285 comments/ 162023 views/ 67 favorites Silence; or, The Bet By: ohio On Tuesday Marc Zoumakis was doing what he usually did, pushing proposals and amendments and prospectuses around on his desk, checking figures on his computer, making calculations. It seemed boring to other people--and occasionally to him--but there was a side of the insurance business that meant dealing with people, sometimes helping them, and that appealed to Marc. But when the phone rang at 11:10 and it was his daughter Allison on the other end, his face lit up in a big smile. "Allie! This is a surprise--aren't you supposed to be in school? She sounded upset. "Dad, it's--it's the car. Bren and Shelly and I were running an errand for the Athletics Council and it just died on us." "You're okay, nobody hurt?" "No no, nothing like that. The motor just quit, so I pulled off into a parking lot. We're on 561, like a couple of miles from the mall." Marc was relieved. "Okay, as long as you're all right. Give me oh, 20 minutes and I'll be there. What on earth made you take 561?" It was a road filled with shoe outlets, strip malls full of dollar stores, car muffler places, and so on. And it wasn't the direct route to the mall, certainly not from the high school. "Shelly said there was a new shoe place, we figured we could take a few minutes to check it out--but then the engine quit. Can you come right now?" Allison sounded stressed but not too shaken. "Sure, honey, be right there," he said. "What's the address?" ***** Marc had worked in an auto repair shop for his last two years of high school and most of the way through college, and it never even occurred to him to have Allison call AAA. He kept a close eye on all the family's cars, including Allie's 06 Corolla, and he was pretty sure it was nothing he couldn't take care of. When he got out there, the car was in the parking lot of the Paloma Diner, and Allie and her friends were having hot chocolate inside. Marc went in, gave Allie a kiss and got the keys. Within about five minutes he had located and taken care of the problem--one of the battery cables had corrosion on it and was slipping off the battery post. "Thanks a million, Daddy!" Allie beamed at her dad and gave him a big hug, while Brenda and Shelly said, "way to go, Mr. Z.!" "Drive safely back to school, okay Al? I'll see you tonight." Looking at his watch after the girls drove away, Marc figured he might as well have some lunch. He went back outside to get a copy of the Enquirer out of a coin-operated box; and as he stood back up he glanced across the street. There in the parking lot of the Hi-Ho Motel was Sheryl's black Nissan Altima. It couldn't be, but it was. The plate read KOA-5682; it was hers. The car was parked right in front of one of the rooms, and next to it was a red Corvette with a plate that said "PRINS". Marc felt sick. He stood frozen in place for what felt like hours, though it was probably no more than a minute. Then he went back into the diner with his paper, sat in a booth where he could watch his wife's car, and had a muffin and a cup of coffee. His mind was a whirling blizzard of thoughts, none of them pleasant. Ignoring the waitress's polite attempts at chitchat, he focused grimly on the scene across the street, as though his uninterrupted vigilance could prevent the worst from coming true. Just after 12:35 the door to the motel room in front of the Corvette opened and Sheryl stepped out, smiling and looking back. She was followed by a tall, open-faced guy who was just finishing tucking his shirt back into his pants, his coat held over one arm. They talked and laughed together for a minute; then he bent down in an attempt to kiss her and she laughingly pushed him away. Then they each climbed into their cars; Sheryl drove off immediately and the Corvette followed a moment later. Marc sat, gazing out the window, seeing nothing. He suddenly stood up, pulled some bills out of his wallet and left them on the table, and headed back to his car. He drove south along the river, crossed it on I-275, and got off at the exit for Northern Kentucky University, where he'd been a student. There was a wooded area at the south end of campus that he'd always loved to walk in, and he parked in a nearby lot. It was well below 20 degrees, but Marc barely noticed it as he walked. "Nineteen years!" was his only conscious thought. "Nineteen years I've been married to Sheryl--nineteen years I've loved and cherished her, raised our kids with her, been faithful and devoted to her. "Nineteen fucking years!" ****************** Sheryl didn't know what she felt--embarrassed, a little, but satisfied and excited too. Anthony's cum oozed into her panties, despite the tissues she'd stuffed into them, and she was eager to get home and have a quick shower. Both kids would be at school, Marc was at the office, and the house would be empty. She giggled to herself. A 42-year old woman, sneaking off to a sleazy motel for a tryst with a co-worker! And not just any co-worker, but a hot 31-year old co-worker; a handsome, single, younger guy who'd pursued her relentlessly for months, flirting and teasing, making easily-repelled but nonetheless flattering passes. And then, finally, the bet. The silly, foolish, crazy bet she'd accepted, and lost. And there she was, on her back on a bed in the Hi-Ho Motel, taking a delicious pounding from the first and only man besides her husband she'd fucked in 20 years. (And not only on her back, she reflected; that had just been the first time. On top of him too, and then on her knees, with that hard cock driving remorselessly into her from behind.) Sheryl liked sex. She always liked it with Marc, and not surprisingly she'd liked the hell out of it with Anthony, who was strong and forceful with her. Not too rough, but intense, very excited and eager, and that made it exciting for her too. It took nearly 45 minutes to get home to their house in West Price Hill, on the far side of Cincinnati; and by the time she pulled into the driveway Sheryl was feeling far less good about herself. The tingling feeling, the afterglow from some lovely sex, was fading. And growing in its place was a sense of regret and shame. What the HELL had she been doing? Sure, it was flattering to have Anthony Prins as an admirer, pursuing, flattering, teasing, telling her she was sexier than any of the women his own age she told him he ought to be chasing. But she'd only accepted that bet to shut him down. She knew there was no way he could win--and when he lost she knew he would pay up, and she would have the great pleasure of taking his $1000 and treating herself and Marc to a romantic weekend in a fancy hotel. That had been the best part, as Sheryl had thought about it. The idea that his money, the money of the guy who was so horny for her that he'd risk $1000, would pay for her to have a hot night of sex with her husband was simply too delicious to resist. When she'd lost the bet Sheryl had been shocked, disbelieving. And for a few days she'd simply avoided Anthony, kept away from him. She couldn't sleep with another man, break her marriage vows, over a stupid BET! But it had eaten away at her, the idea of it. No matter how silly it was, they'd both made the bet in good faith--how could she back out? And the fact that Anthony was tall and broad-shouldered and a full decade younger--Sheryl was too honest with herself to deny that the thought of sex with him was kind of exciting. Anthony had been smart enough not to hound her, not to remind her that she owed him something. He just smiled whenever he saw her, and said "Good morning" or "can I get you some coffee?", and gave her a big grin that was full of unspoken meanings. And finally, after nearly three weeks of thinking about it, she'd gone right up to him, when he was alone in the break room for a minute, and just stood there gazing at him, saying nothing. Anthony's face had broken out into such a delighted smile that her nipples hardened; and he said, "how about Tuesday morning? There's a place called the Hi-Ho Motel on Route 561, way over on the other side of Cincinnati. I'll take the morning off and get a room; meet me there at 10." He watched her, waiting. She couldn't even breathe. Finally she just nodded, once. And he'd leaned forward, very carefully, and given her a gentle kiss on the lips. It was electric--it terrified Sheryl how exciting it was--and then he was gone, leaving her alone there in the break room to wonder what on earth she had just agreed to. Or, rather, why on earth she had agreed to it. ***** The hot shower felt good, but that afterglow was long gone. Sheryl felt stupid--stupid and guilty. She couldn't help wondering what would happen to her marriage--and then she stamped her foot. "Get ahold of yourself!" she thought. This was ridiculous! She'd done something awful, made a horrendous mistake. It had felt great at the time, true, but it was an idiotic, selfish thing--fucking around behind Marc's back. But he'd never know, no one would ever know, unless Sheryl lost her mind and told him. All she had to do was be herself, her normal self. Not guilty, not scared, not clingy--just a loving wife of 19 years, glad to see her man when he walked in the door. And maybe a little amorous that night, surprise him by reaching for him in bed, offering a little Tuesday-night fun. The idea made her pussy tingle--before she could stop herself she was thinking "two men in one day!" She'd never done anything like that in her life, not even in college. She couldn't help it--it made her smile. ****************** Sheryl heard Marc's car pull into the garage and she felt a sudden quiver of nervousness. She listened for the door, making sure that she was busy with pots on the stove as Marc stepped into the room. "Hi, honey," she called out brightly, her back to him momentarily, feeling a slight blush on her cheeks and cursing herself. "Calm down!" she said inside her head. Then she turned to give him the usual kiss; but to her surprise Marc was already past her, on his way into the hallway to hang up his coat. He hadn't said a word. "Honey?" she called out. She heard the closet door open, then close; and then the sound of Marc's feet on the stairs. Sheryl's nervousness returned. Marc never failed to say hello, never skipped a kiss when he came in at dinner time. What could be wrong? He couldn't possibly know ... anything. Could he? No, it was ridiculous! It was just that once, just that day--and way the hell on the other side of Cincinnati, on 561. ***** At dinner the kids chattered away, Alison about the upcoming junior prom and her worries about who would ask her, Jeff--when he could get a word in edgewise--about baseball tryouts and his hopes of making the team as a sophomore. Sheryl smiled and nodded, passed the food around, and watched Marc with feverish attention. She was absolutely terrified. Marc seemed almost normal--almost. He was his usual self with the kids, teasing them affectionately, listening to their stories, asking questions, being the involved father that she was so used to. But Sheryl noticed--couldn't help but notice--that he wouldn't look at her, and didn't send a single word in her direction. When dinner was over and the kids had dashed off to do their homework, Sheryl began carrying the serving dishes back into the kitchen. She expected Marc to follow her with the plates--they always cleaned up together after dinner--but when she returned to the dining room he was gone, and the dishes were scattered around the table where the family had left them. Even more concerned, she hastily did the clean-up herself and then went in search of her husband. After she'd tried their bedroom, the living room, and his study, it occurred to her to look into the garage. His car was gone. Sheryl slumped down into a kitchen chair. Marc had never gone out without telling her in all the years of her marriage. It could only mean the one awful, unthinkable thing she didn't have the courage to contemplate. But how? How could he possibly know? ***** The Celtics were pounding the Bulls by nearly 30 in the third quarter, not that Marc gave a shit. He drank some more of his beer, then put his elbows back on the bar and watched the game. Jesus, half the players were guys he'd never heard of. He realized how long it had been since had had the time to focus on the NBA, though he used to love it. As the busy father of two teenagers, and the husband of a woman with her own career, watching sports had slid down to the bottom of the priority list. He idly chatted with the guys on either side of him--yeah the Bulls had really gone to hell--no, it would never again be like in the old Michael Jordan days--yeah, I suppose that kid Rose is pretty good--without paying much attention. Marc was not a drinker, and he left the second beer unfinished and headed home. He had no idea what his plans were, beyond knowing that Sheryl was going to get the silent treatment for a while. He didn't want to speak to her--shit, he didn't even want to have to look at her face, and see her inside his head smiling up at that asshole as they came out of the motel room. It bothered him that the kids would inevitably notice, but he didn't see any way around that. "Spread the unhappiness," he thought, and laughed to himself. Sheryl would find that she hadn't just shat on her husband, she'd dropped a load on her children as well. How long had she been fucking that guy? Who else had gotten into her pants in the two decades of their marriage? What else didn't he know about, and how long had he been a clueless cuckold? He clenched his hands tight around the steering wheel. Marc considered sleeping in the guest room with the door locked, but he knew he'd toss and turn for hours, raging and wondering about his life. So instead he went straight into the master bathroom and took a sleeping pill; then he undressed, brushed his teeth and climbed into bed. It was only 10:15, but the pills were strong--Marc had a prescription for his occasional insomnia--and he knew he'd be asleep in minutes. "Marc? Honey?" Sheryl spoke timidly from the door of the bedroom. She'd been talking to Allie when she thought she heard the garage door, and came to find Marc as soon as she and her daughter had finished their conversation. But there he was in bed, the lights out, turned away from her. Marc stiffened but didn't answer. "Marc--is everything all right?" She didn't know which would be worse: silence or an angry outburst. What she got was silence. She walked around to the bed and sat on the other side, facing him. "Honey? Can we talk about what's bothering you? Can I help?" Marc opened his eyes and looked at her, keeping his face totally blank. Then he rolled over and faced the other way, putting his back to her. Sheryl's heart froze in her chest. She gazed at him for a long time, and then quietly left the room. ****************** Who had the worse day Wednesday? It would be hard to say. Marc was angry and distracted, though thanks to the pill he'd at least had a decent night's sleep. Good thing it was a day of paperwork rather than seeing clients, because he would've had a tough time being cordial and patient. He tried to bury himself in his work, but every few minutes he found himself gazing out the window, thinking about what he'd seen; wondering what his life would become now. Divorce? How could he live with her, after... But how could he move out and not see the kids every day? His thoughts went nowhere, or at least nowhere constructive, so he gritted his teeth and went back to actuarial tables and liability waivers. Sheryl was fortunate not to have an accident on the way to work. She was so distracted that she nearly ran a red light; and she paused at a stop sign so long the cars behind her honked impatiently. Marc had gotten up early and left the house without breakfast, without even waiting to see the kids. And without a word to her. When she got to her office she closed her door and just sat at her desk for a while, her head in her hands. Thinking, wondering, fearing. What did Marc know? HOW could he possibly know? What would he do? Had her stupidity ended her marriage? Or was it possible that somehow, someway, it was something else that was bothering him? She had no idea what it might be, but that's what she was hoping for. Thank God she didn't see Anthony until later that day--he was making a sales call down in Louisville or Lexington or somewhere. When he poked his head in around 3:30, a big smile on his face, the look she gave him froze him in his tracks. "Hey Sheryl, I'm---what's the matter?" "Something's wrong at home--something bad." Her voice was quiet. "I think maybe Marc knows what ... what happened yesterday." He looked utterly shocked. "But how--" "I haven't any idea. But he's furious about something--furious at me." She waved her hand at Anthony. "Just go back to work, okay? I don't really feel much like talking." Shaken, Anthony retreated back down the hall. He liked Sheryl, and he certainly didn't want anything to happen to her marriage. And, he admitted to himself, he wasn't very happy about the idea of having to watch over his shoulder for a seriously pissed-off husband. She turned back to her work, dimly aware of the fear that pressed down on her. She did her work, went and bought groceries, drove home, and started on dinner. The evening was a repeat of the one before: the kids chattered, she and Marc responded to them, but he steadfastly refused to speak to her. He barely even looked at her. When he needed the salt that was at her end of the table, he got up and retrieved it rather than ask her to pass it. In despair, Sheryl was also amazed that Allie and Jeff still didn't seem to have noticed. After dinner he disappeared, leaving Sheryl with the dishes. He spent the evening in his study; and when she came in around 10:30 he made no move to turn around and look at her. Sheryl said quietly, "Honey? Are you coming to bed soon?" Then he did respond, spinning slowly in his desk chair. He gazed at her coldly, silently, his face a complete blank. She could feel his distance from her--it was as though an icy wind was blowing across the room towards her. After a minute he turned back to his desk, without a word. ****************** By Friday it was obvious even to the kids that something was wrong. Marc made no effort to conceal from Allie and Jeff that he wasn't speaking to Sheryl, and they looked at their parents uncomfortably, not quite ready to ask what the hell was going on. Both had evening plans with friends, and they fled the dinner table as quickly as they could. Not a minute after they'd gone, Marc stood up, got his coat and headed out the door himself. Sheryl spent a miserable night in front of the TV, worrying and occasionally crying. When Marc came into the bedroom around 11:30, smelling faintly of beer and cigarette smoke, she was wide awake, lying in the dark on her side of the bed, but she didn't try to touch him or speak to him. ****************** "So what's going on, Mom?" Sheryl and Allie were making banana muffins and a fruit salad in the kitchen, as they often did on weekends. It was Saturday morning around 10--Jeff was still fast asleep, and Marc had already left the house without a word. "What do you mean, honey?" Sheryl replied, though she knew. She was not looking forward to this conversation. "You and Dad. I mean, something's up--he hasn't talked to you for like, five days? He gets up from the dinner table without a word? I can tell it's not about me or Jeff, 'cause he's fine with us. Did you guys have a major fight about something?" Sheryl sighed. "To be honest, honey" (well, not totally honest, she thought) I'm not sure what's bothering your father. I can't get him to talk to me about it, which is certainly not like him--we're usually really good about talking things through together." Silence; or, The Bet "Okay, mom, let's figure this out. Let's be logical about it. When did it start?" Allie adored CSI, and fancied herself something of a detective. "I'm not sure," said Sheryl, already afraid of where this might lead. "One day this week, but I'm not sure when." "I remember!" Allie clapped her hands together, looking pleased. "It was the day my car died--that had to be Tuesday! I called Dad and he came and fixed it." Sheryl hadn't heard any of this story. "Fixed your car? Where and when?" "We were over on 561, near that mall? Shelly and Bren and I were running an errand, and..." Allie chattered away, telling Sheryl all about what happened that morning, and Sheryl felt a chill run down the length of her body. Route 561, the mall ... that's where the Hi-Ho Motel was. Where her car was parked out in front, visible from the street.... Squeezing her fingers tight to keep her voice from trembling, Sheryl said, "and how was Dad then? Was he angry, or was everything okay?" "No, he was fine! He took care of the car in like no time, you know how great he is--and we just got into it and drove back to school." "So," Sheryl said, pretending to think, "something must have happened to Dad later that day to upset him--but I didn't see him or talk to him until he came home for dinner. I wonder what it could be?" Allie didn't have any ideas, and they discussed it for a couple of minutes until her phone chirped and she began a lengthy exchange of texts with her girlfriends, planning their afternoon. Sheryl breathed a sigh of relief. At least her secret was safe from the kids--for now. But Marc.... Marc had to know. He had to have seen her car at the motel, and drawn the same conclusion anyone would have. Or, worse: did he see her with Anthony? God help her, did he peek in through the drapes or something? She quietly left the kitchen, went up to her bedroom and shut the door. In a moment she was lying on the bed, sobbing desperately into the pillow. She was terrified. ****************** Marc's silence continued through the weekend, and Allie and Jeff were increasingly mystified. He continued to be the same as always with them: funny, teasing, interested in their lives. But his obvious rage at Sheryl and his total refusal to speak to her made them uneasy. And it was making their Mom miserable too, as they could plainly see. They talked about it in Jeff's room. "I guess I just think it's not our business, Al--it's weird, but it's between them." "It's just so crazy, though. I mean, they're the lovey-doveyest couple I know; WAY more than Shelly's or Brenda's parents. Like, Brenda's mom thinks her dad is an idiot--she treats him like dirt. "And then this? A sudden freeze, out of nowhere? I just think we--" "Not me, sis. If you want to butt into it, go ahead, but I'm staying out of it." Jeff stood up. "I gotta go over to Eric's--see ya later." Allie sat a few minutes longer; and then stood up, determined to ask her dad what was going on. But when she found him in the garage, sweeping and cleaning up, he calmly refused to talk to her about it. "Your mom and I are just going through...through something, honey. All married couples do, now and then. Nothing to do with you, okay?" "But dad, you haven't like said a word to her in a week--I mean, that's just weird!" He smiled, patiently. "Sorry it's bothering you, honey." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "But we'll work it out. No need for you to be upset about it." And Marc changed the subject to Allie's upcoming SATs, something she had no particular interest in talking about. Frustrated, she gave up and headed off to her friend's house. ****************** On Monday night, Sheryl came into Marc's study and said, "Marc, I'd like to talk to you for a minute, please." He stiffened but didn't turn around. She waited. "Will you turn around and listen to me please?" After a minute, when he still didn't move, she said, "okay. I didn't know if you would listen, so I wrote a note to you. Please read this some time tonight." She put a sealed envelope in front of him. It had the words "To my Dear Husband" written on the front. Without waiting to see if he would open it, Sheryl left the room. When she came to bed later that night, Marc was already asleep, or pretending to be. The envelope was lying unopened on top of her pillow. ****************** The next morning at 9:45 Marc looked up from his desk at work as his office door opened. Before he could do more than stand up Sheryl had come into the room, closing and locking the door behind her. He stared at her silently--then slowly sat back down in his chair. He rotated it away from her, until he was looking at the window. "I can tell you're not going to speak to me, Marc," Sheryl said quietly. "But unless you're willing to knock me over to get out of the room, I'm going to speak to you." She pulled a sheet of paper out of her purse. "This is the note I asked you to read last night. I'm going to read it to you." She watched him, but Marc made no move. She began to read. "Dear Marc-- "I did something incredibly stupid, something that you seem to have found out about. "I had sex with another man--once. Once only, never before and I swear to you--never again. "This was a horrible mistake. I am so sorry that I did this, so sorry that I broke the vows I made to you before God. So sorry that I have hurt you in this way. "There is no excuse whatsoever. But I do want you to know that this was a one-time thing, a one-time idiotic decision on my part. And I hope you will listen to the circumstances, so that you can understand that I will NEVER let anything like this happen ever again. "If you will give me the chance, I will prove to you that I love and value you and our marriage more than anything in the world. That I am truly sorry. That I want to make this horrible thing up to you, and win back your love and your trust. "Through Barbara Jenkins I got the name of a good therapist, Dr. Fisher, and I'm going to see him tomorrow afternoon. I'm hoping that you would be willing to come with me, so that we can work on things together. But if you don't, I will go in any case. "I am so sorry, Marc. I don't deserve your forgiveness right now, but I hope that I can earn it back, in time. And I hope you'll give me that chance. "I love you very much." Sheryl read in a serious, calm tone, though her voice nearly broke as she neared the end of the letter. When she finished she watched Marc, his back turned to her. He didn't move, didn't make any sound, and she finally turned and left the office. Marc waited a full five minutes after her exit before he swung back around to his desk. He was virtually trembling with rage--it took all his self-control not to throw a book through the window, or sweep all the papers off his desk. The fucking CUNT! The selfish, lying, unfaithful BITCH! Until he'd heard her confession, there'd been a hope--just a faint, tiny one--that she hadn't really done it. He knew she had, he was absolutely sure she had--not just because of what he'd seen that day but because of the way she'd behaved during his weeklong silence. She'd acted guilty as hell, not like an innocent wife who didn't know why her husband was pissed at her. Yet there had still been a smidgen of his brain that thought it was possible, somehow, that he'd been wrong. And now that was gone. Marc got up and started to pace around his office. Then, changing his mind suddenly, he grabbed his coat and headed out for a walk. The cold wind felt good on his face as he strode through the downtown streets, scowling at the world. A few of his jumbled thoughts were hopeful, but most of them were angry and vengeful. She'd only done it once? That was a good thing....IF he could believe her, the lying cunt! Why wouldn't she say that? Why not try to minimize her affair? If it was an affair.... Maybe it really was only once, and she was desperately sorry. But maybe she'd loved it, maybe it had been hot and exciting and much better than sex with her old boring dependable husband--and all she was regretting was being caught! And maybe it had been going on for weeks, or months! How the fuck would he ever know? How could he EVER trust her again, the cunt? He walked, turning a corner and feeling the wind blow straight into his face. Could he ever imagine staying married to the cheating bitch? After she'd shat on him, shat on their marriage like that? What would he want her to do, if he'd been the one to cheat, to slip once and fuck another woman? He'd want her to forgive him, wouldn't he? If he loved her, and was really sorry, and it was just some dumb fucked-up one-time mistake? But Goddammit, he HADN'T fucked up, he hadn't laid a hand on another woman in two decades! He'd kept his pecker in his pants where it belonged! So it didn't really matter what she would have done, did it? Marc walked for nearly an hour, until his legs ached and his face was virtually frozen stiff. Did he want to divorce her and live in a downtown apartment by himself--seeing the kids once or twice a week, and trying to rebuild his life, find someone else to love? Could he find someone he cared about as much as Sheryl, someone as beautiful, funny, loving as she was? Someone who made him feel as good in bed, someone who was as good a companion? But FUCK--she'd cheated on him! At least if he started over, he'd have a chance of finding someone he could trust.... Yeah, a chance. But no sure thing, not for a guy in his mid-40s, beginning to spread around the middle, not exactly a movie-star. And if he didn't, did he want to spend the next 30 years alone, or trying to date, pathetically seeking a life's companion like the great one he'd dumped? But how could he take her back? How could he look himself in the mirror, and say, "my wife cuckolded me--she fucked another guy, probably enjoyed the hell out of it too, but we're still together." What kind of pussy could live with himself if he did that? One thing's for sure, he told himself as he headed back to his office. Go to counseling with her? Fuck no. She did this, she fucked up our marriage, let's see her try to make it right. If she can. This is HER fucking problem, not mine. If he'd been able to be more honest, he would have thought: she may have made this problem, but it's not just hers--it's ours. ****************** The next seven weeks were the most painful of Marc's adult life. He went to work, he came home. He sat at the dinner table and joked with the kids, ignoring his obviously devastated wife. He helped with their homework, discussed their college plans and social life, and tried as best he could to be the same old dad. Most evenings he went straight to his study after dinner and worked--he'd actually never been so caught up on his paperwork in his life. When he didn't feel like doing that he headed down to the bar and watched basketball, chatting casually with the regulars. He didn't say a word to his wife--didn't give her a nod or a meaningful glance. Just silence, and blank looks or no looks at all. She had stopped approaching him with questions, or speaking to him at all in front of the kids. Occasionally she'd make statements that didn't need a response: "my car's engine light came on this morning, I'm hoping you can take a look at it this weekend;" or "on Thursday there's a farewell party for Alice Deane at work, so I won't be home until about 7:30--maybe you'd be willing to pick up some dinner that night." In the bedroom there was nothing--no sex, obviously, not even any touching. They moved around the room and in and out of the bathroom silently, as if each of them were completely alone. Sheryl's face was usually drawn and sad, occasionally with tears on her cheeks; Marc's was tense and angry. Two or three times, in the first weeks, she'd reached across to where he lay, on his side facing away from her, and squeezed his shoulder gently, or stroked his hair. But he brusquely shrugged her hand away each time; and she quickly got the message. Driving Jeff back from the batting cages one Saturday afternoon he had to face some difficult questions. Jeff dove right in: "Dad, what's going on with you and mom? I mean, it's obvious you're pissed, but have you even spoken to her in the last few weeks? Like at all?" Slowly Marc said, "we're going through a ... a rough patch, Jeff. It happens, in marriages. This one is worse than some--longer--but we'll get through it." Marc actually doubted that was true, but no sense worrying Jeff any sooner than he had to. "Listen, remember when you and Brandon argued about baseball cards or something, back in the 8th grade, and you didn't talk to each other for two weeks? Best friends, and you totally ignored each other? And then you got over it, and got back to being friends again. It happens." "But Dad, Brandon and I were like 13, right? Dumb little kids. You and mom are supposed to be grown-ups! And I mean, Jesus--not even speaking to her? For like a month now? She must have REALLY pissed you off--I'm almost scared to think about what she did." In the silence that followed that remark, Marc winced at what Jeff might be thinking. If he'd figured it out, though, he didn't say--and Marc certainly wasn't going to enlighten him. "I don't want you and Allie in the middle of it, Jeff--that's not fair to you guys at all. Mom loves you, I love you. I'm sorry this is going on right now but we're both going to keep on being the best parents we can be for you both." "But Dad, it's--" "I don't really see what else I can say, Jeff. I'm sorry. But some things are just private." Jeff sat, apparently sulking, for a few minutes, but Marc had the sense that he was digesting what his father had said. After a little while the mood passed, and they began talking about the baseball team. It looked like Jeff had a good chance of being the starting second baseman, unless Ted Dover picked up his hitting. Ted was a senior, but Jeff was faster on the bases and better with the glove, he said, so he was hopeful. At work, people could tell Marc was on edge, but he didn't talk about it. Jim and Alex, the guys he frequently had lunch with, had broached the subject, but all Marc had said was, "oh, some tension with Sheryl--you know how it is when you've been married forever." They were both married--and both could tell it was far worse than the usual, to get Marc this way, but they followed his lead and let it alone. Marc got into the habit of taking a long walk in the middle of the day, several days a week. He thought of it as his "angry walk," because he always spent it reflecting on his situation and feeling his body swell with anger at Sheryl and what she had done. He hoped, without quite being aware of it, that these walks--that the weeks of silence--would somehow start to fix things. Or if not fix them, then at least clarify his thinking. But he never got beyond "divorce? not terribly appealing," and "forgive her, and just go back to the status quo? are you fucking kidding me?!?" He knew he was stuck. And at times it even felt a little silly, this silent treatment, after so many weeks. But he kept it up, mostly because he didn't have any better ideas. ****************** Those seven weeks were the most painful of Sheryl's adult life. She grieved for a marriage that might be over--that was certainly over in the short run. She ached for Marc's pain--pain she had selfishly caused him, pain he'd done nothing to deserve. She shrank under the onslaught of his silent fury, feeling every cold look, dreading every moment when it was obvious to her and the children that he wasn't speaking to her. She didn't push him, didn't beg him to talk to her, to forgive her, to make love to her. She occasionally told him things without expecting a reply, and he seemed to listen to them. She reached for him once or twice in bed but his brusque rejections brought a quick end to her attempts. Mostly she stayed out of his way--she tried to be a loving wife, run the house, make great dinners, get the shopping done. Just show him she was holding up her end, doing all she could, and not letting his silence make her resentful. She wasn't giving up, that's about the best that could be said for it. The counseling sessions with Dr. Fisher were brutal. He was kind and professional, but he didn't let her get away with anything. She told him all about it--her marriage, her feelings for Marc and the children, her life at work, and then the flirtation with Anthony, and the bet. That goddamned bet! But Dr. Fisher, a mild-mannered guy who looked like a college professor, with his trimmed beard and his tweed sport coats, didn't just listen. He challenged her. "Okay, Sheryl," he said quietly. "You made this bet; and then when you lost you felt you had to follow through on it. But that leaves us with a couple of questions, doesn't it? Why you allowed yourself to be drawn into such a bet--and why you felt that keeping the promise you'd made to Anthony outweighed keeping the vows you made to Marc when you married him." "I know, I know," she said, starting to cry. "When I look back on it, it's just ... it's just ridiculous! I mean, committing adultery because of a bet?" "So we have to talk about why you were open to that--what was going on in the relationship with Anthony, and in the relationship with your husband, that led to these choices. "And, of course, you've said that the sex with Anthony was exciting and pleasurable. There was clearly more there than just paying off on a bet you lost." Sheryl nodded, her face in her hands, her tears coming faster. ****************** About five weeks into her work with Dr. Fisher, when they'd agreed it was time, Sheryl asked Marc a question. She was in bed, and he'd just finished brushing his teeth and was climbing into bed on his side, ignoring her as always. "Marc?" she said. "Dr. Fisher and I think ... well, he thinks that we've gotten to the point in my work with him where ... where it would make sense for you to come in as well. At least for one appointment. So I could talk to you about ... what happened. Please. "Would you be willing to come in for my appointment on Thursday at 5? The address is on the fridge." She watched him. He'd stopped still when she started to talk, obviously listening, but didn't turn around or acknowledge her words in any way. When she was done he waited a moment longer, then got into bed and turned out the light. On Thursday at 5:15, when it was clear both to the doctor and to Sheryl that Marc wasn't coming, she started to cry. He said, "this was only our first request, Sheryl. It's too soon to give up--let's talk together about what to try next." That night when Marc went into his study after dinner he found a note from Sheryl taped to his desk. "Marc--sorry you weren't able to come to the appointment with Dr. Fisher today. My next appointment is Monday at 5 pm. I really hope you will be able to come to that one." She's not giving up, is she? Marc thought to himself. He wasn't really surprised--and in fact he figured that sooner or later he'd pretty much have to go to one of the fucking appointments. Certainly the status quo wasn't getting them anywhere--Marc wasn't any closer than he'd been weeks before to figuring out what the hell he wanted. But every time he thought about going to see Dr. Fisher he got furious--all the rage and humiliation of the day he'd seen Sheryl coming out of the motel room with that asshole Anthony came surging back. "Fuck her!" he thought, stomping out of his study, grabbing his keys, and heading for the bar. "Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her! She was the one that fucked up our marriage, the stupid cunt--let her fucking fix it!" Silence; or, The Bet Needless to say, Marc never turned up for the Monday appointment either. ****************** One day the following week, Marc looked up from his desk when his administrative assistant knocked on the door. "Marc, your 10 o'clock is here." "Thanks, Audrey," he said, glancing at his calendar. It showed a two-hour appointment with a new client to discuss what would supposedly be a complicated family insurance matter. He sighed to himself; two-hour appointments were invariably boring, but they paid well. Even if the client didn't buy insurance, he still had to pay for Marc's time. Marc stood as a middle-aged guy in a tweed sport coat walked in. "Good morning," he said, offering his hand, "I'm Marc Zoumakis. Please come in, Mr. Klein." Marc's visitor sat, looking him over speculatively. Then he said, "Mr. Zoumakis, I have to begin with an apology. I'm here under false pretenses." "I, uh, don't quite understand." "Mr. Zoumakis, my real name is Alan Fisher. I'm the counselor who has been working with your wife Sheryl." And with that, Fisher went to the door, opened it, and beckoned in a sheepish-looking Sheryl. He closed the door again and the two of them sat in Marc's client chairs. Marc reddened. "Just what the fu-- what the hell is going on here?" Sheryl looked scared. "Marc, Dr. Fisher and I couldn't get you to meet with us. So we're ambushing you. I know it may not be fair, but I couldn't see any other way. And I'll pay for the two hours, whatever happens," she added. Angrily Marc said, "Dr. ... Fisher, is it? And how does this sort of thing jibe with the ethics of your profession?" Fisher smiled. "That's a fair question, Mr. Zoumakis. I know this is ... unusual. But there's nothing coercive about it. You can walk out of here right now and not come back for two hours. You'll still be paid for the appointment. "However, in my professional judgment it's high time that you and Sheryl--Mrs. Zoumakis--began working together to deal with the problems in your marriage." "The only 'problem' is that my wife turns out to be a cheating, lying cunt." Marc was furious, but he kept his voice down. "I understand why you feel that way." Fisher's voice was calm. "And I understand that you haven't spoken to her since you learned of her ... cheating, is that right?" Marc nodded, still fuming. "Well, it seems to me that, whatever resolution you and Sheryl come to of the situation between you, further silence is unlikely to help you get there. You haven't thrown her out of the house, right? Nor, so far as I know, have you filed for divorce." Marc shook his head. "Well, that appears to mean that you haven't yet given up on the marriage, whatever your thoughts and plans may be. Why not give Sheryl a chance to talk to you about what happened? I know it won't be much fun--but at least then you'll have a clearer sense of what you're both dealing with." "I know what I'm dealing with," Marc snapped. "A lying bitch who--" He stopped, and took a deep breath. "Okay," he said, finally, looking only at Fisher. "I'll listen. But don't expect anything more out of me than that. I'm not having some touchy-feely 'healing session' or something," he said in a scornful tone. "That's fine," said Fisher, quite unruffled. "Sheryl, why don't you tell Marc--may I call you Marc?--about the bet, what led up to it, and what happened after?" At the word "bet" Marc's eyes widened and he stared at Sheryl, but said nothing. She leaned forward, an imploring look on her face. "Honey, I'm so sorry--I know I did a horrible--" She stopped, watching as Marc spun suddenly in his chair to face out the window, his back to her. Fisher said, "Sheryl, I think it would be best if you just told the story, okay? I'm not sure that apologies are helpful right now. And Marc, would you be willing to turn back around so that you can see your wife as she talks?" Slowly, Marc rotated his chair back to face his wife and the doctor, his gaze aggressively blank and neutral. "It happened because of a bet, Marc. I mean--that's not the whole story. But Anthony and I chatted all the time at work, and he's kind of a big flirt. Every once in a while he'd make a light pass, always kidding, like 'hey, are you free after work tonight? Want to come see the view from my apartment?' It was always a joke, and I always shot him down, you know, rolled my eyes and told him to get his adolescent fantasies under control." She was speaking quietly, carefully, watching her husband. He was silent and motionless, watching her, listening. She had to tell this horrible story, she'd been practicing in her head for weeks--but she was scared to death. "Anyway, there's a game he plays in his office with some of the other guys. He's got an empty coffee can nailed to the wall, lying on its side on the floor. And he and the other guys stand across the room and try to roll ping-pong balls into it. It's impossible to do, they always curve away, no one can ever get one in. "So one day a bunch of us had just finished a big report and we were hanging around in Anthony's office for a few minutes, drinking coffee and letting off some steam. And when everyone else wandered away he made another joking pass, you know, like 'tonight would be a good night for you and me, Sheryl--how about it?' "And I laughed and said, 'in your dreams, Anthony' or something like that. And then he said, 'well, how about a bet then?' "He said, 'I'll give you ten chances to roll a ping-pong ball into the can, and if you make any of them you win. And if not, I get one chance. And if you miss all ten, and mine goes in, then I get my night with you.' "And I said, just playing along, 'and what if you lose, big shot?' And he said, 'I'll put up $1000.' "It was completely crazy, and I knew he was kidding. I just looked at him and said, 'you'd really risk $1000 just to have a shot at me?' And he pulled out his checkbook from his desk and wrote me a thousand-dollar check, right there on the spot, and laid it in front of me. "And I swear, Marc--the very first thing I thought of was, 'how cool would it be to take Anthony's money and treat my husband to a romantic weekend in the Cincinnatian or the Hilton Netherland Plaza--fancy dinners, a hot tub, lots of sex.' "I loved the idea, Anthony paying for you and me to have a sexy little getaway." She watched him, his face utterly still. She went on with her story. "And I'd seen him and the guys in the office with those ping-pong balls. No one EVER got one in the can--nobody even got close. "So I thought about it, still thinking it was just a crazy lark; and I said, 'I'm a married woman--I couldn't spend the night with you.' And he said, 'okay then, an afternoon or a morning. A couple of hours with you, alone, in private.' And he tapped the check. 'I'm completely serious, Sheryl.' "It was so ridiculous, Marc! I just laughed and said 'gimme the damn ping-pong balls!'" Marc glanced over at Fisher, who was sitting calmly, watching Sheryl tell a story he had clearly heard before. Marc's own pulse was racing, but he simply looked back at Sheryl. "So Anthony went and closed the door, and then he got ten balls out of his desk, smiling at me the whole time, and I took them, and-- Well, you can guess what happened. One or two ended up a couple of feet from the can, but none of them went in, and most of them were all over the place. "So I helped Anthony pick them all up, and he dumped them back in his desk drawer and picked up one of them. I knew he wasn't going to make it but I was still a tiny bit nervous, and-- "Anyway, he-- he just rolled it and went straight in. Straight into the back of the can." She looked down at her hands. "I couldn't believe it. I just stood there, staring at that damned coffee can. And he smiled at me and said, 'let me know when would be a good time for you,' or something like that. And he put the check away, and I walked back to my office in a daze." She was afraid to stop now, to slow down before she'd finished. But the next part was the hardest, and she hesitated. Fisher saw it and said, "So you'd lost the bet, and you felt you had to keep your promise?" Sheryl nodded, her eyes on the floor. "Yes. I know it's utterly ridiculous--I mean, a stupid bet with a co-worker is going to make me cheat on my husband? "So I guess, I mean ... I guess, I sort of must have ... wanted to do it--a little." Her voice had diminished to a near-whisper. "I mean, he'd been flirting with me for a long time, and it ... felt good. The flirting. Thinking that a young guy like Anthony could actually have the hots for me. "So you don't have to say it, Marc--" She stopped, almost smiling to herself for a moment at the idea that he was about to say something. "You don't have to say the obvious. I know it. I could have just told Anthony to fucking forget about it, that I would never sleep around on my husband, and that would have been that. He might have been pissed off a little but tough shit, right? "I mean, he was the guy who was trying to screw a married woman, with his stupid bet, so he gets what he deserves. So I must have ... I must have wanted to do it. Some. At least a little. And it was like losing the bet made it easier, gave me some sort of permission. Because I'd made him a promise--and he'd put up the $1000, actually wrote out the check. "So I met up with him--once--a few weeks later. The day you saw me, at that damn motel on 651. We spent a couple of hours together and we ... we had sex. Intercourse. Twice. It was only that day--never before and never since. And no one else, ever, since our second date." She looked imploringly at Marc. "I'm so sorry, honey. I know that it was--" Fisher stopped her, putting a hand on her arm gently. The three of them sat in silence. Marc was flushed with anger--he had to restrain himself from throwing something. He got up and went to the window, putting his back to the two others in the room, and he stood there for a long time. Finally he turned back, looking only at Fisher, and said, "great--a lovely story. "Okay, I sat here, I listened--now get the fuck out of my office." Sheryl gasped, but Fisher just nodded and indicated to Sheryl to stand, and the two of them moved to the door. "Thank you for your time," he said to Marc. As they were leaving Marc surprised himself. "Wait," he said. "Dr. Fisher, uh, would you come back in for a moment?" Fisher took a couple of steps back into the room and Marc closed the door behind him. "I'd like to come talk to you--without Sheryl, just you and me." "That would be fine, Marc. Let's set it up." They pulled out their appointment books and found a time. "Just one thing, though--what we talk about is private, okay? You don't repeat any of it to Sheryl. Not a word." "Agreed," said Fisher, and he went out of the room. ****************** Nothing changed right away, but after a couple of weeks Marc noticed that he felt a little different. His appointments with Dr. Fisher gave him an outlet to talk about his anger, his hurt feelings, the insecurities that any man would feel when his wife screwed someone else--a younger, good-looking guy. Fisher listened carefully, asked questions, shared his own views occasionally. He took Marc's feelings seriously, never giving the sense that Marc was over-reacting or that his pain and anger weren't fully justified. To his own surprise, Marc began to realize that he trusted the guy. At their fifth appointment Fisher said, "do you think it's too soon to start talking about the future, Marc--about what you want, going forward?" Marc thought about it. "You mean, besides tossing her ass out of the house and making her sleep on the porch for a month?" He gave a sour grin. "That sounds appealing, actually." "Would it help? Because it wouldn't surprise me a bit if she went along with it. She feels terrible, Marc. I know that you're bitter and angry, and you have every right to be. But Sheryl is suffering too. She blew up her marriage and hurt you very badly, and she knows it, and she has no idea how to make it right." "Yeah, well, life's a bitch, isn't it?" Marc growled. Then he sat up and said, "okay--good question: what do I want? "Besides wanting all this never to have happened--which I can't have. I guess I want to try to find a way back. As you know, I haven't been to a lawyer to start a divorce. I was very happy with Sheryl for 20 years--I just .... "I want some ... some sort of ... atonement, I guess. Beyond a fucking 'apology'," he said, making ironic quotation marks in the air. "I want her to have to make up for it, somehow. "That must be what the silence has been about, at least partly. At first it was just because I was so angry--I wanted to hurt her, and I thought that silence would do that even better than screaming and yelling. I was looking to punish her, and I guess I have." Fisher said, "do you worry that she'll do it again? Is that a big part of it, wanting to make sure that she has to pay such a high price that she won't ever cheat again?" Marc sighed. "I don't think she will. I think she's paying a pretty high price now, actually--not just with me but with the kids. They're baffled by what's going on, and that really disturbs her, she feels like she's hurt them too. Which I guess she has." ****************** Usually when Sheryl went up to their bedroom Marc was already in bed, on his side facing away from her. Some nights it was the other way around--he stayed away from the bedroom until after she was asleep. They hadn't touched each other, in bed or out, in more than three months. So Sheryl was utterly shocked when she walked into the bedroom around 10:45 on Thursday night to see Marc there, sitting quite naked on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. His legs were a little spread and his half-erect cock lay sprawled across one thigh. He looked at her without saying anything. "Marc, what--." Sheryl stopped herself; she knew he wouldn't speak to her. Watching him, knowing he was watching her, she undressed quickly and pulled on one of her sexiest nighties. Then she went over and kneeled down next to his side of the bed. Looking up at him, she began stroking her hands up and down her husband's thighs. He just watched her, enjoying the sensations as her hands slid up and down, his penis lengthening and thickening. When it began to stand up she moved her hands up higher, stroking it, caressing his balls. And when he had a full erection she leaned forward and took it between her lips. Oral sex had always been part of the pleasurable routine of their bedroom life, and Sheryl knew what Marc liked. She sucked and licked him slowly, watching his eyes, wondering if he would pull her up onto the bed and fuck her. But he was totally passive, lying back and letting her bring him off. When she knew he was very close, rock-hard and ready to shoot, she paused, glancing at his face; but he gave no signal, and after a few moments she returned to work, bringing him to an intense climax as he jerked and groaned, shooting what felt like months of cum into her mouth. She wondered if he'd even masturbated since the last time they'd had sex--she had, but only once or twice, without much pleasure. She hadn't been feeling very sexy these days. She swallowed his cum and continued to suck him gently as he softened. When she could feel his body totally relaxed she sat back, smiling at him. She knew she had pleased him but was disappointed that he wouldn't give her the slightest smile, not even a little nod of recognition. Still, she said, "thanks, honey--that was nice." Getting no reply, she went into the bathroom to take off her makeup and brush her teeth. When she returned to bed his light was out and he was, as always, turned on his side away from her. Turning out her own light, she snuggled up to spoon him, but he shifted his body away from her. With a sigh, she went back on her own side. She'd hoped for something in return for her blow-job, and her pussy felt moist and swollen. Instead she waited, and after his breathing told her he was completely asleep she masturbated quietly, trying not to shudder or moan. She was so aroused that she came within minutes, then turned over and fell quickly asleep. ****************** Nothing was different after that night--at least not right away. Marc presented himself for blowjobs twice more in the next week or so, and Sheryl obliged him, again without getting any response or any sexual satisfaction herself. When she found herself feeling resentful, she reminded herself of what she had done, how she had betrayed and hurt Marc. And it redoubled her determination to be patient and loving, and to show her devotion to her husband in any way she could. By now it had been so long that Allie and Jeff were oddly used to the totally strange dynamic in their family. Dad would act quite normally around them, be his usual funny and loving and supportive self; and so would mom. He just ignored her, and she never spoke to him except when absolutely necessary. It was beyond obvious that this couldn't go on forever; but the kids were busy enough that they didn't worry about it much. The family didn't seem to be breaking up, that was good enough for them. A few days after the third blowjob, Sheryl made a special dinner. It had crossed her mind the day before that their 20th wedding anniversary was less than four months away. Who knew if they'd even be married then, let alone in a mood to celebrate? It made her sad, and more determined than ever to do what she could to save her marriage. So she did the necessary shopping and cooked Marc's very favorite dinner: lamb chops in duck sauce, green beans amandine, rice pilaf and a salad. The meal had a history: she'd made it for a number of special occasions, like important birthdays, once to celebrate a big promotion, and once to thank Marc for being very loving and supportive after her mother had died. Neither Allie or Jeff even noticed, but she could see Marc take an extra second to look over the table before they began to eat. The kids vanished to do their homework the moment they put down their forks; and as had become his habit Marc got up to leave about two minutes later, making no effort to help clear the table. Behind him Marc heard Sheryl say, "I hope you enjoyed the dinner, honey--I made it special." Before he could stop himself Marc said, "it sucked," and continued out of the room. He grinned to himself in surprise. Alone at the table Sheryl sat, utterly shocked. Then she laughed to herself. "The first two words I get out of him in more than three months, and that's what he has to say?" She was thrilled, actually. She knew he liked the dinner. What mattered was that he'd spoken to her--even unkindly. She listened to him heading out of the house, and felt more hopeful than she had in a long time. ****************** Marc sat at the bar, half-listening to the drone of the announcers. Early season baseball, what could be more boring. He drank a little of his beer, but he was pretty full from the lamb chops. He hadn't meant to speak to her--not a word. It wasn't anything he'd planned, it just slipped out. The dinner was his favorite, and it was delicious, and he knew she'd made it on purpose. He thought about how patient she'd been with him. Not that he didn't have it coming, the fucking bitch had cheated on him! But she'd taken everything he'd dished out, all the silence, all the rejections, and kept things going. Kept running the house, taking care of him and the kids, doing all the things she always did. Even the blowjobs. Damn, that had been cold of him. Well, wait a minute--didn't the cunt deserve it? But she'd stroked him, sucked him off lovingly, without a word from him--a word or a gesture--and smiled at him. And done it a couple of more times, the next week. Silence; or, The Bet He got up from his barstool, left a few bucks, and drove home. Sheryl looked up from the TV in surprise--it was only 9:30--but didn't say anything. Marc searched out the kids. He talked with Jeff about geometry homework for a few minutes, helped him with the problems, then went and found Allie who was writing a paper, swaying to the music coming in through her ear buds. He gave her a smile and a quick kiss and headed for his study. At 11:00 he checked that both the kids' lights were out, then went upstairs to the bedroom. Sheryl was sitting up in bed reading; she smiled at him when he came in. Marc brushed his teeth, then came back into the bedroom and took all his clothes off, slowly, letting Sheryl see him. He sat down naked on his side and spread his legs, the way he'd done before, inviting her to come suck his cock. She looked at him, considering, and then put her book down, came around to his side, kneeled down and began working on him. Lovingly, patiently. Watching him. Marc let himself groan with the pleasure. His sex drive had been turned off for so long, after her adultery. Now, in the last ten days, since the first blowjob, he was like a teenager again, constantly horny. Sheryl worked on him steadily, assuming that he'd want to come in her mouth again. But when he was hard as a rock he stopped her, reaching for her shoulder. She lifted her mouth off him, surprised, and he gently pulled her up onto the bed. Without a word he drew her nightie up over her head, then moved her onto her back. Then Marc took her. Carefully, not frighteningly, but decisively. His hands were all over her, caressing, and his mouth teased and bit her nipples and his fingers sought out her pussy lips and her clit. She was very wet, and she groaned as he touched her. He pushed her legs apart and climbed between them, his cock hot and eager, and he slid into her, making her sigh. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to her, reveling in his weight; and he buried his face in her neck and humped her hard. They fucked each other that way, fast, intense, building up to it. She was so excited that her climax came in no time and she cried out, trying not to be too loud and let the kids hear her. Marc didn't stop, just gave in to his own excitement and need, kept plunging into her, and a couple of minutes later he groaned over and over as he shot into her, squeezing her almost breathless with his arms around her, thrusting again and again, as far into her as he could get. They lay still, relaxed, and Sheryl kissed him, his cheek, his hair, his neck, wherever she could reach, little gentle kisses. After a couple of minutes he rolled off her, reached to turn out the lights, and then took her back into his arms, holding her close to him, side by side, listening to each other's breathing. Sheryl was relaxed, and incredibly happy. After some time she began to drift off to sleep, smiling, feeling him against her. Then she became aware that Marc's body was shaking, jerking; that he was crying, silently at first and then audibly, sobbing. "You hurt me so bad!" he said quietly, crying, almost like he didn't want her to hear him. "It hurt me so bad, what you did!" Stunned, Sheryl started to cry. "I'm sorry, baby! I'm so sorry!" she whispered to him, over and over, stroking him with her arms, feeling his tears wetting her neck. "I'm so sorry!" They cried together. Marc tried to pull away but she wouldn't let go, and he gave in, sobbing against her until finally he grew quiet. A long time after that, they slept. ****************** "It's just embarrassing, you know?" Marc wasn't looking at Fisher; he was standing, looking out of the doctor's window. "That you cried? I don't see why. She hurt you, badly. It was an awful thing she did, Marc. You were angry, but you were hurt too. I'm sure I would have cried, if it had been me." Marc paced. "I mean, I love her--I know that, and I know she loves me. And she's sorry. And she's been really patient with me, taken this silence thing for a long time now. "It's just ... I don't know, exactly." "You need ... revenge?" Dr. Fisher asked. "No, not exactly, but ... something. Closure. I don't know. Something has to happen, something more, between us. I've thought about going out and fucking somebody, just so she could see what it feels like--but my heart isn't in it. "I'm just going to have to keep thinking about it." "That seems reasonable," the doctor said. "There's no hurry--she isn't going anywhere. I see her every week too, Marc. She is desperate to have you back, desperate to make this up to you somehow." ****************** After that first night of sex, Sheryl and Marc were all over each other. For nearly a week they fucked every night, wildly; and a couple of mornings they waited until Allie and Jeff left for school, then raced back upstairs into bed. Mostly it wasn't love-making--just hard sex, raw, like two teenagers, or like a couple just reunited after a long separation. A few times, though, it was more relaxed. On Saturday night when both the kids were out they lay in bed with the radio on and fed each other strawberries with whipped cream, drank champagne, played and fooled around. Laughing, putting whipped cream on each other. Then they made love slowly, looking at each other, kissing a lot. And when they were done, and cleaned up, and ready to sleep, Sheryl pulled Marc into her arms and held him as tightly as she could, squeezing him against her with all her strength. He found himself hoping that she wouldn't say anything--and she didn't, just hugged him and hugged him without a word. The next morning they had a serious talk after the kids left for school. ****************** Sheryl stayed late at work on a Wednesday, and at about 6:50 she strolled down to find Doris Schwartz, the office manager. "Hey Sheryl, what's up? You're here kind of late." "Hi Doris--yeah, Marc and the kids are out tonight so I've been trying to catch up a little." They chatted idly for a couple of minutes and then Sheryl said, "listen, I left a copy of a report I need for tomorrow in Anthony's office, would you mind letting me borrow the key?" "Sure," Doris replied, searching in her desk. "But I need to get going--how about if you give it back to me tomorrow?" "Perfect! Thanks, Doris." Sheryl went back to her office and worked a little longer, until everyone had left. Then she sent a quick text message and went down to the main door of the building. Marc was waiting there and she let him in. Smiling at him, she led him back inside and upstairs to the locked door of Anthony's room where, using the key Doris had given her, she led Marc inside. They were there about ten minutes before they emerged. After Sheryl locked the door, she went back to her own office to get her things and they left the building. ****************** Anthony Prins was whistling as he strolled down the hall, around 8:45 on Thursday morning. As he approached his office door he was surprised to see it standing ajar. Cautiously he pushed it open, and was startled by what he saw. More than a dozen ping-pong balls, crushed, lay in random locations around the floor of the room. Confused, Anthony stepped inside. "Good morning, Anthony." He was startled to see Sheryl Zoumakis sitting at his desk, looking at him seriously. Standing next to her was a sandy-haired man with his arms folded and an equally serious expression. "Sheryl, hi, uh, what's up?" "Anthony, this is my husband Marc--he has something to say to you." Instinctively Anthony took a step back, feeling extremely uneasy. "Mr. Prins, I believe you owe my wife $1000." Marc said it in a cold voice. As he did so he picked up a ping-pong ball that was lying on the desk. It had been sliced open, and Marc pulled the shell of the ball apart to reveal a large magnet. There was a very long silence. Finally, Anthony moved to the desk, watching Marc carefully and standing as far from him as possible. He took out his checkbook, wrote a check, and handed it to Sheryl. Then he moved back to the other side of the room. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. Sheryl and Marc went to the door. Just before they left Sheryl turned back and said, "Anthony, that was a really shitty thing to do." And she disappeared, pulling the door gently shut behind her. ****************** Now that they were talking again, they talked about it. Two long conversations on successive nights, getting it all out. What she'd done, how she'd felt, how he'd felt, how each of them felt now. At times Marc was angry and bitter, not surprisingly. "Was he better than I am? He's a big, good-looking guy, Anthony. Did he drill you with that big fat cock and make you go crazy, til you were climbing the walls? Do you wish you could have him again?" She said, "it was fun, Marc. You know me--I like sex. It was exciting being with someone new, and it was fun while I was doing it. But nothing special. He's not bigger than you, if it matters, and certainly not better. He was a horny guy fucking a woman he had the hots for." "And you were a horny woman fucking a guy she had the hots for!" After a moment she said, "yes. Yes I was, and I'm so sorry. "But I'll tell you something." She looked up at him. "I never once thought about doing it again. Even before you found out, even before I realized ... how badly I'd screwed things up, I didn't have any plans to see Anthony again. "And now, after everything ... to say that the price is too high doesn't begin to cover it. I'd sooner stick my hand down the garbage disposal and turn it on." Marc shuddered. "Jesus, Sheryl." "And you, Marc? Where are you now? Thank God you're talking to me, and ... well, we're fucking again. I don't know that ever I've come so many times in a week, not even on our honeymoon." They smiled at each other, thinking about it. "But I know you're not 'over it,' whatever that means, and I can hardly blame you. "Do you want to go out and ... have sex with someone else?" she asked. She looked very uneasy, saying it. "How would you feel about that?" he asked. "I'd hate it. I'd probably sit at home and cry, and be scared, and feel insecure about my sagging tits and my cellulite thighs. And wonder what you'd do if you found that you liked it better with someone else." He looked at her. "I've thought about it, you know." She stopped breathing. "I mean, every married guy thinks about it anyway, idly, just as a fantasy. "You know Angela, from the office? She's always been a flirt--and since her divorce it's worse than ever. I sort of have the feeling that if I asked, she'd be up for it." Now Sheryl felt her gut twisting. It was hard for her to sit still and listen. Angela couldn't be more than about 28, her tits were fantastic, and she had beautiful long legs. "But ... y'know, in the end it's not what I want." Marc looked thoughtful. "I was tempted, just to hurt you, you know, make you go through what I went through? It would probably be hot, too. "But I-- I guess I know it's just wrong, that's all. It was wrong when you did it, and it wouldn't be any less wrong if I did it. "I even thought about faking it--staying out late one night, and coming home with my clothes rumpled and somebody's perfume smell on me. But it just seemed ... childish, you know? Playing some bullshit game like that just to make you miserable. How would that get us anywhere?" Sheryl came and stood beside his chair, bending over and putting her arms around him. He could feel her trembling, and he pulled her onto his lap and let her cry on his shoulder. When she was calmer she sat up, wiped her eyes, smiled, and gave him a big kiss, her arms around his neck. He said, "but there is something I want to do--a ritual if you like, to, I don't know, mark the end of all this. Close the book. "I was thinking about Saturday, because Jeff will be at an away game and Allie's got that amusement park trip." He told her what he had in mind and Sheryl's eyes widened. But she listened in silence until he was done; and she sat and thought; and then she looked at him and said, "okay, Marc," and gave him a quick kiss. ****************** He was sitting on the bed when she came into the room. He looked serious, intent. One of the kitchen chairs sat in the middle of the room. She was wearing a skirt and a tee shirt. Sheryl was nervous. She didn't like pain, had never been brave about it, and she knew what was coming. But she also knew why Marc wanted to do it. Marc looked at her, then went and sat down on the chair. She started to approach him but he said, "take the skirt off first. And the panties." When she was bare from the waist down she lay down across his lap, her hands and feet touching the floor. He pushed her tee shirt partway up her back, out of the way. In a hard, almost metallic voice he said, "you cheated on me, on our marriage. You broke your vows to me, the vows you made before God and before everyone we knew, all our friends and family. "You hurt me very much. You took away my trust in you and you made me doubt your love for me. "And now I'm going to hurt you--punish you. And then we will be done with this. Then we can work on being husband and wife again." He paused and took a deep breath. This might have been playful, a game between the two of them, but it wasn't. It was very serious. He could feel the tension in her body, and the fear. He began to spank her, slowly and hard, a few smacks on each cheek before switching to the other. At first Sheryl was silent, then she started to emit tiny squeaks of pain with each blow. Marc's hand began to sting and Sheryl's ass grew fiery red. She was making "oh" sounds now; and when he looked at her face he saw her eyes screwed tight shut, and tears on her cheeks. Her fists were clenched on the floor. Finally he stopped. Sheryl was sobbing in pain, and maybe in fear. It wasn't like a sexy fantasy--he wasn't aroused at all. Marc gently lifted Sheryl up off his lap and stood up. There were tears on his face, too. Her sobs redoubled as he took her in his arms. She threw her arms around his shoulders and collapsed on him, weeping piteously as he held her up. "I'm sorry," she cried out, "so sorry, Marc!" He held her and let her cry. When Sheryl was calmer Marc led her to the bed and got her to lie face-down, her head on a pillow. Her crying had almost stopped. He went to the bathroom, returned with a bottle of aloe lotion, and sat on the bed next to her. Sheryl's ass was bright red. He began spreading the aloe on her, very gently, beginning with her thighs below where he had spanked her, then slowly moving up over her bruised ass. She shrank away slightly at first, then relaxed, feeling him touch her as lightly as possible. After about five minutes he was finished, and Sheryl's body had relaxed. He put the lotion down and just sat, looking at her tear-streaked face. She opened her eyes and looked at him sadly. He reached to take her hand and she said, "I'm so sorry, honey." "I know," he said. "It's over now." She closed her eyes again, and after a few minutes she seemed to be asleep. Marc took off his shoes and lay down on the other side of the bed next to her. He closed his eyes and began to drift off to sleep himself--and then he heard Sheryl's voice, and felt her hand gently squeezing his. "After this nap I'm gonna really wear you out--but I've gotta be on top, okay?" He heard the smile in her voice. He smiled back, his eyes still closed. "You got it, babe."