30 comments/ 19664 views/ 2 favorites SASG By: MarvinS "I lost my eye and my wife on the same day. I miss her more than I miss the eye." That's what I overhead at McDonalds. Slowly I turned around to see from whence came the voice. A man with a patch over one eye was walking away from a table with a young mother and two preschool aged kids. My guess is that one of the kids asked the man about the eye patch. He moved away from that table, and walked in my direction. I watched him. Old? Yes, I think so. His hair and beard were a mixture of black and gray. It covered his ears and flowed past his collar of his un-tucked flannel shirt. He wore bib overalls with rolled up cuffs – something I haven't seen for years. Yikes! His shoes don't match! One shoe is dark gray with white laces; the other is black with black laces. Except for the shoes I think he fits in with my perception of this farmer-hick community. He should be wearing farmer work boots instead of mismatched sneakers. What is this community? Where I come from we would call it a village or, at best, a small town. Out here in the endless nothingness of South Dakota prairie it's considered to be a city. Someone told me it's the fourth, fifth, or sixth largest city in South Dakota. It doesn't take much to be one of the largest in this state of barely 800,000 people. Nevertheless, it is large enough to have a Wal-Mart and a McDonald's. I came to South Dakota to get away from so-called loving wife Michelle (pronounced 'me-shell' the way the Beatles did in the song.) This wasn't my destination of choice, but I was just about out of money. Maybe I could get a temporary job to refill my wallet before resuming my escape. In my mind I called him Patch. Patch walked past my booth carrying his tray to the trash receptacle. After disposing of his cup and wrapper he left. His backside showed how his overalls sagged on him. Those pants are too big for that man. I didn't find a job that day. I counted my dollars, dimes, and nickels. I had more than enough to hike to Wal-Mart to buy some peanut butter and a box of saltines. I went back to my car – which was in the Wal-Mart lot – for supper. Later I curled up in the backseat with a home-made quilt. Michelle made that quilt for me when she still loved me. I would trash it, but I needed something to keep me warm at night. In the morning I returned to McDonald's. I wasn't so broke that I couldn't afford a sausage McMuffin. 'Patch' was there. This time he was wearing a solid color instead of a plaid flannel shirt. Yes, the shoes still didn't match. I wasn't sure, but I think it was the same bib overalls that he wore yesterday. Today 'Patch' wasn't alone. At the booth with him was a middle aged man wearing jeans and a chambray shirt. Two pens (or maybe pencils) were in the left pocket. That and the thickness of his glasses made me think 'nerd.' The two of them got up to leave at the same time. I think 'Patch' looked over at me before disposing of his trash. He walked away. Again it looked like is pants were too big for him. The guy in the chambray shirt limped and used a cane. I did manage to get a job washing dishes at a wannabe-snobby restaurant that was half way between Wal-Mart and McDonald's. I still ate peanut butter crackers for supper. I did add a bag of apples to the menu. I still slept in my car in the Wal-Mart lot. And, most importantly, I still had breakfast at McDonald's. 'Patch' was there every morning. Sometimes the chambray shirt guy was with him. Sometimes one or two others were there, too. Mostly, though, he was alone. He usually left shortly after I arrived. On the sixth or seventh morning, 'Patch' wore the same outfit that I saw the first time. -- baggy, too large, bib overalls. This time, however, instead of leaving he stopped at my booth. "Good morning," he said as he slid into the seat across from me. "I see you are now a regular here. I see that you have a white line where your wedding ring used to be." "So?" I curtly replied. "So, if you can get here a bit earlier each day you could join our group." "What group would that be?" "We call ourselves the SASG. That stands for Single Again Support Group." I wasn't exactly single again, but I might as well be. I was probably still officially married to Michelle; the woman I thought was my loving wife, who turned out to be a cheating slut. I did not file for divorce before leaving Boston, and I don't know if she has either. Nevertheless, it's been five months since I left. By now she and Asshole probably have moved into my house where they can fuck themselves silly every day without worrying about me discovering the deceit. If Michelle has filed for divorce I wouldn't know because I did not provide any way to contact me. Besides that, does the postal system deliver to Xavier Jones c/o Wal-Mart parking in lot Some Small Town, South Dakota? *** Yes, Xavier Jones is my name. My parents wanted a distinctive name to go along with the common Jones. Family and friends called me X. When I was a kid a playground bully tried to tease me about my name. He tried pushing me when I ignored his taunts. I didn't take kindly to that. My reaction was quick and decisive. The other kids saw how quickly I chopped down that bully. My nickname quickly changed from X to Axe. My physical attributes were well respected by the time I entered high school. As a freshman I stood nearly six foot and weighed just a bit over two hundred pounds. You know, of course, that guys are still growing until about age 18. I grew some more. Axe Jones became a feared defensive lineman during the football season. The line couldn't stop me and I was frequently on the quarterback before he could even think about sending off a pass. In my junior year I set a state record for the number of quarterback sacks. I broke the record the next year. Michelle was a cheerleader. Sure, that seems like a cliché – football jock and the cheerleader, but that's the way it was. Prom night was very special for Michelle and me. That's the night we went all the way for the first time. It was my first time, and unless she lied to me it was her first time, too. To tell the truth, it was an awkward and clumsy activity for the two of us. We knew we wanted to, but neither really knew how to. My cock just poked around and brushed up against her brush, not finding its way. "Let me help," she murmured. She took hold of my member and guided it to her juicy pussy. With a push on my backside she caused my cock to slide into her. I pushed against some obstacle, but after a minute I broke through. I was a dumb eighteen-year-old and had no clue how to satisfy a woman. I got my satisfaction quickly. My wad was shot into her, and then pulled out. Michelle said, "I need more, Axe." She grabbed my hand and guided my fingers to her pussy. "Take care of me now, Axe." I finger fucked her to what I think was an orgasm. *** "Well, what do you think? Will you join us?" Patch's voice brought me out of my reverie. "What do you do in this support group?" I queried. "Mostly we talk. Sometimes we share stories about how our marriages ended. Sometimes we share ideas on how to get on with our lives. Sometimes we just talk about the weather." I was interested. Actually, I was really curious about his statement last week about missing his wife more than missing his eye. I sure don't feel that way about my wife. "By the way, my name's Paul," said the one-eyed man. "Xavier," I replied. "Nice to meet you, Xavier. We try to meet at a quarter to six each morning," he continued. "I can make it." *** Michelle and I continued dating, but she wouldn't let me fuck her again. She said, "Prom night is special. We're almost expected to have sex then, but there's nothing special about a Friday night movie date." It takes only one time. Michelle was pregnant. That one time on prom night did it. Michelle chose an unusual way to announce her pregnancy to me. Well, it was her parents who did the announcement. Six weeks after prom I was greeted by Michelle's dad at the door when I arrived to pick her up. "Come in, Xavier." I was shocked to find my parents there! "Sit down." Michelle's dad commanded. "We have a wedding to plan. My daughter is not going to have a child out of wedlock. She says you are the father." Needless to say, I was dumbfounded and couldn't speak. The two sets of parents pretty much ignored me and Michelle as they planned our marriage and our life. After awhile my father said, "Folks, me and my boy are going for a walk. I need to talk to him alone." "Well, Xavier, gettin' married has its advantages," he told me after a few minutes of silence on our walk. "You and Michelle can make whoopee whenever you want instead of sneakin' around on your Friday night dates." "But, Dad, we haven't been sneaking any whoopee. The only time we did it was prom night. She won't do it anymore. She says sex is for special occasions." "In that case, son, you must not have properly satisfied her." "Huh?" "I am going to pass on some advice that I got from my father.' "What's that, Dad?" "Well, seems he overhead me and the guys talking sex and how we wanted to jump one of the pretty gals at school. He busted into the room, told the guys to scram, and said 'Alfred Jones, we need to talk.'" Dad stared at a flock of pigeons overhead for a few minutes, then, he continued. "Well, X, my father took me aside and told me how girls and women are not just meat, not just sex objects, and so on." I nodded. "My father used much more polite language, but at the end of his lecture he smiled told me that if I ever wanted to fuck a woman a second time I better make sure that she is happy and totally satisfied the first time – even if it means not getting satisfied myself." My father just said "fuck!" Wow, I never heard him ever use any but super clean language in my whole life! Dad got me to admit that when Michelle and I screwed it was pretty much just a self-serving quickie. "No wonder she doesn't want to do it with you again," he chuckled. Dad went on to explain how sex – love making – for a woman is a whole body and whole mind experience. Women don't have dicks, and thus unlike men, they don't think with their dicks. "I don't know about all women because Mom is the only one I've ever been with, but some of the things she enjoys are...." I was embarrassed to hear some of the details of Dad and Mom's love life, but the end of our nearly two hour walk I was filled with tidbits on how to make love and how to love. His final advice that evening: "Your wedding night will be a special occasion. Michelle and you will probably make whoopee. If you want to do it again the next day make sure she is happy and totally satisfied the first time." *** It was raining Friday morning so I decided to drive to McDonald's. It's probably time to change locations for my overnight parking anyway. I noted that it still had a half tank of gas. The car, a 2001 Olds Alero, does get pretty good mileage. I filled up only a half dozen times on my trip away from Michelle. If ever you have to sleep in your car, an Alero is a decent choice. The back seats fold down. I had the passenger side seat folded down. I could stretch out with my feet in the trunk. During my travels west I did use some of my monetary resources to buy one of those pads that people use for exercises. It made a semi-comfortable mattress. Patch, I mean Paul, was at his booth with two other men. I decided to join them. "Good morning, Xavier," he greeted, "Welcome to Sass-gee. Sit down and meet a couple of our SASG members." "This here," pointing at the man next to him, "Is Sam, but he sometimes is snooty and wants to be called Samuel. He's a handy man guy to know. He's an assistant manager at Ace Hardware down the road. Sam, meet Xavier." "Good morning, Samuel." "And the guy with the Coke bottle glasses is Mark. He's a cheesehead, but we put up with him because he doesn't know any better seeing how he's from the other Dakota." Mark was the chambray shirt guy that I had seen here on other days. "Cheesehead?" I queried. "Yea," blurted out Samuel, "He's one of those guys wears a chunk of cheese on his head while cheering for that loser bunch known as the Green Bay Packers. It has something to do with Wisconsin being famous for cheese, I guess." "At least Green Bay has Brett Favre, a real quarterback, not some limp armed Dante Culpepper!" inserted Mark into the conversation. "OK, OK, maybe Favre can throw that football a long ways, but he needs someone to catch it. You ain't got nobody like Randy Moss. Dante and Randy are gonna take the Vikings to the Superbowl for sure!" Sam insisted. "Boys, boys, let's be tolerant of each other's religious beliefs. Xavier, are you a football fan?" "I played some in high school. Defensive lineman. I don't have a favorite pro team, but last year's Super Bowl champs the New England Patriots would be the natural choice out where I once lived." *** Oh yes, where I once lived. I had many happy memories, one sad memory, and one very bitter memory of where I once lived. Even though it was a shotgun wedding, my wedding day was a happy one. That night Michelle and I made love. I worked on seducing her and took my time. I started by massaging her bare toes and feet. She purred like she enjoyed that. I massaged and massaged for a long time, eventually moving onto her calves. She enjoyed that, too. Thighs came next. My fingers kneaded and massaged until they were starting to ache. They stayed away from Michelle's pussy until her legs opened up to a V. There before my eyes and near my fingers was a virginal white satin pair of panties that covered her womanhood. Gently, but firmly, I rubbed a hand upon those briefs, paying close attention to the sensitive spot at the top of the pussy crevice. Again Michelle purred. I could feel moisture through the panties. She hooked her thumbs into the waist band, pulled the panties down. "I am ready." She said. Without any guidance my cock found its way into Michelle's hot and juicy love opening. In the morning Michelle looked me into the eyes. "Last night was special. You were special. You made me feel special. Can you do it again?" Michelle's idea of saving sex for special occasions changed. Every time we made love it was a special occasion! For the first few months those special occasions happened every day – often twice a day. Things changed with the miscarriage. I was actually excited about being a daddy, and suddenly I wasn't going to be one. Michelle, I think, was less upset about the miscarriage than I was. In fact, I think she was even relieved. She insisted on going on birth control. "I am not really ready to have to be a mother," she said. Michelle's father probably never really liked me and was unhappy that I made her little girl pregnant. He came to when Michelle was still in the hospital. "Xavier, let's go get some coffee while Michelle rests," he said. "OK." I do like coffee. "Xavier, I know I forced to you marry Michelle, but now the reason for the marriage doesn't exist. I will pay for the divorce." "What divorce?" I was dumbfounded by his suggestion that I would divorce Michelle just because she had a miscarriage. "You got married because you did the right thing, but she's not pregnant anymore. You don't need to stay married." "But, sir, I want to stay married. I married Michelle because I was in love with her. The pregnancy just made the marriage date sooner rather than later." I held the belief that Michelle loved me as much as I loved her. I was positive that she would have refused to get married if she didn't love me. "I always dreamed that my daughter would go to college," Michelle's dad continued. "Marriage gets in the way of that." I really couldn't see how being single would make it easier for Michelle to go to college. Nor could I imagine that she would divorce me in order to further her education. Time-wise, however, she could take college classes since the no longer expected baby would not consume our time and attention. A few minutes later we were back in Michelle's hospital room. "Daddy! How could you suggest such a thing?" That was her reaction to her father's offer to pay for a divorce. "I am not going to divorce him!" She looked at me. I guess I didn't look as pleased as I should have looked. "Oh, Axe, don't tell me you agreed to Dad's offer." "No way, José, I did not agree!" The long and the short of it is that Michelle's dad could not dispute Michelle's logic. She asked how being single would get her through college. He replied, "Then you could live at home again, and I will pay for your schooling." He definitely could afford it. He's a senior partner in a Boston law firm. Michelle certainly had her dad wrapped around her little finger. He finally agreed that he would pay for Michelle's college, and I would continue to support her in other matters. Michelle enrolled in the marketing program in the school of business and management of Newbury College in Brookline, MA. Newbury was a fairly quick commute from the "mother" apartment of my folk's place where we lived for no rent. My income from my job at ABC Plumbing and HVAC provided enough for groceries, gas for the car, and a few extras. *** "The air conditioning at my place isn't working right. It's running, but there's no cool air coming out. I looked. There's a hose that is covered with ice." That's what George, one of the guys at SASC, said one morning. I said, "I left my HVAC tools in Massachusetts, or I could probably take a look. Sounds like it just needs some R-22 refrigerant." "Tools? I can get tools," interjected Samuel, "I do work at a hardware store, you know." "What's HVAC," asked George. I replied "Heating, ventilation, air conditioning. I am a certified HVAC technician. I got a job at an HVAC business right after high school. At first I was a 'gofer,' but I learned a few things on the job and took night classes to learn more. I can work on most equipment, but my specialty is home air conditioners. If Samuel can get some tools for me to use, I would be happy to help out." "George," said Samuel, "I know you have to get to work soon, but how 'bout if Xavier and I meet at your place tonight? I will bring tools, and Xavier will bring know-how." "Guys, you can call me X, if you want." My noon rush dishwashing duties were done at two o'clock, so I hiked over to Ace Hardware where I met up with Samuel. He and I walked around the store while I picked out a few tools that we might need for the project. "We are just borrowing these tools. I have to sign them out and promise to bring them back in good condition," Samuel said. "My boss has some connections and he has arranged for a tank of that refrigerant to be delivered to George's place. George will have to pay for however much is used." George met us at his door. Behind him was a knock-out beauty of a woman. Five foot two, eyes of blue. Her snug shorts and tight tee-shirt certainly accented her assets. 'Down boy' I silently said to the thing in my pants. "Hi guys, this is my wife, Martha," George introduced. "Yes, people tease us about being the being the father and mother of our nation." Hmm. I thought he was 'single again.' He does often meet with the Single Again Support Group. "Xavier, you looked puzzled." "Yes, I just assumed you were not married." "Martha is my second wife. If you want, I will tell you my sad story with the happy ending while you work." George said. SASG George talked. I worked. Samuel held parts and handed me tools as needed. I learned that George, like me, was married right out of high school. They didn't 'have to' get married. They both wanted to wait until their wedding night to have sex, and they just couldn't wait any longer. Apparently they had great sex for about four years. One day she dropped the bomb on him. "Honey, do you ever wonder what it would be like to be with another woman? You know you are the only man I have ever been with. Sometimes I wonder what I have missed." Crap, those words are almost just like what Michelle said to me a few months ago! *** It started the two summers after Michelle graduated from Newbury College. Right after graduation she got a job as the assistant marketing director at drugstore chain that was head-quartered in Boston. Her boss, the Director of Marketing and Promotions, was John V. Adams. The arrogant son-of-bitch claimed to a direct descendant of the two presidents named Adams. I did not instantly dislike John V. Adams when I met him, but I did not instantly like him either. He had that arrogance that some people describe as confidence. I didn't realize it right away, but he apparently had confidence that he was going to fuck my wife. Like a love struck, blind husband I ignored any and all clues. One Saturday morning, right after a nice loving making session, Michelle hit me with those words." "Axe, have you ever wanted to experience other women?" "Yo, Shell, are you accusing me of fooling around?" "No, no. Not that. I was just wondering if you ever thought about it." "Well, I did have the hots for the Seven of Nine in that 'Startrek: Next Generation' TV show, but other than that, you are the only one I really want for a bed partner." I said this half-joking, but still serious. "Axe, I wonder what experiences I might have missed. You are the only man I have been with, but I do wonder and think about fun with other guys." "Thinking is one thing, Shell, but acting on it is a definite 'no way José.'" *** We got George's air conditioner going in short order. Martha insisted that we stay for dinner. "I made extra spaghetti and sauce; it won't be good tomorrow so you have to stay," she insisted. In addition t the spaghetti there was tossed salad, garlic toast, and a bottle of red wine. She was a friendly and gracious hostess. "Guys, I overheard part of the story George was telling you," said Martha. "Maybe you can guess what happened next. It turns out that George's first wife wasn't really 'missing' fun with other guys at all. She was doing a guy on the side for a couple of months before her little talk with George. She and I worked at the same bank. I still do. She's gone. When I suspected that she was cheating on George I warned her. 'Yer gonna lose him when he finds out.' I told her. 'And when you do I might just hafta have him for myself.'" George added, "I didn't know until after Martha and I got married that Martha was the one who found ways for me to discover my first wife's cheating. I am glad she did. I have a happy ever after!" He leaned over to kiss Martha. Just a quick smack, but a loving one." He lifted a wineglass in salute," Thanks to you fine gentlemen of the Sass-gee I have air conditioning." The chilly nights of a few weeks ago when I first met up with the SASG were now long gone. It gets hot in South Dakota! *** After I told Michelle "No way José" she dropped the subject. She never mentioned it again. I mistakenly believed that she wasn't seriously thinking about having sex with another man. She apparently even had the man picked out. It was Mark V. Adams, her supervisor at work. Looking back on it I see that I should have become suspicious right away when Michelle talked about missing out on experiencing other men. I ignored it -- and other signs -- until it was way too late. I just assumed that people were faithful and honest, just as I had always been. You know how it is. Crooks think everyone is a crook. People who cheat on their taxes think everyone cheats on taxes. Liars assume everyone lies. Devoted faithful spouses assume all spouses are devoted and faithful. Later events showed how naïve I was. *** "Good morning, Paul," I said bright and early at McDonald's the next day. I didn't sleep well because of the South Dakota summer heat. Sure, my Alero has air conditioning, but I didn't want to run the engine all night long just to keep me a bit cool. Paul was alone. Other members of the Single Again Support Group hadn't arrived yet. Paul wore his trademark bib overalls with a flannel shirt. Something was different about him. I looked him over a bit. Ah ha. He got a hair cut since I last saw him yesterday. "Good Morning, Xavier, You are early today," stating the obvious. "What's with the shorter hair? Got a job interview or something?" I teased. "Nope. Say, how did it go with fixing George's air conditioner?" "Got it done is less than an hour. Had dinner with George and his wife, Martha." "I haven't met her, but from the way George talks about her she must be something special." "I learned a bit about George's first marriage." "Xavier, his story is tame compared to some of the others in Sass-gee," Paul solemnly pronounced. Samuel slid into the booth with us just then. "George sure was pleased with your work last night. Paul burst in with "Sam, it's high time you told Xavier the story of why you are single again." "Yes, sir!" He smiled. "X, the tale you are about to hear is sad, but true. It's the story of promises made and promises broken. The story if fidelity and infidelity. It's the story of me and Bobby McGee." "Sam, quit being so darn dramatic," Paul cursed, "and tell the truth. There wasn't no Bobby McGee." "Yes, sir, Paul, sir," Samuel said. He was no longer smiling. "But there was a Bobbi, just not a McGee." To me he said, "Paul's heard this story a time or two already, so I am sure he will 'correct' me if I make any mistakes. My ex-wife is Roberta. Most folk call her Bobbi. She's a low down, lying cheating slut who can't keep her legs together when she's around men. Around men other than me I mean. She wasn't such a slut; anyway I don't think so, the first eight years of our marriage." He took a couple of bites of his McMuffin. Paul interjected, "Looks like Sam here is still a bit bitter about his Bobby McGee." "You got that right, old man," Sam continued. "Me and Bobbi had a hardware store west river. I know I shouldn't interrupt, but I had to know. "West river; what's that?" "South Dakota is pretty much split east and west by the Missouri River. Folks often refer to the western side as west river and the eastern side as east river." "Thank you." "Anyway, my grandfather started the store shortly when he came home from fighting Germans in the war. My father took over in the sixties when grandpa had a stroke. I started working there when I was ten. I learned just about everything about hardware from Dad, and I took a few business classes at Black Hills State." He paused for a few sips of his coffee. Mark and George joined us then. "I met Roberta at Black Hills State." "Sam, your story is gettin' to be a bit too wordy," Paul said. "Git on to the cheatin' wife part." Samuel nodded and went on, "OK. That slut wife of mine had a lover on the side. I had some suspicions. You know how people say you should communicate and not jump to conclusions? Well, I communicated. I asked her if she was having an affair. She responded with something along the lines of 'how dare you accuse me!' I was locked out of the bedroom that night." "Hoo boy, I know about communication problems," Mark said, "My marriage suffered from a communication mix-up. Oops, sorry, Sam. Keep going with your story." Samuel resumed. "Two days later Bobbi asked, 'remember the question you had for me Tuesday? The answer is yes. Yes, Sammy, I am having an affair. I love him. I don't love you.'" "That's cruel." I said. "Hey guys, I need to get to work pretty soon. But here's the ending. Roberta left. She filed for divorce. I ended up losing the family business. Now I am just a salaried worker at someone else's hardware store." Samuel got up and left. *** I wonder if Samuel's way of finding out about his cheating wife was better than mine. Is it more traumatic to walk in on your wife with her lover when they were getting dressed after doing the dirty deed? Samuel confronted his wife with his suspicions. I had suspicions, too, but I doubted the evidence so I never confronted Michelle. Would it have turned out differently had I confronted her? Actually I did not have suspicions as such. I had uneasy feelings. The first of those uneasy feelings was the day I got my HVAC technician certification in the mail. I completed the requirements a few weeks before and sent in the paperwork. My boss at work promised that a promotion and a huge raise go along with certification. "Woo hoo, Shell! Look at what I got in the mail," said I as I proudly showed her the certificate. "This calls for a celebration! Let's go dining and dancing." I was too excited to notice that Michelle was not eager to go out, but she finally said, "Let's go to the Legal Beagle. I have heard good things about that place. They have a dance floor in the lounge next to the restaurant, I understand." "Sure, why not?" I went to the bedroom to pick out some decent going-out-to-celebrate clothes. We I came out a few minutes later I heard Michelle on the phone. "My husband's taking me out tonight....the Legal Beagle....yes, isn't that a coincidence?" She giggled after that last part. I just assumed she was sharing the good news with one of her friends from work, and didn't suspect I should suspect anything. "Hello, handsome," she said to me. I better go get pretty, too. "That shouldn't take too much effort, Shell." "Tee hee. Flattery will get you everywhere, but not until later, Axe." Dinner was good. I enjoyed my walleye with slivered almonds. Michelle, however, kept glancing over to the room next door – the room with the bar and the dance floor. I just assumed that she was anxious to dance. Yes, she was anxious to dance, but it turned out that I wasn't her first choice in partners. I did not know that her boss and many of her co-workers were having a celebration in the Legal Beagle's Lounge. "I will go find us a place to sit in the lounge, while you pay for dinner, OK?" She didn't wait for my answer. Off she hustled. A few minutes later I looked around for her. I expected she would be alone at a booth or at a table. I didn't see her. John V. Adams walked up, "Hello, Xavier, so, I understand you are the reason Shell was late getting to the staff party." My mind was wondering about that. First, why was he calling her Shell? That's my pet name for her. As long as I've known her she has been Michelle to everyone except me. Second, Michelle was expected at a party that I knew nothing about? "Xavier, your wife is with us at our set of tables. Come along." He said that in his pompous commanding manner. John V. Adams led the way. He sat in the chair next to Michelle. I ended up at the end of the two pushed together tables. I was next to strangers. They were polite enough to say hello, but pretty much ignored me after that. When the next set of music started, I got up so I could dance with Michelle, but before I could get to her she was on her feet with Adams and then onto the dance floor. Some guy was in my chair when I got back to the end of the tables. He was having a cozy conversation to a woman there. "Excuse me. That's my chair." "Not anymore, bud," he growled at me. I suppose if he had bothered to look at me he might have been less rude. I hadn't played football for a few years, but I still had my linebacker size and body. I have never been in a barroom fight, but I was sure tempted to start one. I chose to walk away. I didn't really want to sit there. I wanted to be with my wife. My eyes searched for her. The dance floor was getting crowded with those people who think a slow song is for polishing buckles and other belly rubbing gyrations. I finally spotted Michelle with John at the far end of the dance floor. They were violating one of the 'principles' I learned in dance class: they were not keeping at least one body distance apart. In fact, if either was wearing a belt buckle it certainly would be well polished. Yes, I know that should have been another clue. I should have been suspicious. Instead of suspicion I felt irritation. There was that John V. Adams – great, great, great, something descendant of the John Q. Adams – enjoying my wife's company when I should have been. I worked my way over to them. The song stopped. I heard Michelle say "gotta pee." I don't think she even saw me as she rushed past. Michelle disappeared. So did John V. Adams. I found a stool by the bar, and ordered another of whatever beer they had on tap. My eyes wandered around the room and frequently glanced at the empty chairs where John and Michelle sat earlier. No sign of either of them. I was becoming even more irritated. Maybe I was suspicious too, but didn't realize it yet. Finally Michelle appeared. She sat at her place. About two minutes later the Adams asshole showed up, too. I made my way over to the table. I stood behind her. I heard her say "No, John, my feet hurt too much to dance anymore." The slowness of her speech told me that she had had too much to drink. Michelle jerked when I put my hand on her shoulder. She swiveled in her seat to see who was touching her. You might say she had a look of surprise upon seeing me. "Axe, what are you doing here?" "We came here together, remember?" "Oh, yea, I forgot," she pointed to John. "Have you met my boss from work? He put on this party." "Yes, we've met," I grumbled. John said hi and then looked away. I think he was stifling a smirk. Michelle then just slid off her chair onto the floor. She laughed the whole time. I managed to get the tipsy Michelle on her feet and out of the lounge. I got her into the car and took her home. I put her on the couch and removed her shoes. I remembered the comment about sore feet so I started to massage her toes and arches. "I don't feel like sex tonight," she said. She no longer acted drunk. "Huh?" "Every time you rub my toes you expect me to spread my legs for your cock, and I don't feel like it tonight!" She sounded angry. "But, Shell, you said your feet were sore from dancing, and I was just trying to make them feel better." "Back off, Axe, I'm not in the mood, so leave me alone." Sheesh! I wanted to be a loving husband. I wanted to get over my irritation with the way she ignored me all evening. I wanted to overlook the fact that she suggested the Legal Beagle because she knew of the party with staff and Asshole Adams. I wanted to believe she still wanted and loved me. I decided to back off. I left her there on the couch and went to bed. That was a lousy way to celebrate my HVAC certification. *** Mark and I were the first at McDonald's. He asked me about my air conditioning experience, "Why haven't you gotten a job as an HVAC tech?" "I just want to keep moving. A real job would just tie me down, and I am not ready to settle yet." Just then Paul arrived. "Look at you!" Mark exclaimed. Paul wasn't wearing his ever present bib overalls. He wore a white shirt and a tie, and his beard was cropped short. "What's the occasion, Paul? Getting married? Job interview?" "My daughter, Stacy, is coming to town. I haven't seen her since...well since... a long time. I wanted to look nice for her." Just then a woman appeared. She ran to Paul. "Daddy!" I could see a resemblance. Paul and his daughter had the same eyes, the same cheeks, and the same no-lobe ears. Standing at about five foot seven she appeared tall next to her father. I would guess that this woman was not more than forty years old. Not bad looking for someone that is no longer a youngster. The baggy sweatshirt wasn't baggy enough. It was obvious that large breasts attempted to hide under the sweatshirt. The jeans were not teen -tight but snug enough to let us know that perfect legs and butt were there. I peeked at the left hand. No ring. "Guys, this is my daughter, Stacy." "Stacy, the guy with the coke bottle glasses is Mark. He's a high faulting engineer with some big outfit. The big guy with all the muscles – and not just between the ears – is Xavier. He's a dishwasher who fixes air conditioners on the side." "Hello, Mark. Hello, Xavier," said the dark haired woman with a beautiful smile. Yikes, Mark is smitten! He couldn't take his eyes off her. I think she was smitten in return. Paul and Stacy slid into the booth. Paul by me, and Stacy across from him – next to Mark. "Gentlemen, SASG is an equal opportunity group, isn't it? Stacy is single again, and before anyone gets the wrong ideas let's get a quick version of her story," Paul said. Stacy's story was short and quick. She was married for a dozen years. She and her husband didn't have much in common and just drifted apart. Two years ago they decided to separate; the separation became a divorce. A couple of weeks ago she returned to South Dakota. Just out of curiosity she dialed her old home phone number one day and was pleasantly surprised and very pleased when her father answered. Stacy became a regular visitor to McDonald's and SASG. The official reason was to spend some time with her father, but it soon became apparent that the real attraction was Mark Anderson. They became a loving couple. *** Once upon a time Michelle and I were a loving couple, too. Even though her dad paid for the schooling I supported her college quest at Newbury College. Later, she supported me during my studies and apprenticeship as a heating cooling technician. We supported each other when it came time to buy a house. We were, I thought, a loving couple. That's why it hurt me when she rejected my attention – rejected me – the night we 'celebrated' my HVAC certification. She didn't want a toe/foot rub because it would lead to sex. She didn't want sex. A more alert, a more suspicious husband might have concluded out that Michelle already had sex. When she and John V. Adams disappeared that evening, they might have been off doing the hanky panky. I resolved to continue being a loving husband, but I would be careful to show affection without appearing to be demanding sex. I refrained from initiating sex but continued to do loving things such as massaging her back. A few days after the incident at the Legal Beagle Lounge incident and aftermath Michelle said, "My feet hurt." She was at the other end of the couch and planted her feet in my lap. I massaged each toe carefully, and I rubbed the soles gently without tickling. She purred the way she did on our wedding night. I did not move to the calves, or thighs, or pussy. I concentrated on the sore feet. Michelle probably wanted to make sexual love, but I was determined to prove that I could do a loving thing like a foot rub without expecting it to progress to sex. It was hard, but I managed to control myself. "My fingers are tired," I finally announced, "and I gotta pee." I did not go back to the couch. Instead I emptied the dishwasher, putting everything in the right places. I then swept and mopped the kitchen. I do those things, but not usually on a Thursday night. Michelle watched TV until bedtime. SASG That night I got to bed first, when Michelle crawled under the covers I rolled over to face her. I kissed her passionately – first time in nearly a week. She responded by kissing back. Most times when we made love I did the 'work.' I always worked on pleasing her, and she pretty much let me do so. Kissing me wasn't out of character, but taking hold of my cock was. She fondled firmly but gently. Two minutes later another out-of-character very rare event. Michelle climbed on top and lowered her pussy onto my cock. She was pleasing herself with her rocking and wriggling, but I got my joy from it, too. It did not dawn on me that one the signs of a cheating spouse is doing something different in bed. Sure, she fucked from top dozens of times before, but it was always my idea, and it hadn't happened for a couple of years. I should have been suspicious, but I wasn't. As it turns out, that was our last time as a loving couple. *** Mark and Stacy wasted no time in becoming a couple. She and he sat together and snuggled every morning at the SASG meetings. Paul finally said, "Mark, before you and Stacy run off and leave us high and dry, you should tell your story. Some don't know the circumstances of you becoming single again." He pointed to me. "Does Stacy know?" "Yes, Paul. I told Stacy why I use a cane to walk. I know one of the 'rules' of SASG is that everyone tells why he/she is single. I will tell my story again, but soon we need to hear from X, too." Mark looked at me. "Xavier, you know I use a cane to get around, right? I froze some toes off one night from running around stocking footed in subzero weather in Fargo, North Dakota." Mark took off his baseball cap and parted some hair. "Can you see the huge scar on my scalp?" "Yes." I replied, "I think you are leading up to an interesting story." "True, true," he said as he showed me his left hand. "This hand doesn't open or close completely. I know you are panting to ask what these hurts have to do with my marriage." "I might ask," I replied, "but I will let you tell me in your own way." "One night I cooked supper for my then wife AJ. It was stir fry, and I used a huge skillet. Later that evening AJ used that skillet to crack open my skull and to destroy my left hand when I tried to defend myself." "Mark, you are leaving out the why," interrupted Paul. "I know. It just seems more dramatic to tell it this way. AJ got the mistaken idea that I had cheated on her. She got angry and used the first weapon she could find. I didn't have my shoes on when I escaped outside. It doesn't take long to freeze your toes in twenty or so below zero weather. I have seen AJ only twice since then. The last time was in an attorney's office for divorce discussions. By the way, I did not ever cheat on her." *** The end of Mark's marriage was even more violent than mine, but there was violence. It was a Friday afternoon. Business was slow. My boss at ABC Plumbing and HVAC told me to take my work van in for oil change and routine maintenance. He said to take the rest of the day off. I walked the three blocks from the garage to our shop, got in my car, and went home. I was thinking I would start dinner and have some wonderful food aromas to greet Shell. She would be home at about six. That would be plenty of time to prepare a surprise for her. I was the one surprised though. Shelly was already home, and she wasn't alone. I did not expect to find anyone home so I started looking through the kitchen cupboards and refrigerator for things to cook. I must have made a bit of racket. Suddenly I heard, "Axe, why are you home?" I turned to see Michelle. She was holding a softball bat. Shell was wearing only a flimsy robe that was open in the front. The peek-a-boo effect of her breasts and fur covered mound should have made my little boy [it's really not so little] stand up, but the softball bat in her hands ruined the effect. I guessed that she had the bat because she heard what might have been an intruder. The next thing I saw was a shirtless man who was pulling up his pants. It was that pompous asshole John V. Adams. "What are you doing in my house?" I demanded. "I was giving your wife her bonus for this month," he sneered, "or maybe it's her weekly bonus." "I think you better leave now, Adams." "Listen, Xavier, I will leave when I am good and ready. I was almost ready to leave before you barged in here, but now I think I will stay to give your wife another bonus. If you say 'pretty please' we might let you watch." As I rolled my fingers into fists I said, "No way, José. You are leaving now. If you leave willingly I won't have to carry you out." "You don't scare me. You're just an old washed up football jock. I know karate." He attacked me then. True, it had been a half dozen years since I was an offensive lineman, but I still remembered the moves. He charged at me and tried to do some sort of fancy kick. I ignored his foot and moved right into him. I used the simple move of just grabbing behind the head and pulling him down. Asshole Adams found himself on the floor within seconds. He got up and charged again. Again I took him down. "Stop it. Stop it." I heard Michelle say. Adams attacked me a third time. Just as I was starting to smash him down to the floor Michelle hit me with the bat. Michelle hit ME. Michelle hit her very own husband. Michelle hit the man who loved her. Michelle hit me while I was busy defending myself from a so-called karate attack. "OK, Uncle!" I shouted. "I give up. You can have her." I rushed out of the room, ran to the garage, started the Alero, and drove off. *** The crew of SASG, Paul, Mark, Stacy, and George, listened quietly and nodded their heads once in awhile as I related my narrative in late August. Samuel wasn't there yet. "Well guys and gal, that was ten months ago. I have been on the move every since. Until I met up with you I didn't stay anywhere more than three weeks. Except for my car I left everything behind. I used credit cards until one day they quit working. So, I would travel until I got low on cash and then would get some low-paying temporary job for awhile." "Did you ever contact your wife?" asked Stacy. "No. And I don't plan on it." "Maybe she has an explanation for what happened," suggested Stacy. "Maybe so, but I think it would be something along the lines of feeling the need to experience other men – like she forewarned me a couple or so months before I caught her. George here knows how that was." George nodded. "Even if I could get over the infidelity there's no way I can ever excuse taking HIS side instead of mine. She hit me with a bat!" Mark opined, "That's gotta hurt as much as a frying pan." "Actually, she didn't use enough force to hurt me. Physically, that is, but the emotional hurt was severe. I, like you, decided I couldn't live with a woman who would do such a thing. That's why I left and why I have traveled. I am getting as far away from her as I can." *** The softball bat was a gift from Michelle. It was given, of course, in happier times. Two summers after we got married I played on a softball team with a bunch of other guys from our high school. Michelle and some of the other wives sat on the bleachers to cheer us on. One day I admired a bat that a player on the opposing team was using. Believe it or not, the guy let me borrow it. I hit a homerun against them! My birthday was a couple of weeks later. Michelle presented me with an identical bat. I thanked her later with one of my favorite Shell pleasing activities: a toe, foot, calf, thigh, and so on massage. *** Mark must have been doing some massages or other wonderful things with Stacy. She came to the SASG meeting all happy and cheerful. She made a point of waving her left hand in our faces. Duh, are guys blind to those things? "Come on guys, take a look!" She demanded. Her father, Paul, just sat there shaking from trying to suppress his laughter. "Stacy, you need to be more blunt with these blockheads," he said. "Guys, what's that little thing on Stacy's left hand ring finger." Now it hit us. Mark and Stacy were engaged. That little thing wasn't so little when you talk diamond sizes. *** Michelle never did get a diamond from me. When we had the shotgun wedding neither of us was working and couldn't afford a diamond. My dad 'loaned' me enough to buy a wedding band though. She never said she missed having a diamond. Come to think of it, in the nearly seven years of our marriage she never complained about missing anything – except for the time she talked about not ever experiencing other men. *** The next day you would have thought Samuel was a girl who just got a huge diamond engagement ring. He was practically dancing on his way to our usual booth at McDonalds. "Hey, guys, you are looking at a hardware store owner!" "What happened, Sam," asked Paul. "Ta da! Yesterday the bank that held the mortgage on the family hardware store called." Samuel quit dancing and prancing long enough to tell us that his ex-wife and her lover mismanaged the store, didn't make payments, and the bank foreclosed on it. "The guy at the bank – an old friend of mine – said they'd give me a super sweet deal if I would buy the hardware store from them," Samuel crowed. "Of course, I said 'YES.'" "Wow, that's great news, Sam," Paul said. We all congratulated him and learned he would be moving west river in two weeks. He felt the need to give notice at Ace or he would already be gone. Mark got engaged. Samuel got his hardware store back. George already had his new loving wife. Paul is reunited with his daughter. Where's my happy ever after? I was happy for my friends, but I was depressed when I went home to my Oldsmobile Alero in the Wal-Mart parking lot. By then I had enough money from the dishwashing job that I probably could afford to rent an apartment, but the urge to move on might strike at any moment. I looked at the little calendar that was attached to the dash by the radio. Only one day until an anniversary. It was nearly a year since I drove away from my Boston home and Michelle. Except for that day and a handful of uneasy feelings / suspicions Michelle and I had a great life together. I loved her, and I really thought she loved me, too. I probably still love her. If only she hadn't gotten that idea about experiencing other men. I often wondered about how things would have turned out if I had just simply taken the bat away from her and used it to beat her lover senseless. In the morning I felt like shit. OK, I don't really go around feeling shit, so I don't know what it feels like. Nevertheless, I was not feeling well. I drove to McDonalds because I wasn't feeling up to walking. Even though the first of September was still a hot day in the Dakotas I felt chilled. I put on my jacket before going into McDonalds. I didn't bother with ordering anything. I just sat down at our usual booth. For the first time I was the first one there. While I waited for the others I laid my head on the table. I suddenly was shivering and could barely breathe. No matter how deep a breath I took I just couldn't get enough air. I felt a hand on my forehead. "Hey Dad, X, is burning up," a female voice said. I assumed it was Stacy. I probably looked like a pathetic puppy dog as I struggled to breathe. "Dad, let's get him to a doctor." Paul and Stacy helped me to my feet and guided me to Paul's car. Stacy got out her cell phone. "Mark, we're taking Xavier to the clinic. He's sick." "Pneumonia," is what the doctor announced after blood test and x-ray. She proscribed some medicine and advised "go to bed and stay there for a day or two." Stacy, who had stayed with me the whole time, took the prescription and led me to a drug store across the street. "Hey, that's my wife's drug store chain," I told Stacy. "I didn't know they had stores this far west." I shivered in a chair while Stacy took care of business at the pharmacy counter. "Axe, is that you?" I familiar voice said. Except for Michelle no one has called me Axe since I graduated from high school six or so years ago. I looked up to a friendly face, a face that wasn't so friendly a year – exactly a year – ago. "Shell?" Stacy had the medicine by then. She came up to me. "Here we are, X, let's get you home. You need to take a pill and get into bed." "Who are you?" demanded Michelle "and what are doing with my husband?" If eye-contact could make sparks there would have been a whole room full of them! "He's your husband?" Stacy icily asked. "Are you the slut who used a bat to chase him out of his home?" Paul showed up again. "Ladies, let's not have a scene. Xavier needs to get home to bed." He turned to me, "Xavier, let's go. Where's your place?" I wasn't about to admit in front of my friends, and the woman who once was the love of my life that I was homeless, but what could I say? "Paul, come here." He did. I whispered into his ear. Paul, the diplomat, said to the women, "Xavier needs to be somewhere where we can watch over him. Apparently his place isn't suitable." "He can stay in my room at the motel," said Michelle. "Who are you?" asked Paul. "I am Axe's, I mean Xavier's, wife." I was feeling too sick to react. Stacy glared at Michelle. Paul just nodded. "OK, let's get him there." I slept, I slept, and I slept some more. The medicine must have worked because I felt much better and could breathe again. I awoke to voices. I feigned sleep just so I could listen in. "That's not the way Xavier saw it. He thinks you were taking the other guy's side in the fight." That was Stacy's voice. "Yes, I understand now how he would have seen it that way. I was afraid Axe would get into trouble for hurting John. Axe is much larger and stronger, you know." That was Michelle. "Axe could have hurt him bad, and maybe get arrested or something. "That sort of makes sense, but he was defending himself in his own home." "I didn't take time to think about that. I was too scared. I was still in shock over Axe finding me nearly naked with John. Obviously I was not thinking clearly." Stacy responded, "X is a wonderful man. I am proud to say he's one of my fiancé's friends, and one of my friends. I cannot imagine why you would cheat on him!" "I didn't." "What do mean, you didn't?" "I didn't cheat. I was going to but Xavier came home before John and I ever got as far as the couch," said Michelle. As soon as I saw Axe in the kitchen I realized how foolish I was. I thought I wanted to experience other men, but I knew in my heart that Axe was really the only one for me." Stacy bit off these choice words, "Ya, right, he's your one and only, but he's the one you hit with a bat!" "As soon as Axe left I told John to get out and I swung the bat at him. He dodged, but left anyway. I was suddenly glad that Axe interrupted the affair before it started. I was glad that I was not unfaithful. My husband was going to hear me grovel and beg for forgiveness when he cooled down and came home. Only he never came home." As much as I wanted to ease drop some more on the conversation I couldn't hold back the need to use the restroom. I tried to make it sound like I was just waking up One of them said to me, "Can we get you anything?" I said, "You can give me some privacy for a bit. My mother taught me that girls are not supposed to see my underwear." They both turned around while I walked into the bathroom where I closed the door. The girls burst out laughing. "Who do you think stripped you down to your underwear while you were out it this morning?" Stacy called through the door. "And I've seen your underwear, and what's under it, many times," added Michelle. My bathroom visit took a long time because I sat there thinking about what I overheard. Shell didn't really side with Asshole Adams. Shell didn't really break her marriage vows. She came close to it, but didn't really go through with it. My year of running away, my year of misery, might not have been necessary. "Stacy, Michelle, I am coming out. Is it time for me to take another pill?" I came out. Stacy was looking the other way. Michelle looked right at me and held out a pill. "Thanks," I said after I swallowed it down. I went back to bed. I woke up in the middle of the night. I was dripping wet from sweat. I felt like I was in the middle of a puddle. To me that was a sign that my fever broke. I rolled over and fell to sleep without realizing I had snuggled up to the person next to me. It's amazing what some meds and a good night's sleep on a real bed can do for a guy. I awoke feeling refreshed and healthy. "Good morning. I love you." said Michelle who was next to me in bed. I don't think I could count how many times I woke up to those words for the six years we lived together. Was my year of exile just a dream? Healing and reconciliation are going to happen. I wanted Michelle back into my life, and it was plain that she wanted back into mine. I might not totally trust her again, but I remember what she said to Stacy – "but I knew in my heart that Axe was really the only one for me." "I am sorry about what happened. Will you let me explain?" "No." "No?" She looked hurt. "You don't need to explain. I overheard what you told Stacy. Speaking of Stacy, where is she?" "Some guy named Mark came to get her last evening." "So we are alone?" "Yup. How are you feeling?" "I haven't felt this good for a year." "Do you feel healthy enough to give me a toe rub? My feet hurt. Oh, and don't stop with the toes, keep working your way up." I started massaging her bare toes and feet. She purred like she enjoyed that. I massaged and massaged for a long time, eventually moving onto her calves. She enjoyed that, too. Thighs came next. My fingers kneaded and massaged until they were starting to ache. They stayed away from Michelle's pussy until her legs opened up to a V. There before my eyes and near my fingers was a triangle of pubic hair. Gently, but firmly, I rubbed paying close attention to the sensitive spot at the entrance of the pussy crevice. Again Michelle purred. "Axe, I need you." Without any guidance my cock found its way into Michelle's hot and juicy love opening. *** For the first time since arriving in South Dakota I missed the gathering of the SASG. I suppose I don't really belong to it anymore. Stacy stopped by the motel. When we answered the knock, she said, "My, my do I see some honeymooners?" "Well, Xavier, you are looking healthy. We expect you and Michelle to show up at McDonalds tomorrow." "We will be there," Michelle answered for me. No, we didn't spend the rest of the day and night screwing, but some of that did happen. We talked. I learned that John V. Adams continued with his pursuit of getting into her panties until she threatened to file sexual harassment charges. He asked for a transfer to one of the other divisions, one that had offices in another town. Michelle got promoted to John's job. Visiting the various stores was part of her job as Director of Marketing and Promotions for the drugstore chain. That's how she happened to be in South Dakota. "Axe, I want us to be a couple again. Will you come back to Boston? You can probably get an air conditioning job. You could even be fussy about the choice. I earn more now more than both of us did last year." "Michelle, I have friends here. I would hate to leave them, but you are more important. I love you and I want to live with you." SASG Bright and early the next day Michelle and I went to McDonalds for one last time with the guys. It was one of those rare times that Paul wasn't the first one in. We were having coffee when I heard, "I lost my eye and my wife on the same day. I miss her more than I miss the eye." Paul was talking to some kids at a nearby table. Paul, the bearded one-eyed old man with baggy bib overalls and a plaid shirt sat down with us. "Paul, I heard what you said to those kids," I said. "I have been waiting months to hear your story." "I've been waiting even longer," said Mark. "You can just keep on waiting," was Paul's reply. The End.