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Hearth

By: Venus Inference



The blue-breasted mother stood over her warm fledglings with contentedness, and perhaps even pride. Her babies yipped, and the sun shone. The forecast called for a cloudless, eighty-seven degree atmosphere throughout the day. Inside, bathing, Denise watched through the bathroom window; the version of reality she witnessed, a polar opposite.

The robin family huddled to preserve their warmth. The mother and father froze at a sacrifice for the cuddling newborns. The wind blew a branch from their home across the frosted pane the young girl gazed out of, into her misperceptions. The tree's extremity flew across, scratching and bloomless, hopeless, making imperfect ellipses in perfect step with the tenacious volition of the cyclic gale. Should one of the poor birds have fallen, they would have died in the snow, unaccounted, while individual feather hairs stuck to one another, inseparable even to God.

Denise sponged her knees and breasts. If numbness were not, itself, some thing, then there would have been no thing going on in her adolescent brain. She may have even contemplated suicide while she was shaving her legs, though the thought of alleviation more or less made her laugh. Such a concept must be some kind of running gag in this small, senseless universe, right? In all of its cruelty and gravity, the horizons correspond only with their limits. When she cried, she cried alone, and so laughter had become an open wound. She was convinced that if she made it to Heaven, the cable would go out and the screen would scroll, lending her to an accidental cameo between Lucifer's wisdom teeth, where she'd be ground for eternity, and forced to make eyes with the only man Christ ever trusted... but she didn't really believe in Heaven or Hell. No, hearth had come to be the one concrete she could put any faith in. The rest was too abstract. Meanwhile, the boy of her dreams dreamt up combinations of purity and sex with Denise in the dirtiest corners of Texaco gas stations across America; graffitied stalls offering nothing but serrated wit, timeless advice... and, of course, the ambiance.

Denise sighed for a happy family of robins, who were in perfect health. That they hadn't already high-tailed it south, three weeks ago, didn't even cross her mind. That she may have been delusional could not possibly have penetrated the filter that now surrounded all of her thoughts: Caleb already had a girlfriend. Her prophecy was a self-fulfilling one. "Nose to the ground," she would tell herself. At school, his girlfriend was the only thing keeping his eyes from wandering, in lust, all over her pale portrait of living death. In his own bed, nothing could stop his very mind from turning the eye of his soul in the right direction. When morning came, he changed his sheets, but had to stop and consider whether or not he really wanted to.

Denise would be asleep soon, in bed. For a brief moment, she lost her grip and he leapt into her thoughts, seconds before she would have stepped out of the tub. Her body tensed as she closed her tear ducts from letting go more than that first drop, rolling down her cheek. Perhaps, her fingers even briefly trailed her tender parts, but she kept those fingers collared and chained. To deny herself pleasure, she felt, made her one with that universe that she tried harder and harder to blink, as the years rolled over. It simply would not go away... and so, she thought, "I will just be a mirror." She batted at the soapy surface of the lacustrine body, contained within the smooth, porcelain tub she had earlier crawled into. It was a gesture of frustration. To deny herself release improved the accuracy of the image, her reflection in nature.

While her fancy fantasized about making her come, repeatedly, violently, she was oblivious, blind to all of the signs. She was nothing but a wilted wallflower, and he, though he secretly despised everything he was, had still carried the school through an average of 13 pigskin victories a season for the last six years. His vapid girlfriend had been on the sidelines, cheering him on for all six of them. Nothing had changed. They both had the same friends, now, that they had in the beginning. Despite his confidence on the field, he was a coward where it counted. He let his fear conquer him when it came to his yearnings for this other, paler, poorer girl.

Denise did, too, dream that night. She dreamt of a dismal strip on the interstate where cars would periodically stop, so that their drivers could step out of their vehicles, single or widowed, cheated on or just lonely, and mount the otherwise useless poles, erected along the shoulders of the road. It was dark and the fog was thick. These men and women, so desperate for any kind of reconciliation, projected life onto the exanimate columns. It was there that they fulfilled their most intimate and immediate obligations to themselves. Some merely wrapped their arms around their lovers, and caressed imaginary heads of hair for hours. Others would undulate, vehemently, preoccupied with some neurotic dismissal of their own symbiotic nature. They would scream archaic syllables and do things with their tongue that wouldn't have been possible, were it not that the pitchfork belonged to The Devil, and in his hands.

From outside, where the breeze was constant, and invigorating for the birds, or whichever people were lucky enough to be able to speak of their own mental health from an honest perspective, the branch continued to scrape and pry at the window to a young girl's soul. That girl is no longer present. She has settled for another world, where it is always winter, and the human race is too selfish to adapt; distance, a way of life, and much easier to accept than the risk of adventure, or even travel.

Hearth & Home



As I sit here at work, I think about how the snow is falling ever so quickly but lightly on the ground. I think about how much longer it will take for me to get home tonight. I just called you, little one, to let you know that I will be late. But being the good sub that you are, you are already prepared. You tell your Master that you are taking a bath -- readying yourself got my return. You tell me that you are hungry, and I know that you crave a taste of my cock. I tell you that I am stroking myself for you. I hear a whimper, and I hang up leaving you with that thought.

Finally, after much delay, I arrive home. You greet me at the door in a black silk robe with a glass of wine in your hand. Ever so gracefully, you curtsy and kneel before your Master's feet. I bend over, place a kiss on your forehead, and pull your face close to feel my hardness that awaits you. "Would you like some, little girl?" You dare not to speak, but I can see the glimmer in your eyes. I motion you up and take you by your leash to my chair in front of the fireplace. "Good girl, I see you have built a roaring fire for your Master.”

“Thank you, Master," you respond. "Take your robe off and kneel before me, my pet," I say. You obey without hesitation since all you know is to obey and serve. I lean forward and take each of your nipples in my hand. I pinch and pull on them until they are hard and standing at attention. I place a pair of nipple clamps on them. You moan from the pain, but I know you feel the pleasure as well. I lean back in my chair and admire the view. "How gorgeous you look, little one," I say. You smile. 

"Spread you legs apart wider, so that I may see that pussy of mine better. Now take your little finger and trace your lips," I command. 

You obey and try very hard to concentrate with the task at hand. I can clearly see your wetness between your legs, and this brings a smirk to my face. 

"Rub your clit and make yourself hard for your Master," I say. 

Again you obey. Every now and then, I hear you moan with pleasure. You watch as I unzip my pants and expose my hardness to you. I watch as your eyes grow bigger and sparkle. 

"Is this what you want, my pet?" I say. 

You nod your head as you watch your Master stroke the cock in his hand. "Turn around, little one, and get on your hands and knees," I command. Quickly, you obey with anticipation of what is to come. "Stay still and eyes forward," I order. I take my hand and spread you pussy lips to check your wetness. 

"All this is for me, my pet?" I ask.

"Yes, Sir, all for you," you pant. I tease and pinch your clit. I grab a feather and brush your back with it. The feather touches your nipples, your neck, your face, your ass, your thighs, and your pussy. I start to see the wetness drip down your thighs. And when you least expect it, I slap your ass with my hand. You sense the warmth and sting that overcomes your body, and all you can do is say "thank you, Sir, may I have another.”

“My pleasure, my pet," I respond. My hand alternates with slaps between your ass cheeks and your pussy. You are starting to become very vocal at this point. I reach over, lube up a butt plug, and during one of the smacks, I ram the plug in your ass. At first you are shocked, but then you feel the extreme pleasure I just delivered. I tease your ass by moving the plug in and out. You arch your back and push you ass into me to accept the plug. "How does it feel, my slut?" I ask as I place my fingers in and out of your wet pussy. All you can manage to do is moan and groan with pleasure. I return to my chair.

I summon you over. I notice you are having a little difficulty in maneuvering over to the chair with the plug and clamps in place. "Do you want my cock, little one?" I ask. All you do is lick your lips. "Go ahead then, my pet, I am sure you are hungry," I respond. I watch as you start by licking the tip and then work your way down the shaft. You continue as I reach for a breast to massage. You begin to moan as you start taking more of the cock in your mouth. "Does my pet want to cum tonight? Has she been good today?" I ask. 

You make an attempt to nod. I grab your hair and head and thrust you deeper onto my cock causing you to gag a little, but you quickly adapt to the new position. Faster and harder, I watch you swallow and suck. I pull you away. "What does my little one want tonight, tell your Master," I say.

"Sir, please fuck my ass," you respond. 

"Since you have been good, I will do you such the honor. Turn around and get back on your hands and knees," I command. I take your wetness from your pussy and lube my cock. I remove the plug, and you let out a small whimper. I tease your asshole with the tip of my cock, and then without warning, I thrust my entire cock into your ass. You scream and try not to fall forward, but quickly you arch back signifying you want more. First I am slow, and then I thrust harder and faster. I pull out and then ram back in with force. I watch as you have taken one of your hands and have starting rubbing your hard clit. I watch as you finger yourself. I will not stop you; I will allow you to feel the pleasure. "Does my little slut want to cum tonight?" I inquire. 

"Please, Master, please," you beg. I quickly pull out of your ass and replace the plug. I slap both cheeks hard enough to leave a hand mark. I place my cock in your wet pussy -- juices spilling out as I enter you. "Very well, little one, I want you to cum for your Master when I say," I demand. I thrust in and out of you pussy. I grab your hips, and pull you close so that you can feel all the hardness in you. Harder and faster with each stroke. I can see your knees weakening. I know that you are close. "CUM FOR ME, CUM FOR YOUR MASTER," I order. 

And on cue, you explode. You scream with ecstasy as you orgasm. It is always a beautiful sight to watch. I pull out and return to my chair. I give you a few moments to compose yourself, and allow you to remove the plug and the clamps. Then, I motion you to come over and sit on my lap. I place your head on my shoulder. I can still feel your body twitching. You manage to get composed enough to look up and say, "Thank you, Sir." 

I return with a kiss on your forehead and reply, "You did good little one, I am proud of you."



Hearth and Home



The following story is completely a work of fiction; just another tale of a husband's woes in the face of a cheating wife. I hope you enjoy it. I want to thank Harry R for once again proofreading and editing.

Well here goes: 

*

My name is Jeremy Armacost. Let's get the preliminary bullshit out of the way. I'm a man. I live in a man's world. I live in a free country. I read about all the crap other men go through when they find out their wives are cheating on them. We all now the litany. Oh I'm so brokenhearted! My wife doesn't think I'm good enough. Oh I think I'll just wring my hands and cry. How can I face my friends? My dick wasn't big enough? Will I ever regain my self-respect? How could she have done this to me, to our happy home? I can't bear the thought...Well shit!

I'm a thirty-seven year old ex-securities consultant and adviser for a nationally known brokerage firm. I worked out of a branch office in a medium sized city in the Middle Atlantic States; that's close enough for you. I stand a comfortable 6' 3" tall, and I weigh in at an even 200 lbs. I have light brown hair and blue eyes. 

Most women find me handsome, and over the years I've taken advantage of that. I had no trouble getting dates while I was in high school and college, and since college, though married I've made it with one or two or maybe three others. I'll be clear about my infidelities; I'm no wife stealer. If I find out the woman is married I back off, and if I think my wife might know any of the women I nail, why I steer clear of them too. I like women. I like looking at their naked bodies. I like what they can do for me.

I'm pretty muscular. I lift weights. I took boxing lessons in college, and I've had a few, not many, but a few karate lessons. I seldom drink, and I never took up smoking. When I do drink I'm careful; I never get drunk. I keep in shape; most women don't want to sleep with some slack jawed pot-bellied potato chip eating doughboy. Of course I said I was married, and trust me I'm faithful in my way.

My favorite hobbies are canoeing, hunting and fishing. I do my canoeing and fishing mostly up and down the many rivers in the northeast, and I have several deer heads in the den I had built over my garage. Several of my friends and I went bear hunting in upstate Maine not long ago. I got one. I'm also a gun collector. By guns I mean all types of firearms from shotguns, to rifles to an assortment of pistols including one old World War Two German Luger. When I get a deer, I skin it, I clean it, I cut it up in steaks, and then I take the residue and make my own deer sausage.

My wife won't eat deer meat; I guess she's watched Bambi too many times. Just the same I make her help me with the skinning and the gutting. She gets her hands bloody; sometimes she gets sick. Too bad; women in the old days did it. 

Don't get me wrong. I have a softer side. I like to sing and dance. In fact I've tried stand-up comedy at some of the local clubs. I play the piano and I play the violin. If you think I was a stud in college you're probably right. I guess so far I don't sound like a very sympathetic person. Well I'd like everyone to reconsider. I love my kids and I'm good to my wife. I'm very fond of my wife. Honestly, everything I do now is about my kids and my family. 

Let me tell you a little about my kids. Felicity, she's the oldest, she loves to dance, and if you ask me I think she's a natural. Since mom says she doesn't like to the ferry kids around all the time I take her to all her lessons. I go to all Felicity's recitals and all the other shows the dance group she belongs to performs. You'd be surprised at how many dance companies there are, how many performances take place, and how much money it costs what with lessons, costumes, and performance fees. I don't care; if that's what Felicity likes then that's it.

Jeremy Junior, he's my son and second of our three, well he's likes soccer and lacrosse. I used to loathe soccer, but loved lacrosse. I would have preferred if he'd signed up for football. He's a muscular kid; he could've kicked some butt. Either way in the fall I'm at every soccer match and in the spring I don't miss a single lacrosse game. I even had my old stick repaired so he and I can practice up in the back yard.

Then `there's the baby, little Farrah. Farrah's still pretty much into dolls and such. I found out they have these doll houses, not the old fashioned ones you can buy that are already made up. I mean the nice ones that have to be put together and painted. I bought one of those kits and spent I bet two dozen nights hiding in my den putting the thing together and painting it all up for her for Christmas. That was one of the greatest Christmases of my life. I remember Farrah came bounding down the stairs to see what was under the tree, got halfway down, sat down on the steps and started to cry. She'd wanted a special doll house like that but she hadn't told anyone. She gulped and cried, "Look! Santa knew!" Man I cried.

So remember, for me it's about the kids. I love kids.

There is a down side. I was born into a fairly affluent family. My grandfather left me a nice trust fund upon his death. Of course I feel the need to work, but overall I'm not especially ambitious.

Of course I'm married, been married for fourteen years. My wife's name is Greta. She and I met while we were in college; the college is irrelevant. We met when she was a sophomore, and I was a senior. I graduated and immediately continued my education and got an MBA, Greta graduated a little later. 

After we met, as expected, she fell madly in love with me. We got married, and went right to work building a family. Greta said she wanted six or seven kids, but we agreed to stop after three; she'd been to the doctors after Farrah and he told her she had some medical problems that apparently precluded any more pregnancies.

Right out of graduate school I landed a plum job, and went right to work. Honestly I had an inside track on the job; friends of my family helped me out. Back then I was on the fast track for advancement; unfortunately that came screeching to a halt shortly after Farrah arrived. It didn't matter at the time; even without any promotions I was making damn good money. I might as well tell everyone life was good. I had three terrific kids, a loving wife, a great job, and a trust fund to fall back on. 

It was just a couple years ago my apple cart sort of got tipped over. I'd foregone the first opportunity for advancement. Mainly I passed on the first chance because Greta wanted to stay where we lived. It's in the same county where she grew up, and all her friends and family lived there. I told her it could hurt me later on, but she was adamant, she wanted to stay home. 

A few months after I turned down my first chance I got a second offer. I talked it over with Greta again, and she held the same line. She was still afraid we'd have to move. Well I loved living near my family, I found it would please Greta, and I was crazy about her mom, her dad, and her two younger sisters so I turned down promotion number two. Everyone knows how that can play out; offer number two was my last chance. I was stuck where I was. I didn't care very much. My job was just a reason to get out of bed and leave the house. My real life began and ended with my kids.

Several years ago when the bottom fell out of the economy people everywhere were looking to cut back. At the company where I worked I was perceived as someone with no ambition, they were right, so down the toilet I was flushed. Big job gone I thought I'd scrounge around and find something. I did, I found something working at a local bank giving stock advice to newlyweds. The pay wasn't as good but the hours were great. Like I said I didn't care too much; it got me out of the house so I could pretend to be a professional. Actually I considered myself a professional dad more than anything else. I got Felicity her own shotgun as soon as she started the third grade. Wow, was she ever pleased. 

By then Farrah was old enough to be put in day care so Greta took it upon herself to make up the lost income by finding something on her own. Heck it didn't matter if she wanted to get out a little I could find ways to get home early so none of the kids missed much. Oh, maybe there weren't any more brownies when they got home, but there never had been anyway. Greta never liked to cook. 

Am I going too fast for you? We didn't need the money. I think Greta was just bored. Greta wanted to work outside the house. That was cool.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Greta has always been one hot looking babe. She was popular in college; guys chased her all over the place. She had that waifish lost little girl look. She wore pretty clothes that gave her a childlike appearance. I remember those cute little romper and jumper sets. She'd wear white button up blouses, peter pan collars and capped shoulders. She was as cute as a button; kind of a miniature, baby sized, Barbie. Yeah, I tracked her down like she was a young deer. Once I got her in my sites it was all over. Sure bet, I wasn't worried. I knew when I was ready she'd end up with me, and she did.

Greta's small; to say she's five foot two is a stretch and she weighs less than a hundred pounds. She's petite; she's got small boobs, a tight little ass, pretty green eyes, and dark brown hair. 

Did I say; she's great in bed? Well she's not; she's just about the lousiest piece of ass I've ever had. I didn't marry her for the sex though; sex I can get anyplace. I married her because I liked the way she looked on my arm; she's great eye candy. OK, I married her because she had a great personality, or at least she did once, that's all kind of changed, but she'll get it back, of that I can promise. 

Greta found something at an insurance company. She started out as a secretary, but with her talent for talking, her bureaucratic skills, and her beauteous personality she was soon the center of attention. 

She got herself a new wardrobe that I didn't like very much. She ditched the childlike elfin look for what she thought was something more sophisticated. I think it was it was a rebellion thing; her parents and I preferred the youthful look, I think she wanted to show a little defiance. I didn't care, not really. I thought the tight skirts and over short dresses all looked stupid. It was the start of hunting season anyway. 

She put in about a year as a secretary, and then bingo she got her first promotion, head of the small secretarial pool. Did I say bingo? I meant to say bang. She was on her way! In no time one thing led to another and pretty soon she was managing their claims department. She'd even been moved past older more experienced employees. In fact her last promotion led to two of their longer term employees leaving. At the time I thought it was just sour grapes that they left. At the time I also never thought anything else about it either. This was my wife after all, nobody messed with my stuff.

Other things started to change for me once I crossed into my thirties. My children had always been top priority, but as they got older and developed their own personalities what happened to them became even more important. 

My sexual escapades, yes I admit it I had been a philanderer back in my younger days, came to a screeching halt. My kids needed me, and I realized Greta did too. I started to spend a lot more time cherishing and doting on my kids. 

Greta might have gotten overlooked a little bit. Still she had my affection. She'd made me my babies, she was a good girl, and lately she'd found a pretty good job. She was entitled to more respect, and I gave it to her.

That's a wrong statement. Greta always got attention. Remember I cared about her. Once she started work I took an interest in everything she did at her job, and for the longest time she would spend what seemed like hours detailing every single thing that happened at her work. I paid attention too. She'd talk about new employees, trouble with the computers, the lazy mailman, I mean everything.

Yes, Greta would talk about work, new programs, and all the new rules and regulations coming out of government. She said she hated Obama care. I didn't quite get that since her company handled mostly car and home owners insurance. I guess that's what she heard so she just passed it along. What I mean I guess is she kept me informed about everything that went on in her office. I never got a word in edge-wise. Then one day it was like it all just stopped. It was like out of the blue my normally loquacious wife just shut up. 

I never paid any visits to her office. I thought that was hers, and I shouldn't meddle. I trusted my wife. Oh I knew about all the people she worked with, or at least I thought I knew. Honestly I wasn't worried. I mean I cared, of course I cared; I just wasn't worried.

It was OK if she didn't want to talk about her job anymore because I preferred talking about the kids anyway. But that turned out to be another thing. Once upon a time Greta loved hearing about the kids and she loved participating in all the stuff they did. Damn, most married people know the routine, weekends and summers are always centered on what the kids were doing. Greta and I used to sit down with the calendar and pencil in all the stuff the kids would do; then we argue over who would watch what. I recall Greta used to like to take a folding chair to the lacrosse games and gossip with the other wives, and at the recitals, many of which were held in school auditoriums, Greta liked to sit with the other moms and yes, gossip some more.

Somewhere, or should I say, sometime after her second promotion Greta started losing interest in what the kids were doing. At first I never thought much of it. Then something happened that stirred my rather bland and uninspired imagination.

Shortly after Greta's second promotion her company's regional boss decided to have an outdoor barbeque. That sounded great; only problem, no kids. Well that was OK; we'd farm the kids out to her mom and dad. That done it was going to be off to the barbeque for old Jeremy and Greta.

The barbeque was at John Muldoon's house. He was the head honcho at the insurance company, and he had a big house that overlooked one of the nearby rivers. He had a small pier, a couple boats, and a small boathouse. I'd been there before, but with some of the guys I go hunting and fishing with. Muldoon had a few friends who liked to hunt and fish, and one time we used his small pier as a put in when we were canoeing and fishing. So I was fairly familiar with the lay out. Greta never knew this. I didn't think it was such a big deal to tell her anyway.

We got to the barbeque about the same time as everybody else, and honestly I had a pretty good time. I drank a couple Coors. I listened to some of the stories the other men had about what they did for a living. I laughed at all the jokes, and I tried to make sure Greta was entertained.

Entertaining Greta; that was an interesting aside; whenever we'd gone anywhere like a barbeque or a dance, or say a party she used to cling to me like a vine. Well this afternoon I hardly saw her. I didn't think much of it at first until I noticed I kept seeing her with the same guy. I'd never met him, and though I thought knew most of the people who worked where Greta did this guy didn't ring a bell. 

I pulled one of the girls aside and asked her who the new boy was. She gave me this funny look; then she told me he was Greta's new boss. She explained he'd been with them about three months. She said his name was Gary Weaver, he'd been assigned to their branch office to get some needed experience, and that they expected he'd be gone soon for an even bigger job probably south to like Atlanta or north to maybe Hartford. After that I kind of kept a little closer watch on my wife. What I saw was kind of disquieting.

The first thing that crossed my mind was how I remembered the way she used to behave when we'd be at functions like this. She'd be on my arm almost the whole time. She'd be with me when we ate, and she'd keep her hand on my arm and we'd promenade about all over the place talking and mixing. What was happening today was this new guy, this Gary Weaver, was usurping my role. 

Well, all right he was her boss, maybe she had her reasons. Still I thought I'd sidle over and see what kind of reception I'd get. I strolled on over.

When I got to where my wife and Weaver were I took her arm, "How's it going honey?" I was surprised; she pulled away.

"I'm fine Jeremy," then she looked at her nearly empty wine glass and added, "Jeremy be a dear and get me another wine."

It was then this Weaver fellow looked at me for the first time, he said, 'Hey pal, if you're going to get more drinks get me a beer."

I asked him, "Any particular brand?"

He replied, "A Coors Lite would be good."

I smiled at the two of them, "Sure be right back." 

As I walked away I heard this Weaver fellow ask my wife, "Who was that guy?"

I heard her reply, "Oh he's nobody; he's just my husband," then I heard her giggle.

Crap, I thought, I'm nobody just the husband. Next I thought, my wife never giggles. I got the wine and the beer and sauntered back over. Was I surprised; they each took their beverages and walked away. She took the wine without even looking at me. Hey I thought; no introductions? I decided not to make a scene, but I watched more closely as they walked away. They didn't go anywhere. I half expected them to slip down to the boathouse and get it on. I'm only joking of course, but I'd stopped seeing the humor in what she'd been doing. Hell, I didn't see any humor in anything after that; she'd totally disrespected me. 

I thought, well fuck her, two can play that game. I espied one of her girlfriends; a girl I knew who was interested in me. I slipped over to her, "Hey Marge, what's up?"

Marge gave me a soft smile and murmured, "I saw it Jeremy."

"Saw what?"

"Come on Jeremy, I wasn't the only one. Greta blew you off."

I played dumb, "She did?"

That's when she hit me, "You don't know do you."

Uh oh I thought, but suddenly I think I did, "Know what?"

"Those two."

"You mean?"

Marge nodded her head.

I was dumbfounded, but I still played it like this was a joke, "Are you telling me my wife is having a case of the naughties?"

Marge rolled her eyes like I was some asshole, "You don't get it do you?"

Yeah I got it. I was an asshole. That's when I took her arm, "Come inside. I want to talk." I cast one more look back at my loving wife. She was still on Casanova's arm. I kept telling myself, no, this isn't what Marge wants me to believe. Still I walked her inside and we found an empty room. The room was pretty nice; oriental rugs, a bunch of old Chinese vases, expensive looking flowers. I couldn't think of a better place to find out my wife might be cheating on me.

We got inside and both sat down. I looked at Marge, "Ok, what gives?"

"I'm sorry Jeremy. I thought, well I thought maybe you knew."

"Knew what?"

"If I tell you, you'll promise not to say where you got it. I don't want to lose my job."

"Promise Marge, I won't tell anyone. Now what is it you want to tell me?"

She peeked out the door, then turned back to me, "This man Gary Weaver tooled into town about three months ago. Word is the people in home office have had their eye on your wife. Jeremy she's a real good talker and people in the Home Office in New England think she's got something."

Wow I never knew that. Then again, it was about two months ago Greta started to get closed lipped. Maybe that was when she got wind of something, "Tell me Marge, you would know, is she that good?"

Marge shook her head sideways, "Greta's only good at spreading her legs and running her mouth. First, maybe four months ago, she got it on with a supervisor named Larry Hopkins, but he and his wife left town right after Greta got her big promotion."




Hearth and Home



"I remember some guy pulled out."

"That was Larry, something had gone wrong in his department, they blamed him; he got passed over. If you ask me Greta screwed something up, shifted the blame, then they fingered Larry and promoted Greta."

I thought I knew my wife; that was about the strangest thing I'd ever heard. I told her, "Marge that's not like my wife. I tell you she's a straight arrow. She'd never pulled something like that on anybody."

Marge flinched, then she went on, "OK, maybe I'm wrong, but have you noticed anything different about her lately?"

I had, but I knew telling Marge wasn't a good idea, so I lied, "No Marge I haven't."

Marge looked at me quizzically, "Everything OK at home; no late nights, no changes in behavior?"

Come to think of it I saw her slip in real late at Felicity's last recital. She must have missed nearly the whole thing. When I asked her about it she said she'd been in the back talking to some of the other mothers. Then the other day, Saturday a week ago, she'd missed little Jeremy's lacrosse game. I never said anything about that. I gave Marge the most innocent look I could muster, "No Marge, can't think of a thing. But thanks for the heads up. I'll keep a look out from now on." I stood up and proffered her my arm, "Marge don't say anything about this."

She nodded, "You be quiet too."

I smiled, "Gotcha."

Together we strolled back outside to the main party. I continued to walk around making small talk. I didn't try to keep tabs on Greta. If she was up to something, say hiding down in the boathouse, it wouldn't matter, not to me, not at the moment anyway. 

I kept walking around and visiting with the other guests. My antennae were up now though. I kept thinking everybody was sort of watching me; maybe they knew something, maybe they were watching to see what I would do. Then again maybe I was paranoid.

When the barbeque finally broke up I found Greta; she was still hanging on Don Juan's arm. I tapped her on the elbow, "Time to go."

She turned, smiled at Weaver and said, "Bye, see you soon." She didn't take my arm though; she just walked away toward the field where the cars were parked.

I smiled at the asshole. I saw the look on his face, and I knew right away, I recognized the look; yes he was tapping my meat. I smiled at him, "I didn't catch your name, but good bye, and take it easy."

He laughed.

I played dumb all the way home. I talked about baseball and Felicity, and young Jeremy's next lacrosse game. I think Greta was glad I didn't ask her anything. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. I knew something was up.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sunday was church; then we usually spent time around the house just being with the kids. Our kids were still young enough to not want to pretend they didn't know us.

Felicity had a boyfriend. He lived in our development, and his parents and Greta and I were casual friends. We'd talked things over with the boy's parents, and we all agreed they could be boy and girlfriend, but they shouldn't be allowed to kiss. They could walk the neighborhood and hold hands and all, but no smooching. The kids thought that was OK.

After church Farrah said she wanted me to take her out in the canoe sometime. Farrah seemed the most adventurous of our three, so I agreed to set up a day next weekend. She was pretty happy about the whole idea. After that she asked if she could go over to her friend's house and watch TV. Greta and I told her to keep her cell phone with her, and that she had to be home by six. She was up for it.

Jeremy said he was going down to the high school and get in a pick-up game of lacrosse. I offered him my old attack stick, but he declined. We told him six o'clock too.

So for the next three or four hours it could be just Greta and I. I thought this might be a good time for us to get reacquainted. I was sure surprised. No sooner had Jeremy pulled off on his bicycle than Greta announced she needed to go the office for a few hours. She said she had some paperwork she had to catch up on. 

Now her office was only eight miles away. I knew it was eight miles because it was in exactly the next town, and the signs all said eight miles. I figured if she was up to no good, this would be an easy time to catch her. So I told her sure, go ahead. I told her I thought I'd pull the canoe down from its roost in the garage and check it over for my next weekend trip with Farrah. 

Greta smiled, gave me a peck on the cheek, slipped on a lightweight sweater, got her pocketbook and keys, got in her car, and took off.

I sat down on the front porch. It was a simple affair, the porch I mean, just a concrete slab with a small overhang. The real porch sitting took place in the back yard. Like I said I sat down and waited for about ten minutes; that would give Greta enough of a head start if she were going to her office. 

I waited, then got in my old Buick and started for her office too. When I got to her office I wasn't that surprised. Now her office was a medium sized brick house that had been converted to offices. She and twelve or thirteen people worked there. The old backyard had been converted for parking. I drove by the old house, and guess what? The place was locked up tight, and Greta's little Volkswagen was nowhere in sight. 

I had no idea where the old stud lived so there wasn't much I could do right then. I guessed my wife was going to get a freebie today, but I knew pretty soon I'd have to take some kind of action.

On the way home I stopped off at the liquor store and bought a six pack of Coors, my favorite beer. Usually I had no beer at home. I wasn't much of a drinker, and besides I didn't like the example it set for my kids. We had a small wine rack, and we kept a few bottles of hard stuff in a cabinet in the living room, but that stuff was all pretty much just for show. I didn't like the real drinking stuff, like beer, out around the kids. See what a good dad I am?

I drove on home. Took my beer and put it in the refrigerator I had in my den, that's my hunting lodge above the garage. I opened one up and started to stare at my deer heads and my bear skin rug. 

Of course I was brokenhearted. I was pissed too. I covered all the emotions I guess a man normally covers in situations like this. Was she getting ready to leave me? Damn that was a real possibility if Marge was right about the home office thing. Was I good enough for her in bed? Well damn, I knew I was better than good. She was as lame as a piece of particle board. Gosh I thought if old Gary Weaver was toasting marshmallows over her pussy he'd need a can of sterno to get the job done. I just couldn't imagine any man, even if they got into little Greta's pants a first time, I couldn't imagine them going back for seconds. I mean hot she wasn't, not in the sack. 

I wondered did she love me? That was a no brainer, if she loved me she wouldn't be out with Brad Pitt right now would she? That was another thing that bothered me a little. No it bothered me a lot. The guy didn't look like half the man I was. He was shorter than me, he had a receding hairline, I thought I detected a bald spot in the back, and I swear that was a pretty good sized pot he was carrying around out in front. Now I'm thirty-seven, but my waistline is still a pretty svelte thirty-four. I bet he was looking down at forty inches at least. That was when it hit me; Greta wanted another promotion. My wife had been bitten by the unholy bug of ambition. She wanted to go big time; she wanted home office, and she figured old flabby fella with the receding hair was her ticket to ride. 

Suddenly an old song crept into my head. Lynnrd Skinner had done a song. I think it was titled 'Three Steps'. I kept humming, 'Hey fat fella with the hair colored yella...' Hm, now who was I? Was I the kind of guy to give old 'Fat Fella' his three steps? I didn't know, but I remember old Linda Lou's boyfriend had a forty-four. 

I could hear Greta already, "Jeremy I love you, but I'm not in love with you. Jeremy I want my freedom."

I thought about that long and hard. First of all, though old what's his name was probably slipping my wife the salami right now he wasn't going to get away with anything. No sir I was no cuckold; well at least not long term. The next thing that crossed my mind was what to do about little Greta. This was a real problem.

I thought long and hard for another ten minutes. I said OK, times up! I could divorce her. Yeah right! I had a few friends who'd gone that route. They all got hosed. They ended up losing their houses, their kids, half their assets, and they got stuck with child support and with alimony. Yeah sure, like I was going to divorce her and lose my kids; that wasn't going to happen. And oh yeah, she wasn't divorcing me either. Damn, that was the same turd just different toilet paper. No ma'am little flat chested, lousy fuck Greta wasn't going to get away with it.

I sat there; my first Coors was still unfinished and had become lukewarm. I got up and dumped it down the drain. I sat back down and thought some more. What was I going to do? I sat there. I looked at my deer heads. I stared down my big dead bear. I glanced over at my gun collection; my rifles, my shotguns, and all my pistols. 

Did I tell anyone I was a history buff? Well I was and still am I guess. My favorite period in American history is the Revolution. Man I love George Washington; there was a man who never took any shit off of anybody. My second favorite was the Civil War. I thought about Nathan Bedford Forrest; he was one tough customer. "Put a scare into them," he used to say. My third favorite was World War Two, George Patton. What was it he said? "Don't you die for your country. Make that other poor dumb bastard die for his country!"

Ah yes World War Two. I thought about an old Tom Lehr song from the 1960's. My father, bless his heart used to sing it to me. How did that one verse go? Let's see, 'Once all the Germans were warlike and mean. But that couldn't happen again. We taught them a lesson in 1918, and they've hardly bothered us since then'. Great song, catchy tune 

Oh those rascally Germans, that big meanie old one testicled Hitler. Oh yes, Hitler. I read something in an old American World War Two book. Let me try to remember. Oh yes, Hitler was talking to all these German industrialists about what he planned to do with the Jews, how he'd see to it they'd all just disappear in the night and fog. He was pretty grim, pretty sanguine about the whole thing. Before I go any further; I'm no bigot, in fact my grandmother on my father's side was a Jewish girl. So I guess Hitler would've wanted to get me too. 

Well these industrialists were all upset about Hitler's plans. Some of them said something about international law or something. I remember reading what Hitler said. He looked at those industrialists and he said, "There you stand with your law books, and here I stand with my bayonets. After it's over, and after we've killed everybody who disagrees with us, I'll decide what's right and wrong."

I went back to the refrigerator and got out a second Coors. Good old Greta had the law. Me, I looked over at my gun collection. I thought about what I wanted. I wanted my children. They're my sunshine, and ain't nobody taking my sunshine from me. Yeah no matter how you cut it, if it came right down to it, little Greta had her law books. All I had...was...well...that was a damn fine Beretta; I loved my old Glock, and oh baby that Smith and Wesson was a beauty.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not a violent person. I'm a civilized man, but I knew my history. Back in the day every man had his lentil, and above every lentil? Sure I belonged to the NRA. I liked reading the magazine, but I never saw any reason for a sixty round clip or owning an AR15. I mean if somebody else wanted one that was their business; we all had a right. Would I use deadly force to protect what was mine? I knew the answer to that. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Greta got home about 5:45, just ahead of the kids. We had a little talk.

She asked, "Did you get the canoe down?"

I told her, "Nah I bought some beer and went to my 'hunting lodge' and thought about what we'd do when the five of us went on vacation this summer." I watched her face. She was inscrutable, so I asked her, "You have any ideas?"

She gave me this silly smile, "No, I haven't, not really"

I thought yeah, 'I bet you haven't.' I let it go.

The kids all came home. Greta ordered out for pizza, and we all had a good time.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The next several days kind of caught me off guard. Greta was home late more often than she was on time. She certainly seemed preoccupied, and every time I said anything to her she nearly tore my head off. I remembered my talks with the guys who'd been crucified. Greta's behavior was a pretty close approximation to what they'd described. My guess was the barbeque kind of set Greta's little wheels in motion. I knew I was probably running out of time.

Understand I'm not a violent man. I already said that. I've killed things. I've killed many things. I've killed rabbits, deer, squirrel, doves, ducks, geese, and one bear. Actually I only killed one squirrel. I got one when I was seven; shot it with a sixteen gauge. Once I got it my granddad, the same one who'd married the Jewish girl, grabbed me and the squirrel. He pulled out his pen knife, opened the dead squirrel's mouth and cut its tongue off. He said, "Here eat this and it'll guarantee you'll get another squirrel.

Well he was my granddad. He'd let me drink his moonshine. I ate the tongue. It tasted awful, all grisly, but it made him proud. I kept it to myself, but I was determined never to try to kill another squirrel again as long as I lived. So far I haven't.

I wonder sometimes how he ever ended up marrying a Jewish girl. You know the stereotypes about Jews; they're all into business and money and clothes and shit. I guess I'll never know; they're both dead now. Love is just a funny thing; pretty Jewish girl rich family, and hardworking hard drinking farmer. I know one thing; they sure paid attention to each other. It was like he was Solomon and she was the Queen of Sheba. I thought Greta and I had that; I guess I was wrong.

I've never killed a man, but I sucked it up; the bastard was screwing my wife, and if she got her way I'd lose everything that mattered to me. I mean I felt guilty, real guilty. But the way I saw it; it was either him or me. I chose me.

Still, this was a big step; I better be sure. First I started to keep track of Greta's activities. I got myself a little spiral pad and started writing down all her comings and goings. It didn't take long to figure out a pattern; at least a pattern about her late arrivals home. 

From there I took a couple days off from work so I could track what she did on the days she came home late; the things I found out were enervating. My Greta and Rambo had a regular thing going at the Holiday Inn. Every Tuesday afternoon, and nearly every Sunday after church they teamed up for what I guess was a little love in. 

I followed him home one afternoon after one of their trysts. He lived in a pretty nice condominium. It was an older facility; something they built in the 1970's called a quadruplex. It entailed four separate townhouses all in one big square building. Each had its own front door, but there were no back yards or anything. Chances were the things were pretty soundproof. I hoped so anyway.

So I knew my wife was a cheat. I knew where they were doing it, and I knew where he lived. I guessed there was still at least one more thing to do before I went on automatic pilot. I had to have a sit down with my wife.

I figured a Monday night was the best time. She would be home at her regular time. Felicity would be at dance. Jeremy would be at lacrosse practice, and I could find a way to farm out Farrah. 

Monday came. Farrah was at a friends and the other kids were busy. Greta got home and started for the bedroom to change. I stopped her at the front door, "Greta I need you for a minute."

Her response was predictable, "Can't it wait. I'm tired. I want to get out of these things and lie down awhile." 

I stood in front of her. I hated the shit she wore nowadays. I left my arms hanging loosely at my sides to be as nonthreatening as possible. I told her, "No it can't wait. I need to talk now."

I'm sure she didn't suspect anything. I think she thought she'd covered her tracks pretty well. She replied, "OK, make it quick."

I spread my right arm in the direction of the living room, "Let's go in and sit down."

She shrugged, "This had better be good. I already have a headache," she plodded her way into the living room.

While she took a seat in an easy chair, I took up position on the sofa. I noticed she chose the chair; a good way to avoid intimate contact. I asked her, "Can you remember the last time we made love?"

She started to get up, "Oh that; is that what this is about?"

I motioned for her to stay seated, "No, it's more than that."

She crossed her legs, she still didn't suspect anything or just as likely she did suspect but had put on her I'm bored and want to lie down face on. I remembered my friends. Lately I'd been reading up on this on the Internet; cheaters are always superlative liars. It's because the person they're lying to wants to believe everything they say, but I already knew the truth. I wasn't going to confront her, but I wanted to hear her lie I guess. I told her, "You know I love you."

"I love you too, can I get up now?"

"No, you know I'd do anything for you."

"Me too, I'm tired, can't this wait."

I wanted to do this right, "Greta things are different. You've changed. Are you happy? I mean something's wrong. Tell me what's bothering you."

She didn't blink an eye; man she was good, "Look it's been tough at work. I can never seem to catch up. Is there anything else?"

"Is it that Weaver, your new boss, is he giving you a hard time?"

She continued to play it cool, "No it's not him; there's just too much to do."

According to what I'd read somewhere around this time she was supposed to either get all warm and cuddly or she'd get belligerent. I told her, "You know I'm here for you. You know how much I care about you." 

She acted like she was tired and bored, "I know that Jeremy. Look I want to go lie down," she got up.

I asked her, "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

She started for stairs, "No, can't think of a thing."

I hit her with my best shot, "You're not doing anything you'd be afraid to tell me about are you?"

She didn't miss a step, "No, why don't you fix supper tonight. There's some fish in the freezer."

I smiled, "OK honey." That was it and I knew it. From what I read on the Internet there were different kinds of affairs; some were just little flings, some were a little longer lasting, but some were what the experts called 'exit affairs'. I had it figured; she was having an exit affair. She might not be thinking of leaving me for him, but she was sure planning on leaving me, too bad that just wasn't going to happen.

How was I going to stop her; that was already a done deal? They'd find Weaver dead, and she would know. This was Monday. They did their little thing at the Holiday Inn on Tuesdays; it would have to be tonight. Why tonight; her answers had been too pat. She knew I was on to her. They'd probably already made preliminary plans. I couldn't wait for them to act first. If I waited until after they met tomorrow it would probably be too late.

We had supper like always. I got out the fish and put it in the broiler. The fish was joined by a salad and some tater tots. Greta, the kids and me all ate in a ragged kind of silence. I bet she'd called him when she went upstairs. 




Hearth and Home



After dinner, I put the dishes in the dishwasher; I told her I had to go see my father about something. I went to my den, my above the garage hunting lodge. I pulled on a pair of rubber gloves I'd just bought for this very occasion. I slipped into a new pair of tennis shoes, and went to my gun cabinet. I pulled out my trusty 460 Magnum Smith and Wesson five shot revolver. This was an older unregistered weapon I'd bought outside a gun show down in Georgia one spring while I was canoeing. I loaded it from an unopened box of cartridges. I put the gun in my pants pocket; of course the damn thing stuck out a little bit, a lot actually, but it was dark outside, I didn't think anyone would see it. I went down to the garage, got in my wife's car, hit the button that opened the garage door, and backed down the drive. 

As I started down the street my cell phone went off. It was my wife; she wanted to know why I was taking her car. I told her I wanted to check her brakes. I did that sort of thing so she thanked me and hung up.

I drove on over to Weaver's quad. I saw his car was there. I was surprised at how calm I was. Here I was, Mr. White Bread always the law abiding citizen, getting ready to blow some other man's head off. Actually I felt kind of good. I was defending my home, my hearth, my property. I was John Wayne! I parked my wife's car and walked up the sidewalk to his front door. I knocked. I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to do. I thought maybe I'd just walk in, blow him away, and leave. Maybe I would give him a chance to come clean. I decided to try choice number two.

I knocked a second time. He opened his door. He looked out at me and said, "What do you want?"

I gave him my most piteous look, "Can I come in for a minute?"

He hesitated, but then he pulled open his door. He stepped back so I could walk inside.

I walked to the middle of his front room and turned around. I decided to play the wimp, "I know you're seeing my wife. I want you to stop."

He gave me this silly shit eating smug assed grin. He thought I was there to beg. I bet it gave him a charge. Here I was this bigger man begging him to leave my wife alone. He told me, "She's your wife; if you can't keep her you don't deserve her."

The dumb shit; I pulled out my Smith and Wesson and pointed it at him. I lowered my voice, "I'm sorry man..." God what a rush!

The son-of-a-bitch broke right down and started to cry, "Oh please Jeremy, that's your name, please Jeremy don't shoot me. I'm fucking sorry man. I'll stop. I promise. I won't see her anymore."

I pulled back on the trigger and cocked my weapon, geez was it loud, it scared even me, "Get on your fucking knees."

He dropped like a rock. I could smell urine; he'd pissed his pants. He kept crying and whimpering, "Please I'm sorry. I have children," he looked up at me, "I'm married. She doesn't know. Please, oh Jesus, please don't hurt me. My wife my kids, they need me."

I put the gun a little closer to his head. I got out my cell phone, "I'm going to call my wife. When she picks up the phone you're going to tell her you're married. You're going to tell her you don't want to see her again. Tell her you won't be back at the office. Tell her you're going home, and you won't be back."

He looked at me, but didn't say anything. Maybe I was going to have to kill him after all? I pushed my revolver down to his mouth, "Open your mouth."

He opened his mouth.

"Put the barrel in your mouth." I felt like Sylvester Stallone!

He did as I instructed.

I asked him, "You want a blow job?"

He shook his head no.

I pulled the weapon back out of his mouth. I got out my cell, I hit the side so it would be on speaker phone, and I tapped in my wife's number. I handed him the phone, "You know what to say?"

He nodded; the phone rang, after two rings I heard my wife speak, "Hello Jeremy what do you want?"

Weaver replied, "It's me."

"You," she responded, "what are you doing on my..." she stopped talking for a second, then she added, "put my husband on."

Weaver very wisely asserted, "I can't", then he started, 'Greta we can't see each other anymore. I'm leaving tonight. I'm going home. I never told you. I'm married. My wife and children, they need me."

I heard Greta's voice on the other end; her tone had changed considerably, "You're married?"

He said, "I can't talk any more. I'm sorry, good bye", he closed the phone and placed it on the nearby coffee table.

I kept the gun aimed squarely at his head and asked, "Does my wife have anything here?"

That's when my cell phone rang. I looked at the old make out king, "Let it ring."

It rang a few times and then went to voice mail. I heard my wife's voice, "Gary...Gary. Are you there?" Then she spoke to me, "Jeremy I know you're there? Don't hurt him. Please don't hurt him. Please just come home. We can work this out." There was another pause, then she hung up.

My first thought was she might call the police so I picked up the pace. I asked him again, "My wife have anything here?"

He nodded, "In the bedroom."

I kept the gun on him, "Get a trash bag and fill it."

I followed him to his kitchen. He got a black plastic trash bag and went to his bedroom. I followed him. There was a toothbrush and a couple skimpy little nighties and that was all.

I backed my way to his front door; before I left I told him, "Go to your office tonight. Get everything you need. I don't care if you have to quit, but I want you gone before my wife goes to work tomorrow. If I ever see your ugly face again I promise you you'll regret it. You understand?"

He nodded.

I backed out the door, walked speedily to my wife's car got in and drove home. I didn't think he'd call the police on me. He'd told my wife about his family; his little vacation here was over. I felt pretty good. I never wanted to kill anybody anyway. Now it was time to settle up with Greta.

By the time I got home it was close to midnight; the living room lights were still on. I drove up and left her car in the driveway. I got out. I had the trash bag with her shit, and I still had my revolver in my pocket. I walked in the front door. She was waiting for me in the living room; she was on the sofa this time. 

I went over and sat down on the chair. I laid the pistol on my lap. I waited for her to say something. I waited. She looked scared.

Finally Greta opened her mouth, "I didn't know he was married."

I replied, "You knew you were."

She was wearing a pair of shorty pajamas. She had her knees and her feet close together. Her hands were clasped together on her lap; she kept her face looking toward her hands, "You were going to kill him?"

"Yes. I still may."

She sort of half shrugged half cringed. She looked at me, and then she looked off sort of to the left. I saw she had tears in her eyes, "Why?"

"He threatened my family."

She looked back at me. She had had this really sad plaintive kind of look, "What if I told you I didn't love you anymore?"

"I already know that," I was numb, but I knew we had to straighten this out.

"I'm sorry; it's not that I don't love you, it's just that I'm not in love with you, not like...well you know."

It was time for honesty, "Greta I was never ever really in love with you, not like you're thinking. I liked you. You made me happy. There were dozens of girls I could have fallen in love with. Want me to name a few?"

She looked kind of surprised; still scared but surprised. She shook her head no.

"Greta you were this sweet fun girl. You made people laugh. You wanted a big family. Remember, you said you wanted six maybe seven kids. That's what I wanted. Well we've got three, and they're all three pretty good kids. You're their mother. So you say you're not in love with me, and I tell you I'm not in love with you either, but we have those babies upstairs. Can you say you're not in love with them? I don't mean sexual carnal love, I mean real love, true love, the love a parent has for a helpless baby. Think about those babies. They're your babies, and don't tell me they're not mine we both know better. Remember we did the blood and DNA things for each of them when they started school."

She was getting ready to cry, "I suppose you'll want a divorce."

"Damn it Greta I almost killed a man tonight. He had his mouth wrapped around the barrel of my revolver. I was ready to pull the trigger. I would've too. I may still."

"You might still kill Gary?"

"I will protect what's mine. You're mine. Those people upstairs are mine. This house is mine. This is my family. I will never give it up."

She started really crying then. I walked the distance between the chair and the sofa. I slid the gun back in my pocket. I sat down beside her and pulled her in my arms, "Greta there's something you have to know," she peered up at me, "you're the worst fuck I ever had, and you know I've had my share. No man will ever want you for the sex. You're absolutely worthless in bed, but you've been a good wife until two months ago, you've always been a terrific mother, and some day you'll probably turn out to be a pretty good grandmother."

"What if I want a divorce?"

"That will never happen. If you tried, if you got a lawyer, I promise you I'd have to find a way to get rid of you. Maybe a car accident, maybe a hit and run; who knows?"

"You'd have me murdered?"

"Damn it, what did I just say? I almost murdered a completely innocent man tonight; a man who was away from home just looking for a little fun. I've done the same thing in the past. Greta you're a cheating bitch. You think for one minute I'd hesitate getting rid of you if you threatened to take my kids from me? Shit I already told you I never seriously loved you." 

I watched her. She really seemed to shrink back at what I'd just said. I supposed it must have hurt. Considering what she'd been doing I suppose that should've made me feel good, honestly it didn't. I guess she thought I really loved her. Looking at her now all helpless and vulnerable and guilty and shit; I guess I really did, love her I mean. I suppose I never really thought about it before, not like I was right then at that very moment. I mean how can you live with someone for fourteen years and make three kids and not feel something? Yeah I guess I did love the little shit.

I went on, "I liked you once, now that's gone. I thought I could trust you, that's a joke now too isn't it? You'll stay. You'll stay married. You'll be the dutiful wife and the loving mother. I might even fuck you once in a while, but you'll never leave," as bad as things were I realized how really fucking weak and vulnerable she was. She had no idea.

She looked up at me all innocent eyed like she never knew anything, "You cheated on me?"

"You surprised? I haven't since Felicity was old enough to walk, but I'll be back out now. You can count on it."

She started fidgeting, "I never thought. I never knew you..."

I was surprised. I guess she really didn't know. I told her, "Tomorrow you'll quit your job. I'll drive you over and help you clean out your desk. They'll know why you're quitting too, because I kind of think old lover boy will have already been there. Later tomorrow we'll go through your clothes. I'm sick of the tight assed mini-skirts, the stupid sweaters that don't fit right, and the tight too short dresses. You look like shit in that stuff. I'll choose your new wardrobe. I like feminine little jumpers. I like pretty things; blouses and slacks and shit like that. From now on you'll dress to please me."

"You don't like my clothes?"

"No I don't like your clothes. You look like a cheap little tart. I don't like that you have a job. I don't like your attitude. Who knows someday I might like you again. Someday I might take you out again on a real date. Someday I might try to be nice to you again. I doubt it, but you can only hope. In the mean time I'll expect you to be the good mother like you were just a few months ago, and I'll expect you to be polite and considerate toward me. That shit at the barbeque about not introducing me to asshole will never happen again. Shit you acted like he was Brad Pitt or George Fucking Clooney, and I was John Fucking Candy. I'll never embarrass, ridicule, or humiliate you, and around the kids I'll be kind and gentle, but don't expect much more."

"I...I'm sorry about not...introducing..."

"Crap Greta I didn't really give a shit. I knew who he was. I knew what was up. Shit you asshole; you even fucking giggled."

"I...I'll..."

"You'll do what you're told. You'll be a good mother and a loyal wife. In exchange I'll treat you with the respect you don't deserve, and if I decide to go out and get laid I'll be discreet so no one will catch me, and you'll never be embarrassed," I could tell she was still numb. I knew she'd probably start to come up with some new scheme in a week or so, but I'd be ready.

She looked at me again, "Am I really that bad in bed?"

"Greta you have no idea how lousy you really are."

"But we used to do it a lot. I liked it."

"Greta go upstairs. Take another shower. Shave your fucking pussy. I'll be up in a minute."

"You want me to..."

"Yeah shave your cunt. Almost killing a man and telling you how I feel has made me horny."

Greta got up and went upstairs.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Epilogue:

I got basically everything I wanted. I kept my kids, my house, and for what she was worth I kept my wife. Would I have killed the bastard? Honestly, yes, I think I would have. They probably would have had me down as a suspect, but dad had promised to be my alibi for that night. 

Did Greta and I ever get back to normal? That depends on what someone might think was normal. 

Greta was scared shitless around me for a long time, but that slowly wore off. I went out of my way to be respectful and considerate. She worked hard at being a good mother. She never missed another dance or lacrosse game. When school started in the fall we both attended all the big school events together. For a while I found the sex I needed outside the house. I kept my promise. I was discreet; nobody ever had reason to look at her the way Marge looked at me at the barbeque.

I worked hard to get her appearance straightened out. When she was in college and under her parents control she had an impish elfin look that made her look sassy and pretty. I got her back to that. I think she felt better about it too. It made her look younger and prettier. I told her it made her look young and pretty. Felicity even said something once. I know she started to act younger and prettier. 

I started being nicer to her. I started holding her hand and opening doors for her when we were out. When we went out to a restaurant or something I made her wait in the car so I could go around and open her door for her, and I didn't just walk away after she got out. I made her take my hand and I walked her to the restaurant door. Then I'd open the door and hold it for her when she went in. I did shit like pulling her chair out for her, and not sitting down until after she did. These were firsts for me; it felt odd for a while. 

I started holding her in my arms at night when we were in bed, and I kissed her more. A couple of times after the kids were in bed I made her sit on the living room floor in front of the sofa with her back to me so I could braid her hair. She acted really silly when I did that. I made her sit on my lap once in front of the kids; that really made her feel foolish. Felicity got embarrassed by it, but Jeremy laughed. 

I even kissed her when we were out in public. She blushed the first time I did it.

Before she had her affair we'd always only had sex in bed. I decided to change the routine some. At first I did it to sort of punish her, but after a while the things I did got to be fun. 

A couple times after the kids went to bed I made her sit on my lap on the living room sofa facing me. I made her pull up her dress and take off her panties so I could slide my penis inside her. She was still real tight, and that was even after three kids. I made her sit still with my rod inside her while I kissed her and played with her nipples. 

Once she was rinsing some dishes in the kitchen at the sink. The kids were outside in the backyard. We could see them through the kitchen window; it was warm out, the window was up, and we could hear them real clear through the screen. They could hear us too. They were maybe fifteen feet away. I got up behind her and pulled her shorts and panties down and stuffed my dick in her twat right while she correcting Farrah about playing too rough. Greta made this high pitched 'oops' sound. The kids stopped what they were doing and looked at us through the window. She didn't fight me or try to move though. She just stood there looking at the kids with my dick stuck in her pussy. I nibbled on her ear, while she pretended to rinse the rest of the dishes.

I wondered sometimes if some of what had happened might have been my fault. She'd always been real inhibited about sex. I started being more tender and more affectionate about what we did in bed. Maybe I'd just assumed she knew more than she really did. She got better at it. I stopped seeing women outside our marriage. I think she knew when I stopped. 

Did she ever fall back in love with me again? I kind of think she did. I know she started acting a lot more affectionate toward me. 

At night after we put the kids in bed instead of me going to my private den and her reading in the kitchen we started sitting next to each other on the sofa in the living room watching TV. Once or twice she put her hand inside my pants and played with my Mustang. I'd get a hard on. I would retaliate by reaching over so I could finger the outside of her puss. I could feel her get wet when I did that. 

I started doing stupid effeminate stuff like touching her neck with my fingers. I could tell she'd get the shivers. It kind of bothered me; was I supposed to be doing this crap all along?

Sometimes late at night when she was asleep in my arms I wondered just how many of her problems might have been at least partly mine too. I gave up the hunting and the fishing. We did more things together. We started going to the beach. Sometimes we just sat on the swing in the backyard together. 

I got rid of the stuff in my den. Yeah I threw out all the deer heads and I even got rid of my bear. I found another place for my gun collection. We put in a ping pong table for the kids, and she got a sewing machine. She bought these paper shapes and started sewing her own clothes. Pretty soon my old hunting lodge was piled up with stacks of material. It was strange, but I sort of felt good about it. The kids were in it all the time too. They started calling it the 'Family Room'. I had the most unusual feeling the first time Felicity called it that.

I asked her if there were any things she really wanted to do. She said she always wanted to go to New York and see some Broadway shows. We took a week off together and went to New York. 

She told me she always liked it when I did stand-up comedy at the local clubs. I made up a bunch of stupid jokes about her and tried them out. No one laughed, but I could see she really appreciated it. She sat there all stupid acting clapping her hands together like I was Steve Martin. 

It was kind of funny I started enjoying being around her more. I even hardly missed the sports. I bought some tickets to a couple NFL games. We went to the stadium and screamed our heads off. 

I don't know but it got really funny. I kept saying nice things to her, and I started enjoying doing it. I told her how pretty she looked, and I think I really meant it. That's when I realized she really was pretty. She even started hugging me and stuff. I wondered maybe I did love her after all. I even bought her a bunch of flowers. We'd only been married what fifteen years? There's a first time for everything.




Heartless



This story was previously posted on this site. The text below has been re-edited.

***

"You're a heartless bitch," he shouted as he stuffed his male parts into the jeans he had just snatched on over his legs. He yanked the fly closed and grabbed his T-shirt off the floor. Cramming his arms into the sleeves, he yanked it over his head, dragging it down to cover his torso. "They're right about you. You're the queen of glaciers." He dropped into a chair and pulled his shoes onto his feet without bothering to lace them. Picking up his socks, he stood and jammed them into his pocket, then raked his fingers through his hair and continued his rant. "You're unbelievable! For three months I've danced around trying to get inside that frigid heart of yours. What a waste of time!" He stomped down the hall. The front door opened and he yelled, "Heartless bitch!" Then he was gone.

That's me, the heartless bitch. I wasn't always that way. Once I was sweet and silly and full of life. I had a young girl's idealism and a young girl's ability to love, but I'm not a young girl anymore. Things happen that can change a person forever; things that can destroy all that is human in a personality, leaving behind a cold, heartless bitch. 

The guy's name is Clayton and he is just another in a long line of men who found nothing but disappointment and discouragement in me. Poor Clayton had shown so much patience in trying to woo me and discovered what all the others had. I have no capacity for love. 

Is it so much to ask that a man just give me what I need and not expect more than that in return? We made love. That should have been enough but he had to throw emotion into the mix. He wants to order the invitations and plan our future together when all I wanted was sex; thus his hasty departure in the middle of a rainy night. I knew that I would never see him again. At that point I decided that I would never allow anymore men into my life.

Memories of the past often come back to haunt me, usually when a moment like this occurs. How I hate those memories. Loss of trust to deception and betrayal can be detrimental to the female soul. Some of us never quite fully recover. And some of us never recover at all. 

There was once someone that I loved, someone that meant the world to me. I was quite young when Billy and I met. We were in grade school when his family moved in next door. We soon struck up a fun association that developed into a real friendship by junior high. He was my escape from the endless hours of walking on eggshells when my father was in one of his moods. Those moods usually ended in beatings. 

Billy was kind to me and helped me to forget the horrors of my home life. It was in my pre-teen years that my father put me in the hospital. Billy visited me every day. After several weeks I arrived home to find that my father had moved out. My mother was sad and cried every night and I knew that it was my fault he left and she was alone. 

Billy helped me to deal with my guilt. I couldn't imagine my life without him. As time moved on our friendship became romance within the confines of our teenage lives and we planned to be together always.

He was a year older and went away to the University of Illinois my senior year. It's where I had planned to join him after my own graduation. It was just two hours away and many of my classmates would also be attending. I missed him so terribly when he was gone and when he came home for visits we spent every moment together. 

That spring of his first year I decided to surprise him on my eighteenth birthday with a visit. I suppose I should have called him first. That way he would have had time to get all those people out of his apartment. As it was I walked smack into the middle of a sex party. There must have been at least twenty people there, all naked and screwing. I finally located him only to see he had two women on top of him. When he saw me he laughed insanely and kissed the girl nearest his mouth. I have never trusted anyone, including myself, since then. 

Men have come and gone but none of them had been able to penetrate that veneer that I had so carefully constructed over the years. I could not seem to let down my guard with any of them. Perhaps I just hadn't met anyone that I wanted to let get close to me. Or perhaps I was incapable of ever giving anyone that part of myself again. Whatever the case, one man decided that he wanted in, no matter the cost. His name is Devlin Jeffreys and he went after me with a determination that I had never before encountered. 

I met him quite by accident—literally. I was walking up the stairs of an apartment building, intending to visit a friend. She had been my best friend since our college days and I wanted to tell her about an opportunity that was offered to me at work. It would mean a transfer to the West Coast and I needed her advice. As I reached for the door that led to her floor it opened suddenly, bouncing off my cranium. When I came to he was standing over me, telling me not to move. I did as I was told, not because the eyes that were looking at me were filled with concern, but because they were the most beautiful and expressive eyes I had ever seen. 

He was dabbing at my forehead with a piece of white cloth stained with blood and telling me how sorry he was for not being more careful. A part of me was angry at him for hitting me with the door, but the rest of me just wanted to hear his very deep, masculine voice speaking in that soothing tone. It was mesmerizing. I had to get hold of myself and remind myself that he was just another man.

I pushed his hand away, sat up and was struck by a wave of dizziness. He grabbed my shoulders to steady me. "You should lie back down. An ambulance is on the way."

I was embarrassed and hated to show any weakness. When I tried to stand he blocked me. Then my self-sustaining anger came into play. "Get off me. I don't need any help."

He released me and I pulled myself to my feet, putting my hand on the wall to stop the floor from hitting me again. That's when I saw Sara, my friend. She was reaching for me. I took her hand and she helped me to her apartment. After I sat down I was startled to see that this man had followed us.

"This is my cousin," she said. "Devlin, this is my friend, Amelia. The one I was telling you about. Melia, are you ok?"

"Aside from feeling like I've been hit by a train, yeah, I'm ok." 

Tact was never my strong suit. Devlin looked mortified. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bag of ice in his hand. "Here," he said, handing it to me. "Put this on your head."

We all heard the ambulance siren at the same time. Sara went to the lobby to meet them, scoffing at me when I told her to send them away. Devlin knelt in front of me and looked as if he wanted to crawl in a hole. 

"Stop hovering," I told him. "I'm fine. I've been hit in the head harder than this before."

"Maybe," he said, "but not by me. I feel like shit."

"Don't beat yourself up. I'll live."

He touched my face. He was looking at the bump on my head with deep concern and it was at that moment I noticed just how handsome he was. He had thick, dark hair that curled just enough at the ends; deep, hazel-green eyes; a strong nose and full lips. I let my eyes travel over the rest of him and saw that he had a well-defined, athletic frame. When he looked me in the eye again I was grinning at him.

"What's so funny?" he asked with a smile of his own.

"Nothing much."

His smile widened. "Go ahead; I could use a good laugh right now."

"I was just thinking about my bad luck."

"Bad luck? Oh you mean getting knocked out."

"No, I was thinking how it's just my luck to meet a good-looking guy like you and have an ugly, bleeding goose-egg on my head. I'm not exactly looking my best."

"I think you're gorgeous." His statement caught me by surprise. His startling gaze was boring into me. His expression, though sincere, held a peculiar quality to it, as if he was looking at a long lost friend.

I was just about to thank him when the door to the apartment burst open and Sara returned with two men in white who were carrying equipment. I shook my head in frustration. "Sara, I told you to send them away. I'm all right."

"Just let them look at you," Devlin said. "It would make me feel a whole lot better."

"Oh, well, I just live to make you feel better," I snapped. If he couldn't hear the sarcasm in my voice he was an idiot.

White coat number one started shining a light in my eyes and examining the bump on my head as white coat number two was opening his cases. "Out!" I shouted. "Everyone leave me alone. I'm fine." I pushed myself to my feet with a strength I didn't feel and headed to the bathroom. I was shocked when I saw myself in the mirror. I was going to look like hell for a couple of weeks. Just great.

When I returned to the living room one of the white coats handed me a clipboard and asked me to sign that I had refused treatment. I did so gratefully. I just wanted to go home. After the men left I told Sara that we would have to do lunch another time and headed for the door. 

Devlin stopped me. "You are not driving home like this."

I was getting very annoyed by this point. "I can't very well walk and I'm not leaving my car here. I live on the other side of town." I moved toward the door again and he put a hand on my arm.

"I'll drive your car and Sara can drive mine." He took hold of my elbow in such a manner as to suggest that he would abide no argument and steered me toward the door. I was too tired and hurt to argue with him so I let him lead me. And twenty-five minutes later I found myself lying on my own couch with a blanket tucked around me and an ice bag on my head. I was finally alone.

The summer sun was on its way to the horizon when the doorbell rang. Before I could respond I heard the door open and a voice call out. "Don't get up. It's me, Devlin."

I rolled my eyes and let my head fall back on the pillow. "What do you want?" I returned in a less-than-friendly voice.

"Sara fixed you some dinner. She's pretty concerned about you. She wanted to bring it out herself but you know she has to go into work now. I told her I would do it."

I watched as he placed the covered plate on the coffee table. "Kind of you," I said. "Be sure to tell her thanks for me." He pulled a chair up and sat next to the couch. I raised myself up on my elbows. "Just what do you think you're doing?" I asked as he unwrapped the plate and flatware.

"I'm to see to it that you eat every bite," he stated plainly.

"I don't need a babysitter."

"I'll be the judge of that," he said with a delicious smile.

I couldn't imagine why he was so intent upon being nice to me. After all, I had been incredibly rude to him since we met and yet he was solicitous and kind. I dropped back on the pillows and turned my back on him. I wanted to be left alone but he wasn't taking the hint.

"Are you going to eat or do I have to feed you?"

"I'd like to see you try," I muttered into the upholstery. I refused to turn back toward him.

"Ok," he said with a resigned sigh. "But I imagine it would taste a damn sight better if it wasn't being stuffed down your throat."

I turned around at last. He was grinning at me and holding a forkful of food, waving it in my direction. "You can't be serious."

"Yep, I promised my cousin that I would see to it you eat and I always keep my word."

"Oh, for fu..." I censored my language. "All right, hand me the plate." I pulled myself up to a sitting position. I didn't feel like eating. I was still woozy and had no appetite but I was afraid he would never go away.

He handed me the plate and utensils and adjusted the pillows behind me. I wasn't used to being taken care of and it wasn't a feeling with which I wanted to get acquainted. I shooed him away and stuffed in a mouthful of roast chicken. It was tasty. Sara has always been a good cook.

I ate about half of what was on the plate and handed it back to him. I was tired and wanted him to go but he didn't move.

"Sara says you have to eat every bite," he told me.

"I can't. There's enough there for two people."

Devlin eyed me for a moment and then took the plate. He covered it with the foil again and carried it to the kitchen. "I'll put it in the fridge. You can heat it up later if you get hungry again."

"Thanks. You probably have a lot to do and I don't want to keep you."

"Nope. I'm free the rest of the evening."

"Really, you don't have to stay." I was getting exasperated.

He returned to the living room with a big, cheerful smile. "I'm staying until you decide to be rude enough to throw me out. Sara told me all about you. You hate men and prefer to live without them. I think she's wrong."

Feeling a bit offended I tossed the blanket aside and pushed my feet onto the floor. "I really don't see how you can stand there and insult me in my own home. Have you always been this incorrigible?"

His eyes twinkled with the wickedness of a naughty child. "Yep. My mother has always told me what a daunting task it was to raise me up properly. You should meet her some time. You'd like her."

I shot him what I hoped was a scathing glance. "Well, stay if you like but I'm going to get a bath and go to bed."

"Sounds like a good idea," he said with another grin. "Let me know if I can help at all." He crossed his ankle over his knee and reached for the TV remote.

I snorted at him as I stood. "I'd love to meet your mom. Then I can tell her what a brat she raised." I ambled out of the room to sound of his chuckle. 

I took extra long in the bath, hoping he would get bored and leave. I had no such luck. I heard him moving around in the other room and I wanted to scream at him to leave. I was afraid that my own yelling would set my head to throbbing again so I remained quiet. I finally had to pull myself out of the water when I noticed my fingers were wrinkled up like old prunes.

I dried my body and reached for my robe. That's when I realized that I had forgotten to grab my robe. Living alone meant that I didn't have to worry about being seen in my own home, usually. With a sigh I wrapped my damp towel around myself and tucked in the end. The hell with him, I decided, and opened the bathroom door. Without looking to see if he could see me I walked into the hallway and strode to my bedroom. I heard a low whistle behind me and closed the door with a loud thud.

I searched for something to put on. I normally sleep in the nude so I have no pajamas. I finally settled on my warm robe and went to the living room with the purpose of tossing him out on his ear. When I entered the room I was surprised to see him puttering around with a dust rag in his hand. 

"I thought you drowned," he said. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Well, I noticed it must be the maid's week off so I thought I would tidy up a bit for you."

Again with the insults, I thought. "Did it ever occur to you that I like my dust bunnies?"

He smiled genuinely. "I remember Sara telling me how busy your life is and I just want to help. Hey, I feel like crap for what happened today. I'm trying to appease my conscience."

"I can appreciate that but you really don't have to do all this. You can forgive yourself now. It was just an accident." I looked around to see how clean my home had become and couldn't help the comforting feeling it gave me.

"Ok, then try this on for size. Maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to stay in the company of a sexy and beautiful woman. I'm drawn to you."

Oh, great. Another man on a mission, just what I needed. "Did Sara also tell you that I am hell on men?"

"Yep. It's a bit of a challenge but I think I can handle it." He marched into the kitchen and I followed.

"I'm really not looking for another failed relationship so if you don't mind I would like to be alone." I stopped to stare at my sparkling kitchen. "How did you get this so clean? I wasn't in there that long."

He grinned. "I'm a man of many talents and you were in there a lifetime."

"Devlin," I said with a conviction I no longer felt. "Thank you for cleaning my house but you are wasting your time here."

"I'll be the judge of that." He took my arm and steered me back toward the couch. "You just sit here. I'm going to brew you up something that will help you sleep. It's an old family recipe." He tucked the blanket around my legs and left the room.

"I found some rum in the liquor cabinet," he called from the kitchen. "I'm going to make you hot-buttered rum. It will send you right off to sleep."

"You went through my cabinets?" I bristled at the thought of my things being rifled through. "Did you happen to find my underwear drawer on your travels?"

I heard him laughing. It was an irritating and wonderful sound. "I haven't made it back that far," he said. "Is there something in there I should see?" He came back into the living room with a mug of steaming liquid.

"You are going to make me nuts." I took the mug and sniffed at its contents.

"Go ahead, try it. I promise you'll like it."

I took a sip. I refused to admit that it tasted good. "Would you please go now? I have to be up for work in the morning. I'm going to need all the sleep I can get."

He sat next to me on the couch. "As soon as you're done with the toddy I will tuck you into bed and then I'll go."

"What am I, three? I don't need another father. I already have one of those. I'm a big girl now and I am quite capable of taking care of myself."

He was unperturbed. He gazed at me with those damnable green eyes and I wanted to slap him. He raised a hand to guide the mug to my lips. I took another sip and set the mug on the coffee table. My head was starting to ache again and I just wanted him to go.

"You fascinate me," he blurted out.

I frowned at him. Where was he going with this line?

He stood and walked around behind the couch. "I feel that I know you." I felt his hands touch the back of my head. He began to seductively massage my scalp. It felt wonderful and, for some reason, I let him continue.

"I don't think we ever met before," I mumbled.

He laughed softly. "You never know." He stopped rubbing my head. "Pick up your drink."

I did as I was told. I thought how strange it was to just blindly comply with his orders. It wasn't like me at all. I took a sip of the toddy and settled back against the couch, holding the mug.

"I want you to drink it all," he said as his hands returned to their task. He rubbed the base of my skull. It felt like heaven. His hands wandered slowly downward to my neck and shoulders. The deep kneading motion was having its desired effect as my body began to turn to rubber. Warmth was spreading through me and reaching the area between my legs.

"You should go now," I murmured. I didn't want to make anymore mistakes with men, and I was very attracted to this one. 

"Not until you finish your drink." He continued working the stress out of my muscles. "We'll get you into bed and then I'll go."

I took a gulp of the savory drink and sighed. I had always prided myself on not allowing anyone to pamper or take care of me, and here was this man breaking all my rules. And, what was worse, I could not make myself care.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I was searching for a topic of conversation to distract my thoughts from his hands.

"Because you're letting me." His voice was soft and deep. It made my body tingle.

"No, I'm not. You're just doing it."

He laughed. I was becoming more and more fond of the sound of it. I leaned back into his hands and rolled my head back with my eyes closed. He stopped massaging for a moment. I felt his lips on my forehead. It was a tender little kiss but it brought me out of the spell he was casting. I jerked myself upright and pushed away from him. I set the mug down and stood to face him.




Heartless



"You have to leave now. I'm going to bed," I said harshly.

His face split in that damnable grin. "I'm going to tuck you in first."

"The hell you are. Out. You are leaving now." I moved around the couch and headed for the door. I jerked the handle and opened it wide. "Thanks for coming by. Now leave."

He dragged his feet to the door. "I'm glad we met, even if I had to knock you out to do it."

I couldn't help myself. I cuffed him on the shoulder and found myself laughing despite it all. "Tell Sara I'm fine. I'll call her tomorrow."

"Will do," he said as he turned to leave. Then he stopped and turned around to face me. He planted a firm kiss on my cheek. "I'll call you tomorrow and check on you."

"I won't answer my phone."

Then he was gone.

But he didn't stay gone. He showed up at my office the next day. He came in bearing a single lavender rose. Oh great another romantic, I thought, that's all I need.

"How sweet," I said with a voice oozing sarcasm. "A lavender rose."

"You know what that means, don't you?" He handed me the flower.

I took it and shoved it into a glass of water that was on my desk. "Yes. It means 'love at first sight'. Do you fancy yourself in love?"

He propped his butt on the corner of my desk and folded his arms across his chest. "You know, some women actually appreciate getting flowers. I hear that some even take a whiff of them when they receive them."

"I'm sure they do but you didn't answer my question." 

"Let's just say I'm very intrigued. There's something about you that captures the imagination."

I frowned at him. What a line. "I thought you were just going to call me. I suppose Sara told you where to find me."

"You told me that you wouldn't answer the phone and I hate rejection. So here I am."

"Great. Thanks for coming by. Have a nice day."

He grabbed the front of his shirt and groaned. "That hurt. And I came all the way over here to take you to lunch."

"Thanks," I said as I sat down. "But I'm not hungry. I'm not feeling well and I'm going to go home in a bit."

"You're not feeling well because you haven't had lunch yet. I'll bet you didn't even eat any breakfast today."

"I'm not feeling well because I have a concussion," I said rudely. I wanted to take those words back the minute they were said. The smile left his face.

"I'm sorry, Amelia," he said softly. "I really am."

"I know. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

He grinned at me again. "So you do have a heart."

I was smiling and trying to hide it. "Naw, it's just the concussion. Makes me weak."

"Come on, lunch." He reached for me and pulled me out of my chair.

"I can't, Devlin. I have too much to do." I pulled my arm out of his grasp. "But thank you for thinking of me."

He leaned close to my face. "Something you should know about me, Amelia. I never take no for an answer."

His eyes were boring into mine and I could feel his warm breath on my face. I knew that I was blushing and that fact made me more angry than his endless persistence. "I'm afraid you'll have to take no from me. I have work to do." 

"Fine," he said, pulling himself up to his full height of six feet, three inches. "I'll just have a seat and keep you company."

I flopped back into my chair as he moved around the desk and took a seat across from me. He was the most frustrating man I had ever met. "As long as you don't mind my ignoring you..." I turned my back to him and started plucking at the keys of my computer. 

"I mind very much," he stated flatly. "If you don't talk to me I'll just sit here and sing all twelve verses of the Twelve Days of Christmas over and over." He started singing and I turned to face him. He continued singing. By the time he got to Five Golden Rings I was ready to stab my eardrums with my letter opener. Singing was obviously not his forte.

I grabbed several files off my desk and headed out the door into the hallway. I heard someone call out to me. I turned to see one of the office assistants jogging up the hall toward me. 

"I just heard you have Devlin Jeffreys in your office."

"Yes, what about it?"

"Oh, my god," she squealed. "You have to introduce me to him."

"Why?"

She looked absolutely mortified. "You do know who he is, don't you?"

"Yeah, he's the character who nearly killed me yesterday."

The girlish glee returned to her face. "Man, you must have been excited when you opened your eyes to find him standing there. He's the hottest thing going."

"He's just another guy." I was confused how she would even know his name.

"Tsk. Don't you read? He's like the richest guy in the world and he's in Fortune 500. He just moved to town and is bringing his business here. He's going to make this his home base."

"Is he the one bringing that manufacturing business in?" I asked. I had read somewhere that some young entrepreneur bringing new factories to town, complete with new construction and offices and all.

She looked at me as if I had just fallen off the turnip truck. "Yes, that's him. You should try to get a date with him. What a catch."

Suspicion suddenly crept up my spine. "Did he pay you to say that?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," I said and continued along my way. I dropped off the files in the business office and returned to my own room. He was still sitting there, humming that disagreeable song. When he saw me he started singing again, picking up where I had left. 

"Ok," I shouted at him. "If I go to lunch with you will you shut the hell up?"

He beamed at me. "I'll be like a clam," he said. "You won't even know I'm around."

"I doubt that." The man was getting on my nerves and I was starting to like it.

We left the building and climbed into his shining Mercedes. He turned the key. The engine purred to life and we were off. "Where are we going," I asked as we passed a number of restaurants.

"You'll see." He smiled that infuriatingly charming grin. "It's a surprise."

We drove to the lake where he parked near a secluded little park. He jumped out and ran around to open my door; then he moved to the rear of the car and opened the trunk. I walked over to see what he was pulling out. He had a blanket, a picnic basket and a cooler. 

"Make yourself useful," he said, handing me the blanket. He guided me to a quiet area shaded by a giant oak where he set down his load and took the blanket from me. He shook it out and laid it upon the ground. 

"When you said you wanted to take me to lunch this isn't really what I thought you had in mind." I cocked an eyebrow at him and sat down with my legs folded under me.

"It's a gorgeous day. What better lunch is there then one at the lake on such a day?"

"Well, it's not exactly what I thought a Fortune 500 guy would prefer."

He sighed and stopped unpacking the food. "I thought you were blissfully ignorant of that." He looked as if he was more than a little disappointed.

"I was until the sales assistant mentioned it to me. Does it make a difference, my knowing?"

"Only if it makes a difference in the way you treat me and act around me."

I smiled at that. "Not in the least. I shall continue to hold you in contempt."

He guffawed loudly as he pulled plates and utensils out of the basket and set them on the blanket. "At least you're honest. I hope you like cold crabmeat." My stomach growled ominously. "I'll take that as a 'yes' then."

"I guess I'm hungrier than I thought," I said. 

"Well then," he beamed. "Dig in."

He placed some of the chilled fare on my plate and handed me a piece of crusty bread. He filled wineglasses from a frosty bottle. I did just as he said. I dug in with gusto. It was hard for me to believe I could be so ravenous. It must have been the fresh air but I stuffed myself that day.

Every time I looked up he was eyeing me with amusement. It was a bit disconcerting, having his laughing gaze watching my every move. I tried not to look at him. When my plate was empty he took it from me, handing me another plate. This one contained a mouth-watering slice of peach pie.

"I like watching you eat," he said with a delicious grin.

"So I noticed," I said.

"You eat like you really enjoy it. A person who eats like that really enjoys life—a good person to get to know."

I shook my head at him. The self-debasing smile should have told him everything; should have warned him off. "Why are you chasing me, Devlin?" It was an honest question.

"What makes you think I'm chasing you? How do you know that I'm not just trying to keep you from suing me for knocking you out?" 

I always hated a person who would answer a question with a question. "I don't know—the rose, the picnic, the dinner and attention last night. If you were worried about a lawsuit you would have sent an attorney. It's pretty obvious."

He smiled his most innocent smile. "And I thought I was playing it so cool, too."

"I'm serious. What do you expect from me?"

His smile faded and he put down his wine. "I don't expect anything. I am hoping. I hope that we can be friends. I hope that maybe we might have something in common. I'm hoping to find out what makes you so irresistible."

I couldn't look at him. His eyes were staring at me, looking for answers. "Devlin, I don't know what you think you see in me but you'll be wasting your time if you continue to pursue me. Most men leave within three months and the others wish they had." 

"I'm not most men, Amelia." I looked at him then. His gaze was very intense. "I intend to find out who you are and what makes you tick."

I shook my head again. I knew that he would end up angry or hurt or disappointed like all the others. "Do you know what they say about me?"

He nodded. "Sara told me."

I snorted. "Should have guessed. Do you have a masochistic streak or do you just have a thing for lost causes?"

He smiled again. "Maybe a little of both." He reached his hand toward my face. "You have a little bit of peach on your chin." He wiped at my chin with his thumb and then stuck it in his mouth. "Mmm, Amelia flavored peach, tasty. Oops, missed some," he said as he leaned forward. He licked my chin with the tip of his tongue.

I felt a shiver run through me and I leaned away from him. He put his hand behind my head and pulled me closer. He kissed me on the lips. I wanted to throw my arms around his neck but I knew where that would lead so I pushed against his chest. "Stop, Devlin. I don't want you to."

He pulled back a little. "Amelia, I'm attracted to you. I know you're attracted to me. What's more, I like you. I think you like me too. I know you think that you can't trust anyone but why not just let it happen? Take a chance." He kissed me again. His tongue invaded my mouth and I turned to pulp in his arms. I melted against him. 

He ended the kiss and pulled away. "That's one hell of a powerful reaction for a woman who thinks she can't love." His voice was husky and soft.

I stood up. "Take me back to the office."

"Nothing doing. You said you had the afternoon off and I intend to take advantage of it."

For some reason I felt like I was near tears. I wanted to get away from this man. There was something about him that put unusual thoughts in my head. "Fine, then I'll walk." I turned my back on him a stalked away. 

I heard his feet running up behind me. I knew that I had to get away. He grabbed my arm and whirled me around. He wrapped me in a bear hug. "Don't go," he whispered against my hair. "Spend the day with me. You'll see that I'm not a bad guy. Just get to know me. I promise to keep my tongue in my mouth and my mouth off your face."

I almost laughed at that. I pushed away from him. "Devlin, I want you to understand something. I cannot give you what you want or need. It's no use. I've tried in the past but it's just not in me."

He grinned again. "But you haven't tried with me," he said with a wink. "I don't give up so easily. The more you push me away, the more I will keep trying."

I was completely exasperated. "Oh, are you in for a treat then," I shouted.

He laughed and put an arm around my shoulders. "Let's clean up our mess and take a walk. Let's enjoy this glorious day."

By the time we finally made it back to my office building to get my car the sun was dipping low. Mine was the only vehicle left and he pulled his Mercedes up along side it. He stopped me when I started to get out. 

"I'll get the door for you," he said. He got out, ran around to open the passenger door and offered me his hand. I took it and allowed him to pull me out.

"You know, Devlin," I said to him. "I really had a good time today. You are a fun person to be with."

He smiled at my confession and turned my hand over to kiss my palm. "And you're kinda nice when you relax." Taking my keys, he opened the door to my Saturn. He stood in the open door after I got in and brushed his knuckles along my jaw line. "I'm leaving town tomorrow on business. I'll be gone all week. I'd like to call you when I get back. Will you have dinner with me?"

It was difficult to ignore the twinge of disappointment I felt at his impending departure but I managed it. "I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea. You're a good man, Devlin. You should be dating someone with as much enthusiasm for life as you. Anyway, thanks for the picnic. And the walk. And the arcade and the mini-golf and all the rest. You sure do now how to pack it all into one day."

"I enjoy my life. Maybe next time," he said as he walked away, "we'll go skydiving and water skiing."

"There won't be a next time," I called as he entered his car. I fired up the engine and pulled out in front of him. But I wanted there to be a next time. I had to remind myself that I had given up on men. I didn't trust them on the whole and I was suspicious of each individual. This one certainly seemed to be intent upon having me but I knew that he would be looking for a relationship and that would mean that I would have to be willing to trust him. I just could not do it.

It seemed such a shame to waste a sexy man like him but there would be more to it than cheap sex. He would want to be part of my life. I know that I should be grateful for such an invitation but I'm not like most women. There is a hole in my chest where there used to be a heart. That doesn't mean that I don't care. I help with the homeless and look after my elderly neighbor. If someone needs a hand they call me first. It's just that I have been unable to love a man since that day so long ago. They came into my life expecting warmth and sunshine and only found darkness and cold.

This man, Devlin, seemed like a nice guy. He seemed as if he was on the level but I knew that all that niggling doubt would come back to haunt me and I would end up hating him and I would ruin his life. It had happened so many times. I didn't feel the need to confirm my failure as a woman with yet another man to add to the collection. I decided that I would definitely not be seeing him again.

I had lunch with Sara on Wednesday of that week and I told her my decision. She got angry with me. I watched as her face went from sunny and pleasant to darkly thunderous. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She hissed the question at me as if I had just attacked her. "He's a great guy. He really cares about you. Can't you see that?"

I sat in shock at her reaction. I hardly knew the man and he didn't know me at all. I had appreciation for the fact that he was a member of her family but I would have thought that she would be more inclined to protecting him from me, not pushing us together. 

"Sara," I began. "Don't you think that it's better this way? You know what I'm like. Do you really want him to end up like the rest?"

Her anger ebbed away and she touched my hand. "Melia, why do you do this to yourself? Anyone can see that you want to be loved by someone. Why do you always shut them out? Do you feel that you are unworthy of them?"

I really had no answer for her. "Just see if you can get him to leave me alone, will you? I've tried to discourage him. I've even been downright rude."

She laughed a little. "I know. I've seen it. He remarked on it. He thinks it's a big act and so do I. Once he sets his mind to something he doesn't stop until he gets success. He's pretty headstrong. I don't know what good it will do but I'll speak to him."

I was relieved. I thanked her and we finished lunch. I thought of that conversation the rest of the week. I wondered if deep down I did feel unworthy. Maybe she was right to ask that question. Maybe it was a question I needed to consider.

Looking back I tried to remember a time when I knew a relationship with a man that was unfettered. My father had been demanding. He was never pleased with me or proud of anything I accomplished. He spent most of my early childhood ignoring me when he could or beating on me when he couldn't and most of my teen years chastising me. My grandfather had no use for granddaughters and chose, instead, to give his attention to my male cousins. 

Before Billy and I became more than friends I had dated a couple of different guys. They only wanted to hike my skirt up. It was always something that the men in my life wanted, whether it was sex or for me to be something I'm not. They never just wanted me for me. Maybe the problem was that I believed myself to be unworthy of a man that could give of himself, if there was such an animal.

I had to put those thoughts aside because of the ache that developed in the center of my chest. I threw myself into work to keep my mind from wandering back to a pair of laughing hazel eyes. When Friday night rolled around I was tired and glad for the end of the workweek. I had just gotten home and kicked my shoes off when the phone rang. The caller ID confirmed my suspicion. It was Devlin.

I shut the ringer off on the phone and the volume down on the answering machine. I had no interest in speaking to him at that point. Damn that Sara, I thought. She was supposed to have taken care of this. I grabbed a book that I had been meaning to read and headed for the bedroom. I wanted peace and quiet and I didn't want to deal with that man.

I was dozing lightly sometime later when I heard a noise. I was instantly alert with my heart in my throat. I sat up, listening, holding my breath. I heard it again. A footstep, followed by another, in the hall outside my room. I slipped silently off the bed, tiptoeing to the closet where I kept my revolver on the top shelf. I didn't make it in time. The footsteps got closer. I reached behind the vanity and grabbed my ball bat. The hunk of wood hadn't seen any action since I gave up softball the year before. I was just raising it over my head when the form of a man came through the bedroom door. With a mighty swing I brought the bat down intending to crush the intruder's skull. 

The man deflected the blow with a raised arm but fell to the floor under the attack. I raised the weapon again. I saw the intruder raise his arm again. It was bleeding. Then I saw his face. It was Devlin. I almost hit him just on sheer principle.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I screamed at him. 

"Jesus Christ!" he yelled back. "I think you broke my arm."

I felt awful. And I was angry. "Serves you right, you dumb son-of-a-bitch. What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"You left he front door open. I knocked but there was no answer. I called you several times and you didn't pick up. I was worried about you." He had gotten off the floor and was cradling his arm.

I tossed the bat on the bed. "I didn't answer the phone hoping you would take the hint. Didn't Sara speak to you before you came over?"

"Yeah, she gave me your message. I wanted to hear it from you, if you don't mind." This was the first time that I had seen him angry. He looked even more yummy than when he was smiling.




Heartless



"I don't want to see you. I don't want to know you. I don't want any more entanglements in my life. Will that do?"

He stared at me a long moment. "I guess that's plain enough. Just for the record, I wasn't trying to complicate your life. I just thought it would be nice to get to know you. I wanted to see if I could make you smile. You're a hard woman but I'll crack that shell yet."

I watched as he turned toward the door. He winced as he brushed his arm on the molding. 

"Wait," I said against my better judgement. "Let me take a look at that." I reached for him and directed him to the chair by the vanity. "Sit down. Let me see it."

I knelt in front of him and carefully probed his arm. I could feel his gaze on me. It made me hot all over. His arm was bruised and the surface of the skin was split but there didn't appear to be any bones out of place. I looked up into the power of his gaze.

"You're a beautiful woman, Amelia," he said as he raised his good hand up to touch my cheek. "I wonder what it would be like to take the sadness from your eyes."

I snapped my head back, away from his fingers. "I don't think anything's broken but we should probably get this x-rayed. I'll take you to the hospital. I doubt you can drive safely like this."

He didn't move. His eyes held mine. "Don't pull away from me, Lia. You've been pulling away all your life. It's time to let someone in."

I could feel his heat. But it was more than physical. There was a strength in him that I hadn't seen in most men. Something about him that was drawing me to him. I wanted to run. I had to get away. I felt danger in his presence and I needed to run. 

I stood up and headed for the door. Before I got far he was in front of me, blocking my way. He grabbed both of my arms. I saw him flinch slightly but he held fast. "I can see the doubt in your eyes," he whispered. "I know you want to give in to what you're feeling. Just do it. Take a chance. Find out that there is something here we can discover together."

I wrenched my arms free and shoved him out of the way. "I can't!" I screamed and ran up the hall. 

He followed. When I reached the living room I turned around to face him. His gaze never wavered. "I'm not leaving here. I'm staying. I know that there is a woman's heart in there somewhere, just aching to come out. You've been hurt. So what? We all have. The difference is you blame yourself for something you couldn't control. He's the one that fucked up, not you. It had nothing to do with you. He was a sick bastard and you suffered the consequences. Stop punishing yourself. Let someone love you."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He knew. He knew everything about me. "What the hell has Sara been telling you? Does everyone have to know about my humiliation?"

"It was twelve years ago. Do you think he was worth twelve years of your life? Open your eyes, damn you. See what's in front of you. I'm here and I could love you if you let me."

I laughed. It was a deranged sound. "Love me? You don't even know me. You have no idea who I am."

"I know you. I know your father is a cruel bastard and he used you as a punching bag. I know that you've had nothing but pain all your life. But it doesn't have to be that way. If you just let someone see the real you, you would see that you can be loved."

Fear sparked in my brain. "Sara didn't tell you that. I didn't tell anyone about my dad. How do you know about him?"

"I've known you for a long time. I've watched you and I've seen what you are capable of. You have a capacity for love like few others. You care about people and you do what you can to help everyone. You take care of Sara like she's your sister. You look after Mrs. Roberts next door and bring her homemade cookies. You take blankets out into alleys and back streets in the middle of the night because you're afraid that the homeless people will freeze. I know you well, Lia.

"I met you, a long time ago," he continued, "a sad-eyed, angry girl who pushed the world away. I kept tabs on you. When I found out my cousin was your friend I decided to move my businesses here."

I fell back a step. "When did we ever meet?"

"That night, when you visited Bill. I lived in the same off-campus building. I saw you walk out of that apartment, your head held high. You were dignified and proud. But I saw the hurt in your eyes. I saw the tears that you refused to shed. I had seen your picture in his apartment and fell in love with the joy I saw in your face, but when you came out of there that joy was killed. I wanted to throttle the fucker. I wanted to take that pain away from you. I wanted you to smile and laugh and be the girl in the picture.

"You walked past me in the hall. You looked right at me but you didn't see me. I spoke to you and when you looked up at me I felt a pain in my heart for the girl that was gone. Still, you couldn't see me. You walked away. I've watched over you since."

It was too much for me to take in. He was dredging up memories that I hated and pain that stole my breath. I sank onto the couch, staring at something that no one else could see. "Who are you?"

"A man who fell in love."

I looked up at him. I felt dizzy and was afraid that I would pass out. He approached me slowly, like one would approach a wild animal. He put his hand on my shoulder and knelt in front of me. "Lia, I never meant to upset you. I only wanted to make sure you would find happiness. But you haven't. If you want me to go, I'll go. But understand this—someone loves you and always will. The few moments we spent together are the best in my life."

"I can't," I whispered. I scooted away from him. "I can't." My voice was getting louder. "I can't!" I screamed as I pushed off the couch. 

"Why?" He was on his feet beside me.

"I just can't."

His hand stroked my hair. The need to flee was overwhelming. I walked backwards away from him, nearly tripping over the coffee table.

"Open your heart, Lia. Let me love you."

He was touching me again. The warmth of his hand was sending his argument home. He moved closer. His lips were inches from my own. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to feel his arms around me. I wanted to lose myself in his eyes and let the world disappear. When his lips touched mine I whimpered. I tried to push him away but both his arms snaked around me and held me fast. The kiss stretched out for a lifetime and when it ended I let my head fall onto his shoulder. His hands stroked my back and for a brief moment I believed that I would no longer be alone.

Then the faces of all those men came into my mind. Their cold, angry eyes stared at me. I remembered how many times I had promised myself that I would never let anyone get close enough to hurt me again. "I can't," I yelled and shoved him off me. 

I heard his bellow of pain and saw him clutch his injured arm. It was bleeding again. I backed away. "Devlin, I hurt everyone. I'll hurt you too. I'm poison. You need to get as far away from me as possible. You need to stay away from me. You're a good person. You deserve better."

"I'm not going anywhere. If you send me away I'll just come back, and I'll keep coming back until you get tired of fighting me."

I almost laughed at the thought. "You must be a glutton for punishment."

"No, just a man in love."

"Stop saying that. I don't want you to love me. I don't have anything to give."

"You're lying," he said as he took a step closer. "You have everything to give. Just open up a little. Take a chance."

"Devlin..." Whatever I wanted to say was forgotten when he kissed me again. With a moan I returned his kiss and let my body melt against his. I felt his lips leave mine and rain feathery kisses down my throat. I had no choice but to cling to him. All my strength was gone. I wanted him and I wanted to believe in him.

I felt his hand wander up my back, inside my blouse. It was warm and strong. His lips found mine again and burned me with his fire. I had never been kissed like that, and I didn't want it to stop. He pushed me against the wall and I felt him flinch when his wounded arm was pinned between us.

I put my hands against his shoulders and pushed. "Amelia," he said against my lips. "Don't push me away."

"I'm not. It's just that we need to look after your arm."

"The hell with that," he growled and threw me over his shoulder. He carried me to my bed and threw me onto the mattress. "My arm can wait, I can't."

He was on top of me in an instant. His lips, his tongue and his hands were undressing and exploring every inch of me. When his mouth found my left nipple I nearly screamed. His body was shaking and I could feel the strength with which he tried to control himself. "Love me, Lia," he said as if he could invoke emotion in me by sheer force of will. "Love me."

I didn't answer with my voice. I had no words to share. I only knew that his body was driving me wild and I wanted him more than I had wanted anything or anyone in my life. I had an unanswered need in me and I knew that he was going to fill it. I entangled my fingers in his hair, pinning his head to my body. I wanted him to possess me.

I saw the pain on his face when he tried to raise his body on his outstretched arms and he fell against me. He wrapped his good arm under me and rolled my body on top of his. His cock entered me with a life of its own and filled me completely. I cradled his head on my arms as his mouth sought out my breast again. My hips moved to take his thrusts as he pounded up into me.

Our breaths mingled in a ragged cadence as we climbed together. I sat up and rode hard until my body shuddered and I heard him groan my name. He slammed into me again, sending me over the edge to topple on top of him. I felt his lips caressing my neck as he spoke words of love. Finally we lay still in each other's arms.

After a few minutes I moved to get off him, pinning his arm. I heard his sharp intake of breath and sat straight up. I examined his arm with horror.

"Devlin, you need help. This is bad." His hand was pale and swollen and his nail beds had turned blue. I looked him in the eye. "Lie still for a minute. I'll get dressed."

I pulled my clothes on hastily and grabbed his off the floor. With my help he was able to get his slacks on but I decided not to try to get him into his shirt. I could tell he was in considerable pain as I put his shoes on his feet. But he was grinning at me when I looked up.

"Anyone who makes love like that can't possibly be frigid like you think."

"You don't really know me," I told him. I knew I had made a mistake having sex with him. I knew it was only a matter of time before he left. A profound sadness crept into my heart.

We got to the hospital and the emergency room doctor ordered immediate surgery. He said that Devlin had suffered a compartment fracture and was in danger of losing his right arm. The doctor asked him why he waited so long to seek medical attention. Devlin grinned up at me, causing me to blush. The doctor tried to hide his own smile and told the nurse to take him away.

As he was wheeled away to the surgical unit I said goodbye to him in my heart. I found a telephone and called Sara to tell her we were at the hospital. I waited in the lounge until my friend arrived.

"Is he still in surgery? Is he all right?" She was clearly upset. "How did this happen?"

"He'll be fine," was all I could get out. The sadness in my heart was growing and I felt as if something in me was dying. "They should be done soon. Wait for him, will you? I have to go."

As I was walking away I could hear Sara calling after me. My steps quickened and by the time I reached the exit I was nearly running. I had to get away. I didn't know what had come over me but I had to flee. The ride home was the loneliest of my life. I couldn't bear the overwhelming grief that was consuming me.

When I got home I packed some clothes into a suitcase. I had no idea where I was going but I had to get out. Like a thief in the night I was running away. With suitcase in-hand I locked my house, jumped in my car and pulled off into the darkness.

The next morning I found myself in a hotel room in St. Louis, Missouri. I knew what I had to do and called my boss at home. I told him I would take that job in Seattle under two conditions. First, I had to start right away and second, it had to be kept strictly confidential. He was reluctant but he agreed. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that I would not be faced with returning. The company would hire a crew to move my things. I could settle my financial dealings from my new home. I was safely out of harm's way.

I checked out of the hotel and got back on the road. I pointed my front bumper west and didn't look back. I didn't call my mother who would undoubtedly wonder what happened to me. I decided that I would contact her as soon as I was settled. I couldn't deal with her right now.

With each mile I put between me and the life I was leaving behind the grief in me deepened. A chasm opened in my soul that left me feeling lost and broken. I could not fathom why I was feeling this way. He was just another man who would take what he wanted and leave me empty. I knew I was doing the right thing by getting away from him but I just couldn't help the feeling that I was making a mistake.

I stayed on the road until my eyes would no longer cooperate. It was in the early morning hours that I found a hotel and stopped for a few hours' sleep. But dreams of him haunted me and kept me from getting restorative rest. By nine in the morning I was on the road again. My cell rang and I looked at the caller ID. It was him. I switched the phone off, feeling a pain in my chest.

I only stopped for restroom breaks and coffee until I reached Seattle. It was afternoon the next day when I got in and I switched on my cell again. I saw that Devlin had called several more times as had Sara. My mother had called twice and there was even a call from my father. I took a deep breath against the real physical pain I was feeling. I shoved it all into the back of my mind and dialed the number I had been given to my new offices. I informed the office manager that I was her new General Manager and asked for information. She told me that she had not been given much time to prepare but a company-owned apartment was waiting for me. I was not expected in the office until the following Monday. I decided that I just might have to surprise them a little sooner. The thought of not having anything to do until Monday just left me feeling cold.

But I was tired when I found the apartment. It was a stark set of rooms in a homely building. I was glad to see that the building was in a favorable part of town and that it was clean. Beyond that I didn't care. There were sheets on the bed and frozen dinners in the freezer. I was too tired to eat so I hit the bed as soon as I was unpacked. I didn't sleep long. Those passionate green eyes, full of hurt, stared at me in my sleep. I was up after dark, wishing I could make him go away.

Finally, unable to take the emptiness of the apartment, I wandered out into the night. I decided to explore this new home on foot, feeling that the walk would do me good. Seattle was a beautiful city and the people were friendly but before long I wished that I had brought an umbrella. After about an hour I made it back to the ugly apartment building looking like a drenched rat.

As I approached the entrance I thought I was having an hallucination. A man was sitting on the steps in the rain. He looked so much like Devlin that I had to blink several times as I neared him. I thought it was a trick of the drenching rain. But he stood as I got closer and I realized I wasn't seeing things. The man on the steps had his right arm in a sling and hazel-green eyes that glittered like the rain. It was Devlin. I stopped short.

How had he found me? Why wouldn't he just leave me alone? The pain in my chest returned, sucking the breath out of my lungs. For one heart-stopping moment I thought I would faint. I steeled myself to walk past him but the look on his face stopped me. What I saw frightened me. It was rage—cold, hard and palpable. I took a deep breath and waited.

"Inside, now!" He reached for me with his left arm. He had surprising strength for a man who had just been through surgery only a couple of days before. With my arm in his inflexible grip he shoved me through the door. I didn't like the light in his eyes and I wanted to get away from him. I felt guilty and horrible and I knew that I had hurt his feelings.

I opened my mouth to speak as he rushed me through the lobby, "Devlin, I..."

"Not-a-word," he ground out through his clenched teeth as he led me to the elevator. Once the doors opened he jerked me into the lift. "Push the button to your floor," he ordered. I hesitated only a moment before complying.

Once the lift stopped he shoved me through the door before it had completely opened. "Which way?" he demanded. I pointed in the direction of my new living quarters. 

He dragged me to the end of the hall and waited while I fished in my pocket for the key. My fingers fumbled with the lock. I was unsettled by the tension in him. I felt as if I had just stepped onto a road from which there was no return. I finally had the door open.

He seized my arm again and pushed me inside, kicking the door shut behind him. He hauled me across the tiny living room and flung me onto the hard couch. I sat winded for a moment, staring at the fury in his eyes. He stood over me breathing deeply with both fists clenched. His jaw was set like granite and a vein was pulsing in his temple.

I tried to speak but he held up his hand to silence me. I clamped my mouth shut and waited for the first blow to hit me. I waited like I had waited all those times as a child for the beatings that came from my father.

"I'm not interested in a damned thing you have to say, Amelia," he began in a tightly controlled voice. "I only came here to make sure you were all right and to tell you what's on my mind." He stopped for a moment, staring at me with eyes full of hate. "Now that I see you're alive I can finish the other. Who the hell do you think you are? What gives you the right to throw people away like you do? When I leave here I hope I never have to look at you again, but for now I want to tell you what a cowardly bitch you are. I bared my soul to you. I opened my heart and my arms to you. And I felt you open to me. I know you wanted me as badly as I wanted you.

"Still you pushed me away. Worse than that, you ran away. You have not right to throw away your happiness – and mine – with both hands. You will spend the rest of your life alone if you're not careful." He stopped to take a breath. 

What he didn't realize was that I already knew that I was destined to be alone. Hearing him say it, though, drove it home like a wooden stake in my heart. The pain in my chest worsened and a lump formed in my throat. I couldn't swallow and I could barely breathe. 

He continued, "I had to hire two detectives to find out what happened to you. When I got out of surgery no one knew where you were. Your boss lied to me. Your mother was frantic and your dad sounded like he wanted to kill you."

"You called my parents?" I whispered. 

"Yeah, I called them. I was desperate. I didn't know what happened to you."

"You spoke to my father?" I was transported back to a time when those words struck fear in my heart.

"Damn right." Exasperation was thick in his voice. "You listen to me good, woman." He leaned close to me with eyes that mirrored green ice. "I tried with you. I have never failed at anything in my life until now. I don't like it. I'm going to leave you alone now but before I go I want you to know that you could have had it all. Love, happiness and a future together were all right there for you."




Heartless



He turned away from me then and walked to the door. It seemed as if he was taking something precious with him, something I couldn't live without. "Don't go," I whispered.

He stopped dead in his tracks. Without turning around he asked, "What did you say?"

I stared at his back. I wanted to speak but I couldn't. He was so far away and so angry. When I didn't answer he reached for the doorknob. Panic hit me hard.

"Don't go," I squeaked out. I stood up, hoping he would turn around. He opened the door and took another step. The pain in my chest became blinding. I felt myself breaking and I didn't think I could survive. "Please!" I screamed. Then he stepped back and slammed the door shut.

He turned around to face me. "Why should I stay?" That anger was still in his eyes and I couldn't bear to look at it so I looked away. "Look at me!" he yelled. "Why should I stay?"

I looked at him. I wanted to run to him but he was so cold. "Please...Devlin," I tried to form a coherent sentence.

"What? What do you want to say to me? Or am I wasting my time standing here?"

"No...I..." The words wouldn't come. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. When I opened my eyes he looked as if he was going to leave again. "Devlin, please, don't go."

"Why should I stay?" he repeated.

"Because, I need you." There, I had said it. I waited for him to laugh in my face and walk away. I shut my eyes tight.

A moment passed, and then another. The laughter didn't come. "Lia, open your eyes. Look at me." His voice was close to me. I couldn't do it. I felt his hand on my cheek. "Open your eyes."

When I opened my eyes he was just inches away. He was close enough to kiss but still miles away it seemed.

"Why do you need me?" he asked as he stroked my skin with his thumb.

I could feel the tears that were begging to be set free. The lump in my throat was swelling. I tried to swallow. I tried to speak but the sound that came out was more like a sob.

"Lia, tell me what's in your heart."

"I want to," I rasped. "I'm trying."

"Why did you run away from me?" His eyes were still angry but his face was softening. 

"I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?" 

"Afraid of me. Afraid of you. Afraid that you would leave me, hate me."

"I could never hate you. I told you, I love you." His eyes drilled into mine. "I will spend the rest of my life loving you, if you'll only let me."

"Please," I said. "Please, I want to believe you."

He kissed me then, sweetly and tenderly. "You can believe me. I'll do whatever I have to. Doesn't my coming here prove anything to you?"

The next step was mine, I knew. Only inches between us but to me it was the Grand Canyon. I had to step across that great expanse, take that chance. I never wanted to do anything so badly in my life. I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. I stepped forward and threw my arms around his neck. I let go of everything that was holding me back and I cried. I sobbed against his shirt as he held me tightly in his one good arm. 

"Lia, Lia," he crooned into my hair. "I'll move heaven and earth to make you happy, I swear it."

I reached up and kissed him. I had so many things I wanted to say but I couldn't find my voice. So I kissed him. 

We made love then. It was sweet and passionate. It was beyond anything I had experienced in my life. We held each other through the night. When the sun rose we were still at it. Finally, as I giggled like a carefree girl I told him, "I love you, Devlin. And I'm sorry I broke your arm."

His laughter rang out. "I guess it makes up for slamming a door into your head. Let's get off this hard floor and go home."

I sighed and kissed him. "Will you make love to me there too?"

"Yes," he said as his hand wandered over the curve of my hip. "And in the car and in every hotel room along the way. We'll go to your house and christen every room and then my house and do the same. Then we'll sell both of them and buy another one and start all over. And we'll keep making love until we're old and gray and our grandchildren have to bury us." He kissed me deeply and rolled on top of me. "I'll make love to you until the day I die."

And so far, he has kept his word.

***

Thank you for taking the time to read my work. Feel free to vote and leave a comment. I'd love to know what you think of this story.

~Molly Wens



Heartless



"Breakfast," you say casually, as if we're going out to eat, as if you're not standing here with your hands rudely shoved up my blouse, my bra askew, twisting my nipples so brutally hard that I'm on tiptoe, clutching your arm for support, eyes screwed shut, my entire body vibrating. 

You've reduced me to two piercing points of feeling. The pain is exquisite.

It's all fun and games to you, toying with me, dangling me on the border of bliss and never letting me pass over. 

Last night you jammed a dildo in my pussy while you callously raped my ass, cruelly pulling out before I reached my peak, stifling my complaints with your swollen dick. I pleaded with you to let me swallow, but you withheld that prize, falling asleep without conscience, leaving me wanting, unable to sleep. 

When you woke this morning, your unjust cock rising with the sun, I thought you'd reward me. I more than deserved it. I had no qualms straddling you to take my rightful due. You owed me that. 

Presumptuous of me. 

Throwing me off, you made me pay for my mistake, confining me to the bed with my ankles trussed over my head. You were a machine, spanking my ass and thighs, my senses focused on your merciless gaze, the loud thwack of your hand, the heated tingle spreading in my flesh, warm and welcome at first, quickly becoming discomfort then outrage. 

You smacked me relentlessly until my skin darkened from red to purple and I writhed in torment, appalled at the sick kinks in both of us that brought us to this. 

When you untied my ankles I wailed as the blood rushed back to my feet, pins and needles prickling me as you spread me wide and attacked my bald pussy, hitting harder than ever, like beating a puddle given that I was dripping with the need to come. 

How arrogant and superior you are when I'm frenzied and raw, weeping tears of defeat, begging to be fucked.

Of course you deprived me. 

You made me get dressed, supervising to stop me from touching myself. My panties were soaked the second I put them on. My thighs were tender, slicked and slippery. Now I have bed hair and a seeping wet spot on the back of my skirt, in no condition to leave the house, but you know that. You've no plans to take me anywhere.

Releasing my nipples, you snap my bra back in place, the pain subsiding, the relief so intense I almost topple over. 

One look from you and I know what 'breakfast' means. I don't need to be told to get down on my knees; I'm automatically there, mouth open like a baby bird, a slut-faced blow-up doll. Once I aspired to be loved, but these days I'm resigned to being nothing but a cum receptacle. 

I've always savoured giving you head (one thing I truly die for), but somewhere along the line tenderness has been lost and I mourn for it. I want to taste you, I do, but it scares me that there'll be no sweet kiss at the end of it, no release for me. I wonder with more frequency lately why I let you abuse me. 

Shirt off, belt and pants open, you come to me exposed, erect, strong and dangerous. 

Every time I see you like this my doubts fade, my blood boils, and my juices flow. 

You're always thinking – the wheels turning on some deep thought - and you're the master of self-control. I live for the moments when your foundations shatter, when the voice in your head blanks to white noise, instinct overwhelming you. Only then do I feel that we're equals, that you're just as much at the mercy of your sex as I am. 

It's an intense turn-on for me, inciting you to that animal state, seeing the unguarded hunger on your face when you forget everything except the pursuit of orgasm. 

Fisting my hair in your hands, you ram your cock between my lips, surging to the back of my throat, fast and punishing. I'm gagging, looking up into your eyes, tears streaming down my face. Feeding on my misery, you grow bigger in my mouth, backing me up until my head hits the wall. You hold me captive, slamming your cock into me over and over. All I can do is hold my throat open and suck harder, my tongue flickering over you, urging you to finish quickly. 

Body seizing, you pull out and pump yourself, spurting white hot fluid all over my face, deliberately missing my mouth. Wiping your priceless deposit off my cheek, I'm desperate to taste you, but your hand tightens around my wrist and you whip my fingers away, cleaning them off on my skirt. 

"Fuck you," I sputter. God damn you. I'm hurt, insulted, infuriated. You're lucky I don't jump up and plant my knee in your balls. I'm over it. I've had enough of your bullshit. 

Standing on wobbly legs I turn my back on you, stumbling towards the bathroom. 

You're right you know. Why would I want to swallow the cum of an iceberg, an unmoved, heartless pig? I'll wash you off, I'll scrub off every toxic drop, and if you ever try to face fuck me again, you'll get a guillotine of teeth. (Little do you know how much I'll suffer, far more than you, to be denied the taste and wonder of your cock in my mouth, at least, the way that I like it). 

"What did you say to me?"

I freeze at the menace in your tone. I could repent but the damage is done, it's too late to take back my disrespect. I could bolt, but with the dead lock keys hidden, there's nowhere to run. A switch flips on in my head, a subconscious need to provoke you further. The more I push you, the hotter you get, the higher the chance that you'll lose your way and cave in to me, conceding me that elusive orgasm. 

Then there's the terrifying, yet alluring, possibility that one day your beatings will go too far. It's all part of the rush. 

Without looking at you, I reply, "What I said, was 'fuck you', but what I really meant to say was, fuck you, you cold-hearted, sadistic piece of shit." Put that mouthful in your Piecepipe and smoke it. I'll teach you for thinking I'm submissive. 

There's a flurry of air behind me, and then you're on me, dragging me by the hair into the kitchen, pinning me face down on the table, holding me there while you rip my skirt and panties down. 

Not saying a word, you release me and walk out. 

It's an illusion of freedom, designed to put me in my place. Why cry and carry on when I'd the opportunity to walk away whenever I wanted? You're so devious. You know me too well. You know there are elements of anticipation and excitement building in me as I wonder what depraved punishment you have in store. 

I know the rules. 

Stepping out of my panties, I spread my legs so wide that my buttocks are stretched apart, my muscles starting to ache, the strain on my body amplifying every hurt and ill you've already inflicted. 

The house is cold and silent. The minutes tick away while I stand absolutely still with my genitalia on display, open and vulnerable, my cheek pressed against the table, waiting. 

After what seems an eternity you return, cool and aloof, hiding something behind your back. Before I can guess what it is you penetrate me with your fingers, slipping so easily into me that I'm embarrassed and ashamed. I can protest all I want but my pussy doesn't lie. 

Impaling me on your hand you tell me what a dirty mouth I have, what a wet little slut I am, a leech who wants to suck you dry. The whole world knows I'm a bad girl, a dirty whore, a nymphomaniac cunt who thinks too highly of herself . . . everything derogatory you can think of. 

With your inventive mind the debasements are endless. 

It destroys me to hear you call me filthy names, particularly while you're manipulating me, making me ooze into your palm, lending credence to your words. Gripping the table, I wriggle and squirm, humiliated, transported to the most soul-destroying recess in my mind.

Your fingers withdraw from me, replaced with the arctic burn of your nasty tool, the icy fullness of the steel dildo you made especially for me, crudely rammed into my snatch, right to the hilt. Every cruel node you adorned it with tortures my inner passage as you twist the evil thing inside me, leaving me painfully sensitised and breathless. 

I wish you'd taped my mouth, anything to stop the strangled moans of longing and anguish that spill out of me. I want your cock, the real thing, you inside me, you fingering my clit, you making me explode, please Master, please god, pleeease. 

As if you could care less what I want. 

Wrenching my chin up, you slip your fingers into my mouth, smearing my slut juice all over my lips, forcing me to lick your hand clean while you're fucking me like a corkscrew with your evil toy. Just enough, just enough to bring me to the cliff and leave me hanging there before ripping the dildo out of me and deep-throating me with it. 

I'm a sobbing, quivering mess when you throw the dildo aside and land the first deadly blow. 

Oh my god, my god, my god, my fucking god, you have never been so pitiless, never hit me with something as vicious or sharp as metal. My head hits the table as your belt welts my skin, the buckle cutting into my bruised ass, the pain so acute that, in screaming, I bite my tongue, blood filling my mouth with a distinctive tang. You've taken to me with your open hand, your whip, but this...this is beyond pleasure or pain. 

This is annihilation. 

You flay me a second and a third time, and I'm shocked to realise that the choked, tortured sounds echoing off the walls in the kitchen are coming from me. My mind clears and I suddenly detest you with a passion I've never felt for my worst enemies, fueling my determination to never let you win. 

It won't be me who calls a halt to this. 

Rage sustains me through the following hit - only just - but the beating is too much. My body breaks into a cold sweat and my soul cracks wide open. Flinching away to avoid the next blow, I succeed only in ramming my pelvic bones into the table's edge, adding more contusions to my body and worst of all, elevating your wrath. How dare I try to ease my suffering? 

Drawing your arm back as far as possible, your belt whistles through the air as you bring it down hard across my buttocks in the most despicable, inhumane stroke of them all. 

It's over for me. 

Slumping to the floor, my body and mind shrieking, I'm scarcely able to curl into a foetal ball, past knowing who I am, no longer caring what happens to me. Right now I would gladly face death and embrace oblivion, anything to evade the profound devastation you induce in me. 

You look down at me, really look at me, an expression crossing your face that my hazed, confused brain can't comprehend. 

It could be remorse for breaking your plaything. 

It could be triumph. 

Then you're on the floor with me, rolling me on to my back, pushing my limp legs aside as you run your tongue through my sopping pussy. My bodyweight presses down on my wounds, and I howl from the shock of it, but the tiles are cool and soothing, numbing my burning, bloody skin. My body is so overwrought I can see the poetry of your head between my legs but I can't feel your mouth. I cant feel a thing until your lips and teeth latch on to my clitoris. 

That's all I need. 

All the pent up emotions and the knife edge of frustration you've balanced me on for days, implodes inside me. Powerless, I thrust my hips into your face and let go, endlessly pulsing around your fingers wedged in my pussy, your tongue working its way into my ass as my spend goes on forever. 

My total surrender sends you over the edge, flying into the abyss. 

I can't believe you're hard again, hauling me on top of you, drilling your way into me with my pussy fighting to expel you. Holding me tight, you fuck me right through my climax, lifting me and slamming me down on your cock like a rag doll, my body anesthetised but my pussy on fire, my cries incoherent, close to madness. You're frenetic now, wrenching apart my blouse, buttons flying everywhere as you maul my tits, your hips levering up into me. 

I can't escape you and I can't remember the reasons I wanted to. All that matters is that you're inside me, filling me up, out of control, just as much a slave as I am. Your loss of self revives me. Biting hard on your throat, sucking your neck, I claw at your back, leaving my own savage marks as you drive into me one last time, your body jerking in tandem with mine when you flood my tight passage with semen. 

Collapsing against you, I fold my body into yours, reluctant to let you go as silence descends over us. Schizophrenic I know. A moment ago I wanted to leave you, maim you, die, but now I'm struck with the irrational necessity of keeping you close, dreading the moment when you withdraw from me in body, mind, and spirit. It's almost as if you've given up a secret part of yourself and you resent me for taking it. 

This is the telling moment for me, the switch from craving sex to feeling used, full of despair, needy for approval, searching for some kind of meaning in all this because without it I'm left with utter emptiness. 

For some reason I can't fathom, now is one of those rare moments when your cock fades away, but you, you are still with me. Helping me to my feet, you support me to the bedroom. I'm not used to consideration. It plays havoc with my head, but it's an implicit part of your charm, like lightning spearing through storm clouds. 

Cautiously I crawl on the bed, easing myself down on my stomach, exhausted, my body flaming in agony. I've no spirit left to cry; I've already given you an ocean. 

Handing me painkillers to swallow, you wash my injuries and salve my skin, rubbing my back to gentle me whenever you touch a tender spot. It stuns me that your comforting hands were capable of such barbaric treatment. 

I don't know what you think or feel when you clean the six cuts where your belt buckle drew blood. Nor when you lift my hips off the bed and plunge your face between my legs, slowly lapping every drop of your own salty cum from me. 

This simple act (if I wasn't so tired and sore), makes me yearn to have you back inside me all over again. 

When I least expect it you brush my hair off my face and gift me the longest, sweetest kiss, finally letting me taste you, all of you. Your kiss is a silent communion: It's you understanding the ordeal you've put me through and just how deeply you value my capitulation.

I know your dirty little secret. 

You're not as heartless as you pretend to be, and that, dear one, is why I keep coming back.