. Then I let them drop.

"It is true," she said.

"It is true that you lied to me," I answered, talking to the throngs outside.

"I did not lie to you."

I turned towards her. My eyes burned.

"No, Irene! You did not lie. You WERE a lie!"

She jumped to her feet and ran to me.

"Please Eric, please no!"

I turned away and walked out of the place. Let her get a cab. I can't be with her. Just can't.

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

It was dark and late when I finally went home. I wasn't drunk, I wasn't even tipsy. After a few trials I found that the alcohol could not reach me, so I stopped. I walked the streets. It rained, but that did not bother me. Nothing much did.

I should think. I should put one thought behind the other and see where they linked. But I could not. There were just too many images. They were connected by questions, but that didn't mean they led to answers.

The images were about Irene and Phil. There was the sun, the pool. There was the godawful cock ramming into my woman's cunt. There was her leering smile. There were jeers and smirks.

Somehow it seemed natural that it should have happened there, at the posh goddamn villa. When? That was a question, of course, though not an important one. Why was a question too, but that one had to wait the longest.

A very prominent question was: Why me again? Followed by disturbing thoughts like: Is it me? Do I marry cheats? Is there something inside me that makes them do it? Am I a natural wimp? Those thoughts told me that I was at the absolute low of my life. I screamed into the night. A dirty bum scurried away, muttering.

I apologized. I really did.

Irene sat in the darkened living room. She still wore her coat, the suitcase stood beside her. I went to get a glass of water.

"What do you want me to do, Eric?" she asked.

"Maybe you could die, Irene? That might be an option?"

"I know, Eric. Believe me, I have thought about that one often. But there is our child..."

The haze of self-pity lifted from my brow. The child. The goddamn child! I never thought about the child. What did that mean? It was my flesh and I did not think about it even once these last hours.

Our child, the child. The next thought took my breath away.

I stared at her with an open mouth. I watched her turn pale. Her hand went up in defense.

"No, Eric!", she cried. "No, it can't be. Don't even think about it!!"

"I think you should leave, Irene. Find a place, go to your parents. Even go to fucking Mary, but please leave me alone."

I turned and went to bed.

I did not even bother to take off my clothes.

After a while I heard the door click shut.

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

It doesn't have to be from such dramatic cause, but when your daily life is ruptured, you tend to fall apart easily. Women have this talent not to, but men do. All the little chores they always hated anyway, now seem too unimportant to cling to.

So I quickly fell into this new order of disorder. It mainly consisted of dirty dishes, empty fridges, dirty laundry in far away corners and greasy remnants of ordered pizzas.

I was a man proudly falling apart in the best of traditions.

This is always the moment where sweet caring middle-aged secretaries pick up on what's going on. They lend their gold studded ear and have a lot of good advice. My secretary is 21, of a gothic persuasion. She could not care less, even if she'd noticed at all.

After three days I found a voice mail on my cell. It was from Mary. She said we should talk, meaning Irene and I. Hot anger flared up inside me. I wanted to delete the message, but I could not. I threw the phone on the couch I have in my office and grabbed the office phone to make the first of a million business calls. 

Work, lovely soothing work.

The next voice mail message was even worse. It was from Mary again. She said I had to talk, if only because of the child. I listened once again and yes, she said "the child".

This one I deleted.

That night I was in my once favorite bar, the one where I used to go with the boys. Work done, stress gone. Just the simple little circle of booze, of jokes, of more booze, better jokes.

I had avoided drinking. Even visiting bars. But the guys refused to take no for an answer this time. They also insisted on paying for my drinks. Hey, we men know ways to show our emotions too.

Laughing way too hard after a way too weak joke, I suddenly realized I was the only one still laughing. The rest had fallen silent, staring at the door. I followed their gaze, slowed down by the many tokens of male bondage I had already consumed.

It was Irene.

She looked like shit. Drawn, pale. Hair a mess, no make up. She was the most beautiful woman in the establishment.

I groaned.

Hands pushed me in her direction. I snarled irritably. They just kept pushing.

"Hi," she said.

Even at that moment I thought it was the most courageous thing someone ever did.

"Hi," I heard someone say. Must have been me.

"I could not stay away," she said.




A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 05



I was confused. There was the alcohol buzz. There was the pain. There was this whole mountain of mixed up, stinking shit inside me.

"I missed you," my damn traitor of a voice whispered.

"I hate you," the same voice hurried to cover up.

"I know," she said. No tears, just sorrow. "Will you listen to me? Please?"

"No," I said. "I don't want to. But I can't not listen. I guess you knew that."

She nodded.

"Yes, I did. Sorry," she said.

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

There was food on the small table between us. Chinese food. Not bad, I guess. But it was just a symbol. We didn't touch it.

"How could you, Irene? You. And with me?"

She winced.

"It was the day I was there alone, on a Friday, remember? I thought I was alone. Mary had gone into the city. Ph....Phil lied that he had too. I was at the pool, tanning. Topless. Half asleep...mostly asleep, rather..."

Did I need this? Could I listen to this? 

"I, eh, I thought it was a dream."

I groaned. Her eyes blinked.

"No, really, Eric. At first I thought it was a dream!"

I rose, pushing the chair back.

"If you think you can bullshit me, Irene, after all we had, please don't bother to see me again."

She grabbed my hand.

"No! I don't bullshit you. It is all true! Please stay!"

"Dammit, Irene," I said. "You lied away all we had. You lied and lied and now you tie it all together with a shining red bow of more bullshit lies! A dream, Irene! My ass!!"

I walked away from her, grabbed my coat and found the door to the street.

Her voice was in my ears.

I ignored it. 



A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 06



Why do nice women fall for bastards? Why do they betray their loving, devoted husbands to have their slutty, shortlived desires satisfied? 

Why is it always the sweet, dedicated lover who bites the dust? The husband who quietly works his ass off for her. The patient friend who listens to her wishes, even the silly wishes, and tries to find ways to make her life better? The man who honestly tries to polish his obnoxious ways, giving up his bar brawls and bowling buddies. The man who even lets her tell him what to wear?

Why are we always ready to call him a softie for that, or even a wimp or a loser?

We always insist on being treated with care and love. We fill glossy magazines with it. We think up TV -shows about it. Then we turn around and throw ourselves at the mercy of an uncaring, callous bastard. We give him our mouth, our cunt and our ass. We beg him to take our dignity. We even gladly give him what we deny our husbands. 

And then we beg for more.

Yes, I know. I married a bastard. Don't ask me why. It seemed the thing to do at the time. What did I know? He was good looking, wealthy, popular, wealthy, witty, smooth, wealthy... 

Ah, well, you get the picture.

I should have been forewarned, even before we got married. I met him in high school, he was three years my senior. I was awed. He impressed me. He hypnotized me.

He went to study law at Harvard. So law was the thing for me. I struggled in his wake at a New York law school. I have never seen him fail a test. I had to redo most of them. As a matter of fact,: I have never seen him with a book. I was never without one.

After we married we went to work. I was still gasping to keep my head above water when he was admitted to the bar. I was still slaving through hopeless briefs and pro bono cases when he was made the youngest partner in his father's firm. By then he earned exactly three times as much as I did. 

I admired him. He was brilliant. Problem was, it was almost impossible to admire him more than he admired himself. It was also impossible for him to admire others. Like me, for instance. He ridiculed my pro bono cases. He made fun of my trying to get things done for kids in bad neighbourhoods.

I lapped it all up. And purred.

Of course I saw in the end who he was. A bit late, I admit. But hey, even dumbo's have to start somewhere. Problem with this dumbo, though, was that she didn't stop admiring him. Doting on him might be a better word.

I was never a girl to have many friends. Especially after I became moonstruck over damn Phil. The few girlfriends I did have I had pushed away by then, a habit I had always found disgusting in other girls. 

The only friend who did not accept being pushed away, was Irene Gallaghan. We went to kindergarten together, peed on potties together. She is all I am not. Tall, uncomplicated, clever. And beautiful. 

I am pretty. Cute they say. The kind of pretty you come up with if someone forces you to tell something nice about a girl. They might even have to use force on you to see me at all.

But that's enough self-pity, Mary Eckstein. Get a grip on yourself. You know better than that.

So...Irene. 

I am not sure I want to talk about Irene. Phil is a bastard who fucked around on me even in our first year of marriage. I didn't know then, as I was rather blind at the period. It certainly wasn't because he was discreet about it.

I remember Irene hinting at it. She had been divorced at that time, only a year and a bit after marrying this sleaze ball Dean-somethingorother. Yes, we two girls had a great nose for perfect husbands.

She said she had seen Phil with a blonde. At the Plaza, no less. There hadn't been much space between him and her, in the lobby. And the aim of their mutual beeline was the elevators.

I lied to her that I knew about it and that it was nothing. I was dying inside. She never returned to the subject, though I am sure she had ample opportunity in the months after.

Irene. At the time I thought she cared about me. Even after she fell head over heels for this advertising guy Eric, she kept seeing me, listening to me, keeping me in her social orbit.

I tended to bury myself in work, by that time. You know, being buried excuses you from seeing things, like cheating husbands. The downside of it is that you have preciously few good times.

Did I like my work? Pro bono cases, good deeds in paupered neighborhoods? Well, I sure loved being appreciated, if even by teenaged mothers and desperate parents of juvenile delinquents.

Yes, I loved my work. Especially since the one thing I really loved wasn't available to me. I wanted a child. Now don't laugh. I wanted Phil's child. But it was not to be. The friendly doctor had had the good grace not to smile patronizingly when he told me I couldn't bear children.

I remember telling Phil, five years ago. "Well," he said, and he did smile,. "Life's a bitch. But there are compensations. Look at it this way, honey. You won't ever have to worry about getting pregnant anymore."

Did I tell you Phil is a bastard?

Did I tell you I loved him?

Irene...

I believe Irene fucked Phil from the moment they met, years and years ago. She may deny that, but I don't care. I would also deny it if I were her. I would especially deny it if I had a husband like her Eric. Then again, if I had him I would not be as stupid a cunt as I am now. Or as she is, screwing around on him.

I believe she did fuck Phil a lot, maybe she still does. But I only know for sure she did it once. This summer at the villa. She and Eric often stayed as our guests for the weekends, when New York was too hot to live in. They were great weekends, even though Phil could not keep himself from flirting with Irene in the most blatant way.

I remember a small dinner party for my birthday, right after Irene had been divorced. Phil was laying it on, buttering his charms and lame attentions, when Irene apruptly rose and walked away from the table. I followed her to the ladies room. She said she suddenly didn't feel good. I called a taxi and she left for home.

It took a month until we started seeing each other again, apart from Phil. She never really told me what happened, but I guessed. I suppose she didn't think it wise to fuck my husband right under my eyes. And maybe Phil didn't understand.

You're right. I'm bitter. Shouldn't be, but I am.

That long weekend I am referring to was the absolute pinnacle of summer. It was sweltering. A merciless sun beat down from a cloudless sky and yet there was a lovely little sea breeze. Thursday night was lovely. I sat with Irene on the terrace sipping wine. She had arrived that afternoon and had found a way to take Friday off. Eric was still in the city, he would join us the next evening.

Even being almost sure that she fucked Phil, I loved her company. Then again, I had hardly a choice, had I? My world would be definitely empty without her. I had no choice but to rejoice. No alternative but to be happy and keep my mouth shut.

I hated to go to bed and end the evening. I felt unsure about what had to be done. But as I had told Irene that I must be in Harlem the next morning to sweat through a case of juvenile drug dealing, I could not stay up late.

So I left her on the terrace. I went into the dark house and watched her from the living room. I drank in her lovely body, more displayed than covered by the sexy new bikini. She had bought it while on vacation on Aruba with Eric. Her sweet silhouette was lined out against the glimmering surface of the pool. Her full moist lips kissed the rim of her glass. 

There was the auburn cloud of hair. God, how I have always envied her for that.

I watched. Then I turned and went to see Phil.

"Slut," I whispered.

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

"Does it make you feel horny?"

"Oh God, yes..."

"Good. Are you wet now?"

"Mmmmmm..."

"I told you not to touch yourself."

"I won't, Master."

"Good girl."

".............."

"Does it make you feel jealous?"

".............."

"Answer me."

"Yes, it does, Master."

"You can't be jealous, girl."

"I know, Master. I shall fight it."

"Good girl."

"Thank you, Master."

"Now go to sleep."

"Yes, Master."

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

The next morning was brilliant. 

I tiptoed through the house, preparing. Irene was in a deep sleep when I checked on her. Good.

I had a very light breakfast. It would be unwise to stuff myself.

Phil had returned from taking care of my car. Then he took me to the hiding place. My eyes begged for mercy, but it only made him pull the catches tighter.

I knew how to breath high and shallow. I loved the way my ribcage was squeezed. It felt like the velvet fist of a giant. My lower arms were gathered in a leather sleeve and tied at my back. It made my modest tits jut out. The long nipples screamed for attention. I have long nipples, yes. And they're very sensitive.

Phil pushed me down until I was on my knees. He tied my legs to the hooks in the floor. I was going nowhere. Then he took the ball gag. He waited just the second that allowed me to thank him. He then popped the red rubber ball past my teeth and tied the leather straps at the back of my head.

He knelt in front of me, cupping my face in his big warm hands. He smiled. Then he sank lower and took a swollen nipple into his hot mouth. He sucked on it and almost pushed me over the edge.

The cruel teeth of the clamp sent blasts of white heat through my entire body. I groaned around the gag and felt a squirt of urine force its way out of my body.

I was ready.

Phil opened the small hatch. It gave me an unhindered view of the poolside, right down to where the chaise lounge lay.

He pulled hard on my nipples before he left.

I love him.

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

I had to wait for half an hour. At last the slut walked onto the terrace. 

She hadn't bothered to put the bikini-top on. Her tanned tits swayed with her movements. I hated those tits. I hated her beautiful hair. I hated her carefree ways.

I hated her. But Master had told me to love her. I loved her.

She spread her towel on the chaise lounge. She bent from her waist doing so, exposing her high, well-trained ass in the almost nonexistent thong. Then she sank down on the lounge, right at the center of my view. She gathered her hair and tied it with a gold little scrunchy. She shook her head, making the ponytail dance. 

Then she slowly started oiling her skin. It added a sexy golden glow to the lovely tan. It also made the sun lick her curves with sensuous highlights. 

Irene. How I love to hate her.

She spread herself in the sun and seemed to fall asleep. After a few minutes a slow shadow crept from the left into my field of vision. It slowly engulfed her legs. A man stood over her now. He reached down and took a dormant nipple between his lips. He licked it and made it grow.

The sleeping girl moaned. Her eyes stayed closed. Her body arched as the man made his tongue travel down to her belly. She shivered when he closed his mouth over her cunt. 

I saw her legs spread.

The man started talking to the slut. At first she seemed surprised. But then I saw how she ground her crotch against his probing fingers. She sighed., I couldn't hear, but I saw it. Her eyes were tightly shut, but her mouth opened to let out her approval. 

Her toes clawed into the towel.

I was very wet by then. Oh God, how I ached to release my poor needs. But Master won't have it. So I won't.

Through a haze I saw the man fuck the slut with his tongue. I saw how she pushed back. I even heard her louder moans, now. 

Then I saw her body spasm with a massive orgasm. 

How I envied her. I envied them both, as they lay smiling afterwards. I envied her taking his wonderful cock in her mouth. Ah, but she was good. She swallowed all his sperm. Then she sucked him back into hardness as he ate her cunt. 

He fucked her hard. She went crazy. Then he scooped up the sperm he left inside her and lubricated her slutty ass hole. She screamed when he entered her there. 

I screamed with her.

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

Master fucked her for almost two hours. She became real wild and started anticipating his wishes. At last she drained him of all his energy and they lay gasping in the sun like landed fishes. 

After a while he stood and walked into the house. He came up to liberate me from my shackles and bonds. My arms and legs were numb. They started to tingle all over when the blood returned.

I almost screamed when he released my nipples. I came very close to a forbidden orgasm.

Master offered me his spent cock. I licked it with relish, tasting the whore on it. Then he pissed on my face. At long last it made me come.

I thanked him. He went back to the slut, faking that he had just gone inside for refreshments. I quickly ran a shower and dressed. I sneaked out of the house and into his waiting car, hiding. I saw him kiss the whore. Then he joined me in the car and dropped me off at mine.

The poor slut never knew how or why it all happened. Or that I knew. I laughed secretly at the clumsy way she tried to mislead her husband, that evening. I almost felt sorry for them. Pretty sweet newlywed couple. He doesn't know a thing. She doesn't know that I know. 

I watched the slut. I saw how amazed she was at the cool, suave way Phil handled it all. I saw how in his superior way he taught her his solution. Ah well, it can't have been difficult for her to learn so quickly, being the slut she is.

My heart went out to Eric, though. To his innocence. His wide-open trust. His stunning naivete. But then again, my heart wasn't mine to give, was it? 

Sorry, Eric.

I know. I am an evil person. Maybe I am worse than my Master. I am a worm, he is an eagle. Eagles are cruel. But worms are spineless, slimy and treacherous creepers. 

I betray easily. I lie and break trusts. I have been taught that all my life. I got hurt so much that I can't stand other people being happy. Or even,: other people not hurting. Life is a bitch, they say. And then you die. Not true. I am that bitch. And I won't allow you to die, Irene.

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

But then things started to fall apart.

About a month later Irene told me she was pregnant. She acted very happy, but I saw the strain. I congratulated her. I congratulated her while I died inside. Phil would have been proud of the way I pulled it off. I was all warm and sympathetic. A true friend. Asking the right questions, faking the right excitement.

And all the while my heart bled. 

Phil had fucked a child into her. My barren womb howled with frustration. Tears tried to fight their way out against my determination to keep them in. The goddamn slut carried the child that should be mine. Mine! All my devotion, all my humiliation had been for nothing. He would take her and kick me out. He would take the proud, sexy slut and feed me to the swine.

When Irene left, I thought about killing myself. About sinking into the bathtub and slitting my wrists. About getting myself a million pills and dieing. About going into the attic and hanging myself from the goddamn hook the bastard used for our games. 

That would teach him.

I did nothing like that. Of course not. I am a worm, Worms don't do heroic deeds. They slither into dark moist holes and think. Their slimy brains gobble up a problem and digest it. They suck on it patiently, until all the irritating edges have disappeared and all the problems are solved. Dissolved, rather.

Yes. I am a worm. You can hurt me and I won't scream. You can piss on me and I'll wallow in it. You can humiliate me, discard me, even cut me into pieces and I'll live on.

But you can't betray me. I am the one who betrays. You can't.

Phil couldn't. Masters don't. They lose their right. He set me free. I am a free worm, now. Maybe I can grow wings.

I went to the trophy case and did the unthinkable. I opened it and selected a little stack of pictures. Then I wrote a letter and made a harried phone call.

Eric didn't know what to do with me. The darling sweetheart. He only thought of his little slut. Put her on a pedestal, not even to peep under her skirts. 

Yes, I can be funny if you love vinegar.

I could not keep my little secret away from him. So I told him and saw it hit home. I was great. I was hurt and devastated. And the wonderful thing was: I really was. Devastated I mean. All my hurt came out, all the pain and frustration.

I could have filled a bucket.

Ah well, the whore got what she had coming. I heard they split. I guess she'll try to lie her way out, but he won't fall for it. It is his second cheat in three years. Poor sucker. It'll teach him to become a decent bastard. It's all scales and balances, darling. See? A whore needs a bastard. It is the only way to keep her in check.

Ask my ex-Master. But be quick. I might kill him first.

Killer-worms. Ever met one?



A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 07



"I'm Eric. At least I think I am. But these days thinking is not my foremost talent. Drinking is. I am an accomplished drinker-thinker. I marinate my mind. 

My brain is a pickle.

It may have been yesterday that I saw Irene. It may have been the day before. Not that I care much. (Liar!) Ehm...I seem to care. An itch says that I do. But I drink some more and the itch will fade away.

I can't tell you much about my day today. My tongue gets in the way. And besides, nothing much happened. Oh, but no, wait! There was a letter. A long one too.

I really don't see why the bastard took the trouble. Shouldn't he be on his way to his next trophy? Well, great. I guess he needed to gloat. And show off, of course. 

It took me a while to understand that the letter was addressed to me. Well, you know, being called a wimp needs some getting used to."

Dear wimp,

("Nice start and after some consideration, yes very to the point.")

Don't feel too sorry for yourself. Believe me, you are no exception. They are all liars and cheaters. 

I have seen them, smelled them, screwed them. I fucked them, the blondes and the brunettes, the huge and the tiny, the beautiful and...well, why waste my time on the ugly?

I have impaled them and abused them, humiliated them and beat them. Then I laughingly dumped them. In the end they are all the same, you know. Don't think your little slut is anything special. They are all high and mighty at first, all prim and peculiar until you grab their hair and pull them over your throbbing cock.

They may gag and choke on you, but they swallow. They may gasp and moan. But they will thank you and come back for more.

You know me, I am Phil Mortensen and I screwed your wife. Don't think it is your fault, buddy. She begged me. 

("Wow, that sure is a consolation; thanks, asshole.")

I am of Viking stock you know. As my dad used to say: "There are Vikings and there are peasants. Burn their houses, rape their women. But, son...never mix the two of them up."

He was fun, my old man. Until the disease blew his mind away. Oh well, shit happens. He had his share while it lasted. And I guess I owe him for showing me the ropes. I bet you saw "The Devil's Advocate" with Pacino? Meet my daddy. Better not shake his hand, though. Or even allow him a finger.

Isn't it amazing how many people believe that the devil is an ugly monstrosity on bent legs? That he has horns and ungainly hooves? That he spits fire and reeks of sulphur? How on earth would the poor bastard seduce so many if he looked this appalling?

My dad was tall and blonde. He had blue eyes of steel of course. And he gave it all to me. He also shared his honey with me and poured it over my tongue. Phil Silvertongue, pleased to meet you. In more than one way too.

("Yes, you are a jerk in many ways, Phil.")

A woman's lust lives in her clit, her nipples and all her other tiny places. My tongue knows where to lick and get her started. It makes her go all the way and then gets her to take off all over again.

I feel no need to be modest about my tongue, Eric. It has so many talents. It knows how to shape the little words that make a woman's mind buzz. Just ask your little wife, it made her so willing. My honey tongue whispers endearments to melt them. It also bites harsh commands that stun them. It creates sweet nothings and delivers cruel sneers. My tongue knows all the tricks, Eric. And my women can't resist them. 

They may want to, but they can't.

Which brings me to Irene, your wife.

She resisted. You may be proud of her for that, if only for that. She hurt my ego by resisting everything I tried. She ridiculed me with her smiling no's. She was ever so sweet about it. I bet she knew how close she came, over and over again. But she never succumbed.

("Lovely. I guess we must admire her for that.")

I met her when I met Mary. She was the sun to Mary's moon. Maybe I only fell for mousy Mary to be close to Irene?

Women are tits and asses to me. Irene is not. She is eyes. Oh, she has great tits and a wonderful ass, as you'll agree. But her eyes were what snared me. They were everywhere. Even when she was not around.

I saw them all the time. They saw me. They played with me. They were her cat to my mouse.

They had a twinkle, a naughty spark. You must know of it too, or does she reserve it for the men she really takes seriously? 

("Don't ask me.")

Her eyes told me she was a sensuous slut at heart. She may have known that or maybe she didn't know. But the spark in her eyes screamed at me to be released. Begged me, teased me. 

But at the same time her mouth smiled no.

(Excuse me, Eric, here I must pause and apologize for a minute to my Dad. With Irene I forgot all his lessons, you know. Irene made me stumble, she turned me into her puppy. I was powerless under the spell of her gaze. She made me crawl and beg and did not even know she did. 

Or, well...maybe she did?)

I married little Mary. Irene married this schmuck, the fool who had no more sense than to cheat on her. She got divorced. I jumped at the opportunity. Her eyes reeled me in, but yet again her smile stopped me.

She drove me crazy.

("Ah yes, crazy. That must be it.")

I had to find a way, or I would lose my sanity. Dad had told me to always use seduction. But he also told me that there is no such thing as a No for a woman. It's like a Spanish bullfight. We know up front that the animal has no chance. But how we love the fight.

(Yes, Dad, I know, I am a lawyer too. I can see the loopholes. I can see the comfortable margin between seduction and rape.

Don't worry, Dad.)

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

At the night of Mary's first birthday after Irene's divorce, I threw a small and intimate dinner at the villa. A tiny celebration, just for the girls and me. 

Irene's eyes had a ball, that evening. She just needed to glance and smile at me and she had me hard. She must have noticed. How cruel could she be not to? And more so - how could she be such a cock tease and not take care of my precious hard on?

("Bad girl. How insensitive of her.")

She jumped as if bitten by a snake when I slowly slid my hand under her skirt. But oh no no! Eric, don't rejoice. She did not jump at once. She just sat there, nibbling on a leaf of salad. She caught my eyes while chitchatting with Mary. The husband of her best friend caressed her naked thigh, and she smiled in calm conversation with his wife. 

She slowly pushed her cunt up against my probing fingers. She closed her eyes. And only then did she throw down her fork to leave the room in a flurry. 

Believe me, I have felt her glow, it was there, she was very wet. I knew she was ready, Eric. She wanted me, her body screamed for me. But once more she decided to make a fool out of me.

("Make a fool of you? Ha! Ask her what she made of me.")

Funny thing is, I was not desperate at all, then. I knew I had her. I just knew. It was a matter of time.

But then she fell in love with you. 

("Sorry for that, buddy.")

I was amazed when I saw you the first time. Your name was Eric, a proud Viking name. But man, are you a pussy. How could she ever shun me and fall for a wimp like you?

Your first wife had cheated on you big time, I heard. Didn't surprise me one bit. "Yes darling, no darling. Of course, sweetheart, no problem." There were evenings when I had to puke, just watching the two of you together. On the other hand, I told my self, I love a challenge. More than ever did I want to break the slut. Tear her away from you and make her mine.

("How nice to know I was a challenge.")

Sorry, sucker. It isn't personal at all. She is a natural prey, flashing her ass to be caught. She can't help it, neither can I. I am the predator. You just happened to get in the way. Collateral damage, as they say in the army.

Anyway, plans to get her invaded my feverish brain, one plan more fantastic than the other. Bad plans, too. Let me tell you from one experienced fucker to one sad wimp: never embrace a plan unless it is simple. And never go for an opportunity unless you can make the most of it. After all, it might be your only chance.

Don't plan for a quickie, Eric. It is so much wasted energy for nothing. Go with the flow: plan around natural opportunities as soon as they arise. Eliminate surprises, keep it simple.

("Thanks, Phil, to share this with me. Might come in handy.")

It was last August, right in the middle of the heat wave. New York was hell, so you turtledoves were very eager to accept our gracious offer to spend your weekends at our Long Island villa. One weekend Irene even found a way to arrive Thursday night and have Friday off.

I immediately knew this was my chance. And just as quickly I knew how I would go about it.

But first I must tell you something you have to know.

("Do I?")

You must have asked yourself often: why does this perfect Alpha male put up with his mousy, totally insufficient spouse? She must be great in bed or have other unknown qualities, like big money or something. Well, she does, though it is hardly the money. 

She is the perfect slave.

Once she saw I would never be faithful to her, even for a week, she made a nice decision. Nice for me, that is. She decided never to leave me, whatever I did. She has always been totally gaga with me, ever since high school. It is a sickness, really. Even my constant, wide open cheating can't kill her love for me. Love, the word makes me laugh. But anyway, let's oblige the little slut. 

She allows me anything. I don't even have to threaten her anymore with divorce or separation. She accepts pain, torture, humiliation. You name it, she allows it.

("You must be so lucky.")

I don't know how it works with you, but when she sucks my ass, I get hard as a rock. I just love the angry bruises on her ass cheeks. Or the way she arches back to take my cock all the way down her throat, while dangling from her clamped nipples.

Of course you don't know what I am talking about.

But believe me, she is good enough to keep around for a while longer. She gets me through streaks of boredom and has spiced more than one adventure of mine.

So I decided to involve her in my plan. Just a nice way to make her whine with jealousy, which does wonders for my libido.

("And don't forget your ego.")

Over the years I have been suggesting to her that I'd been fucking Irene as long as I knew her. She never entirely believed me, but as she had heard so much about my extramarital exploits, I guess she started to become less certain that I was bragging. 

So, a few days before Irene came to visit us, I told Mary she would have the chance to see with her own eyes how the slut would do me. She hesitated. I supposed it was because Irene is her best friend. 

Best friend, Eric? I think we are both in for a surprise.

("Wow, another one?")

You see, Irene and Mary love to paint a very serene picture of that late Thursday night terrace scene in August, the night before you arrived. I might cast some new light on what really happened. 

It was an eye-opener for me too.

We had been lounging through that balmy evening. The sun hated to leave and so did we. We drank some, talked some and once in a while slipped into the pool to freshen up. But I had to go to bed. The next day, I told Irene, I needed to be in the city very early.

So I went inside and took a shower before bed. Then I realized I had forgotten a rather important report I had been reading on the terrace. Well, in hindsight I might better have left it there until morning. On the other hand...

I hear that for any man in his good health it is very arousing to watch two women fuck. So I guess that what I saw would have made you as hard as it did me.

("Groan...") 

Irene lay back on her chaise lounge, her long tanned legs spread. Her scanty bikini top had been moved aside to make her wonderful tits fall out. The stiffened nipples silhouetted against the surface of the shimmering pool. She moaned with an open mouth. She moved her fingertips to the aroused little morsels of flesh to rub them and pull at them.

Then her hands went down to rest on the head of my wife who was entirely occupied with sucking Irene's wide open cunt. The sounds were very suggestive. Looking from the dark house I could not help feeling my cock grow inside my hand.

The girls moaned and then I saw Irene's body arch in the throws of a major climax. 

After it subsided, I swear that I saw her look my way and smile, even smirk.

("Irene a lesbian? Go fuck yourself, Phil.")

Half an hour later Mary came to our bedroom. After I spanked her mercilessly for having sex without my permission, I fucked her hard in her ass. We both came and I never felt a greater intensity. 

Another thing to thank your little whore for, Eric.

("You are ever so welcome, jerk.")

The next morning, on that infamous Friday, Mary and I faked that we left for the city. I tied Mary up, clamped her tits and gagged her. Then I hid her in the attic to watch the poolside, where we knew Irene would go to get some topless tanning.

What no one knew, not even Mary, was that I had drugged the orange juice we left Irene for breakfast. Ah, once again, don't rejoice prematurely, my wimpy friend. It doesn't get her off the hook, believe me. It was just something mild to make her sleepy. And something extra to spice her dreams. 

Nothing crude like a rape drug. 

You know, Eric, I have my pride as a seducer. There is no fun in fucking lame, unconscious sex dolls. Besides, I knew the slut inside her would submerge as soon as my silver tongue would come into play.

("Prick.")

Call it self-confidence. Call it conceit, I don't care. What's the use of being a bastard if you feel offended by name-calling? Fuck them all. And especially you, Eric.

("Quite honoured, Phil.")

I was right, of course. The moment I woke her sleeping nipples, she moaned and pushed them into me. God, do you have one hot bitch for a wife, sissy. Before long she sucked my rigid cock. She was even better at it than in these dreams I dreamt about her for years. All too soon she screamed and begged me to fuck her harder. After I filled her cunt, she was so over the hill that she anticipated my slightest moves.

I gave her all I got. I never lost my hardness. Knowing whom I fucked and feeling the crying eyes of Mary on my back, turned me into a golden Viking fuck god. 

And was she worth it. My God, let me tell you, Eric, I never found a cunt that squeezed me tighter. And I never ravaged an ass as glorious as hers. After all these years, after all my dedication I found that she wanted it as hard as I did. 

I knew I had been right all the time. She is a slut, Eric. Don't try to stop her, don't try to understand her. She is the greediest slut I know. You can't satisfy her anymore. Not now, not ever again. Set her free, Eric. Give her a chance to fuck real men like me.

She thanked me, you know. She grabbed me, kissed me when I rose to leave. Don't go, not yet, she pleaded. And after she admitted she could not get me hard again, she begged me to call her for a repeat. Soon.

Poor Eric, you must be the sorriest fucked-over wimp I ever met. Twice in three years. But well...such is life, isn't it? Give up, man. Know your place.

("I shall, Phil. After I kill you.")

My sincere greetings to you and of course to your exciting little wife,

Phil Mortensen.

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

"I threw the letter away. 

Of course I read it first. Not all of it at once, though. Sometimes a red haze of rage made it hard to go on. And I must admit that there were tears too. They can make reading a blurred affair.

But I read it and I wondered. 

Not about Phil. He was every bit the egotistical bastard Irene and I had always thought he was. Nor was I surprised by Mary's submissive character. That made sense too. The sudden bout of lesbian bliss seemed quite out of Irene's character, though. I had never even seen a hint of it. 

But well, I have been surprised by more things concerning her, lately.

I did wonder about the many versions I got of this one damned morning in August. Irene had told me what had happened. She had tried to make it seem like a dream. I can see why she'd want to do that. Mary had also told me her version. She was blinded by jealousy and quite a bit less forgiving. Now Phil tells me that Irene had been teasing his cock for years, so she had it coming. He also said that Irene was Mary's lover.

I needed some time to digest that.

Should I believe him? And if so, did it matter? Irene let herself be fucked. There was no reason to doubt her co-operation. Maybe it was true that Phil had drugged her mildly. It was also true that Irene never complained about being abused. She didn't that same day and never later. She could have. I might even have believed her. But she never did.

Well, alcohol tends to make one aggressive. I should not judge her right now. 

Of course she ought to be the one I should believe over the others. She is my wife, dammit, I love her. It is true that she never found it worthwhile to tell me the truth. And it may also be true that she might be expecting another man's child. But yes, her version may be closest to the truth. 

Does it matter? Do I even want the truth?

Does it matter if she has been fucking Mary all these years? Does it matter if she has been teasing the gruesome Viking before giving in at last? I don't think so. It would only make it hurt more.

She fucked away our love. She betrayed what we had. She sold it for a few good orgasms. I meant less to her than a few orgasms. That's what matters.

But the cruellest thing she did was to keep my love for her alive. 

I am Eric. They say I'm a wimp, a loser. They may be right. I lost two wives who preferred to fuck other men. Better men, no doubt.

I don't know what to do, beside drinking myself into a stupor. I know that I should not drink, not moan, not crucify myself for what I did not cause.

But then again, didn't I?

Maybe it is like the statue and the balances. Maybe I just don't put enough weight in the scales. Maybe it is all this great and amazing fucking and all this swagger and passino on one scale, and my wimpish love on the other. How would the damn thing ever lean my way?

See the blindfolded lady? She is supposed to be Justice. But watch her mouth. She is smiling.

Even so can I let the bastard get away with it? And what about Irene? The child?

Ehm...even more to the point: do I empty this bottle or throw it against the wall?"



A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 08



Eric turned to leave and his back told me all there was to know.

A voice can say "No" or even shout "NO!!" And still you may wonder if there isn't a small yes in there. Especially when the "no" sounds so intense. But when a back turns on you there is no room for doubt. There was none for me when Eric rose, turned and walked out on me.

What had I been thinking?

How could I have been so stupid to suggest it had all been a dream? Just because I had decided it better be? Maybe at first I was in a dreamy state. I am certain I was. But that was not the moment I betrayed him, was it?

I could have said "no" to Phil when his voice woke me. I should have. Of course he would not have taken that for an answer. Not Phil. After all these years of flirting and making passes, I should have known to kick him in the balls.

But I didn't, did I?

No. 

I just pretended to be asleep. I even kept pretending when he talked to me. But I was wide-awake when he licked me into that first bombshell orgasm. That is when my betrayal started. I took his cock in my mouth. I gave him gladly what Eric and I had lovingly taught each other. All of it. All the feeling. All the emotion and the intimacy.

And it wasn't "just sex".

I am not a woman who does "just sex". Sex is part of me, of who I am. I gave myself to him, not just my body. I enjoyed him and not just allowed him to have me. I made very sure that he'd get all of me. That he would enjoy me as much as Eric did. And even more.

Even more.

Only after I got caught, I returned to my senses. No, that's another lie and another betrayal. I never left my senses. I never had to return to them. I just covered everything up. I tried to be as clever as the bastard. I moved my true self away from Eric to protect my betrayal. I stole myself from him, I robbed him of myself. 

Tell me, which is the greater betrayal, the fucking or the denial?

But I am not a good bastard, am I? I guess I'd love to be, but I lack the talent and the guts. I can't live with it and go on. In the end I make quite a sorry bastard.

So I collected all my courage to meet my twice betrayed lover. I was scared. I needed so much for him to understand. Maybe not so much as to take me back, but enough to make him understand how sorry I am. For yes, I am sorry. Maybe for all the wrong reasons, but I do hate what I have done. To Eric, to myself and to the child inside me. Even to Mary, my one-time best friend.

I needed to understand what happened and why. Why? Could I tell him why? Did I even know why? In the end I could not even tell him the "what". I lied to him once more. 

A dream, Eric, I said. I could not help it, I said. He seduced me while I was asleep. And when I woke, it was too late, Eric. My body had taken over. I am so sorry, Eric. But it wasn't me. I did not want it! Truly!

Such damn bullshit. I should have known that he is too much of a man to fall for that. Shame on me. 

I guess this is it. I blew it. And then I fucked up again. I have to accept it. Gather the shards of my broken life and try to glue them together. If I'm lucky the new life might give me some shelter. For me and the damn child. It will be hard, though, with all the missing parts. 

Like, where does one find a roof?

I have been living with my parents, these few days. They live in Brooklyn in a big rambling old house. There's room enough, even with the baby. But I can't stay there. I can't be their little daughter again. They try so very hard to make it easy for me. But I can't. 

I am an asshole, not a sweet daughter.

I can't go to Mary, either. It would be too painful, even though she does not know about me and her husband. It might even be less painful if she did.

Which brought me to the question I had not asked myself until now. Strange that I had not. It was the question how Eric could know? Only Phil and I knew. There had been nobody else, had there?

Phil must have told Eric, the bastard. Just to brag and gloat and triumph. Damn asshole, but who is calling whom an asshole? Of course it was Phil who told Eric. I should have known. It was the eternal fight for the top of the ape colony. Boom-boom, chest banging. "Me Phil, you Wimp." 

And all because of me, stupid silly selfish moron slut.

I looked at a few nice small apartments on Manhattan and decided on one close to work. Insanely expensive, but well, I'll work hard anyway. What else is there to do? Work until my belly stops me. And after the child is born? We'll see. Grand parents? Daycare?

I got my future carved out for me. Or into me, rather.

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

I never saw him until he already sat beside me. Phil. He looked impeccable. Blue suit, tie, smile.

"Mary left me," he said.

"Don't do this, Phil. Please leave," I said.

I hated the blush that flashed up from my chest.

"I don't care that she left," Phil went on, his smile in place. "So much better this way."

I rose, intending to go. But he put his hand over mine.

"Don't," he said. His voice had an iron quality. Steel in velvet. "Don't leave without hearing me out, Irene."

I sat down.

"Irene, I have always wanted you. Ever since we met I knew I had to have you. I married Mary only to be near you."

I tried to pull my hand out of his. He is strong.

"Irene, I know that you always felt attracted to me."

My eyebrows flew up in amazement. I tried to interrupt, but his fingertips were on my lips.

"Sssssh...I know, Irene. You always stopped my advances. But there are no's and no's, Irene. You know it. You know how you hesitated at times. You were such a tease, girl. But in the end I was right and you know it!"

A flash of triumph lit up his cold blue eyes. I had succeeded in pulling away my hand. I rose, grabbed my purse and left the place in a hurry.

My heart surely must have been heard throughout the restaurant.

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

Work was a blessing. At least for me it was. I must have been a monster for the people around me. Especially the ones working with me. I never stopped. I came in an hour early, worked through lunch hour and left with the cleaners.

I never felt so energetic. It was easy to concentrate. There are preciously little distractions left after you burn all your ships. I grabbed every opportunity to travel. Many colleagues with spouses and happy families were glad to let me do it for them.

A few weeks flew by this way. Phil kept calling me, I never responded. In a way I was glad he did, as each call eroded more of the embarrassed attraction that still seemed to tug on me.

The one I wanted to call never did. 

I did not have the heart to phone him. He was always in my thoughts. There were too many little things to remind me of him. I had put away all the jewelry he gave me. Even all the things we had bought together.

He had sent me an e-mail, but it was totally impersonal. He gave me a time-slot to get my things from the apartment. Dad helped me. It was an ordeal I tried to work through as quickly as I could. I'm sure I left a lot behind. I did not care. It was just too painful to see what we had. And what I threw away.

Then Mary called. Her voice sounded hoarse, guarded.

"Irene?"

"Mary."

"I feel so sorry."

"Why would you, Mary?"

"I feel sorry for what happened."

"Thank you. So do I."

Silence.

"I left Phil."

"He told me."

"You talked to him?"

"He talked to me."

Silence.

"Could we meet, Irene?"

"Why?"

"There are things you don't know."

"I know enough, Mary."

"No, you don't."

Silence.

"Please. Let's talk, Irene."

"I'd rather not."

"Please?"

"When?"

"This afternoon?"

"Okay. But don't accuse me. I can do that myself." 

"I won't, I promise."

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

Mary looked gaunt. Her skin was pale, her eyes deeply sunk. Her lips were painted a very dark blood red. She'd colored her hair too. It was a glossy black. It made for a very dramatic framing. When she walked into the bar, she moved like a cat. The black silk suit seemed glued to her body. The boots she wore had very high heels.

I had never seen her like this.

I stood to shake her hand, but she hugged me. I noticed bones. She must have lost a lot of weight.

I avoided her lips. We sat down.

"You, eh...look good," I said.

She grinned.

"So do you. Pregnancy becomes you, honey."

I sucked in my breath. The subject of pregnancy always seemed to do that to me, of late.

"Anyway," I said. "You needed to talk."

My question made her eyes stray. A waitress came to our table. We ordered wine. We were silent until it came. Her dark nails touched the glass. I sipped from mine and felt my memory return to the last time we drank white wine together on that damn terrace.

"Well?" I said, shaking off the memory.

"First let me tell you how sorry I am for what happened."

I raised my hand.

"First let me tell you it is silly for you to be sorry, Mary. Phil and I did this to you and Eric. We did it willingly and I don't want to discuss it."

"I saw it," she said. Her voice was calm and she had already started talking before I had finished. I almost overheard it.

"You what?"

"Phil planned it all. Then he made me watch."

A buzz invaded my ears. I felt a slight nausea. I set the glass down with a shaking hand.

"You see, Irene, Phil could make me do anything he wanted. I was his submissive. He loved to humiliate me. I accepted it. I could not stand to lose him. I loved him. I guess I still do."

There were tears in the pitch-black corners of her eyes. She let them fall. They made spidery traces on her white cheeks.

"Mary...," I said. My voice trailed away. She looked so very lost. A child. I needed to take her in my arms. But I could not. I was part of her pain. I was part of what caused it.

Mary seemed to grow. She sat straighter. The weakness of her face hardened. Her eyes turned into slits. Her dramatic mouth became a narrow gash.

"I hate you, Irene," she said. "I hate you for taking Phil away from me."

Her hand flew up when I protested.

"Don't deny it, Irene. But don't worry, either. It is not the fucking. The bastard has been screwing a zillion women during our marriage. He even loved to tell me all about it. But you were you, Irene. You were my Irene. I bet you have been fucking him ever since I introduced him to you."

She was trembling. Her fingers strangled the stem of the glass. I did not know what to say. She did.

"And now you took away the child that should be mine!"

Her voice had risen to a higher pitch. Tears ran all over her face now. Her eyes became black craters, her hands were tiny fists. I reached out to cover them with my hands, but she withdrew.

"This was the one and only time, Mary," I whispered. "You must believe me." 

Her head started shaking.

"It is true," I said. "It was the only time. And I don't want Phil. I hate him for what he and I did. I hate the two of us for hurting you like this."

Mary cried now. A high moaning tone left her clenched jaws. She shook.

"And, Mary, I truly believe the child is Eric's. I pray it isn't Phil's."

She stood. She grabbed her purse and her glass toppled. The wine spread on the table. I also rose, arms stretched, partly to stop the glass from falling, mostly to keep her from leaving.

"Please, Mary. Stay..."

The door closed on her. She was gone.

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

Mary's pain killed my sleep for three nights.

I knew all about her wish to have children. And the impossibility to have one. I could see how my pregnancy hurt her. I also saw how the asshole would have loved to tell her all about it. She doted on him. So leaving him must have been very hard. I guess the pain was excruciating enough to push her over the edge.

I was a wreck. Not only had I betrayed the love of my life. I had also cruelly trampled on the profoundest feelings of my lifetime friend. And all that for one short morning's fuck. 

Amazing, Irene. Really an accomplishment, girl.

That was when I started pondering to leave. Maybe I should put a few thousand miles between me and the massacre I caused. Eric's first wife had left for California. Who'd ever have thought that I would contemplate a similar move only three years later?

To be more precise, would I have dreamt that I'd do exactly what she's done? I despised her, when I heard the story. I found her behavior disgusting and was so very convinced of my own moral superiority. Would I betray my Eric? My love, my savior?

Now see where I was. What I'd done. See me run. Watch me leave all I considered important. 

Oh yes, I loved New York.

But that love was closely linked with Eric. I could walk the streets of Manhattan and within a few blocks I would have found a hundred reasons to cry. There was the corner where he had kissed me in the pouring rain. A shop where we had found the cute table that carried the colorful vase we bought in the small antiques shop only two blocks further on.

I should leave. I should take the hurt and betrayal and leave.

So I investigated my possibilities in the company. There was a position in Los Angeles. I've always hated Los Angeles. I even hate to watch movies or TV shows that use L.A. as a location. But it was far away. And they had a job, even after I told them I was almost four months pregnant. I had hoped they might not have a problem with that. 

The product group was for baby-food.

Three days later I got an invitation to have an interview over there. Five days later I got on a plane.

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

Los Angeles was exactly as horrible as I thought. But maybe it was because I wanted it to be? I don't like cities where you are not supposed to walk. I had to take cabs everywhere. As soon as I could I went to see the beach. It was its own cliché. Roller skaters, iron pumpers. Beverly Hills was like walking into a TV show. The pretty hills with the stars' villas were an exercise in guarded fences.

Ah well...it was the perfect place for punishment.

The job was no problem. I could start in a week. I wouldn't even lose much money. And the sweet HR woman offered me help in finding suitable living quarters.

I flew back to New York to wrap up my life there. I had to tell my parents. They were not amused. I had to move my meager belongings. And I had to say goodbye to friends, family. I went to see my sister in Newark. No point in visiting my brother in Atlanta. 

The day before leaving I sat in my empty apartment. It felt exactly as it should. Empty.

I opened my cell phone.

Should I tell Eric? He never contacted me after I got my things from our old home. Not a word about divorce. Not a single word about anything. I had called a few times. He must have seen it was my number. I sent him two e-mails. After that they bounced.

I had also tried to call Mary, but I guess she changed her number.

I was efficiently cut off. I cried. Then I wiped my eyes and sent a short text message to Eric's number.

"Will leave for L.A. tomorrow. New job there. I am so sorry."

I took my suitcase and called for a cab. It took me to a Holiday Inn near La Guardia. 

I really slept.

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

The plane got delayed.

I had arrived at the airport early, but the monitors already flashed my delay. An hour, they said. I went over to check in anyway, pushing my luggage cart. I only saw him when he was already very close. My heart stopped. 

It was Eric.

He looked tired and drawn from the obvious loss of appetite. And sleep, no doubt. But he looked great in a tragic way. A familiar throb of excitement hit my throat.

He stopped in front of my cart.

"Will you have coffee with me after you check in?" he asked. His voice was different. So were his eyes.

I just stared.

"Eric," I said.

I cried. He looked away.

The coffee tasted awful. I didn't mind. He just sat there. I could not take my eyes off of him. I saw each little wrinkle, every forgotten stubble.

"You are leaving," he said.

"Yes."

"Are you...all right?"

I nodded.

"The...child?"

"All is well."

"Good."

I knew there would be many silences. It was the only way. 

"I...I am glad you came to see me, Eric."

"I did not want to."

I now knew what had changed his eyes. It was pain. I wondered if they mirrored mine.

"Eric..."

His eyes shifted away from me, down into his coffee.

A tinny female voice announced more delay. Another half hour. I wondered if he would think the same thing I did. That the delay had a meaning, that it was a sign of sorts. I know. It takes a romantic mind to think that. A bit of a desperate mind, too.

Airports seemed to play such a big part in our lives. The snowstorm at O'Hare that brought us together. Then the shocking return from the business-trip, when he told me he knew. And now...this. What exactly should I call this? Why did he come?

"Eric...why are you here?"

He sighed.

"I need to know before you leave," he said. He pushed away his cup with a disgusted look.

"When I return to the city, I shall be seeing a lawyer. He will start the paperwork for our divorce."

The word hung in the air. It did not seem to go away. A cloud of silence was etched around it. It hung like a neon sign.

"But...," he said, shifting in his chair. "It did not seem right not to hear your side. I know you'll lie as you already did. But I guess I must listen to you."

A flame of panic engulfed me. There was indignity too at being called a liar. But he was right, so why feel offended? I reached out to touch his hand. He pulled it away. A lot of people seemed to do that with me, lately. The air around me felt hot. It closed in on me. There were only his eyes.

"I...I have been stupid to lie to you, Eric. I know you won't ever believe me again because of it. I can see why you want this, this divorce. It is impossible to live with a lie. I know. God, I know."

I feared the silence that slipped in. I hurried now.

"But Eric...I love you."

His head turned away. I guess I screamed.

"I DO!! I betrayed you. I pushed you away. I gave all you gave me to another. And then, in my panic to cover up, I pushed you away again. I built a wall. I denied myself to you. I betrayed you again..."

"Is it his child?" he asked.

His question deflated me. In a way it made me feel hugely disappointed. The child? Somehow it had never played a role in the struggle of my feelings. It was just...there. It was too big a reality to even discuss. It was there, beyond questioning. It did not change things for me, really. Even if it was Phil's. it was mine. It would always be mine.

And I wanted it.

"I don't know, Eric. It is mine."

His eyes flared in surprise.

"You don't care?" he said.

Once more I felt disappointment. Disappointed by the banality of his question. Of course I bloody damn cared. It was the most important thing that ever happened to me. How could he not know that?

"My plane is leaving," I said, sliding off my chair.

His hand made a half hearted try to stop me. Then he also stood.

"Will you..." he said, as I started to push the cart towards the departure area.

"Will you keep me informed on how you are...the baby, you know...all that?"

I turned towards him. His shoulders had slumped. God, he looked helpless. I went to him. I touched his face. His cheeks were wet.

"Eric, please forgive me. I hurt you so much."

I stood on my toes and kissed his cheek.

I hurried away.



A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 09



I think I went crazy the night Phil said he wanted to divorce me. Maybe it wasn't so much because he actually said it but because I expected him to say it. I had expected it for weeks. It was exactly what I knew he would do.

Then he did it.

I am Mary, remember? Phil's cute sub wife?

When he told me about the divorce, I was hanging from a hook in our attic, arms numb from the stretching. A spreader separated my feet, my mouth was closed with a gag and a blindfold covered my eyes. There was a vibrator in both my cunt and my ass. Little weights hung from my tits, stretching my nipples.

There was a clamp on my clitoris.

After all these years he had at last fucked his tall, redhead dream, my very best friend Irene (although I suspect they've been screwing ever since the day I introduced them to each other, years ago). And she fucked him back with all the treachery she could muster.

More over, he had forced me to watch them. From a secluded place I saw his ass spasm as he shot his seed up her adulterous cunt. I watched him getting her pregnant.

And that's when I started hating Phil. When I later heard she was pregnant for sure, the hate entered my heart. Because you know that I can't have a child, ever. You must know that.

The problem was I still loved him. I guess the only way to kill that love would be to kill him.

Dangling in front of him that night I remember thinking: "Maybe I'll kill him soon. But not now."

I wasn't really thinking, though. Sluts have a hard time thinking at all, you know. There were just too many moments that I — well — suspended my thinking around Phil.

I usually hated myself for that. Usually later

At that moment I was very close to a second orgasm. The gag muffled my begging. But right then he suddenly pulled out the dildos. He also took away the clamps, the weights and the blindfold. He left the ball gag in place.

I moaned in frustration. His eyes were level with mine. His icy blue gaze made me shiver. He grabbed my head and pulled my face into his.

"So now that I've fucked her with child, you worthless barren bitch," he hissed, "what do I need you for any longer? Go slut around in your precious ghettos, whore. Go sell yourself. Show them what you are prepared to do for a fuck."

He grabbed my cunt hard, making me wince. His fingers entered, pushing all the way up into my deepest niche. It hurt. But I was past hurt. He had trained me well. Pain aroused me. I had allowed him to turn me into a pain freak.

I screamed around the gag and came from his cruel probing.

He chuckled. He felt me spasm around his hand. He slid his fingers out and smelled them. Then he smeared the juices over my face and tits.

He once more grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him.

"I am going to divorce you, Mary," he said. "I have no need of you anymore."

That was when I started killing him.

I am not a strong woman. Physically Phil could break me with his pinkie. And as far as mental strength goes... I was his slave, remember?

But I have what he lacks - patience.

I had been brooding on a way to kill him ever since I knew about the pregnancy. By now I knew what to do and when. To hell with consequences. I was crazy, wasn't I? Deranged, loco?

Who needs a life after one's love has been killed?

I left Phil the day after he told me about his divorce plans. I booked a suite at the Plaza with one of his cards. I doubted that he'd block it any time soon. He may be a lot of awful things, but stingy is not one of them.

I went to a special parlor and changed my looks to match my insides. I also bought a new wardrobe. I went gothic nightmare all the way. It made me feel good. I needed to show my true self to the fucking bitch, so I went to see her. Of course I ended up crying like a baby. I am weak, and when she lied to me, I fled.

The next day I phoned Phil. I told him I needed to talk about the divorce. He said there wasn't much to talk about. I insisted. We had dinner at Sardi's, close to Broadway. It had a special meaning for us. Ah well, just for me by then, I gather.

He was good, Phil. Slicker and sweeter than ever. He complimented me on my new look. I had gone all the way. Low cut black silk top, studded nipples thrusting against it. I wore a tight leather skirt. Sheer black stockings, crazy heels. Abundant make up on a chalk white face. Never-ending dark red nails.

"At last you look like the whore you are," he said with the sweetest of smiles.

"Merci," I answered, dripping honey. "Isn't that just the company you prefer, lately?"

Damn, we were good at this. We should have started much earlier. Such a pity it would end so soon.

"I saw her, you know," he went on. "Irene, I mean. She is all excited about us, our child and all."

I watched his eyes. Maybe by now I was the only one able to see if he lied. It is hard. Especially when he believes what he is saying. I guess he believed that Irene was his. Well, he might be right.

Did I care?

"Phil," I said and laid my blood-tipped claw on his hand. "I want you to fuck me tonight. Just this one last time. Don't say no."

My heart throbbed. I knew his egotistical inclinations. His easy to tickle self-confidence. I ran a stockinged foot up his leg. My begging eyes were wide open. My nipples were like fingertips.

There was nothing fake about my eagerness. And there was nothing fake about his, either. I saw it in his eyes. The triumph. The anticipation. And I felt it confirmed by the hard bulge my toes found between his thighs.

He grinned.

"You are such a slut, Mary."

We rose to leave.

"I was taught by the best," I whispered.

The suite looked as instructed; the hotel staff had done a good job setting up.

The lights were low. A small meadow of candles spread a yellowish, living light, leaving a wide path straight to the huge bed. Long stemmed roses lay strewn all over the silk cover. They were dark red and had mean thorns.

"You are such a romantic," Phil mumbled, leaving my extended nipples just long enough to say it. "I'll miss that."

He had attacked me in the cab already, pushing my silk top up above my tits and running a greedy hand up my stockings. I must have looked a mess when we stumbled through the lobby and took the elevator up to my suite.

"You live expensively, honey," he grinned when we rode up. His fingers were inside me before we reached my floor. His teeth pulled on the studs through my nipples.

It felt all very good.

He tore my top off. Then he zipped down my skirt, making it fall around my crazy heels. His eyes went up and down my pale, naked body. Then he took me up and carried me to the bed. He dumped me on the cruel flowers. I felt them attack my skin. It just added to my arousal.

I lay gasping. I looked at him past my panting tits. He kicked off his shoes, then took off his shirt and pants. His lean, muscled body seemed to dance in the living candlelight.

His cock was up and hard. I always loved its elegance. Most cocks are ugly. His is tall and slender. And always ready. I love his cock. I love its shape, its force.

I love my Master.

Phil never hesitated. He climbed between my legs, brushing the roses aside. Then he pulled my stockinged legs on his shoulders, making the heels stick out. Their shadows touched the ceiling.

He plunged his cock into my cunt in one hard thrust. I felt the air being torn from my lungs.

The fuck was short and extremely rough. I came about the fifth time he hit bottom. My orgasm still echoed when he drowned it with his flood. But he kept on pumping. It seemed he'd never lose his hardness.

Then he rolled off me, forgetting the roses. He cursed. I laughed. He grabbed me, rolled me over and started spanking my thorn-pricked ass with his huge, open hand.

"You whore! You spineless slut! You - goddamn - bitch - in - goddamn - heat!"

He almost chanted the words while painting my skin with pink blooming handprints. I squealed and sobbed and felt the glow spread into me.

His copious sperm gushed out of me with every blow.

"Oh God, Phil!" I stammered. "Oh God, don't leave me. I love you! I love you so!"

I turned around and wrapped my body around him. I held on to him with all my might, kissing dark lipstick smudges all over his face.

He got hold of my head and pushed it away from his. Then he spoke and signed his death sentence.

"Crawl into your slimy hole, you cheap, barren whore," he growled, each word was clipped and neatly separated. "But first suck my cock."

His hands grabbed my new black hair and pulled me down on his drooping flesh. It shone with our juices. I smelled the raw sex. Then I tasted his sperm and my cum as my mouth sank down over his cock.

I worked on him like mad. My heart raced. My mind still could not accept the consequences of his verdict. The slave in me just needed to please him. Please him hard. Please him well.

But he did not rise.

I felt his flesh swell inside my mouth, but he never reached another erection. I sucked and licked, took him deep and squeezed his balls, but nothing happened.

A sudden blow to my head made me reel. He pulled me up to his face and bellowed:

"You lost it, you worthless slut! See? You can't even get me hard again. Didn't Irene teach you anything?"

He threw me away, making me fall off the bed.

"Get me a goddamn drink, you failure of a woman. Now!"

I scurried away. The fridge held all I needed.

I stirred the glass. Then I crouched at the foot of the bed, holding the glass over my head, like an offering. I felt his fingers when he took it.

I heard his throat swallow.

Knowing some of the darker minds on the seedier side of town has its advantages. Especially when some of them agree that they owe you. Nothing big, just enough to help you in a bind.

Poison is a creative means to reach the goals of a weak woman. It has never been praised enough for its possibilities to design the right kind of death for the right kind of person. I'd almost say poison can be a way to express the love of a woman.

The huge, fat old matron in a Harlem backstreet had smiled when she listened to my story. She had even chuckled when I told her about my desires.

"Ah, men," she had rumbled with her deep voice. "Mighty little men."

She gave me a tiny bottle. And some twice repeated instructions. She also gave me a little envelope with three diamond shaped blue pills.

Then she accompanied me down the stairs and to the street. She took my tiny frame into her imposing embrace.

"I feel sorry for you, lil Missy," she said. "Please don't lose your precious life over a worthless man. We need you."

She kissed me and we parted.

Now I looked up. My face was splotched with tears and mascara, my mouth must be a dark red smear. Spittle drooled down my chin.

Once more Phil yanked at my hair. He dragged me up across the slick silk until I was over his weak cock again. I took it in my mouth, suckling the head like a baby would suckle a teat. My red-nailed little claws rolled his balls in their sack.

I heard him swallow again. The ice cubes tinkled. Then he groaned and sank on his back. His swollen flesh filled my mouth, but the cock stayed soft.

After a few minutes I stopped sucking. I let the penis flop out of my mouth and looked up. He seemed to have fallen asleep. I crawled to his face and carefully brushed the blonde hair from his brow.

How lovely he looked. So sweet. And all mine.

I snuggled next to him, pushing my body into his. I listened to his slow heart and the soft snore of his breath. My hand rested on his dormant cock.

I closed my eyes.

I don't know what woke me up. I had not really slept, but had wandered around the rolling landscape of hazy half-sleep.

I looked up to see his still-closed eyes. His mouth had opened. His breathing seemed quicker, as was the beating of his heart.

My hand lay wrapped around his wide awake erection. I watched it with amazement. Never had I seen it this tall and fat. And I had certainly never felt it this hard. It throbbed against my palm. The blue pills had done their job well. A steady glow entered the soft flesh of my hand. The mushroom head shone with its inner tension.

It was a dark purple.

I slowly started pumping the rod. I watched a drop of clear moisture well up from the angry slit at the top, each time I pumped. I brought my tongue carefully to the cock and licked up the drops that ran down along the stem.

He groaned. His hips rose from the bed. More pre-cum gushed from the head. It tasted saltier than usual. And there was a lot more of it.

I knelt between his spread thighs. His cock now rested between both of my hands. I licked its crown, then looked up at his face. It was pale. Most of his blood must have gathered into his erection.

"Master," I whispered. "Sweet Master."

His lashes fluttered. He groaned.

"You are dying, sweet Master. But that is all right."

He struggled to open his eyes, it seemed. He also humped his hips against my slowly pumping hands.

"It is all right. I shall always be with you, Master. Your little whore will pleasure you forever, sweet lover."

I sank down and took his shivering crown between my lips. It was so hot that it almost burnt me.

I again looked up. My hands slid down to his swollen balls, kneading them.

"Do I please you, Master?" I murmured. "You are so hot to my touch. You throb inside my mouth, sweet Master."

I rose. I straddled him. And then I sank my wet cunt on the purple head.

"Please, Master. Enter your worthless slut. Fill her with your glorious cock. Stretch her. Use and abuse her. Please, Master."

He was so thick. I was wet and slick, but his new girth pushed against my cuntlips, stretching them further than ever before. I moaned tiny squeals. My little heart raced with delight.

At last I took his head in.

"Master?"

His eyes were open. He tried to talk, but it seemed his tongue had swollen.

"Shhhh, Master. No need to talk anymore. Nevermore. I know your every thought, lover."

He started to scream. It came out like demented, guttural nonsense. I smiled. Then my face contorted. He pushed up and made his cock enter me deeper. God, was he big.

I was so proud of him.

"I am so proud of you, Master. And I thank you humbly for rewarding me with your cock. Never before has stupid little Mary had such a grand cock as this. Ooooooooh..."

By now I felt my inner thighs reach his. He felt hot, consumed by a terrible fever. There was maybe one other inch to go. I felt so gloriously full already.

His screams died down. There was just a gargling rattle now. I was glad he saw the inevitability of my gift to him. No need to torture him, was there?

I sank fully on him, taking in deep gushes of air.

"Yesssss!" I screamed victoriously. I rested my buttock on his thighs. Then I leant forward, cupping his face in my hands.

"Dear, dear Master. I am so thankful. Thankful for your wanting to spend this last time with me. Thankful for making it so special, too."

I reached deeper and kissed his pale lips. I felt his swollen, frenzied tongue plunge into my mouth.

Then I started to fuck him slowly. God, it was so very good. The friction, the stretching. I went faster, leaving his mouth and arching my back. I took his hands and clutched them to my tits.

Then I started to ride him hard.

A soft buzzing entered my head. Hot glowing waves spread from my cunt into every niche of my sweating body. I sobbed by now. I gasped and babbled.

I felt myself float away.

I lost sight of his face. It drowned in the haze that sank over me. I was alone with my Master's cock. It was everywhere. It made me shudder and arch. It made me scream and cry.

The first of several giant orgasms crashed into me. It ran in circles down my spine and up my chest. It came in boiling waves drowning me forever. Waves followed by waves. They expanded my being. I had no borders. I spread into the cosmos. I was All. And I came... came... came.

When I returned from my incredible journey I felt an icy cold invade me. I dreamt I lay stretched on a marble slab of polished stone.

My fingers started exploring.

The coldness was everywhere. I felt shapes and curves. A mouth? A face? So cold and stiff. I shuddered. Then shot upright. I looked down and a new terror washed over me.

"Phil? What happened? Phil?"

He was ice cold between my legs. And inside me. He was still inside me. Hard and cold. I screamed and tried to jump off him. His rigid pole plopped out of me.

I ran to the farthest corner of the room, stumbling in a forest of burnt out candles. I crouched into a fetal ball and sat panting, moaning, my eyes wide open.

Consciousness streamed back in. I remembered why I was here. I had saved Phil. I had saved our love from the claws of the adulterous bitch.

My love would be forever mine.

A cool, new peace invaded me. I rose to my feet and went to the bathroom to take an endless shower and rinse out a glass. Then I wrapped myself in a fluffy robe. I took a bottle of water from the fridge and stabbed the numbers on the lovely designer phone.

There was an admirable sob in my voice when I told the police dispatcher what had happened.

Heart failure is such a treacherous disease, isn't it? And so young, too. Yes, Inspector. Uhm... this is so embarrassing. My husband and I, we were indeed...

Sorry, no, I'll be all right, Inspector...



A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 10



I was in hell. They usually call it Los Angeles. 

I know I have to apologize to the good people of that city. It is not their fault that I got stuck in their damn traffic while my wife was having a baby in one of their damn hospitals. Though it wasn't my fault either that she was doing it in their city and not in mine.

Neither was it my fault that maybe I shouldn't call her my wife any more. Or the baby my child, for that matter.

She had phoned me yesterday. The baby had dropped, as they seem to call it. Her waters could break any moment. It all sounded very scary. To her too — I could hear it in her voice.

I was in the air that same evening. I got off in L.A. later the same night (time change, you know). I had a text message telling me she was in the hospital. The contractions had started. There was not much dilatation yet, though. Well, all right.

I called her. No answer. She must be in labor by then. I hailed a cab. It took me a few tries to get one. It raced me to the first traffic jam.

That's where the real stress set in.

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

Why had I come to L.A? Was it love? Was it responsibility? Or just plain curiosity? I can't tell you, really. But I can tell you one thing: I could not stay away.

Irene had left two weeks before Christmas, half a year ago. They were the worst holidays ever. Kindly enough, it rained most of the time.

I stayed at home. 

The lights, the throngs and everything that makes New York such a wonderful place during the Christmas season seemed to conspire against me. A conspiracy to hurt me. To kick me in the guts and laugh at me. 

I often relived the horrible goodbye we had at the airport. What on earth had made me fuck that up so gloriously? Why did I have to return all the time to the subject of the child and who the father might be? Well, the answer was easy, I guess. It just hurt too much. 

Nevertheless, I went there to tell her I loved her. 

It had taken me a sleepless night to crawl around my ego and admit it. Her short, cold message about leaving town had shocked me into a new and clear realization. I still loved her! Sincerely and truly loved her. It would always be easier for me to be with her than without her.

She may have betrayed me. She may have succumbed to the biggest asshole I know and torn the heart out of her best friend. She may even be pregnant with his child.

But my love for her didn't seem to care. It had dug into me and had grown so many tentacles that tearing it out would have torn out my heart as well.

Who can live without a heart?

So I hurried to the airport to tell her that and ended up whining about the damn child.

The child was beside the point. It was an accident. If she would not have gotten pregnant, I might eventually have forgiven her. 

Might have. 

'Cause I did not believe that she'd been fucking the asshole for months. She had not done it to spite me, or humiliate me. I did not believe what the bastard wrote in his crazy letter. And I did not believe that she had had a longtime sexual relationship with Mary.

I believed, though, that she had fucked Phil gladly. 

She had allowed herself to be swept away by her desire. She had enjoyed it, maybe more than she had ever enjoyed it with me. Certainly more than she'd ever tell me. Oh yes. She had done it all and I am certain her body has often prompted her to do it again. 

But she hasn't. I believe that. 

Then again, she betrayed me twice. She did it again with her decision to keep me in the dark. She guarded her true self against me in order not to betray herself. She robbed me of her intimate self. I felt no love in her sex after what happened at that poolside. There was a lot of very intense sex, but the love seemed to have slipped through my groping fingers. 

I am no fool — I knew it. I just hadn't been able to believe it.

When Mary at last told me, I already knew that Irene was pregnant. The shock and pain of discovering her infidelity linked those two facts forever. The one added to the pain of the other. Until they could not be separated anymore.

I was trapped. We were trapped. And damn, yes, I could not destroy my love for her. 

Elaine. Of course there was Elaine's ghost hovering over all of this. It gloated on the ruins of my love. I could almost hear her chuckle, "Run, little guy, run again. You ran away from me straight into the greedy arms of a new slut. We are all sluts, Eric. Didn't you know, stupid boy? All of us."

Maybe. But Irene is no Elaine.

Irene never planned her tryst. And Irene went into panic mode afterwards. She had to find a way to keep it from me. Maybe to keep me from hurting. Mostly to protect herself, no doubt. (As I said, I am no fool, not anymore.) When she found out she was pregnant, she was as trapped as I was.

Elaine never saw a need for consequences. Irene accepted them all. She left all that was dear to her. She invited punishment. L.A. was her penitence. So was the decision to keep the baby.

My love for her made me feverishly search for reasons to keep us together. In the end I leaned on the scales and made them balance in favor of my love.

But at our goodbyes, I could not hold on to that. I just couldn't seem to stop nursing my big, stupid ego.

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

A week after Irene left, Mary called me. She told me Phil had died. She was very cool about it. I gave her my condolences. She laughed out loud.

"Come on, Eric! Let's not embarrass the bastard posthumously with a flood of crocodile tears."

I was stunned. I asked her what had happened. She said she wanted to see me. I thought it would have been rude to refuse. So I invited her to a small restaurant.

Her new look shocked me.

I am sure all eyes in the restaurant turned in her direction when she entered. At first I did not even recognize her. The stark white face, the dark straight hair. The pitch-black, painted eyes, the blood red mouth. Her sinewy body was wrapped in tight black shining vinyl and stretched lycra. She seemed almost tall in her high-heeled boots. She was Count Dracula's wet dream. 

And she grinned.

"Eric darling! How are you now?"

Her voice sounded hushed, she almost crooned. I stood and she kissed me on the mouth. I turned away. She chuckled.

"No need for that, honey! Aren't we both free people now?"

We sat and she wrapped her clawlike fingers over my hand. Her eyes were wide, her smile too.

"How are you, Eric?"

"I'd better ask you, Mary. What happened? An accident?"

"His heart," she said and smiled at the young waiter.

We ordered.

"His heart? He was as strong as a bull."

"Appearances can fool us, honey. They so often do." 

She nibbled on a piece of bread, looking around the place.

"You seem very, eh...composed, Mary, considering," I said rather lamely. Her attitude puzzled me.

"Don't bullshit me, Eric. You hated the bastard. So did I."

I tasted the red wine the waiter brought. When her glass was filled, she took a huge gulp. A tiny drop ran from the corner of her mouth.

"We had our reasons to hate him, Mary. But he was your husband."

She giggled.

"At last, he is," she crowed. "He'll never betray me again."

Her voice sent icy spider feet down my spine. What had happened to the Mary I knew? The petite cute girl, the sweet and patient friend?

"The asshole died in my arms, you know," she continued. "I guess I wore him out, but I won't brag."

The same gruesome giggle again.

"But!" she cried and sat straight. "This really should be about you, Eric. My problems are solved, what about yours?"

I just stared at her. A thought crawled into my skull. It made me shudder.

"Did you kill him, Mary?"

She never blinked.

"He died, Eric. He is dead and gone. What is it to you?"

I took a sip, just to do something. Here I sat with a crazy murderess. I felt her cool hand tap mine.

"How about the slut, Eric? What are you going to do about her?"

Her voice was almost a whisper. Her eyes bored into mine from their deep dark niches. I took away my hand.

"You scare me, Mary. You really do. It hurt me to see what he and Irene did to you. The cruel way he treated you, but..."

My voice drowned in her laughter.

"Oh yes, Eric, darling! I remember how you were there with me. A shoulder to cry on. All the time consoling me. Helping me through it. Bravely struggling with me against the awful fate that had struck us."

She was crazy. But she was right. I had been so very busy feeling sorry for myself that I had not even thought about her. Not ever.

I reached out, resting a hand on her wrist.

"I am so sorry, Mary. I should have, you are right. But I was drowned in my own pain. I could not see yours. Please forgive me."

She grinned.

"Never worry, honey. Aren't we all human? Well, some maybe more than others, but what the hell. Cheers, Eric! To all the sorry wimps of the earth!"

And she emptied her glass.

"I am not a wimp!" I started.

She shhhhh-ed me with a sweet little smile.

"Of course not, darling Eric. You are just a lovable man. The most lovable man I know who laid himself down twice in front of a steam roller and let himself get run all over. Twice!"

She giggled, enjoying her joke.

"But who am I to condemn you, Eric? I never stopped loving Phil, whatever he did to me. And he did it all, believe me. But he is my own sweet baby now..."

She ran her red nailed fingers over her black shining belly.

"My own sweet baby," she murmured, eyes closed.

Cold sweat burst from my pores. I wanted to run, but could not move. 

"M-Mary," I tried. Her eyes flew open. "I have no intention of hurting Irene."

The eyes flared. Her mouth turned into a blood red line.

"But I do!" she hissed.

That triggered me into action.

I grabbed both her hands. I almost screamed.

"You won't!! Stay away from her, you crazy bitch! Don't even think about it. I'll kill you first!"

I was amazed by the vehemence of my threat. So was she and half the restaurant. A blush tried to struggle its way through her chalky make up. Her mouth trembled.

"Then kill me," she whispered. "The whore won't have his child. The child that should have been mine — my child."

We just glared at each other. Our stares seemed glued together with deep emotion. The world had vanished, there were only eyes. Hateful eyes.

My voice came from afar. It might not even have been mine at all.

"Listen to me carefully, Mary. If you ever get near Irene, I'll know. And I'll come after you. You may think I am a weak wimp. But I warn you, don't try to find out..."

I let go of her wrists. My fingers had left fiery prints on her skin. Her eyes never blinked.

I rose and threw down some money.

Her insane snicker followed me to the door.

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

It was the second week of January that I got a text message from Irene. It consisted only of a phone number. It took me a day to muster the courage to phone. I was almost relieved when she did not pick it up. 

I left a message that I had called.

Her voice shocked me. A voice cuts deeper than a picture, even deeper than a moving image. I can't explain why, but her voice penetrated all the walls of grief and anger that I had erected. It went straight for my heart.

"Hi...how...how are you?" was all I could say.

"I am fine. So is the baby."

The baby. The child. The silence grew.

"Good," I said at last. "Really good to hear."

"You wanted to talk to me?"

"Eh, yes. Are things going well, job and things?"

I felt quite the moron by now.

A tinny chuckle crept through the little cell phone.

"That why you called me, Eric?"

How could I tell her about Mary and not scare her? I should have given it more thought before calling her.

"Is all, ehm...safe and well? No problems? Could I do something to, ehm, help, maybe?"

There was a silence.

"Eric..." Her voice was soft. "I am so sorry I made life so miserable for you. You seem not yourself at all."

My ears caught fire. Goddammit, it was she who cheated on me and I was the one shattered. Stop this, Eric!

I cleared my throat.

"I worry about your safety, Irene. Maybe I shouldn't. Why should I, indeed? But I do."

Silence.

"I am quite safe, Eric. Please don't worry."

Her voice was soft.

"Phil is dead, Irene. Did you know?"

I heard a gasp. So she didn't.

"What happened?"

"Mary told me his heart failed."

"But he is...he was quite young yet. And strong."

"Yes." She should know.

Silence.

"He died in Mary's arms."

Silence.

"Irene? I think she killed him."

"Nooooo..."

"Yes."

"Oh God, Eric. Because of what I did?"

"The child, Irene. I think it is because he gave you the child she could not have."

There was sobbing at the other end. I waited.

"Irene? I am afraid she might come for you."

A sharp intake of breath.

"For me? Here? Why?"

"Because of the child. She said she'd kill you before you'd have it. She told me, Irene."

I hated myself for telling her. Or did I?

"What can I do, Eric? Oh God, I am so sorry for this mess. And now I am scared. Eric?"

I did not know what to say.

"Eric?"

"I can't protect you, Irene. Not as long as you are in Los Angeles and I am here."

"I love you, Eric."

Bile was rising up my throat. I had to cough.

"Why tell me now, Irene?"

The silence was deafening.

"I...I am so afraid, Eric."

"Don't be, Irene. She is in town. I keep an eye on her. Last week I saw her leaving her offices."

"I am so alone, Eric. No one to help me. No one here to talk to. No one!"

"I am sorry for that, Irene." Was I? I guess so.

"What can I do, Eric?"

"Stay there. Stay low. Maybe move from where you're living now. I'll see to Mary."

"I love you, Eric. I am so scared."

I ended the call.

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

The PI found where she lived in no time. It was a brownstone in Harlem. I went to see it. The street had been recently renovated. It looked pretty.

I waited in my car, but after two hours the futility of it became clear to me. I drove off, then returned with a little package. I rang the bell of her apartment. It was on the first floor. No one answered, so I went to the second floor. An elderly woman told me that her neighbor wasn't home often. I asked her if she could give her the package. She agreed and I let her sign a fake paper.

I had to wait for a day. Then she called me.

"What the fuck was that for?" she asked.

"We need to talk some more, Mary, and you made yourself pretty unreachable. You were right about Irene. But she is mine, you hear? Mine!"

"Yeah right, wimp." Her voice was sarcastic. "What are you going to do? Whine her to death?"

I kept my voice steady.

"She's mine. You keep your talons out of this. You hear me?"

"Whine, whine, whine, I hear you, honey," she said and chuckled.

I let it pass.

"I know where you live, Mary. I know where you work. I have you under surveillance."

"Bluffing, darling?" she said.

I was. But did she know?

"Try me," I bluffed.

She grinned.

"Don't worry, Eric. I won't touch the cunt. Yet. But don't make me wait too long, honey."

She cut the connection.

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

When I called Irene, she was all over me.

"Did you get to her? Did you tell her? Will she back off?"

"Yes, Irene, I did. And she promised to back off." 

There was a sigh at the other end.

"But you know, Irene. I don't think her word can be trusted much. She is obsessed, you know. You and sweet Phil turned her into a madwoman."

"Oh God, Eric, what have I done?"

What indeed, I thought. Feeding the snakes, I'd say. Taunting the devil.

"Let's say you fucked up, Irene." 

There was silence. Maybe she cried with her hand over the mouth-piece. I waited.

"You still there?" I inquired after a few minutes.

There were hiccups in her voice.

"Please, Eric. Come to L.A. Please come and help me feel safe."

"I can't do that, Irene."

"Why not, Eric? Please. I love you. Please come."

Her fear was real. But why should I ever again believe the rest was too? 

"Honey," I said. "It really is a bit late to ask me to climb that white stallion and come to the rescue, isn't it?"

"Please believe me. I am so sorry. It was just a fling and I threw everything away. I know! I am a stupid bitch, Eric. And I know I should suffer for it. I do suffer, Eric. Please, believe me. But don't sentence me to death."

Yes, the fear was real. And she did not even throw in the child. She knew better, I guess.

"You are safe, Irene. Don't worry. You'll live and have the baby. I'll take care of Mary."

Another silence. I don't think she believed me. But did she have a choice?

"I found a new apartment here," she said. "I'll get an unlisted number. She won't find me."

"Good girl," I said, hating it at once.

"I am sorry for turning a good man into a cruel one, Eric. Please forgive me."

That was when my eyes started burning.

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

In the following months Mary called me at least once every two weeks. She wanted to know how my plan to 'punish the bitch' was progressing. I think she also just wanted to ridicule me. I told her to go to hell. She asked if she should make reservations for me too.

After the fourth call she said she could not wait any longer. She'd take matters into her own hands. I threatened her, but she just laughed and called me a wimp.

"I hope you won't mind if I borrow your balls, honey," she said. "You seem to have stopped needing them."

And she hung up.

It was April by now. The child was due in the second half of May. Irene said she felt good, but tired easily. Her belly became a burden. She had stopped calling me as often as at first. Maybe her fear was allayed a bit. Anyway, her love seemed less of a driving force to keep in touch with me than her fear had been. 

My God, what made me think that?

Maybe she had found another protector, I mused and savored the pain. Then again, who would fall for a pregnant single woman in her eighth month?

I hated my thoughts. I had pretty much started hating myself.

I took off a week and told Irene I'd fly to Los Angeles. We needed to talk. She seemed surprised. I guess I would have been too, in her position.

Did I expect that she would wait for me at the airport? I'd say I would have hoped, but of course I expected her to. And she was there. She looked awesome. Her body had ballooned, but the balloon was nicely placed on her frame, sticking out proudly and supporting two wonderfully swollen tits. She looked so healthy. Her hair was a thick cloud of color, her skin a blushing cream.

I never hesitated to take her in my arms and kiss her. She cried.

"Oh God," she sobbed. "I thought I'd lost you. You grew so distant. I was so alone."

"Shhhhhh," I said, closing her mouth with mine. "Shhhhh."

She had a nice apartment, not far away from Venice Beach. It was tiny, so I offered to take a hotel. She insisted I stay. There was a bed-couch in her living room. I guess she wanted me around for safety.

After a very nice dinner she asked me to sit and hear her out.

"Why, Irene?"

She kept stirring her coffee. Nervously.

"Why is indeed the question," she said. "There was no why." There was just instant lust and loss of conscience. You see..."

Her fingers strangled her cup.

"As long as I know...eh....knew Phil, I had always had to make a conscious effort to throw up a barrier against his advances. And he never let off. I was attracted to him, physically and mentally, too. That started long before we met, Eric, but it never went away. He can...could be very sweet and persuasive. I had to really work to fence him off."

One single tear lost its grip on her lashes.

"These last years I have grown into a very sensual woman, Eric. You know that. You are even partly responsible for that."




A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 10



I looked up sharply. She raised her hand.

"No, no, Eric! I don't blame you for anything. Please don't think that. But you taught me how great love-wrapped sex can be. You got me hooked on that, Eric. After I met you I got to be a very sexual woman. You taught me, Eric." 

She smiled. I could not.

"Love-wrapped?" I said. "You loved him."

"Oh nooooo...no, no!" she hurried. Her hand covered her mouth. I just held her eyes.

"There are things you don't want to hear, honey," she went on, carefully watching my reactions. "That morning in August my body felt very, very ready. The sun, the nakedness, the anticipation of your arrival...I felt hornier than I had ever felt before. I slept in the warm morning sun, I was in a very erotic half dream..."

I winced at her mentioning the dream. She once more raised her hand.

"Please, Eric. Hear me out."

I shrugged.

"I forgot to raise the barrier, Eric. I let go. I left myself wide open. And it was just great, honey. Too great to refuse."

"I bet," I mumbled. A blush painted her face.

"This is very hard for me, Eric. I am very ashamed about it now. But I must tell you the truth at last. Right then I wasn't ashamed at all. Far from it. I was in heat. I never felt like that before. I feel ashamed that I had never been like that with you, sweetheart. But it is the truth. I was someone else. I was an animal..."

I didn't know where to look.

"Oh God, I am so sorry, Eric." her voice was a mere whisper now.

I stood.

"Are you done torturing me, Irene? I guess I'll go see if I can catch a plane back tomorrow."

She gasped. Her hands were everywhere.

"No! NO, ERIC!! Don't go. Please, hear me out. Please!"

"I've heard enough, Irene. Maybe even a bit more than enough."

She had risen too and pushed against my chest. She yelled.

"ERIC!! WILL YOU FIGHT FOR US?? FOR YOURSELF?? For me, please...?"

I stared down into her flushed face. It is a messy business to hate the one you love.

"Irene," I said, and I took her hands in mine. "You say fight? I have done nothing but fight for us. Let me ask you: have you? Be honest. You cheated on me. You gave Phil what was ours. You needed to have what Phil could give you. What we had was no longer strong enough to tame your lust. I can see that. I might even have forgiven it after wading through a sea of hurt. But it was what you did afterwards."

Her eyes shifted.

"You noticed," she said.

"How could you ever have thought I wouldn't, Irene? What you did to us after your...fling with the bastard was too low for me to forgive. There was no fight, Irene, there was only flight. You weren't even there to fight with me. It almost took my sanity away. You denied yourself to me, you shut me out. You used me as a sex toy...searching, clawing to rip the things out of me you found with asshole."

Her eyes never met mine.

"And the worst of it all...you really expected me not to notice. What kind of insensible oaf did you take me for? What insensible monster are you?"

She cried now, pushing her face into my chest.

"I was...was...s-so af-fraid of lo-osing you, Eric! I had to h-hide! Hide from you. S-sorry, love...so s-sorry..."

Pushing me away to not lose me? Denying her love to save it? Goddammit, where do women buy their logic? I could use a ton of that.

My arms were around her. We were quiet. There were only her sobs. Her huge belly pushed into me. I felt her milky boobs. It felt....disarming.

"I need to think, Irene. Let me go to bed."

She grabbed me tight and looked up with a ruined face.

"Don't leave tomorrow! Promise me!!"

"We'll see tomorrow," I said. 

I tried to peel her off me.

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

Of course I stayed. I may be a heel, but I still have problems leaving a pregnant woman under threat of murder. Call me weak and I'll invite you to eat your shit.

We walked a lot, as far as possible in that city. And as far as her belly allowed. We talked. I never wanted her to tell me more about what happened. But I needed to know why she acted as she did afterwards.

"Why did you not trust me with the truth, Irene?"

We sat on a stone bench facing the ocean. It was like being inside a tourist brochure. Blue sky, blue sea, white beach, tanned flesh. Palm trees, bikini's, skaters.

"I was a fool, Eric."

I shook my head.

"Not good enough, girl."

"I was afraid of losing you."

"Me? Or your life? Security for you and the child?"

She looked away.

"You lied to me, Irene. And then you ran. You put an entire continent between us."

"I felt ashamed. I did not deserve you, honey."

"You never asked me."

There was silence. 

I brushed an escaped curl from her eye.

"I think you fled because you did not trust yourself around Phil."

Her mouth opened in a half-hearted protest. Then she sighed.

Her hands covered her face. The ocean and the voices from the beach invaded our silence. I reached out and touched her belly. I caressed it slowly. It felt warm and round. Something kicked my hand. 

"This is why I didn't take a plane back immediately, Irene. You know that."

Hurt feelings washed her eyes.

"I thought...," she started.

"No." I said. "I stayed because you are stuck. The baby grounds you. You are a sitting duck for crazy Mary. I don't want to see you hurt. Or the child."

She looked crushed. I stood and sat behind her, my arms around her body. She cried softly. Her head leant against my chest. I smelt the sweetness of her hair.

I knew it was over. I guess she did too. 

It hurt.

We sat like that until the sun sank into the ocean. Then we slowly walked home. We slept in her bed, together, just spooning tightly. We would always be close. But never as it had been. Never again.

The next morning I took a plane back to New York. I promised to keep close contact and be back soon. I visited her two more times during the next weeks - as often as I could get away from work.

The last time I saw her she was huge and very tired. Her blood pressure was up a bit, but there was nothing to worry about. Her sister was with her.

I never heard from Mary. I tried to monitor her whereabouts, but I lacked the time and the money to do it well. Irene never felt stalked or threatened.

Then she called me that labor had started.

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

The clinic was lovely. It was set in a park. When the cab at last got there, it was past ten a.m. I rushed inside, almost forgetting my suitcase.

The nurse at the station told me the child had not been born yet. That was quite normal with a firstborn. She asked me if I was the father. I stared at her. Then I nodded and the awkward moment passed. She asked me if I wanted to see Irene. 

Did I?

All the way here I had presumed the baby would already have been born. Did I want to be with her through labor? An age old fear gripped me. The young nurse smiled.

"Is ah...is that allowed?" I asked lamely.

"Of course!" she said. "It happens all the time."

So I had dressed in scrubs. Silly hat and slippers, all of it.

She seemed asleep when I entered. She looked pale. We were alone. I cleared my throat. Her eyes flew open.

"Eric...you are here..." Her voice sounded tired.

I sat down and searched for her hand.

"How are you?"

"Tired," she said, smiling weakly. "Susan arrived yesterday night. She went for a nap. She'll be back shortly."

"It will be all right," I said.

"Yes, doctor."

We chuckled.

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

It took her three more hours until serious labor set in. Susan, her sister had returned. She took over with the natural ease of women. I felt perfectly superfluous. I held Irene's hand, I murmured silly nothings, I cooled her brow. I was rather useless.

And I was in total shock.

Giving birth had always been an abstract phenomenon for me up till then. The sheer earthiness of it blew me away. The brutal truth of basic nature. The bloodiness and the sheer pain. 

The courage, too. Hers, that is.

It was around 2.30 in the afternoon that the baby was born. She was a girl. And the moment the nurse showed her, a sun rose on Irene's exhausted face. Once more the scales tipped to a new and delicate balance.

Ah yes...didn't I tell you? I am black.



A New and Delicate Balance



I stared.

"You never would? Darling, if you persist in feeding me bullshit, let's stop this here and now. You never BUT lied to me. As far as I know our whole marriage was one big lie!"

My voice had risen, even when I did not want it to. People turned and looked. I slumped back in my chair.

Elaine's lips trembled now. She was close to tears.

"Honey," she whispered. "I may never have told you what I did. And I may have told white lies about where I was or wasn't. But I have always loved you and still do. I have always taken all the care in the world not to hurt you with what I did. I never betrayed our love."

Once more I marvelled at her logic.

"I just wonder, darling, what you mean with that pretty word. Love. You seem to have it parked somewhere inside you, out of harms way."

I guess I confused her.

"You should not mock me, Eric. My love for you is real."

I sighed and threw my hands up.

"Goddammit, Elaine! Who are you? How on earth can you say that and not feel sorry that you are fucking that same love all over? Not once, but on and on. You don't even understand that it hurts and betrays and kills all the love I ever had for you!"

She winced. Her eyes widened.

"No, Eric! No! I love you, I always will. Only you. You must love me. It was nothing! Can't you see that? Look at me. I am a wreck. I could not sleep or eat or work all week. I miss you, honey. I feel so very aloooone..."

Her voice broke and the last word dragged until it was a mere whisper. She looked utterly defeated. But I only saw her painted toenails dangling over a man's shoulders. I only heard her obscene words while her body arched.

I stood.

"Sorry, Elaine. You killed that love. There is nothing left. I guess we should find new ways to survive."

The horror on her face was genuine. She rose too. She took two steps in my direction, but I avoided her on my way out.