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Benedict and Veronica Horton

By: Matt Moreau



Benedict, Ben or Benny, Horton, Veronica, or Ronnie, Horton nee Parker: that's us. Both aged forty. Married going on fourteen years I guess. Happy? She is, I'm not, and for damn good reason: she's been cheating on me. And, not just cheating on me, but serial cheating on me, with at least four different men including my boss, and that for at least the last thirteen years; she admits to that long. And, I just found out about it today. Fuck! How did I find out? Well, that's the story, at least the biggest part of the story. 

But, to really understand the situation the way it needs to be understood, you have to understand our history: Veronica's and mine. To do that we've gotta go back to the beginning. We have to go back to our last days in high school.

******

"Veronica Parker, you are not just pretty tonight. You are flat gorgeous," I said. "I mean flat gorgeous!" There had never been an example of sincerity to equal my current one.

Oh yeah, me? Eighteen years old, about to grad high school, an intellectual giant, and a social pariah. Five-six, a bit on the chubby side, singularly plain looking if not actually ugly: not much for the girls to love, I guess. But, at least no acne thank god! Anyway, now, at the end of my high school career, I would be graduating with honors, with a scholarship and—and it's a big and—my date for tonight's prom is the most beautiful seventeen year-old girl in the world: Veronica Parker.

"Of course," she said pirouetting in front of me. "You think I might get a few offers to dance from other boys tonight?" I was already thinking bad thoughts, but I had a plan—didn't I?

"A few offers? It's gonna be all I can do to defend your honor. Heck, I might have to fight Gilford over you. You know how he is," I said. I was smiling, but I was not kidding. Roger Gilford was my worst enemy; he was also her longtime boyfriend, or, had been. He was my worst enemy because he was jealous that I had won the bet and that figured to be a small problem. The bet was that I wouldn't be able to get Ronnie to go out with me. Of course I had cheated a little: I'd blackmailed Ronnie into it.

Veronica was not a military genius, and, more specifically, she wasn't a genius at writing term papers: especially term papers in Physics, and well, I was. She'd begged me for weeks to help her, and, to prep her for the final; and I'd finally said okay, but there'd be a price. She had to go to the prom with me.

She'd balked at first, but then she'd had a thought, and I knew it. Her idea was that she could get a little revenge on good 'ole Roger for having cheated on her with Pamela Mason. And, she figured, and probably rightly, that Roger would see it as her trading up, i.e., the school brainiac over the school jock. Well, I could dream, right? At any rate Veronica was going with me, and I was never more thrilled. The best looking girl in the school, and maybe even the state, was going with me. And, I had plans: spare no expense, make my case for a second date, and prove my worth to her as a potential significant other—long term potential significant other. Well, those were my plans, and I'd prepped them.

Arriving at the country club, The La Dolce Vita, where the prom was to be held; we were greeted by all of the A-listers that a girl like Veronica had in her train. Most of them had never spoken to me, or, if they had, whatever they'd said had arrogance and sarcasm mixed in with the message. I did get a bit of respect on this night, however, I'd been selected as class valedictorian, and that did carry some weight with the student body even among the mostly intellectually bereft of the social set; hey, maybe especially with them. They may have been collectively dumb, but they all knew that adulthood waited menacingly just around the corner, and most of them feared it—I didn't because I knew beyond the vaguest shadow of a doubt that I was going to succeed. Add to that that I was sure damn few of them would. Oh yes, it was my turn to be confident if not actually arrogant, and I had plans for the night.

I was at the punch bowl, getting my date and I some of the not yet tampered with elixir when I sensed a presence looming over my shoulder. "Hey, shorty, you need to rethink whatever you have planned for after the prom. I'll be taking Ronnie to the parties, not you," said Roger. I turned: Jesus! he was big.

"Hmm, well, we'll just let Ronnie make that decision. Uh—not you," I said, very casually. "You lost the bet, Roger, try and live with your grief."

"The bet was for the prom, but not the parties, and I am claiming my girl back by night's end. Actually, I may do it even before then," he said.

"We'll see," I said. I was acting far more confident than I felt.

Ronnie and I were sitting with a group of her friends and one or two of mine. We'd danced three times: two slow and one fast. She was the same height as me, at five-six, but with her heels on, she did seem to tower over me. It bothered me a little, but I was dealing with it.

I had just turned to speak with Jill Capshaw, one of Ronnie's friends, who'd asked me a question, when he came up to us. 

"Have this dance, Ron?" said Roger. It was a slow dance. She looked at me, smiled, and let him lead her out onto the floor. For the next two hours I got in exactly one more dance with her as Roger and his entourage of jocks and hangers-on dominated her dance card. In between dances, I saw her and spoke with her for maybe a total of five or ten minutes worth. Then it was time for the last dance of the evening. She danced it with him.

I tried to catch up with her at the end of the dance, but I was blocked in that attempt by several very large bozos no doubt on orders from their master. I heard later that she did indeed go to the all-nighters with Roger. And, she did it without so much as a word to me. I wonder if she even gave a flying fuck about my feelings on the matter. I decided that she didn't. Well, as Robert burns once said, "so much for the well laid plans of mice and men," or something like that.

I couldn't really complain. I knew she was his girl, had been since the ninth grade. And, I knew she was only out with me because she wanted revenge, and I guess I seemed a useful tool to that end. But all of that said, I still felt sick to my stomach about not even getting a polite goodbye-if-I-never-see-you-again-hello from her. Beautiful she was, but clearly a decent person she was not.

Graduation was three weeks later, and I did my turn at the lectern and did it well. Oh, I saw her in the audience, grad cap on, and looking ever so much like one of the masses condemned forever to a life of quiet desperation. She waved to me and blew me a kiss when I came off the stage after having gotten my diploma. I made a point of scowling and turning away from her. Jill Capshaw stopped me as I headed for my mom and the small group of friends that had come to cheer me on.

"Hi Ben. You okay?" said Jill. I looked her askance.

"Yes. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" I said. I wasn't being nasty or sarcastic, but maybe my look said more than my tone or my words. Apparently that was the case.

"You actually look angry," she said.

"What?" I said.

"When your girlfriend blew you a kiss, you sent her a look that would kill small game," she said.

"Girlfriend? What girlfriend?" I said. Okay, like I said, I'd seen Veronica throw me a kiss, but I read nothing into it. Certainly not that she was interested in being my girlfriend.

"You know very well what girlfriend—Veronica. She asked me to ask you if you would talk to her," said Jill.

"Tell her not a chance. I haven't forgotten what she did to me on prom night, probably never will," I said. And I stalked off and away from her.

That was the end of my in-my-dreams romance with Veronica Parker; or, so I thought. I was to be proved more than wrong. Oh, if I'd only known then what I knew now.

******

I felt fortunate, so did my mom, who'd been single since my dad had died on the job at the Cheese processing plant when I was ten. She'd been hard pressed to pay the bills, but somehow she'd managed until now. My graduation as valedictorian and my scholarship were as much for her as they were for me, at least on some level. 

The Badgers of the University of Wisconsin had selected me as a recipient of a full ride scholarship. And, being a member of Mensa, as I was, I had accepted their selection and had begun the journey that would eventually end in an MBA in Business Administration, specializing in employee and customer relations. I had dreams of being the best in my field at some very big store—say Boeing or maybe Atlantic Richfield. Yes indeed, fortunate was the word.

My not so secret love, and not a member of Mensa, Veronica, was also accepted to UW. But, alas, her high school two-point-five GPA, and her marginal SAT scores did not support a scholarship bid. But, she was there, and also in the Business school. What luck right? Not.

The Milton F. Hauser building housed, among others, the Personnel Development classes of the school of Business Administration. The basement of the building is home to Badger Sett, a smallish café, seating for maybe fifty. The BS was the primary, "during the day," hangout for students like me. The loose meat sandwiches were pretty good, and the background elevator music was more to my taste than was the modern stuff in some of the other campus fooderies. I was listening to a piece by Pierre Bachelet: Emmanuelle. Knew it well; I was more than certain no one else in the school of Biz did.

I was buried in my text when I heard laughing and general verbal bedlam in the booth behind me. 

"You went to your high school prom with some mister nerdy?" said a voice I didn't recognize. A gaggle of geese were giggling and guffawing, apparently at somebody's expense in the booth behind me!

"Yes, and I shouldn't have. Roger played me and got me to go to the parties with him afterward. I kinda abandoned the poor guy, I mean Benny," said a voice I did recognize. "I felt like shit doing it to him, but Roger and I..." My stomach was almost instantaneously in rebellion when I realized that I was the butt of their laughter.

I'd heard enough. I got up and came around to them. "Good afternoon Veronica," I said. "A mister nerdy am I? Well, maybe so. But, I'm not some poor nobody deserving of your contempt, or of the insults that you and your kind," I gestured at the group of geese around the table, "are heaping on me behind my back. Actually, you have my sympathy. People low class enough to say things, like you and your friends are saying about me, are definitely worthy of pity. Have a nice day." I stalked off leaving the five of them with their mouths hanging open. I felt good—I think. I certainly felt as though I'd gotten my licks in. I wouldn't be seeing Veronica again, I was pretty sure of that. Of course, I was wrong again and that on several levels. 

I actually saw her, more or less at a distance, several times a week. She had classes in the Hauser. A couple of times I had the feeling that she wanted to say something to me, probably apologize for talking about me behind my back, but as for that I wasn't sure; she never actually tried to say anything to me per se. But, even that changed a couple of weeks after my encounter with her at the BS, sort of.

I was coming out of my dorm. It was getting dark, and I was on my way to the Pizzeria a couple of blocks away.

"Hey asshole, you insulted my girl," said a voice from the shadows. The voice belonged to Roger Gilford; I recognized it immediately. I turned to say something intelligent, and I was met by a typhoon of mayhem. I never had a chance. I wouldn't have had anyway. I was still five-six and a hundred-sixty kind of out of shape pounds. Roger, on the other hand, was six-three, an understated two-hundred and twenty pounds of steel hard muscle and sinew, and he was most definitely not out of shape. He cleaned my clock and left me bloody and very messed up. I heard him laughing as he walked off and left me there.

The ER pronounced me alive, but I figured that was only a technical thing and likely only temporary—very temporary—or so I reasoned in view of the pain I was in. Two days later I was surprised to be given my walking papers.

"No broken bones. Sorry about the tooth mister Horton. If you sue the guy, maybe you can get him to pay to replace it," she said.

"Thanks doctor." I said. She nodded. 

"I'd stay off my feet at least for a few days though, mister Horton," she said. "You don't have any broken bones, but you do have a mild concussion, and some fairly severe bruising.

"Okay," I said.

"Oh, and Mister Horton, the police are here to see you," she said.

I gave the police my statement. They told me, that since there were no witnesses, that it would be my word against his. I could bring a lawsuit against the guy, but the pudding would have to be proven by me. I thanked them for their time and slowly, very slowly, made my way home.

Mom nursed me and fiddled and fussed over me the following week. My profs were informed of the attack and of my physical state; I was given a deal of academic slack until I was able to return to class. And then, on Saturday, I had a visitor at the house. You had to know who it was.

"Benny, some young lady is here to see you," said Mom. My intuition told me who it was. I figured she was there to see if I would be amenable to not suing the asshole. If that was it, I told myself, I would sue for sure even if there was little chance of proving my case.

I was sitting out on the patio at the umbrella table sipping an ice tea when she came out. She was new car beautiful, no surprise there. And, she belonged to the guy who had put me in the hospital for objecting to her dissing me behind my back. Talk about situations.

"Hi," she said.

"What can I do for you, Veronica?" I said, and no it was not my friendliest tone.

"May I sit?" she said. Her voice was soft, very much on the quiet side. I guessed she figured that arrogant wasn't going to fly on this particular day. I gave her a noncommittal nod to go ahead and sit. 

"I'd say I was sorry, Ben, but that would be so inadequate that I won't waste your time. I know he did it to you. He didn't even try to deny it. In fact he kind of bragged about it. I guess he thought he was defending my honor or something," she said.

"Your honor? How about my honor? You know the one you were trashing to your friends," I said. She looked down.

"I guess this was a mistake," she said, and got up to go. I said nothing.

"Fuck yeah, it was a mistake," I said, finally..

She stopped just before going into the house to leave. She turned and looked at me. "Benny, would you like to—I mean would you go out with me?" she blurted. I stared at her for a long minute. I couldn't believe the gall.

"Go out with you? What are you talking about?" I said. "After all of the things you said about me, let alone what your lover boy did to me!" She started to leave again, but stopped again, and turned. She took a step toward me.

"I want to make it up to you, all of the things that I've done to you. The prom, me dissing you, my ex-boyfriend beating you up: I want to make it all up to you if you'll let me. I'm told I'm a fun date," she said. She tried to smile, but failed in the main.

"Ex-boyfriend?" I said.

"Yes. I kicked him to the curb after what he did to you. That was unconscionable, and totally not what I would ever have wanted or approved of," she said.

She'd floored me. I remembered two things about the prom. One, it started out as the most exciting night of my life, that even knowing that it was likely a onetime thing in spite of my plans. And, it ended being one of the worst nights of my life. That said, she was my secret fantasy and had been forever, or so it seemed.

"A date with me? A makeup date?" I said.

"Yes," she said. "Benny, I was a shit two weeks ago. You've never been anything but nice to me, and helpful. I owe you," she said. I'd been leaning toward going out with her; but, she'd just said the one thing that put the kibosh on it. I didn't want her doing me favors because she owed me. If she didn't like me for me, like going out with me; then, there could only be one answer.

"No," I said. "You don't owe me anything. We all make mistakes. Just let it be. Please just let yourself out; I still have a little trouble getting up and down," I said. I think she started crying.

"Okay, Benny, but the offer is open, no expiration date," she said, and then she was gone. 

She felt like shit? I felt like shit! I wanted her in the worst way; and yeah, I knew every other guy in the place did too. But, I also didn't need the pity thing, not even. I had some pride for goodnesssakes, not much but some!

I did get the tooth replaced—at my own expense. I didn't sue Roger. And no, I have no real good reason as to why I didn't. I guess the bottom line was that I didn't want to fool with the lawyers and maybe lose or come out of it with a less than a satisfactory result. And I was, quite frankly, too damn busy! Anyway, I'm a firm believer in the truism that what goes around comes around. He'd get his; I just had to hope I'd be there holding coat of whoever nailed him.

******

College except for the few little bumps in the road already alluded to had been good. I walked the stage, after four years receiving my B.A. and my MBA on the same day. Veronica still had to make up one semester in spite of a herculean effort on her part to grad on time. And no, I wasn't keeping track of her. She'd come up to me on my grad day and told me. Took me to dinner the following night too; and yes, I did accommodate her—well, I did have two college degrees; my feelings of self-worth had been considerably enhanced. And, it was only dinner and a onetime never to be repeated thing anyway; so I went. I was curious.

We said our goodbyes and I headed off to begin my new career. 

I'd been hired even before I graduated. I was in the sales division of Mercury Software. I was a high end peddler of some very expensive computer business systems that only the most sophisticated users would be interested in. The upshot was that, after a year in the trenches, I got paid accordingly. My boss, mister Watson, VP of sales, appreciated my talents and work ethic and rewarded me accordingly. Twenty-four years old and pulling down, when bonuses were included, $100,000 annual. I was feelin' good. Oh yeah. My first year with Mercury had been excellent. The learning curve had been ninety degrees to the plane, but I was a fast learner, and, as it turned out, a good salesman. Actually I was the company's number one salesman. It was just after Memorial Day that an opportunity, that had been totally unexpected, came my way.

I was just finishing up a lunch meeting with Greg Albright, president of Western Systems: a company mainly involved with security stuff for high-rise office buildings, and the like. He liked our product line, and he'd signed on. I was feelin' fine-fine super fine.

"Got a party to go to tonight, Ben, you wanna come?" he said. 

"A party?" I said. 

"Well, actually it's a party, but there's also a ballroom dance competition in the early evening. It's a hobby of mine. It's how I blow off steam after a long day in the trenches. Anyway, if you're interested, here's the address," he said. He pulled out a small pad and jotted down the particulars. "My private cell number's on there too."

"Well, thanks, Greg, I just might do that," I said. And, I did do that, and it changed my life—and complicated it.

*******

Everybody was dressed to the nines; heck, the ladies were dressed to the tens! Now, I can dance, or thought that I could, but not like these people. I did however, after the competition, get a few rounds in with a couple of ladies that tweaked my fancy, and who seemed to be not all that embarrassed at my relative ineptitude as a hoofer. One such lady, Barbara Hillings in particular seemed interesting. We'd just taken our seats, after a round of Fox Trotting, when Barbara looked over at me and smiled.


Benedict and Veronica Horton



"Tell me, Ben, are you involved with anyone?" she said.

"Involved? Uh—no," I said. "No time for that kind of thing." 

"Really, well at least one female here seems to wish that you were—I mean with her," said Barbara.

"Not real likely, Barb, I don't know anybody here, and I'm realist enough to know that I'm not exactly a prize. You, Marsha, and Gladys have been nice enough to show me some mercy on the dance floor tonight; I mean by dancing with me, but I'm way too savvy to read anything more into it," I said. She laughed.

"Don't sell yourself short, bub. You're not by any means chopped liver, and you have potential as a dancer. But, I'm referring to her," she said, nodding her head toward something behind me. I turned to look, and I know for a blood mortal fact that stunned surprise was painted all over my face.

"Veronica!" I squeaked, as she approached our table.

"Hi, I'm Veronica," said Veronica, ignoring me while introducing herself to Barbara.

"Barbara," said Barbara. "Nice to meet you."

"Same here," said Veronica.

"Wait—wait," I said. "Ronnie, what are you doing here?" I said.

"Well Bennie, I like to dance, and I come here fairly often, actually. I'm not sure you'd call it my hangout, but, for lack of a better term, it's my hangout," she said.

"Really," I said.

"Obviously, you two know each other pretty well," said Barbara. 

"Oh—sorry—Barb. Uh—yes we have kind of a history. Went to the same schools at the same time and stuff," I said.

"Well, to paraphrase you, Ben—really?" said Barbara.

"Uh—I mean yes," I said. 

"What Bennie means to say..." started Veronica.

"Never mind," said Barbara. "Veronica, Ben, you two clearly have something to say to each other. I think I'll just mosey on around and hunt me down one or another of my partners in crime. 

"Call me, Ben. When you get a chance," said Barbara.

"Uh—yes—depend on it," I said. And my new friend Barbara Hillings was gone. Veronica Parker took the seat next to me.

"Was she right, Bennie?" said Veronica. I could feel her leg pressing into mine. My junior sized johnson was responding predictably.

"Right?" I said.

"Do we have something to say to each other?" she said. I shrugged.

"Don't know what?' I said.

"Well, how about you have a little mercy on this girl and ask me out," she said. Boy was this a full court press or what, I thought.

I stared at her for a moment. Did I want to take the chance of getting burned, beat up, humiliated, whatever again? Yes, we'd had that one dinner after my grad from college, but somehow that didn't seem the same thing. That night, I'd figured I'd be safe because the next day I'd be gone and she'd still be at UW. But this was different. "What are you doing Saturday night, Veronica Parker," I said, throwing caution to the winds.

"Well let me think, Benny Horton," she said, smirking like a nymph that was trying to fake playing hard to get. "I'm sorry, but I think I have a date this Saturday. Some nerdy guy—uh—Benny's his name."

"Yeah, I know the guy. Tall, dark, handsome? Right?" I said.

"No actually: short, light skinned, brilliant. Handsome? Hmm, let's just say not ugly," she said. Nothing like telling it like it is, I thought. .

"Anyway, a date? You and me? I won't get beat up or abandoned?" I said. 

"Yes a date, and absolutely not those other things!" she said.

"Okay, the nerds are us bus will pick you up at seven," I said. She scowled at my reference to nerdists.

******

I arrived at her place, a small single story ranchstyle condo on the outskirts of town right on time. I parked, went to her door and rang. I stood there holding a small bouquet; I was dressed to go out on the town.

She answered the door, and she took my breath away. The high heels and the teddy she was dressed in left me almost speechless, but I did recover.

"I thought we were going to dinner," I said. "I mean..."

"We are, but after I have proved to you my abilities as a female," she said. I swallowed.

"Okay," I squeaked. God, was I pussywhipped or what.

The manhattans were already poured. I guess she'd been pretty sure that I wouldn't be late. Hell, I wondered if any boy had ever dared be late for a date with her.

She watched me as I sipped my drink with a little more gusto than might have been the case under ordinary circumstances.

"Nervous?" she said. Clearly she wasn't.

"I—I—I don't know. Maybe," I said.

"Don't be. I'm going to let you fuck me, and we, the both of us are going to enjoy the heck out of it, and then I am going to get dressed and we are going to go out on the town," she said. I could feel my face flushing as she talked, and I was sure she was doing her level best to stifle a giggle at my distress.

"Okay," I said. I was still squeaking.

We didn't hurry and the manhattans helped: at any rate they sure did me. She was being—what—patient. As I threw back the last drop of the tasty cocktail, she stood, came to me, and offered me her hand. I let her guide me to my feet. 

"Come on, little man, let's see what you've got," she said. I frowned at her little man remark, but for damn sure this was not the moment to be overly sensitive about my size.

"I'm comin'," I said. We headed for a short hall where three doors, one at the far end and where the two others faced each other at the front. We walked the extra ten feet to the one at the end. She went in and I followed.

It was largish and very nicely appointed. Maybe twenty-foot square. What I estimated was a queen sized bed was off set a little to the left, it was the room main feature. There was the inevitable vanity flanked by drawers. There was a complex headboard behind the bed where various electrical things were cloistered. The door to the adjoining bathroom was open as the door to what I assumed was the walkin closet was not. I was a woman's room, and more, it was he room. 

It was clear to me that miss Parker might not have been the greatest student who ever lived, but she was not poor. I learned later that she was a trust fund child. She dropped my hand which she had held for the entire walk to the room and went and stood by the bed facing me.

"Strip," she said. She was clearly going to be taking charge of events. I nodded.

Apparently, I was a little slow for her however, and she took on an impatient look. "Well, hurry up," she said. "I need a good screwing and patience is not one of my virtues." I speeded up the process and stood waiting for instructions. Jesus! what a wimp I was. It was no wonder that women didn't exactly flock to my door.

She came to me and looked down obviously appraising my equipment. "Hmm," she said. "Not real big, but judging by the veins and the purple of the head, probably serviceable." Now, I had to say something, wimp or not.

"Jesus! Veronica, You got any more put downs for me. If so let's get 'em out of the way now, so we can get down to business," I said. I'd finally grown some balls. She flashed me a smirk. 

"Sensitive are we? Well, sorry if I upset you. But, if we're going to continue this relationship, I don't want to have to be faking it or lying to you about things that mean anything for the entire time we're married," she said. To say that her words floored me, stunned me, flabbergasted me, would have been an understatement of heroic proportions.

"What?" I said. Suddenly I was on cloud nine, and not even sure I hadn't actually died and gone to heaven. She smiled.

"We'll talk later little man, my little man, but for the moment I want you on your knees, lifting my teddy, pulling down my panties, and staring at your altar. Do you think you can manage that?" she said. A nanosecond later, naked and on my knees, I did exactly as she had directed. And an altar for me it was. God almighty was she beautiful.

A pubis barren of a single hair, dew oozing from the slit between the folds of her labia: she was Aphrodite personified. She was clearly already hot to trot—well—about half as hot to trot as I was!

I leaned in to kiss her secret place. I began licking her, then sucking her, then, burying my face in her. She pushed me gently away. She turned.

"Now my anus," she said. I obeyed without the slightest delay. She mooed and shivered as I licked the little brown button between her ass cheeks. Stopping me with a little shove, she returned to the bed and leaned forward over it, butt pushed back, legs spread wide. She still wore the teddy and the heels, but the flimsy panties had been shed.

"You are so incredible, so very damn incredible," I said.

She looked back toward where I still knelt. "Well, if I'm so incredible," she said, giggling, "then get over her and screw me."

I rose to do that which I had dreamed off forever. I stood behind her and fingered her for a moment or two; then, sucked her nectar from my fingertips. I leaned into her, pressing my dick as deep inside of her as I could. She seemed loose, which was both a good and bad thing. Good because entry was easy, bad because I knew she might not be able to get off from my efforts. But, nothing was going to stop me now. Buried in her, I began seesawing back and forth. I Lasted maybe three or four minutes before I erupted inside of her painting the walls of her vagina white.

Pulling out, I pushed her onto the bed and rolled half on top of her. I began kissing her and feeling her up, and a few minutes later I was hard again, and I took her missionary. I think I whispered that I loved her fifty times while I screwed her. She said nothing, just closed her eyes and let me do her. Finally, I came again; though this time it took longer. Her eyes opened as I shrank from her.

"Now, I know what you've got," she said. "I will need to train you some, but, you have potential." Not wanting to be argumentative at this moment of moments in my life, I kept my mouth shut.

******

We cuddled for a little bit after our second go 'round, and then she rolled out of bed and headed for the shower. As she opened the bathroom door to go in, she looked back at me. "Well, get dressed," she said. "We're going out." I gave her and "are you serious" look, but by then the door was closing and I was left to get dressed.

The date was good. Real good. She reiterated her marriage proposal, and I, being the gentleman that I was. Got down on my knees in the restaurant and, pro forma, begged her to marry me. And, she, being the merciful princess that she was, allowed that she would so honor me. We continued to date of course, and seven and a half months later we were married in a small church affair paid for by her parents. It was, I hoped, a good beginning.

******

Years one through thirteen of our lives together were wonderful. I had to pinch myself every day to make myself realize how lucky I was. Veronica Parker was all mine. Children had not been in the cards for us, she'd turned out to be not exactly barren, as she told me; but pregnancy at best was a long shot. A disappointment, but the way I figured it, nobody got everything he or she wanted. She apparently felt the same way. We got on with our lives.

It was near the end of year two of my career at Mercury, and year one of our marriage, that things happened that would lead in the long run to marital disaster. I just didn't know it at the time.

The sex during that first year had been all but legendary. The cuddling at night was reassuring and protective of a very insecure husband's psyche. I had a keeper in Veronica; I knew it, and I thanked God for it.

It'd been some night. We'd just finished burning calories big time. "Good for you?" she said. She was naked and lying legs slightly parted with cum dripping from her slit as we both tried to catch our breath.

"Oh yeah," I said. "More than good." I sensed her smiling. I rolled onto my side and kissed her beautiful breast. I took the nipple in my mouth and sucked like a hungry child. She giggled. 

"Silly man, that tickles," she said, pushing my mouth away. I faked a frown.

"Food from the mouth of your baby boy?" I whined. 

"If you need nourishment, honey buns, get down there and do your duty," she said, giggling even louder than she had been. I slid down her body and began lapping at her pussy and enjoying my own cream pie for all I was worth. I needed her pussy right then, but after twice draining everything I had from my ball sac, I was reduced to using my tongue to get her off.

I felt her shudder; I knew she'd finally made it. We were quiet for some little time after that. She broke the silence.

"Bennie?" she said.

"Yes, dear heart?" I said.

"I want to go to work. I mean I want to get a job. I mean I am college educated—finally. I want to do something—useful," she said.

"Work? A job? You sure, honey girl? I mean you don't have to. We're doing all right the way things are right now; we don't need the money," I said.

"No, no. You do fine; we do fine. It's not about the money though I guess one can never really have enough of that. No, it's me. I just want to do more than keep house and do laundry," she said. "I'm almost twenty-six years old and feeling kinda—something."

"Well, okay. Any idea what you'd like to do?" I said.

"Well, at your company barbecue last week I heard that your Mercury was looking to hire a couple of office assistants. Any chance I could get a job where you work?" she said.

"I can ask," I said. "Yes, that might be a good thing. I do have a contact or two in HRO that might work out. I'll check it out on Monday. Okay?" She put her arms around me and hugged me tight.

"Thank you, honey, you're the best," she said. For some reason, actually no reason, I felt a little uneasy about her wanting to go to work; but I saw no way to gracefully tell her no. She was an adult, and her own person; I had no real choice.

I did get her the job, and in fact, I got her "the" job. She was now my boss' assistant.

Regardless, once she started working, far from it impacting our sex lives in any negative way, it enhanced it—markedly!

She was happy, I was happy, and I was certain that in a short time my boss would be happy with his choice of assistants. What I didn't know for a long time was just exactly how happy Veronica was going to make him. 

Veronica's first months on the job were pretty routine. But, after maybe six or eight months I did notice that she had occasional late night meetings and work sessions with our mutual boss and others of the high command. But, I had to let my discomfiture slide. I had meetings too, and occasional late night planning sessions were mandatory: it was part of the culture, if that's the right term for it.

******

"No clue?" said Mark Watson?" He was looking her straight in the eyes as she lay beside him naked and sweaty and satisfied.

"No, he's clueless, and I want to keep it that way," said Veronica. "I love the guy, but he would probably not be real happy with our little secret."

"No, I would not suppose so. And you can add to that, that I don't want to risk losing him as a rep either. Do you know that he's slated to receive an award at the annual Christmas bash next month? That comes from the big boss upstairs. Your little man has been noticed. He's outsold any three other guys on the payroll, and I mean by a lot. No, he must not become privy to the fact that he's a cuckold. That would not be good," said Mark. She nodded and took on a pensive look.

"Are you going to offer him the promotion you promised me?" she said.

"Assistant VP?" He scowled. Yes, I guess so, that along with the award he's going to be getting. But, that one, the promotion, he owes to you," he said. She giggled. "Look, Veronica, I'm doing this because of you; but if he fucks up..." 

"He won't. He's gonna be the best. You know it and I know it," she said. "He may be a mediocrity in bed, but he's a barnburner out there in the workaday world."

"Hmm, you may know it. But, I'm only at the hoping stage right now. Grimes will be all over my ass if he doesn't perform. The assistant VPship is a whole different gig than selling merchandise, a whole different gig, believe it!" he said.

"He'll perform; I know he will," she said, again.

"He has to, his base salary will increase by half, and he'll be getting a share of all of his team's bonuses; I mean if he can motivate them to perform at the required level. Actually, there'd be no real limit to what he could make in the new position," said Mark, "if he performs!"

"All that money, and all because I have the twat you want and need so badly, as you say," said Veronica. She laughed outright now. He ignored her laughter.

"Well, I look at it this way. He gets rewarded for the good job he does, and you get rewarded for the good job you do. Which, by the way, I would more than like to see you demonstrate like say—now," he said.

She rolled on top of him and kissed him passionately on his lips, his eyes, his ears, his forehead. She slid down his torso and paused gazing down at the oversized cock. "Nice one," she said. Taking hold of it, she engulfed the glans with her mouth and slowly sucked him to rock hardness once more. She felt him stiffen but short-shanked his orgasm by squeezing hard on the base of his shaft. 

Sliding up his body, she sat on him, impaling herself and waiting for him to begin bucking and screwing her. He immediately accommodated her. Some few minutes of riding him brought forth a scream from the depths of her as she endured a shattering climax.

"Jesus! that was good," she said, falling off of him and landing once again on her back.

"If only Bennie could do that to me," she said.

"I'm just glad that he can't," said Mark. "If he could, you might not be here." She smiled indulgently at him. 

"So long as you keep your promises, you can have me almost anytime you want," she said. "Mark, I may be a cheating whore, but I care about my man; and I aim to see him get what he is worth."

"No problem on this end," he said. "I'm just glad you married a winner, and I just hope he stays a winner. If he wasn't any good, you'd still be able to, shall we say, help him—probably. I mean with your pussy; but maybe not quite as much." Now he was laughing. 

******

She smiled up at him and squeezed his hand hard. "I am so proud of you," said Veronica.

"Thanks, honey, it means a lot. I think that there might be an extra bonus check in our stocking this Christmas," said Benny. "I've heard rumors."

"Well, you deserve one regardless," she said.

"And now, ladies and gentleman, put your hands together for our well-loved CEO mister James Grimes," said Mark Watson. The room filled with applause as the man approached the lectern.

"Ladies and gentleman, first I want to say merry Christmas to all of you here," said the CEO. "Together, all of us have contributed to a very fine year at Mercury. A good year was, I must say, expected. With the team we have, oh yes, expected is the word. Still, expected or not there were some surprises. One such surprise, and frankly a very nice one, came in the person of one of you.

"He is a young man, very young, but has made believers of all of us. Benjamin Horton will you please come up here on the dais," said Mister Grimes. I was surprised, and I am sure my face showed it. Veronica was in danger of hurting herself she was clapping so hard. I made my way up to the stage.

"Son, I want to congratulate you on being the number one sales rep for this firm this past year. And, in recognition thereof, I wish to present you with this token of our appreciation for all of your hard work." He handed me a plaque.

I didn't know what to say, but I shook his hand, thanked him, and slowly made my way back to our table. The applause was something else. My progress back to our table was slow because I was stopped continually to accept congrats from my peers.

"Congratulations, honey," said Veronica, as I was finally able to make my way back. I took my seat. My surprise had been total, but I was able to collect my wits before I actually began stuttering.




Benedict and Veronica Horton



"Thanks, babe. I know I couldn't have done it without you," I said. She gave me a funny look that almost caused me to ask if there was something wrong. But, I didn't. This was my night to shine.

A few more, all executives, received accolades and plaques similar to the one I'd been given. Then came the Christmas bonuses delivered by the division chiefs, mine by my boss Mark K. Watson. It was for five thousand dollars. Our trip to Cancun was on, I thought to myself. It was a surprise that I had planned on springing on my wife after I found out what the bonus was going to be. I was feeling good.

Awards awarded, bonuses passed out, the drinking and the dancing and the hurrahing underway: our table had a visitor.

"So, Benny, I'd ask you what you are feeling, but I already know," said Mark.

"For sure, boss. It has been a wonderful night," I said. Just then Veronica returned to the table having spent some little time in the john powdering her nose.

"Hi Mar—mister Watson," she said, as she came up," I looked at her, and for a moment I thought that I saw something in her look that could have been interpreted as—what—guilt? But, she gathered herself and clutched my arm possessively. "Isn't he wonderful?"

"He is and he's also a very lucky man," said Mark. 

I looked over at my smiling wife and smiled back at her. "I am. I'm the luckiest guy in this place," I said. He smiled.

"Ben, may I steal you away from your far better half for a moment?" he said. I looked him askance and nodded in the affirmative. 

"I'll go visit with missus Watson," said Veronica rising to go.

"Okay, hon," I said.

"I won't keep him long," said Mark. We watched her sashay off and across the room where the big wigs were all clustered around four tables at the back. I was only twenty-seven, and with Mercury for not quite three years; and men with a whole lot of seniority kept passing my table congratulating me. It had to have been the second highest point of my life; the highest having been the day I heard Veronica Parker say I do.

He took a seat across from me. "Ben, I'm here to offer you an opportunity. As good as you are you are still only one man. And, you are a very young man for the kind of thing I'm about to offer you. That said, you have more than proven yourself on the field of battle, to coin a phrase.

"Ben, I need you to train and direct other reps to maximize their production—well—like you have," he said. He paused and watched me. I think I'd temporarily lost my ability to speak.

"Huh?" I said. "Train other reps?"

"I'm offering you the job of assistant VP in charge of training, Ben. There'd be some travel, but not an excessive amount. The pay and benefit package would be markedly better than what you currently enjoy," he said.

"Assistant VP," I squeaked. He started to laugh. 

"Indeed. And you've earned it, Ben. I know you know that." His tone was sincerity in its purest sense.

"Where do I sign," I said, coming out of my intellectual coma. "Mister Watson..."

"Mark to you, Ben. You're management now. I know you'll do a good job. You'll be working with Rob Underwood, senior VP for training and recruitment. The very man who hired you, as I recall," said Mark 

"Yes, yes, I know mister Underwood," I said.

"Okay, then. Take next week and clear the decks with your key customers. A week from now report to mister Underwood's office and make us a lot of money," he said. He stuck out his hand and we shook. I was feeling real good.

This night was a high water mark and nothing was going to ruin it. The congratulations sex was not good; it was phenomenal. Nobody had a right to be this happy. It would be a full thirteen more years before my world turned to shit

******

"Was he happy?" he said. He had swiveled his chair back around and hung up the phone as she'd come in.

"Happier than pig in stuff," she said. "I am so glad you were able to do that for him. He'll be on cloud nine for a few more days, but he'll be into the job real soon. You won't be sorry, Mark," said Veronica.

"Actually, I'm not really worried. Frankly we don't have anybody near as capable as he is regardless of experience or seniority, and the position is open and needing to be filled right away. After a few perfunctory questions from the big boss, I got the go ahead to promote him, so we're clear. He will be watched early on to see how he performs, but, like I say, I'm not worried; he'll do fine," said Mark.

"When are you sending him off?" she said. 

"I'm not, but Underwood is taking him with him on a recruiting tour the week after next. He'll be gone eight days according to the schedule," he said. She smiled.

"Good," she said. She came to him. "I think it's time that I took a little dick-tation, don't you?"

"Actually, miss Horton, that's just what I had in mind," he said.

******

"So, what are you thinking?" said Robert Underwood.

"I'm thinking that this is my niche. I love it," I said. "I mean training other reps."

"Well, good," said the man. "I have every confidence in you, Ben. The learning curve can be a little steep for some folks, but you seem able to handle yourself pretty well even with the pressure. Now that the company's gone nationwide, you're gonna be one very busy fella. 

"You need to hire yourself a secretary. I could have had one in place for you, but I figured you'd want to find your own assistant. That's always been the way most executives—junior or senior—have preferred to do it. Of course if you'd rather that I..."

"No, no, I'll handle my own situation per this one," I said.

"Right. I figured that would be the case," said Robert.

I did hire an assistant, Mercedes Detofoli. Mercedes was single and thirty-two and nice looking. As it would turn out, she would be with me for the duration.

The years rolled by, my boss became senior vice president in charge of operations, and I took over his job thirteen years out. I was forty and almost rich and had the most beautiful woman alive for a wife. 

******

"I guess we're going to be getting in early?" I said, mostly to myself. We'd been on the road for four days. We'd been scheduled for six, but we'd gotten it done and the customers were happy and so was I.

"Boss?" said Mercedes. 

"Hmm?" I said.

"Should I call Max Hardesty at Nutronics and set up that appointment, or do we wait for the other bids?" she said.

"Nutronics wants to wait and see what all the bids come down to. We're in the fight, but we have to be cautious with this one. Could be one of our biggest accounts if we play our cards right," I said. She nodded her understanding.

The plane touched down at exactly 11:00AM. I knew my wife would be at work, so I decided to surprise her and take her out to lunch. I was excited.

"Hi Carol," I said to the receptionist, "Veronica in?"

"Yes, sir, I think so. I just got in from an errand; I'm not sure. "But you can just go back if you like." Those fatal words were about to ruin my life. I headed back to where my wife's office was. I went right in without knocking—big mistake. 

What I saw stopped me cold, her too, him too. She was bent over her desk with my boss buried deep in her pussy. When the door'd closed behind me, their heads had uniformly snapped around. I stared.

"Oh my God!" said my wife. Her skirt had fallen back into place as she straightened up, but her panties were still pooled on the floor. I looked at them, the panties, and then up at her, then him.

"Sweet fucking Jesus," said my boss. I said nothing. I just continued to stare.

"Benny—oh what you must think. Oh my, what you must think! Please..." she started. I could feel the tears welling up and about to burst forth. My stomach was awash in acid and threatening to erupt. I actually felt faint, but I held it together—barely. Forty years old and my world was imploding.

"Ronnie—I..." I turned and slowly left, closing the door gently behind me. I heard nothing from them as I walked down the lengthy hall. Passing Carol, I smiled; I don't know why. My world was indeed imploding, and my heart was a smoking ruin. Reasons for striving, reasons for doing, reasons even for living were no longer there for me. Yet, I knew that somehow I'd be doing my best to survive. 

Married near fifteen years, no children, no large debts: the divorce would be pretty much painless on the economic side of things. The big problem for me at the moment was what to do at the moment; that, and the absolute emotional destruction of my soul. I knew for a flat fact that I was not going to be able to recover from this; I just wasn't, not completely. I did have a question or two that I hoped I would be able to get the answers to from her, but as for that, I wasn't even sure I could emotionally take the risk of trying to talk to her. I did, however, decide to go home and wait for her. What might happen after that; well, I had not a clue—none.

******

I was on my fourth round of Tennessee sour mash when I heard the car door slam in the driveway outside the kitchen window.

She strode inside, through the back door and through the service porch. She stopped at the entrance to the kitchen. 

Her brow was wrinkled into what seemed a sympathetic and, I assume, concerned expression. She stared at me for a long moment. "Benny—I—I am so sorry. I am so very-very sorry. Please, can we talk, you and I? We really need to talk. It wasn't as bad as it looked. Really. What am I saying, of course it was as bad as it looked. But—I guess what I'm trying to say is that it doesn't have to end us—it doesn't have to hurt us—end us. Jesus! I hope you're not thinking that it has to end us," she said.

"How long?" I said. She sighed, came into the kitchen proper, and sat opposite of me at the table.

"Does it really matter?" she said. I raised an eyebrow at that.

"Yes it does. Please tell me," I said.

"Almost since the beginning," she said. "Well, since I started working for Mercury. He hit on me regularly for months in the beginning. Then, one day, I don't know why; I gave in. It's been going on ever since." I sat transfixed.

"Thirteen years! Thirteen fucking years! Boy, you sure had this clueless fool—well—fooled," I said. "I must be the laughing stock of the entire company. How could I not be?"

"Benny, I did it for you, for us," she said. "And no one is laughing at you. No one, believe me."

"You're kidding right?" I said. "For us, you did it for us? That I do want to hear about. Is he the only one, Ronnie? Is he the only one? Just Watson? Or, were there others?" She looked away.

"Fuck-fuck-fuck," I said. "How the fuck many, Veronica? How the fuck many?"

"A few. Not that many, just few customers. You'd come home worried about this or that customer, and well, on a few occasions I—well—I made them an..."

"An offer that would have been damn near impossible to refuse. That about it, Ron? That about it? Hell, I can relate. That's about what happened to me when I just had to ask you to marry me. A girl totally out of my league. I knew it. Oh, I knew it. No doubt about that. But, I just had to try for the impossible dream, for the brass ring—pussy. I just had to take my shot. Lucky me, right. I got what I most wanted in the whole world. And now I find it was all just a big fat lie. Fuck!"

"Benny, would you allow me a moment to explain a couple of things? Would you? Please?" she said. Her tone—it was her tone—it was condescending. I knew that tone. I''d heard it a lot in eons gone by. People treating me with contempt because they knew I was a social cipher. And now my wife—shades of an overheard conversation at the Badger Sett so many years gone now. 

"You hold me in contempt don't you, Veronica. I guess you always have. I'll make a deal with you. Okay?" I said. She knew she had a weak hand; she nodded.

"Okay," she said.

"You can tell me whatever you want, but you have to answer me one thing first?" I said. "You agreed to marry me and to forsake all others. You knew what you were getting when you made that little agreement: short guy, no great shakes in the love making department, no outsized physical equipment, damn near a total zero when it came to socializing. So, why did you settle for me? You could have had any guy you cast your approving glance upon. Why Veronica, if you held me so in contempt, as you obviously do?" I said.

She sighed. She looked nervous. I had to wonder at that. "First off, Benny, I do not hold you in contempt. And you have no reason to think that. That said, yes, I agreed to marry you. Yes, I promised to forsake all others; and at the time I meant it. But, after I went to work for Mercury, things began to happen. By that I mean that opportunities arose that were too good to pass up. 

I married you because I knew that you were going to be the success story of our generation. Yes, your short, yes your dick is marginal at best, and yes your social skills needed a definite upgrade. The short thing was no problem for me; the brain was Paul Bunyanesque. Your dick I couldn't do anything about, but I could live with it because I would make it a point to train you how to do me with your mouth and tongue; and I did train you, my man, and you did learn. Actually, Benny, you're as good as there is at that whether you know it or not. As for your social skills, again I was able to dress you, train you, control you so as to make you more than acceptable there too. So, to answer your question more directly: I married you because you were going to be somebody, and you are, and where you were lacking I knew I could mostly be of help.

"Okay, Ben, I answered your question, so please hear me out."

"I cheated, as I was about to say earlier, because of some opportunities that were too good to pass up. You had one Achilles heel, Benny: you were too damn young to be an executive. My problem, I guess you could say, is that I'm the impatient type, and I wasn't willing to wait for you to get what you deserved. So, I did something about it. It was only about sex Ben, sex as a tool, to—well—to help you get a head start; you know to jump ahead. And, it worked, and hurt nobody. Well, until you found out today, and really not even now the way I see it," she said.

"Yeah, well it did hurt, Veronica. It hurts me a lot, an awful lot. I got ahead all right, but not on my own merits. I got ahead because you were willing to spread for Watson and those other men and to humiliate me. They're laughing at me, Veronica. They're laughing at me and at you; you just don't get it. You're not just a whore, Ronnie; You're a prostitute: a play for pay cunt and nothing more," I said.

"No, I'm not, Ben, not in any real sense. But even if I am, so what. What are they, the men—johns? Men so meaningless that as men they have to pay for it? Benny, think about it, really. What forty-five year old rep or company executive was going to want to listen to a twenty-something newbie—a rookie. Oh you were executive material, right enough, everybody knew that—especially Mark Watson, and I assure you that I'm not lying about that. He is scared pissless that you're going to quit now because of—well—because of what you saw today. But, he was not about to promote you till well...

"Anyway, I cheated to get you promoted before your time. 

"Early on, after I started fucking him, Mark actually told me I was nuts if I thought you could handle being an executive with virtually nada experience. So, I made it my business, my mission if you will, to convince him that you could handle it. 

"And yes, I dressed sexy, made him want me, made him actually need me. And yes I let him screw me—a lot. I let him screw me but with the codicil that you'd get the next big promotion that came along. You essentially jumped ten years of required seniority and experience because my pussy was in the pot, buster. My pussy, Benny, but not my heart. You've had that right along and you always will. I do love you and only you.

"Anyway, I guess I've said what I needed to say. I just hope you can see your way clear to not dump me. And, to keep your job. You've earned it even if I did have to spread for him to get it for you initially," she said.

"Spread for 'them'," I said, "and who exactly are the 'them'? I mean besides Watson, those other guys?" Again, she looked away. She stood and paced for a moment. 

"Which customers, Veronica? Which ones? I want to know who the them are!" I said.

Carl Wilcox, Ford Steelman, and Randy Gates," She said.

"Jesus! three out of four of our biggest clients. Tell me truly, please. Did they laugh at me while you were with them? Tell me Veronica!" She looked away yet again; that told me all I needed to know.

"So you bought me my success, my promotion, my outlandish and undeserved promotion. How do you think I feel about that Veronica. How did you think I would feel when I found out; and I would have found out even without catching you today, sooner or later I would have. It was inevitable. One them would eventually have bragged, probably already has, so I would have found out. How do you think I was going to feel about that!" I said.

"I'm not a fool, Benny. I figured they'd do that shit, the bragging I mean. I taped our sessions. The ones with the customers. I got it all in case they doublecrossed us," she said. I stood looking at her with my mouth hanging open.

"Sweet fucking Jesus! And, you expect me to accept all of this and just go on without breaking stride," I said.

"It's not the first time a man's woman gave him a hand up. I just hope you're strong enough to accept what has happened and look past it, Take advantage of it. I mean look to the future, Ben. My playing hasn't hurt us. You know that's true if you think about it. Maybe dented your ego a little. But, the paychecks are rolling in, and nobody has reason to be dissatisfied. And, I'll say it again, especially Mark Watson! I..."

"Hasn't hurt us? You know they are still laughing at me, don't you? All of them," I said.

"So what if they are! I am most certainly not laughing at you," she said.

"Right!" I said.

"Goddamn it! I'm not, Ben." She took on a pensive look. "Ben, what are you going to do?" she said. I looked at her; I discovered that I was tapping the table with my fingers. I felt—what—impatient, at my wits end, something.

"Do? Well, I haven't really had a chance to think it out..." I started.

"Ben, do not over think this. It is what it is, and it will stop: my playing that is. Actually, in a way, you're going to kinda be in the driver's seat now. Mark is going to be bending over backwards to make you happy, make it up to you; I can guarantee that," she said.

"Mark bending over for me? Now there's an image that appeals to me. But forget him for a moment. All of those customers are married aren't they?" I said. I knew that they were, and Watson too. I wanted her to realize that I had a whole lot of options besides waiting for Mark 'fuckwad' Watson to do me some favors. Her look told me I'd scored.

"Ben! You're not thinking of revenge are you? Tell me you're not thinking of getting revenge on these men. Yes, the men who made you a cuckold. They did that, but they also made damn sure that you were otherwise way compensated for your unknowing sacrifice. Please tell me you're not going to do something stupid?" she said. She slid forward in her seat leaning into me from across the table. I stood and took her place as the family pacer. I stopped and tendered her a meaningful stare.

"Frankly, I'm not sure what I'm going to be doing. Listening to this tripe, and I do mean your reasoning, I'm about ready to quit my job, sue every blessed one of the cheaters, divorce you on grounds of serial adultery, and go to church," I said.

"What? Quit? Divorce me? Go to church? What are you talking about!" I could see she was on the verge of tears.

"Yes, all of the above. And why church? Because, I want to thank God almighty that we don't have any children. Under the circumstances that would not have been a good thing," I said. And, I said it about as coldly as I'd ever said anything.




Benedict and Veronica Horton



"No Ben. Please no!" she said. She was crying now, and it was maybe but a dime short of all out sobbing.

"Like I said, I'm not sure what I'm going to do. But, I do have one small favor to ask of you," I said.

Her head snapped up. "Okay," she said, in a voice that literally begged for mercy.

"I want you to call my boss—Grimes—not Watson, and tell him I won't be in for the rest of the week. Tell him I'm not feeling well. And trust me, Veronica, that will not be a lie," I said.

"Yes, yes, I can do that. I will do that," she said. I nodded, turned without another word and headed upstairs. I needed to lie down.

******

It was out of habit I guess. I got up the morning after the big to do, the big happening, and followed my regular routine. And yes, Veronica and I slept in the same bed. She didn't make any move to get intimate with me. She must have realized that that was a non-happening. Too, she did have the good grace to not be awake when I arose, or maybe she was faking it, but whatever; it worked for me.

Likewise it was part of my routine to go to work, and so I did. I got a few nervous glances from a couple on the support staff, the secretaries. I wondered about that. I figured that they probably knew and had known for a long time. But, how they knew or got their intelligence even the angels were likely unable to say. One thing for sure, the grapevine was a helluva lot faster than the pony express—or the internet.

I spent the whole day doing regular things, and making my usual plans. Mercedes seemed tense, but said nothing. I appreciated that. It was late in the day before I got the request, not an order, from Mark Watson to come see him. I debated shining him on.  

Okay, why wasn't I up in arms and ready to sue and be countersued, to fight the good fight, to ruin as many of the assholes as I could. It was a couple of things that Veronica had said. 

One, a woman helping her man make it to the top had always been standard operating procedure in the big leagues of politics and business; and, was I not in the big leagues? Two, could I replace the kind of income I was getting now if I were to start over? Doubtful. Oh, and three, it'd gone on for thirteen years and I had never had a bad thought until now. The fact was, I'd been happy as a lark. Of course I did know what had been going on now, and it hurt. And, not just my pride, as Veronica assumed. It had crushed my very soul. I needed my woman to love me and only me. I was not a sharing kind of guy, nor likely to ever become one.

"Thanks for coming in, Ben, I have to say that I figured the odds were against it, actually. But, anyway, thanks," said Mark. I nodded. I was not smiling. Why had I answered his summons? I was curious; that was it, just curiosity.

"I'm sorry, okay. Inadequate, self-serving, but—that said—sincere. I'm a bum. I admit it. I'm weak—and—I'm well, sorry," he said.

"And, that is going to change what?' I said. I just shut up and waited for him to say something that would mean anything too me at all. He sagged back. 

"It'll stop with her. That's the first thing of course. Beyond that it's kinda up to you. I want you to stay. I need you to stay. You leaving would impact me adversely, and yes, I know that's about as selfish sounding as anything I've ever said. And, long term, if you stay, you will benefit enormously for your forbearance," he said. He leaned back in his seat looking real concerned. I nodded.

"Hmm. Okay, I'm staying. That is, I'm staying so long as she doesn't continue with her—activities. One slip, and I am outta here muy pronto, and that with prejudice," I said. We talked a little longer, but a lot of words that maybe might have been said weren't; there was just not a good enough feeling between me and the man who'd made me his cuckold to continue with the euphemistical nonsense.

She was waiting for me when I got home. When I say waiting for me, I mean, apparently, on pins and needles. "Well?" she said. "You went to work? Are we..."

"Still together? Am I still employed? How do I feel now, a day later?" She nodded, and I think she was holding her breath. It occurred to me to ask her about that.

"Yes," she said.

"Veronica, seeing you here, apparently anxiously awaiting my return, forces me to ask you why? I mean if you care so much for me, enough to worry whether or not I would come back, or keep my job, or any of it: why did you risk it? I'd really like to know. I just can't make myself believe that you did it to get me a promotion."

"The fact is, unbelievable as it may seem to you, I swear to you that that was in fact the reason. Well, it was at the time. Later—well—it was about cocks. And, like I told you before, a few times when you came home all frazzled and worried about whether or not you were going to get this client or that to sign, well, I took it upon myself to see to it that you did. They, the clients were kind of an extrapolation of the promotion thing. I mean it was, initially at least, to see to it that you did good. You know, got the bonus or the perks or whatever."

"Cocks? What does that mean? You mean you did other guys? How many for cryinoutloud!" I said. "I mean, wasn't my cock worth anything to you? Didn't I ever satisfy you, Veronica?"

"Your cock, Ben is oaky, but it is smallish. You know that. I knew that. And in the beginning I had resigned myself to making do with it. But then—later..."

"How many besides the four assholes, Veronica! How many?" I said.

"No Ben, no, no, there were no others. Just the ones I mentioned to you. No one else. I couldn't risk you finding out, so I limited myself to the few I told you about," she said.

"But? There's a but in there isn't there?" I said. She looked away.

"What?" I said.

"It was only the few, but it was pretty regular. I mean we've been doing it, the few and me since—well—since a long time," she said.

"But, Ben, it's over now. No more. No matter what, no more," she said. I stared at her. I was fuming. I had imagined that it had only been Watson long term, and the other guys once or twice each. But no, it was four major affairs: three with the clients, and the one with my boss. Fucking wonderful. One had to allow that at the least she was organized and imaginative in her thinking.

I'd been standing, now I sat. My legs would no longer support the weight of the world on my shoulders. "Fuck!" I said.

"Ben, I told you all this just now, because I figured you'd find out anyway, and I wanted to be the one to break it to you, not have you find out from someone who might want to hurt us," she said.

"Hurt us! Are you shittin' me! You hurt us, and the rest of them. You've shattered me, Veronica. Do you have any..."

"Ben, please, I beg of you. Please. Please don't," she said. "Don't say anymore. I need you to not say anymore. And yes hurt us—there's one of them..."

"One of them who—I mean what are you talking about!" I said. I wasn't crying, yet. And the tears when they would come would not be tears of loss; they would be tears of frustration. I was trying, trying like hell, but I just couldn't seem to get out from under all of it. It was all kind of like the energizer bunny, but in this case it was the bad stuff that just wouldn't stop coming at me! Jesus! I was truly beginning to hate my life.

"Fuck it, Veronica, I'm goin out. I gotta get outta here." I headed for the front door; it was where I'd dropped my coat.

"Ben please we need to talk..." But I was outta there.

******

The Red Barron was a slightly upscale bistro in the heart of town. I'd been coming in for some long time now, and the bartender and me had been friends for a while. The bar portion was divided from the dining room by a row of real plants in massive planters. Separating, thereby, the families who came in to dine on the excellent cuisine from guys like me trying to drown their sorrows.

"Another one, Ben?" said Clark. His name was Clark Gable, believe it or not; and no, he'd never been an actor, and he'd never been related to one. But his folks' name was Gable and his grandma had thought it would be good to name him Clark. Well, at least his last name hadn't been Kent.

"Yeah, man. Keep 'em comin'. And, when it looks like I'm about to die, give me one more," I said. He smiled.

"That bad, huh?" he said.

"No, no, I guess not; it was worse for Custer at the Little Big Horn," I said. He laughed.

"Yeah, I guess that's so," he said. 

I had to find out who it was that might want to "hurt us," as she'd said. Why I didn't stick around to find out who was a mystery to me. It was obviously one of the clients, but which one? Well, I had time to figure that one out, and, I would figure it out. And, I would use every tool at my disposal to destroy the asshole and damn any collateral damage that resulted from the effort. 

But, what to do now. I'd agreed to stick it out when I'd talked to Watson. But, every time I spoke to the woman things seemed to get markedly worse, go figure. Okay, I'd stick it out for a while, see how things went. Was I nervous now that I knew that I was a public laughingstock? Did I care—really. I mean of course I cared, but it was a matter of degree. 

One, I'd done nothing wrong. Two, the responsibility for anything ill that happened from here on out rested solely on the shoulders of Watson and the woman, and, the three cheating fuckwad clients of course. My pride was dented real good, no question. My desire to excel—always the driving force in everything I did had all but disappeared. Could I perform at the same high level under the circumstances? Not a chance. Watson's interest in keeping me around would likely be greatly diluted before the scene was completely played out.

"Yes, I'd agreed to stay on at Mercury, but the more I thought about it the less sense it made. Better to find me a nothing job; one that was all but devoid of pressure, and just get along. Leave the big house and the big cars to the woman. Which thought brought up another thought: could I even begin to trust her, I mean if I did stay, given her long time disregard for anything remotely resembling the honoring of her wedding vows. Again, my initial thought to give her one more chance also made virtually no sense. Still, habits were hard to break; that's why they were called habits. 

But no, the more I thought about it, the more I knew that I had to not stay. I had to start over. I had to get out. I had to reassess my life's goals. I had to find new friends, and eventually another woman, damn near any woman, who I could trust to not screw me over. And, the time to do it was now. I was about to make a decision. 

I threw a twenty down on the bar and headed out. "Clark, I'm gonna roll," I said. As I turned to go, and while heading out, I happened to look to my left into the dining room. My heart, if it had not been broken before, was broken now: I saw them.

"Yes, he told me," she said. "He's going to stick around. Not sure if it's going to be long term or not, but at least for the moment he is planning on staying with the company. With me? That's another matter. He considers me a—what—a traitor, I guess," said Veronica.

"Jesus this could be real bad. The big boss will not be happy. Not at all happy. I mean if he resigns," said Mark.

"Veronica, you have to make him happy. If we can't get it on for a while, well, that's the price we have to pay to keep on keepin' on. 

They were seated in a booth and she kept looking furtively around as they spoke. It would not do to have her Benny suddenly appear out of nowhere and see them together. She didn't really think that he would be following her or having her watched, but given the shock of the past two days; she wasn't taking anything for granted. What she hadn't counted on was the incidence of coincidence.

I stared at them for what had to have been a full two minutes. She finally saw me.

"Oh my God no!" she said. Our eyes met. He looked over to where she was looking. He sagged back in his seat. For once I didn't chicken shit out. I walked over to them.

"Hello," I said.

"Ben..." she started. I held up my hand to short shank her.

"No, no, it's all right. But, I will not be staying with Mercury after all." I said. "Seeing you two all lovey dovey here did it for me. You can have each other forever now. 

"Veronica, please do me the decency of not coming home for a little bit. I need to get some of my stuff out. I just couldn't deal with you being there. Okay? You owe me that much at least," I said. "Goodbye, both of you." I turned and walked out. Neither of them did anything to stop me. I guess they were speechless.

Well, they were speechless at the bistro; she actually beat me home: I was driving slow. I was startled when, coming into the living room, she nailed me with a hug and a kiss, as I turned from hanging up my coat.

"What the..." I started. "Forget it, Veronica, we're done. You may want me around for some reason, but whatever it might be; it doesn't include what I need from you. So goodbye."

"Please, Ben, give me a chance here," she said. "What you saw was me saying goodbye to Watson."

"I don't believe you. It's that simple. Please at the very least make this a little bit easier than you have so far. Okay! Please."

"Ben, I'm sorry. But this time you're the one in the wrong. I was not making plans with Watson. I was just telling him I was glad that you and he were able to mend your fences, at least a little bit. And, that we were through as fuck buddies," she said.

"You know Ronnie, you might be telling the truth, but I just can't bring myself to believe you. So, just leave me alone. I need my clothes and stuff or I won't be able to make a living," I said.

"You gonna stay with Mercury?" she said.

"Not a chance. Being your cuckold, when I didn't know anything, was bad enough; but being a knowing one isn't happening," I said. Now, please get out of my way. I have things to do that do not include you." I stalked off and up the stairs. I wondered how long it would be before she was entertaining up there. 

It took me some little time to pack. I could only handle two suitcases easily, so I would be leaving a mess of stuff behind, but it couldn't be helped; I would never be returning. I'd finally grown some balls.

******

Dale Hirsch was a good lawyer. He'd been recommended by my new employer, Max Hardesty of Nutronics. No alimony, no touching my retirement, no paying for her costs in the divorce. She got the house, but I didn't want that, and then it was done. In six months it would be all over. The great adventure, begun so long ago at a senior prom, was ending. It was sad. I was sad. I had to hope the gods had something a little more upbeat for me in the future; I'd already had a guided tour of hell.

I was still the same guy, and presumably the same guy with the same skills. But, that said, the motivation wasn't there. I appeared to be working hard, I guess. I still collected a bonus check now and again; but I was no longer the staple I'd been before finding out I was a cuckold and that my one true love didn't love me.

I'd managed to get myself a fairly nice condo and that near the office. I listened to my music every night, like I always had, but now there was no Ronnie to interrupt me: missed that. My new position was kinda peculiar in one respect. I'd been the one to get Nutronics to go with Mercury. And, while I did my level best to avoid meetings that had anything to do with my old company, I'd still see one or another of the Mercury agents from time to time as they came to service the account. It might have been my imagination, but it always seemed to me that they uniformly gave me sympathetic looks.

It was some few months after leaving Mercury that a Mercury rep, Hal Marquardt, visited us. He'd just left the boss' office. I got a call to come in. My digs were just down the hall from Max's, so it was an easy thing for Helen, Max's assistant, to grab me.

Benny, I know you're busy. This won't take long. Mercury has invited us—all of us—to a big bash they're throwing on Labor Day weekend. I've accepted the invitation. I know your situation of course, and I won't make a big deal of you going, but I would appreciate it if you would," he said. I sighed. 

"It's okay. I can always leave, I guess, if things get a little to—something—for me. Would that be okay?" I said.

"Sure bet," he said. "You know, I don't think you want to be in the position of them thinking that they have you intimidated. I mean, I expect that your soon to be ex will be there. You showing up will let the lot of them know that you're fine and getting on well."

"Yeah, you know that would be a good thing wouldn't it. Yeah, I'm going," I said.

******

The La Fiesta Hotel had it all, a genuine five star. The food was great, though I didn't eat all that much: I was on mission to get myself into a smaller belt size; ten more pounds and I'd be at my ideal weight. 

The place had been well lighted during dinner, but as dinner waned the lights, almost unnoticed, gradually dimmed to create romantic shadows; the effect was truly—well—romantic. It was then that she chose to hit me up. 

"Hello, Benny. How are things?" she said. She startled me. Truth is I hadn't seen her until that moment, and the party was a least two hours old. I nodded in response to her question and made to wander off. But, she was having none of it. She actually grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back. I spilled a little of the martini I was holding on my pant leg and shot her an irritated glance.

"Jesus, Veronica, what else do you have planned for me tonight!" I said.

"Sorry about the drink, Ben. It was an accident. Really," she said. "I just wanted to talk to you for a little if that would be all right."

"And why would you want to do that. We're divorced. I know for a flat fact that you have other—interests," I said. I was not being kind.

"We're not divorced yet, Ben, and in fact that's what I wanted to talk to you about," she said. "And, about any other—interests—that you may have heard about. Trust me, they are likely either untrue or grossly exaggerated whether you believe it or not."

"Trust you? Right! Another month and we'll be added to the failed marriage statistic, Ronnie, and frankly it's for the best. I can't deal with your idea of—helping me—and that's the long and the short of it. You're a cheater, Veronica, and I need me a faithful and honest woman; not a serial back stabber," I said.

"Ben, that's uncalled for. Yes, I spread for a few men to help us—not just you but us—and so what. It didn't hurt us an iota. And, yes, I know it's different now that you know. Jesus I wish you didn't!" she said.

"Listen to yourself, Ronnie. You're sorry I know about it, but not an iota of regret for having done it to me—and I do mean to say 'to me' not 'for me'," I said. 

"Benedict Horton, the one thing that is true is that I did do it for you and me. There was never—and I mean never—any intent to disparage you or hurt you or cause you any embarrassment whatsoever. You may have noticed that it went on for years with no problems, and now that you know, your ego is bruised and you are taking it out on the both of us.

"Frankly, Benedict, you're an idiot. I know you still love me. Hell you're as pussywhipped as you ever were; I see how the bulge in your pants has grown since we've been talking here. You've always been in my pocket, Benny. I know it and you know I know it..." she said.

"Yeah, you are a turn on, no doubt about it. And, I used to be a total wimp when it came to you. Pussywhipped? Yeah, maybe that too. But I will not share you with those assholes and that's the long and the short of it, Veronica-soon-to-be-ex-Horton.

"Look Ben, truth here, okay?" I nodded.

"One, I do not want this divorce. You are so far ahead of who's ever in second place on my list of men, that it's not even funny. That said..." she stopped and looked at me. I knew she was gauging my potential reaction to what she was about to lay on me.




Benedict and Veronica Horton



"What?" I said, spreading my hands in a get on with it gesture.

"Ben, I've always been a cock hungry slut. I admit it. I love the male organ. I need it. No individual could possible satisfy a woman like me sexually. Yes, I know there is not supposed to be any such thing as nymphomania, but the idiots that say that are fucking crazy.

"Ben I need sex and I need it a lot. Because of you, our marriage, I have kept my circle of men small and discreet. That mainly to keep you from ever finding out. But, now that you know. I need to make my pitch," she said.

"Pitch?"

"Yes, my pitch. Ben, quash the divorce. And, I know this will be hard for you initially, let me keep my very discreet sex games on the side. And, I swear that you will be the happiest husband that has ever lived. I will make damn sure of that. And, no one, and I mean no one, will ever talk smack about you again without having to deal with one very pissed off broad. And again, yes, I will use my sex to get us even farther ahead than we already are—that of course very discreetly.

"What the fuck! I said.

"Ben, it's time to be pragmatic, not stuffy and puritanical. We can make this work for us. Please, give it some thought.

I was stupefied. My mouth was hanging open. I was totally wordless. She touched my cheek, very gently, turned, and walked off.

******

Veronica's last words to me had got me to thinking. About what? Same as it had been since we were kids: how much I needed her, desperately needed her.

I had been treading water since filing for divorce, which was still not final. Seeing her, no, coming to the party had been a big mistake. The woman I adored wanted to use me, not love me. At least not love me enough to be a real one man woman wife. I knew as long as I was around her, even the limited amount that I figured to be around her working as I was for Nutronics, I was always going to be in a state of nervous tension. 

I hadn't been kidding myself; I'd been thinking about her, fantasizing about her for twenty-five years and more. A divorce was not going to exorcise those feelings, not even. I had to get away, 

For the moment I retreated to the table I'd stationed myself at near the rear of the hall. My table mates were elsewhere at that moment; I had time to reflect. 

I saw her every once in a while looking in my direction. Twice I held her glance with my own for some seconds. She'd smiled each time; I did not smile either time. I was sick to my stomach, literally sick to my stomach. I'd feared this moment in time; I'd feared it, and now it was here. A broken heart sometimes takes time to take its ultimate toll on the mind and soul of a person. Well, the wait was over for me: the horrendous pain of knowing my woman would be with others, would be fucking them, loving them was here and real and—overwhelming. The tears started to come. I got up, found Max and made my apologies and headed out; I don't know if she saw me or not, but perversely; I hoped she had. I wanted her to know my hurt; I really wanted her to know my hurt.

One thing she didn't know, but it was likely the last time she would ever be seeing me, at least that was the plan that was forming in my head. I had to get away from her. I had to; the mental torture, anguish, was terrible. I knew it now; leaving was the only cure for my pain within my power to do anything about.

******

It had been traumatic telling Max I was quitting; he'd been more than good to me. He understood. I just couldn't kid myself anymore. I had to get away, and start over. Just get some nothing job, like I'd originally thought to do when my life ended. Yes, anything, anywhere, but far away.

I'd gotten out of town overnight—literally. I had about $12,000 in my account from all sources. She could keep the rest; money meant nothing to me. Anyway, at least in the short run, I was flush. Helluva thing, almost forty-one years old and starting over. Career-wise I didn't want to be doing the same thing anymore; I was afraid she might track me down: she knew as many people in the business as I did, or almost. I didn't really think she would, but I couldn't take the chance of seeing her again it hurt too damn much. But, I had a solution to all of my problems: I could drink! A lot! And I would! And, as it turned out, I did!

******

The Mad Hater, and no that is not a misnomer, misspelling, any of it, was my new favorite hangout. It was located two towns over from my old digs, still in the same state, but seventy-five miles removed. Donovan Kilpatrick was the owner and operator.

I'd been spending a lot of time, and a lot of money I might add, in Donovan's—don't call me Don—place. Don't ever let anybody tell you that drink doesn't cure anything; it does. True the cure is uniformly temporary but, while deep under the weather, there are far fewer problems and memories to deal with than at other times. I guess one could say that my life had become a nothingness of lonely days and weepy nights. Was I a hopeless romantic, a victim of unrequited love and of an oversexed cheating whore of a wife, or just a wimpy little man cryin' in his beer? Probably all of the above, was what I was telling myself; but who could really say for sure. The irony was that as often as I had her on my mind, I had her lover mister Mark Watson on it almost as much; go figure.

Some eight months gone from when I'd last seen her, I was nearly broke. Didn't have a job, and was down to my last C-note. Been stayin' with a guy, I met and'd been sharin' the rent with, for the past several: Two bills a month was my share and we each bought our own groceries. It was workin' for me. But, now I was lookin' for a job wonderin' who'd be interested in a business genius who was also the town drunk. Well, you had to know it would be happenin', even the town drunk can get lucky—I guess it was luck.

Donovan was wiping a glass dry and looking down the bar at me. He knew my situation; hell, he was a bartender. I looked him askance as he just kept kinda starin' at me.

Finally, he put the glass in the tray and came down the bar toward me. "How yuh doin' Ben," he said.

"Huh?" I said. His question was actually a serious one, not just the usual cryptic and generally rhetorical means of greeting.

"How yuh doin', really," he said. I leaned back on the bar stool.

"Depends," I said. "Dumped by the wife, out of a job, damn near broke, and pretty much friendless except for you. So, I guess I ain't doin' too hot." He smiled.

"I can relate. Been there myself," he said. "And, you're right about the friend part. We have become kinda friends I guess. I mean you haven't invited me to your mansion for a barbecue yet, and I think I've kinda neglected you in that regard. But..."

"Yeah, the ubiquitous but. But, as for the mansion thing, as soon as I can hire the necessary servants to clean it up after my last party, I'll be having you over," I said, smirking.

"Yeah, and I'll be inviting you over too," he said. "Probably before the servants arrive at your place." Now he was the one smirking.

I sensed he had something to say more than he had so far. "So what's up Donovan? I'm not drunk yet; you can tell me," I said. He snickered.

"Ben, you know the Hater isn't my only business," he said.

"Yeah, I know. You got a laundry and a hot dog stand, right?" I said.

"Hamburgers," he said.

"Yeah-yeah, Burgers. So what then?" I said.

"The burger joint ain't doin' so good," he said.

:Sorry to hear that," I said.

"Yeah, well, I'm here to ask you a little favor. And, in the doing I'm going to do you one," he said.

"Huh?" I said.

"You wanna job?" he said.

"Well, I don't—well, I mean—it kinda depends," I said.

"You need one, I know it. I got one, and you can have it," he said.

"Donovan, what are you talking about?" I said.

"This bar is doing good. The laundry is doing good. But, the burger joint is on its last legs. I can't be everywhere. I need someone to turn it around and start it making money again," he said. I stared at him.

"You mean me?" I said.

"Nobody else but," he said. I looked him up and down. I had to ask.

"Why me," I said. "All I've been to you—here—is a big assed drunk. Why would a successful business man like yourself want a loser like me," I said.

"Benny, and I hope you won't take offense, I had you checked out. Clearly, you are not the average loser. So, I had you checked out. Valedictorian in high school, number one in you class at UW, all everything at your last place of employment, and screwed over by the love of your life. Helluva resume'." He said.

"So you had me checked out. You know about my ex. But, I've told you about that stuff myself," I said. "So again, I ask, why me?" 

"Yes, but I needed to know if the hurt was so deep in you that you couldn't ever be what you once were," he said. It occurred to me that I should be upset over someone investigating me, but I wasn't.

"You know Donovan, I should be mad at you for investigating me," I said.

"But, you're not because you know I'm on your side," he said. "Look Ben, you need a job, and I need someone to help bail me out here."

I snickered. "Donovan, I do need a job, almost any kind of job; but I don't know anything about restaurants or cooking or any of that stuff," I said.

Now, he laughed. "No, no," he said. "You won't be cooking; you'll be running things. You know like a business. Look, here's the address of the place. Go have a look see, and tell me what you find. You know, what you think, okay?" I shrugged. 

"I guess I can do that," I said. "I do have eyes. "But, I ain't cookin'." He laughed.

"Fair enough," he said.

The Hungry Tiger Burger was actually one town over from where the bar was. It was clear to me that Donovan needed a reliable manager at the very least to ensure efficient operation of the place to maximize profits. At any rate, I went there to observe, and observe I had. What I discovered might best be described as a culture of lethargy. Nobody working there wanted to do anything. Additionally, the place was dirty and did not present an inviting picture overall. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the lack of customers at noontime, which is when I was there, was due primarily to the management of the place not the product nor the location, nor the number of personnel. The place needed to be made over and reorganized, no question about it.

"That bad," he said. 

"Probably worse, I didn't get a look at the books or the supply orders or anything else. What I just gave you is what anybody could see who was halfway observant," I said.

"So then how about it?" he said.

"How about what?" I said.

"Running it for me. Two grand a month, and the apartment above the place, utilities except phone included," he said. It wasn't anywhere near what I'd been earning at Mercury or at Nutronics; but I saw it as an easy gig, and it would give me something to do.

"Yes. I can do it. But, I need a free hand. You okay with that?" I said.

"A free hand?" he said.

"I need to be able to hire and fire at will, and to adjust salaries as I see fit—up or down," I said. He nodded, a bit slowly I thought, but he was giving me the okay to do it my way. I returned his nod.

******

"It's been almost a year," she said looking at the man across the breakfast table from her.

"Yeah, I know. It's time to forget the guy, and for you and me to do something smart and get hitched," he said. "He ain't coming back. We both know it," he said.

"Mark, I just don't know. I guess you're right. But..."

"Ronnie, we love each other. I know you have a soft spot in your heart for the man, but he just isn't—well—your type. He not only never understood you, he never wanted to even try. He just wasn't wired the same way as you and I," he said. She nodded.

"Okay, Mark, set the date. I just wish we weren't getting married under such a cloud of guilt. We did the man awful bad, me more than you. I'd just like to do right by him somehow. I hope he's all right," she said.

"Truth told I feel bad about everything too, and not just for selfish reasons," he said. "I really liked the little guy. There was something about his personality that just made one wanna be around him. Well anyway, it's water under the bridge.

"How about June first."

"What?"

"June first is a Saturday; we could get married on June first," he said.

"Sure, okay," she said. He came to her and kissed her. 

"I do love you, Ronnie. And if the opportunity to do anything for the guy ever comes around, I'll—we'll—do what we can," he said.

She gave him a questioning look.

"A job, a good job—something,: he said.

"Okay," she said. "I hope that someday we can. I wonder what he's doing now?"

"He's not in the trade, I know that. I've had the word out for a long time, and, nothing," he said.

******

"Donovan, you called?" I said.

"Yeah, yeah, glad you could make it. Oh, and before I begin with the news, how is number three doing?" he said.

I had taken the job, and I'd done my best, and more than my best. And, in the process, I'd made an effort to turn my miserable self around, and I had. At any rate, Donovan no longer had a hamburger joint; he had three of them, and all were doing just fine thank you very much. The effort had taken me almost a year, eighteen months since my breakup with my dream woman.

My salary was up too, from the 24K annual that I'd started with, to 75K. Still, only about half of what I'd been making at Mercury and later Nutronics, but at least now my wife—which I didn't have any of—wasn't spreading for other guys to get it for me. I was content.

"I'd had some tragedy quite apart from the disaster of my marriage to Veronica. My mom had died just about six months after I'd taken over the Hungry Tiger. It was yet another low point in my life. And, she, my mom, hadn't been that old, only sixty-one. 

"Good. Good," he said. "Now for some more interesting, and maybe good, news."

"News?" I said.

"You know somebody named Barbara Hillings?" He said.

"No—wait. Maybe. The name's familiar somehow, but..."

"Yeah, she said that would be your likely reaction. Well, she's a nice looking gal. Said you stood her up?" He said.

"No, no not true. I didn't stand any girl up and if she says so she's fabricating facts," I said. 

"No I'm not, Benny. You said you'd call and you never did," said a voice behind me that startled me to the core. I turned and looked at the source.

"I know you," I said. "But...?"

"A decade gone and more, Benny. And, I never forgot you. Heard you and that girl broke up," she said. "But, let me reintroduce myself—again. I'm Barbara Hillings. You never knew, but I'm an accountant. To be more precise, I'm Donovan Kilpatrick's personal accountant. Anyway...

"I saw your name on the employee list, and just knew it couldn't be a coincidence. So, anyway, here we are," she said.

"Yeah, I guess that's so," I said.

"So, how are you these days?' she said.

"Treading water, since you ask," I said.

"That bad," she said. 

"Pretty much. I miss her, but it is what it is; I'm mostly gettin' over her. Anyway, I'm working, paying the rent. Doing my best to stay busy and involved. Actually your boss, our boss, is a good friend. He kinda bailed me out in a bad time. Anyway, I'm getting on. How about you?" I dared to ask.

"Okay. Lookin'," she said. She chanced a glance at Donovan who was doin' his best to not be noticed.

"Lookin?" I said. Now, I looked over at the still only physically present boss.

"Never mind, you wanna get something to eat?" she said. I nodded.

"Yeah, I guess I could eat," I said.

Bottom line we ate, we drank, we danced, we made plans for a second date. That date was followed by many, all platonic, and time passed and we got on famously. Six months later I made up my mind. It'd been two years since my breakup with Veronica. It was time to make up my mind wasn't it? We were seated at the back in the Little Green Onion. The food'd been good, the wine excellent, a California sherry.

"Barb, you wanna marry me?" I said. My voice was tentative. "I mean I need a woman and you need a man and we should do our best to fill each other's need. I mean isn't that what's we've been doing these past months," I said. She looked at me and sagged back in her seat. 

"Do you realize, Benny that we've not even had sex?" she said. I looked down. It was true. I don't know why I hadn't made a move on her. I guess it was shades of my feelings of inadequacy, as brought home to me by my ex. 

I smiled, "Honey bunch we can fix that tonight. Before, well, truthfully I was afraid you'd turn me down. Or, I would queer the deal with you by my lack of..."

"The answer, Ben, has to be no. Do you hear yourself, Ben? Your lack of enthusiasm is actually a little bit hurtful. I mean no on your knees begging me to accept your poor self as my protector, provider, lover, soulmate forevermore?" she said. I smiled and started to get down on my knees; her raised hands stopped me in mid-move.

"No," she said. "We've had a good run, Benny. A real good run. But, as a matter of fact tonight I was getting my nerve up to talk to you about this very thing, I mean our relationship."

"Huh? I said. "But, I thought?" I started.

"Ben, actually, I had too. But recently, I mean for a while now, I've been wondering where we've been heading. Well, you and I we like each other, no that's not right, we like each other a lot. But, Ben, not as life partners. We're dinner companions, but, something's missing. I don't know what it is, but whatever it is it's missing. I have the feeling, and I am pretty sure of this, that if we were to marry that we'd fail. I don't want to lose you as a friend; it means too much to me." I sat there stunned. I was stunned, but I was slowly coming to the realization that she was right. She and I were condemned to a lifetime of friendship, but not soul-searing love. I nodded, very slowly, but I nodded.

"Ben, the truth is, and I am pretty sure of this too—that you're still in love with Veronica. It's a ghost that I don't want to contend with," she said. Now, I shook my head..

"Not true. Maybe it was true before I re-met you. And maybe I do still think about her now and again; I'd grant that. But love her still? Not true," I said. My dinner mate smiled and spread her hands in a whatever sign.

"At any rate, Ben, I've met someone who might, just might at this point, well who could be the one. We've had lunch a couple of times, nothing else. But, I think I want to pursue it, the relationship with him. I was going to tell you tonight, but then you did your proposal thing. Well, and kind of forced the issue. Ben, I don't want to hurt you. You've had enough of that in your life. But, the last thing I want to do is let you hurt yourself—or me if it comes to that—by marrying you. And, you would hurt yourself, my good man."

"Jesus! I had no idea, Barb. I mean, you may be right. But, I had no idea that you thought that I still had the porch light on for Veronica," I said.

"You need to think about what I'm telling you, Ben. We women are not always right, but we're right more often than you guys," she said. I snickered. I smiled. 

"Barbara Hillings, the one thing you can take to the bank is that I want happiness for you. Who's the guy?" I said.

"His name is Billy, William, Manning: he's an accountant. Our thing, if that's what it is, is still iffy; but there is some reason to think it might go somewhere. 

"Ben, I want to thank you for everything. These last months have been good for me, and I hope for you," she said.

"It's been great for me, as I said. And, as I also said, I wish you guys the best," I said. 

We talked for some little time and then said our goodbyes. I guess I had reason to think that we'd actually stay in touch in the future, so at least I still had a friend. I thought back to our recent and brief, moderately brief, re-acquaintance. We'd dated a lot over the months, danced some; she really liked the dancing; and I'd gotten better over the time. But, for some reason, we'd never gotten to the doing the dirty stage. I couldn't say for sure about her: maybe she just knew all along that we weren't meant for the long haul and didn't want to ruin a perfectly good friendship for a few sweaty hours of raw sex. 




Benedict and Veronica Horton



For my part, I guess I was still leery of embarrassing myself with a woman, any woman, knowing as I did what Veronica thought of my skills. Oh, I wasn't totally bereft of needs for damn sure, but I was almost totally bereft of the courage to try and assuage them. Helluva thing for damn sure.

I did have to wonder why Barbara had even bothered to remember me, as she said had been the case. But, whatever the why was; it really didn't matter. I was a lone again, and also again, reduced to my less than satisfactory but seemingly eternal routine. If I could only find me a woman. Wouldn't that be the cat's meow.

******

She sat down to her toast and jam. She sipped the coffee that she'd brewed and looked pensively out the bay window of her house and appreciated the bright sunlit morning. She'd be heading off to work shortly. 

She no longer looked forward to her days on the job. The job her good man of many years gone by had gotten for her.

She still had the same boss. But, mister Watson no longer tried to get into her pants. He'd broken it off with her more than six years gone over some miserable pretext relating to work and professionalism. She knew it was hokum: she'd seen him, not a day later, with his new infinitely too young chickee. The irony in that? She hadn't cared. She'd had a replacement waiting in the wings when it happened: Roger Gilford of years of high school and college fame.

Roger'd shown up at a party for what turned out to be a mutual friend and they'd rekindled the passion of their school days. For a while it seemed like they might make it. But, then the new Roger, the abusive Roger had shown himself. She'd spent a little time in the hospital and she'd preferred charges. He'd gotten a year for that, and a major tongue lashing form his honor. She'd not seen him again.

At any rate, she'd kept her job, one she was good at and just sucked it up. At her now age fifty jobs paying $125K annual didn't grow on trees. And, Watson treated her okay. In fact, if he'd treated her in the beginning the way he was treating her now; she might've still been married to her good guy. But, then again maybe not, she allowed. She'd spread for other guys, and that without remorse—well at the time. Hell, she still got it on with Steelman once in a blue moon. Gates had retired and he and his wife had left the state. Wilcox, the man who had initially threatened her with exposure and Watson too, had died of all damn things: heart attack while he was jogging; some people never seemed to get it right when it came to exercising. Watson had taken care of Wilcox long before however, exposing certain improprieties that could have sent him away for a good long time. So, his threats had never seen the light of day. Anymore, there were still the inevitable though but very occasional one night stands. Well, she did still have needs. She often thought of her man while others were doing her; ironic didn't even begin to cover it. Well, he was better off, and so, she reasoned, was she.

******

I couldn't believe it. I mean in a freakin' grocery store! Yeah, I know, "to talk to her or not to talk to her: that was the big assed question." Well, it had been ten years, a lot of water under the bridge. And, what could she do to me. Besides, it would be interesting to know where she'd been and what she'd been doing now that we were both a bit older. I left my basket of groceries where they were and headed over to her; her back was to me.

"Hello, Veronica," I said. She'd been leaning over her cart moving things around in it; but, now she suddenly straightened up. She straightened up, but didn't turn around.

"Benny?" she said, her voice was low.

"Yes, it's me. Fancy meeting you here," I said. She still hadn't turned around.

"There's nothing left for us, Ben. Best we just not make anything of this accidental meet up," she said.

"Oh—Okay. Goodbye," I said. I headed back to where my basket was and made to go up to the cash register and pay. 

"That'll be $67.12," said the checker. I handed over my debit card and waited while she ran it. 

"Benny?" said the voice to my left and slightly behind me. I looked back toward the voice.

"Yeah, it's still me," I said.

"Thank you, ma'am," I said, as the checkout girl recaptured my attention and handed me back my card and the receipt,

I pushed my cart with its bagged produce out into the main exit aisle and almost into the person of my ex-wife, who had somehow slipped out ahead of me.

"I'm sorry Ben. That—back there—was rude of me. Of course we'll talk. It's just that..."

"Yeah, I can relate. There's a Winchell's across the street," I said. She nodded.

I sat stirring my coffee, looking down in it for some smidgen of elusive wisdom to assist me in this strangest of all strange coincidences. Or, maybe it wasn't wisdom, that I was seeking, but just an excuse to not be sayin' anything I'd wanna be taking back two minutes later.

"I kinda feel the same way," she said, interrupting my train of thought. I looked up.

"Huh?" I said.

"I mean I don't know where to begin. It's been what, nine years now?" she said.

"ten," I said.

"Actually closer to nine," she said.

I snickered, "We're already arguing. This time over a truly meaningless topic," I said. Her turn to snicker.

"Yes, I guess you're right," she said. "So, nine-and-a-half then."

"Agreed," I said.

"So how are you, Benny?" she said. "Life treating you okay? Have a new squeeze since we last saw each other?" She was fishing and I knew it.

I stared at her. We were both older, and I had never been a ladies man, and she knew that. I was always the desperate one when it came to getting dates, or for sure getting a woman to grant me a little mercy and spread for me. Things were certainly not any better now that I was older. No, not any better at all.

I guess my look must have cued her. "Oh my, I'm sorry, Benny. I didn't mean to be digging into your personal life," she said. I'd looked away, now I looked back at her.

"No, no. It's okay. It's just been—anyway, to answer your question, life is okay, I'm workin' and getting by; and no, I don't have a significant other. You were the last one of those," I said. 

I'd just decided to get it out rather than fake my way through it for the sake of pride. At age 50, I wasn't all that concerned about what people thought of me; my ego had long ago gotten pretty much crushed and that by the very woman sitting across from me at this very moment.

I could see I'd stopped her with my admission vague though it was. "Benny, can I ask, you're not saying..." I shrugged as she seemed to run out of words.

"Jesus, Ben. I had no idea. I'm—I'm so sorry for, well, for everything. Benny, in case it matters, Mark Watson turned out to be a player. It was too late by the time I figured it out of course, but I have spent many sleepless nights wishing I could undo what I did to you back then; I mean what he and I did to you," she said.

"It's okay, what is—was—well whatever, a lot of water under the bridge." She had taken on, what I would describe, as a singularly intense facial expression. "But, let me ask you, Veronica, are you saying that you're loose and unattached?" I said. She nodded.

"There've been men since Mark, and one of them you know, Roger Gilford, but nothing long term since him, and certainly nothing even approaching permanent. I'm not interested in marrying anybody. You kind a spoiled me for that," she said, smiling weakly. I gave her a look that made her look away. "Roger was worse than even Mark. He turned out to be a user and an abuser, Ben. I got rid of him right after I was released from the hospital."

"Gilford? He hurt you?" I said. "Hospital?"

"Yes. That was two years ago now."

"Jesus! Wait, you said I spoiled you for the likes of them. Is that what you said?"

"Yes."

"Harrummph! if that were so why did you do me like you did, Ronnie? Why!" I said, a little too earnestly. Now, her smile was indulgent. 

"Because dumb-dumb I wanted to have my cake and eat it too. Your dick is too damn small for a big girl like me. Oh, I still got pleasure out of it, out of you, when you socked it to me; you can doubt it if you want to, but I did. But, it is also true that I got a roller coaster ride out of it when Mark or Roger took me. 

"And, while you will likely never believe me, what you bought to the table, my good man, was a helluva lot more valuable, more important, more meaningful, more to be desired than anything Mark or Roger or any other man I ever did put there—including Mark and his nine-inch telephone pole!"

"Yeah right! Then why didn't you opt to dump him and keep me! Given your stated opinion of my overall superiority, it would seem to have been a no brainer," I said.

"Because, love, (a) I never thought you'd actually leave, and (b) I was pissed at you and I thought that at worst I'd have to train him like I did you. But, you did leave; and, he eventually proved untrainable. Talk about miscalculations," she said.

"Benny, I'm going to go out on a limb here. Okay? And, please don't take this the wrong way," she said. 

"What," I said, suspicion verily tripping from my tongue.

"First, how long has it actually been since you had your dick inside of a woman?" I looked down. I could feel my face flush. She waited.

"A couple of months ago," I guess. She narrowed her eyes.

"Benny, I know when you're lying. And, that was a lie," she said. "So, goddamn it! how long has it been?"

"I'm not lying, but—I had to pay..."

"A prostitute! Okay, then let me rephrase. How long has it been since you got any free pussy?" I was squirming inside. My body was immobile, but I was squirming, and I felt like I was about to cry; but, so far I'd at least been able to hold that back.

"All right, if you have to know. The last time was when you and I did it together," I said. And, now I was crying. Not sobbing, but I could feel the trail of tears dampening my cheeks.

She gave me a look the main feature of which was the fact that she wasn't blinking. "Ten years!" she said. "Are you saying that it's been Ten years! You're kidding right?"

"Nine-and-a-half," I said.

"Jesus, Benny. I am so sorry. I had—I mean—I knew it might not have been often—but..."

"It's not your worry, Veronica. Not your worry. I got up and started to leave. She came around to me, and she did it so fast that I fell back into my seat from surprise. She grabbed my arm and literally dragged me to my feet and through the door.

As we walked—and she was actually pulling me along—she spoke. "Not my worry! Of course it's my worry. Benny, you can call it a mercy fuck, a medicinal fuck, a you-better-believe-it's-time-to-get-it-on-fuck or whatever. But, you're coming with me, and you're going to fuck me raw. And, I mean all fucking night," she said. "Oh, and no charge!"

"But—but..."

"Yeah, Butt with two t's. We'll be talking about that too," she said. "Your dick is small enough to do that too; I mean without killing me."

Of course I'd had had no idea where she lived, and, also of course, now I did. It was a small one story three bedroom house not a mile from the market where we'd bumped into each other. We'd driven in her car, at her insistence. She didn't trust me to follow her.

Arriving, she'd made me sit on the couch in the living room, disappeared into the back somewhere, reappeared with two full goblets—I mean full—of white wine, and offered a toast. "To us," she said. I tilted my glass and sipped the rather sweet elixir; I made it to be sauterne. I had a question.

"Tell me, Veronica, when did you move here? I mean..."

"To answer you real questions Ben. Yes, I still work at Mercury, and yes Mark is still my boss, but only that. I live here because I found a place that suited me, and the forty-five minute drive in every morning isn't that taxing. I get paid enough to not have to worry about the price of gas.

"Oh," I said. "I'm glad you're prospering,"

She stood in front of me, placed her glass carefully on the coffee table in front of the couch, and began stripping. When her bra fell to the floor her breasts kind of bounced as she made to loosen and drop her skirt. She was still beautiful, no question. Her panties were last, and they revealed a bald pussy: a direct invitation for someone to fuck her. My dick was so hard it actually pained me.

"Jesus, you're beautiful," I said. She smiled.

"Thank you. Now you stand up," she said. I did as she told me. "Now, strip." Again, I followed her orders. She seemed amused at my efforts.

Naked, I stood facing her with my hands at my sides. She appraised me as if for the first time. 

"Hmm," she said, "kinda small, but we can make it work. Her words in past times would have killed my ego and driven me from the house. But not tonight. I was horny. Jesus was I! And, I was ready to take whatever abuse she heaped on me. She came to me, and knelt in front of me. At first she just looked at my cock not saying anything. Then, she leaned forward and licked the glans. She didn't touch it with her hands, not then, but she licked me. I was in pain and heaven at the same time. The anticipation was killing me.

Finally, she grabbed my cock and guided it between her lips. She sucked me slowly, trying, I was sure, to make the feeling, the exquisite feeling, last. It took maybe five or six minutes, but I finally exploded into her mouth; she swallowed it all.

"Good, the first one is out of the way, now maybe you'll be able to last a bit," she said. I pulled her down to the floor, and loomed above her meaning to take her missionary; she pushed me off and to the side. I looked her askance. 

"Not that way. I want you to take my butt first. No one ever has, regardless of what you might think. Mark was way too big, and I denied everyone else, even Roger, hoping..." she stopped and looked at me. It was a wan and almost forlorn look.

"What?" I said.

"Well, hoping that maybe you and I—well—you know—that maybe we could..."

"Oh, okay." I smiled, "Okay, let's do it then," I said. She pointed to a small bag on a nearby end table that had gone unnoticed by me until just then. The KY's in there. I bought it earlier today for a date I was going to have tomorrow night. And no, not so the man could have my ass. He's big and I needed for him to use it to do my pussy. I nodded.

A date for tomorrow night? A date with a cock so big that she needed KY jelly. For some reason her words didn't deflate me this time as would once have been the case. I wondered if she'd be keeping her date. And, I wondered, whether if she did or didn't, what it would mean for me. And, I wondered if it mattered either way. Helluva note.

She positioned herself on the couch, her butt pushed lewdly back inviting me to fuck her. I spread a fistful of the white lubricant gently inside her anus and on my dick. 

"Ready?" I said. 

"Yes, but go slow. I'm gonna have to get used to the feeling, okay?" she said.

"You betcha," I said.

She was tight, but it didn't take long to break through her sphincter. I pushed and pulled and finally I was in as far as I could go. She was breathing hard: short staccato breaths; she was feeling it.

"You okay?" I said.

"Yes," she squeaked. "You can start screwing me now; I mean for real. But, still go slow." I began see-sawing in and out of her. Soon I felt her pushing back to meet my thrusts.

I stiffened, spit dribbled from the corner of my mouth. I could sense her shivering. She came maybe a nanosecond before I did. I slid from her to a sitting position on the floor, my back leaning against the cushions of the couch; my woman had collapsed into a semi-fetal position on the couch proper. It was the best fuck I'd ever had, and I hadn't even used her pussy, not yet.

Some minutes later, I felt her stir. She sort of rolled off the couch and crawled to me. She coaxed my legs apart and knelt between them. On her knees, she leaned into me, and, bending forward, took my cock into her mouth, dirt and all. She sucked deliciously for some little time. She managed to raise the dead. It occurred to me, that were this 1692, that she would have been hanged for witchcraft. I smiled and rolled on top of her now prostrate form on the carpet.

"Now, you can do my pussy missionary, mister Horton." And, I did.

We lay sprawled out on the living room floor. I was finally getting back to breathing normally. Staring at the ceiling, I was trying to figure out just exactly what had happened. 

We, the two of us, meet in a grocery store; we initially are a bit skittish and standoffish toward each other; we finally decide to get a cup of coffee; she propositions me—probably as much out of feeling sorry for me as for anything else; well, and maybe curiosity. And, we again, the both of us, have the best sex we'd maybe ever had at least together. I know this last was true of me, if she were faking it, she did a damn good job of it. So what now? I decided to ask.

"So what now?" I said.

"We date a little and maybe get remarried," she said, matter-of-factly.

"Huh?" I said.

"You need me, and I sure as hell need you," she said. "So..."

"We get married?" I said, interrupting her.

"We wouldn't be the first that figured things out after the fact," she said. I stared at her—hard.

"What about your other men?" I said. Now, she was doing the staring.

"You're asking if I would be letting other men have me, I mean if we were to get remarried," she said. I nodded.

"Yes—maybe—not sure," she said. "I will probably still need the occasional big cock to do me." I frowned. Could I live with it? I couldn't before. Her in the face attitude killed it for us a decade gone. But now? We were older, a little slower, a little more concerned with—with what? Something.

"We can date, Ronnie, but I'm not sure..."

"Good enough. At least you didn't reject the idea out of hand. I will say this. If tonight wasn't a onetime thing, if you're gonna be that much better in the sack that you used to be—well—my playing the field occasionally—if I even do—might not be much of a problem," she said.

And we did date, for about a year. And we did remarry at the end of that time. And, she did cut way back on her playing with other men, radically. Still, maybe once every couple of months I would come home from work and find a note telling me not to wait up and that my dinner was in the microwave. Well, at least there was no more hiding it or sneaking around; that was a plus.

Nevertheless, what got me, wasn't the other men doing her. No, it was her trying to get me to join in. So far I've not done it. But, lately, I've been considering it. Maybe watching if not actually getting naked. It could happen. Yes it could.