51 comments/ 51628 views/ 9 favorites Suspicions By: magmaman Jim was just pulling the meat loaf he had prepared out of the oven when the phone rang. It was one of his nights to prepare the evening meal, his wife Sandy worked at the local medical clinic so in fairness Jim did his share of the household chores. He was a darn good cook, too, having spent four long years in the Navy doing exactly that. Someone in the Navy discovered quickly that Jim had worked for several years in a restaurant before being drafted. The draft notice had said he was to be in the Army. Two years in the Army didn't sound like it would be much of a benefit, he figured correctly that they would hand him a rifle and send him out to lay in the mud somewhere. Jim had a pretty good idea of where, too. He had read the news about some place called Vietnam. He didn't know for sure where that was or even what it was all about but he did know he wanted nothing to do with any of it. Jim enlisted in the Navy that same afternoon. He knew a couple of guys that had headed off for Canada when they got their notice, and it even crossed his mind. But Jim knew no one at all in Canada. There was one scary brief moment when a crabby older woman at the recruiting office told him he couldn't enlist in the Navy since he was already in the Army, but a man there told her that four years as a volunteer beat two years drafted, that was all there was to it. Besides, since he had not been sworn in he actually wasn't even in the military yet. So instead of going off to a war which nearly always seemed to be going on somewhere, his duties were to feed the troops, and he really didn't mind that one bit. The Navy was where he met Sandy. She was a nurse and one day after a bit of carelessness he found himself sitting there with her sewing up a rather large cut on his hand. Barely five feet tall, medium length light colored hair, when she looked at him with her huge brown eyes it was like he could nearly fall right inside of them. By the time she had finished, with her demonstrating all the signs of female interest, Jim was thinking he really liked this girl. For some reason, out of all of the women he had ever met the vision of Sandy stuck in his head and just would not fade away like it did with others he had met. When he showed up at the clinic a few days later to have her check on his wound, he asked her out and that started it all. That by itself was far easier than he expected, although he had planned on it carefully by going though several dozen opening lines. Nothing came out the way he wanted it to. His mouth came open but his brain did not engage the instant he saw her again. "I was thinking..you know...I mean...I was wondering...I was hoping maybe you might like to..uhh.. have dinner..uhh..you know, with me?" He finally barely managed to squeak that out as she was looking at his rapidly healing wound. At that, his face turned bright pink, all of the well practiced slick comments he planned had vanished from his mind. "God, you are so cute! Sure, I would love to!" She answered with a big smile. Suddenly the large slash he had on his hand was worth it. +++ Sandy was wearing a pretty but simple dress with a light jacket when Jim picked her up, she looked spectacular. At dinner, the conversation was very easy. He didn't have time to get nervous, Sandy just never let him. Later they danced, he held her carefully with his right hand not quite touching her waist. His nostrils filled with the smell of her, her face had a constant happy smile. Jim wanted to kiss her and very nearly did a couple of times. Then unsure of what to do when he took her home he hesitated, so she simply stood on tiptoe and kissed him, right on the lips. That lasted perhaps one second. "I had a good time tonight, thank you. It's not often I meet a nice guy..and one that says he can cook." Sandy teased. "Maybe you will let me cook a meal for you then?" He asked her. "I would love that!" She replied, then she went inside. Jim thought about the way her lips felt as he lay in bed that evening, he was already falling in love. The entire time she had been relaxed, so comfortable that it rubbed off on him and he forgot all about making a good first impression and just became himself. Dating was an every evening event for the next couple of weeks, in the military that is more normal than not. Often free time is in short supply. The kisses when he dropped her off became longer, much more intense. But living on base has rules, limitations. The first few dates all ended with him standing there suddenly alone, feeling like something had been torn from him. Not too long after, he was going to be shipped out and Sandy invited him rather bluntly to bed. That was another surprise, they had only kissed quite a little bit up to that point. He had headed for her barracks, just taking her home like normal, hoping the kissing might progress to a little bit of petting. "I was thinking that we might go to a motel tonight. It's time...would you like to?...pretty please?" She smiled, confidently. Sandy was sitting snugly up against him, and reached out with one hand and placed it gently on his thigh. It only took a moment for Jim to realize what she was saying. "Really?" He turned to her. "Yes. I want to, you will be gone tomorrow and who knows what will happen?" Sandy said. Jim was no virgin and neither was Sandy. But that didn't matter, they were now a couple in his mind after that first time. Jim's few successful seductions had all been similar, starting with kissing and petting through their clothing. Then the hands slid under the cloth, ending with the lovemaking, typically in a darkened bedroom. Sandy was nothing like that at all. When she turned to him the moment the motel room door closed, slipping her blouse off of her shoulders and quickly tripping the white bra with a shy smile, he found himself presented with a pair of breasts that could not be more perfect. There was not even the slightest sign of shyness. Jim stood there nearly in awe, as she basked in his gaze. The way she did that was awesome, so erotic that he could not even think. Sandy took the two steps towards him, both hands tugging his shirt up from his waistband, her hands drifting up to stroke his bare sides. Her nipples were different in that they were puffy, pale round bubbles capping the rest of her flesh. He reached up to touch them, the very tips were extremely tiny. They were also sensitive, her eyelids fluttered and her mouth came open at his initial hesitant touch. Laying her back on the bed, Jim started to undo his slacks but she pushed his hands away, saying "Let me." She rolled off of the bed onto her knees, reached up and undid his belt, then the catch on his slacks. As she drew them downwards from his slim hips, her eyes widened at the sight of him. While not huge, Jim was solid as steel. Sandy spent quite some time playing, stroking, even rubbing her cheeks against him. Then she leaned back a little bit, inspecting his erection carefully like she was memorizing the look of it. She even bent it downwards with two fingers, releasing it. It swung upwards against his belly with a "pop!" sound, so she repeated that several times, giggling. Next she licked him, one palm cradling his testicles while the other held his shaft, just like it was a lollipop. It was a happy and playful nuzzling, she seemed to enjoy the inspection and spent so much time at it that Jim was struggling to keep from just blasting off into the air. When she slid her body upwards and pressed against his chest, using her hands to push her medium sized breasts together over his loins, Jim had to tense with all of his might to stop his ejaculation. "OK. My turn." She stood up barely in time and slid her slacks and panties down over her hips, stepped out of them. Unlike the lighter hair on her head, her pubes were covered by a soft darker curly mat. Hopping onto the bed nude, she straddled his waist and slid herself slowly up his body, rising up on her knees and hovering over his face expectantly. It was like she wanted him to see her, she was displaying her sex to him. That moment was so erotic Jim again nearly climaxed at the sight. Her lower lips were swollen and damp looking, visible through the sparse dark down of her untrimmed crotch, flushed with blood. Sandy had her knees into Jim's arm pits, then she pressed her lower body forward even more as his hands came around to grasp her round behind. This raised her further body upwards, he could see clearly between her legs. A droplet of moisture formed, Jim brought up one hand to touch it, then spread it gently over her now bulging outer lips. With two fingers he spread her open, exposing the tiny little bump of her clitoris. Sandy jerked as he slid one finger over it, then back down the length of her opening. Sandy's body trembled at his touch, so he slipped one index finger inside to the second knuckle. Again her body jerked, her eyelids fluttered. He suddenly had an overpowering urge to taste her. She allowed herself to be drawn forward easily, lifting each leg up and over his shoulders until her lower body was over his face. The front of her ankles pressed down against his shoulders, Jim could swing his arms enough to reach the back of her thighs, and he let his fingertips trickle down the flesh. Shuddering at his sensuous touch, she lowered her body slowly to hover just over Jim's face. For only the second time in his entire life Jim pressed his lips to a woman's loins. The taste of her was like sweet water, almost no taste at all. Sandy let out a little gasp as his lips and tongue touched her warm and rubbery flesh, she flooded with more moisture nearly instantly. Her hips rocked forwards and back as Jim fluttered his tongue, glancing up her face was twisted into an expression that almost appeared to be pain. He knew he could easily spend the rest of his life doing this. Then her thighs tightened and her motions became much more rapid, he knew she had climaxed. "God!" That was the only sound that escaped her lips as Sandy shoved her lower body forwards, her arms now on the bed behind her for support. Jim continued to lap at her, then their eyes met. She scooted backwards, suddenly sensitive. Giggling softly, she turned and faced away from him, sliding her lips over his erection at the same time. No one had ever done anything like that with him either. Since Sandy was much shorter, now all he could do was stare at her beautiful womanhood as she slid her mouth over the end of his erection. Her legs were splayed widely, her hips making small involuntary motions. "What are you looking at?" She teased in a husky sing song tone of voice, pausing for a moment and glancing over her shoulder. "The most beautiful pussy in the world!" Jim answered. "Do you like it?" Sandy giggled, lifting her hips a bit. "I love it!" Jim told her, drawing his hands to her butt cheeks, spreading them obscenely. The overhead lights in the room were on, there were no secrets at all. "You are so nice and hard!" Sandy began to suck firmly now as Jim clenched to keep from blasting off. Like her unique breasts, that portion of her body from that angle was spectacular also. Her vaginal lips were now swollen and open, even her puckered rosebud was pink and perfect. Jim tipped his head forward awkwardly, touched the tip of his tongue to her outer lips, feeling her body twitch and jerk each time he flicked his tongue. Sandy's mouth on his cock became more urgent, then her hips pressed down firmly against his mouth again. He felt his tongue actually slide inside of her, it was a blinding sensation. His first orgasm came while doing that, it was in unison, amazing. Sandy sucked as hard as she could, Jim had never felt anything like that in his life. His efforts to hold back failed, his body released as his arms that were now wrapped over her bare back pulled her downwards as firmly as he could. "God you even taste good!" She mumbled. Jim found he couldn't answer her at that moment, he was completely helpless with her hips bucking against his mouth. Then she swapped ends, sliding her wet vagina down his chest until her opening barely touched the shaft of his penis. She held herself there, one hand reaching downwards to fondle him, slowly sliding the length of his penis back and forth on her opening. Jim could feel her moisture on his rapidly recovering erection. He had softened after reaching his climax, but the way she held him, her fingers wrapped around his cock just under the head caused him to quickly respond again. When she squeezed lightly while tugging upwards, again he was forced to clench his muscles firmly to hold back. He felt her other hand roll a condom over his length, and had no idea at all where it came from or how she did that. Sandy paused there, looking into his eyes. Then she slowly slid her body over him, groaning as she did so. Her hands had moved up to stroke his chest, the fingers brushing Jim's nipples. She didn't reach back down to find him, she just moved her hips until they were aligned and pushed. The penetration was easy, her vagina folded aside and Jim felt his penis invade her. He could feel every bump and ridge of her insides, even wearing the condom. His own hands came up to fondle her bare breasts, as she gripped with both hands on the muscles of his chest. When her hips began a slow and steady motion, impossibly slow, Jim once again tightened his muscles to control his orgasm. He expected her to pick up speed but she didn't, each time she lifted upwards her inner muscles clamped down, drawing him even firmer with each stroke. When his peak arrived, he stiffened as firmly as he could, trying to hold back. "No, let it go!" She ordered, her own eyelids fluttering, the words coming in a gust of air as she mashed down as hard as she could, her pelvis squirming against him. Jim realized right then, at that very instant that Sandy was well versed in the joys of sexuality. It flashed into his mind that she appeared to be far more practiced, experienced than he was. That bothered him for a brief moment, then she made him forget all about that. Later, they showered together, playing the entire time, then lay down to sleep. Somewhere in the middle of the night he woke up, her hands were busy on him. He reached out to her but she pushed him back, he could see a huge smile on her face in the dim light. With her hands she caused an orgasm that nearly took the top off of his head, but that was just a start. One hand cradled his testicles, he felt one finger press firmly between them to block his emissions. Somehow with her other hand she changed tempo, it all began again. Finally she led him into a second and final crashing climax that was impossible. Jim was helpless, unable to do or think anything at all for several long seconds. "Perfect. That was absolutely perfect!" She muttered. Jim opened his eyes, the look on her face, the way her upper body was flushed bright red showed clearly even in the dim light. Her nipples had tightened up into snug little buttons. One string of his sperm had spattered onto her cheek, he watched in amazement as it slowly slid downwards. The look on her face was something he could not describe, her hand now made long slow up and down motions on his wilting member, her beautiful eyes stared at him. Her breathing was coming in short little gasps, her upper body was shuddering, then her breath came more deeply as she relaxed. He knew Sandy had also climaxed just from touching him, something he did not know could even happen. "You are my girl." He told her. Sandy smiled and slid her fingertips around his chest, smearing more of his sperm. Jim didn't notice that she didn't answer that. The next day he seriously considered jumping ship to stay with her, but he knew he could not. He wanted to tell her that he loved her as she hugged him goodbye, but he didn't. There were lots of others close by doing the same as they prepared to ship out. With a wave, he boarded the ship. +++ It was months later when he was once again back in home port, she was right there waiting. He spotted her instantly in the crowd of people as he hoisted his ditty bag and made his way down the gang plank. Their relationship had bloomed further as the letters flowed back and forth, each becoming more and more intimate. They arrived in bunches, weeks apart, often a dozen at a time. Jim sorted them by date, then in his spare moments, read each one several times. There had been just a few disconcerting times when the warnings blared for battle stations, all Jim could do was wait since he was always below decks. They could all feel the different motions of the big ship as she took evasive action from whatever perceived threat was outside. Just once the ship shook with sound as the big guns cut loose on something. Rumors swept through the ship that a small vessel had come too close and ceased to exist. Every other single time the all clear would sound and the moments of panic would end. Then in the quiet times, Jim pulled out the growing stack of letters and reread them all, over and over. He never asked her if she was dating, that never even crossed his mind. Sandy was his, and in his mind they were going to be together forever. While Jim did have the usual opportunities all sailors have when in a foreign port, not once did he take advantage. Rarely the ship docked, and he and a group of his fellow sailors often ended up in strip bars. Unlike in most bars back in the States, in foreign ports the dancing girls nearly always showed everything. Jim found himself looking and comparing the naked bodies to Sandy and there just was no comparison in his mind. One tiny little woman ended up on his lap, completely naked. That was the result of a couple of friends paying for one of those not so private lap dances and Jim somehow found himself a part of her show. The pretty oriental woman did everything she could to get his pants undone but he managed to keep her from doing that. Finally she got his seat leaned back all the way, and straddled his face. The other sailors were all hooting and hollering at that so he did lap at her some, even though he really did not want to. The taste was musky, not unpleasant, but at that instant all he could think about was Sandy. With all the dollar bills, the peer pressure, he did that just a little bit, then turned his head away. Finally the woman gave up and wandered over to one of the others with a shrug. Even with her pussy planted firmly on his face, Jim had felt almost no physical reaction at all. The only woman he could think of was Sandy, and by now the constant stream of letters had become very intimate. Jim found it a bit strange how it was far easier to say some things in a letter that he would have struggled to say face to face. He did confess the incident with the dancer in brief detail, half expecting Sandy to write back irritated. The instant he dropped that one into the mail he wanted it back, but he also wanted to be completely open and honest with her. That had not been his fault, not really, but he still felt mildly guilty. Instead of anger, her response was to find that hilarious because he had confessed that he could only think of her at the time. "I can hardly wait to suck on your beautiful cock again!" She wrote, filling in several happy faces. She even sent photos of herself, a closeup of her pussy with two of her fingers partially inside, another with her body turned coyly to the side, her bare breasts jutting outward. There was one of her standing in a doorway, her body lit by light from behind. Suspicions Confirmed This is a story that a friend wrote then asked me to review and submit for him as he is afraid he might be discovered. I ended up adding a fair amount to it as well as editing, so I guess you could say it was a joint effort and we are co-authors. ***** I'd had my suspicions for a while. The idea of my wife spending time with another man gnawed away at me more and more. Every time she took a call on her cellphone and quickly disappeared to another room I wondered what it was that I shouldn't be hearing. Jealous? Hell yes I was jealous. It was affecting my sleep patterns and my general demeanor as well. I seemed to be constantly on edge. Her work in sales took her all over the western half of the state, so there was certainly plenty of opportunity for her to play around. She is an attractive, petite woman with great legs, a charming smile, pretty face, shoulder length blonde hair and a slender fit physique that she works at maintaining. A size six and five foot four she tips the scales at 130 and wears a b-cup bra. You would never guess that she is 55 years old. I love being naked with her and between her legs whether it be burying my face in her sweet snatch or sliding my shaft between her labia and burying it deep inside her lovehole. Even though she knows I would love her to she never shaves her pussy but does keep it tidily trimmed. On a positive note, she is blessed with incredibly soft pale brown pubic hair. Her breasts are sweet little orbs with the sightest trace of droop. On the rare occasion that she doesn't wear a bra they jiggle ever so slightly as she moves about and her nipples are firm little nubbins that make themselves known, sometimes even with a bra constraining them. She never wears sexy lingerie. I've tried buying things for Christmas or Valentines but learned long ago that was only a good way to get in trouble and ensure that I wouldn't see her naked for weeks after. Her undergarments are simple functional bras and panties in black, white or nude with no lace. On the rare occasion she decides to demonstrate to the world what great stems she has she wears a dress that is knee length and accompanied by pantyhose. Our sex life was what might be called "functional". We had conceived two children who were grown and gone. Our intimate moments were limited to once in a while on Sunday morning when there was absolutely nothing else for her to do or be distracted by. Positions were missionary and cowgirl (but never backwards). Doggy was out of the question. Sometimes she would perform oral, generally it required a good half hour of cunnilingus to get her lost enough in the moment that we could proceed further. One evening after a drought of five or six weeks with no sexual contact another of the mysterious cellphone calls sent her scurrying off to the guest room behind a closed door. We'd had a good day together shopping in the morning and then sailing with some friends in the afternoon but when she returned from the guestroom after a half hour or so she seemed to be in an unusually ebullient mood. I gently tried to no avail to pry some information from her as to who might have been on the phone. "Lisa?" I asked, thinking it might have been her sister. "No, she and Nick are in Telluride this weekend." she replied and headed off in a discussion concerning how she thought they were overspending and would have nothing left for retirement. "Margo?" I tried. Maybe her best friend from work. "No, but I did speak with her earlier and she and Mike would like us to join them at that new Asian restaurant some evening soon." This also led to a story about what Margo's daughter in Texas had been up to lately. I decided not to press further. She was very skilled at evading the question and being in sales also good at putting whatever kind of spin on something that she wanted it to have. It was obvious that I would get nowhere with regard to who her mystery caller was. Instead, I had an epipheny of sorts, rapidly hatching a plan on the fly. "If its okay with you, I was thinking about visiting Marcus on Thursday and taking him up on his offer to play his club with him." Marcus was a college roommate who belonged to a swanky country club about three hours east of us. "It would be quite late before I would be home that evening." "That's fine by me. Enjoy yourself for a change and take a day's vacation." Her response was rapid and uncharacteristic. Normally she frowned on my spending too much time with Marcus because she considered him to be a "bad influence". He was on wife number three, a situation she made no bones about how much she disapproved of. I left things at that. The next day I called a car rental agency to reserve a nondescript Camry and sent my boss an e-mail telling him that I would be taking a personal day on Thursday. On Tuesday at lunchtime I did a little shopping for a few items. Eight o'çlock Thursday morning found me parked down the block from our house with it just barely in sight. I was wearing a long brown wig and cheap oversized sunglasses. My BMW was in the parking lot of the rental agency and I sipped a cup of coffee as I waited. Finally, around nine I saw Connie's snappy red Accord back out of the driveway and pull away. It was a late start to the day even for her. I started the car and followed her. At first I was worried that I would lose her at a stoplight but then I was concerned about not getting too close. I tried to reassure myself that even if I did she would not suspect it was me because she thought that by then I would be three hours away in the opposite direction of where she was heading and she wouldn't be the least bit interested in a grey Camry with a woman with goofy glasses in it. She headed for the highway and from there to the Thruway. I lagged behind a quarter mile or so as we traveled like that for and hour and a half, all the way to the last large community just before the state line where she turned off. Now I needed to be extra cautious not to get too close and arouse any suspicion. She was at the very outskirts of the territory she worked and now I really wondered what she might be up to. I soon found out. Within a mile of the tollbooth she pulled into the parking lot of a hotel. My heart both ached and was racing as I drove past and then into the next driveway where I found myself in the parking lot of a MacDonalds. There was a six foot high fence between the two lots and I parked in a slot against it. Slipping out of the car after discarding the wig and glasses I crept up to the fence. Comprised of wide boards there were inch wide slots between each vertical plank. The grass had not been trimmed and was almost a foot high at the base which served me well, concealing my feet from the hotel side. As I peeked through one of the slots I could see the red Accord off to the right around twenty feet. Connie was still in the drivers seat primping in the visor mirror. I moved to the right finding a slot to peek through directly behind her car and eight or so feet away. She was applying lipstick which after many years I recognized as the final step in the primping routine. She put things away in her purse and I heard the trunk release. Connie often left her purse in the trunk when she didn't want to carry it around with her rather than leave it in sight inside the car when it was parked. The door opened and out she stepped turning toward the rear as she closed it behind her. I almost gave myself away as I gasped at what I saw. Connie wore what was for her an extremely short black pleated skirt, a black jacket and a white blouse. Her makeup was more exaggerated than I ever seen her wear, heavy on the eyeshadow and liner and her lips as crimson as the car. She also wore sheer black hosiery and four or five inch heels, easily two or three higher than I seen her in in many years. She tossed the purse in the trunk and then proceeded to peel off the jacket. Her blouse was slightly sheer, making it easy to discern a skimpy lacy black bra beneath. Leaning over the back of the car to reach deep into the trunk the short skirt rode up high enough that I glimpsed the black lace of the top of stockings, rather than the pantyhose that would have been more typical for her t wear with a skirt. Having retrieved a much smaller black purse she straightened up then glancing around everywhere but in my direction she hiked the hem of her skirt up and grasping the waistband of a pair of skimpy black thong panties pulled them down, dropping them to her ankles and then one foot at a time stepped out of them. Kneeling she picked them up before tossing them into the trunk. Connie straightened up, smoothed her blouse and skirt and then shut the trunk. I watched as my darling sweet wife of thirty years sauntered across the parking lot toward the door to the hotel, pantyless beneath a flouncy skirt that was barely long enough to conceal the fact that she was wearing lace topped stockings. There was an undeniable spring to her step as she tossed the purse strap over her shoulder. It was pretty obvious that someone was going to get very lucky shortly. My heart was pounding and my head felt like it might explode. -------- I imagined how the scenario might unfold. Once inside the hotel she would crosses the lobby and heads for the elevator, a room number burned in her brain, her stomach doing little butterflies from the giddiness of anticipation. At her destination floor she struts down the corridor ticking off the numbers until she reaches the right one, then gently knockss. It opens to reveal a tall well built man ten years younger but with tinges of grey at the temples wearing dark khaki slacks and a black polo shirt. He draws her into his arms and they kiss standing in the doorway like that, no shame that anyone might chance upon them doing so. As she stretches upward to wrap her arms around his neck her hemline rises at the rear displaying the lace stocking tops and an inch of bare thigh beyond. They close the door. Inside the room they continue the embrace. His hands are all over her, squeezing her asscheeks through the pleated fabric of her skirt, her breasts through the thin material of her white blouse and the black lace cups that coddle them. Those hands continue to wander, fingertips grazing the lace at the top of the sheer black stockings then drifting under the hem of the skirt to find her asscheeks, smooth and bare, no panties to impede his contact with her supple silky skin. He grasps a cheek in each of his hands, squeezing gently but firmly, fingers manipulating the soft flesh like a baker handling dough. She moans ever so slightly, that meek sound of surrender that assures a man that she is fully under his spell and he is in control. Her body belongs to him at this point, to do whatever he may want to with, use as he wishes. Grinding her torso against his waist and crotch she is totally lost in the passion of the moment. She wants to be taken, to satisify him and be satisfied herself in the process. His hands continue to explore her body, his fingers now wandering between her thighs grazing her labia in the process, causing her to shudder slightly. She is glad that she elected at the last moment to eliminate the black thong panties and leave her sex fully accessible to him like this. Probing more urgently his fingers touch her perineum and then her lips. They are moist already, not yet distended, her sex a swollen piece of succulent fruit, nectar seeping from its narrow slit. He turns her around so that she can gyrate her ass against his crotch. His hands are now on her front, the left still fondling a breast and the fingers of the right stroking her soft kitty fur. She has trimmed it much shorter than she normally would. Perhaps someday she will shave it all away as her husband once had urged her to. She had caught a glimpse of Margo changing into her bikini the other day while they were all out sailing and she had to admit it was oddly sensual to see a grown woman with no hair down there. Today it was merely shorter than the norm, a few fractions of an inch in length rather than twice that. His fingers roam lower as she continues grinding away. He finds her clithood and teases her there for a moment before moving further until his middle digit is poised right at her vaginal entrance. She whimpers again as he slips it inside her. Yes, that feels so good to be held like this and to have his finger inside her. He is kissing the back of her neck and she swoons from all the contact. Her pussy, her breasts, her neck, her entire body seems to be afire. With his left hand he awkwardly unfastens the buttons of her blouse. She pries herself from his embrace so that she can shrug it off her shoulders then tugs at the side zipper of the pleated skirt so that it may also wind up on the floor. Standing there wearing only the bra, stockings, and high heels she allows him the opportunity to savor the deliciousness of her exquisite body. Approaching him she tugs upward on the polo shirt, urging it over his head and off. He is fit and firm, not overtly muscular but definitely a fine example of mature male. There is a sparse carpet of hair across his chest with hints of grey in it. She runs her fingers through it and down to his waist. He is not wearing a belt so it is but a clasp and a zipper that keeps his slacks on him. She dispenses of both and soon the pants are at his ankles. As he steps out of them she gropes at the bulge in his boxer briefs. They cling to his form in an intoxicating manner but she wants desperately to free the snake inside them so that she may play with it. Tugging at the waistband with one hand she reaches inside and grasps it. Warm and rigid, it twitches slightly as her fingers wrap around the veiny shaft. Fondling it gently she feels it grow even more engorged. She must have it. Sinking to her knees she pulls the garment down his legs then holds it as he steps clear. Her face is level with his crotch and the serpent sticks straight out at her, taunting her, begging for her attention. It is a truly magnificent example of manhood, eight or nine inches in length and a girth proportionately oversized. With one hand she again grasps the shaft, with the other she cups his testicles. He is slightly hairy but well groomed. There is the slightest touch of muskiness that taunts her even more. She gently kisses the snake, first on the shaft, then the fat mushroom shaped head, then, lifting the shaft out of the way, on the taught sac underneath. She licks the sac then with another dozen slurps of her tongue negotiates her way back to the head where she daintily daubs away the glistening drop of pre-cum that has formed there. She parts her lips and opens wide. She draws first the head and then as much of the shaft into her mouth as she can. Slowly she works back and forth, up and down the thick swollen rod, lovingly servicing it, focused on providing as much pleasure with her mouth as she possibly can. He responds with a subtle rocking motion in his hips. His hands rest at the back of her head, urging her gently on as facefucks her. It continues on and on. At times he pulls it out of her mouth and she watches intently as it quivers and twitches, expecting to see it erupt, feel the blast of hot semen hit her face, but no, not this man. He waits until the urge subsides then offers it back to her so that she may torment him further. Finally he has had enough and witholds his tool. He draws her to her feet and embraces her before suggesting that she lie on the bed with her back down. After pausing to remove the black lace bra she complies, perching right at the edge then lying backward with her stocking clad legs splayed wide apart over the side and stiletto heeled feet on the floor. Her sex is enticingly on display but now the fruit has opened, both her outer and inner lips are distended and appearing more like the petals of an exotic fleshy blossom. It is his turn to kneel and he does so between her legs bringing his face to mere inches from her most private of places. She can feel his hot breath between her thighs and she knows she must be glisteningly moist. Proud that at her age she can get wet naturally like this she waits for his contact knowing that he is just staring at her down there, maybe playing with himself as he does, but essentially he is inspecting her pussy. Then it happens, he kisses her there and she can actually feel the subtle gush as her glands release a seepage of juices, not a torrent but a release she can nevertheless detect. She wonders if he can as well. He kisses her there again and this time his tongue is involved as well. It then takes over, becoming the primary point of contact, exploring her, probing, running up and down each side of her labia, tickling her perineum and then plowing a furrow between her lips. It lingers at the entrance to her lovehole before plunging as deeply as possible which unfortunately is not deep enough to be anything more than a good teasing. Then he focuses his attention for a while on her clitoris. Her little hood is pushed aside and the tip of his tongue finds her tiny firm knob then begins a slow sensual dance across it. Bit by bit he builds momentum and pressure but pauses occasionally, allowing the sensations to subside slightly, taking his time and keeping her right on the edge. He uses his entire mouth to engulf her sex, sucking her now fully distended outer labia in and swishing them around. She loves the fact that a portion of her can be inside him like that. His tongue resumes its focus on her clit, this time in earnest. He does not back off again, instead assaulting it, pressing upon it and wriggling away like a human vibrator, the very tip constantly in contact. She feels another gush of fluids release as the swell of an orgasm builds, stronger and stronger and her thighs involuntarily squeeze closed around his head. Still he drives on. Her entire pelvic zone is swept up in the building sensations, a rising tsunami of gushy, hot, trembling aliveness and suddenly it crests, an overwhelming and intense rush that runs through every cell in her body. She shrieks in ecstasy and pushes his face from her crotch. She can take no more. As she lies there twitching in the aftermath her legs clamped shut and her arms wrapped tightly around herself he marvels at how incredible she looks, almost naked. He wants to touch her, hold her, but he has learned by now that she needs to be left alone for a few minutes. They have not said a word since she walked through the door and he is tempted to break the silence but doesn't quite know what to say. Gradually she relaxes and her legs begin to part, at first only a bit, but then wider and wider until they are splayed wide open, her pussy now ready for more. She slides from the bed to the floor and kneels with her forearms and elbows on the carpet, her ass up in the air, her fruit protruding from between her thighs and glisteningly. She is dying to feel his member inside her, to have her vaginal cavity occupied by the rigid shaft so magnificently erect as he stands there with his hands on his hips ready for action. Straddling her he crouches and with one hand guides the head of his member toward her fruit. Once it is positioned at her slit he eases it forward. It takes a moment or two to precisely locate the opening but once he does he pushes forward further, beginning to enter her. She gasps as the first inch or two of his manhood slides into her. It's easy to forget just how big he is, how he stretches her in the beginning. But he takes his time, pushing gradually until he bottoms out against her cervix. She groans with pleasure, a signal to him that it's now alright to commence what they both crave - the in and out motion and the sensation of his cockhead scraping against the walls of her uterus as well as the impact of it slamming home with each thrust back in. Suspicions Confirmed They fuck like a pair of animals, all sense lost of anything other than what is going on between her legs as he pumps away. She is pinned in place, an immobile receptacle. Small as they may be she feels her dangling breasts wiggle and wobble each time he forcefully drives his cock deep into her. There seems to be no end to it. An animal-like sound rises from deep within her. As the throes of a second orgasm start to take over the noise escapes, a banshee-like whine and then a yelp followed by another and another. Her entire being is focused on the sensations emanating from her pelvic region. She cums, even harder than the first but this time she does not pull away. Instead he continues his piston like endeavors, driving her to several more noisy orgasms. Eventually he has reached his limit as well. He separates from her and rises, stumbling to the front of her so that he may feed her his cock which she hungrily devours, sucking and slurping away. There is a point at which she can tell there is no turning back for him. Leaving one hand on the floor she raises the other and gently fondles his balls. The delicate touch of her fingers on his testicles sends him over the edge and he explodes, a geyser of thick white goo erupting into her mouth. She gags briefly from the sheer volume of jizz that suddenly blasts out. It continues in surge after surge for seven or eight blasts until he finally is spent and the pulses subside. Swallowing almost every drop she then licks him clean of both their juices before he draws away. A little glob drools down her chin and she wipes it off with her hand as she rises. They take turns in the bathroom before climbing beneath the covers and snuggling together. She has removed the shoes and hose. Before she dozes off she recalls their meeting one afternoon two years prior in a bar downstate. The concept of straying had never crossed her mind but this man was insistant and manipulative and before she realized quite what was happening, found herself naked in a bed straddling him cowgirl style with that wonderful fat tool deep inside her. They have gotten together every three months or so ever since. The sex she has with him is different than the sex she has with her husband. It is obscene, vulgar, trashy sex where he just uses her however he desires and she revels in it. At home she is the good girl, maintaining the status quo she so desperately needs with a husband that holds up his end of the bargain as well. But every once in a while it feels so damn good to clandestinely meet this younger man with the big cock and quite plain and simply get her brains fucked out. She awakes at two in the afternoon to the sound of the door closing. He has been out and returned with sandwiches for them. He feeds her tuna on rye with tomato slices. It's not until she swallows the first bite that she realizes just how hungry she is. There is an icy cold Stella to share to wash it down. She slips from under the covers and visits the bathroom. Upon return she finds him waiting for her naked again. Reaching for his member she finds it flaccid but her touch brings it rapidly to life. Kneeling once more she brings it to full attention before crawling onto the middle of the bed, lying on her back and then spreading her legs wide as she can then playing with pussy until she is wet and ready for him again. He obliges her by stroking his shaft as she fingers herself. "Fuck me." She says, breaking the silence. He climbs atop her and again positions his snake at the entrance to her tunnel. Once more he guides it slowly into her and again she feels that deep satisfaction of being so entirely filled. He rams away, slowly at first and then with great force and vigor. Her knees get pinned to he shoulders, her ass upturned for better vantage so that he may pound on, each thrust deeper than she imagined possible. Again she cums over and over, however this time instead of the animal sounds she is more articulate in her exhortations. "Fuck", "Fuck yes", "Oh shit", "Oh my god" and "Yes yes yes" emerge in an incessant stream of expletives. As she shudders her way through the fourth or fifth in an ongoing stream of orgasms he joins in, groaning as he blasts his load this time deep inside. She can feel the hot ejaculate fill her and even after he withdraws his member she continues to enjoy the sense of fullness until it slowly seeps out, trickling down her asscrack, across her anus then soaking the sheet. He has had a turn in the bathroom. She takes hers then crawls back into the king size bed, curling up off to one side of the puddle. She is exhausted from the workout and soon dozes off, content and just a little sore. Her sleep is deep and satisfying, the sleep of a well fucked woman. When she awakes it is slow and hazily, almost as though she had been drinking. She is alone now and when she glances at the clock on the nightstand she is alarmed to find that it is seven o'çlock. Bounding from the bed she opts not to shower, instead rinsing her crotch quickly with a washcloth. Her makeup is smeary and hair a tousled mess. Her tiny purse holds little of use for straightening things out, only a small brush, a compact, and lipstick. She does the best she can with them then looks for her clothes. They lay atop the dresser and she dons the brief ensemble, first the lacy bra, then the blouse and finally the diminutive skirt. There is a run in one of the stockings so she stuffs them into the wastebasket before stepping into the shoes. One last look around the room fills her head again with the ecstasy and abandon of earlier. It is soon followed by a twinge of sorrow. It will be months before she again feels so alive, so used and enjoyed. The subtle soreness between her legs is fading and she is disappointed. The hotel lobby is much busier than it was in the morning and she feels a bit uncomfortable dressed as she is. One well attired elderly gentleman gives her a good looking over and she suddenly feels dirty. Stepping outside there is a chill to the evening air and as she heads for the far side of the parking lot the click click of her heels on the pavement makes her feel self conscious. She feels exposed, vulnerable and wishes desperately that she was wearing panties. ------ I returned to the grey Camry in the MacDonalds parking lot and sat there for a long time, at first just attempting to get my head around what I just witnessed and once I had calmed down a bit, trying to come up with a strategy as to how I would deal with it. I wanted to confront her but I also didn't want to. Furthermore, I didn't want her to know that I'd followed and spied on her like I had. Then a plan began to form. I started the Camry and drove to the hotel lot, parking right alongside her car. Using the spare set of keys I always carried, I let myself into it, started the engine and pulled away. Driving down the road anther mile or so I pulled into the parking field of a Walmart. Locating an empty slot between an SUV and a delivery van I parked and popped the trunk. I stepping around to the rear and removed the pair of panties, stuffing them into my pocket. Then I meandered across the lot in between parked vehicles. On the walk back to the hotel my mind drifted back to the vision of Connie prancing across the hotel parking lot and wondered what she might be doing at that exact moment. -------- She enters the hotel lobby and immediately feels the effect of the cold air conditioned atmosphere on her nipples. The lacy bra is thin and the white blouse even thinner. Glancing in the oversized mirror that dominates the center wall she is pleased to see that prominent bumps are evident. Marcus appears as if from nowhere. He is good looking and she guesses in his late thirties, dressed in a striped polo and trendy jeans. Not an athlete's physique but still firm and fit, he smiles as his eyes roam up and down her frame. "Sweet." Connie simply smiles in response. He tilts his head toward the elevators and she follows in that direction almost as though by remote control. "Everything per my instructions?" she asks. "Everything." "Excellent." On the fourth floor they head to the very end of the hall. As she struts along her tits jiggle nicely and even despite the carpeting, her stiletto heels make themselves known with every step. She knows she looks hot and she feels it as well, although there is still the usual flip flop thing going on in her stomach from the sheer excitement. At the very last door he inserts a keycard into the slot and then pushes the door wide open. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the much brighter daylight of the room but once they are she is very pleased. She does a quick headcount - sixteen including Marcus. This will be the biggest event for her ever. They will all refer to it as a gangbang, for her it's a cockfest. For years she has indulged herself by having sex with multiple men at once. Sometimes it's been as simple as a threesome but often it's six to eight. It all began back in her college days when she was a fraternity fuckrag. As a little sister pledge she started out as a fluffer, sucking cock to get guys hard in preparation for them to fuck a full fledged sister. That led to occasional one on one with an upper classman who for whatever reason had earned the priviledge of having sex with a pledge. Eventually one evening she was formally initiated as the center of attention in the black curtained Ceremony Room. Lit only by candles she lay spread eagle on a velvet covered mattress in the center of a circle of ten frat members. One by one they took turns silently fucking her as a gathering of several dozen others looked on. Once admitted as a full fledged sister, she then slept with a different fraternity member each night. But by second semester she had switched schools and enrolled in a completely different discipline. She thought that would be the end of that sort of thing but she found she continued to crave being the center of attention and being used by a group of men. Now she meets groups of strangers every six months or so to satisfy her cravings. Her husband has no idea that she was as promiscuous as she was when she was young. He is normality and stability, something she needs just as badly as she does this. A murmur of approval goes around the room. They like what they see and she is glad they do. Marcus introduces her. "Gentlemen, todays cunt is Connie. We've been through the ground rules already, please don't forget them or you will be ejected. Now who is prepared to take care of her first request?" A sandy haired guy in plaid shorts and "Mind The Gap" T shirt steps forward, a joint in one hand, lighter in the other. He lights up, takes a couple good tokes to ensure it is properly lit and then hands it to her. She brings it to her lips and inhales deeply. The ensuing hit is intense. This is good stuff. Ganja has gotten so much more potent than her college days and after only a couple more tokes she has had enough. She passes the joint back to him. She has never been able to figure it out, but getting stoned has always made her horny. She came here today knowing full well that she would be having sex and looking forward to it, but now she was just plain and simply horny as all hell. She needed to get started right away. As if reading her mind someone presses up from behind and begins running stong masculine hands all over her, waist, thighs, breasts, and then finally lifts the front of her skirt to grope her crotch. He seems genuinely surprised to find access to her pussy unencumbered by any form of undergarment. She parts her legs slightly to permit him more access and is soon rewarded with a finger inside her already juicy quim. The men all begin to disrobe and soon her eyes are feastngi upon fifteen cocks. Some are still limp, some semi-erect, several are fully engorged and ready for action. The individual embracing her is now focused on unbuttoning her blouse and then slipping it off her shoulders. Her skirt goes next, dropping to her feet. He unclasps her bra and now she is fully on display, her tits with their proudly erect nipples, her shortly shorn muff with pink labia peeking through. She extends her hands and soon both are occupied by penises, one already firm the other quickly becoming likewise as her fingers wrap around it. Hands begin to fondle her asscheeks and then breasts. Other cocks rub and press against her body. Sinking to her knees it is a sea of cocks. The nearest finds its way to her mouth and one by one she tries out each. Both of her hands are continually occupied with hard members and she changes who receives her attention often. All different types and sizes, some shaven some hairy, long, fat, skinny, she is in heaven. But she needs more. Rising, she moves to the bed, lying down with her ass at the edge and spreads her legs wide. It takes a couple minutes for someone to open and fit on a condom. In the meantime, a fresh cock finds its way to her mouth and one to each of her hands. Someone is massaging one of her breasts and a cock is being rubbed against the other. Something presses against the entry to her and then it is inside her, shoved almost all the way in a single thrust. It is a moderately sized dick, an excellent starting point and in no time at all he is slamming away at her. Balls slap against her with each deep stroke. The cock in her mouth is exchanged for another and then another and eventually the same happens with the one that has been slamming away at her cunt. The replacement is a big one and it stretches her even though she has already been warmed up. She can feel it bottoming out deep within her, something she really enjoys. Far too soon it is exchanged for another. Cocks are being rubbed all over her body and whenever she opens her eyes all she can see is cocks, cock, and more cocks. Her legs are held aloft and apart by hands on both sides of her. Every so often someone gives her a break and instead of jamming another shaft inside her beckoning hole, buries their face in her crotch or simply plays with her clit. At one point she changes position, offering herself on all fours. Sucking is easier and more effective like this and penetration feels deliciously different. As her tits dangle they are played with and even slapped around a little. Suddenly someone smacks her on the asscheek. From then on her ass is peppered occasionally with smacks, sometimes mild and sometimes stingingly firm. One particular contact makes her eyes water. Someone begins to play with her anus, spitting on it and working their finger into it a little at a time. She offers no resistance to this advance, in fact she is a little disappointed that it has taken so long for someone to do so. She wants to yell out "Fuck my ass!" but its difficult to say anything when her mouth is constantly filled. A drizzle of lubricant is applied and she feels a second finger inside her. Soon after, a cockhead is pressing at her back door and is then forced in. It is a slender shaft and fairly easily penetrates but then she discovers that it is also quite long and she feels it burrow deep into her. They take turns then assfucking her for a while before she squirms to change position, pushing the next guy in line into a seated pose and then positioning her sphincter so that she can impale herself on it. She spreads her legs and motions to her unoccupied pussy. Soon she is occupied there as well, sandwiched between two men and yet she still is able to take a third piece of manmeat in her mouth. The energy level in the room is rising. Everyone seems to be right on the edge of climax and yet no one has cum yet. They are an excellent bunch and have followed her instructions well. Even though she loves being reamed like this, now it is time for what she loves the most. Extricating herself from the pile of naked male flesh she pulls down the bedcovers and lies prone. Marcus is the first to appoach, leading by example. He is stroking his member as he kneels alongside her. After a few minutes he ejaculates, spurting semen across her breasts and upper torso but saving a final small blast for her face, hitting her squarely in the cheek. One by one, the others follow suit, depositing their gooey loads all over her body. By the time all sixteen have finished there is barely a square inch above her kneecaps that isn't coated. Her pubic curls are thick with white goo and it drips between her legs. Her breasts are completely covered and it is all over her face and in her hair. Once it is over, she runs her hands through it, smearing it across her naked flesh, savoring the slimy viscousness. Some of the men dress and leave. She lies there like that for a while before rising to head for the shower. It seems a shame to rinse it all off but she knows from experience that it's hell to remove once it dries. Emerging freshly cleansed from the shower she finds Marcus and several others still there. Excellent, she thinks, she's ready for another round. She drapes herself over the end of the bed, offering her posterior up to them. Her cunt is soon occupied again and there is another cock in her face seeking her attention orally. This time they take turns for another hour. All in all she has been fucking almost non stop for around four hours. Instead of a bukkake finsh, this time she takes each of them in her mouth to drain them of their remaining lovejuice. Marcus is the last to leave. He asks if there is anything he can get or do for her. In a sex addled stupor she tells him that he has already taken very good care of her, that it has been a wonderful cockfest. She turns down the second bed and climbs naked between the sheets, falling asleep with visions of cock after cock swimming in her head. ----- I had passed through the toll booth and was eastbound on the thruway. It was still only just noon, the late spring sun baking down. Scanning through the airwaves on the radio I located a jazz station playing a sultry blues standard. A strange sort of tranquility had settled in. Lost was the heart pounding shock of earlier seeing my wife heading for her rendezvous in her skimpy attire, replaced by the satisfaction of having taken some sort of action, silly as it might be. It would at the very least disrupt the manner in which she had her dalliance planned. Herbie Mann's cover of "Comin' Home Baby" came on. I laughed out loud over the double irony it held for me that day as well as the double entendre initially intended by the title. My thoughts again drifted off and I wondered what she was up to, whose arms she might be in. ----- The door to room 454 opens, revealing a statuesque woman with short cropped brown hair, high cheekbones, sparkling eyes, and legs that seemed to go on forever. Barefoot, she stands almost precisely the same height Connie does in her ridiculously high heels. Wearing a short jade green silk robe she looks completely relaxed and at the same time stunningly hot. A balding man of around fifty adjusts his tie in the mirror over the dresser. Glancing at Connie he does a doubletake and utters "My, my my. We certainly are looking downright edible today dear." Finishing with the tie he brushes past them but not without delivering a lovepat to Connie's backside. The door is opened and on his way out he says "Have fun you two". Mia brings her hands to Connie's waist and draws her close. Their lips connect and her arms encircle around one another. It is a long sensuous kiss, soft and yet fervent. She is wearing a new scent and it is as intoxicating as the rest of her. A pitcher of orange juice sweats away on the dresser and beside it a champagne bottle in an ice bucket. Reaching for champagne flutes she pours first some orange and then bubbly into each then hands one to Connie. They clink glasses and sip. Suspicions Confirmed Sitting down in the lounge chairs at the far end of the room they continue to sip and chit chat ensues. By the time the glasses are nearly empty the discussion has turned to Eva and her husband's recent nude beach visit in the carribean. "No tan lines." she giggles. At that she stands, languidly unties the sash at her waist and peels off the robe, revealing her svelte form. Firm shapely breasts with large areolae that almost disappear her skin is so tan grace a slender torso and nicely rounded hips. She is shaved but for a quarter inch wide swath that begins at the top of her pussy slit, rising upward for three inches. Both nipples are pierced as is each of her outer labia and small gold rings adorn all four locations. Standing before Connie she extends her hand, drawing her to her feet and then asks "Did you follow all my instructions?" "Yes." "Let me see." Connie coyly lifts the front of her skirt, revealing her triangle of closely cropped pubes. "Mmmmm. Lovely. You should really go sans culottes more often." "Perhaps." "Well, why don't you take the rest of your kit off and let's get down to business." Connie unzips the skirt, slips out of it and then follows with the blouse and bra. As she does, Eva moves to the bed, perching at the foot of it with her legs splayed wide then leans back, propping herself at an angle with her hands on the mattress. The balls of her feet rest on the floor. Still wearing the stockings and heel Connie approaches the bed then kneels between Eva's long shapely legs. Running her hands up the deeply tanned thighs she brings them to rest at the little hollows just at the base of her pelvis. She knows from experience that this is a very sensitive and errogenous zone. Bringing her face inches from Eva's sex she hovers there reveling in the beauty of this woman's sex, the now taut labia barely parted permitting a glimpse of the second pair within. Her breath wafts over it and she waits watching. And then it appears, the glisten of moisture at the mouth of that slit. Waiting, watching it become more obvious she then with the very tip of her tongue delicately licks away those first few dewdrops of feminine nectar. It is sweet as ever and she always savors the first taste when she has been without it for so long. As she licks, the lips begin to part further, the outer petals distend and the coral toned inner petals become more visible. She kisses the area of the hood, lingering there and with her tonguetip saying hello to the sensitive little bump. Eva moans as she does. Utilizing her entire tongue she laps at the outer lips and to each side. They have distended a good half an inch and she is now able to draw both them and the golden rings inside her mouth. Holding them there she continues to probe at the clitoris, teasing it. The juices now flow freely and her chin becomes coated. Sliding one hand lower she brings a finger to rest on the perineum, gently massaging it as she also laps away at the zone between the inner lips. Eva's vaginal cavity spreads open and Connie slips the finger up to rest right at the edge of the hole. Bit by bit she moves her finger deeper into it with Eva reacting more and more excitedly. She is writhing away, trying to drive herself onto that finger. Eventually Connie relents, pushing her digit in as deep as possible. Eva reacts with gusto, bucking and grinding back in response, her ass raised high above the bed. Her fluids flow like a rivulet and Connie adds a second and then third finger into the gaping maw that Eva's uterus has become. The fourth finger slips in easily. Working gradually away as Eva bucks like a bronco, Connie winds up with her entire hand inside Eva. They have never gone this far before and she is a little scared that she might hurt her. But Eva contiues to thrash away, yelling "Yes, yes, yes!" all the while. Then it happens, Eva shudders as though in the throes of a seizure, and an immense orgasm roars through her body. Her legs are off the floor, tightly wrapped around Connie, her vaginal walls tightly clamped on her hand. It lasts for several minutes and then Connie knows she must stay perfectly still until the orgasm has subsided. Eventually Eva comes down and Connie withdraws her hand then kicks off the heels to climb onto the bed. She holds a still trembling Eva. Arms wrapped around one another they kiss again, tongues probing and hands roaming across others soft flesh. Their legs intertwine and they grind their pelvises together. Eva kisses her way down Connie's body, pausing along the way to pay extra attention to her nipples, nibbling and gently biting them into a highly sensitive state. When she reaches Connie's pussy the labia are already in full blossom and she simply buries her face there, slurping away to return the favor. But Connie cums sooner, a single finger inside her does the trick albeit a skillful one that knows exactly where to do what. Anticipating the orgasm, Eva holds her tightly as she erupts, soaking in the release of energy. They fall asleep in one another's arms only to wake and make love again an hour later, this time in sixty-nine position carefully extricating each other's climax so as to coincide, the two a frantic ball of estrogen laden overload. This time they then shower together before crawling back in bed and again falling asleep in one anothers' arms. Connie awakes with Eva spooning her from behind. It is late afternoon and she should be on her way. She silently dresses and being careful not to wake her kisses Eva gently on the cheek before letting herself out. ------- It's even later than she thought as she approaches the red vehicle in the parking lot. The remote entry key doesn't operate, must be time for a new battery. Bracing herself for the inevitable alarm that will erupt as she attempts to enter, she inserts the key into the slot. But the key will only go half way in and looking inside she realizes that not only is this not her car, its not even an Acura and that there is a man sitting in the driver's seat. She is embarrassed not only because of the mistake but because of her attire and tousled appearance. For some reason the fact that she has no panties on and is standing there just inches away form this stranger makes her feel terribly vulnerable. Shouting "Sorry" she backs away scanning the lot for her car. But it is nowhere to be found. There is not another single red vehicle in the lot and the awful realization hits her that it has been stolen. Panicking she remembers that she has left her cellphone in her other purse in the trunk. Oh how she wishes that it was in the tiny bag on her shoulder now. A pair of panties would be nice as well. The breeze begins to pick up a bit. ----- It was eleven forty-five at night when I heard the vehicle pull into the driveway. It was Margo's car and as I peered out the front window I watched Connie get out of the passenger side. I heard her say "Thanks so much" before shutting the door. She used her housekey to let herself in and I met her in the kitchen. She is wore sweatpants and an exercise cami that I recognize as Margo's, the white blouse over it. She is carried a Walmart bag and wore brand new athletic shoes. "My car was stolen. I'm sorry I didn't call, I left my phone in it. I had all sorts of things to fill out for the police and now I'm exhausted. I just want to go to bed." I let her off the hook, gave her a hug and watched her disappear to the bedroom. She made the mistake of leaving the Walmart bag behind and I checked it out. It was empty save for a receipt which showed the purchase of a pair of shoes and, yes you guessed it, a pair of panties. ----- The next day after dropping her off at a car rental shop I returned to the scene and retrieved the Accord from the Walmart lot, returning it to the hotel lot precisely where she had left it. You should have seen the look on her face that evening when I told her the police had called and where they said they had found the vehicle. It was even more interesting to watch her reaction later in the week when I watched her stumble across the thong that I'd slipped in with the rest of her laundry. Suspicions Third This is a possible Chapter 3 to whiteone redone well written Suspicions Chapter1 & 2 (which I urge you to read so the following makes more sense). The story had the wife character Kathy reunite and form an emotional bond and affair with her first boyfriend Karl. When caught Kathy-sent a letter to her husband Paul to allow her "double life" to continue. Not a cuckold - Paul divorced, become the strong parent shunning an outside life and living for his two children Jason and Christi. I felt Katy was rewarded for her behavior with a new husband, new baby + the love and respect of her first two teen age children as the kids were never told of their mothers behavior. This is a take on what happens a few years later... +++++++++++ I was awaked late at night with a frenzied ringing of the doorbell, pounding at the front door and a female yelling. As I was stumbling down the stairs, my sister Christi was the first to reach the door and pulled it open. My mom Kathy tumbled into the house crying and sobbing. "Karl's left! Karl's left!" Kathy cried between sobs and embracing Christi. "And he took Karl Jr with Him! Their gone! Both Gone!!" "What happened?" Christi asked still holding onto Mom. Kathy's sister my aunt Evelyn rushed in the open door. "Karl thinks Kathy's cheating on him." Evelyn looked up the stairs at Dad and I. "I'm so sorry Paul, I drove Kathy over here because she was bound determined to come here, and in her state I was afraid she would cause a car accident." Mom was still sobbing. "Karl said he had proof I was sleeping with you Paul." Mom said wiping her eyes and looking at Dad. "Someone was sending flowers to me at work. I told Karl I thought it was him. Then he said he found receipts in my glove compartment from the Pine Tree motel, underwear in a bag in the cars wheel well trunk, even a disposable phone with your work and cell numbers on the call log under the seat." Kathy heaved in a deep breath. "Karl claimed he talked to the Pine Tree Motel manager and they recognized my picture, said I was there a few times a week, always paid in cash-even remember my car and bumper stickers. One cleaning lady described you & your car-pretty hard to miss with that dent in the front fender!" Mom slid down to a sitting position on the floor. "Paul-Karl thinks we are having sex. I told him it wasn't true." Then Kathy pulled out a manila folder with a bunch of picture. "Yesterday someone sent Karl this at his company's email account." Christi grabbed the pictures and made a face. I guess no kid should see their parents having sex, even digital photos. Mom started crying again. "Paul you gotta talk to Karl! You gotta tell him it's not true! I am being set-up, I can't lose him now after all I've been thru!" she started weeping again. Dad cinched up the belt on his bathrobe and had a sour look on his face. "I have no intention of ever speaking to ....that man. There will be ice skating in hell first. Did my lawyer not make it clear –I do not even want to speak to you. Now please leave this house immediately, and take those smutty pictures with you!" Christi passed the pictures onto to me then turned to Dad. "Kinda gross Dad-but this means you and Mom are might be getting back together?" A hopeful smile forming on her young face, I had a smile forming on my face too-but for a different reason. Mom looked up at my sister. "No honey your Father and I have not been together since he found....since we separated before the divorce." I could not take it any longer and burst out laughing. I was laughing so hard I could not breathe. I stumbled down the steps and collapsed onto the couch, tears were rolling down my cheeks I was laughing so hard. God my sides hurt. "Jason!" My sister Christi yelled at me. "What is wrong with you!" I wiped the mucus from my nose and tried to stop laughing. "Come on Sis-you must see the humor in this. Mom's cheating with Karl caused Mom and Dad's break-up. Now Karl is leaving Mom because Karl thinks Mom is cheating on him with Dad. "I could not stop giggling. "After Mom cheated on Dad -I cannot imagine why Karl would have any suspicions Mom would cheat on him. What could possibly give Karl the idea that Mom was not going to be 100% faithful to Karl? What's the saying MOM-Once a Cheater-Always a Cheater." I laughed again. "You cannot write good comedy like this!" "Cheating, what cheating?" Christi looked at Mom. "Dad said the break up was because you two drifted apart. You didn't cheat on Dad –did you Mom?" "Christi." My Aunt Evelyn spoke up. "I think is between your Mom and Dad" I could tell my little sister Christi was having none of that, she let go of Mom's embrace and tried to look Mom in the face. "You screwed around on Dad!" Mom just sobbed. Christi had a stunned look on her face. "No way Mom! You fucked other guys while married to Dad!" Mom looked up from the floor. "It wasn't really cheating -it ..it..it was one person." Mom wiped her eyes again." Christi, you're too young to understand, I always loved your Father, and still do- It just, ah just.. happened. You see Karl was my first true love. I never wanted the divorce. I thought we could stay together as a family." I started clapping and let out another laugh. "Very good Mom. Hey sis, ask Mom to tell us about her solution to prevent the divorce! Ready?-All Dad had to do to keep the marriage and family was –Listen Carefully-All Dad had to do was to keep the marriage and our family was just let Mom keep screwing Karl and not interfere!" I looked at my shocked Mother. "Yea Mom I read your letter" Aunt Evelyn shot daggers at Dad. "YOU let the children read Kathy's letter!" I jumped in. "No Aunt Evelyn, Dad didn't know I saw Mom's letter." I looked at Dad. "Sorry Dad I found Mom's letter over a year ago when I was going thru your desk looking for stamps." "Oh my God Mom how could you!" Christi said backing away from Mom. "You wanted Daddy to have a three-way! How gross!" "No NO NO." Mom cried trying to stand up. "It was nothing like that, I..I.. I -loved them both , wanted them together –but not that way. It was two like different lives, two separate worlds. I love your Father-always did, always have, but Karl was my first love from before you were born. It was completely different with your Father and I. When Karl and I were...together it was.. they were.. the times were.. um.. unique. But I never stopped loving your father -just like I love you and your brother Jason. " I started laughing again. "Is that so Mom? You REALLY Love us? Guess what sis-I overheard Dad talking to Uncle Todd. Dad gave Mom the choice of Karl or her family-That is you and I or Karl. This was even after Dad found about the affair. All would be forgiven- If Mom would stop seeing Karl, and return to us as wife and mother. And Guess what? Our loving Mom chose Karl. Her children-that's us-me and you-that Mom claims she LOVES so much? Well we came in 2nd place." Mom held out her arms to reach for Christi. Christi was backing away. "Christi." Mom started. "It was not that simple, the situation was complicated, we wanted.." I interrupted. "No Mom it was not complicated. A real simple choice-your own children and family on one side, or a dream boyfriend from two decades ago on the other side. YOU did NOT choose us! You wanted to eat your cake and have it too! You chose Karl over Christi, me and Dad!" Christi had retreated behind Dad and was hugging him from behind on the step landing. "How could you abandon us like that Mom! You said different lives-you mean you didn't want to be our mother anymore? " Christi buried her face in Dads shoulder crying. I could almost see the venom in Christi's face as my sister looked at Mom and spat out "BITCH , WHORE , SLUT!" "That enough." My Dads stern voice finally spoke. "We will have none of that language in this household. That event was a private matter between your mother and I. Whatever transpired between us as husband and wife –she is still your Mother." Mom looked at Christi, then I with pleading eyes. "Jason, Christi-Please try to understand, I never wanted it to be like this. We are still a family. I always wanted to be there for you two." I saw Christi look up and thru her tears and she replied full of sarcasm. "Gee Thanks Mom -you were always there for us as long as it did not interfere with Karl. " Christi hugged Dad tighter. "What -every other weekend and alternate Holidays? Well Mom maybe you can get your first true love to let you see Karl Jr twice a month! It was good enough for your first two children, than it should be good enough for Karl Jr. Plus you get lots of free time to find your third, fourth or fifth true loves!" Mom was frantic. "Your wrong! It was never like that! Some things.. feelings you cannot control. I always wanted the best for you two and your Father! " I couldn't let it go. "Bullshit Mom. Not only did you betray Dad, break up this family, but you never even tried to help us or Dad out. Your BEST for us! After I read your letter, I started going thru the bills. Did you do or contribute anything to help raise us after you ran off with your dream lover? Child support? Maintenance? Anything?" Mom just looked at the floor and mumbled something about the divorce terms. "Yea I thought not. "I continued. "Sis -did you know Dad almost lost the house? Trying to raise two Kids with half the income, plus a housekeeper to take care if us. Did you know Dad had to borrow money from Uncle Todd." Aunt Evelyn's eyes widened-"Wow." I thought. "Even she didn't know?" "Plus Sis where do you think the money came from for your prom dress, shoes and purse? Sweet how you and Mom picked them out-but Dad sold Grandpas coin collection on EBay to pay for the big night. The iPhone Mom bought for your Birthday-who do you think pays the monthly bill?-you notice Dads Golf clubs are gone? Not to mention Grandmas jewelry, silver and his baseball card collection. Dad would not even fix the AC in his car or repair the dent and always takes the bus. Come on Sis you never notice Dad packs his own lunch every day-always peanut butter and jelly or baloney sandwiches. Dad has turned down two promotions because the hours would not fit our schedule. When is last time you saw Dad go out with his friends, a ballgame, even leave the house without something to do with us? Yet Mom and Karl her dream man seem to have no issues in their McMansion and European vacations. Hey Mom how much was that customized stroller you bought for Karl Jr last month." Mom looked up at Dad. "Paul why did you not say something? Karl and I could have.." I saw Dad's eyes flare, and his face flush, a sure sign he was struggling to control his temper. Dad said coldly. "I take care of this family. My family does do not need or want you and...his..help" "Damn Mom you really know how to pour salt in a wound. "I jumped in. "By the way I guess it was OK for Karl to share you with Dad when you were Dads wife-but not the other way around? Old Karl have a problem with sharing now that you were his wife? Well MOMMY dearest how does it feel to have your first true love take the family and walk out on YOU? Kinnda hurts doesn't it? " Mom seemed to remember why she came and fell to the floor crying again. "Paul –PLEASE you gotta help me. I do not know where Karl and Karl Jr are -you have to find them. Let Karl know nothing happened between us. I can't lose Karl again-or Karl Jr." She put her head in her hands sobbing. Dad broke in with his calm but even voice" OK this has gone on far too long. Kathy I have and still have no wish to speak or see you again. I had my attorney make that quite clear. Now you have upset my family and my home for the last time. I am asking you to leave. You and HIS family's domestic..." Dad paused. "ah.. AFFAIRS-are none of MY families concern." Mom shook off Aunt Evelyn's attempts to get her to her feet and leave. Dad did not even raise his voice as he walked to the telephone and dialed a series of numbers. "Hello Police. I wish to report an intruder in my home who will not leave. This person was uninvited, unwelcome and will not depart." A pause as Dad gave the address. "A squad car is in the area? Good please send it here right away. Thank you." Mom was still crying and Aunt Evelyn was trying to pull her away. Christi was hugging Dad and Dad was talking softly to Christi. I idly looked down at the pictures. If they had not looked like my parents they may have gotten me aroused. One showed a blow job, another cowgirl style, anal, about a half dozen motel roomish photos in all. I do not know how long it was, but I looked up when flashing lights reflected off the open front door. Uncle Todd in his patrol uniform walked into the house. Uncle Todd looked surprised, but then took off his hat and walked over to talk to Aunt Evelyn. He then spoke with Dad, finally walking over to Mom. "Kathy." Uncle Todd said in a tone I never heard before. "If you do not leave RIGHT now, I will place you under arrest." Uncle Todd pulled out his handcuffs. "Kathy." Aunt Evelyn urged. "You will never see Karl or Karl Jr if you are in jail. Come on lets go." Mom seemed to finally understand, she let Aunt Evelyn pull her to her feet and guide her out the door, followed by Uncle Todd. Dad walked with Christi still attached to him to the door and closed it. "We will talk tomorrow." was all Dad said and ushered us upstairs. ++++++++ Dad tried to give Christi and I a tongue lashing the next day, but you could see his heart really was not in it. Neither Christi nor I wanted to see Mom again. Dad said he would not force us. He just said to think on it as none of us were plastic saints. She was still our mother, and makes mistakes like every other person. I noticed Dad had to force himself to say Mom's name. A few days later Uncle Todd pulled up in his police cruiser while I was shooting hoops in the driveway. He motioned me to sit in the passenger side of his squad car. Uncle Todd handed over the pics Mom had brought to the house that day. "Not bad." Uncle Todd said looking at me. "Our IT tech guys claimed if this was a court case they could not say if it was real or fake." I shrugged. "You are majoring in Computer graphics right? Took an advanced course on CG Special effects in LA last summer." Uncle Todd then sat back. "I didn't fake these photos." I replied. That much was true. I hired one of the course instructors to do that at the CG Production company he worked for. I had provided some pics of Mom and Dad. The final photos cost me every dime from my summer job. Uncle Todd opened up a small notebook. "I spoke with the manager at the Pine Tree Motel. The manager recalled a lady that fit Kathy's basic description, but couldn't be sure as she was always wearing dark glasses. The Minivan also fit, but I checked the rental places and A1 rental seemed to rent a similar van every time this lady had a room at the motel. The rental clerk remembered because the minivan was always returned cleaner then it went out." I shrugged again. My "Mom" was a similar looking housewife I found on Craigslist erotic site and I had to cash in one of my college savings bonds to pay her. The minivan rentals cost me another savings bond. I had to put on & clean off the damn "Baby on Board" and "Save the Waves" bumper sticker each time. "Now." Uncle Todd continued. "A cleaning lady at the hotel did ID your Dads car from the dent. However I do not think Karl understood her when she was describing the man driving the dented car. It was not a middle aged man- but a young man-almost a teenager." Uncle Todd gave me a hard look. "You drive your Dad's car don't you? If I checked the school records, would I find you absent on the days his car was at the motel?" I started to sweat a bit. "Christi drives Dad's car too sometimes." I offered. Uncle Todd nodded. "The flowers were bought from a florist using a Visa prepaid gift card. Phoned in each time. Your Mom swears she was never at the Pine Tree Motel since the divorce. So how did the cash receipts get into her cars glove box –as well as the prepaid cell phone?... Now you have a key to your mother's minivan right?" Damn it was getting hot. "Yes-just like Christi." I said lamely. Uncle Todd ignored that and pressed on. "The ladies undergarments hidden in the van was not your mothers size. Too small, they would have never fit your Mom." "Damn." I thought. "What the hell do I know about ladies underwear. I had taken my sisters Christi's panties and bra out of the dirty hamper, replacing them with new ones of the same size. Christi never seemed to notice. Uncle Todd closed the notebook and put it in his pocket. Turning to me he said. "Your 18 now so I am not going to treat you like a child. Here is what we are going to do. You are going to see this cop shrink-a friend of mine for a while. You get this straighten out with him, and we keep this between us." He handed me a business card. I nodded and got out of the squad car. ++++++++ After a few sessions, the Shrink told Uncle Todd that this was a onetime thing. Even healthy as it acted as a pressure release. I guess it was true. After my Mom left that night I felt most of my anger and resentment at Mom go away like air being let out of a balloon. I mean we are not really close like I am with Dad, but Mom and I are OK. Mom and my sister Christi kinda patched things up. They talk, but Christi is distant toward Mom. During visits Christi never stayed overnight Mom's anymore. Not that it mattered soon anyway. Mom could not make the house payments on her McMansion and was upside-down on the mortgage, so the bank ended up taking her house. She moved in with Uncle Todd and Aunt Evelyn for a while. Karl fled to Germany with their son and filed for divorce there as Karl had dual citizenship. Karl refused to talk to Mom, the International lawyers and court fees drained her finically. Mom can only see Karl Jr in Germany and must surrender her passport during each visit. As her funds deplete she sees Karl Jr less and less. Mom seems to think Karl will change his mind if Dad will talk to him, but Christi told me she heard Karl is back with his first wife in Germany. Damn that guy likes past love lives. That night appeared to be a turning point for Dad. I think Dad saw no need to be the constant "helicopter" parent always hovering around. A weight seemed to have been lifted off his shoulders. He stood a little straighter and started hanging out with the lady who runs a diner he used to frequent. She is a tall, big busted, loud, rawboned woman -the complete opposite of Mom. She is Dads age, a widow, always with a large grin on her face and a steady stream of chatter. She gets Dad to smile a lot, never seeming to take his stern demeanor seriously. She got Dad to be civil to Mom. Mom and Dad even sat next to each other during Christ's graduation. I still do not think Mom gets it though. She approached Dad at Uncle Todd July 4th backyard party and asked Dad for money so she could go see Karl & Karl Jr. I thought Dad was going to choke on his hotdog. He did not answer Mom, but turned and walked away. Recently Mom asked Aunt Evelyn to feel Dad out about getting back together. I did not hear Dad's complete answer –but something about Ice Skating in Hell. Suspicions She was naked in that shot, the most beautiful thing he ever saw. A few of the other men had nude photos of their girlfriends that they passed around with pride, Jim kept those of Sandy all to himself. No way did Jim want anyone else to see her like that, Sandy was all his and private. Looking closely, Jim could tell that her nipples were popped outwards, tiny and firm so he knew she was excited at the idea of his having such a photo of her. The only relief was to masturbate furiously, holding that photo in his hand. It helped, but he could not get even close to what she had created in his body with her hands. Marriage by the time the ship arrived home was a given. The last letter he received had the words, "Oh God yes!!!!" taking up half of one page. He had finally written that he loved her more than anything on the planet, and wanted her to be his forever. She was waiting as he stepped off the ship, he asked her again right then, already knowing her answer. The large diamond that he had purchased in a foreign port seemed to really please her. That had taken all of his savings, and some more money he borrowed from his fellow crewmen. They teased him with no mercy at all about that, too. +++ The marriage was a fairly large event, Sandy had far more friends than he did there. Jim had noticed that, Sandy was the type of person that attracted people. The reception was quite a party, over a hundred people were there. One young man came up to her and smiled, claiming his opportunity to kiss the bride. Jim felt a pang of irritation when she willingly tipped her head up, since he did know the man at all. But he did manage to control that, when the same thing happened a couple more times he had enough and told her it was time to go. "There sure seems to be a lot of guys wanting to kiss you." Jim muttered with some irritation to her when they got in the car. "Oh, it's just part of the ritual, it's nothing. They are just friends, guys I knew before I met you." She told him, picking up on his upset. Jim pouted briefly but managed to control his emotions. By the time they got to the beach resort they had booked for their honeymoon, all of that was forgotten. Their first night as man and wife was an event in itself, they both had deliberately ceased having sex for over a week, wanting the night to be special. Special it was, Sandy recreated their very first night together, to Jim it was just like that. The next morning they headed down to breakfast, when they stepped into the lobby he noticed the light coming in from outside outlined her body for a moment beneath the rather shapeless pull over dress she wore. "Where is your bra?" He asked, looking around quickly. No one seemed to have noticed. "I didn't want to wear one, we are on vacation?" She told him, giving him a questioning look. "Anyone can see right through that thing." He told her. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize. Do you want me to go change?" She asked, still giving him a questioning look. "No. It's all right, we will just stay out of the sunlight." Jim told her, steering her to a table far away from the windows. Later on, they went for a long walk on the beach. Sandy had changed into her one piece swim suit, and had a long flowing wrap over it. As they walked down the beach, a couple they spotted lay on blankets under an umbrella. The woman lay on her stomach, her suit was pulled down to completely bare her back. "Hey, check that out." Sandy nudged Jim with a giggle. Jim glanced over, the woman was pretty and well built and seemed unconcerned about showing so much flesh. "That's a bit much for a public beach." Jim told her. Again Sandy looked at him oddly, but she didn't say anything. She had some plans on doing a bit of topless sunbathing herself but now she thought better of that. Jim appeared to be a little possessive and she didn't want to do anything to upset him. In the first year of their marriage, there were a few incidents similar. She saw his face darken once at a nightclub when a man named Carl that she knew from high school asked her to dance. Not thinking, she hopped up to dance with him. It was a fast song, Carl was a high school friend so she thought nothing of it. When the next song was a slower tune, it was natural for her to slip into his arms as they chatted about some hilarious things that had happened back in their school days. Jim appeared to be mildly angry when her friend led her back to their table. "What?" She asked him, surprised at his obvious reaction. "You sure seemed to enjoy yourself with that guy." Jim growled. "That's Carl, I know him from high school. He is a funny guy, we were just good friends." She protested. "I will just bet. I don't like you snuggling up to some other guy, especially an old boy friend!" Jim growled. "But it was just a dance, he took me to a party once is all. He isn't an old boyfriend!" Sandy protested. "Besides, Carl would like you a lot better than me. He told me I was lucky, that you are really pretty!" She added with a titter. "Pretty?....Oh." Was all Jim said, then the uncomfortable moment passed. Sandy was well aware now that her husband Jim had a jealous streak, so she began to be careful. Sandy was happy with Jim for the most part, he worked hard and always came home on time. He was also very good to her, except for the rare times something like her dancing with Carl happened. That moment had been uncomfortable for her, but she thought perhaps it was her own fault. She should have told Jim that Carl was gay, but she had been so excited to see him, they had been great friends in school. Still, life was fine. Jim even shared all of the household chores, together they kept a perfect home. The one thing her husband could do was cook, very seldom was any meal he prepared boring. So her life with her man was mostly wonderful. He was an attentive lover, taking care to assure her pleasure. Without fail if anything needed to be done, he joined right in, assisting with the dishes, even the laundry. His only flaws were not liking some of her outfits, that bothered her because she loved to dress in pretty things, she was proud of her figure and worked out regularly to keep it. That and she needed to be careful with their male friends, so she always now kept them at arm's length. The easy kisses on the cheek, the hugs she liked with close friends were given up, it was easier that way. She also never mentioned anything about her earlier experiences. A few of her dates had ended with experiments in sex, and she loved that part when it was with a man she really liked. Those experiments with sex were not a lot, not compared to some of her girl friends. The late sixties had brought an easiness about things like that, sex between friends was more normal than not. Sandy had always been cautious, always waiting to think at least she knew a potential partner before giving them a try. The newness was exciting to her, but most always seemed rushed. There had been nothing rushed about Jim at all. Jim had been perfect in that department, that first time with him was nearly enough all by itself. No one else had even come close to making her feel like that except for one. If Jim had simply claimed her, asked her, she would have said yes, but he didn't. Men sometimes just wanted one thing, and she knew that very well. He almost did that first time, but there was no followup. She had been so sad to see him go, thinking that was probably the end. Then came the letters, by the time he was back Sandy was completely lost in this man. Jim never asked her about any of her relationships though, so she did not volunteer. She also never asked him, either. Their complete knowledge of each other was the only thing that was not perfect. No marriage is ever completely perfect, Sandy told herself. +++ Sandy was good at cooking herself, and for fun they always took turns trying to outdo each other. Jim was hoping she would like his newest recipe, a meat loaf with nearly every vegetable one could think of, in the center several layers of their favorite cheeses. He had carefully cut small pieces of the most tender portion of a T-bone steak, pan fried those and blended them into the dish before baking it. The smell was delicious, Jim could hardly wait for his wife to get home and try it. He had just decided on some fresh Broccoli to steam with a white sauce to pour over it when the phone rang. He set the meat loaf on a wooden cutting board to cool and grabbed the phone. +++ "This is Sergeant Miller, Oregon State Police." the voice said. Jim listened, then he was out the door and into his truck as fast as he could go. That damned tiny little car, a Honda 600 Sandy had insisted on buying! It had earned the nickname "Apple Crate", it was orange and ugly. Jim didn't like it, the thing would become a volley ball in any kind of accident. Which was exactly what had happened. Sandy had pulled out around a big truck that was stopped at a light, as she moved over into the left turn lane a Ford Fairlane was turning left across her path and cut the corner, hitting her head on. The other driver had been looking over his right shoulder to assure no one was coming, so he never even touched the brakes. The Fairlane had a dented left front fender, hood buckled up and the bumper twisted back but that was all. Her tiny little car was nearly destroyed, ending up on it's top on the other side of two oncoming lanes of traffic in a ditch. The impact was severe enough that it even broke the back of the seat. Why she was not killed outright was amazing. It did register on Jim to wonder why she was at that intersection, nearly four miles on the other side of the clinic she worked at and headed back towards it. Plus it was not quite 5 PM, she got off work at 5 PM? Jim was aware of that jealous streak in him and did try to control it. Things like Sandy dancing with someone to a slow tune irritated him, or another man paying a bit too much attention to her could get him to interrupt them. So her being somewhere she was not supposed to be made him wonder, but right then Jim was more concerned about how badly she was injured. +++ "Please have a seat, we will have a Social Worker come out to talk to you." the receptionist told him. "Social Worker?" That did not help at all, he was thinking that she was badly hurt or even dead? For nearly a half hour he sat there, barely containing his panic. Finally, mercifully, a woman arrived and took him back into the trauma center. Things did not look good at all, she lay there under a sheet as several people worked on her. Jim reached out and took her hand, she looked up at him with glassy eyes, her face pale. She tried to talk but the words came out strange, slurred. It was clear that they had her under some kind of medication. He could see the wrappings on her right wrist, looking down he saw the tubing and bag protruding from underneath the thin sheet, and knew they had inserted a catheter. There were no cuts on her face but she was badly swollen. He could see that she would have two black eyes, and the right side of her face was very puffy, an angry red color. Then two young men came in, flipped the wheels down on the cart she was lying on and whisked her away. "Something going on there and we need to take a look." A matronly nurse told him gently. All Jim could do was sit there and wait. +++ Finally an older Doctor came in and talked to him. "It could be worse, your wife has both ankles broken, bruised ribs, and some small bleeding outside of her brain. Her wrist is broken also, she is scheduled for surgery on that. Bleeding is our worry, there are signs of blood inside the skull which is toxic to the brain, but it looks like that should clear up on it's own. I am afraid that it's going to be a long time before she does any walking." He said. Jim nodded. "How long before I can take her home?" He asked. "A couple of weeks at least, maybe longer. They are also operating on her right leg this evening, we are going to have to pin that, then she will need some full time care in rehab. After that, perhaps a wheelchair will do it. You need to make arrangements to get your home ready for wheelchair access if it's needed." Jim nodded again. He knew this was going to mean some serious changes at home, it would be at least six weeks if not longer before Sandy would be up and around. He asked to go in to see her, but they had her out cold, there was a slight swelling in her brain that the Doctor said should clear up in a day or so. "We don't want to take any chances with things like this." He said. Jim drove down to the storage yard to look at her car. Perhaps he should not have, from the looks of things no human being came out of that alive. Then he saw where the metal had been cut away to get her out of the thing, he shuddered at the thought. There was barely enough room in the driver's seat for her small body, he remembered trying to drive the car himself months before and it was impossible to fit his 6' 2" frame in there with any comfort at all. On the way home Jim decided that her next car would be 40 feet long, gas mileage be damned. Maybe even a huge Dodge truck like the one he drove. +++ Every day he went to the hospital, Sandy showed rather rapid improvement. An older female nurse hand fed her at first when he was there. By the 3rd day the bleeding had cleared up, she was feeding herself with her good left hand. Even that was a struggle, it was badly swollen. "Hi, honey!" She smiled brightly when he walked in. She was sitting up, this time a young man in a blue nurse's uniform was sitting behind her brushing her hair. That gave him a bit of a start. It struck Jim that all Sandy had on was one of these flowery hospital gowns, her back was completely bare. "This is Mike, he is one of my other nurses." She told him, still smiling. Jim nodded to the man, he got up and excused himself, leaving the room. Sandy appeared to be completely unconcerned about her partial nudity in front of the guy, the gown she had on was completely open at the back, simply tugged over her shoulders. "Boy, they wait on you hand and foot around here, I see?" He cracked, intending it as a joke. "Yes, they do actually. Mike is on from 6 in the morning until 6 at night, then Jerry comes in. I haven't met the ones that are on shift when they are off yet." "Male nurses, huh?" "Yes, cute ones, too!" She giggled at that. "You already met Jackie, she is off for a couple of days. "But they are just nurses. Like me." Sandy added quickly, catching the expression on Jim's face. "The world is changing I see, I remember nurses all used to be little old ladies." "Most of them still are, but we have two male nurses at the clinic, also." She added. Jim didn't know that either, it had never come up. He knew that all Sandy did every day was assist on physicals, and do evaluations for the Health Maintenance group she worked for as a nurse herself. He asked her what she remembered from the accident, she told him just a flash of blue color, then everything went black. "What in the world were you doing way out there, anyway?" He asked her. She hesitated slightly, like she was trying to remember. "I needed some new leggings, you know, the white kind we wear at work? So I drove over to the mall." She said. "Oh. I would have thought you would do that on your lunch break?" "It wasn't busy at the clinic so I asked for the afternoon off." They chatted for a couple of hours, then the man she called Mike came in. "It's close to visiting hours being over, sir. She needs to get some rest, and we need to bathe her before she sleeps." "OK." Jim gave Sandy a kiss, then headed home. The idea of the man bathing his wife popped into his head, but he shook that off, after all, he was just a nurse. Then he thought about what she had said, she went shopping for leggings? But there weren't any in the car, or in any of the few things the tow company had handed him? Something didn't seem right to him. The possibles flowed through his thoughts, but Sandy had never shown even the slightest signs of doing something like having an affair? That was impossible. But she was where she was not supposed to be, and now he knew that some of her fellow workers were men. Bad thoughts began to creep into his mind. With Jim at his own job all day, there was no way to know what happened at her place of work. The thought would not fade away, it made him toss and turn that night. It was all still in his head the next day at work, that evening Sandy was dozing when he arrived, so he just sat with her. Finally she opened her eyes, smiled at him. "How are you doing, babe?" He asked her as she struggled to sit up. He found the controller, pushed the button to tilt her upwards. The sheet and the blanket slipped down when he did that, she reached down and tugged it up with her left hand, wincing at a short stab of pain. She was nude. "Where is your gown?" He asked her, startled. "I took it off, it kept bunching up and making it hard for me to sleep." "Oh. It's just that with all these guys around....?" "The nurses? That's nothing, Jerry came in and removed the catheter the other night so it's not like I have any secrets." She let out a small giggle, then quickly stifled that. Jim felt the flash of anger at that. One of the male nurses had removed her catheter? That meant he had seen her most intimate parts. "I see. But how do you...?" He asked, being careful to try and hide his upset. He glanced over at the tiny plastic shower and bathroom stall. "Use the bathroom? They pick me up and put me in the chair, then move me in there." Then she saw the expression on his face. "They give me a big towel or slide the gown over me, honey, it's not like I am naked when they do that." Sandy looked at Jim, she could tell he was trying to hide his upset. "I guess it's no big thing, I am sure they are all used to dealing with people in your situation?" Jim asked, still not liking the idea of young males working with his wife. "I'm sure. We all are, I see things every single day at work so I've just gotten used to it. It is different from this side though. So how is everything at home, and at work?" She asked, changing the subject. "Fine there, I did go in to your work, they understand and said your job is there when you get better. Plus you have medical leave built up anyway, and the insurance company will send some checks." "That's good." The rest was just small talk about the insurance and then later the nurse named Mike came in with some food. She began to eat, holding the sheet in place with her right elbow. The left side slipped down, baring one breast for an instant. She tugged it back up but it slipped right back down. Mike reached down and lifted the sheet over her nearly bare breasts, adjusted it around her back, tying a simple knot so it would stay. Then he nodded to Jim and left. "Man, they sure aren't too concerned about modesty around here, are they?" He said, mildly irritated at the male nurse just reaching around her and covering up her partially naked breasts. "No reason to be, it's just a job." She looked at him with a smile. Jim had not reacted that she could see, so she relaxed. Surely he understood about things like that, after all, she witnessed various stages of nudity every single day at her own work. All of that was just bodies, human beings, none of that ever gave her a single serious thought. After another hour or so of visiting, Sandy told him she needed to use the bathroom. Suspicions "OK. How?" He wasn't sure how to get her in there. "Pick me up and carry me, be careful with my legs, they still hurt." "Want me to call the nurse instead?" "No, you can do it." Sandy glanced quickly at the room door which was partially open, then reached for the gown and tugged it over herself before pulling the sheets aside. Jim carefully picked her up, she weighed just under 120 pounds so it was easy. It did feel good to hold her, he was really missing that part by then. He closed the door for her, after a few minutes she called out. He started to pick her up, but she stopped him. "You need to...wipe me, honey, I can't do it myself." "I thought your left arm was OK?" "It is although it is sore, but my ribs hurt so much I can barely reach back there." Jim took some tissue, got it damp and cleaned her up, then he carried her back to the bed. Again she lay the gown aside. He tugged the covers over her naked body, then realized she was grinning at him. "Honey, could you maybe...?" She tittered. The look on her face was one he had seen many times, Jim understood that, so he sat on the edge of the bed. "Better close the door." She said. Jim shut the door, returned and sat down again. "What if someone comes in?" He asked. "They never do, not with the door closed, unless I buzz them." She smiled. He made love to her with his hands, finally after some time he felt her body spasm. "Thank you, honey. Sorry I can't...unless you were to slide up onto the bed and.." She looked down at the obvious bulge in his slacks with a grin. "It's all right, I understand." He managed, trying to control himself. There was no way she could return the favor, not really. Not with one wrist in a cast and the other still very painful. "What do you do when I am not here?" He asked her, already knowing. "What? They don't?...Oh!" Sandy started laughing. "You mean when I have to..potty? They wash me, they have to of course. The first couple of times were really embarrassing but now I guess I am used to it." "I don't know if I could ever get used to that." He told her. "I didn't think so either but Mike just used a wet towel on me that first time, it was really quick and it didn't bother me. Then when they give me a bath, they use little towels and things to cover me, and they just reach underneath when they do the...private areas." Jim was nearly back to the house when he started to think about what she had said. Male nurses, cleaning her up after her toiletries? Washing her privates? She sure did seem relaxed about that, but it wasn't something he liked very much. "Just nurses, just a job." He told himself, managing to put it out of his mind. +++ By the time Sandy was released, he had torn the front steps off of their porch and replaced it with a wide concrete ramp. Inside he had rearranged their furniture, creating a wider area for the wheelchair she would need to use. The older lady named Jennifer that the agency sent out was nice, their insurance policy was very good so having someone there during the day was a real asset. It meant that he could go back to work normally. Jennifer was there for the first few weeks, then one morning he was surprised when a young woman arrived. "Hi! I'm Michelle, I am here to take care of your wife." She announced, breezing by him. "Where is Jennifer?" Jim asked her. "The agency assigned her to another patient that requires a registered nurse so they sent me here." She said. "Oh. You aren't a nurse?" He asked her. "No, I am a nurse's aide, I am in school and want to be someday." The next day Michelle was an hour late, that caused Jim to be late to his own job. The next day after that was fine, then it was the weekend and Jim took care of Sandy. Monday came and Michelle was over an hour late again. "Sorry." She said as she came in, spotting his irritation. Jim took a close look at the woman, saw the dark eyes and red color and knew. The whiff of alcohol on her confirmed what he suspected. He told her to go, which caused a bit of an argument, ending with her calling him a jerk as she left. Jim then called his office and took the rest of the day off. He called the agency and reported his concerns, they apologized and told him they would send out someone else, but it would be the following day. The next morning the doorbell rang, Jim was surprised to see a man in his late 30's standing there. "Morning. I am Walter, I am from the agency." Jim let the man in, just then Sandy came out of their bedroom. By then she could work the electric wheelchair fairly well but still could not walk. She stopped and looked at the man standing there. "Walt?" She finally said, a big smile crossing her face. "Sandy? Well, I'll be darned." "You two know each other?" Jim asked, surprised. Sandy appeared to be happy to see the man. "Yes. Walt and I worked together back when we were in the Navy, he drove the delivery van that brought in supplies. What are you doing now, Walt?" She asked him. "I went on to school when I got out, and got a degree. This pays way better than driving a truck, I have been with the agency now for nearly a year." He said. "You are a nurse now?" "Yes, I could work in hospitals but I enjoy going out and meeting people. Most of the time I work geriatrics but staffing is short at the agency so they sent me out here." He told her. "Well, it's good to see you, it's been a long time." She was still smiling happily. Jim was looking back and forth at them with surprise. "I have to go to work." He said to no one in particular. "OK, Honey. Have a good day, Walt will take good care of me." She tipped her head up for a kiss, then Jim left for his job. All day he was wondering, they sure had seemed friendly, in fact, Sandy had acted happy to see the man. It didn't help his thinking any that the guy was well built and not bad looking at all. He was wondering if there had been more going on way back when they first started to date than he knew about. But she had never mentioned this guy, not that he could remember. Everything appeared to be perfectly normal when he got home. Walt gathered up his gear, told Jim he would be back in the morning and waved at Sandy as he left. "So who is that guy?" Jim asked her the moment he was gone. "Just someone I knew way back, he was always nice. Funny, too." "Funny?" "Yes, he always flirted with all of the nurses on staff, we saw him nearly every day when he brought in supplies. I never dreamed he would go on to become a nurse." "There sure seems to be a hell of a lot of male nurses around lately." Jim muttered sourly. "The field is changing, lots of men find it rewarding. It's no big deal, just the way things are." Sandy picked up instantly on Jim's trace of irritation. Jim prepared a meal, while they were eating he asked her. "Did you ever go out with that guy?" "Walt? Yes, a few times. I knew him long before I met you." She hesitated, looking at Jim carefully. She had already decided to tell her husband about Walt, now he had beaten her to the subject. "You aren't jealous, are you?" "No. Of course not." Jim lied. "Honey, I dated quite a few men when I was young and single. Walt is just a nice guy and I liked him, but then I met you." "I see. Well, I guess that doesn't matter then. I have to admit that having an old boyfriend for a nurse is a bit much, but after all, you weren't....?" He looked at her pointedly, the question hanging in the air. Sandy flushed at that. She had been planning on telling Jim, waiting for the right moment. "You did, didn't you? You and Walt were..lovers?" "Yes." She said quietly, looking down. Jim just looked at her. "That was a long time ago, Honey. I was single, playing the field. You were dating too, so what?" She switched to defensive. Jim couldn't help it, he did not like the idea of someone who had been with his wife now caring for her all day while he was at work. Sandy saw that but didn't say anything, she wheeled herself into the living room as he washed and dried the dishes and put everything away. That evening he lifted her into their bed, slid in beside her. "We need to talk a little bit, honey." She told him. "OK." "We can ask the agency to send out someone else." "No need, all he is going to do is be looking after you until you get on your feet again." Jim said, thinking he wanted to do exactly that. Sandy hesitated, Jim didn't sound upset. "You want to know about Walt, right?" "Yes, I guess I do." "He was just a nice guy, funny and we were young. He asked me out, we dated maybe a dozen times or so. One day we were out and he asked me to go with him to a motel, since we both lived on base back then. So I told him yes." She stopped and turned his way. "Do you want to know about that part, too?" She asked. Jim nodded. Sandy sighed and continued. "He was gentle, we did all the...usual. It was fun and I liked being with him. For a short while I was thinking...maybe? After that, I didn't go out with anyone else until I..met you." "You mean you were dating him then? The same time you were going out with me? "Not really, we went out nearly every night for a couple of weeks, but then he was gone for about a month. I met you right after that. Walt didn't get back until...." She hesitated. "Until when? Until after I was shipped out?" "Yes. You and I..we never made any commitment, not really. So yes, I went out with him some more." "You mean you were dating him again after you and I...You were sleeping with him?" "Yes. But just a few times. I knew Walt really liked me but he wasn't the one. I told him when he asked me, because by then I realized I wanted to be with you, honey." "Asked you? Asked you what?" "Walt asked me to marry him." She told Jim flatly. Jim let that sink in. While he had been gone, wishing he was with her and writing all of those long letters, she had been sleeping with Walt? "I suppose that guy is a great lover?" He asked bitterly. "I am not going to lie to you, Walt was the best of all...until I met you, that is." "Of all? What do you mean by that? How many guys have you slept with, for Christ's sakes?" "I don't know, honey. I never really thought about it, several I guess. Most of them were just once. Not very many men are really good, or there would be something about them that didn't click. I was just young and..experimenting, I guess." "I see. What was so good about him?" Jim asked, already thinking he knew the answer. She took a deep breath. "Well. This is hard to say so I will just say it. He is big, and he was very...virile? Like..two, sometimes three times. You are the only other man I know that could.." She stopped at that. "Bigger than me?" That came out before Jim could stop himself. "Yea...a little bit, I guess." She confessed with a blush. Jim did his best to not react but she knew what he was thinking. "That stuff is not important, besides, I picked you after all. I liked Walt, I still like him but you are perfect." "I was gone for a long time, when I was at sea was there anyone else...?" "Yes, one other. That was before Walt got back. You and I..we hadn't settled on each other yet, and you never said you wanted to be with me. It was all of your letters that made me fall in love with you." "You were sleeping with guys while I was gone?" He asked. "I just told you!" She again sounded defensive. "Not just Walt? So... whoever came along?" Jim's tone went nasty. "Yes, Walt! And one other guy, he was a Doctor on staff and that was nothing, it was just one time." "You never told me any of that." Jim said. "You never asked me!" She came right back at him. "You should have told me." "Jim. You never asked me, and sometimes the way you act? I didn't want to upset you, I can't undo anything that happened. None of it matters, I am with you now." "Well, I didn't! Not one time! I could have, but I didn't, I wanted to be with you!" Jim swung his feet out of bed, sat up. "That's not fair, honey! We weren't..It wasn't until you started writing me that I..Besides, you did lick that...prostitute." Sandy appeared to be close to crying. Jim ignored that comment. "You slept with me before, I wondered why it was so easy. You say you weren't even in love with me yet but you did." Jim was getting angry now. "Don't be that way, I am trying to be honest. I liked you and wanted to know what you were like." She now began to cry. "I need some time." He told her, and went into the living room. He grabbed a blanket and lay down. He knew very well she was right, there had been no commitment, not really. He had felt that way but never told her, so what was she supposed to think? He was thinking he needed to get up and go in there, take her into his arms and tell her he was sorry, but he dozed off. Jim woke up to a knock on the door, realized it was morning. It was Walt, of course. Jim let him in, went into the bedroom. He did see that Walt noticed the blankets on the couch and glanced at Jim. But he didn't say anything. Sandy was asleep, Jim dressed quietly and left for work. He still didn't like the idea of leaving them alone but there was nothing else to do. But she gave no outward signs that anything was going on, and after all, she had both legs and one arm still in casts, and was mostly confined to the wheelchair. When he got home that evening he was surprised to see her sitting in her chair in the living room. Walt was sitting in the other chair, they were watching TV. "I get the casts off tomorrow, honey. They will switch to braces." She told him. "Great. I will be glad when everything gets back to normal." He did notice that Walt appeared to be slightly nervous, he got up and left quickly. "I will drive Sandy to the Doctor's tomorrow, they will pull the casts and check her out. She should be back to being able to care for herself in a week or two" He told Jim before he left. Jim just nodded. "You told him about our talk, didn't you?" He asked the moment they were alone. "Yes. He said that he would try and send someone else but I told him no, he does a good job and I like him. Walt is just a nurse, it's a job to him." She said, her expression became stubborn. "Swell." Jim muttered sourly, then went into the kitchen to make dinner. He went out to carry her in but she was already up, using the walker. She managed to make it all the way, and got herself sat down. She had been using it just a little bit but that was the first time she had covered any real distance that he had seen. "It won't be long now, we worked on me getting around a little bit more today. They want me to see a physical therapist after the casts come off, too." She told him. Later, in bed, she turned to him. "Honey?" She whispered. Jim knew what she wanted, so he reached out for her. "You really are the best lover I ever knew. I love you so much, honey." She whispered in his ear after. "So are you." He whispered back. Then there was a flash of irritation as he thought about that. She could have said that differently, it put the thoughts right back into his mind. +++ Sandy was asleep when Walt arrived the next morning. He nodded to Jim, came in and set his things down. Jim noticed he had some small exercise equipment with him. "We want to work Sandy's legs a bit today after they remove the casts, and I can show you how to help her build up her strength. Her wrist is healing well also, she is using all her fingers now. It won't be very long before I get reassigned." "Good. I've noticed real improvement." Jim nodded. "Sandy told me, you know?" He added. "Told you what?" "That she had mentioned to you she and I dated some way back." "Oh. Yes, I know all about that. It's not a problem, Sandy and I are married now." He said. "I just want you to know that you are one lucky son of a bitch, that is a special lady. I would have married her myself, and I asked her but she fell in love with you instead. My bad fucking luck." He looked directly at Jim for a reaction. Jim managed to keep a straight face. "Not a problem. You will find someone yourself one day." Jim told him, thinking how lame that sounded the instant he said it. Then feeling his face flush in irritation, he left quickly for work. Sandy had the casts off and was moving around pretty good now, Jim was hoping to get rid of Walt soon. Nothing out of line had happened at all that he could tell but he certainly didn't like the guy being around all day, since they had been intimate. That evening in bed he noticed her legs were very smooth, she had shaved them. He commented on how nice they felt, the skin was very soft even though they still felt thin for lack of use for what was now well over a couple of months. "Walt shaved them for me, I was getting all hairy." She said. "Walt? When did he do that?" "During my bath." She looked at him. "Walt was in there while you were taking a bath?" Jim asked. "Just for a moment, to help me in and out, I don't dare fall or anything like that. He really is a lot of help, honey." "I can just fucking imagine!" Jim said, rolling over away from her. Now he knew that Walt had been in there when she was nude, that pissed him off. "I used a towel to cover myself getting in and out, and when he shaved my legs, Jim. I only wanted them to be nice for you." Jim didn't answer. Sandy just sighed and rolled over herself. +++ Still bothered by all of the situation, Jim found himself unable to concentrate at work, so he told his secretary to take all of the calls and give him a list the next day. "Hope you get to feeling better." She told him as he left. He pulled into his driveway, headed for the door when he got an idea. Instead of just going in, he walked around the side of the house, looked in through the kitchen window. From that vantage point he knew he could see most of the living room. Walt was sitting on the end of the couch, he could see Sandy from her shoulders down. She was lying on her stomach, Walt had a bottle of what looked to be baby oil or lotion of some kind and was rubbing her legs. She had on what appeared to be her robe, her legs were bare all the way up to her behind, the bottom of the robe was tucked between her butt cheeks. Jim stood there and watched as Walt rubbed her legs, over and over. His fingers were reaching nearly all the way to the bottom of her fanny. He had a big smile on his face, and was saying something to her but Jim couldn't hear the words. As he watched, Walt reached for a small towel and wiped his hands, then his fingers drifted higher, reaching to the edge of the robe. It looked like Walt was rubbing her behind, and he heard Sandy giggle at something he said. The hand was going back and forth, Jim could not really see that since Walt's back was partially in the way but it appeared to be...intimate? Jim's face flushed, he was suddenly furious. In a rage, he went around to the front door, walked in. Walt was just turning to look up when he belted him. He tried to turn his head away to avoid the blow but didn't make it. The man went down onto the floor, Sandy turned and looked at Jim in shock. "No! Don't!" She yelled at him. "I figured this bull shit would be going on!" Jim yelled at her. "He was just rubbing out my legs, they hurt!" She turned to get up, but her legs gave out and she fell back onto the couch. Walt managed to roll over onto his back. "What the fuck?" He reached up to rub his head. "You were getting too fucking friendly with my wife!" Jim was still angry, his fists clenched. Walt scooted backwards, away from him. Suspicions "I was just massaging her legs, it's my job!" He said. "Yea, sure." Jim growled. Sandy had gotten up, then she again sat down on the couch. Jim stepped up to her, reached down and yanked the hem of her robe up. She had on a small pair of white shorts. "Walt wasn't doing anything!" She started crying. "I should have you fucking arrested for this, asshole. If it wasn't for Sandy..." Walt started to say, coming to his feet. Jim hit him again, he went down for the count that time. "You keep your fucking hands off of her!" Jim yelled, standing over the man in a rage, his fists clenched. "Jim. No, he didn't. God damn it! He is only my nurse." Sandy cried out. Jim just stood there as she struggled into the kitchen to get a damp towel, then came back and knelt down to bathe Walt's head. "You've hurt him, you get out of here, damn you!" She said angrily. Jim turned and walked out the door. He was sitting in his vehicle down at the park when the Sheriff pulled in behind him. +++ It was a full day before they released Jim from the jail cell. His lawyer got him out with no bail since Walt had a couple of large lumps but nothing seemed serious. He was transported by ambulance and spent one night in the hospital. The house was locked up tightly when he arrived, there was no sign of Sandy and no note. With no idea of where to look for her, Jim sat down to wait. He was still in the chair when he woke up the next morning. Everything was rushing through his head, it was all a jumble. All of the signs were there, at least in his mind. Sandy had appeared to be enjoying Walt's hands on her, and he had thought she was naked underneath the robe. It looked like the man had placed his hands right on her behind, although he hadn't actually seen that since Walt's back was mostly in the way. Jim knew they had been intimate in the past, so how easy would it be for them to be that way again? He just didn't know, but he did know he needed to find her and figure it out. How damn long had this been going on? The way that man had been stroking her legs was just too much for him. It was mid morning when the phone finally rang. "Are you all right?" Were the first words out of her mouth. "I'm fine. Where are you?" "I am at a motel down by the river." She told him. "Why? What's going on? And how did you get there?" He knew she couldn't drive yet, and there was no car. "I took a taxi. You scared me, I never saw you like that before, so I thought it was best to let everything settle down." "I'm fine. I will come and get you." He said. "Why? Do you still want to be with me? I thought maybe we were over?" "No. I don't want that, I want us to be together." "Jim, you have to let me be me, I love you but I feel like I have to be careful all the time, I can't stand that. I love you and just you, I won't ever do anything except with you, you have to know that." "Yes, I know that. Sandy, I am sorry. Please, let me come and bring you home." +++ Sandy was sitting outside on a wooden bench when Jim arrived, she had her overnight case but that was it. He got out and helped her into his vehicle, she could now stand and walk on her own but she still appeared weak. They drove home in silence. Even with the promises, the dark cloud remained. "I know what that must have looked like, honey. But all Walt was really doing was rubbing out my legs to help with the circulation." She told him as soon as they got to the house. Jim got a sudden vision of what he had seen, he barely managed to control his manner. "Sandy, have you been cheating on me? You said you were buying hose for work, but you didn't buy any? Then your old lover shows up? What am I supposed to think?" "No! I would never do that! I belong to you, just you. Everything else is in the past, months before you came back I broke it off with Walt. He even asked me to marry him, but I wanted you!" "Why no leggings, then? You said you were just going to buy some? Where were you really?" Jim demanded. "They didn't have the ones I wanted, is all. God, if you thought that, why didn't you just ask me?" She sobbed. Now Jim felt completely stupid. "I guess I just blew up, it all looked like just too much to me." "I'm sorry, I wasn't even thinking about it. After all, Walt is a nurse now, all of that was so long ago it doesn't matter. I have been getting poked and probed so much over the last couple of months, mostly by strangers, they even...wiped my behind for me." "Well, until I got home anyway, I could do for myself by then." She added quickly, looking at Jim. That part was true, he had carried her and bathed her himself on weekends but mostly she could manage on her own. "But you let him bathe you, shave your legs?" "I wanted to be nice for you, I was in the mood to be with you is all, that's the truth. But then you got all mad about it. Besides, he put a towel over me even though it got all wet. I wanted a real bath, until I got the braces I couldn't." Jim sighed. "What was I supposed to think? It looked to me like he was taking...liberties?" "I know what you thought but he wasn't. He is a nurse and a nice guy, and I just got so used to some things as normal in the hospital that I never even thought about him seeing me." "I didn't like that one bit, him having his hands on you like that...especially since...?" "I know. But he is just a friend now, and my nurse. I should have thought about that, maybe asked for someone else but I didn't." "OK. Let's just go back to the way things were before and forget it." "OK, honey." She said. +++ "I talked Walt into dropping any charges." She said a few days later. "Oh? Just when did you do that?" That part Jim was surprised to hear, he felt another flush. "I saw him at the hospital today when I saw my Doctor." Jim gritted his teeth, said nothing. He shifted their conversation to what the Doctor had told her. Then he went in and prepared a meal. Sandy came to bed that night, she had on a pair of sheer panties and a thin negligee, her legs still appeared slimmer but other than that she looked normal. "We need to be a little bit careful, honey." She whispered, reaching down to fondle him. Jim found himself responding normally, it was a sweet easy session. He was as gentle as he knew how to be, worried about hurting her. "You need to work on being jealous, honey. I belong to you, just you now. I will never do anything to hurt you." She told him. "I will. I'm sorry." Jim promised. +++ Life settled down and everything returned to normal, Sandy quickly recovered and other than a mild limp she showed no outward signs of her injuries. About a month later he was crossing the parking lot at his office when he saw a white van pull in. At first he paid no attention, then it came closer and stopped. Jim was surprised when Walt got out. He stood there and waited as the man got out, walked up to him. "What?" Jim asked him. "I was thinking of suing your ass for hitting me, I still have a fucking ringing in my ear from that." Walt said. "Hey, I am sorry about that, it just looked like...." Jim started to say. "I was only working out Sandy's legs, and yea, I rubbed her butt, so what? I didn't touch anything else!" "Hey, if that's all it was, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hit you. But just what is a nurse doing rubbing someone's behind?" Jim felt a small flash of anger at the flippant tone Walt was using. "She asked me to, she spent the last few weeks sitting on her fanny with her leg in the air, so she hurts." "I never heard of any nurse getting that intimate." "Sometimes it does, it's just part of the damned job!" Walt raised his voice. Jim thought about that for a moment, he still didn't like the idea. Hell, Sandy was a nurse, she didn't...? "If it wasn't for Sandy, I would clean your clock. I always did love that woman. I don't know what the fuck you got, but she loves you instead." Walt still appeared to be angry. Jim braced himself because the man actually was fairly physical appearing. Maybe he could take him, maybe not. "Relax. I'm not going to do anything to you." Walt said, spotting Jim's tension. "I just brought you a little present." Walt handed Jim a manila envelope. Then he turned and walked back to his van, part way there, he turned back. "That's just something to remember me by, asshole. I wouldn't have done anything with Sandy, not with her being married now. Not even if she had wanted to, no way in hell would I do that. No god damn way in hell will that woman ever cheat on you either, for some crazy reason she loves you! Even if you are a stupid dick!" Jim had come to realize that already. Rather than feeling the usual flash of anger, instead Jim just felt guilt. Then Walt grinned at him. "I sure as hell would like to again though, so if you ever slip up with her, I will be there in a New York minute!" He laughed and got into the van and left. Jim stood there for a moment, then he opened the envelope. Inside were three large photos, he knew them very well. One was a closeup of Sandy from the waist down, two fingers partially inside herself, the other was of her standing sideways, naked, her bare breasts jutting outwards. The one that grabbed him was the one of her standing in the doorway, the light behind her outlining her body. Now he knew who had taken them. Walt was getting some sweet revenge, this was something that Jim knew he would never forget. That should have upset him, made him angry. Instead, he thought about it for a moment. His wife and that man had been lovers at one time, briefly but that was before. Sandy had chosen him rather than Walt. Through jealously, silliness, he came very close to fucking things up. He stood there for a long time, taking deep breaths. No more. There was going to be no more worry, no more jealousy. Jim resigned himself to changing that, no matter how hard it was going to be to do. Jim stopped at a store on the way home, it took about a half hour to find what he wanted. At home, Jim found Sandy in the kitchen, cooking. He walked up to her and gave her a hug. "I love you, babe." He told her. "I love you too, honey. What's up with you?" She asked, mildly surprised. "I just want you to know that, and I am going to tell you that every day for the rest of our lives!" He said, leaning down for a kiss. She sighed when he ran his hands up her sides, fondling her breasts. Sandy beamed at him happily. "Let's eat first, see what I made?" She showed him the casserole, it looked delicious. "You are going to need all of your strength later, honey!" She grinned. "I saw Walt today." Jim told her as they sat down at the table. "Oh, really? What did he want?" She asked, giving Jim a puzzled look. He spotted the nearly instant tension in her body. "He just wanted me to apologize, so I did." Jim said, taking a bite of the food. That wasn't exactly true, the man had just been getting his licks in. Sandy looked up at Jim, studying his face. Then she smiled. "That's good." She said. "This is what is really good!" He told her, taking another bite. Sandy smiled more broadly, taking a bite herself. "Maybe not quite enough salt?" She asked. "No. Everything is perfect." Jim answered. Then he slid the packet across the table, Sandy looked at it with a puzzled look, opened it. "Oh my God!" She exclaimed, her face flaming. "Walt decided to take a shot or two at me." Jim said. "Damn him. I didn't know he had copies. I had him give them to me when we broke up. Then I sent them to you." "I guess he just wanted some revenge for me hitting him." "Well, you shouldn't have hit him." "Yea, I know. But now, after he handed me these? I have to say I am not real sorry." Jim said stubbornly. "Well, what are we going to do about these?" Sandy asked him. "Not a thing. He can blow them up to billboard size and put them up by the freeway if he wants to. I am proud of you." Jim told her. "In fact, I think I will make a whole bunch of copies for all of our friends! Get a life size one framed for here in the living room." He grinned. "Don't you dare!" Sandy protested, giggling. "Well, how about you model this and see if it fits you?" He asked her, handing her a small bag he had kept out of sight. "What is it?" She asked. "Go put it on and see." Jim laughed. +++ Sandy stepped out of the bedroom minutes later. The all black bikini he had bought her did cover up the important parts, but that was all. "Jim! I am nearly naked in this thing!" She laughed. "Yea, I can hardly wait to see you in it on the beach!" He teased her, getting up. Sandy took one look at him and ran for the bedroom, laughing. Jim was right behind her. Later she asked him if she really could wear that outfit on the beach. "Yep, you can wear anything you want from now on!" "Really? You won't get all jealous?" Sandy asked. "I will but I can just carry a big stick and not let you out of my sight." Jim teased. "I probably won't ever wear it, this is kind of tiny. Maybe I will save it just for you around the house?" Sandy giggled. "That will be fine with me, too." Jim grinned. Could he really stand it if she went out in public looking like that? Jim thought about that to himself. The truth? Even the thought of that irritated the hell out of him and he had bought the damn thing. So, probably not. He knew that, deep down inside he knew himself. It was silly and he was just trying to show Sandy..what? That he could be..not jealous? Jim rolled over and grabbed Sandy again. To hell with Walt, he was gone and Sandy was here. That made it obvious, he was the better man. At least in Sandy's eyes and that was what mattered. No more jealousy, he told himself. Yea, sure. Suspicious Minds Marshall As my key turned in the lock on our side door, I worried that it would make an inordinately loud sound. But it was hard to tell -- my heart was pounding so hard I was having trouble hearing anything. As I stepped over the threshold, I turned and closed the door gently behind me, then began to walk carefully through the kitchen, the dining room and finally into the front hall. The stairs loomed above me. If I could help it, I didn't want to give them any advance notice that I had come home. I'd taken to driving by our house at odd times just to see if there was any unusual activity going on. Today, my surveillance was finally rewarded -- if that's the right word -- when I saw Bill Matthews's car parked in my driveway. There was no reason for him to be there. I was supposed to be playing golf, but I'd taken a pass on my weekly game to check up on things at home. Now I was glad I had. I'm Marshall Harrison, and I'm married to Marsha Harrison. (We get teased about our names all the time.) It's the second marriage for both of us. I caught my first wife doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing with another guy, and I dumped her like a hot potato. And just like what usually happens when you handle a hot potato, I'd been badly burned. It took me almost a year before I even started dating again, and three years after that before I regained enough self-confidence to consider a serious relationship. Marsha's story was different. She'd married her college sweetheart only to discover that he had a drinking problem. When you're going to fraternity keggers and post-game parties in college, getting smashed seems exciting and daring, especially if you grew up in a somewhat restrictive home environment. But when the drinking doesn't slow down after graduation, and when it causes your husband to be late for work all the time and ultimately to get fired, it loses all its attractiveness. Finally, when Marsha understood that she couldn't save her husband without his cooperation -- which he wasn't ready to give -- she realized that the only person she could save was herself. When a mutual friend introduced us, we were two wounded veterans of the matrimonial wars. Maybe it was the sense of shared suffering or maybe it's just that we'd both had had enough time to recover sufficiently from the trauma of a bad first marriage. Whatever the case, we hit it off immediately. It wasn't long before I could picture myself spending the rest of my life with Marsha. After I got up the courage to tell her that, she told me she felt the same way. When we finally made the commitment to each other, we were both certain that we'd made much better choices, and were determined that we were in it for the long term. But over the years, commitments seem to lose some of their potency and relationships can lose some of their intimacy. Part of that, of course, is the almost inevitable decline in passion. There's an old joke that goes that marriage is a transition from living room sex to bedroom sex to hallway sex. When you're first married, you make love with your wife in the living room and every other room in the house. As the years go by, sex gets relegated to the bedroom only. Finally, it turns into hallway sex: you pass each other in the hallway and say "Fuck you." I know: it's not a very funny joke. And it isn't really descriptive of our relationship; we loved each other and we certainly weren't cursing at one another. But the hot, frantic passion of the first years of our marriage had degenerated into the comfortable, predictable routine of evening/weekend sex in the comfort of our queen-sized bed. Similarly, our lives had become compartmentalized and routine. We both worked during the day, then came home to a precooked meal or take out; neither of us was much of a cook. After dinner we had our favorite tv shows to watch, then off to bed, where once or twice a week we'd have pleasurable if predictable sex. Weekends were a little more exciting: we regularly socialized with friends, went out to dinner or caught a new release at the local cinema. Without the pressure of an early morning commute the next day, sex would get a little more adventurous on the weekend: light restraint, role playing, oil massages, experiments with whipped cream and other food. It was mostly fun, sometimes messy, the kind of things that couples do to try to keep the home fires burning. So if you'd asked either one of us about the state of our marriage, I think we would honestly have replied that it was good and solid. But, of course, that's not the whole story. The old saying goes, "Once bitten, twice shy." I don't think I ever completely got over my first wife's cheating on me. No, I didn't hate her or hold a grudge toward her. It was more insidious than that: I could never stop looking and listening for clues that the same thing might be happening again. I found myself checking Marsha's phone records for unknown numbers or unusual calling patterns. I'd snoop in her closet and dresser every now and then just to see if there was anything out of the ordinary. A few times I even prowled through the dirty laundry hamper to make sure her panties didn't have any stains that didn't belong there. I was embarrassed by my behavior, and I hoped that Marsha wasn't aware of it, but I couldn't stop myself. The terrible thing about paranoia is that lack of evidence provides no reassurance. Recently, I had begun to note small things that aroused my concern. Some decline in our sex lives was to be expected, but that didn't mean I hadn't noticed the change. Whenever she begged off, a counter tripped in my head. Nothing unreasonable, no recognizable pattern, but I was still aware it was happening. Other things began to occur that made me wonder. She began to have to work late every now and then; she hadn't done that in the past. She told me it was because there had been layoffs in her office and she had had to pick up the extra workload. "Reasonable," I thought, "but also convenient." Then she came home one day to tell me she would have to travel for work. It was just an overnight trip, and she was back the next day, but she had never done that before. "Why now?" I asked myself. Then, two weeks ago, I called her at the office about something just before noon and they told me she was out to lunch. Marsha always has lunch at her desk; I couldn't remember a single time when she'd actually taken a full lunch hour. When I asked that night, she told me that she'd attended a going-away luncheon for a co-worker who had found another job. It certainly sounded plausible, and yet . . . Last weekend really set the alarm bells ringing. First, she went out shopping while I was playing golf with my regular Saturday foursome. She'd gotten home only minutes before me, and when I spotted the shopping bags she'd set on the bed, I couldn't help but take a peek. Inside the big bag from the department store was a smaller bag from Victoria's Secret. Why did she feel the need to hide the bag? Inside were a couple of bra-and-panty sets sexy enough to wake the dead. "I wonder if I'll be the one to see those on her?" was the thought that came unbidden to mind. That night we were due to go out to dinner with Lydia and Bill Matthews, two of our closest friends. We planned to try a new place that had gotten favorable reviews. When we arrived, we found the place was divided into two sections: the restaurant area and a lounge with a jazz trio playing dance music. After dinner, which included a couple of bottles of a nice wine, Marsha declared that it was too early to go home and she wanted to check out the lounge. I was a little surprised, since Marsha is usually ready to call it a night after a leisurely dinner. Truthfully, I was hoping to get her home to see if she was wearing any of her new purchases. But Lydia and Bill were also interested, so we settled the check and proceeded to plop ourselves onto a cozy banquette on one wall of the lounge area. A cocktail waitress appeared immediately, so we all ordered a drink and sat back to enjoy the music. The trio playing was quite good, and before we realized it, a second round of drinks was in front of us. I was chatting with Lydia when Bill stood up and said he wanted to dance. Lydia waved him off to continue her story, so Bill turned to Marsha, bowed low, and asked if she would accompany him to the dance floor. She giggled at his exaggerated gesture of gallantry, arose and stepped onto the dance floor with him. As Lydia and I continued to chat, I couldn't help keeping an eye on the two of them. The first dance was a bit up tempo, and Bill surprised me with how well he moved. I would have figured him to have two left feet, but he and Marsha appeared to be totally in synch. Then the band switched to a slow number, and Bill and Marsha stayed on the floor. Bill certainly didn't do anything inappropriate, but I was struck by how closely and how smoothly they danced together. It was almost, I suddenly realized, as though they had done this before. Lydia was watching them too, but if she was concerned, she didn't show it. I, on the other hand, felt my pulse rise as they glided together. The band played a second slow number, and more people got up to dance, blocking Bill and Marsha from my view. Lydia probably thought the drinks had gone to my head, because I was mumbling and speaking in monosyllables as she tried to make conversation. "What's going on out on the dance floor?" I kept wondering. Finally, the number ended, and Bill escorted Marsha back to the table. Then he made another deep bow to thank her for the dance. I wondered if that was for her benefit or for mine. Shortly after that, we all piled into our separate cars and headed home. Marsha had a dreamy look on her face and kept humming the last number the band had played. I had a scowl on my face and dark thoughts in my head. When we got home, Marsha was obviously still a little high from the extra drinks. She pulled her dress off and tossed it carelessly on a chair before stripping off her underwear. Yes, she'd worn one of her new purchases, but I wasn't going to get to enjoy it. She quickly pulled on her every-day nightgown and unceremoniously collapsed on the bed. It was clear there was going to be no sex tonight. She was asleep almost immediately. I, on the other hand, lay there for quite awhile, thinking about all that had happened. Her dancing with Bill wasn't unprecedented, but I'd never seen them dance three straight numbers together, and I'd certainly never seen such a level of intimacy between them. Moreover, I recalled, it had been Marsha who had wanted to adjourn to the lounge in the first place. Had there been some kind of plan in place, something they'd cooked up between them ahead of time? Or was this simply the next step in a growing relationship, headed for something worse? None of this, I kept telling myself, really meant anything, but, when seen in aggregate, it all added up to trouble. Now my only question was what to do about it? Confrontation was out of the question -- what could I confront her with? Doing nothing was an equally bad option. All my instincts were screaming that something was going on, and there was no way I could ignore them without developing an ulcer. Finally, I opted for the middle ground: I would keep an even closer eye on Marsha, hopefully without being too obvious. If I found any hard evidence, I'd confront her and we'd have it out. I thought that making that decision would relieve my anxiety; instead, it made things worse. I felt like a double agent, secretly searching for evidence while trying to act like a normal, loving husband. Every time I checked and found nothing, I felt only frustration that my efforts had been thwarted. Every time she exhibited suspicious behavior, I was equally frustrated when it didn't prove adulterous intent. The breakthrough I was looking for came on Saturday. I went off for my weekly golf game as usual, but this time, unbeknownst to Marsha, I'd told my buddies I couldn't play. Instead, I grabbed a sandwich and a couple of beers at a pub to kill some time, then planned to head home to check up on her. If there was ever a time when she might be up to something, I figured this had to be it. My plan was simple: first, I'd drive by my house to see if anything unusual was going on there. If she wasn't home, I'd drive by Bill and Lydia's house to see if I could find her car over there. If that didn't work, I'd probably just spend the rest of the afternoon kicking myself for missing out on a round of golf while driving myself crazy for nothing. After I'd finished my burger and beer, I hopped into my car and headed home on what I had to admit was likely to be a wild goose chase. I was already berating myself for letting my anxiety get the better of me by the time I pulled into our subdivision. But when I rounded the curve in our street that leads to our house, a shot of adrenaline pulsed through me as I spotted a strange car in our driveway. As I got closer, I realized it wasn't a strange car -- it was Bill Matthews' SUV. Sonuvabitch! "Calm down," I told myself, "it's possible there's an entirely innocent explanation. Don't go off half-cocked." But I could feel my blood pressure rising as I parked alongside Bill's monster and got out of my car. First, I went around to the back of the house and peered in the windows of the den. There was no one there. I checked a couple of other windows, but it soon became clear that no one was on the main floor of the house. "Oh, shit," I thought, "they're in the bedroom!" Entering the house through the side door as quietly as I could, I made my way to the staircase in the entry hall. From where I stood, I thought I could hear sounds coming from upstairs, so I carefully climbed the steps to try to avoid the squeaky boards. At the top of the stairs, I saw that the doors to the master bedroom were closed, but there were voices and sounds coming from within. I tiptoed to the door and listened, trying unsuccessfully to make out what was going on. I quietly tried the door knob, but it was either stuck or locked. Suddenly, I heard Marsha give a little squeal, and any doubts I'd had were swept away. Lowering my shoulder, I rammed into the door as hard as I could. The latch gave way immediately and the door flew open, pivoting on its hinges and slamming into the bedroom wall with a tremendous bang. My momentum carried me into the room, and, unable to keep my balance, I fell to floor. As I scrambled to regain my footing, I heard a high-pitched scream of fear and surprise. "What in the hell is going on . . ." I yelled at the top of my lungs, only to stop short and gawk at the sight in front of me. Standing beside the walk-in closet were Marsha and Lydia Matthews, both fully dressed. In Lydia's hand was a dress on a hangar with a price tag dangling from the sleeve. Both women were staring at me with a look of fear that quickly changed to amazement and then anger. "Marshall, what in the world are you doing? You scared us half to death!" Marsha yelled at me. "I saw Bill's car parked in the driveway and thought I'd catch you two . . ." Then I realized what I was saying and shut up. "This is bad," I thought to myself, "really bad." Lydia spoke up first. "My car is in the shop. I borrowed Bill's to show Marsha what I bought today." But Marsha had realized the implications of what I'd just said. "You thought I was cheating with Bill, didn't you?" she yelled at me. I just hung my head -- there was nothing I could say. "You thought I was in bed with Bill and you came busting in here trying to catch me!" Marsha repeated, growing angrier by the second. When she paused, Lydia saw her opportunity. "Marsha, I'm going to get out of here and let you two work this out. Call me later." With that, she hugged Marsha and, giving me a pitying look, walked through the shattered door and down the stairs. As I watched her go, I knew that I was in for big trouble and there was nothing I could do about it, since it was all my fault. Marsha Marshall had been acting somewhat strangely for several weeks, but I'd had no luck trying to find out what was bothering him. The last thing I ever expected was for him to come bursting through our bedroom door like some storm trooper. After Lydia left, the two of us had it out right there in our bedroom. Marshall finally admitted that he'd been spying on me for some time before he pulled his little Rambo act. The more I heard, the madder I got. "After all these years of being married," I told Lydia when I phoned her that evening, "I can't believe that he has so little faith in me. It's like a huge slap in the face." "Can you believe it: he even admitted that he's been sniffing my panties trying to smell if another man had been with me! That's so degrading -- I feel absolutely humiliated!" Lydia tried to calm me down. "At least you know he still loves you," she offered. "I don't feel loved," I shot back, "I feel more like I've been violated. His actions showed a total lack of respect for me as a wife and as a woman." "Well," Lydia tried again, "if he didn't love you, he wouldn't have cared if you were cheating." "I'm not so sure," I said. "From what I've read, a cheater is the first to suspect others of cheating. Maybe he's got some little tramp on the side." "Oh, no," Lydia said quickly, "You know better than that. Marshall just isn't the type, especially after what happened with his first wife." "Maybe you're right," I replied, "but right now I don't know what to believe. I thought we were a happily married couple, but he's shaken the foundation of everything I've believed up to now." "Oh, Marsha, you're not thinking about divorce, are you?" "No, but I can promise you he's going to be sleeping in the guest bedroom for some time to come." Marshall And so my life became a living hell. I know that's a cliché, but there's no other way to put it. I had never seen Marsha so angry in my life, certainly not at me. After Lydia left, she lit into me like a bully goes after a 98-pound weakling. She forced me to tell her the whole, sordid thing, and every admission just stoked her rage. When I tried to explain how I had fallen into this trap, she took it personally. Every fear I'd had, every suspicion I harbored was a personal insult to her. What could I say? Looking at it from her side, I could see how she'd feel that way. My attempts to excuse my actions because of my terrible first marriage occasioned no sympathy on her part. "I'm not your ex!" she screamed at me. "How would you like it if I yelled at you every time you took a drink just because my ex was an alcoholic?" There was nothing I could say to that. I begged her to forgive me. I swore that I would never doubt her again, but she wasn't having any of it. I was exiled to the guest bedroom for an indefinite period, and I knew that I'd be walking on eggshells around her for a long time. The hell of the thing is that I was more angry with myself than Marsha was. It was my own damn fault for letting my paranoia run away with me. I knew better -- or should have -- but my emotions took over, and look where they got me. What an idiot! And there's another thing: I have no one to talk to about this. Normally, I'd go to Bill, but I sure can't tell him I thought he was screwing my wife. Of course I'd guess he already knows all about it; I'm sure Lydia filled him in right away. He's probably pretty angry with me too for thinking so poorly of him, and, if the shoe were on the other foot, I guess I'd feel the same way. I sure don't want to talk about this with anyone else. Like the saying goes, you can let them think you're an idiot, or you can open your mouth and prove it. Suspicious Minds So here I am, wallowing in a combination of guilt and embarrassment, sleeping alone, desperately trying to do everything I'm supposed to do at home while avoiding doing anything that might upset Marsha further, and without a soul I can confide in. Like I said, a living hell. Marsha The temperature in our house for the next couple of weeks was icy. I was so angry at Marshall and I found I just couldn't get past it. Of course, he was doing everything in his power to get back in my good graces, but you don't make up for something like that by doing a few chores and bringing home a bouquet of flowers. I knew I'd get over it eventually, but when your husband shows that he doesn't trust you, you don't forgive and forget quickly. The fact that he had embarrassed me in front of my best friend just added salt to the wound. As the days went by, my hurt and anger would begin to subside, but every time I thought I could move on, something would happen to reopen the wound. For example, I came home from work one evening and went into our bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. As I walked through the door, I was startled to find Marshall on his knees, holding a putty knife, trying to patch the hole the door handle had made in the drywall. Instantly, all of the pain of that horrible afternoon came flooding back and I burst into tears. At least Marshall was sensitive enough to realize what was happening and get out of there. I knew he was hurting too, but, dammit, he'd brought it on himself. Several days later, Lydia called me. She'd been great throughout the whole ordeal, checking in with me frequently, giving me a sympathetic ear whenever I needed it. This time, however, she was calling with another purpose. She and Bill were having a cookout and open house for a bunch of people in our neighborhood, and she wanted to make sure we were coming. I told her we weren't planning to go; I didn't know if I could face other people after what had happened. But this time she took a different approach. "Come on, Marsha," she said, "you can't hide away from the world. Frankly, the longer you avoid other people, the more they'll assume that something bad has happened." I hadn't thought about it that way, and I realized that she was right. My husband might have made a fool of himself and hurt my feelings, but that's not exactly unheard of among married couples. I hadn't done anything wrong and there was no reason to punish myself. So I decided to go, and I thanked her for the encouragement. Marshall When Marsha told me we were going to Bill and Lydia's party, I had mixed emotions. On the one hand, I was glad we were going to get out and do something "normal." We'd been hiding from other people ever since "black Saturday" took place. I was also glad that we were going together. My secret fear had been that Marsha would continue to avoid me, even at social gatherings. If she'd opted to go without me, that would have been very hard to take. On the other hand, I was extremely apprehensive about the reception I was likely to get from our friends. I had no idea how to handle the subject if somebody asked me about it, and I was especially leery of confronting Bill. But finally I decided it was time to man up and face him. If he was angry with me, I'd let him have his say and I'd apologize. If he wanted to ridicule me, I'd just have to take it. Either way, I wasn't going to be a coward. I also hoped that the evening might mark the start of a thaw in my relationship with Marsha. I was no longer receiving regular tongue-lashings from her; in fact we were able to have normal, civil conversations about the routine of our lives. There was no further discussion about the elephant in the room, but I didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. At the same time, there were no displays of affection, and certainly no invitations to me to return to the master bedroom. We were pretty much living like roommates rather than husband and wife, and I knew the decision to change that was up to her. I just hoped it was going to be soon -- I was getting horny. The evening of the party, we drove over to Bill and Lydia's house in silence. It wasn't an angry silence, but it let me know that things had not yet returned to normal. The truth was we were probably both a little apprehensive about what might happen at the party. When we walked up to the front door, Lydia opened it and beckoned us in. I figured she must have been keeping an eye out for Marsha to give her moral support. Lydia gave Marsha a big hug and smiled at me, which made me feel a little better. Then she led Marsha away, leaving me to make my own way into the party. I walked through the house and out onto the patio, where a makeshift bar had been set up. As I was waiting to grab myself something to drink, who should walk up but Bill himself. I braced myself for whatever confrontation awaited me, but when I started to apologize, he held up his hand to stop me. "Hey, man," he said, "no harm, no foul." Then he clapped me on the shoulder and thrust a glass of wine into my hand. "I've got to find Lydia -- I'll catch up with you later." With that he wandered off, leaving me feeling greatly relieved. In fact, the whole party went on rather like that. I wandered around and chatted with a number of friends and neighbors. If any of them had heard about my blunder, they were kind enough not to mention it. I certainly saw nothing to be gained by bringing up the subject, so we kept the talk on socially acceptable topics like sports, the weather, and the economy. In short, it was a normal get-together, and it felt really good. Periodically I would catch sight of Marsha. She too was circulating, and from the expression on her face, she was having a good time. I noticed her talking and laughing with Bill for a while, and wished I'd been close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. "Oh my gawd," I thought, "I'm doing it again! Haven't you learned your lesson?" I asked myself. I made a determined effort to turn away and go talk with someone else. When it was time to go, Marsha and I piled into the car and headed home. The atmosphere was lighter in the car, and we chatted a bit about the friends we'd seen and what they'd had to say. Between the tone of the conversation and the slight buzz I had from the wine I'd drunk, I began to get optimistic about my chances when we got home. But after I'd parked and we'd gotten inside the house, Marsha turned to me and said, "That was fun, but I'm beat. I'm going to head on to bed -- I'll see you in the morning." Her meaning was clear: I'd have to be patient a while longer. Marsha I'd been apprehensive when Lydia talked me into going to their party. My feelings were still pretty raw, and I didn't want to have to face any catty remarks or deal with insincere expressions of sympathy. Women can be vicious when someone in their circle is wounded. I don't know why that is, but I've seen it happen on a number of occasions. But Lydia, bless her heart, must not have said anything to anyone about what had happened because everyone was nice and the conversation had no unpleasant undertones. Once I realized that, I was able to relax and enjoy myself for the first time in a long time. It felt good to feel normal. I had separated from Marshall the minute we got to the party. That wasn't unusual; we normally went in different directions in search of friends. But I made a point of getting away from him tonight because I didn't want any unpleasant discussions to arise. And I was still upset with him enough that I wanted to enjoy myself without him around to remind me of what had happened. After I had made my rounds and spoken to a number of neighbors, I looked up to see Bill Matthews standing by the barbecue grill, watching me. When he realized that I had seen him, he waved me over. As I came up to him, he pressed another glass of white wine in my hand. I'd already downed several and had reached my limit, but then I thought "What the hell," and accepted his offer. "Hey," he said with a laugh, "I understand you and I are having an affair." I must have flinched, because he spoke up again quickly. "Don't worry, I haven't said a word to anyone about it, and neither has Lydia." I relaxed and took another sip of wine. "I really appreciate the two of you watching out for me. I'm still pretty upset about it, to be honest." "I can sure understand that," he replied. "Sometimes men can be complete idiots when it comes to women." Then his face broke into a broad grin. "But you have to admit, it must have been pretty funny to see Marshall come bursting through that door and fall flat on his face. It must have looked like a scene straight out of the Marx Brothers!" At that, a vision of Marshall with a Groucho mustache and wild hair came to me, and suddenly I couldn't stop laughing. He had looked so foolish sprawled out on the floor -- what a great oaf he'd made of himself! As the two of us finally stopped laughing and caught our breath, Bill went on, "What I don't understand is why the big goof decided that I was the one you were cheating with." "Oh, that's easy," I said without thinking, "he knows I've had a crush on you for years." The instant I said that, my face turned a bright red and my hand flew, too late, to my mouth. "Why in the world did I say that?" I asked myself. "It must have been the wine." As I stood there in obvious embarrassment, Bill just looked at me with interest. When I couldn't think of anything to say, he smiled and patted me on the arm. "I'd better go check on the other guests. We'll talk later." Then he walked off, smiling at me as he left. "You idiot," I thought, "why did you have to say that?" The fact was that it was true: I'd always thought Bill was a hunk and that Lydia was a lucky girl. She certainly bragged on him enough, especially his skills between the sheets. But I never meant to let my thoughts take word, especially not to Bill. I decided I had better get out of there before my mouth got me in any more trouble, so I went to find Marshall. The next morning, I slept so late that Marshall had already left for his regular Saturday golf game by the time I awoke. I gingerly made my way down the stairs and found the pot of coffee that Marshall had thoughtfully brewed for me. "He's still trying to buy my forgiveness," I thought unkindly. After a couple of cups, I felt slightly more human, so I decided to get a shower. Last night when I got home, I'd just stripped off my clothes and fallen straight into bed. The shower completed the task of bringing me back to wakefulness. As I stepped out of the bathroom, I began to pick up my clothes from last night, which were scattered about the room. As I picked up my dress, a thought suddenly struck me: "Where's my good cardigan sweater?" I knew I'd taken it with me to the party because the temperature had started dropping once the sun went down and my sleeveless dress just wasn't enough to keep me warm. The sweater was nowhere to be found, either in my room or downstairs. "Damn, I must have left it at Bill and Lydia's house," I thought. I picked up the phone and called the Matthews, hoping to reach Lydia, but Bill answered and told me that Lydia was out shopping. I explained the reason for my call and asked if they had found my sweater. "I haven't seen it," Bill said, "but I'll bet it's here somewhere. Why don't you swing by and we'll look for it." I didn't have any other plans for the day and I did want my sweater back so I decided to do just that. When I pulled into their driveway and got out of the car, I heard Bill yelling for me to come around back. He'd been lying out by their pool in his swim trunks getting some sun. As I walked toward him, I noticed that his skinned was oiled and gleaming. "Damn," I thought, "he is a good-looking man." Then I blushed a little as I remembered my slip of the night before. If Bill noticed my momentary discomfort, he didn't show it. "Hey, Marsha, I've looked all over the house and couldn't find your sweater. Are you sure you left it here?" "Where else could I have left it?" I asked myself, but couldn't come up with any answers. As I was mentally scratching my head, Bill suddenly piped up: "Could you have left it in the pool house? I haven't looked there." I couldn't remember having gone in there last night, but it was worth a try. "I'll have to unlock it for you," Bill said. He went inside and immediately emerged holding a key on a short chain. As we walked back to the pool house, he explained, "We had to start locking it up at night after I found a couple of neighborhood teenagers making out in there one time." He unlocked the door and held it open for me. There were no lights on, but when I went inside I saw my sweater draped over the back of their small loveseat. "How odd," I said, "I don't remember leaving it there." When I picked it up and turned around, Bill was standing right in front of me. "I have a confession to make," he said, staring at me intently, "I put your sweater in here. I was hoping you'd come looking for it." I was startled, but before I could speak, he went on. "You know last night when you said you'd had a crush on me? Well, I've felt the same way about you ever since I met you. You're a very desirable woman, Marsha." "Oh!" I gasped. I felt a rush of emotions: I was embarrassed once again by my slip of the night before, but I was flattered by Bill's compliments. I was nervous to find him standing so close to me wearing so little, but it was a real boost to my ego having this well-muscled man come on to me. I still didn't know what to say, so I looked down to avoid his eyes. As I did, I caught sight of Bill's swim trunks, which were now showing a sizeable bulge. "Oh, wow," I thought, "he wasn't kidding about being attracted to me." That thought sent a little twinge between my own legs, and I realized, "It's been a long time since I've had sex." That thought sounded an alarm in my head, but before I could do anything, I felt Bill's hands take me by my arms, and I looked up at him. He looked deeply into my eyes. "You're a very beautiful woman, Marsha. Any man would want you." Every woman wants to feel attractive and desirable, and his words combined with his obvious erection made it clear that he was serious. I knew that I needed to get out of there; I was a married woman who shouldn't be alone this way with another man. But my husband's insult had left me feeling uncertain about myself, and the strength of his obvious desire only served to stoke my own. I could neither move nor speak. He must have felt my indecision gave him an opening because he crushed me to him and kissed me with passionate intensity. His arms wrapped around me and I could feel the strength of his muscles. One of his hands slipped lower to grasp my bottom and pull me against his erection. I found myself panting and gasping for breath as my body temperature rose. In a last effort to save myself, I pushed against his chest. "We can't do this, Bill, we mustn't." But he ignored me and kissed me again. His tongue began to probe my lips, and something inside of me seemed to give way and I let him in my mouth. His other hand slid around to grasp my breast, and I felt my nipples stiffen in anticipation. Then both his hands were at my blouse, frantically unbuttoning it. I couldn't make myself resist him, and he quickly had it completely undone. Next I felt my bra clasp loosen and his fingers pull the straps off my shoulders to let it slide off completely. Again he crushed my body to him, and now I felt my bare nipples rubbing against his hairy chest. The delicious friction sent electric shocks through my body, sparking an intense sensation in my pussy. Involuntarily I parted my legs and let his thigh rub against me. That only served to increase my desire. Suddenly he pushed me down on the loveseat behind me and reached for the button on my shorts. A sense of helplessness and surrender washed over me, and I lowered my hands, surrendering myself to whatever he wanted to do to me. His hands grabbed the waistline of both my shorts and my panties, and he pulled them off together. As he did so, I realized in wonder that I was soaking wet down there. Usually it takes a lot of foreplay to get me ready, but now I found myself fully aroused, as hot as I'd ever been. Next Bill pushed my knees apart and knelt between them. My hips began to rise as though they were reaching up to meet his body, and when I felt his cock rub my labia and run up over my clitoris, I gasped. Helplessly I yielded to his assault, and I groaned out loud as his cock slid into me. It filled me perfectly and felt so good that all thoughts of resistance vanished to be replaced by raw lust. At first I lay there passively, but then I felt an uncontrollable urge to move, to create more friction, more pressure. My hips began to roll and buck, and he must have felt the same urge because he began to drive into me over and over again. There were moans and gasps filling the room, and I suddenly realized they were coming from me. Then I was whimpering, "Oh, oh, oh, oh!" I felt the pressure building within me and lost all control, pulling him to me and trying to drive him deeper and faster into me to relieve the need that was overwhelming me until I came with a huge, shuddering contraction and collapsed back on the cushions. He pushed into me for a few more strokes until he too reached his climax and began to pump his seed into my vagina. With a groan he collapsed on top of me, and the two of us clung together, hot and sweaty. Slowly I regained awareness of my body and my surroundings. I had never experienced sexual desire like that before. It was like being caught in a flash flood, so sudden and powerful that it swept me off my feet completely and all I could do was go with the current. Bill lifted his head and looked at me. "That was absolutely incredible," he said. He touched my face gently, then lightly ran his fingers down my neck and onto my breast, rolling the nipple between his finger and his thumb. I felt his cock begin to harden again. Suddenly, the voice of reason sounded in my mind and I sat up on my elbows. "What time will Lydia be home?" I asked urgently. Bill looked at me in momentary confusion, and then said, "I don't really know -- any time, I guess." "We've got to get dressed and I've got to get out of here," I said frantically. Reluctantly, Bill arose and helped me to my feet. He used my panties to try to wipe off the semen that was dripping from my pussy. Then the two of us quickly pulled on our clothes and I turned to head for the door. "Don't forget your sweater," Bill said with a smile. I gave him a sheepish grin, grabbed my sweater and began walking rapidly toward my car. Bill followed me, and as I pulled out, he gave me a little wave. I drove home in a daze. On the one hand, I felt the relaxation of sexual satisfaction, and my ego was still riding high to think that my body could drive a man wild with desire for me. But as I walked into my home, all those positive feelings began to leak out like air from an old tire, to be replaced by deep guilt. "What have I done?" I berated myself. "How could I have cheated on Marshall?" Saying his name caused me to panic. "I've got to get another shower before Marshall gets home," I thought urgently. "My panties and shorts must be soaked through, and I bet I smell like a whorehouse." Quickly I ran up to the master bathroom and stripped. I rinsed my panties and shorts out in the sink as best I could, squeezed some of the water out of them and then stuffed them down in the bottom of the clothes hamper. I climbed into the shower to clean myself off and wash away any fluids or smells. As I scrubbed myself, I was surprised to see how swollen my nipples and vaginal lips were. "Damn," I thought, "I can't let Marshall see me in the nude." Suspicious Minds Tears came to my eyes as I stood there under the water. "How could I let that happen?" I asked myself. Yes, Bill had lured me to his home when Lydia was gone and tricked me into going to the pool house with him. And he could certainly have guessed that I might be horny because Marshall and I were fighting. All that was true, but when it came right down to it, I hadn't been raped. I had said no, but hadn't tried to fight him off. And once I'd given in, I'd had an intense orgasm. Vulnerable or not, I had still committed adultery, and I was filled with remorse. Marshall When I got home from playing golf, I found Marsha sitting in the den wearing her bathrobe, with her hair wrapped up in a towel. "Has she just gotten out of the shower?" I wondered. "She must have had more to drink last night than I thought if she only got up a little while ago." I tried to be supportive and caring. "Are you feeling okay, hon?" "I'm fine," she snapped, and I flinched. "I can't win for losing," I thought. "If I don't say anything, I'm insensitive. If I do say something, I'm intruding on her privacy." I decided to go out and trim the bushes. At least I could get something useful accomplished while I was feeling sorry for myself. Marsha's moodiness carried over into Sunday and then into the work week. She was upset and clearly distracted, yet she never said anything about it to me, and I was afraid to say anything to her. I wondered if she was having her period; it had been so long since we'd had sex that I'd lost track of her cycle. Or perhaps, I thought, something happened at the party Saturday night that had upset her. But she hadn't said anything on the way home. If I'd done something else to offend her, I was damned if I knew what it was. Finally, I made up my mind to give Lydia a call. I'd been avoiding her after my horrible blunder, but she'd seemed okay with me at her party. Besides, she apparently hadn't said anything to anyone but Bill, and he brushed the whole thing off like a bad joke, so maybe it was safe for me to call. If anyone knew what was going on with Marsha, it would be Lydia. And since I obviously wasn't making any progress getting back into Marsha's good graces, maybe she could suggest something. I waited until Tuesday to see if Marsha's mood would improve on its own. When it didn't, I called Lydia and asked her if she would have lunch with me this week. She was nice, but clearly a little suspicious. "I'm not going to do something behind Marsha's back," she told me. "Of course not," I quickly responded. "All I'm looking for is a woman's advice. I've been number one on Marsha's shit list for several weeks now, and I don't have a clue how to make things better. You're her best friend and you're a woman. I just want to get your ideas on what I should do. It's not just for my sake, it's for Marsha's too." She thought about it a minute and then agreed. "You screwed up pretty bad, Marshall, but I think it's time she got past it. Okay, let's meet Friday at 12:30 at the Marriott near my office. We can eat at the restaurant there. I'll try to help you if I can." I thanked her and hung up, then marked the date on my calendar. Marsha I couldn't stop brooding about my interlude with Bill, and my thoughts were all over the place. Most of the time I spent berating myself for letting my guard down and acting so foolishly. I felt terribly guilty about my infidelity, but at other times I caught myself rationalizing that I wouldn't have been vulnerable if Marshall hadn't insulted me so badly. I reasoned that I had yielded because I was so horny. It had been weeks since Marshall and I had had sex, and I told myself that had contributed to my weakness. Of course what I should have done was to forgive Marshall and let him back in my bed, not give in to Bill. I was so torn up by what I'd done that it was a wonder Marshall hadn't realized something was going on already. In an odd sort of way, the icy relations between us were a blessing, I realized. "It's like a get-out-of-jail-free card," I thought. "Things have been so strained between us that he hasn't picked up on the way I've been acting." I gave a lot of thought to confessing my infidelity to Marshall and hoping he would forgive me. But all the advice columns I'd read said it was better to keep the secret than take the risk of losing your marriage. Besides, if I were to admit I had cheated on Marshall after he'd been so suspicious, that would be absolutely humiliating. I would be proving he'd been right all along. "Damn, Marsha," I thought, "you've really gotten yourself in a mess this time. If only you'd stayed away from Bill." Speaking of Bill, what must he be thinking of me now? I knew he was at least as guilty as I was, but I couldn't help wondering if he thought of me as some kind of slut. Maybe he believed this was something I did frequently. What if he thought I'd been with a lot of men? What if he bragged about his conquest? Everywhere I turned, things just seemed to get worse and worse. Marshall When I got home that night, I felt in a better mood. I'd finally taken a positive step; tomorrow I'd get some advice from Lydia, and maybe she would be able to help me get my relationship with Marsha back in order. On Friday, when I got to the Marriott, Lydia was already waiting for me at the table, looking both business-like and attractive. After we'd ordered lunch, I started to talk about Marsha's latest behavior, but Lydia interrupted me. "Marshall," she said, "you need to understand that you screwed up big time with Marsha, and in several different ways. The worst was that you accused her of cheating on you. Your actions said, in so many words, 'I have no trust in you.' It's no wonder that Marsha is so upset." I just hung my head. I knew what Lydia was saying was the truth. "You also have to understand," Lydia went on, "that you were the last person Marsha thought would have accused her like that. Basically, she feels like you stabbed her in the back. She has every right to feel hurt and angry." I wondered if what I'd done was really all that bad, but I kept my doubts to myself. I was here to get advice on how to go forward, not to look backward. "But having said all that," Lydia continued, "you've admitted your mistake -- not that you had any choice after bursting in there like an idiot." Here Lydia gave me a little smile to lessen her rebuke. Then she added, "You've apologized repeatedly and sincerely, and you've done everything in your power to make it up to her. I really think it's time she let it go and forgave you." I heaved a sigh of relief. But Lydia quickly brought me back down. "Of course, what you and I think are not as important as how Marsha feels. And she's obviously not in the same place that we are. So to get her there, you and I need to take a two-pronged approach. I'm going to start planting those seeds every time I see her or talk with her. My message is going to be very simple: it's time to forgive and forget." "As for you," she smiled at me, "you need to be the best husband in the world to her. If there are things she wants to do, you need to go along with them. If there are things you disagree on, you need to keep your opinions to yourself. And most importantly" -- and here Lydia looked at me sternly -- "you need to avoid doing anything to make her feel you're suspicious of her. It's not enough to trust her, you have to make her believe you trust her." She reached over and patted my hand. "Don't give up hope. With a little effort I think we can convince her to write all this off as a mistake that won't ever happen again." I thanked her profusely for her advice and for her offer to help. "Operation Model Husband starts immediately," I promised her. "In fact, tell me what you think of this: what if I offer to take Marsha to her favorite restaurant for dinner Saturday. Maybe that will score some points for me and we'll have some time together to reconnect over dinner." "That's a good start," she beamed at me, like a teacher encouraging a school boy. "Well," I thought, "I certainly could use some remedial instruction to learn how to be a better husband." Marsha I was startled when I got home Friday afternoon and Marshall was already there. He normally stayed a little late on Friday's, and it made me nervous to have him change his routine. My fears mushroomed when he sat me down and said we needed to talk. I thought for sure he'd hear the pounding of my heart as he began to speak about how strained things had been between us. But when he told me that he loved me and it was time for us to get back to normal, I began to relax. And when he said he wanted to start on Saturday by taking me out to dinner at my favorite restaurant, I was so relieved that I could hardly speak. This would give us a chance to reconnect, and I felt desperate for that. But before I could accept, my cellphone rang, and when I glanced at the display, I saw it was Bill! I wanted to ignore the call, but I thought I'd better find out what Bill wanted. I didn't dare let Marshall know that Bill was calling me, so in desperation I said, "Oh, hi Sis, how are you?" Bill caught on immediately. "Marshall must be listening. Can you talk, or do I need to call back later?" "Sure, Sis, I can talk now," I replied. I waved offhandedly at Marshall and wandered out onto the patio, closing the door behind me. "Okay, I'm free now. What do you want?" "I had to talk to you," Bill said in a whisper. "I can't get over what happened last Saturday." "Me neither," I agreed quickly. "We made a terrible mistake and I don't know what to do about it." I looked around: Marshall was still sitting at the kitchen table. "I'm really worried," Bill said urgently. "I think Lydia may be suspicious of us. I'm worried that she may tell Marshall." At that instant, all my fears exploded. "Oh, no," I moaned softly, "what can we do?" "Is there any way you can get free tomorrow so we can talk? Lydia is going to an offsite planning session for her work; it's scheduled to run all day so we won't have to worry about her catching us." "Marshall usually plays golf every Saturday," I mused. "Maybe I could come up with something that would take me out of the house while he's gone." "That's perfect," he replied. "I know a place we can go where we won't have to worry about being interrupted. Call me Saturday morning as soon as Marshall leaves for his golf game." Before I could reply, he whispered hastily, "Lydia's coming back; I have to run." With that, he disconnected. As I walked back inside, I wondered if I was doing the right thing in agreeing to see Bill again. But what he'd said about Lydia getting suspicious sent a chill through me. We had to prevent Lydia and Marshall from ever finding out what had happened. Then it hit me that I had the perfect excuse to get away on Saturday. When I came back to Marshall, I asked, "Are you still playing golf this Saturday?" When he said yes, I said, "Perfect! That was Sis on the line. She's been bugging me to come spend the day with her. If you're going to be out playing golf, I'll go and visit with her." "Of course," Marshall said quickly, "that's no problem. But what about tomorrow night?" "Oh, yes, honey, that'll be fine," I told him, "I'll be back in plenty of time." Marshall After talking with Lydia, I was optimistic that Marsha and I could start getting back to normal, and I thought dinner at Antonio's would be the perfect way to start that process. But when I sat down with Marsha to talk about it, right in the middle of our conversation she interrupted to take a phone call. It was her sister calling, and Marsha went out on the patio to talk to her. I wondered why she didn't want me to hear the conversation; maybe they were talking about me. When she came back, however, she told me about her plans to spend the day with her sister while I was playing golf. I certainly had no objection to that. Sis lives in a small town near us, but she might as well be five hundred miles away: we just didn't see her that often. But what I did object to was that Marsha seemed to completely forget about our conversation. She agreed to going out with me, but didn't show any enthusiasm whatsoever. Moreover, she was distracted the rest of the evening, and then went to bed early. Maybe it was a little optimistic on my part, but I'd hoped that we could get our relations back on track in bed that night, but it was clearly not to be. I just couldn't figure out what was going on, and I have to admit that a part of me was suspicious. "She's acting like she has something to hide," I thought. But the instant that thought occurred to me, I realized that I was falling back into the trap of my old behavior. "That's exactly the kind of thing that got you in so much hot water before," I reminded myself. "That's exactly what Lydia warned you about." Marsha Saturday morning I woke up early. I usually sleep late on the weekends, but I couldn't do it this time. I knew what the problem was: guilt about my infidelity and fear of exposure were getting to me. Marshall and I had breakfast together and enjoyed a normal conversation for a change. I told him about what was happening in my office and he talked about his travel plans for the coming week. Then it was time for him to leave for the golf course. As he walked out the door, he said "Say hi to Sis for me." "Will do," I yelled back. "Have a good round." When he had gone, I sat down again at the breakfast table and had another cup of coffee. It felt good to have a normal conversation with my husband, and I was relieved that we hadn't touched on the anything relating to the one topic that dominated my thoughts and emotions. I was still hesitant about meeting with Bill again, but my fear of what Lydia might have learned won out, and I grabbed my cellphone and called Bill. "It's safe to talk now -- Marshall is headed for the golf course," I told him when he answered. "Great," he replied, "but I don't want to talk about it over the phone. Meet me at the entrance to the city park at noon." Before I could say anything else, the phone went dead. Although I was nervous about seeing Bill, I reassured myself that nothing would happen. "I'll have my car," I reasoned. "I can leave any time I want." I got to the park a few minutes after noon. Bill was already there, and he motioned me to park in the lot. "You can ride with me," he said confidently. "I know the perfect spot where we can talk and not be disturbed. You'll love this," he went on. "I was exploring one day and stumbled on this place. Sometimes I come here to picnic or just to get away, and there's never been anyone else around." As he talked, he drove us into the park and soon began circling up a winding drive toward the top of a hill. As the car climbed, Bill abruptly turned onto a gravel road. I noticed a sign reading "Service personnel only." "Are you sure it's okay for us to be here?" I asked uncertainly. "There used to be a storage shed for supplies and equipment up here, but it's abandoned now. You'll see," he assured me. A minute later we pulled into a clearing at the top of the hill. It was surrounded by trees, and on one side I saw the old abandoned storage shed, which was on the verge of collapse. It clearly hadn't been used in years. Bill hopped out of the car and came around to open my door. Then he went back to the trunk and returned with a picnic basket and a large blanket, which he spread in a shaded area. "I brought along a picnic for us," he said. "Let's get something to eat first before we get into it," That seemed innocent enough; besides, it had been a long time since breakfast, so I was pretty hungry. "See why I love this place?" Bill said as we ate. "It's so peaceful and secluded -- it's like my own special getaway in the city." It was truly remarkable. "This is amazing," I agreed. "I never knew this place existed." But then I remembered why we were there. "Bill, we have to talk about what happened last week," I started. "Dessert first," he insisted, and passed me a plate with chocolate brownies on it. They were delicious, and I couldn't resist having a second one. I'd worry about the calories later. "When you were in college, did you ever try marijuana or hash?" he asked suddenly. "No," I told him, "I never did. Why do you ask?" "Just wondering," he said with a little smile. He passed me some bottled water and I sipped it thirstily. When I had finished, he gathered up the plates and other picnic gear and stowed them back in the trunk. "Now can we talk?" I asked him. "What happened with Lydia?" Instead of answering, Bill said, "Before we start, I want you to try something. Lie back on the blanket, close your eyes and listen for a second." That seemed like an odd thing to do, but I complied. Everything seemed so peaceful that there seemed no reason not to do so. As I lay back, I felt the sun shining on my skin. It was one of those late fall days when the temperature was unseasonably warm and the sky was a deep blue without a single cloud. I closed my eyes and tried to listen, but I could hear nothing but the birds singing in the trees. "See what I mean?" Bill said quietly, "No traffic, no crowds, nothing but the sounds of nature." I closed my eyes again and listened some more. He was right: besides the birds, the only other sound I could hear was the breeze rustling the fallen leaves beneath the trees. I felt as though I'd been transported to the Garden of Eden. I felt Bill's fingers begin to rub my temples gently, and it felt so good that I just surrendered to the sensation. The setting was so pretty and his hands were so soothing that I felt as though I'd been hypnotized. My mind seemed to drift away, and each moment of time seemed disconnected from the previous. Bill placed his lips to my ears and whispered, "How do you feel?" His words somehow sounded far away, but I forced myself to concentrate enough to whisper back, "I feel wonderful!" I lay there, overwhelmed by a feeling of unity with the sun, the wind and the ground. Bill's fingers continued to rub my temples in a circular motion, but after a while I noticed that his fingers were also stroking my breasts and teasing my nipples. I wondered idly when my bra had come off. I thought I heard a voice at a great distance saying that this was all wrong, but there was a roaring in my ears that drowned out everything else. His fingers and now his lips felt so good that nothing else mattered any more. My skin had never been so sensitive; I just wanted his touch to continue. Then he was pulling my skirt and panties off and licking my pussy up and down. I heard myself moaning, but it sounded so far away that I wasn't sure if it was me. Every touch, every caress, every flick of his tongue produced a sensation more intense and more acute than anything I had ever felt before. Then it was building and rising, and I knew that I was helpless to stop it. I felt my hips thrusting in a desperate search for relief, and then I exploded in an unbelievable orgasm before I lost consciousness. It was the gentle but maddening sensation in my pussy that eased me back awake. I looked down to see Bill's head between my thighs, his lips and tongue and fingers prodding me back to a state of awareness and renewed arousal. When he saw my eyes open and stare at him, he gently eased me to a sitting position. Then he maneuvered me around until I was on my hands and knees on the blanket. Somehow he managed to do all that while keeping his hand on my slippery pussy, continuously stroking and teasing it. "I'm so wet," I giggled to myself. I rested my head on my arm and let him do whatever he wanted. The sensations were amazing, and now, in addition to the wind and the birds I could hear the beating of my heart. Then I felt his cock slide around the entrance to my pussy, and I knew I was totally open and exposed to his thrust. Suspicious Minds He reached around with his left hand and began to stroke my clitoris while slowly easing into my pussy. A distant voice again protested that this wasn't supposed to be happening, but the sensations pulsing through me were so strong that they overwhelmed my doubts. I felt every inch of his cock as he slid it into me, and the sensation was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. Each slow gliding thrust seemed to increase my need for the next one. I began to moan again. Suddenly, I felt the greasy finger of his right hand circling my anus. I'd never liked anything back there before, but the teasing felt good, adding a new sensation to the feelings in my pussy. Then his finger began to penetrate me, sliding in and pulling out like a second cock. He began to synchronize his finger in my backside and his cock in my pussy, until both were driving me crazy. As I settled into the new rhythm, he added a second finger and continued to slide them both into me. The pressure was much greater, almost uncomfortable, but he rotated his hand and slowed his thrusting until it was almost like a caress. At the same time, he continued to stroke my clitoris, and the two sensations seemed to blend. I had the fleeting thought that my body was some kind of musical instrument that Bill was playing. Whatever melody he had in mind, the tempo was definitely increasing. Between the thrusting of his cock and the fingers in my anus and the stroking of my clitoris with his other hand, I was flying. Just when I thought I was headed for another climax, he abruptly withdrew his cock, and I whimpered at the loss of sensation. Before I knew what was happening, Bill pulled his fingers from my bottom and began to rub his cock back there. Then he began a slow but inexorable thrust that impaled me as I knelt before him there on the blanket. My moans rose in pitch as the pressure threatened to become unbearable, but through it all he never ceased to stroke my clitoris, and I felt myself twitching. Then I realized that he was fully inside me, and the pressure wasn't so bad. When he pulled out only to thrust back in again, the fullness almost felt good. As he continued his slow thrusting, I began to feel new sensations growing within me, a need for him to continue, even to accelerate. Something was happening within me unlike anything I'd ever known before, and suddenly my desire was building. I laid my head down on the blanket again, thrusting my bottom even higher. I closed my eyes tight and lay there, helplessly feeling him pounding faster and faster into me, feeling the sensations growing. I could hear my heart pounding even louder in the background, and I began to chant in time with it, "You're such a dirty girl, such a dirty girl, dirty girl, dirty girl!" Then it all became too much and I screamed once and then screamed again as I exploded. I slumped to fall prone on the ground and passed out. Sometime later I awoke to find myself lying on my back. I still felt drugged, and I became concerned when I realized I couldn't see very well. I jerked my head around and stared at the dim lights overhead for long moments before it came to me that they were stars. Groggily I looked around. Darkness had fallen over the meadow. I tried to sit up and felt my head swim. Bill must have awakened before me because he was already dressed. Then he was helping me get into my clothes, encouraging me to hurry. "It's almost 8:00 p.m.," he said urgently, "Lydia and Marshall will be wondering where we are." The mention of Marshall's name sent a thrill of fear through me and helped me to concentrate on what I was doing enough to pull my clothes on. Bill almost dragged me to his car and shoved me into the passenger side. Then he drove down the hill and back to the parking lot at the entrance to the park. He helped me get into my car and peered anxiously into my face. "Are you going to be able to drive?" he asked. "I think so," I replied. "Okay, I'll talk to you later," he said. He quickly hopped into his car and drove off. I started the engine and slowly headed in the direction of home. I'm not sure how I made it; I was still having a difficult time concentrating. But traffic was light, which was a blessing, and my bottom was so uncomfortable that it helped to keep me focused enough to find my way back. As I drove, I tried to think about what excuse I could give Marshall. My paranoia began to rise: what if he'd called Sis and found out I wasn't there? I tried to think about what I could tell him, but nothing would come to mind. Finally, I decided to say nothing at all and try to bluff it out. When I finally pulled into our driveway, Marshall came out to meet me. "Where have you been?" he asked. "It's after 8:00 o'clock. I've been so worried about you." "I'm fine," I said tersely. "Things just ran a little later than I expected." Then I brushed passed him and went into the house with him tagging behind me. "I'm worn out," I said, climbing the stairs. "I'm going to bed." "What about our dinner at Antonio's?" he asked. I just ignored him. I was still feeling woozy, and I couldn't have made conversation if I'd wanted to. When I got to the bedroom, I simply kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the bed, not even bothering to undress. "I've just got to sleep," I thought. "I'll deal with my husband and my guilt tomorrow." Marshall The weekend started off uneventfully. Marsha and I were up fairly early. We had breakfast together and things seemed almost normal between us. We talked about our jobs and I mentioned that I'd be flying out for an overnight trip on Monday. That wasn't unusual, so I didn't make a big deal out of it, but Marsha seemed a bit distracted and had to ask me twice when I was leaving. I guess her mind was on her visit to her sister. Soon enough it was time for me to head for the golf course. Marsha told me she'd be leaving for her sister's house shortly. "Say hi to Sis for me," I said as I went out to the car. Our usual routine was to play the first nine holes, then break for lunch. Then we'd head out for the back nine as soon as the scheduler could put us on. Although it took a long time to finish eighteen holes, it made for a relaxing and enjoyable day, even if I did miss my par putt on the last hole. It was late afternoon when I got back home. After I'd showered, Marsha still wasn't back, and that left me in a bit of a quandary. I had made reservations for us at 8:00 at Antonio's. We hadn't really talked about when she'd be home, so I didn't know when to expect her. The later in the afternoon it got, the tenser I became. I knew that she would want to get a shower and get made up for our evening out, and that was usually a two-hour process. If she didn't get home soon, we'd never make it. I sat around for quite some time, growing more and more upset. "She could have at least called me if she was running late," I thought sullenly. By now it was after 6:00 and there was still no sign of her. I tend to worry anyway, and the later it got, the more uncomfortable I became. I didn't want to call her cell because then she'd think I was checking up on her. I also felt I couldn't call her sister to see if Marsha had left yet. If I did and Sis mentioned it to Marsha, I'd be right back in hot water. Now that things seemed to be calming down, the last thing I wanted to do was to set Marsha off again. When it was almost 8:00 p.m., I was pacing the floor. Several times I pulled out my phone only to put it back in my pocket. Finally, I made up my mind that if she hadn't come home by 8:00 I would call and the consequences be damned. Just then I saw headlights pulling into our driveway, and I recognized Marsha's car. I was relieved that she was safe and angry that she was so late. I stalked out of the house and walked over to meet her as she opened her car door. When she stood up, I was shocked at her appearance. Her hair was a mess, and her clothes were rumpled and looked as though they'd been slept in. Her eyes were bloodshot and I thought they appeared dilated. "Are you okay, Marsha?" I asked anxiously. "I'm fine," she said curtly. She brushed by me, heading for the door. I scurried after her; I wasn't sure whether she was going to make it, given how unsteadily she was walking. "What about Antonio's?" I asked as she made her way up the stairs and went into the bedroom. "Not tonight, Marshall," she said, and as I watched she kicked off her shoes and collapsed on the bed without even getting undressed. In seconds she was sound asleep. I was deeply concerned: the way she looked and acted made me think she was either drunk or stoned. I actually leaned over her face as she lay there, trying to smell alcohol or pot, but all I caught was a trace of her perfume. I went downstairs and out to her car. Again, there were no telltale signs of alcohol and drugs. Finally, I went back in the house, found some leftovers in the refrigerator and made myself a very unsatisfying dinner. Afterwards, I watched tv for a while before turning off the lights and going to bed myself. But sleep didn't come easily to me. I was angry at her complete lack of consideration and deeply concerned about what she could have been doing. I decided I would have it out with her in the morning. Although it had been difficult for me to fall asleep, I still got up on Sunday at my normal time. I made some breakfast for myself and waited for Marsha to come down so we could talk, but she didn't appear. When I went up to check on her, she was still sound asleep. At noon I fixed myself some lunch; again I ate alone. I had just finished when my phone rang. It was Sis! "Hi, Marshall," she said brightly, "I've been trying to reach my sister but she's not answering her phone so I thought I'd call you. Is she around?" I was so startled that I didn't know what to say. "Actually, she's still in bed. She got in late last night and has slept all morning," I managed. "Well, let the poor girl sleep," she replied. "She must need it. Just tell her I called. Listen, I have to run, so she can ring me back tomorrow. I wish you two would come see me. Bye." And with that she was gone. What the hell did that mean? Why did Marsha need so much sleep? Why did Sis ask the two of us to come visit her when Marsha had just spent the day with her? Now I was more concerned and suspicious than ever. When was I going to get some answers? It wasn't until mid-afternoon that Marsha made an appearance. She was still wearing the same clothes that she came home in, and, to my eyes, she still didn't look herself. She walked through the den where I was watching tv and headed for the kitchen. When I got in there, she had found some more leftovers in the refrigerator and was hungrily wolfing them down, accompanied by a large glass of water. When she finished, I sat down at the table with her and said, "Marsha, we need to have a talk." "Fine, Marshall, but not now. I'm still dog tired and I need more sleep. We'll talk later." With that she arose and headed back up the stairs to the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She never reappeared for the rest of the evening. Finally, I quit waiting and went upstairs to pack my suitcase for tomorrow's trip. I did try to call Sis back, but she didn't answer her phone. I left a message, but had no idea when she might get around to returning my call. Marsha was still sound asleep. Frustrated on all fronts, I went to bed even more despondent than I'd been the previous night. I went in to the office early on Monday because I had a ton of work to do to get ready for my trip. I didn't trust Marsha to remember that I was traveling, so I left her a note to let her know where I'd be and when I'd be back. The work I had to get done acted like a tonic for me, helping to take my mind off my worries about Marsha. The fact that I had to go out of town also helped: I knew I had to confront Marsha face to face, and I knew I couldn't do that until I returned from my trip. That knowledge allowed me to push everything that had happened out of my mind until later. My false sense of relief lasted until mid-afternoon, when my client called to reschedule our meeting to later in the month. Once I'd canceled all my travel arrangements, I had nothing left to do. Having caught up on all my work, my mind was free to fret about my wife and the worrisome state of our marriage. I tried to call Marsha, but only got her voice mail, so I left her a message that I'd be home tonight after all. "Now what do I do?" I asked myself. Then it came to me: Lydia. I desperately needed to get someone else's view on all the craziness going on with Marsha. Were things really as bizarre and suspicious as I thought, or was my paranoia working overtime? Maybe Lydia could help me sort it out. I reached Lydia at her office, but she was in the middle of something and couldn't talk. "Listen," she said, "if you're that desperate, swing by our house on your way home this evening. Bill called me a little while ago to let me know he'll be working late tonight, so we'll have some peace and quiet and can talk." I thanked her profusely. A feminine perspective was exactly what I needed. Marsha I couldn't believe I'd slept all day Sunday. Actually, that wasn't true: I'd awakened several times during the day. I thought about getting up to get out of my clothes but decided I didn't want to leave my panties where Marshall could find them, or he'd know exactly what I'd been doing on Saturday. So I simply rolled over and went back to sleep. At one point, I got so hungry that I had to go downstairs and eat something. Marshall tried to quiz me on where I'd been and what I'd been doing, but I didn't want to have any conversations until I'd had a chance to think out what I was going to say. I brushed him off and went back to bed. When I woke up on Monday morning and went downstairs, I finally felt like I was back to normal. Marshall had already left for work, and when I found his note reminding me about his business trip, I was relieved because that would give me more time to come up with an explanation for Saturday. I went on into the office, arriving just a few minutes late. As I worked, I continued to rack my brain about what I could tell Marshall. The thing was, I didn't want to use an excuse; my guilt was so great that all I could think about was confessing my sins and begging for Marshall's forgiveness. What made it so bad was that I'd cheated twice. I'd heard men say before that they could possibly forgive a one-time slip, but after the second time you were just another slut having an affair. I had to admit that what had happened in Bill's cabana was my fault, even though I hadn't meant for it to happen. But yesterday was a different story. I'd gone out with Bill to try to break things off and to figure out how to deal with Lydia. The next thing I knew I was on my hands and knees and Bill was fucking my ass! What happened? Did that son-of-a-bitch drug me? There had to be some explanation for that out-of-body feeling and the fact that I slept for almost 24 hours straight. But even then I had to admit that I hadn't been raped. I never fought with him, never even told him no. I just lay there and let him do whatever he wanted to me. I had even enjoyed it -- I'd had two orgasms! That admission was the last straw, and I began to weep as I sat at my desk. At that moment, my phone rang. When I recognized Bill's voice, all my rage exploded. "You bastard, what did you do to me Saturday? If you drugged me, I'll have you thrown in jail!" "Marsha," he said calmly, "I didn't do anything to you that you didn't want me to do. I didn't hear any protests out of you. In fact, the only thing I heard was you begging for more." I didn't want to pursue that line of thought because I knew what he said was true. All I could say was, "Who wanted what doesn't matter now. The only thing that matters is that you've put both our marriages at risk. If Marshall finds out, he'll kick me out of the house, and Lydia will do the same thing to you." "That's where you're wrong," Bill said smoothly. "Lydia and I have an open relationship. We're both free to have relationships with other people whenever we want." "That can't be true!" I hissed, not wanting to alert the rest of the office. "She's never said anything about an open marriage to me." "Of course not. We all know that Marshall would never go for anything like that. Of course, if you're telling me different, we could always bring it up to him and see what he says." "No!" I gasped. "I don't want Marshall ever to know what I've done. He'd never trust me again." "Fine," Bill replied, "then we'll just have to be very careful the next time you and I get together." "No," I cried again, "we're not getting back together. I should never have agreed to meet you on Saturday, and I'll never see you again!" "I'm afraid you're wrong about that, Marsha. If you don't want Marshall to find out what you've been doing, you're going to have to be a little more cooperative." And there it was. Now I knew exactly what sort of person Bill really was, and I also knew just how much trouble I was in. I began to plead with him, "Please, Bill, don't make me do this. I don't want to have an affair, I just want to have my marriage back the way it was. Please, Bill, I'm begging you." I could almost hear him thinking on the other end of the line. "Alright, Marsha. I have no interest in a long-term affair. Just one more time, that's all I want. Give me your hot body one more time and we'll call it quits. But it's got to be soon, Marsha. I won't wait very long." Resignation flowed over me. That blackmailing son-of-a-bitch had me over a barrel. If he were so much as to drop a hint to Marshall, my husband's naturally suspicious nature would go wild and there'd be no way to keep him from finding out the truth. In fact, I thought, at this point if he were to ask me point blank, I'd undoubtedly confess on the spot. There was no way I could go on leading this cheating double life much longer. But maybe if I went along with Bill this one last time, I could put the whole terrible thing behind me before it became too obvious to hide. Just one more time and then I'd be safe. The moment I realized I had no other choice, I also realized that I had been given a chance, the chance to get through all this with without Marshall's knowledge. He was already headed out of town; if Bill could do it tonight, I'd be able to start rebuilding my marriage to Marshall free from Bill's lascivious clutches. "Alright, Bill, one last time. But after that, never again." My voice rose, "I mean it, Bill, if you ever approach me again after this, I'll cut your balls off and take my chances with Marshall." "Alright, alright," Bill griped, "there's no need to get violent. I said this will be the last time and I meant it. Besides, you might enjoy it, just like the other times." When I didn't say anything, he went on. "So when do you want to get together?" "If you can get away after work," I told him, "we can get this whole sordid business over with tonight. Marshall had to go out of town and won't be back until tomorrow afternoon. This is the one chance we'll have when he won't be around." "Fantastic!" Bill gloated. "I'll tell Lydia I'm working late. I'll meet you at your house at 6:00." "Fine," I said, "but remember that this is absolutely the last time." Then I hung up. After tonight, I hoped I'd never hear that bastard's voice again. As I sat at my desk trying to regain my composure, something Bill had just said recurred to me. Why would he have to mislead Lydia about his plans tonight if they had an open marriage? "I wonder if he was lying to me about that too?" I wondered. But it didn't really matter either way; the only thing that was important was that after tonight I'd be free of him. Suspicious Minds Later that afternoon when I went to the restroom, I noticed my cellphone in my purse. "Damn, it's been turned off since Saturday," I realized. Powering it up, I quickly checked for any missed calls. There was one from Marshall this afternoon. I figured he was just checking up on me and erased it. The next missed call was one from Sis on Sunday! I made a mental note to call her tonight after Bill was gone; I had to make sure I talked to her before Marshall did. I decided to turn my phone back off -- I sure didn't want to talk to Marshall if he called again. Marshall It was pretty obvious to Lydia that I was anxious to talk with her since I managed to arrive at her house before she did. She made a little joke about it, but I could tell she was well aware of my obvious distress. When we were seated in her living room, she encouraged me to tell her what was going on, and I proceeded to recount everything that had happened over the last few days. She listened in silence until I'd finished, then she leaned forward and looked at me earnestly. "Marshall, I think you're reading way too much into everything that's happened." I started to protest but she stopped me. "Listen to yourself. You're obsessing because your sister calls and says she'd like the two of you to come visit. That doesn't mean that Marsha didn't spend the day with her, it just means Sis was being nice, trying to include you." "But what about the way Marsha looked and acted when she got home Saturday night?" I asked. "What about her sleeping all day Sunday?" "Can't you think of any other explanation that doesn't involve Marsha having an affair?" Lydia shot back. "She got together with her sister for the first time in a long time. Isn't it possible that the two of them blew off a little steam together?" "I'll admit it wasn't very wise for her to drive home in that condition," she allowed, "but she made it home safely. If she got home too late for your dinner, you'll have other chances. If she slept all day Sunday, so what? She's been under a lot of strain lately, as you should well know." I didn't think that Marsha and Sis would have gone out drinking on Saturday, but I had no way of proving that, so I kept my mouth shut. Lydia looked at me intently. "Marshall, I know your wife, and I know that she's not cheating on you. I also know you, and I know you're a good man, just one who had a very bad experience with your ex-wife. You can't let what happened back then poison your relationship with Marsha." "I care too much about the two of you to let this go on this way. It's pretty obvious that between your paranoia and Marsha's stubbornness, the two of you aren't communicating. I think it's high time you two started talking, and I don't think the two of you are going to be able to do that on your own. So I'm going to go over to your home with you right now and play referee. Maybe with a friend who loves you both for a go-between, you can start to understand each other." I still thought Lydia was overlooking some pretty egregious behavior on Marsha's part, but at that point, I would have welcomed anything or anyone that could offer some help. I was at my wits' end, and Lydia was offering a lifeline, so I immediately agreed. I called Marsha to let her know we were coming, but my call went straight to voicemail. Lydia got in my car and we drove over to my house. When we got there, everything appeared normal, but when I used my key to let us inside, there was no one downstairs. "Omigawd," I said to Lydia, "you don't suppose she's still in bed?" "Don't be silly," Lydia replied. "She probably just got home from work and is upstairs changing clothes." She started up the stairs with me on her heels. When we reached the top, the door to the bedroom was closed, but we could hear a muffled voice from inside the room. "She must be on the phone," Lydia said confidently. "Let me go in first so as not to startle her." She turned the knob and took a step inside with me right behind her. "Marsha, it's Lydia and Marshall . . ." She halted so abruptly that I nearly ran over her. I heard her gasp. Before us on the bed were Bill and Marsha, both naked. Marsha was bent over on her hands and knees and Bill was behind her, mounted almost like a jockey riding a horse, fucking her ass. They must not have heard Lydia because Bill was chanting over and over, "Take it, Marsha, take it!" It's one thing to ask questions about your wife's faithfulness; it's quite another to have those questions answered conclusively right in front of you. The scene before me hit me like a heavyweight's punch to my gut. I couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't breathe. It was the most sickening sensation I've ever felt. I guess I assumed that Lydia would react the same way, but I was wrong. I heard her scream, "You bitch! You fucking whore!" Then Lydia leaped across the room, grabbed a startled Bill by the hair and yanked him over backward. He yelled in pain and fell off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. As he lay there trying to catch his breath, I saw Lydia draw back her hand with her nails extended to claw Marsha, and I dove across the room to grab her and pull her away. Lydia didn't fight me, but she continued to scream at Marsha, who was now scrambling desperately to get away from her lover's wife. Finally, Lydia collapsed in sobs, burying her face in her hands as I continued to hold her from behind. Marsha too was sobbing, lying naked on the bed. Bill was scrambling to pull his clothes on. "Get out of my house, you bastard," I yelled at him. "Don't ever let me see or hear you again." I paused for breath and, as he began to edge toward the door, I added, "I'm going to be taking Lydia home in a few minutes. If you're there when we get there, I won't be responsible for what might happen to you." With that, Bill darted out the door and ran down the stairs. I heard the front door slam as he dashed away. I had no idea where his car was, and I couldn't have cared less. I wanted him out of my life even if he had to walk. I continued to hold on to Lydia. I was no longer worried that she'd try to attack Marsha again, but I was concerned that she'd fall if she tried to stand on her own. Carefully, I helped her to her feet. "Come on, Lydia, let's get you out of here," I said in a soothing voice. I helped her down the stairs and out to my car. Having something to do was good for me. As I slowly drove back to Lydia's house, she turned to me as she continued to cry. "Oh, Marshall, I'm so sorry I ever doubted you. I kept standing up for that bitch, and all the time she was screwing Bill. I can't believe what a fool I've been." "No," I said, "she's my wife. I should have confronted her, forced her to tell me what was going on long ago. You were just trying to be a good friend. She betrayed both of us." Then I added bitterly, "And so did Bill." With that, Lydia's crying grew louder. I helped her into her house and got her a glass of water and some tissues while she sat on the couch. "Would you like me to stick around for awhile?" I asked her. She smiled wanly at me. "No, I'll be alright. I don't think Bill will come back here tonight." A look of sympathy came to her face. "What about you, Marshall? Are you going to be okay?" I stood up to leave. "I don't know, Lydia. I really don't know." When I got home, I found Marsha dressed and sitting at the kitchen table. Her face was pale and her eyes were once again red, but this time I knew the cause. "Oh, Marshall, I'm so sorry. You have to believe me, I never meant. . ." I held up my hand and said loudly, "No I don't, Marsha. I don't ever have to believe you again." Marsha's head jerked and she began to sob as her head sunk to the table. Suspicious Minds "Can't it wait?" I asked. "We've got a lot of stuff going on in the office right now, and it would be better. . ." "No," he interrupted. "I want you to call him as soon as you get back to work and make that appointment. There's no sense in procrastinating about things like this, you know." I didn't know, but I didn't like the sound of that, so I promised Dr. Garfinkle that I would call for an appointment right away. He smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. "It's probably nothing," he said heartily. "Men your age get enlarged prostates all the time. We just want to be sure that's all it is." With that, he turned and headed out the door, making more notes in my file. I drove back to work in a daze. This was the last thing I had expected. When I got to my office, my secretary looked up as I walked past her desk. "Everything go OK?" she asked. "Nothing to report," I said blandly, and walked into my office, pulling the door closed behind me. When I reached Dr. Bannerjee's office, the nurse told me I was lucky: they had an opening on Friday afternoon. I wasn't so sure that was lucky, but I wrote down the appointment and promised I'd be there. The next few days were a bit surreal. Externally, the world proceeded in its normal course: I sent and received emails, participated in conference calls, and wrote up reports, all my ordinary activities. Internally, I was all over the place worrying about my check-up. One moment I'd remind myself that Dr. Garfinkle had said lots of men have enlarged prostates. But no sooner would I think that than I began to wonder why he felt it was so urgent that I see the urologist. "That can't be good," I told myself. There was one thing I did not do: I did not go on the Internet and research prostate cancer. I knew I would only scare myself. My imagination was overheated as it was; I didn't need to add any fuel to the fire. "You're getting way ahead of yourself," I kept reminding myself. "The doctor could just as easily tell you you're fine and to quit worrying." Needless to say, I couldn't convince myself that was likely. Finally, Friday arrived. The funny thing was I don't think anyone else was aware that I had the slightest concern on my mind. In fact, when I told my secretary I was going to leave early on Friday, she seemed pleased. "Oh, good," she said, "I'm glad you're going to take some time for yourself. I hope you do something fun." When she said that, I almost broke down and told her what was going on, but I stopped myself. I knew that would just be a spineless attempt to gain a little sympathy. "Thanks, Karen," I said. "I hope you have a great weekend too." Sometimes a doctor's appointment late in the day can be a disaster because earlier patients get backed up and everyone runs late. But I guess the fates were with me that day because the nurse called my name within minutes of my scheduled appointment time. As I waited in the examining room, I used the time to look at the diplomas hanging on the wall. Dr. Raghuram Bannerjee had gotten his M.D. from Stanford and done his residency at Johns Hopkins. I was impressed: the guy must know his stuff. I mentally pictured the good doctor as short, old and balding, so I was startled when a young-looking six-foot-plus Indian with a full head of hair opened the door and introduced himself. I couldn't help looking down at his hands: they were proportionate to the rest of his body. "Oh, crap!" I thought. "Well, Mr. Harrison, let's have a look at you. Please release your trousers and bend over." "No small talk from him," I thought wryly as I assumed the position. "Oh, my lord!" I flinched as Dr. Bannerjee examined me. The examination went deeper and lasted longer than anything I'd ever had before. "I owe Dr. Garfinkle an apology," I thought. "Compared to this guy, Dr. Garfinkle is a pussycat!" Finally, it was over, and the doctor turned to me as he pulled the glove off his right hand. "Your prostate is definitely enlarged," he said. "I didn't feel any lumps or other abnormalities, but that isn't definitive." By then I had pulled my shorts and pants back up, and he motioned me to have a seat in the side chair. I sat gingerly. "The only way we can know what's really going on with you is to do a biopsy." When he said that, I slumped a little in the chair. "What does that entail exactly?" I asked him fearfully. "Very simply, we go into the prostate gland and take samples from several locations. A lab here in town will examine those samples carefully for any abnormal cells," he said matter-of-factly. "And what if you find abnormal cells?" I managed to ask. "Well, in a man your age, we'd want to remove the prostate surgically." I must have turned pale because he leaned forward to reassure me. "Don't worry, it's not as bad as you've probably heard. We do the surgery with robots now, and it's neither complicated nor dangerous. Most patients go home the next day. Afterwards, most men recover normal function of their genitals in time. We're very good about avoiding damaging the nerves." I realized I had begun to perspire, and I think he must have noticed. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves here. We need to focus on the biopsy first; that will tell us whether or not we need to move to the next step." "How long will I be in the hospital?" I asked. "No, no," he laughed, "the biopsy is a simple out-patient procedure we do right in the office here. We'll put you to sleep briefly and in fifteen minutes you'll be on your way home. Of course, you won't be able to drive; you'll have to have someone with you." "Oh, OK," I said. "So when are we going to do this?" "I've already checked with the nurse: we have an opening next Friday morning. You'll need to come in an hour before hand so we can get you ready. Don't worry: before you leave the nurse will give you a sheet of instructions on what you'll need to do before the biopsy, as well as a prescription for an antibiotic. Just follow the instructions on the sheet precisely and get here on time next Friday." With that he rose, shook my hand, and left. I went to the nurse's station and got my prescription, my appointment and my instruction sheet. As I walked to my car, I could see that the afternoon rush hour was just starting. For some reason that made me think about what Karen had said to me as I left the office earlier. "Oh, yes," I thought, "I have something fun to do." As I drove home, I felt strangely isolated from the world around me. I could see other drivers in their cars, people in shops and restaurants, and lights in the windows of the homes I passed. Everyone seemed to be living in a normal, routine world except me. I had been catapulted into a strange twilight status where I might cease to exist in the near future. "Stop it!" I yelled to myself. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You don't know what the test will show. Even if it's cancer, lots of men have surgery and go on to live long, normal lives." I told myself I wasn't even going to think about it that weekend. I was going to follow my normal routine, and I was not going to let this development change that. To all outward appearances, I did exactly that. On Saturday I went to the golf course as usual and met some pleasant fellows to make up a foursome. I didn't impress them with my game, but the weather and the scenery were pleasant. That evening I treated myself to a nice dinner out. It was good to be in the company of my fellow men and women and to hear the chatter of their voices. Besides, I had eaten all the leftovers in my house. Going to church on Sunday seemed to hold an elevated significance to me. As I sat in the pew during the homily, I felt my thoughts begin to drift and immediately recognized the direction in which they were heading. "No," I told myself savagely, "I will not try to bargain with God for my life. I will not ask for special favors or miracle cures. How pathetic, how trite to become devout only when your life is threatened! I won't do that." After lunch, I sat down in front of the tv and, out of habit, turned on the NFL game. To my amazement, the back-up quarterback who had haplessly led our team to defeat last week miraculously acquired some new skills that enabled him to eke out a win this week. That seemed like a good omen and raised my spirits for a while. But as evening came on, I knew I had procrastinated long enough, so I pulled out the instruction sheet for my biopsy. Most of the directions seemed pretty straightforward, and I made myself a list of things to do on Monday. But then I came to a bullet item that had been underlined on the sheet: "You must have someone accompany you to the biopsy. Under no circumstances will you be allowed to drive yourself. If you come unaccompanied, you will be sent home." I tried to make a joke out of it. "Sounds like an easy way to get out of having the procedure," I thought. But my smirking was hollow: if I did have cancer, I wanted to know about it sooner rather than later. I'd heard about men who refused to go to a doctor until the tumor was inoperable. I might be scared, but I wasn't going to be stupid. But that left me with a problem: who could I get to accompany me during the procedure? I didn't have any family in the area. I could hardly ask my brother to fly in from Portland. He had a young daughter and his wife was expecting their second child soon. A wave of resentment passed over me. If I had still been married to Marsha, there wouldn't even be a question. I thought about asking one of my old golfing buddies, but the truth was I hadn't seen any of them in months. I'd feel pretty foolish calling one of them now. In reality, we hadn't been all that close to begin with; I never saw them outside of our Saturday outings. There was someone else I could have called a year ago: Bill Matthews, my former best friend. Again the anger rose: he and Marsha had taken that option away as well. Finally, I decided to ask Martin Sanderson, probably my best friend at work. We often had lunch together, and we had a lot in common. "Besides," I thought, "he won't blab it all over the office. That's something I could do without." Once again I was the first one in on Monday. I was actually looking forward to working: I figured that if I could get caught up in my daily routine it would help keep me from obsessing about Friday. When Karen arrived, she popped her head in my door. "Well, did you have a good weekend?" "It was fine," I said, "nothing special." She made a little pout of disappointment and then headed to her desk. Later that morning, I dropped by my boss's office. "Joe, I wanted to let you know I need to take off this coming Friday." "Sure," he said, "no problem. Hell, by the time Friday gets here, you'll probably have worked a full day's worth of overtime already," he said with a wink. "So, anything special in the works?" He was a good guy, and I didn't want to mislead him. Besides, if things went south with this, he'd need to know. "Actually, I'm going to have a little exploratory surgery. It's an outpatient thing -- no big deal -- but they told me I won't feel like working that day." He leaned forward in his chair, concern creasing his face. "I hope it's nothing serious, Marshall." "No, I don't think so. Just one of those things where it's better to be safe than sorry," I told him. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked. I thought for a second about asking him about Friday, but immediately dismissed that notion. He had a function to run; he could hardly babysit one of his people all day. "No, I've got everything covered," I told him. "But thanks." "Please keep me posted," he said as I left. That afternoon, I went by Martin's office, but when I got there, he wasn't in. I asked his secretary when he'd be back; she told me he was traveling and wouldn't be in for the rest of the week. Dammit, I was screwed. Who could I get now? For a moment I even thought about asking Karen, but I instantly realized what a bad idea that would be. She was my subordinate -- it would be unfair and inappropriate to impose on her like that. Besides, she had a family of her own to take care of. I drove home that night in a quandary. I thought about Lydia, but just couldn't bring myself to call her. Only a week ago she'd made it very clear that we weren't going to have a relationship. If she didn't even want to go out to dinner with me, there was no way I was going to turn around and ask her for such a personal favor. Damn, damn, damn! Finally, in desperation, I went to my address book to look up a phone number I hadn't called in a long time. "Hi, Sis, it's Marshall Harrison. I know, it has been a long time. Listen, by any chance is Marsha there? Can I talk to her?" There was a short wait, and then I heard that voice I knew so well. "Marshall, is it really you?" I couldn't bring myself to make social pleasantries, so I forced out the words I so desperately did not want to say: "Marsha, I need your help." She listened quietly as I explained what was going on and what I needed from her. She had several questions regarding what needed to happen when, and I thought she must be making notes to herself, but she didn't have much else to say. Finally, needing certainty, I asked, "So, do you think you could do that?" "Of course, Marshall," she said quietly, "you can count on me." Instantly, the thought shot through my mind that I had counted on her before only to be bitterly disappointed, but I kept that to myself. Instead, I merely said, "OK, then I guess I'll see you early Friday morning. Thank you, Marsha." The "thank you" was especially hard for me. The last thing I wanted was to feel any sense of obligation or indebtedness to her. But at least I now had arrangements for Friday, and that was the important thing. The next few days weren't pleasant. It was hard for me to concentrate on work, and every time someone made a reference to a deadline or event in the future, I found myself wondering whether I would still be involved. On Thursday I had to let Karen know I wouldn't be in the next day. I told her I had a minor medical procedure scheduled, and I could tell that she was concerned. When I didn't volunteer any more information, she was considerate enough not to ask, but when she was ready to leave for the day, she made a special point of coming into my office to wish me well. I assured her that I'd see her bright and early on Monday, and shooed her out. I didn't want to talk about it; nevertheless, I appreciated her concern. "It's nice to think somebody might miss me," I thought morbidly. I didn't want to leave a mess in the kitchen on Friday, so I picked up some food for dinner. "My last supper," I thought mockingly, but then I grew angry with myself. "Stop being a baby, stop feeling sorry for yourself!" After I'd eaten, I had just settled down in front of the television, hoping to distract myself, when the doorbell rang. When I opened the front door, there to my astonishment was Marsha, carrying an overnight bag. "What are you doing here?" I asked dumbly. "We've got to get going early tomorrow, Marshall. I'm not going to take a risk of getting caught in traffic or having car trouble. I can stay in the guest room tonight, and then I'll be here and ready to go first thing in the morning." As she spoke, I realized that she was right, but I could never have asked her to do that. "This is an even bigger imposition," I thought, "now I owe her even more." But there was no help for it, so I invited her in and took the bag from her. "Have you had dinner?" "Yes, I ate before I drove over here." We settled down in the den, and I couldn't help noticing that we'd both chosen the same chairs where we used to sit. The tv was still on, but there was nothing of interest and the noise became distracting so I turned it off. "Listen," I said, "I'm not supposed to eat or drink anything after 10:00 tonight, so I thought I'd have a glass of wine now. Would you like one?" She accepted, and after I'd poured two glasses, we sat there sipping the wine. Before the silence could become threatening, she began to ask me about what the doctors had told me. It seemed clear to me that she must have read up on my condition because she asked knowledgeable questions and used the correct terminology. To my surprise, I found it somehow helpful to be able to talk about the situation. I didn't have anything I needed to hide from her, and I wasn't concerned about her opinion of me, so I found myself opening up. From there, we went on to a more general conversation. She casually mentioned that she hadn't resumed dating either, which surprised me. Even though she was dressed in normal work attire, I could clearly see she'd have no trouble attracting male attention any time she wanted it. I decided not to mention my encounter with Lydia; that would have brought up the one subject neither of us wanted to broach. But there were other subjects we could safely discuss, and when we both paused for a moment, I was amazed to realize that it was already time for bed. That was a pleasant surprise: I'd gotten through the eve of my procedure without obsessing about it. I took Marsha's bag up to the guest room for her, and then went to the master bedroom to get ready for bed. But once the lights were out and I was under the covers, all the doubts and fears came back with a vengeance. I desperately wanted to fall asleep, but instead I found myself tossing and turning. As I lay there, I thought I heard a noise in the hallway. Sure enough, the door to the bedroom slowly swung open, and I saw Marsha backlit against the light. She was wearing her pajamas, and as she neared the bed, I could see tears running down her face. Hesitantly, she clambered up on the bed, threw her arm over my chest and buried her face in my shoulder. "I'm afraid, Marshall," she said tearfully. I was touched at her reaction; I never would have expected that. But her confession caused me to let down my guard. "I'm scared too," I admitted. When the alarm woke me the next morning, I was alone. I made my preparations and came down the stairs. Marsha was already up and dressed. "Sorry, no breakfast today," she said. I gave a mock groan. We drove to the urologist's office in silence; neither one of us could think of anything to say. Once I'd checked in, we sat side by side in the waiting room until they called my name. She clasped my hand briefly and said, "I'll be here when you're finished." Actually, the procedure wasn't so bad. I'd been dreading it for a week and now that it was finally happening, it was almost a relief. The anesthetist slipped a needle into my arm just like he was drawing blood, then injected a clear liquid into the attached tube. "Count backwards from 10," he instructed, and I made it to 6 before losing consciousness. I couldn't have told you how long I was out, but the nurse assured me it had only been about 10 minutes. My head wasn't spinning when she had me sit up, but I felt groggy and somehow isolated from the rest of the world. After I got dressed, she led me out to the waiting room door where Marsha was standing. The nurse gave Marsha a sheet of instructions and then, after looking carefully in my eyes, turned me over to Marsha. She gripped my arm tightly and slowly walked me to her car. It was a good thing Marsha was there: there was no way I could have driven home. First, I continued to feel dazed and detached; then I began to shiver uncontrollably. I don't know if that was an after-effect of the anesthesia or relief that the procedure was over, but either way I felt helpless. When we got home, Marsha led me into the den, made me lie down on the couch and covered me with a blanket. In seconds I was asleep again. Suspicious Minds I awoke to the smell of coffee brewing. When she saw me sit up, Marsha brought me a cup, doctored just the way I like it. "Is this to help me wake up?" I asked her. She gave me a half-smile. "No, it's to try to stave off a headache from caffeine withdrawal," she said. I hadn't even considered that, and was grateful for her thoughtfulness. Thirty minutes later, my gratitude had disappeared. The coffee had worked its way through me, and when I went to the bathroom to urinate, it was all I could do not to scream. It felt like an ice pick was being rammed somewhere up inside me. Marsha must have heard my gasp, and she was waiting for me when I walked out of the bathroom. She settled me back on the couch. "That's one of the after-effects of the procedure," she assured me. "It's all on the sheet they gave you." I found that only slightly comforting, but she told me it would hurt less every time I had to go. "Damn, I hope so" was all I could say. I think I slept most of the afternoon -- I really don't remember much about it. I do know I had to use the toilet twice more, and the sheet had been right about the pain lessening. "It's a hell of a note," I thought, "when you're happy because it only huts a little to pee." Marsha made a light meal for us which I ate hungrily, not having had any food since dinner on Thursday. We talked a bit about the procedure -- what I could remember about it -- and the post-op instructions. The main thing was that I'd be on a strong antibiotic for the next few days to minimize the risk of any infection. I'd filled the prescription several days ago, and Marsha made sure I didn't miss a dose. That night when I went to bed, Marsha put on her pajamas and came with me. "Please let me stay," she begged. "It's the only way I'll know if you need something during the middle of the night." I wasn't up to arguing with her, and, to be truthful, I wasn't sure I wouldn't need something during the night anyway, so I let her crawl under the covers with me. Once again she wrapped her arm around my chest, and it felt good to have her warmth pressed against my back. I went to sleep quickly. The next morning I found myself alone again, but this time when I came downstairs I found a big breakfast waiting. After eating and having my coffee, I was pleased to note that there was very little discomfort in urination. I guessed my body must be healing. I was also relieved to find that there were no aches and pains as a result of the procedure. I was pretty certain I'd be able to go to work on Monday without difficulty. The effects of the anesthesia had worn off completely, and I no longer had any feelings of disorientation. Yet my mood was still oddly elevated; I guess it was relief that the biopsy was behind me. When I told Marsha how much better I was feeling, she asked if I'd like to get some exercise. "I'd definitely like to get out of the house," I told her, "but I don't want to try anything strenuous." "I have an idea," she said, "let's go for a walk in the park," and that's what we decided to do. We used to do that often when we were married, but . . . no, I didn't want to get into that. It was a beautiful fall afternoon and the leaves were in full color. I found myself invigorated by the air and the exercise, and was surprised to see how much energy I had, so we walked a long time. At one point, we came to a fork in the road. The right fork seemed to spiral up the hill, and I vaguely remembered a meadow up there with a great view. "Want to try it?" I asked. Marsha peered up at the trail and an odd look came over her face. "No," she said, "if you don't mind, I'd rather stay on this path." It didn't matter to me. It was a beautiful day no matter which way we walked. As we were heading back to the car, she suddenly took my hand and stopped. "Marshall, I'd like to stay at your house tonight, if it's alright." I was surprised. "You don't have to do that, Marsha. I think I'm fine now." "I know, but I'd feel better about it if I could just make sure. Please, Marshall." There was almost a hint of desperation in her voice, and I'd been very grateful for all her help, so I didn't want to upset her. Besides, if I was honest with myself, I'd enjoyed the company. Sitting alone in that big house was not something I enjoyed. "Sure," I told her, "that'd be fine." We resume our walk back to the car, but she didn't release my hand. That night there was nothing to eat in the house, so we decided to go out for dinner, choosing a little place we both used to enjoy. I hadn't been there in a long time and was gratified to find that the food was just as good as ever. I was also pleased to see that Marsha and I were able to talk so easily without opening up old wounds. Sure, there were topics we avoided, but for the most part it was like old friends catching up with one another. When we got up to leave, I think both of us were surprised at how late it had gotten. I had assumed that our sleeping arrangements would be the same, and indeed Marsha came into the master bedroom again clad in her pajamas. But when I turned the light out, she turned away from me. I had expected that she would reach for me as she had the last two nights, and was a little disappointed when she didn't. We lay there in silence for a while; then I felt a slight quiver in the mattress. At first I couldn't figure out what was happening, but then I realized she was crying! I could tell she was trying to keep silent, trying to hold it in, but there was no doubt in my mind what was happening. The only question was "Why?" What should I do? What did I want to do? She'd broken my heart and made me suffer more than I could ever imagine. Yet when I'd been in need, she'd responded without hesitation, and the last two days had felt really good. And why was she crying in any case? I was the one who'd had the biopsy, I was the one she had cheated on. But I couldn't let her lie there and cry. Tentatively, I reached out my hand and rubbed her back. At first her crying grew louder, almost sobbing, and I thought about stopping. But gradually she quieted down. I rubbed her back for a few more minutes, then let my hand rest on the mattress, still touching her spine. I guess we both fell asleep that way. For the third morning in a row, she was already up when I awakened, and once again, the smell of coffee and breakfast greeted me as I came down the stairs. When I walked into the kitchen, she was wearing the clothes she had worn on Thursday night. Her overnight bag was sitting on the floor. We ate almost in silence, and after we had cleared away the plates, she picked up her bag. "Do you have to go now?" I asked. "Yes, it's best that I get going. Sis will be expecting me." Her voice was flat, almost brusque. I walked her to the door, and as she moved to leave, I stopped her. "Marsha, I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't helped me. It's been a terrible, painful year for me, and I haven't forgotten what happened, but I want you to know that I'm truly grateful for your help this past week." "No problem," she said quickly. "Glad I could help." Then she turned and headed quickly down the walk toward her car. I was stung by her brusqueness. But then she stopped and looked back at me. In a softer voice, she said, "Please let me know how the test comes out." That made me feel a little better, and I promised her I would. With that, she drove away. That afternoon, I tuned into football again. The back-up quarterback somehow managed to produce another miracle and our home team won again. But the unexpected victory didn't give me the pleasure I would have expected. Indeed, it was as though the clouds had moved back in and everything seemed once more dark and dreary. I wasn't sure why; the only thing I could figure was that the relief of getting past the biopsy had worn off and the gravity of the upcoming test results was beginning to weigh on me. That probably also explained why I didn't sleep as well Sunday night. When she arrived at the office Monday morning, Karen anxiously came into my office to inquire how everything had gone. "Piece of cake," I told her blithely. "I'd recommend it to anyone." She stuck her tongue out at me. I hoped my bravado had fooled her. The next few days were worse than the preceding week. I could not get my mind off the upcoming encounter with the urologist. I spent long periods trying to convince myself that the results of the biopsy had to be good, and equally long periods trying to rationalize away the significance of bad test results. Every time something came up at work that would require action on my part, I wondered if I should commit or defer. What if I were undergoing surgery at that time? What if I had to have radiation or chemo? Once again, the lack of anyone to talk to just magnified the uncertainty. The nights were the worst: sleep seemed unattainable. My bed felt cold and uncomfortable, and I couldn't seem to turn my brain off long enough to fall asleep. I desperately wanted to take sleeping tablets but was fearful of becoming addicted. "Now I know how Michael Jackson must have felt," I thought. When Friday finally came, I must have looked pretty bad. Several people at work stopped to ask if I was feeling OK, and Karen wanted to send me home. It didn't help that I had little breakfast and no lunch at all. I had no appetite, and, frankly, I didn't think I'd be able to keep anything down if I did eat. When it was time for my appointment, I slipped out so I'd avoid seeing any of my colleagues. I even avoided Karen, just leaving a note saying I'd see her on Monday. Walking from the parking lot into Dr. Bannerjee's building, I couldn't stop myself from calling it the "last mile." Gallows humor is the last refuge of a coward. It got worse after I'd checked in at the desk. When the nurse called my name, instead of leading me to one of the examining rooms, she took me to a lounge-like area with a leather-covered couch and side chairs. "What does this mean?" I asked myself. "Is this where they break the bad news?" As I looked around, I spotted an anatomical model of a human torso laid open to reveal the organs. I shuddered. On the end tables were numerous popular magazines, most of them long out of date. There was a pamphlet lying on the couch, and when I picked it up I saw the title: "Living with Cancer." Had they put that out for me? The minutes ticked by, and I felt as though I might cry. "Come on, man up," I told myself angrily. Then, just when I felt I couldn't bear it any longer, the door opened and Dr. Bannerjee appeared. He clutched a folder in his hand, my results, I presumed. I held my breath. When he looked up at me, his face broke into a broad smile. "Good news, Mr. Harrison, the tests were negative!" He said some other things to me, but there was a roaring in my ears and I didn't hear any of it. He shook my hand and pointed me toward the door. As I walked across the parking lot, my legs were wobbly. The feeling of relief was so overwhelming I was almost afraid to drive. All the fears I'd had for the past two weeks came back to me, and as I thought about each of them, I realized they no longer held any power over me. I was happy but not yet calm; that would take a while to come. The dark clouds that had hovered over me might have dissipated, but it was still getting dark when I got home, so I didn't notice the car parked on the street. But when I started up the walk, I saw a figure sitting on my porch with her arms wrapped around her knees. As I drew nearer, I realized that it was Marsha! "How long have you been here?" I asked in astonishment. "What if I hadn't come straight home?" Tears began to run down her cheeks, and she jumped up angrily to face me. "Never mind, never mind! What about the test? What did the doctor say?" Why was she so angry with me? "There was no sign of cancer," I said. "The tests were negative; I'm fine." To my amazement, her face drew up and she began to cry in earnest. I stepped up to her and held her arms. "What is it? What's wrong? It was good news." But her crying turned into sobbing, so much so that she could hardly stand. I put my arm around her and helped her onto the porch and into the house. She sat heavily on the sofa, unable to control herself. I sat beside her and held her, dumbfounded at her reaction. Suddenly, she slipped off the sofa and knelt in front of me. She threw her arms around my knees and laid her head on my lap. "Oh, Marshall, I lost you once, and I was sure I was going to lose you again, this time forever." She clung tightly to my knees and rocked side to side, reminding me of the way a young child sometimes cries when she can't be consoled. As I tried to smooth her hair and pull it out of her face, she looked up at me again. "I've been so afraid. My father died of prostate cancer," she whispered, and then began to cry again. Now I began to understand. In some ways, I realized, this must have been as bad for her as it was for me. All I could do was hold her; I could think of nothing to say that would help. Finally she got control of herself and looked at me with pleading eyes. "I'm so sorry, Marshall. Please don't send me away again. Please let me stay, please." I didn't say anything, and she went on. "Once when I was a little girl, my parents took me to the sea shore. They warned me to be careful of the waves, but I didn't see the danger and got out a little too far from shore. Suddenly, a big wave came in and knocked me down, rolling and tumbling me helplessly, until it dumped me out on the sand, scraped, bruised and crying." She sniffled. "It was the same way with Bill. I didn't see the danger, and suddenly I was caught up and helpless to resist. And just like before, when it was over I was left hurting." She looked up at me mournfully. "But this time I hurt other people too." Then her resolve seemed to strengthen, and she said fiercely, "But I learned, Marshall. I learned that there are waves out there that can knock you down. I learned there are people out there who can play on your vanity and seduce you into something you don't want. I won't make that mistake again either, Marshall, I swear to you I won't. If you'll just have me back, you'll see." I looked at her and I could see the little girl on the shore who was powerless in the grip of the wave. And, though it still hurt to think about, I could see the grown woman who had lost control in a moment of vulnerability. I knew what it felt like to be helpless and vulnerable when I'd gotten my diagnosis and things suddenly spiraled out of my control. Marsha must have taken my silence for doubt, because she began talking faster now, as though her words were rushing to get out before she lost her nerve. "I know you don't trust me, Marshall. I know you're wondering how you can ever believe me again. But I'll do anything to prove it to you. I'll give you my cellphone every night so you can see who I've talked to. You can put a GPS tracker on my car. You can even get me one of those ankle bracelets like they make criminals wear to prove they haven't left home confinement. I'll do anything you want, Marshall, anything to make you believe in me, anything to get you to take me back." "No!" I shouted at her. "I can't live that way anymore!" She recoiled as though I had struck her, but I went on, this time in a quiet but urgent voice. "It's a trap, Marsha. I can't live my life in constant doubt and suspicion. That's the way I was before, and I know what it did to me. I also know what it did to you." I cupped her chin and lifted her face so she was looking into my eyes. "You should never have given in to Bill, but I was the one who made you vulnerable in the first place. I didn't trust you, and my suspicions made you feel isolated and unloved. If I hadn't acted the way I did, a predator like Bill might not have been able to seduce you." "No, Marshall," she said bitterly, "it was my fault. Yes I was hurt and angry at your lack of trust. Yes, Bill tricked me, drugged me and even blackmailed me, but I still have to take responsibility for what I did. I have to live with that." Tears began to run down her cheeks again. When she looked up at me, it seemed that all the resolve I'd seen before had washed out of her. "Do you think you could ever trust me again, Marshall?" she asked. "You said you've learned from your mistakes," I told her. "Well, I've learned too. When I had my cancer scare, you were the last person I wanted to ask for help. But I was forced to, and you said yes. I had no choice but to rely on you, and you were there for me. Even when the anesthesia left me powerless and vulnerable, you didn't desert me or take advantage of me." "And there's one more thing I learned, Marsha. Even though I was loathe to ask for your help, even while I was consumed with fear of cancer, I learned I was still happier with you here than I've been in a long time." I took a deep breath. "I don't want to live with doubt and suspicion any more, I want to live in faith and hope. And I want to live with you." We clung to each other on the sofa for a long while.