218 comments/ 53843 views/ 25 favorites Strange Car in the Driveway By: edrider73 Many thanks to HMAuthor for first editing and improving this story. Grateful thanks to Dowageroftwo for further edits, ideas and suggestions that made it much better. * I didn't see it until I was almost on top of it. I had to slam on the brakes. My mind was preoccupied with work. A half-hour ago my boss had told me to take the rest of the day off and report to her first thing tomorrow. That had never happened before and I had never seen the expression she had worn on her face. No, that's not true. I had seen it before but never directed at me. I respected her because she was a strict boss but fair. She did what had to be done. But there were certain things she hated, such as dealing out any type of reprimand. Whenever I saw her do that she tried to do it without emotion. But the expression on her face always gave her away. You could tell that she wished she could be anywhere else in the world. That's the expression she had when she spoke to me. All the way home I was trying to figure out what I had done wrong and what she would say to me tomorrow. I was having a hard time trying to think what it could be because, well, I'm her best manager and I don't make stupid mistakes. The car I almost ran into was a strange car in both senses of the word. It was strange to me because I had never seen it before. But even stranger was what it looked like. It was so shabby that I wasn't even sure of the model. The cheap paint job was peeling off, showing ugly blotches of primer beneath, and there were dents all over it. The rear bumper looked like it might fall off completely if the car hit a bump. The windshield had cracks, and one of the side windows was missing and covered with a sheet of plastic. The tires were nearly bald and two hubcaps were missing. It was a complete wreck of a car. Covering everything was a greasy coat of grime. It was parked in the middle of my driveway, just close enough to my garage door to block my way in. I got out and walked up to it feeling baffled. Then something punched me so hard in the pit of my stomach that I had to lean against the car for support. That's what it felt like when I realized that the car was his. And that my marriage was over. When I met Vera, we were both seniors. We never talked about our first three years in college, except once. It was on our fourth date, and both of us were dying to get at each other, me more than her -- although she always claimed the opposite. We had got to the point where we weren't playing games anymore but telling each other the truth about ourselves. That's when we both discovered that each of us had been out of control until recently. We were both good students but our personal lives had been absolute messes. By the end of the evening, we knew that both of us had spent much of the last three years in a haze of drugs, booze and sex that we were anxious to leave behind us. I think that conversation made us so sick of ourselves that we were too depressed to have sex. But it also cleared the air, and on the next date nothing stopped us. We found we were compatible both mentally and physically. A couple of months later, when we got engaged, Vera put it best. "I thank God I didn't meet you until when we did," she said, "because I might have blown the best thing in my life." I had felt exactly the same way. No marriage is perfect, but I couldn't imagine one more perfect that ours. Even the arguments were perfect because when we made up, the sex was even more exciting than usual. And the usual sex was fantastic. How could it not be? Vera was still a knockout after having three children. She was smart and funny, and she lied like crazy, always telling me I was sexy, smart and funny, too. Sometimes we played little pranks on each other but it was all innocent fun. If we embarrassed each other it was never to the point of humiliation. And most importantly, our play never involved others. One reason for this is we found something else we had in common; we were both a little more sensitive than the average person and tended to over-dramatize trivial things. We decided the best way to deal with that was to always say what was on our minds and always tell each other the truth, no matter what the consequences. Even if the truth hurt, we knew that -- at least for us - discovering a lie would hurt more. When the children were in primary school, Vera started taking evening classes. She had an English degree that she had never used, and she really enjoyed creative writing classes. Before taking the first class she asked me if I wanted her to resume her interrupted successful career in retail management. But she knew the answer before she asked. We were doing great financially. She told me there was little chance that she'd ever be a good enough writer to make money at it. I told her not to sell herself short and, if she put her heart into it, I was sure she'd be as successful as she had been in everything else she tried. She told me I didn't know anything about writing but I could tell she was glad that I was supportive. Her classes at the college were all with writers who had published and whose work she liked. Most of them were also professors. She showed me the stories and essays she wrote and I liked them. She said I was too easy to please and I should be more critical. When I asked why she said it was because there was no way she could tell whether anything she wrote really affected me like it would an anonymous reader. Since I thought everything she did was good, she explained, it might all be bad. Three months before I saw the car in the driveway, she had started a play writing class. Larry and Kara joked about it one night when we were at a restaurant. They asked if there were any actors in the class and when Vera told them she was one of the few students who wasn't either an amateur or professional actor or director the ribbing started. Their point was that actors and anyone connected with their profession were like rabbits and I had better be careful or one of them would make a play for Vera. Vera laughed and said it was a tough class and everyone was too scared about the final for any hanky-panky. The final was writing a one-act play that was either true or realistic enough that the teacher could believe it was true. The teacher had divided the class up into teams of two. Each person would read to the other to get feedback on how the play was sounding. Vera could use her partner's critiques and suggestions to improve her play, but actual collaboration wasn't allowed. I asked who her teammate was and she said it was a guy named Reg. Kara said that sounded like an actor and Vera said he probably was, although she didn't know for sure because they hadn't had their first meeting yet. Kara asked if he was handsome. Vera laughed and looked at me and answered "Yes" to me instead of Kara. Then she dissolved into the giggles that always broke everyone up, including me. The whole table was laughing. That was the first time I'd heard Reg's name. After their first meeting, Vera told me he wasn't an actor but a successful stockbroker who was married and had two children. Writing was a hobby for him like it was for her. The next time I heard his name when I was home one evening, the kids were asleep and Vera was in class. The phone rang, and it was Larry. He didn't sound happy. "Hold on, Gary," he said. "Kara has something to tell you." I heard Kara's voice in the background saying something, but I couldn't make it out. Then Larry spoke to her. I could hear him clearly. "Goddammit, Kara, you're going to tell Gary. Come over here and take the phone." Then I heard nothing for a while. Larry must have put his hand over the phone. The next thing I heard was Kara. "Hi Gary," she said. "I'm sure this is nothing to worry about. Stop yelling, Larry. I'll tell him in my own way. And I'm not going to tell him what you think, because you weren't there." "Tell me what?" I asked. "I saw Vera with that man again." she said. "What do you mean 'again?'". "I'm sorry, let me start at the beginning. Two weeks ago, I ran into Vera at a coffee house. I was in the neighborhood to meet a client and stopped for a latte. She was sitting with this good looking guy. I watched them for a minute, and they were deep in conversation. He was saying something to her, and I could tell from her body language that she was uncomfortable with what she was hearing. She kept shaking her head. "I decided to go over to their table. She was surprised but didn't seem that upset to see me. She introduced me to Reg and asked me if I would like to join them. She said they were talking about her play before they went to class. "I chatted with them for a few minutes. Vera sort of directed the conversation and got him to tell me he was married happily and has two children. It seemed important to her that I heard that. I think she was sure that I would tell you about running into her, but I decided that there was no reason to call you and say anything. "I happened to be back in the same neighborhood tonight, and I saw the coffee house. I didn't need a coffee, so I don't know why I went in, but I did, and I saw them again. This time they looked a lot different. Vera wasn't frowning and shaking her head. She was smiling and nodding. And so was he. They seemed to be having a good time. "I don't know why, but I quickly walked out. Afterward, when I thought about it, I realized I had no idea what they were talking about. I should have gone to their table again, and I'm sure they would have told me. I didn't see anything wrong. They weren't touching. They were just talking. I overreacted and I shouldn't have told Larry anything because he has a suspicious mind." "Is there anything else you saw either time?" I asked. My voice sounded strange to me. "No," she said, "and now that I've told you, I hope you forget it. I'm sure there's nothing going on. Don't listen to Larry. I don't think you should confront her with something this trivial." "Thanks, Kara," I said. "Is there anything else you or Larry want to tell me?" "No," she said, "except please think before flying off the handle. Has Vera ever done anything to make you doubt her love and loyalty? I'm sure there's a good explanation for what I saw, and you'll hear it." "I'll be listening," I said. Then I hung up. I felt dizzy. My stomach was in knots. I sat in the dark for a couple of hours thinking and trying to calm myself down. Then I heard Vera pull into the garage and quickly turned on the lights. She seemed to be in a good mood until she saw my face. Then she got concerned. "Is everything all right?" she asked. I nodded. "Are the children OK?" "Yes, they're fine." "You look as if you've seen a ghost." "I dozed off on the couch and had a strange dream," I said. "It was like a nightmare. I just woke up when I heard you come home." Vera sat down beside me on the couch. "Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked. "I'm fine now," I said. "But it seemed so real to me. In the dream, I was insanely jealous when one of your college boyfriends called you. We had a big argument about it, and you walked out. I had to stay home with the kids and you didn't get back until late. You told me you slept with him to punish me for being suspicious. I told you we were through and I was about to leave the house when I woke up." "That's wild," she said. "Have you ever dreamed anything like that before?" "No," I said. "Can you think of any reason why something like that would come into my mind?" "Maybe it has something to do with our age." she said. "Sometimes things we've worked hard to forget come back to haunt us." "Like what?" "Like college. Occasionally, I see a movie or TV show or read a book that reminds me of myself in college and what my life might have been like if I had never met you. I get really scared. I've told you that a few times." "You think it was something like that?" "Maybe." I didn't say anything more, but my mind was racing as we went upstairs and prepared for bed. I was sitting up in bed and rehearsing my next speech in my mind as she brushed her teeth. When she sat down next to me, I brought up the dream again. "You know what was really weird? I was in character in the dream, but you were completely different. The way you acted, the way you talked. It was totally unlike you." "That's for sure," she said. "First of all, none of my old hookups would ever call me. I don't even call them boyfriends. They were all losers and the only reason I was with them was because I was a loser, too. I have no curiosity about what happened to them, and I'm sure they're trying to forget me, too. "But let's say one of them did call. That would be the shortest conversation in history. Just thinking about any of them makes my skin crawl. "The clincher is me having sex with anyone else but you. Before we married, we both talked about how much loyalty and integrity mean to us and no matter what happens, the one thing we would never do is cheat." As she spoke she stroked one of arm in a sensual way. She does this almost unconsciously, and sometimes I have to remind her to stop when we're in public. "Since my love for you is stronger than ever now that you're a wonderful father, as well as an amazing lover and partner in life, I can't imagine ever falling out of love with you, but for the sake of argument, let's say one day all the rivers in the world start running backward and I find someone I love more than you, and I want to be with that person. I would ask for a divorce, but the last thing I would ever do is cheat on you. Don't you feel the same way?" "Yes," I said. "What a horrible end to a great evening!" she said. "We can't go to bed feeling like this." "What happened earlier in the evening?" "I'll tell you about it later," she said. "But we've got to get this nightmare out of our minds before we go to sleep." She exhausted herself and me in bed and fell asleep with a smile. Even though I was spent, I couldn't fall asleep right away. I thought about what Kara had said on the phone once or twice. I thought I was getting over it until the day before yesterday. Vera and I were in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner. The kids were all in bed. "Have you had any more nightmares?" she asked. "No," I answered. I was feeling guilty for making up the nightmare story. "Is there anything you want to tell me?" "No," I said, telling myself that was the truth, even though there was something I should be asking her. But I was ashamed of the thoughts I'd been having since the conversation with Kara. "I've been thinking about your dream. One interpretation is that you think I've cheated on you. Could that be what caused it?" I tried to sound sincere when I replied, "Why would I think you've been cheating?" "There's no reason for thinking that." she said. "I mean, there is a classic reason, but it doesn't apply to you." She looked at me and smiled, but her smile was a bit off. Was she joking with me, or was she serious? "What doesn't apply to me?" I asked. "Well, you know, when a man suspects his wife is cheating on him, it's often because he is cheating on her," she said. "I'm not cheating on you," "I know you aren't," she said, "but I have to be honest. I've thought about your dream a few times, and it hurts me. I know it isn't your fault, but it does." I looked at her and thought about what I was about to say and almost didn't say it. "What if you found out I was cheating on you?" I asked. "What would you do?" "Other than divorce you, you mean," she said. "I don't know. I think I'd go crazy. I might lose my mind. There's no telling what I would do. I might forget I had children and do something really crazy." "Like cheat for revenge," I said. "Oh, that would be nothing," she said. "That would be just the beginning. I might do a lot worse things." Her voice was sounded strange. I tried to remember if I had ever heard her speak in such a harsh tone. "Oh," "What are you thinking right now?" she said calmly but in that same tone. "I'm thinking this whole subject is scary, and I don't know why we're talking about it," I said. "I think you're sounding suspicious of me, and I'm sounding like I'm suspicious of you. I'm asking myself why we're doing this to ourselves." She stepped to me and put her arms around me. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's all my fault." "What is?" "You had this strange dream, and I'm making a big deal out of it for no reason," she said. "I'm going to make it up to you." She did when we went to bed, but again, I had a hard time falling asleep. Then yesterday we had a conversation that really upset me. Once again, it began after the children were asleep. We were sitting at the kitchen table having some coffee and she was reporting on her play writing class. She said that for the last several weeks as the students were discussing their plays, she had been shocked. Most of the plays were about personal experiences, and a lot of the plots involved cheating by husbands, wives, boyfriends or girlfriends. Many of them were depressing, but the best of them were uplifting despite the subject matter. "I analyzed the ones that we liked the most, and do you know what they all had in common?" she asked. "I can't begin to guess," I said. I wasn't enjoying the conversation. "They all involved forgiveness," she said. "After the horrible things these people did to each other, some of them would forgive the person who had betrayed them, and everybody was crying from happiness at the end -- the actors and the audience. I was crying, too, even though I couldn't relate to any of the plots. "After I saw the first couple of plays, I thought about our marriage, and three things occurred to me. Each play after that only confirmed my feelings." When she said the words "our marriage," I shivered. I wondered if she had noticed. "What were the three things?" I asked. "One, our marriage is boring compared to a lot of marriages. Two, I'm so happy that it is boring, because I never want it to be interesting like the relationships in those plays were. And three, you've never forgiven me -- or at least if you did, I can't remember." I stared at her. "Forgiven you for what? What have you done?" "I've done a lot of things," she said, "and so have you. Neither of us is perfect. So why haven't I ever forgiven you, and why haven't you ever forgiven me?" "I don't know," I said. "Tell me." "Because we've never done anything bad enough to each other that one of us would ask for forgiveness," she said. "And I'm glad we haven't. But it did get me to thinking." Where was this leading? I thought. Aloud, I asked, "Thinking about what?" "I was thinking about what would happen if I did something to really hurt you. Would you forgive me?" "Like what?" "I don't want to be specific," she said. "But let's say that I did something terrible. Maybe I did it unintentionally. I know you'd forgive me then. "But what if I did it for a reason? What if I thought it was a good reason, but it was really a selfish reason. And what if it really hurt you badly for a while? Would you forgive me? That's what I want to know." She looked at me expectantly. I didn't answer. I felt numb, and my tongue felt like it was swollen and was filling up my mouth so I couldn't talk. As she looked at me, I saw her expression change. Suddenly, she looked worried. She began to open her mouth, but I finally got hold of myself and responded to her, even though I didn't answer her question. "What if I did that to you?" She let out a deep sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God!" she said with feeling. "I was worried there for a second. I'm glad you said that, because you have every right to ask me the same thing as I'm asking you. And I have my answer for you, because as you can tell, I've been thinking about this. Strange Car in the Driveway: Sequel Strange Car in the Driveway: The Play is Ended. This is a sequel to EdRider73's "Strange Car in the Driveway" (https://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?url=strange-car-in-the-driveway). If you haven't read it, take a few moments and do so now, otherwise my story will only confuse you. (Which it might do, anyway.) Many thanks to EdRider73 for permission to play along with his characters. I suspect I'm taking them a different direction from what he had in mind, though I would like to think it's a plausible one. Any errors or inconsistencies are mine, not his. But I couldn't just leave poor old Gary sitting there with that letter in his hand... ***** I had been troubled all day by our conversation the night before. I had known Vera had something specific in mind that she wasn't telling me, in spite of our promise to always tell each other everything. I hadn't been able to puzzle it out. Well, now I knew. How could she do this? How could she say how sorry she was, and then go ahead and do it? How could she talk about love and forgiveness, while she was setting this up? How could she do all this and claim to love me? Most importantly, could I stay married to a woman who could plan and execute something so cold-bloodedly cruel? Vera obviously expected me to be angry, and to entertain her and her buddy Reg by raging about the room while they listened at Denny's. To my own surprise, I felt no anger, just a deep sense of irreparable loss. I would never again be able to think of Vera, or feel for her, the way I had a mere half hour ago. I felt like just walking out and never coming back, but that wouldn't be fair to our daughters. ("I hope you do anything you feel like..." Yeah, right.) Finally, I had an idea. I addressed my listening audience through the tablet. "Well, Vera, you got what you wanted. Or rather, what you said you wanted. I hope, when all is said and done, you'll think it was worth it. "As you said, you manipulated me into promising to forgive you for this. You're right, that was disgusting. But a manipulated promise is no promise at all, so I don't consider it binding. As for my giving you permission to do this to me without knowing it - tell me, if one of the girls tried that line on you, how far would they get? "You cold-bloodedly set me up so you could sit there at Denny's with your writing buddy and listen to my heart get ripped out of me. Congratulations - it worked. I hope it was dramatic enough for you. But you have done more than that. You have caused me to question everything I thought I knew about you, because I could never have imagined your being so selfish and cruel to anyone, especially someone you claimed to love. Obviously, I was wrong. "Vera, we've been married almost ten years. They've been the best ten years of my life, because of you. I will always thank you for that. I'm sorry you chose this way of ending it. "The gun you hid was one of a pair. The other is in my hand right now. Goodbye, Vera." What sounded like a loud explosion was actually a heavy hardback book striking the hardwood floor at a high rate of speed. I think it was the TCP/IP Encyclopedia, but I don't remember for sure. I did a fairly artistic job of falling to the floor, and lay still. It would take her about 10 minutes to get here from Denny's, maybe 8 if she drove like a maniac and hit the lights green. I lay still for five minutes to make sure she wasn't still listening through the tablet, then quietly got up. I put the book away, cleared standing space for myself in my closet, entered, and shut the door. I didn't have long to wonder whether my play-acting would be as 'realistic' as hers. It was barely two minutes before I heard the front door slam open. Vera was crying my name. In a delicious irony, her tablet began to play again, just as she and Reg had set it up to do. The dialogue of her realistically-imagined not-quite-infidelity was the perfect background for her frantic wails. She stormed up the stairs, past the broken door, into our bedroom. I thought for a moment I heard a second pair of footsteps, but I might have been wrong. I had intended to wait in the closet for no more than 15 minutes (her letter said, "I hope this doesn't last longer than 15 minutes") and then reveal myself. The recording stopped, and her wails faded to sobs. I heard her as she walked around the room, then sat on the bed. "Oh, Reg, what have I done? What have I done?" Wait a minute, what was he doing in our bedroom? I heard another body, heavier than Vera's, sit on our bed. Her sobbing became muffled, as if her face was buried in a shirt. A male voice murmured something I couldn't catch. Gradually her sobs died down. Another noise - a little gasp from Vera. Rustling from the bed clothes. The noises a mattress makes when people are shifting around on it. Come on, they wouldn't really do it here and now, would they? "Oh, Reg..." They would. She was moaning softly now, the way she does during foreplay. A little feminine chuckle. "Here, let me help you with that." Reg must've had trouble with the catch on her bra. More shifting and rustling. "Oh, yes, that's just right." Light sucking sounds told me that Vera was getting oral attention somewhere; her moans told me she liked it. Of course I knew where this was headed. Why didn't I stop them? First, it was obvious from Vera's complete lack of resistance that if I stopped them now, they would only postpone it to another time. More importantly, this meant I would never have to second-guess the decision I had already more than half way arrived at. So I stood quietly and listened as my wife finished off what remained of our once-nearly-perfect marriage. "Here, let me move this out of the way." That must have been Vera's tablet. Was it recording, I wondered? I heard a zipper being lowered. I heard the squishing sounds that fingers make in a wet cunt. I heard my wife panting between her moans. I heard Reg get off the bed; heard clothes rustling and falling to the floor, the clank of a belt buckle hitting hardwood; heard Vera stir restlessly. "Are you naked yet?" "Yes." "Then get over here." Giggles from both of them, as they repeated lines from that infernal play. The mattress creaked again. "You're so wet." "You made me that way. Now do something about it." "Something like this?" "AAAAH! Yes! Yes!" I had heard enough. I opened the closet door and stepped out. Neither of them noticed. My beautiful Vera - well, not mine any more - was stripped naked and on her back in our bed, her arms and legs flung wide in open invitation to the man above her. Who had clearly accepted the invitation, and was holding himself up with stiff arms while he rutted balls deep into her. I watched him pull almost all the way out, then smash himself back into her with all his force, her excited squeal almost drowning out the wet smacking sound as their groins collided. Again and again he pummeled her, pounding relentlessly into the surrendered softness of her wide-stretched pussy. I'd never had a chance to observe Vera in the heat of passion. She was amazing. Even now, I spared a few moments to watch and appreciate her beauty as her slim, toned legs wrapped around Reg and clung tight. I wasn't aroused, but she was just so beautiful I had to watch for a moment. Still unnoticed, I snapped a half dozen pictures with my camera phone: my last memories of Vera. "Hello, Vera." I had to shout to get their attention. "You must be Reg," I added in the sudden silence. What followed was the classic wrong-people-in-bed-together discovery scene, complete with Reg falling over twice as he tried to get his pants on. It would have been hilarious in a movie. Finally, Reg got himself downstairs and out the door. Vera was gaping at me, gasping like a stranded fish, and trying to cover herself, for some reason. Obviously, any conversation would have to come from me. "It's time to go get the girls," I told Vera. "I'll do it, and I'll take them out for pizza, as you suggested. You have some cleaning up to do." I turned and walked out of the room. I thought of something else, and turned back. "Oh, by the way, you might want to get my gun back from Reg. He's not licensed for it, and if he's caught in possession, bad things could happen to him." And yes, I did smile as I contemplated calling CrimeStoppers with a hot tip about an improperly registered firearm. How did I know Reg had it? Simple: she said it wasn't in the house, and he was the only one in her confidence. She found her voice when I was about halfway down the stairs. I think I heard her throwing things. But her letter said that she had removed everything valuable from the bedroom, so I wasn't worried. Children are wonderful. They can take your mind off almost anything. We actually managed to have a good time, as the three of us dallied over pizza, and as a special treat, went to the playground afterward. Mindy did ask where mommy was; I told her - truthfully - that mommy had some cleaning up to do. When we got home, the beater car was gone from the driveway, and Reg's speakers and the broken bedroom door were at the curb. Vera had done her cleaning up. Once the girls were in bed, she exploded - sotto voce, of course. "How could you do that to me? Do you realize how frantic I was? This was just a play. You completely overreacted. And you promised to forgive me!" and on, and on she went. Finally, she had to pause for breath. "Hold on," I interrupted. "You gave me permission to do this to you." I intentionally used the exact words from her letter. Vera's mouth opened, but nothing came out. I'd read of that happening, but I'd never actually seen it before. It somehow wasn't as funny in real life. "It's even in writing. Let me read it to you." I took her letter from my pocket, opened it, and read. "'I hope you do anything you feel like to work it out. The only thing I want to prevent is you hurting yourself - or hurting someone else and going to prison.' And then: 'No matter what you do, I deserve it.'" I folded the letter and put it away, then looked her squarely in the eye. "But none of that - forgiveness, permission, your play - matters any more. Remember last night you said you would never do any of those things that I couldn't forgive? Well, now you have." Vera turned white as she finally realized that what she had done today might end her marriage. "Gary, you can't - you're not really thinking about..." "We've both known all along that neither of us could handle the other's infidelity. We both accepted that the first time for either of us would be the end." "But Gary, I was frantic, I was worried, I wasn't thinking straight, and he took advantage of me. How can you hold this against me?" "You were thinking straight enough to remember lines from your play. You never said one word about please stop, or you can't, or we shouldn't. You even helped him." She had the grace to blush at that. "You do know that's what he wanted all along, right?" Her expression told me that no, she didn't, so I explained. "Who was it who suggested the topic for your play? Who got you to spend weeks imagining, repeatedly and in realistic detail, your own adultery with him? Who was it who gave you 'lots of pushing' to make sure you kept going? When you couldn't think of a motive for cheating on me, who gave you one - you called it 'totally sick,' but used it convincingly anyway? And who was right there to help you when you decided to do this to me? Finally, for whom did you break, for the first time in our marriage, our rule that we always tell each other everything?" "But Gary, all I wanted was to get your real reaction..." "No," I interrupted. "What you really wanted was to hurt me badly enough that we'd have to stage a real-life forgiveness scene like those in your classmates' plays. That's what you set me up for; that's why you manipulated me last night." "You're right, that's what I wanted," she finally admitted. "I couldn't tell you last night, because it had to be a surprise in order to work. I could have told you in the letter, but I knew Reg would see it and I didn't want him to know. I'm sorry I wasn't completely honest, but now you understand, don't you?" "You told another lie in your letter." "What was that?" "When you said you were sorry. If you had really been sorry when you wrote the letter, you wouldn't have gone through with it." "Oh. Yes, I see what you mean. And you're right, even when I was sitting at Denny's listening to you, I wasn't sorry at all: I was glad my plan had worked so far, and I was so looking forward to being forgiven. But I knew I would be sorry later, and I guess that's what I meant. And I am sorry now." She paused. "Gary, please, we can work through this, we'll get past this." Her voice trembled. My voice had stopped working, so I just shook my head. "But Gary, it was only the one time, it will never happen again." Vera pleaded desperately. "I love you! Please, you must believe me." The shock from the play, the excitement of action, the visceral pain of watching another man fuck my wife with her full permission and enjoyment, had all drained away. I was left with only a dull ache, and an overwhelming sadness. What a waste, I thought. What a terrible, tragic, senseless waste. I said what had to be said. "Not enough to tell me the truth." I watched the hope drain from Vera's face. It was then, and remains now, the saddest sight I've ever seen. "Not enough to keep your promise to tell me everything. Not even enough to be kind. And finally, not enough to stay faithful. Yes, I believe you love me, Vera. But not enough." AFTERMATH. Gary moved out and filed for divorce the next day. He petitioned for, and received, full custody of the girls. His boss asked for forgiveness and offered him a promotion and raise, as Vera had said she would. He told her that he couldn't forgive her for her part in the destruction of his marriage, and asked for a transfer to another department instead. She agreed. Gary never got over Vera. He dated a few times after the divorce, but that only served to convince him that Vera - or Vera as she used to be - was indeed the only woman he ever wanted. He threw himself into raising their daughters, becoming a model single dad. Even when the girls were too young to be told what their mother had done, they instinctively felt how badly she had hurt their dad, and tried to make it up to him. When they were older, Gary had his counselor tell them the whole story. They came to him that evening and made a solemn promise, to which they rigidly held themselves and each other: "We'll make you proud, Dad, and we'll never break your heart." Ten years after the divorce, Gary sat listening to Mindy deliver the valedictory at her high school graduation. Younger sister Kerry sat next to him, pointing out her contributions to the speech and assuring him that she would do even better in two years' time. "How do you know," he asked, smiling at her. "Simple, silly. Mindy'll help me write it and she'll be two years smarter than she is now." The echo of Vera's words, her voice and smile, and Kerry's eyes so like her mother's, were still enough to make Gary's eyes tear up. Kerry took his hand in both of hers and squeezed. "We'll never let you down, Dad. We love you." Reg 'consoled' Vera several times over the next few weeks. They performed Reg's play, which involved successful and repeated seduction of the once-faithful wife, this time with the lights on. It got an A+, too, and a longer standing ovation than Vera's play: both the class and the teacher felt the ending was more realistic. Reg found the writing class a target-rich environment, and he took it four more times, each time seducing his attractive, young, married partner. The teacher set him up with appropriate partners because she enjoyed watching him destroy one marriage after another, helping prove (to her, at any rate) that the 'patriarchal institution' was on its last legs. Reg's e-book "How to Seduce the 'Faithful' [sic] Wife" became an Internet best seller. Vera's affair with Reg lasted about two months, until he dumped her to concentrate on his next beautiful, young, married, wanna-be dramatist. She ran into Gary occasionally; each time she grieved anew over what she had lost. She moved to another city mostly to avoid him. She got a job as a part-time editor, and met a co-worker who promised to both aid her career and screw her brains out. He did; they married. Vera's determination to be faithful was not reciprocated, and she repeatedly suffered the humiliation of being cheated upon. At first she accepted it, as if it were her penance for what she did to Gary. When she finally confronted him, he told her bluntly that if she divorced him, she would never find someone to satisfy her like he could, and he would see to it that she never found a job. Vera used the skills she'd been developing to win a better job with another firm, then divorced him. Vera attended Mindy's graduation, sitting alone at the back of the top balcony where her former family couldn't see her. A few days later, Mindy received a graduation card with no return address, but a note inside: "Dear Mindy, "Congratulations on your graduation, and on finishing first in your class. I loved your speech. I hope you don't mind that I came, and that I enjoyed overhearing other people talk about how wonderful you are. I hope you don't mind that I'm proud of you. "I'm sure you know by now what I did to your father. It was inexcusable. Not a day goes by that I don't bitterly regret it. He was, and is, the best man I've ever known. I miss him, you, and your sister every day. "I didn't think then that a single act, however selfish and cruel, could devastate another person that much. I should have known better: it can, and it cost me everything I loved. Please learn from my bitter experience. "Always be true. Always be kind. Always treat those you love as tenderly as you hope they will treat you. "Love, "Your mother." Strange Car in the Driveway "The answer is that I would forgive you. I'm a hundred per cent sure. I don't think I'd be angry for long, but even if I'm wrong about that and I'm angry for a day or a week or even longer, I know I would eventually forgive you. Do you want to know how I can be so certain?" "Yes," I said. "Because I know that you would never do anything to me that I couldn't forgive," she said. "You're not like the guys in those plays. You're my husband and the father of my children, and I know you, and I know what you would never do -- you'd never hurt me so bad that I couldn't forgive you." "Do you want me to hurt you, so you can forgive me?" I asked. "I am confused. Are you telling me this is something we need to experience so our lives can be complete? What do you want?" "No," she said quickly. "The only thing I want is the answer to my question. Is your answer the same as mine? I don't care if it is or if it's a different answer. I just want to know the truth, even if it hurts." My head was starting to spin. "What was the question again?" I asked. "Let me ask it a different way," she said. "Maybe that will make it easier to answer. If I did something that hurt you for a time, would you forgive me?" "Let me think for a moment, OK?" "Sure," she said. She was looking me right in the eyes. I closed my eyes and tried to stay calm. I tried to not think about what I thought she was talking about. I carefully composed my answer, and then I changed it half a dozen times. Each time I opened my eyes, she was looking at me. What did she want me to say? I didn't know. Finally, I did what she had asked me to do in the first place. I told her the truth. "I love you," I said. "So I should forgive anything for love. But there are some things that I'm not sure I would forgive. No, that makes it sound like there's some doubt. There are some things I definitely wouldn't forgive. Does that answer satisfy you?" "Yes!" she said. "It totally satisfies me. I am so relieved." "Why?" I said. "I'm not saying the same thing as you said at all." "Yes you are," she said, "because now I know that whatever I do, you'll forgive me." "Except for some things that I won't forgive," I said. "Were you listening?" "Yes, yes, but those things don't count." "Why not?" "Because, silly, I would never do those things," she said. "You don't have to spell them out. I know what they are, and I would never do them. And since you'd forgive everything else, just like I would, I'm relieved. Let's go to bed." She stood up quickly. I got up more slowly. She looked at me and smiled. "Your face tells me you're worried about this conversation, but I'm so glad we had it," she said. "If you still feel this way in a couple of days, I'm going to ask your forgiveness. And then we'll finally get to experience the feeling of being the forgiven and the forgiver." She laughed her sweet laugh but stopped when she saw I wasn't amused. All this came back to me as I held onto the dirty wreck to keep from collapsing on the ground. I breathed in deeply and slowly and gathered my wits. As I looked at the strange car in the driveway again, it struck me that I was looking at the first proof of how Vera had been deceiving me -- her first big lie. Reg was no successful stockbroker. This was the car of an actor living on welfare, and the way he took care of it probably showed the kind of person he was. I walked to the front door and stood in front of it for a few minutes. I hesitated because I never wanted anything more than I wanted to not know what I was going to know in a few moments. I took out my key, turned it slowly and carefully opened the door trying to make as little noise as I could. I stepped inside and silently closed the door. As I put down my briefcase and took off my shoes, I could already hear their voices. In my stockinged feet, I slowly walked to our bedroom, where the voices were coming from. Though the door was closed I could hear them clearly. "How do you know he won't come home early?" I heard a man's voice say. "Don't be silly," Vera said. "After work, he has to pick up the kids from soccer. We've got at least three hours. Do you think you can last that long?" "How long can he last? "I don't want to talk about him. Just get your clothes off and get into bed." "I can't see the bed." "Then feel for it." "Tell me again why the lights have to be off," he said. "Because I don't want to see you, and I don't want you to see me." "How am I going to get aroused if I can't see you naked?" "You'll have to use your imagination," she said. "I think you'll find a way." "Do you think that if we can't see each other that we're not cheating?" he asked. "No." "Why are you doing this anyway?" "I think I know," she said, "but that doesn't mean I understand it. There are a lot of things I don't understand, and this is one of them." "Are you sure he hasn't cheated on you?" "I told you this is not for revenge." she said. "He would never do this in a million years." "That's what a lot of wives think." "Is that what Penny thinks?" "I don't know." "Don't you feel guilty?" "Yes, I feel terrible," he said. "I've never done this before either, and she doesn't deserve to be deceived. I don't know why I'm here." "I just told you." "What did you just tell me?" "Why we're here?" she said. "It's because of the guilt. I did a lot of terrible things in college, but I never felt guilty because I was clueless. But now I have a perfect husband, perfect children, a perfect life. And having sex with you is risking all of that. The guilt and fear are tremendous." "All you're telling me is why we shouldn't do this," he said. "You still haven't told me why we should." "Yes, I did. It's the guilt and fear. When you finally come over here and get into bed with me, we're going to have the kind of sex neither of us have ever had in our life -- guilty sex. This will be one day we will always remember. It's going to be exciting and powerful and horrible and tragic. We won't do anything much different than you do with Penny and I do with Gary, but every touch will be heightened by overwhelming guilt and fear. It's so strong in this dark room that I can smell it." "You've certainly built this up for yourself," he said. "I'm not sure if I feel the same way." "Come over here, and I'll make you feel it." "I'm still worried about your husband." "Don't worry," she said. "I hid his gun." "His gun?" said the man. His voice went up an octave. "You didn't tell me he has a gun." "He's never shot anyone, it's just for self-defense. But I told you, it's not where he usually keeps it, and even if he did come home early, he'd never find it before you got out of here." "How big is Gary?" "Maybe a little bigger than you," she said. "Not big enough to overpower you. I've seen him get angry, but I've never seen him hit anyone. Besides, the bedroom door is pretty solid, and I don't think he could smash through it. If we heard him try, you'd be dressed and out the window long before he could do anything. Stop being so nervous. Are you naked yet? "Yes." "Then get over here." "OK." I didn't hear anything after that except my body slamming against the door. It took three tries before I broke through. The room was completely dark, except for the light coming in the door. Something had been put over the windows to shut out the light. I blinked until my eyes adjusted to the dark and then looked around. I didn't see them, although I could hear their voices. I was panting hard, so I didn't hear what they were saying. I switched on the light. All I saw were two stereo speakers on stands, one on each side of the bed. I heard their voices coming from the speakers. I looked at the bed. In the middle was Vera's tablet with a cable coming out of it. I grabbed it and saw that it went to a device on the floor that had cables leading to the speakers. I turned off the recording. Then I saw a large Manila envelope next to the tablet. On it, Vera had written: "Dear Gary, Before you look for your gun, please read this." I looked at the thick envelope a long time. Is this how it ends, I thought, with a disgusting recording of her affair? Is there a video of them in the envelope? What did I ever do to her that she would rub my face in her filth like this? How could she be a completely different woman than the one I thought she was? I was crying and found that I couldn't stand up anymore. I sat down on the bed. After staring at the Manila envelope for a few minutes, I opened it. There were a lot of typed pages inside. I started reading the first one. It was a letter: Dear Gary, I love you and only you, and I am not having an affair. I want to tell you that first because I know you are really upset right now. It's the same way I would feel if I were in your place. But there is nothing to worry about. This package is an explanation of what just happened, but before I explain, I want to tell you how sorry I am for doing this to you. I hope the whole thing didn't last more than fifteen minutes. Also, this is not a prank. Also, I don't think it's amusing. Now for the explanation. What you've been listening to is my play, as performed by Reg and me. It got an A+ from the instructor. I told her it's fiction, but I could tell she thinks I'm really having an affair with Reg and that put the icing on the cake for me. Remember, the assignment was to write something from real life or good enough to make her think it's real life. She loved my idea of two people performing the play on a dark stage, and that's the way Reg and I read it in front of the class. You'll hear the reaction if you listen to the end. We got a standing ovation. Afterward, I told her it was the first and last performance and that no one else would be permitted to hear the recording or see the script except her, and I was counting on her confidentiality because I knew she would never violate the university's code of ethics. It was a threat, and she understood. The first time I met with Reg, he already knew what his play was going to be about, but I had no idea what to do. I started telling him about our life and asked him to stop me if he heard anything dramatic I could make a play about. He never stopped me. Before we left the coffeehouse, he told me a little about himself and Penny and their kids. I joked that I felt safe knowing he wasn't an actor. He asked me what I meant, and I told him about Kara's opinions of actors and her warning. His eyes lit up, and he asked me, what if it wasn't a joke? What if he and I had an affair while we were working on our plays? I asked him whether he had lost his mind, and he said something like that could easily happen, and it would make for great drama. I said I didn't think I could write that kind of play, but he said to try. With a lot of pushing by Reg, I managed to do it. It was my idea to do it in the dark, because I was so ashamed of what I was imagining that I was doing to you. He thought that made it even better. I couldn't think of any motivation for me to betray you until he came up with the idea of turning guilt and fear into exciting sex. That was totally sick, but the teacher and class went for it. I told him about how you liked everything I wrote, whether it was crap or not, and I wished I could get your honest response to my play. I don't know which of us came up with the idea of the car in the driveway. He provided the speakers and the electronics and security detectors that turned the recording on as soon as you opened the door. I went back and forth a lot of times in the last couple of days. I really wanted to see how you'd respond to the play. Would it sound realistic enough to fool you for a few minutes? I guess I'm just like those insecure, neurotic playwrights that we've been studying. I knew that if I got my wish and you really believed it, it would also make me selfish and cruel, because it would hurt you deeply. Maybe the most disgusting thing I did was last night when I manipulated our conversation. You didn't know it but when you told me you'd forgive me, you were giving me permission to do this to you. I was afraid you'd destroy Reg's car, so I rented a junk car from a salvage yard. It will be towed back tomorrow. I rented a sledgehammer for you, too. It's in the garage, so if you feel like it, you can pound the car to pieces. I also moved everything valuable out of our bedroom, so you can destroy that, too. You told me a couple of months ago that it was time to get a new bed anyway. If you are in a rage, I hope you do anything you feel like to work it out. The only thing I want to prevent is you hurting yourself -- or hurting someone else and going to prison. That's why your gun is in a safe place, not in the house. Reg wanted to mount cameras to record your reaction, but I said no. So we've only been listening to you through the tablet. Right now we're listening to silence while you're reading this. Reg thought you might be curious and listen to the whole play. I bet him that once he said he was naked, the door would be history. We've heard who won the bet. I'm hoping Reg and Penny owe us a couple of steak dinners. If you didn't wait to hear the whole thing, you don't know the ending, so I'll tell you. I never do sleep with Reg. We end up talking each other out of it. It had to be at least a little realistic for me even though I don't think the teacher liked the ending. If you want, you can read the script. It's in the envelope with this letter. If you are up to it, you could join Penny, Reg and me at the Denny's near our house, but I don't blame you if you'd rather not. Now that I know you're reading this, I'll wait for you about 15 minutes and then head home. If you feel like yelling at me and throwing things or giving me the silent treatment, I'll completely understand. No matter what you do, I deserve it. Is there anything else you should know since we always tell each other everything? Yes, I know you held back on your suspicions, but that doesn't count because of how I manipulated you to set you up for today. Larry and Kara have no idea they helped me. Kara really did see me at the coffeehouse with Reg, and what she told you was completely true. She called me after she spoke to you and screamed at me. I explained to her that the first time she saw me, I was unhappy because I couldn't think of what to write, and the second time I was excited because the play was nearly finished. I told her not to say anything to you because I was under a lot of pressure to get the play done, and I didn't want to have any conversations with you about Reg until later. The only person you know whom I took into my confidence was your boss. You won't believe how hard she tried hard to talk me out of doing this. Before she finally she gave in and agreed to send you home early, she said that if I ever did anything this cruel to you again she'd come after me herself. I swore on her Bible that I wouldn't. She felt so bad that when she apologizes to you tomorrow morning and asks you to forgive her, she'll tell you about your promotion and raise that wasn't going to be announced until next month. Please act surprised. Let's take the kids out for pizza after we pick them up later, if that's OK with you. And last but not least, I love you love you love you and beg you to forgive me. Love, Vera