5 comments/  16942 views/  2 favorites

Secrets Revealed Pt. II

By: strickland83



Part II – Her Story

We arrived at the home of my parents late that night. Laura had already fallen asleep but I couldn't sleep on the drive, tortured by my guilty memories. Getting out and hugging my parents was a welcome relief.

We were back where I had grown up, inside familiar walls. I had been a child here, grown up to womanhood, gone off to school, and met Tim. That last thought made me feel an icy grip on my heart. The visit to that camp had been torture for me, a torture I couldn't escape. Finally seeing that place was almost too much to bear. All these years, I had kept the secret, the old vow. Now I felt a need burning inside me to confess.

I made it through the night, trying to stop myself from tossing and turning so I wouldn't wake Tim. It was strange sleeping in my old bed with him. All those years being good, trying to stay chaste until marriage, to now be back in my room, in my bed, with a man. My man.

It wasn't that I doubted Tim would still love me. We had something really special. In many ways, our love for each other was better than our friends had in their marriages. I knew Tim loved me as much as I loved him. I just worried how he would react to my confession.

I drew in a deep breath and came to the decision. Tomorrow. Actually, it was today. The sky was just beginning to tint with the impending dawn. I would face my demon, for good or bad. In a way, I was relieved once I had made the decision.

After breakfast, I cornered my mother in the kitchen while Tim and my dad were taking Laura out to see the cows.

"What's bothering you, dear?' my mother asked.

She used that tone. I knew she knew something was wrong. There was no denying it. She knew me too well. I tried to steel myself. If I started to cry, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to pull this off.

"Mom, I need to take Tim out for a talk, just the two of us. I was thinking of a picnic over the hill. Can you take care of Laura for a few hours?"

My mother was listening to me as she peeled potatoes at the sink. She smiled and nodded.

"We can bake cookies for after dinner," she said, never questioning what the problem was. God bless you, Mom.

"There's some sandwich stuff in the fridge, and some fruit. Do you want to bring a bottle of wine?" she offered.

I nodded before going down to the basement to retrieve the big wicker picnic basket. It was old and dusty now, not as I remembered it fresher and newer from my childhood.

Back in the kitchen, I wiped off the dust. Mom was already starting to make sandwiches. She knew me so well, knew both of us so well. She was trimming the crusts off my bread, and putting provolone cheese on Tim's sandwich. I smiled at that. She knew my husband almost as well as I knew him.

We were just about finished when I looked through the window over the sink and saw the men returning, each holding one of Laura's hands and gently swinging her between them. She was giggling with delight. They came in and Laura was bursting with things to tell me. Mom stopped her and told her to go wash her hands first.

Tim saw the picnic basket and raised an eyebrow at me in silent question. I swallowed hard and tried to keep my voice steady, but I was starting to sweat.

"I thought you and I would go on a picnic for lunch. A little alone time," I said, managing to keep my voice under control.

"Just the two of us?" he asked as he saw the bottle of white Zinfandel sticking out of the basket.

I managed a smile as I said, "Yeah, just the two of us. Mom's going to keep Laura and they're going to bake cookies while we're gone."

Tim walked over and put his arms around my waist, sneaking in a kiss just below my earlobe, the way I really liked. I felt my heart race at the touch of his lips.

"Sounds romantic," he whispered.

God, I hope he still thinks so later.

Mom convinced Laura that baking cookies would be better than a picnic so she didn't mind that we weren't taking her along. Dad had wandered off to do one of those things that always seemed to need doing on a farm.

Tim picked up the basket and took my hand.

"See you later this afternoon," he told Mom.

He bent down and gave Laura a kiss as he passed her, already hard at work at the table.

"Be good for Grandma," he told her.

"I'll make a special cookie for you, Daddy. Heart shaped."

Then we were gone. The back door closed behind us with finality. I had closed the door on the secrecy. Ahead of us, a glorious day beckoned. It was about a ten minute walk to the spot I had in mind and in that time I felt like I aged ten years. Tim, bless him, didn't ask what was on my mind though I knew he could tell something was bothering me.

When we crested the hill, we passed out of sight of the house. There was a pasture ahead of us and not a person in sight. In the distance, a few cows had gathered around a tree. Our destination was another shady spot, this one just above the stream that ran though the pasture. I used to come here to think when I was a teenager. It was where I had tried to work through all the angst that goes along with growing up. I had spent many lazy afternoons out here, with a book or just my thoughts for company.

I stopped beneath the old tree. Tim, taking the cue from me, put the basket down. I opened it and took out the ancient red checkered blanket. I spread it out and knelt. Opening the basket, I started taking things out and arranging them. I needed to arrange things. When the basket was empty, I finally looked up to see Tim watching me.

"What's wrong?" he finally asked. "Did I do something to upset you?"

His tenderness, his concern that he had caused my pain, broke through my façade. As I tried to say, "No, of course not," the dam holding back the tears finally gave way.

"Darling, what did I—" he started to ask but I stopped him with a finger across his lips. He pursed his lips and kissed that finger. I felt so in love with him at that moment. I also felt so rotten inside.

"Tim," I started, "I have to tell you something. Please just listen. I'll explain it all. I should have told you this a long time ago. I'm sorry that I kept it from you for so long."

I could tell by the look on his face that he desperately wanted to ask a question but he didn't. He was waiting for me to speak. It was hurting me so much to see him so concerned. I was causing him pain over something I had done. I steeled myself for the next sentence as I took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and spoke. The words came out in a rush as I spoke too fast to let myself start crying and not be able to finish.

"I know all about Camp Kisatchie. All of it. I know about Patrice, and the canoe trips, Abby, skinny-dipping in the pool, and I know why that summer was so special for Patrice. I know you were her first."

I looked at him, waiting for a reaction, an explosion. He was stunned. I could see the unspoken word How? forming on his lips but he waited for me to continue. He wasn't angry. Of course he wasn't. Our love was so strong. Strong enough even to weather this—I hoped. He was being so patient with me. I knew that I was in too deep to stop now so I began the story I had kept to myself for too many years.

* * * * *

In the fall of 1982, when I returned to school, my roommate had transferred to another school so I got a new one. She was my age, pretty and pleasant, and we quickly became good friends. She told me about her new boyfriend and I hung on every word. I didn't have a boyfriend at that time, though I desperately wanted one. I was in love with the idea of being in love. She described him as the most wonderful, caring and sexiest guy in the world. As the semester progressed, however, I could tell that the distance was wearing on her and on the relationship. We talked about how she had worked at a summer camp and about her friend from the camp who had broken up with her boyfriend over the summer.

In the fall, I went on that trip for the competition and that is where I met my Prince Charming—the answer to my prayers. Torrid would not begin to describe the long weekend as I fell into his arms, already determined to meet that special someone. He was all that to me and so much more. I was in love almost from the first moment. I could tell that he was looking for something like that, too.

When I came back to school, I had a story to tell my roommate. We compared notes, as girls will do, even intimate ones. We shared our encounters and how special they were. We still hadn't mentioned any names, feeling that keeping our lovers nameless made it alright to be talking about the sex. This went on for about two weeks as he and I exchanged letters, and I kept begging him to send a picture.

Then, there was that day when the picture came in the mail. I had gone down to check my post office box after my last class. When I saw the stiff envelope folded into the tiny box, my heart leapt. I tore it open right there and lovingly took out the photograph. I went right to the bookstore and bought a frame for it. Returning to my dorm room, I put it in the frame and set it on my desk. I was so silly, adjusting the position until I had a perfect view of it when I was lying in bed.

I was there, admiring the picture when she came in from her last class. She could see I was excited about something. I told her about the picture and pointed to it. She looked at it, wanting to share my excitement. Then, her expression changed. Her face fell. It was fear, or betrayal, or maybe hate—something very bad. She slowly sat down on her bed never taking her eyes off the picture of my new boyfriend.

'What's wrong?" I asked with alarm, having no idea what could shake her up so much.

"It's him," she finally managed to say, fighting tears. "It's Tim."

Patrice put her face in her hands and cried. I still didn't get it. I got up and sat next to her on her bed, putting my arm around her.

"Yes, it's Tim, the guy I met in Louisiana," I said, still clueless. Then, like a bolt of lighting, it hit me. "How did you know his name?"

"How do you think?" Patrice asked through tears and sobs. "He is my boyfriend, who I gave my virginity to," she explained, unable to say anything more as she whimpered.

No! I wanted to shout, to scream. It can't be! But I didn't say anything. I just looked at the picture, the picture of my boyfriend, the picture of her boyfriend. I felt what it was like for dreams to be shattered. I felt my life unraveling.

"Patrice, I had no idea. He never said anything. I would have never—"

"He wouldn't have. I never told you, but I knew the distance thing wasn't working out for us. I needed someone here, someone to hold me, touch me. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I knew it was coming to an end. We were talking about that in our letters, but I never told you. I had built him up so much that I was ashamed to tell you my perfect love was falling to pieces."

"But if I had known, I would never have done what I did," I said, the reality of that last phrase weighing heavily on my heart.

I had done those things, and I couldn't take them back. I don't think it would have mattered even if I had known. I was in love with that guy. I had found my perfect someone.

At the same time, I felt like I was taking something precious from my best friend. I hadn't known Patrice all that long, I reasoned. I had known Tim for even less time. But I was in love with Tim.

Patrice finally lifted her head to speak.

"What should we do?" she asked me.

I knew what was the right thing to do, but I didn't want to do that. I wanted Tim.

"What do you mean?" I answered with another question.

She grimaced as she said, "I mean about Tim. Who gets him?"

I felt a pang in my stomach. It wasn't the honorable thing to do, but I said it.

"I thought you said your relationship was coming apart. Do you still want him?"

There. I did it. This wasn't a ball on the playground that we were arguing over. It was love. Patrice gave a very deep sigh.

"I still love him, but I just can't see us surviving. As much as I want him, I want what's best for him. Do you think you could make it work? The two of you?"

Was she really giving in that easily? I wondered. He was her first, after all. I knew how she felt about that. All girls felt that way about the first person they made love with. I still remembered my first time. I wasn't in love with him anymore, but I'd always feel love for him. I thought about that. True, my first time was a few years ago, not a few months ago. If I really wanted Tim, I'd have to be assertive even if it hurt Patrice. And I wanted Tim. God, how I wanted Tim!

"Yes."

There, I said it. I staked my claim. I marked my territory.

"I expected you to say that," she responded without emotion. Saying it that way actually conveyed emotion. Emotion I didn't want to hear.

That made me feel guilty. She was right, of course. When someone points out your fault and you know they're right, it hurts even more. I didn't know how to respond to her. Fortunately, I didn't have to.

"I wanted this to work," she said, morosely. "I wanted us to last, I wanted to marry him and have his children. I wanted it all. Being at this school sucks!"

Her last words rang in an echo against the painted cinderblock walls. I wasn't sure if she was giving up or just getting ready to fight. I waited.

"He's a wonderful guy, but you know that, after your weekend."

Patrice sounded almost spiteful that time.

"I had him for the whole summer."

After saying that, she studied the picture intently.

"I can't believe we both fell for the same guy," she said softly. Then, "Yes, I can. He's perfect. He's funny, caring, sensitive, loving, and so fine."

Forgetting my fear, I spoke up before I even realized I voiced that thought out loud.

"He has the cutest bubble butt."

Patrice smiled at my comment and nodded.

"And he can eat pussy to make your toes curl," she added.

We continued like we had before, comparing boyfriends. Only, this time, we knew we were comparing the same boyfriend. We listed all of his good qualities, all of his prowess in bed. We covered him from head to toe. It was almost surreal. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Patrice seemed almost ethereal, like she wasn't really there or she was discussing a fictional character. None of it seemed real. Well, nothing except the picture staring back at us.

After dinner, we were back in the room discussing Tim. We never reached a decision. After the light was turned out, we kept on talking in the dark until we fell asleep.

In the morning when I woke up, the thoughts of the previous afternoon came rushing back to me. I looked at the picture I had so carefully placed on the desk. Tim's face was smiling back at me. When I had opened the envelope, I was so happy. Now, I wasn't sure. Was I stealing Patrice's boyfriend?

I lay in that state between sleep and awake, reliving the weekend we had met. A smile delicately brushed my face as I remembered how we met. How he watched me from the side as we both ordered at the Burger King counter. When he heard me order and say to someone with me that I loved extra ketchup, he changed his order. He told that cashier that if it was good enough for me, it was worth trying.

I gave him a smile and a raised eyebrow. When we took our seats, he guided his friends to the booth opposite ours, sitting where he could watch me. I kept looking up shyly at him. Finally, after what felt like years, he came over and introduced himself. I just about melted. He asked if he could sit next to me and I couldn't think how to respond. When he asked if that was a no, I came to my senses and scooted over, patting the seat next to me. He sat down, the smell of his aftershave making my heart pound.

"Fran, you awake?" Patrice called softly.

"Yes," I answered.

Patrice was quiet. She got up and went to the bathroom. When she came back, she sat on her bed and looked first at Tim's picture then at me.

"You're right. I can't make this long distance thing work. I need more. I need a boyfriend who is here. If you think you can make him happy, then you should try."

Her tone was even, without inflection. It was like a judge delivering a death sentence.

I had what I wanted but now I only felt worse. All I could think about was how I was taking away her dream. She had been telling me about her boyfriend for months. I had listened eagerly about how wonderful he was and I had wished I'd meet someone like him someday. Now I had. Why didn't I feel good about that?

"Are you giving up?" I asked Patrice.

"I don't think that's what I'm doing. I think it's already over. I want the best for Tim. If I can't give it to him, I want someone else to."

Patrice's words shocked me. I was overjoyed that she was willing to step aside and not be any competition to me, that I had a clear shot at Tim, but I still felt wrong about it. I felt like I was taking advantage of her. My silence as I thought that over spurred her to continue.

"Do you realize what I'm saying? I'm giving up. Tim is all yours."

"Patrice, I—hell, I'm not sure what I want."

"Don't you want him?" she asked, a little agitated.

"Of course I do. He's wonderful, he's handsome, loving... but then you know all that," I said.

"Yes, I do. And I really want you to have him."

She was really giving up without a fight. I wasn't sure what to do. Have you ever gotten exactly what you wanted and felt terrible about it?

"Aren't you happy, Fran?" Patrice asked me, sounding concerned now.

"Yes. I think I am. I'm glad about Tim, but I feel like I'm stealing something from you."

"So what should we do? Arm wrestle for him?" Patrice asked, and she laughed.

I laughed too, but uneasily. This wasn't right. It felt all wrong somehow.

"I'm confused. You have been talking about how much you loved Tim, and now you're willing to step aside and let me have him. What is this all about?"

"Isn't that what you want?" she asked. "Don't you want Tim?"

"Of course, but it sounded like you two had something really special."

"Look, I'm trying to give you what you want. Do the honorable thing and all that shit. The long distance thing isn't working out for us so I want you to try. He is a really special guy and he deserves someone who can love him and make it work. I'm doing it for him as much as for you," she explained.

I should have said something. I should have offered to back out. I just couldn't, though. I had been looking for someone like Tim and when I found him, I just couldn't let go. I held on, even though it felt wrong. I let my heart guide my actions instead of my head. I ignored what Patrice was doing. I didn't question her. I guess I was afraid she'd change her mind.

Patrice began planning our strategy. It was a little weird how she suddenly seemed so detached from the guy who held her heart just a few days ago, the guy she had willingly surrendered her virginity to only a few months before.

"I'll write him and tell him that it is just not working out for us. I'll let him off the hook so he will feel free to pursue you."

"Do you think that will work?" I asked, hopefully. I wanted Tim so desperately that I was overlooking things that should have put up alarms.

"He knows how difficult long distance relationships are. He has been hinting in his letters that it isn't going to work for us. I've been ignoring it, but now I'll write back and agree. If I have to, I'll even tell him that I met someone else."

Then Patrice looked very serious. She leaned forward and spoke directly to my face. "You have to make this work. I want your solemn promise that you will do whatever you have to so Tim is happy. Will you do that for me?"


Secrets Revealed Pt. II



I thought about her words. I didn't think about what her real motive would be. I didn't want to try to figure it out. I just wanted Tim.

"Yes, I promise," I whispered.

"Say it," she practically ordered.

"I give you my word that I will do whatever I have to do to make this work."

That seemed to satisfy her. She looked almost relieved that she had just agreed to break up with Tim. But there was more.

"Tim must never know about our agreement. You can't ever tell him. Not that you know about me, or that you even know he was dating someone else when he met you. That's part of the bargain. Alright?"

I was so far into this that I blindly agreed, not wanting to take a chance of losing the guy I had found. I nodded.

"You're a lucky girl, Fran. Don't ever forget that."

I guess looking back that I should have felt like I had just made a deal with the devil. I didn't realize at the time how hard it would be to keep that promise. It hurts to keep something like that from the person I love so deeply. As the years progressed, it became harder but also more difficult to explain why I hadn't said something earlier.

I was coming back from class a maybe a week or two later when Miriam, the RA on my floor, stopped me as I passed her room.

"Fran, we need to talk."

"What's the matter?" I asked. I couldn't recall any rules I had broken lately.

"Patrice moved out. She found a new roommate in another dorm."

"What? She's gone already? Did she say why?"

"No, I was hoping you could tell me something. Did you two have a fight or something?"

"Not that I can think of," I lied, the first of many.

"I'll look for a roommate for you, but for now you're alone."

I walked back to my room in a daze. When I opened the door, I felt the shock all over again as I saw that Patrice's side of the room was entirely bare. It was as if she had never been there.

I tried tracking her down, tried talking to her. She avoided me. Eventually, my attempts to get in touch with her earned me a card in the mail from her. It said simply, "Remember your promise." Nothing more.

I stopped trying to talk to her after that. Eventually, I heard that she transferred to another university and I lost touch with her. I pursued my relationship with Tim, as much for myself as to honor my promise to Patrice.

* * * * *

I was blinking back tears as I drew myself back to the present, to my husband, to Tim.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I kept that from you all those years. At first, I felt I had to do it to keep you. After that, I couldn't imagine how I'd explain not telling you sooner. Then, yesterday, when you stopped at that camp, it all came back. It was overwhelming, facing those ghosts from my past, from our past. I feel like our love is based on lies. You have to believe me, Tim. I always loved you from the very first time we met."

Then I broke down into sobs. I had done it. After all those years, I had finally broken my vow of silence and come clean. I had no idea how my husband would react and that thought terrified me to my very soul. My greatest fear was to lose Tim. To lose him to that memory of Patrice which I took from him. We had a wonderful, loving life together. I didn't want to lose that... and I didn't want to take that away from Tim. Yet, I knew I deserved whatever happened next.

Tim, that wonderful man, had sat there quietly listening. He had let me speak, confess my deepest darkest sin. He didn't interrupt. Now it was his turn to speak. I thought it would actually be a relief if he yelled at me.

"I'm stunned," he started. My heart pounded and I trembled as I waited to hear what he'd say next. "Honey, you're trembling," he said, putting his arms on my shoulders and pulling me to him. I never enjoyed his embrace so much as at that moment. I wondered if my confession would drive him away, if I'd ever feel his touch again, and he was hugging me. I sobbed uncontrollably, completely unable to speak, grateful for his touch yet feeling so undeserving of it.

"What's the matter? Do you think that could make any difference in how much I love you? I'm shocked that you knew about all that and you never said anything." He paused to think about something. "It says a lot about your character that you would keep a promise like that for so long."

I had to try several times to get my crying under control enough to speak. "Can you forgive me?" I asked, not sure if he could even understand me through my tears.

"Forgive you? For what? For keeping a secret? For loving me enough to choose me over your friend? If that is what you want forgiveness for, then yes, my love. I forgive you... and I love you."

I didn't even try to speak. I was crying now out of relief. I just held onto him and cried. He, for his part, held me and that is just what I needed most at that moment.

In time, the tears dried up. I felt more in love with my husband than ever before. I also felt an immense sense of relief over finally telling him what I had kept from him ever since we had met. I guess I finally felt worthy, fully worthy, of his love. I can't describe the feeling. I just wanted to hold him and be held.

I thought about where we were. I remembered a place not far from here, just inside the stand of trees, where I used to go as a girl to be alone.

"Tim?"

"Yes, dear," he answered.

"Make love to me. Here, now."

"Right here?" he asked, sounding a little surprised.

I finally loosened my grip on my husband enough to look at his face. I smiled, remembering the stories I had heard of things he had done with Patrice that summer.

"There is a place, just inside the trees, that is very private. No one can see us from there. Let's go in there and make love. We can bring the blanket."

Tim smiled. He looked delighted at my suggestion. "We've never done anything like that before."

"I know. I wish we had. We can change that. Right now."

In answer, he stood up and held out his hand. I took it and stood, the warm strong feeling of his touch burning a memory into my brain. He picked up the blanket and put it over his arm.

"Lead the way," he said, grinning.

I wasn't nervous. I was relieved. I felt freer than I had ever felt with him since that talk with Patrice. I led him to the special place I had not been to since I was a teenager. It was like we were trying to make up for the years when I could never let myself go completely with him.

The spot under the trees was just as I had remembered it. A few big trees concealed the spot from anyone on top of the hill. I spread out my arms and turned around. Tim took the hint and spread the blanket on the ground. I giggled like a carefree college student again as I undid the buttons on my sundress.

As a girl, I had done this a few times in the summer. In this private place, I had taken off my clothes and played naked in the outdoors. If my mother or, God forbid my father, had every caught me, I doubt I would have lived to marry Tim. In those times long ago, I sometimes dreamed about the man I would marry. I would think about how he'd hold me and my hand would drift lower, down there.

Lost in my reverie, my pace fell behind Tim's. By the time I was letting my dress fall at my feet, Tim was removing his underwear. His erection was angling up from his body, a sight that never ceases to fascinate me. I hurried to catch up, a little embarrassed that he was stroking himself while he watched me remove my underwear. It's funny to me that I am more ashamed by him watching me than by taking my clothes off out here.

As my panties joined the rest of my clothes on the ground, Tim pulled me into his arms. The hard warmth of his dick lodged itself between us, a feeling that made me feel like I was melting inside. Maybe I felt like I was melting because I started to feel it oozing out of my lips. I used to be bothered by that, but now that I know how much he likes to clean me up there with his tongue it doesn't bother me anymore.

Even after giving birth to Laura, he still tells me I am beautiful. I am very aware of the changes in my body but he doesn't seem to notice. Seeing the love in his eyes, especially on that day, made me so happy that I married him.

As he took me in his arms, he pulled me to him with such force that my breath was knocked from my lungs. I didn't mind. The feel of his strength made me giddy with love... and lust. We kissed and he picked me up by my waist. With my feet off the ground he turned us around and I felt like I was flying. The breeze came along under the trees and blew through my hair, and I felt so in love with my husband.

I started crying because I was so relieved that he understood. He still loved me in spite of the secret that I kept from him all those years. He still loved me in spite of the fact that I took him away from Patrice. He stopped kissing me and asked me why I was crying.

I shook my head as I said, "It's not important. I'm just so happy to be here with you."

He laughed. "I'll never understand that," he said, "but I'm happy to be here, too."

"Thank you, Tim. Thanks for understanding, for forgiving, and especially for loving me."

"There is nothing to forgive. I am so glad things worked out this way. My life with you has made me the happiest man alive. I can't imagine my life being this happy with anyone else."

"Do you really mean that?" I asked him with tear-filled eyes.

"Yes, I do," he said, and his words reminded me of our wedding day.

"Make love to me, Tim. Make love to me right here under the trees," I told him.

He shifted his arms and I ended up being carried in his arms, his big strong arms that enveloped me. He laid me gently upon the blanket and delicately kissed my lips. My other lips were wetter than they ever were when I had been here alone.

Tim kissed below my earlobes, a place that he knows turns me on. I wanted to gasp, to cry out even, but I saved that for later. I knew he would make me cry out. He kissed his way down to my breasts, maybe a little faster than I would have wanted, but I was still pleased at his haste. Knowing that my body could still drive him to such passion gave me a plush warm feeling deep inside.

He sucked on my nipples and that sent a thrill down my stomach to my pussy. I could feel myself becoming even wetter. My body was preparing itself for him, to be taken by him. I breathed deeper and had an almost subconscious urge to open my legs for him. Again too soon, his lips left my nipples to head south. I can never get him to slow down for this part of the journey. He can't wait to get between my legs. I know that once he is there he will make me forget ever wanting him to go slower.

Sure enough, I soon felt his fingers pulling on my lips, the breeze gently caressing me in a place it couldn't reach a moment ago. I lifted myself up on my forearms to watch but I knew that as soon as his tongue touched me there I'll fall back and just sigh.

It happened that way. His tongue touched me in that special place and a warm surge moved through my body. I was powerless to do anything but look up at the tree branches overhead with unfocused eyes. My hands moved to my breasts of their own accord. I could still feel his saliva on the nipples and the memory of him being there only added to the overwhelming sensations.

I felt his tongue moving along my slit, a feeling that I can never duplicate with my finger. I heard a moan and realized an instant later that I made the sound in response to the way he was stimulating me. The pleasure was just barely below what I can stand. The tip of his tongue brushed my clit and I squeezed my nipples hard in response. One hand left a breast and I felt my fingers running through his hair, pulling his face harder to me. I can never make myself come this quickly when I play with myself, but he can always do this to me. With one hand still tugging on an erect nipple and the other pulling his head harder against my pussy, I felt the wave crashing over me. My legs wrapped around him lest he try to move away from me.

There was no world, no one else but the two of us. I felt the tingling spreading through every part of my body and I cried out. I screamed, not words but just sounds. The sounds of love, the sounds of pleasure. My entire universe had shrunk to what my wonderful husband was doing with his mouth to the space between my legs.

After the wave crashed, as the water flowed away, I became aware again of the sunlight through the leaves and the sound of the breeze in the trees. I licked my lips, aware that my mouth had become dry from my crying out. I looked down to find Tim looking at me and grinning. I could see that my juices were on his cheeks, a reminder of what he had just done to me that made me tingle a little again.

I was ready to return the favor, but Tim had other ideas. He moved over me, his erection dangling between our bodies. I smiled as I realized what was going to happen, what he was going to do to me. He pressed his lips to mine and I drew in a deep breath through my nose. I felt his right hand fumbling around until he found my opening. His other hand was guiding himself to it. I felt that hand around the shaft as he entered me.

When he began to penetrate, I felt a warmth surge through my whole body, like I was melting inside. I was taking him into me, we were joining in the most intimate way. My arms went around his back of their own accord. I felt his strong muscles beneath my hands, I smelled the scent of his body, I felt his weight descend upon me, and I felt his hardness enter me.

His lips moved from mine as he bottomed out and started pulling away. My mouth now free, I groaned out loud, embarrassed that I made such a sound. I was even more ashamed that I did it out here, where someone could overhear. I knew there was no danger of that; I had chosen this place because I knew we wouldn't be disturbed. I made another sound, louder, as I enjoyed that I could vocalize without fear.

Once I had made the decision to tell him, and even on the walk out here, I worried that we'd never be this close again. That was what I had feared the most—losing this closeness. That was so foolish of me. There was no doubt now how much he loved me, that he could forgive me anything and I would not lose him. I suppose that is what made me give myself to him so completely. It was definitely one of the less inhibited episodes of lovemaking we had ever experienced, and it was taking place under the trees at my parents' farm.

I had already enjoyed my orgasm so it wasn't as necessary for me to have another. I focused on giving him one, though he never failed to have one. Deep within me was this need to give him pleasure, to thank him for his forgiveness, to give thanks for the relief of having this burden lifted from my soul.

I squeezed my vaginal muscles, massaging his cock as it moved within me. I could feel it as it moved, giving me thrills that made me cry out again, though I was seeking his pleasure rather than my own. In a way, it was good that I was not seeking an orgasm because I could concentrate on his, on watching him experiencing pleasure that I was giving to him. I was enjoying watching him receive this gift from me.

I knew his orgasm was imminent before it happened. I felt his body tense up, felt his cock throb inside me, then he thrust deeply into me and held himself there. The warm spurts came and I enjoyed them, giving myself as a receptacle to him, knowing it gave him such pleasure. Though I didn't cum, the enjoyment of that encounter was a pleasure I felt through my entire being.

He stayed on top of me after, supporting most of his weight on his arms. I liked feeling him on top of me as we cuddled and kissed. The closeness after was as important to me as the act itself. In time, we talked again, after the kissing.

"I can't believe you knew," he said, sounding almost sad.

I nodded. "Yes, I knew. It was so hard keeping that from you," I said, starting to cry a little.

"Don't," he said. "You don't have to do that. It's all over now. We have each other and that is what matters. You are the one I want to be with. No one else."

"I know, but I'm crying because I'm so relieved. You know, you forgive me, and you still love me."

He laughed, the motion making his softened cock finish slipping free of my slick confines. "Of course I love you. Nothing can change that. You should know that."

"I do," I said, losing myself in his eyes, "I really do."

And I did. Deep down inside, I knew that I'd never lose him. I felt silly for ever thinking that. We had so much between us that one secret could never change.

Our relationship deepened that day, out there on the picnic. We dressed and returned to the red checkered blanket where we shared wine and food. We talked and laughed about that summer of 1982, and that fall. He shared things he had never told me, things about his time with Patrice. There was really little I didn't already know; she and I had discussed all the details in late night chats in our dorm room.

Something did change, though. As we talked, I found myself wondering about Patrice. I wondered what had happened to her. I wanted to know if she had ever found anyone else, if she had found the kind of happiness that I had found. The kind of happiness that I took away from her and kept for myself, I admitted.

Tim noticed the change by the look in my eyes and asked me what I was thinking. I started to tell him it was nothing, but stopped myself. I had decided to stop keeping secrets from him and I wasn't going to break that vow. I told him how I was curious about Patrice.

"You really lost touch with her?' he asked, sounding surprised.

"Yes, she didn't seem to want me around after... ," I told him. "I missed her terribly. We had become so close. When she moved out so suddenly, I felt abandoned, empty. All I had left was you and you were so far away."

I thought about what I was going to say next. I hoped it wouldn't hurt Tim—or Patrice—but I knew I couldn't keep it to myself. I had to know.

"I want to find her. I want to talk to her," I proclaimed, as much to myself as to my husband.

Tim seemed to think about that for a few minutes before saying anything.

"Do you really think you can find her after so much time?"

"I'd like to try. Tim, would you mind if I try? If you don't want me to, I won't. I promise," I said.

Tim, that great man, smiled and said, "Find her, Fran. If it means that much to you, then do whatever it takes to find her." And then he kissed me, deeply and passionately. We made love a second time after that, and that time I did have an orgasm. Did I ever!

When we were ready to return to the house, it was a happy walk, much lighter than my journey out there. Instead of holding hands, we each held one of the handles on the old wicker picnic basket. If I could have, I would have skipped. My heart felt that light.

As we approached the house, I felt myself blushing. I just knew that my mother would take one look at the glow on my face and know what we had been doing. I only hoped Dad wasn't there when we got back.

When we entered the house, Mom and Laura were still in the kitchen, now eating the cookies they had baked earlier in the day. Mom studied my face as we entered. Her own face showed relief when she saw how happy I was. She knew things had gone well. Whatever had been the problem, it was resolved.

We managed a few more picnics on that visit. We even took Laura on two of them. She was starting to ask what we were doing that she couldn't come with us. Mom, to her credit, never did ask what my problem was. When it was time to pack up for home, as I kissed my mother goodbye, I whispered my thanks. She just smiled.

While Tim drove on the long ride home, my thoughts were elsewhere. I was trying to think about how I could find Patrice. I passed many hours that way. When we passed the remains of the Camp Kisatchie sign on the way home, I smiled. The sign on that side of the interstate was just as worn as the other one. I didn't face it with dread this time. It was no longer a secret I was keeping from my husband. It was now a secret we shared and I felt a lot better about that.




Secrets Revealed Pt. II



Passing the sign was a kind of breakthrough for me. Ideas started to come together. By the time we reached home a few hours later, I had a plan. I put the plan into action the very next day.

I tried searching for Patrice's name on the Internet but found too many hits. Not knowing where she was living made the puzzle almost impossible to solve. Almost. I remembered that she had lived in Shreveport. Digging through my college notes in the attic, I finally found an address and phone number. I only hoped her parents were still alive and hadn't moved in the intervening years. With a trembling hand, I dialed the phone number. It rang, then again and again.

"Hello?" a woman's voice said.

It wasn't Patrice's voice. I hoped it was her mother. I explained that I was trying to find an old friend from college. The woman, who told me she was in fact Patrice's mother, was pleased that I was trying to find Patrice. I told her we had been roommates and had lost touch. She was very helpful, giving me her address and phone number in Dayton, Ohio. I wanted to pump the woman for more information but I didn't want to call too much attention to my quest. If Patrice didn't want to see me (which was very likely), I didn't want her to know I was looking. It was probably an invasion of her privacy, but I was driven by the need to see her, to talk to her and see how her life turned out—after I took Tim away from her.

I didn't call her. I probably should have, that would have been the easy thing to do, but I didn't. I used my Internet skills instead to learn everything about her that I could. As I progressed in my quest, Tim took an interest.

One night after work, at an apparent dead end, I sighed loudly.

"Not going well?" he asked from beside me as he watched television.

"I think I've learned all I can about her from the Internet," I explained, looking at my notebook screen again. "There just isn't much here."

Tim got up and stood behind the sofa, putting his strong hands on my shoulders and rubbing as he looked at the computer screen.

"You have her address, right?" he inquired.

"Yes, but that only tells me she lives in Dayton."

Tim bent down closer to me, a sly grin on his face. "It can tell you a lot more, if you only know how to ask the right questions."

He had my attention now.

"Go to Google Earth and put in the address. You can get an aerial photograph of her neighborhood."

"So? It's not likely she was out in the yard waving at the airplane when the picture was taken," I retorted. I was doubting this would lead anywhere.

Tim kept smiling. "Seeing the houses around hers will tell you the kind of neighborhood it is. The lifestyle, the income levels of her neighbors. Are there swing sets in her backyard? Bicycles in the driveway? Does she have children? How many cars in the driveway? Is she married?"

"You are devious," I said, now smiling along with him. "That's good."

I did as he suggested. He kissed my neck as I typed and, in a few minutes, we were studying an image of a quiet neighborhood across the street from a large park. Children played in that park, played baseball by the look of it.

She lived in a nice residential area, but the picture didn't show any cars and the detail wasn't quite good enough to show toys or play sets in the backyards.

"The picture must have been taken in the middle of the day," Tim said. When I looked at him, he explained, "That's why there are no cars in the driveways. Better lighting for the picture, though. It shows more detail."

"How do you know all this?" I asked, a question I often posed to him.

"I read a lot," he answered, his stock answer.

He came around to sit next to me and studied the picture, deep in thought.

"How much do you want to know?" he asked as he turned to face me.

"Tim, you know the answer to that," I said.

He nodded. "Then it's time for a road trip."

"You mean ..." I started to say.

"I mean, the only way you are going to get the answers to your questions is to go there and talk to her. Face to face."

His suggestion caught me off guard. Could I face her after all these years? Would she even talk to me?

"What about Laura?" I asked, stalling.

"She can stay with my sister for a few days. We'll drop off Laura on the way and drive up there to visit Patrice."

Tim's words hung in the air. I wanted to act on it, but did I dare? What if she wasn't home? What if she slammed the door in my face?

Tim knew me too well. He could look at my face and know the internal battle I was having with myself.

"What if you have that chat with her that you should have had years ago and all of your fears turn out to be unfounded?" he asked.

I started to say something but stopped and thought about what he had said. I ended up laughing.

"Okay, let's do it," I said.

Once the decision was made, I started feeling better about it. We had a new plan.

It took a few weeks to work everything out with Tim's sister and arrange for both of us to take a few days off work. We would drive to Memphis and leave Laura with Tim's sister. On the next day, we would drive to Dayton to look for Patrice. I really appreciated Tim putting up with this for me. I'd make sure I showed him in bed how much I loved him.

The drive to Memphis was uneventful. Laura was used to long car trips and looked forward to visiting Aunt Sharon and Uncle Stan. The next day, a Friday, Tim and I kissed Laura goodbye and drove up to Dayton.

Leaving Kentucky behind us, we passed through Cincinnati on our way north. Tim pointed out the Great American Ballpark that was the home of the Cincinnati Reds and I tried to sound interested for his sake. As we entered Dayton, I had my turn to be interested when we saw the Dayton Mall just as we passed I-675. We had reservations at the Doubletree on South Ludlow downtown. We checked in and relaxed from the long drive. After a shared shower and dinner, we settled in for a night of just the two of us.

Though I did my best to make it good for Tim, I didn't enjoy myself as much as I thought I would. Worries of what the next day might bring kept me feeling anxious even as I held onto my husband and made love to him with all my might.

To be concluded in Part III – The Truth

This story is Copyright (c) 2006 by Strickland83. All rights reserved.



Secrets Revealed Pt. III



Part III – The Truth

Tim and Fran woke up on Saturday morning. Tim wanted to play some more, taking advantage of a night in a hotel without Laura, but Fran had butterflies in her stomach. She had an appointment to face her worst fears.

They tried to have breakfast at the Polo Grille inside the hotel but Fran ended up only with a cup of coffee. Tim managed to eat a little more but he was also nervous. He was torn—he was meeting with the woman he had loved, the woman who had let him go so he could fall in love with his wife. Though he wouldn't admit it, he was as nervous as Fran was.

They left the restaurant, their shoes making a hollow sound on the marble floor. Tim held tightly onto Fran's hand as they walked to the parking garage for the ten minute drive. Leaving the garage, they drove on South Ludlow to Highway 35. There was almost no traffic on that Saturday morning so they quickly passed the big park and found the street where Patrice lived. Turning left, Tim started looking for house numbers.

"That one," Fran said, pointing to the fourth house. "4526, see?" she said.

"But the one right before it is 4520. Are you sure?"

"Look at the mailbox," Fran said.

Tim saw what she was pointing to and pulled into the driveway. With the garage door closed they couldn't tell if anyone was home. He turned off the engine, still looking out the windshield. His thoughts were of a summer long ago, of a face he hadn't seen in many years. The touch of his wife's hand stirred him.

"Let's go," she said, her voice quavering.

"What are you going to say to her?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. I'm sorry?" she answered.

As Fran got out of the van, she noticed an older man in the yard next door, wearing a straw hat. He was kneeling on a pad, the same green color as the grass, and pulling weeds from a flowerbed. He looked over, studying the arrivals. Fran smiled and waved. He waved back but kept studying the strangers without smiling.

Fran walked around to where Tim was waiting. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed his hand and they walked up to the front door of the red brick house. Tim looked at the bricks and was reminded of another building at a small airport in Louisiana.

The couple stood at the door, each taking comfort in the other's touch. Fran reached for the doorbell, but her finger paused just over the button. She had a last thought that she was about to finally get answers, finally be completely freed of her guilt. She pushed the button in. A bell could be heard faintly ringing inside the house. Her heart was pounding as she waited. She was so grateful that Tim was there with her. After a minute, she turned to her husband.

"Maybe she's not here," she said.

"There was no guarantee she would be. We should have called."

Fran had come this far and she wasn't going to give up. She rang the bell a second time.

Tim looked to the yard next door and saw that the man in the straw hat was still watching them.

"The Neighborhood Watch is out in full force this morning," he joked.

Any response Fran was thinking of making was cut off as the sound of the lock turning caught their attention. There was a click and the handle turned. The door opened with just a faint squeak. A pleasant looking brunette stood in the doorway. She looked at Fran, a polite but noncommittal smile on her face. Then she looked over Fran's shoulder to the man standing behind her.

Recognition flooded across her face. She looked at Tim, feelings from long ago gripping her heart. Her lips parted slightly and she drew in a breath, feeling an ache in her chest. Her mouth formed the sounds but the word Tim didn't quite escape her lips. She looked again at Fran, now realizing who she was.

"Fran?" she asked in disbelief. "Fran, is it really you?"

Fran couldn't speak, her heart pounding in her chest. She just nodded.

"How did you find... I mean, where, oh, what are you doing here?" Patrice stammered. She stood there, staring at her two visitors in disbelief. Finally realizing this was actually happening, she invited them in.

Fran and Tim stepped through the door, entering a nicely decorated living room. Artwork graced the walls. The furnishings revealed that no children lived there.

Patrice directed her guests to the sofa with her hand before taking a seat in the chair opposite. The three of them just looked at each other for a few minutes, the shock of the moment keeping them spellbound. A clock ticked in the distance, marking the passage of time.

Patrice's eyes diverted to Fran's left hand for confirmation before breaking the silence.

Waving her hand at them, "You two are married, right?" she asked.

"Yes, we are," Fran said, taking Tim's hand and gripping it tightly in a sweaty hold. "We have a daughter and we live in south Texas."

"That's a long drive. Are you here on vacation?"

"No, actually," Fran explained, "we came here hoping to find you." The tension gripped Fran's stomach and she was glad at that moment she hadn't tried to eat breakfast.

Patrice's right hand idly played with the fabric of the armrest as she tried to keep her voice steady. "A daughter? That's nice."

"Patrice, I wanted to say... I need to tell you... I mean, I never got to, but I tried..." Fran tried to say but the sentences wouldn't form in her mind. She had too much to say and didn't know how to say it. She silently wished that she had rehearsed a speech beforehand. There was only one way to say it and she knew that. Tim felt her hand grip his tighter, almost painfully.

"I'm sorry," she said as tears started to finally flow down her cheeks. "I'm so very sorry."

Tim pulled free of her grasp and put his arm around his wife to comfort her. He didn't notice that Patrice stiffened slightly as he did that.

"Sorry for what?" Patrice asked. She knew what she should do. She had talked about it. Could she do it?

She gathered her courage, remembering the words of encouragement, and stood. She walked to Fran and sat next to her on the sofa. She reached out and touched Fran's cheek, a touch that spanned too many years. She could feel the wetness of the tears. She hadn't heard Fran cry in so long.

Patrice swallowed hard before speaking. "Fran, you don't have anything to be sorry about."

"Yes, I do," Fran said through the tears. "I took Tim away from you, and I didn't regret it one bit." She was crying full force now, the pent up guilt and fear cascading out of her and washing her soul.

"We talked about this, back then. We came to a decision." Patrice's words were almost cold, unfeeling.

"I kept my promise. I never told him, until a few weeks ago. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't keep it from him any longer," Fran sobbed.

Patrice looked around Fran to meet Tim's eyes. She didn't see in there what she hoped to see, what she had seen in there the last time she looked into those eyes. The love wasn't there anymore. He felt love, she was sure of that—Tim had such a great capacity for love—but that love was for someone else now. For Fran.

Patrice wanted to say so much, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words. So much had changed, had happened, over the intervening years. She trembled as the memories of the years passed through her mind, a parade of images. She was starting to cry now, too. She put her arms around Fran and remembered a time long ago in a dorm room.

She looked to Tim once more. "Tim, there is a box of Kleenex in the next room, on the table. Would you get it, please?"

Tim nodded and got up. Patrice followed him with her eyes until he rounded the corner.

"Fran, how much did you tell him?" she asked her friend in a whisper. "What does he know?"

"He knows that we were both dating him, that you let me have him."

"Are you two happy? Really happy with each other?" Patrice asked, almost desperately.

"Yes, we are. We are so much in love. I just had to come here to tell you how sorry I am."

Tim found the box on a table, next to a pen and a closed notebook. It was one of those nicely bound blank books, like a diary. He was tempted to look inside but stopped himself. Patrice wasn't part of his life anymore. He did seize the opportunity to look around the room though. A bookshelf caught his eye. There were many books on self help taking up an entire shelf. Realizing he was going to be missed, he picked up the box of Kleenex and headed back to the living room.

Patrice heard him coming and whispered one last thing to Fran. "Love him. That will make up for it." Then, composing herself and turning to Tim, she took the offered box and smiled a wan smile. "Thanks," she told him. She pulled a few sheets out and offered them to Fran, then took a few for herself.

The two women sat back and dabbed at their faces.

"This must seem so foolish to you, Tim," Patrice said.

Tim was lost in memories, remembering that summer long ago. When he realized Patrice was talking to him, he said, "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Patrice's smile broadened. "I was saying that the way we are acting must seem so silly to you."

Tim thought about what she had said. He was surprised that he still felt so much for Patrice, in spite of what had happened. He never doubted his love for his wife, that was supreme, but he still had a tender spot in his heart for Patrice. He knew he always would.

"Not at all. I know you two had a special friendship that ended abruptly, because of me. I'm glad you got to get together again. I'm sorry we barged in like this."

"I was afraid you wouldn't want to see us if I called first," Fran said, still dabbing at tears.

"Nonsense. I'm glad you came. I've spent so much time wondering whatever happened to you. You don't know how it makes me feel to see how you turned out. Seeing you two together, so in love, it makes it all worth—" and her voice faltered.

Fran reached out and hugged Patrice. It was partly in thanks, partly in apology. Tim looked on uneasily, fully aware that this whole scene was because of him. Patrice was in control of the situation and knew it.

"What finally sparked the revelation?" she asked Fran.

It was Tim who answered. "We were on a trip and passed Camp Kisatchie. I wanted to stop and look around. I didn't realize what I was doing to Fran by bringing her there."

"It's still there, after all these years?" Patrice asked, surprised.

"The place is still there, but it looks abandoned. It's not open anymore, but walking the grounds sure brought back a lot of old memories," Tim said, the ghost of an old smile on his face.

"I'm sure it did," Patrice said. "That summer I spent there was very special to me."

Fran listened, especially to the tone in her husband's voice. She had never heard him speak that way about someone else before. She knew he had been in love with Patrice. They had shared many discussions about the summer of 1982 since that day at her parents' farm. Hearing Tim and Patrice talk about it, though, made it so much more vivid.

"That was so long ago, so much has changed in our lives since then," Tim said.

"Yes," Patrice said, her eyes darting to the rings on Fran's finger, "so many changes."

They reminisced, about that summer and that fall. Patrice didn't offer much about her own life, she kept them talking about how things had turned out for the two of them. Patrice wanted to help them feel that things had turned out for the best. She wanted them to remember her that way.

Three hours had passed when the visit finally came to an end. Fran felt relieved of her guilt. Tim realized he no longer loved Patrice. He loved Fran and there was absolutely no doubt about that. Each of them gained something from the visit, something each needed. As they rose to leave, they promised to stay in touch, a promise Patrice doubted they'd keep. They all had their own lives now.

Patrice gave Fran a final hug and a kiss on the cheek. They stood there, the three of them, in front of the sofa, looking awkwardly at each other. Finally, Fran broke the silence.

"Go ahead, you two. It's okay." Then, "Tim, kiss her."

Tim looked to Patrice, looked into her eyes. Seeing something there, a dying ember perhaps, he stepped past his wife, the love of his life, and gently—almost hesitantly—put his arms around Patrice. The memories came flooding back. For an instant, it was 1982 all over again. Just for a moment.

He pulled her to him and hugged her tightly. Patrice drew in a deep shuddering breath as she felt Tim's arms around her once more. She almost said something she shouldn't. As they hugged, Tim whispered, "Thank you, Patrice. I'll always treasure that summer in my heart."

Patrice had to bite her lip to keep from moaning as the sensations overwhelmed her. She knew what she had to do but it was so difficult. In a way she wanted that moment to last forever and in another way she just wanted it to be over and for them to leave.

Then Tim looked into Patrice's eyes. He remembered a last kiss on a late summer day so long ago and... kissed her again. The kiss took Patrice by surprise. She had difficulty separating today from yesterday. She was in Tim's arms, but those arms belonged to another woman now. It took a Herculean effort not to moan into Tim's closed lips, not to open her mouth to him. She fought and won.

Tim released her and looked into her eyes, her lips still slightly moist from the kiss. There were still feelings for her, but they were in his past. He had no doubts who he really loved. He was glad he had chanced that. He had confronted his own fears that day.

Tim blinked and turned to his wife. Fran was smiling faintly, happy for them. Happy that they had shared one more kiss. She had no doubts that her husband loved only her. She was so proud of herself for giving him that moment.

Patrice showed them to the door and they left. She closed the door, turned and slumped against it, and cried.

Outside, Fran noticed as she opened her door that the man was no longer there tending to his garden. The midday heat must be too much for him.

Fran felt like her relationship with Tim was even stronger now. They had faced Patrice together and 1982 was no longer something that divided them, but rather what brought them together. As Tim turned the key, Fran put her hand on his arm. It was a loving touch, a symbol of a bond. They drove off and back into their own lives.

* * * * *

Benjamin leaned back in his chair, looked at the clock on the wall for the third time, and sighed. His five o'clock was late again. It wasn't until ten minutes after the hour that his phone buzzed. Marie's voice broke in to tell him that she had finally arrived.

"Thanks, Marie. You can go. I'll lock up," he told her, knowing she would be grateful for not having to stay any later.

As the door handle started to turn, he stood to meet his patient. He was about to gently berate her for again being late when he saw the look on her face.

"Patrice, what happened?" he asked, his compassion taking over the other emotion.

"Oh, Ben, they showed up," Patrice said, starting to tear up.

Benjamin gently directed her to the love seat and she sat next to the end table, automatically grabbing a handful of tissues from the box. He sat in the upholstered chair that faced her, a folder in his hand.

"Who showed up?" he asked, taking a pen from his pocket.

"They came to see me, Tim and ... and her."

"Tim?"

The name seemed familiar to Benjamin. He leafed through Patrice's folder, notes of her therapy sessions, looking for the name.

"We talked about him last week, at the end," Patrice prompted.

Benjamin found the name in the entry he had made the week before. He scanned his notes as Patrice rambled on. He let her talk, knowing it was good for her to refresh her memories right before they discussed them.

"We were going back through all of my relationships to try to see why they kept failing. Tim was my first, you know, to take me. He was 1982, the summer camp.

Benjamin, nodding, skimming the notes. They had been working backwards over the last few months. At the end of last Monday's session, she was beginning to tell about her affair over the summer of 1982. She had given her virginity to another counselor at the camp. The relationship had ended strangely in the fall. Patrice was just about to start explaining why when time ran out.

"Yes, Tim. Camp Kisatchie. You were telling me about how you developed a sexual relationship with him. Why don't you continue?" Benjamin prompted.

"Well, you know I slept with him. He was my first, and he was wonderful. He cared for me, we were in love with each other, and he was so handsome. I had never felt ready to give that up for any other boyfriend. With Tim, I felt like I couldn't wait to do it with him."

Patrice paused for a moment to collect her thoughts.

"My roommate at the camp, we became close friends—the three of us—had a messy breakup with her boyfriend over the summer while we were there. Tim and I helped her through that time. As the summer came to an end, he and I talked about keeping things going, you know, in the fall. I was going to school in Arkansas, and Tim was in school in Louisiana.

"When I got back to school, my roommate had transferred so I ended up with someone else. Her name was Fran and we bonded really well. She had never had a boyfriend before so she hung on my every word as I told her about Tim."

Patrice paused, as if unsure whether to talk about the next part.

"Go on, you can tell me about it," Benjamin prompted.

Patrice looked at the door, to reassure herself it was locked.

"She wanted to hear about everything, even the sexual parts," Patrice said, blushing a little. "We decided that it would be innocent enough if we didn't use names. She wouldn't know who he really was that way, so I told her everything. I can't believe how intimate the details were, but it was strangely satisfying to be able to share that with someone. Without using his name, it was anonymous somehow. We just referred to Tim as him. After a few weeks, Fran knew Tim almost as well as I did. I got letters from Tim and even called him a few times. I could tell that things weren't as, uh, passionate as they had been over the summer. The distance was wearing on us."

Patrice gripped the Kleenex a little tighter, a gesture that Benjamin noticed out of the corner of his eye.

"I knew we were drifting apart and I didn't know what to do about it. Fran was hanging on my every word so I invented some of the later details. I couldn't tell her the truth."

Patrice sniffled as she got to the more emotional point of her tale.

"Then, there was this competition at a school in Lafayette, that's south Louisiana, and Fran had to go. She left on a Thursday and didn't get back until Tuesday. When she came back, it was like she was a different woman.

"She glowed and jabbered on about this guy she had met. She was so excited to finally have a guy to talk about. We kept the rules the same—no names—and she told me all the sordid details. In her I saw myself as I had been when I first met Tim, when we first started sleeping together."

Patrice sniffled before continuing. Benjamin watched her intently, looking for clues in her body language.

"She raved on and on about her guy. Then, one day, I came back from class and she was even more excited than before. I asked her what was going on and she just pointed to the desk. There was a framed picture of her guy that had just come in the mail."

Patrice stopped to wipe away a few tears. Benjamin waited patiently for her to continue.

"It was him."

When Benjamin's confused expression showed he didn't understand, she continued.

"It was him. It was Tim."

She looked up to check Benjamin's reaction. It was as shocked as she expected, as she had been when it happened.

"We were seeing the same guy."




Secrets Revealed Pt. III



She sobbed for a minute or two and Benjamin let her work herself up to continuing the tale.

"We talked about it a lot. We tried to figure out something but there was only one solution. We couldn't both have him."

Patrice stopped and sagged back against the cushions.

"So what did you do?" Benjamin asked, to get her going again.

Patrice looked up at the ceiling, her eyes red.

"I knew it wasn't working out for us and he was going to break up with me. I let him have her."

"And how did Tim feel about this?" Benjamin asked.

"He never knew. We never told him that he was dating both of us."

"So this guy was seeing both of you and keeping it a secret from you?"

"He didn't know we knew each other. We never told him that. I made her promise," Patrice tried to explain.

"I don't understand something, Patrice. If Tim was such a wonderful guy, so loving as you say, to each of you, then how could he cheat on you when he met Fran?"

"He didn't. He wasn't dating us at the same time," Patrice said.

Benjamin put his pen down.

"That doesn't make sense. You said you broke up with him after Fran met him."

"No, that's not right," Patrice said. "We had broken up before."

"That's not what you said."

Patrice started to respond but stopped with her mouth open. She was thinking it over, checking the details from her memory. As the realization hit her, her face dropped. Pain and sadness overcame her and she started crying again.

"I broke up with him—before Fran met him. I saw our relationship was going to crash and burn so I called him and told him he should see someone else. We should see other people."

The change in the tone of her voice told Benjamin they had found the point they had been seeking. A breakthrough was imminent.

"And when you saw them, together, on Saturday, how did you feel about that?" Benjamin asked, feeling the tingle of excitement.

"I was mad," Patrice said.

"Mad at Fran? Or mad at Tim?"

"Both of them? No, that's not right. Oh, I don't know. I was mad at—" and then it happened. Patrice's expression changed to one of wonder, maybe disbelief even. Shock might be a better word. "Me," she whispered.

This was the moment Benjamin had been seeking, what he had been waiting for through all those weeks of therapy. This moment, and countless ones like it, was the reason he went into psychology. He couldn't tell the patient what her problem was. She had to discover it for herself. He was just the guide.

"Oh, God! I was mad at me!" Patrice wailed.

Benjamin let that thought sink in for a moment or two.

"Do you know why you were mad at yourself?" he asked tentatively.

Patrice was still in shock at her revelation. She really was coming face to face with it for the very first time. She shook her head but Benjamin's expression told her she wasn't going to get off that easily. She had to complete the journey, take the final steps on her own.

"I drove him away, Ben. I pushed him away."

Benjamin nodded, forcing himself not to smile. This was a tearful moment for her, but it was success for him, the culmination of a long journey they had taken together.

"I always push them away, don't I?" she asked.

Benjamin just nodded again.

"Why do I do that?"

"Why do you think you do that to your lovers?" he asked her.

When she didn't answer, he prompted.

"Think about Tim. It probably started with him. Why did you send him away?" he asked.

"I don't know why. I was so happy with him. He was my first real love. I wanted us to be together forever."

"But it wasn't a fairy book story, was it? You weren't together like you thought you should be."

"No, he was there, so far away. It wasn't turning out to be what I thought it would be like."

"Were you afraid that he felt the same way?"

"I knew he did. At least, I hoped he did. I didn't want him to be disappointed in me. I didn't want Fran to find out that things weren't perfect, either. So I ended it before it got too bad. I wanted to do the right thing. The noble thing. I wanted them to remember me that way. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

Benjamin looked like he wasn't convinced. Patrice tossed the damp tissues in the trashcan and drew out a few replacements from the box. He waited patiently while she wiped her nose again.

"Why were you afraid to let things go? It might have worked out," he suggested.

"I was afraid?" She thought about that for a minute. "Yes, I think I was. I always am. I'm always worried that he'll want to break up with me so I break up with him first. I try to save myself the pain."

She said those last words softly, as if filled with wonder. She was discovering things about herself. Benjamin didn't want to interrupt her. He waited for her to continue.

"And if I keep breaking up with them before we get too close, then I will never have a successful relationship? I never let myself have one?"

"That's exactly right, Patrice. You see that now, don't you?"

"Yes, but why didn't you just tell me that at the beginning?"

Benjamin smiled now. "You had to discover it within yourself. You had to find it. It wouldn't have meant as much to you if I just told you. Therapy isn't about me telling you what is wrong. It is about guiding you so you can find the answers within yourself."

"So if I find the answers myself, why am I paying you?"

Benjamin chuckled. "I'm your tour guide," he said and was rewarded with a small laugh from Patrice. Laughing wasn't something Patrice had done much of in that room, if at all.

"I think we need to talk more about Fran and Tim. Did they really just show up on your doorstep unannounced?"

"Yes. I was so surprised. I didn't know what to say at first."

"What compelled them to do that?" Benjamin asked.

"She said they had started talking about me because they had visited the old camp, at least what is left of it. Fran felt guilty keeping that secret from Tim."

"What secret? That she knew he was dating you?"

"I made her swear never to tell him that she knew me. I thought that would increase their chances for staying together."

"By lying?" Benjamin asked, knowing in advance how much that comment would hurt her.

"That was stupid, I admit it now."

"Alright, no more about that. What happened between you and Fran after she met Tim?"

Patrice drew in a heavy sigh.

"I tried to cope for a few days. After that, I just couldn't stand being around Fran. She was so happy. He was making her so happy. I was supposed to be that happy. She took that from me."

Benjamin raised his eyebrows.

"Okay, I let her take it. Alright, I gave him to her. I did it. I fucked up!" Her last words echoed off the walls. Patrice used the bunched up Kleenex to wipe up a few more tears. "I couldn't stand being around her so I moved out. She even tried to find me, to talk to me but I avoided her. I guess she finally got the message because she stopped trying to find me."

"Did you two have a fight when you left?" he asked her.

"No. I didn't give her the chance. I didn't tell her I was moving out. I just took all my stuff and left while she was in class one morning."

"You really did avoid her."

"I'm not trying to pretend it was right, okay? I know I was wrong. I wanted to forget that year had ever happened. In my head, I tried to not think about it. In my heart, well, Tim was still there. And every time I touched myself... down there... I could feel what had happened to me. What Tim had done to me."

"You never forget your first time," Benjamin observed.

He looked at the clock which was prominently visible. Their time was just about up, but he didn't have anywhere to go. He had rules about extra time, especially for clients who were playing games by being late. He also had rules about extending sessions just a little when a breakthrough was being made. He decided this was one of those times to let the session go over.

Patrice smiled wanly. "It was a pretty good first time." She looked distant, and then focused on Benjamin again. "It was a great first time," she said with a grin.

"What have you learned from all this that can help you now?"

"If I ever get another chance, I won't—" she started but Benjamin cut her off.

"When you get another chance," he said in a slightly harsh tone.

Patrice started again, but with a smile this time. "When I get another chance, I won't get scared and push him away. I'll hang in there and give it a chance. I'll do something good for me."

"Promise?" Benjamin asked.

"Promise!" Patrice assured him.

"That's what I want to hear," he said in encouragement.

"I think I learned what happens when I get scared and pull the plug early. I feel like I am finally ready to see what happens when I ride it out."

"You've made a lot of progress. I think we've discovered the cause for why you weren't able to have any meaningful relationships. You were reacting to a fear that wasn't based in fact. You were trying to do what you thought would make other people happy instead of seeking out your own happiness. It's alright for you to be happy, too."

He let that sink in before continuing.

"I think you are ready to start coming every other week. Let's have our regular session next week and change your appointments after that. I also want you to start thinking about changing to a group session."

"Group session?"

"Yes, I have a group that meets on Wednesdays. It consists of women who are going through a similar situation to yours. It would help you to hear them telling about their situations. Yours isn't as unusual as you think."

"I'm not sure if I'm ready for that, but I'll think about it."

"That is all I am asking, Patrice. Think about it. Well, our time is up for this week. I'd like for you to write in your diary how you felt about meeting Fran and Tim."

"Already done that," Patrice said with a triumphant smile.

"Good. You came face to face with your greatest fear, your real demon, and you handled it very well—all on your own."

Patrice smiled proudly at his words. Standing to leave, she took a chance.

"Dr. Benjamin, can I... hug you?"

"Patrice, you know I feel really happy for you right now." He thought about that. Rules were meant to be bent. Great breakthroughs had been made. She had really bared her soul and a hug was good medicine for the soul. He also thought about what a hug might mean to her, and how it would be in her best interest not to hug her, regardless of his feelings of empathy.

"If I hug you, it may cause problems that you can't foresee right now. Maybe we can talk about this next time."

Patrice nodded slowly.

"Okay, Dr. Benjamin," she said, then turned towards the door.

He walked her out to the lobby and unlocked the door to let her out. He locked it behind her and returned to his office to sit at his desk. Taking a pen, he made notes in Patrice's file. He summarized what they had discussed. Coming to the end, he thought about how far Patrice had progressed.

"She's going to be alright," he said to no one and he smiled. "Yes, she's going to make it."

He closed the file and returned it to the file cabinet. Closing the drawer, he pushed in the lock, hearing it make a satisfying click.

Benjamin stopped at the door and turned back around, surveying the room. He thought about all the secrets, all the sins of Dayton, revealed there. He thought about Patrice. As he turned off the light, he said softly, "She's going to make it."

He closed the door, and then tested the handle to be sure it was locked. It was a ritual he did every night, to separate work from his personal life. He headed down the hall and out the building, to his own life.