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A Dear John Letter

By: woodmanone



Hello, just to let you know there is no graphic sex in this story, sorry. Suggest you find another author for that. Constructive critiques and comments about the story are very welcome and appreciated. Thanks for reading my story. Please enjoy.

This story was inspired by the 1953 country song, "DEAR JOHN" first recorded by Ferlin Huskey, then later by Skeeter Davis and others during early to late 60s.

Dear John, oh how I hate to write.

Dear John, I must let you know tonight.

That my love for has died away like grass upon the lawn

And tonight I wed another, Dear John.

********************

A "Dear John" letter is a letter from one person to the other breaking off their relationship. 

No, my name is not John, but I did get a "Dear John" letter from my supposed loving fiancée. In today's world this letter may be in the form of email or a text message. And that's what I got, an email for God's sake. Not a hand written letter, but a damn email. Could she have been more impersonal? 

My name is Patrick Riley Conner and I am a computer guru specializing in the coordination of mining technology. I work at the Diavik Diamond Mine in the far reaches of northern Canada about 130 miles south of the Arctic Circle. It's too bad there aren't any women up here because in comparison to most of the guys at the mine I'm a movie star. However, the best I've ever been called before is ruggedly handsome. Thanks Mom.

Being the only IT nerd around means I don't get much time away from the mine. I have to be in close contact to handle any problems that arise with the computers. Our schedules vary but I work for two months and then have a month off. The company flies in a specialist from the head office to cover for me during my 30 days off.

Our only contact with the outside world is a Hughes Net satellite system. This system allows us to send and receive email and surf the internet. The company paid for the hardware and pays for the monthly service fee. It's cheaper than replacing men suffering cabin fever. This mine is in an extremely remote area and is very hard to get to. There is no other way to contact the outside world except by satellite phone or short wave radio for emergencies if other systems are down.

I had only been back at the mine for a little over two weeks when I received the kiss off email from Julie, my now ex-fiancée. Apparently, according to the email she had fallen in love with my best friend Jerry during my last two month tour at the mine. Of course, she didn't feel the need to tell me while I was at home for 30 days. And I was too blindly in love to notice anything wrong.

The email read: 

Dear Patrick,

I don't know how to say what I'm must tell you so I'll just come out with it. I have fallen in love with another man. It was cowardly not to tell you when you were home, but I didn't want to ruin your month off. I owed you that much. 

While planning the wedding, Jerry and I spent a lot of time together. We developed a deep love for each other. Jerry said to tell you that he's sorry, he didn't plan on falling in love with me. He was just trying to sit in for you in the planning stages. 

Please don't hate me, but I can't marry you when I'm in love with Jerry. It wouldn't be fair to any of us. We are getting married next week and if you were here you would be invited and welcome at our wedding. Both of us care for you very much. 

I know this will hurt you and I really am sorry. Please take care of yourself and be careful in that wilderness. When you come home maybe we could all get together.

I'll always have a special spot in my heart for you.

Julie Jackson

The first thought I had was that she had to sign her whole name; as if I wouldn't know who wrote the email. My second thought was what a pile of bullshit. She just didn't want to confront me with her decision in person. Well I'll have something special for my good old buddy Jerry when I see him, my boot up his ass. 

I wasn't surprised that the major emotion that I felt was anger. My fiancée and best friend had betrayed me; it hurt and tore me up inside, but the main emotion was anger. Anger at Julie for being a lying, cheating bitch and anger at my "best friend" Jerry for stabbing me in the back. My frustration was also very strong; I was over 4600 miles from my home in Missouri and couldn't do anything about the situation in person.

The only thing I could do was to send an email back to Julie. I started on the reply and decided that I would put all of my thoughts and feelings into that email. The email went on and on. It was actually a long letter taking up what would have been almost four pages of legal size stationary. 

In that email I told her I thought her not telling me about her "new" love when I was home was more than cowardly; it was despicable and showed a lack of character. I said that she was a cheating, lying, self centered bitch. I mentioned that Jerry must be some kind of real macho man to let the woman he loves spend more than twenty nights in bed with her old boyfriend. I'm sure he did that just to spare my feelings. Like hell, he did that because he didn't have to balls to confess to and confront me about your affair. Crap. 

There was a lot more that I wrote to Julie. Including the fact that if Jerry wouldn't stand up for them now what would he do when something goes wrong in their life? Finally I told them that when I get back to the real world they had better stay away from me because I wouldn't be responsible for my actions toward them. The last line of the email stated that I was probably better off without a bitch like her in my life or a back stabbing ass like Jerry as a friend.

I wrote, rewrote, and edited that email several different times. Finally I had just the statement I wanted to make. I reread it one more time and hit the send button. After sending that long email I thought for a few minutes and sent a second email. This email was considerably shorter. 

My second email read:

Subject Line: Disregard my first email.

Message:

I have condensed the first email to the following.

Fuck you. I hope you both rot in hell.

Patrick 

After receiving Julie's email and sending her a reply, I began to think about our romance.

While at home on my last month long leave like all boyfriends or husbands, I should have known something was going on. Again like all boyfriends or husbands, I was too much in love and trusted my partner to notice anything. Was Julie a little less enthusiastic in bed? Maybe, but I put it down to wedding jitters and the stress of planning the wedding by herself. Did she look at me funny when I mention Jerry a few times? Possibly, but I didn't really notice. 

I did notice that Jerry didn't spend as much time with us during my leave as I thought he would. He would cite a previous engagement or some other excuse when I invited him to go out with Julie and me. Did I find this strange? No, I thought he was being a true friend and just wanted to give me and my fiancée some alone time.

******************** 

Julie and I met in college, as a lot of couples do. At 5' 10" and 185 pounds I was the second string running back and safety on the football team. Our school was a small college outside of St. Louis and we played Division Two football. I wasn't fast enough to be a speed runner and I was too small to be a real fullback. But our coach liked my toughness because it always took two or three tacklers to bring me down. He called it "want to" and said he wished more players had it.

Jerry Stevens was our sophomore quarterback and a big man on campus (BMOC). He was very good and hoped to parley his playing ability into a scholarship at a Division One school. Jerry had the classic all American good looks that you would expect from a star quarterback. He was around 6 feet 3, with dark curly hair and chiseled features. Jerry weighed about 215 with a body right out of "Body Builder" magazine. 

If Jerry had a fault it was his cockiness. Maybe that's what made him so good; he refused to believe that he could lose. He had the attitude that he could save the day no matter what the score and he hated to lose. Most of the time he was right. 

I wasn't a starting running back for the team and therefore wasn't in the elite clicks at school. Jerry and I traveled in different circles but we had a couple of classes together, one of which was a math class. He was having problems in the class so I tutored him at the request of our coach. I brought him up to speed and kept him from failing; if he had failed he wouldn't have been able to play football. 

Jerry appreciated my help and we became friends and to thank me for my help Jerry always made sure that I was invited to the really good parties.

Because of Jerry's friendship I started to hang around with the "ruling class" at school. I first saw Julie at one of those great parties. She wasn't a cheerleader but had the looks to be one. Julie is about 5' 8, with long blond hair, big brown eyes and legs that went all the way up to heaven. 

She has a voluptuous type of body instead of the string bean look of a model type. With some of the model types you can't be sure that they are female but one look at Julie from the front or back and there is no doubt that she is all woman. 

Julie seemed to make it obvious that she wasn't interested in a second string running back the first and only time I tried to talk to her. It must have been the status thing because I'm not a bad looking guy. In fact with my long dark hair and some say startling blue eye I had been called ruggedly handsome. Okay, it was my mom that said that but I think she is right. Anyway, I thought Julie really is a shallow bitch.

The last game of the season we were playing for the league championship. Our team was leading by 3 with ten minutes left to play. We had the ball on our own 20 yard line and needed to make some first downs to run out the clock. The first play our team ran was a sweep around the right side and it was stuffed for no gain. 

Jerry called time out and went to talk to our coach. I was standing about 20 feet from them and couldn't hear what they were discussing. What was Jerry doing I thought? We needed to keep the clock running not call a time out. Jerry went back to the huddle and Coach told me to go in.

When I got to the huddle, Jerry grinned at me and said, "Here's your chance to be a hero. You're going to run the ball down their throats and win this game for us."

The first play, I gained 5 yards and the second one I gained 6 yards and a first down. For the next nine and a half minutes I ran the ball. Every snap was a running play with me as the ball carrier. Our line did a great job blocking; I was able to gain 4 or 5 yards on every carry and was able to keep getting first downs. 

The other team knew what we were doing but they couldn't stop us. After my last run, the clock expired and the team put me up on their shoulders and carried me off the field. We hadn't scored but we had run out the clock and won the game.

The victory party that night was where I actually met Julie. When Jerry and I got to the party everyone started cheering and congratulating Jerry on the win. He made it a point to let everyone know that it was my running the ball at the end that won the game for us. I was an instant hero and the center of attention at the party. Several lovely young ladies, that had never paid any attention to me before, decided that I was just what they needed. 

I was basking in all the attention when Julie walked over to me. She stepped between me and the lovelies talking to me. Over her shoulder she said to them, "Get on your brooms and leave ladies, Patrick is all mine." She introduced herself in a unique manner and with a heart stopping smile. Hi, I'm Julie Jackson, your date for the evening." 

Here was one of the best looking girls in school chasing off her rivals so she could be with me. I didn't just fall off a turnip truck; my experience with women may have been limited but I knew the only reason she was after me was that I was the hero of the hour. If Jerry hadn't been taken I was sure she would have been at his side. Julie had shot me down previously and I was young and idealistic and wanted to be wanted for myself, not because I was Saturday's hero.

Smiling at her I shook my head and said, "I don't think so Julie but it's been nice to meet you." I left her standing there and went to refill my beer at the bar. Later that evening I left with two of the football groupies that I had also just met at that party. 

My thought process here was a little bent. Why was it okay to accept the attentions of those two groupies and not give the time of day to Julie? My logic there would not stand up to detailed scrutiny because the groupies wouldn't remember my name the next day but I was the hero that night. Maybe, just maybe, the difference was that I wanted to be more than just the flavor of the week to Julie. 

The next afternoon Jerry stopped by my place to ask me to help him with an upcoming test. It was time to put on my cape and become Super Tutor again. He told me that he decided to take my advice and work on getting his degree. He was going to major in Sales and Marketing. 

We had a discussion previously, when I was helping with his math class. I told him that his dream of playing pro football was fine but there were four things that could happen and only one of them was good. He could get to a Division One school and not be good enough to be drafted by the pros; he could get to the pros and not be good enough to stay or to be a starter; he could get hurt and not be able to play again. And finally maybe just maybe he could be a starting quarterback for a pro team.

I suggested that he have a fallback position, a plan B if you like. With an education and his degree he would still be able to make a good living if his dreams didn't pan out. Apparently he thought our discussion made sense and started to apply himself more to his classes.

It was about two weeks after the end of football season when Jerry asked me what I had done to Julie. He told me that she was really pissed calling me a jerk, an idiot, and an ass and that was the good part.

"She's not used to being turned down and ignored," I told him as I laughed.

"What do you mean?

"That night of the victory party she introduced herself and told me that she was my date for the evening but remembering her prior rejection I told her no thanks and left her standing there. Most guys are falling all over themselves to get her attention and she doesn't know how to handle it when a guy turns her down." I chuckled and then continued.

"The only reason she remembers me is because I turned her down. Normally she wouldn't have known my name the next week because I'm not one of the BMOCs but she knows me because I shut her down." Her being upset did my heart good; I felt like I had struck a blow for the normal guy. 

The next day I thought I would try a little experiment. I was going to approach Julie and ask her out. Who knows, I might get a date with a very pretty girl that I was very interested in. The worst she could say was no and maybe she would say yes. 

I was sitting at a table in the student union and saw Julie walking through the room. She had to pass my table to get to the exit. Julie saw me looking at her and almost changed direction. You could see her hesitate and then sort of gather herself to walk past me. She tried to ignore me but couldn't keep from looking at me and I gave her a big smile and nodded at her. 

When Julie got close I stood up and said, "Hello Julie, would you like to join me for a cup of coffee or a soda or something?" I think I surprised her because she hesitated for a couple of seconds and then she nodded and sat down at the table. 

I got coffee for her and a soda for me. As I sat back down at the table, Julie asked, "Why did you turn me down at the victory party?" She wasn't one to beat around the bush.

"You had never talked to me before that night and I felt you were only interested in me because I was the hero of the minute. I know it sounds hokey but I want to be more than a passing fad to you, so I turned you down."

"But you left with those two that you had been talking to and they are just football groupies," Julie argued.

"Yeah, I did. Doesn't make sense I guess, but then again I approached them. So it was all my choice." I tried to explain, but as I said before the logic wasn't logical.

We continued to talk. Our discussion wasn't anything earth shattering; we didn't find ourselves over whelmed with desire for each other or anything like that. What we did find was a lot in common and a good time. We enjoyed the discussions so much that we sat there for almost three hours. I drank so much soda that my kidneys were screaming at me. Finally I asked her out for pizza and a beer for the next evening, which was a Friday.

So began our romance. We dated for the next few months and a wonderful thing happened; we realized that we loved each other. As much time as we spent together I guess it was inevitable that we would develop feelings for one another. I had started out about half way in love with Julie but it came as a bit of a pleasant surprise when she told me that she loved me.

Jerry had received a scholarship offer from the University of Missouri and left our little enclave to pursue his dream. I wished him luck and said good bye to my friend; it wouldn't be the same without him. I would miss his friendship and the football team would miss his leadership.

I followed Jerry's career at U of M. He had been offered a scholarship to basically be a back up to their starting quarterback. Jerry was sort of a golden child and fate smiled on him again when the starter suffered a season ending injury in the first game of the season. 

Jerry stepped onto the field and in a scene seldom seen outside of a movie script led the team from behind to win the game. The coach was just trying to finish the game and didn't expect Jerry to do more than that. Someone forgot to tell Jerry that a back up from a Division Two school wasn't supposed to light up a Division One school's defense the way he did.

The tension of the moment, the lost cause and the butterflies in his stomach only motivated Jerry to excel. After that game there was no doubt about who the starter would be for the rest of the year. Jerry and the team went on to a 10-1 record and an invitation to a major bowl game. Jerry and the U of M Tigers won the bowl game which capped a great season.

Jerry was a star; he became an All American in his first season as a starter and again in his senior year. More important to Jerry, he was drafted by a pro football team. He wasn't a first round pick; actually he was picked in the third round. He didn't sign a huge contract, but did get a substantial one and more important to him he had a shot at a pro career.

Julie, me, and other friends would gather on Saturdays and watch Jerry play for the U of M and cheer for him. We were at his parent's house with him when he got the phone call telling him he had been drafted and we were almost as excited as Jerry.

While Jerry was doing his hero thing at U of M, Julie and I continued to become closer and got engaged on the day we graduated. I already had a job before I graduated; the Diavik Diamond Mine and I had come to terms on a one year contract. Julie wasn't really happy that I would be gone for two months at a time, but the money was outstanding. She agreed that it would give us a great start and we would be married after my contract expired.

In month 5 I was at work at the mine and watched Jerry's debut in a pre season game on the internet. It was a game that brought to an end to Jerry's dream to play pro football. He was scrambling to avoid a sack and got hit directly on his right knee. The knee was destroyed and to this day he walks with a slight limp. Jerry's career was over before it had a chance to ever begin.


A Dear John Letter



Dear John,

After our meeting today I had to write you about the dramatic change in our relationship. Please don't misunderstand me, it was great and intense seeing you today, but something happened that has changed me.

I waited patiently for you this morning knowing you are never late for our meetings. You were right on time. I opened the door to your smile. Once inside you hugged me with all your strength and passion. Our lips met briefly in a kiss as your hands slipped inside my opened robe to find my nakedness. They caressed, than grabbed the cheeks of my ass, pulling me into your body. The robe slipped from my shoulders and fell to the floor. I was naked in your embrace. This is what I was waiting for, this is what I longed for. Again our lips met softly, then I sank slowly to my knees, your hands on my shoulders gently guiding me down.

I fumbled with your belt buckle and soon found your soft cock. I would please you today, like I had on other days. I would again be your slut allowing you to take me in whatever way you desired. And I began, as before, by taking you in my mouth. 

I know what you want. I know what your wife won't give you. Starting with the bulbous head of your penis, slowly I ran my tongue down its growing shaft. Then a quick lick of your balls before I started back up your hardening pole. That's when I engulfed the head. Your cock grew hard in my mouth.

I had been divorced a few years before we hooked up. Both of us had discovered our "bi" side. You, of course, have remained married. But you know what I can do for you. You know I'm ready and willing to service you. We had started slow with mutual oral, than progressed. I was always ready for when you could find time in your schedule or when your wife was out of town. I began to long for your hard cock and our time together as I became more submissive to you. I still remember the first time you entered me. The feeling of you inside me, thrusting and pumping your cock into my ass. And, of course, today.

This morning you were hard in my mouth and I was working you cock like never before. I was naked on my knees, you were dressed with your pants around your ankles, sitting on the couch. How many of our meetings have started this way before ending in the bedroom? And then the doorbell rang.

You smiled as I looked into your eyes. I'm sure you could read the uneasiness in my eyes, or perhaps it was fear. Fear of the unknown. Of course I knew this was coming. You had told me what you wanted and I had agreed, always willing to put out for you, to be your slut. I sat back on my ankles in front of you and you stood. As you moved to the door you pulled up your pants and fastened your belt. I remained naked, kneeling in front of the couch.

We had talked about this the last time we were together. Or perhaps it would be better to say you suggested it. I went along wanting only to please. You told me then you had a fantasy. A fantasy about you and me. A fantasy that included another man. You wanted a threesome. You wanted to watch me service another guy while you joined in. And now, three weeks later, here we are.

You opened the door and as I started to stand, still naked, you introduced me to Steve. I'm hoping my jaw didn't drop too much. I'm still in awe of him. His dark eyes seemed to look through me. You didn't see the smile he flashed as he passed by you to greet me. I must have turned red. He shook my hand, then as if we'd known each other for years, pulled me into a hug. He was somehow strong and gentle, brining me close to his body. That should have put me at ease. After all, he was your friend and you told me he was safe and sane. Still, even at that point, I was a bit hesitant. 

When you moved beside me, your hand brushing my bare ass, I began to recover my senses. That was when you whispered in my ear that perhaps I should invite Steve to get more comfortable. I even broke a smile with that, standing naked before two clothed men. You both started to unbutton your shirts and my smile grew wider. And you followed me down the hall to the bedroom.

Facing you and Steve, I sat on the end of the bed and watched as you both undressed. I admit, as you both noticed, my cock began to get hard. My nervousness had passed by that time, or at least most of it. I was ready to give you whatever you wanted. And if that meant doing the same for Steve, I was ready.

When you finished undressing I found myself facing two semi-hard cocks. I don't think you were surprised when I went with the one I knew. For the second time this morning I took you into my mouth. Only this time, as I sucked your hardening cock, my left hand found Steve's balls and I gently caressed them, feeling his cock grow hard. I began stroking his cock, while my right hand pushed gently against your ass bringing you further into my mouth. You were rock hard by then and I was doing my best to take all of your 6 inches. Even thought I was stroking Steve's cock, I believe it was you who moaned first. I actually thought you might cum then and there. But somehow you held back.

Steve is bigger than you and wider. I could tell. When I switched off, taking Steve in my mouth and stroking your cock, I could tell. He also reached down to stroke my cock and balls before you did. But then you joined him, you can't imagine how that felt, both of you touching me all over as I sucked your cocks.

Your eyes seemed to brighten as I moved back on the bed. I was on my back, you on my right, Steve now on my left. I had no idea what would happen next. I was hoping you'd take the lead as you've done before. I wanted you to guide me, to take me, to make me your slut willing to do whatever you wanted.

And you did. I was sandwiched between you both, your hand on my cock as Steve caressed my chest and belly. We kissed. This time it was deeper, our tongues searching and finding each other. Steve kissed, licked and nibbled on my rock hard nipples. I don't mind telling you now, it was very intense. Than it was you working my nipples and Steve's tongue entwined with mine in a deep kiss. I was naked, being embraced by two naked men. My mind was turning off, my body was becoming clay in your hands. You and Steve could take me anyway you wanted. And you did.

You spread my legs and moved between them, even as Steve knelt beside my head. He gently turned my face toward his cock. Without a bit of hesitation I took him in my mouth. You may have noticed the intensity with which I sucked on his member. But I doubt it, as you were busy between my spread legs, first sucking on my cock and then fucking me. I had been sucking Steve with abandonment while you devoured my dick, and then, almost without warning, I felt the head of you cock against my asshole. I hadn't felt you lubricate my wanting hole, or slip the condom on. Then you were in me. Gently at first, sliding in and out of me. Then harder. I continued to suck on Steve's big cock. You had my legs spread wide, my ankles resting on your shoulders. I remember, as I'm sure you do also, glancing up at you face as you knelt pounding into me. You were intense, your eyes wide, your breathing hard and fast. As was mine. You were focused on Steve's cock as it slid in and out of my mouth, hard and wet. I tried to thrust against you, all the while sucking Steve. You were in me deeper than ever before, hammering me like never before. With each thrust I let out a groan like yelp, both in pain and in pleasure. All the sounds, the smells and the sweat, it was incredible.

And then, suddenly, you pulled out and Steve backed away from my mouth. I lay on my back wanting more, wanting you inside me. Not realizing what was happening and what was about to happen.

You were at my side turning my face to you hard cock. I took you in my mouth and sucked you for all I was worth. Steve took you place between my legs. The scream you let out as you came was probably heard on the street outside. You were deep in my mouth as you shot your hot cum down my throat. I tried to take it all but some spilled over my lips on to my chin. You pulled out briefly and shot a stream across my cheeks and nose before I could take you inside my mouth again. I tried to take every drop on your delicious, hot fluid, in an attempt to lick you clean. And then Steve plunged into me.

He is bigger than you, but I took him easily. You had prepared me for his initial assault. But as he drove deeper into me the mixture of pain and pleasure again overwhelmed me. Your softening cock slipped from my mouth and I focused on taking every inch of Steve inside me. You stayed close, this is what you wanted, this is what you wanted to see. Even though I had just sucked you to completion, your cock grew hard again as you watched him ram into me. He was deep, deeper than you had been and I was out of my mind with pleasure. I thrashed my head about, moaning more and more loudly as Steve continued to fuck me. You started grabbed my cock and started jerking me off. I don't think I have ever been as hard as I was then. Even when Steve stopped pumping into me I continued to thrust my hips off the bed. I was going to cum. You didn't have time to move down to catch my shooting sperm with your mouth and it shot onto my belly and chest. At the same time Steve, who had pulled out and tried to move up to my mouth, shot his load all over my face. I opened my mouth to catch what I could of his hot cum. Then I let my head fall back onto the bed. I had cum with such intensity I thought I would pass out. The two of you fell on either side of me. Our hard, rapid breathing the only sounds.

It seemed like an hour passed, although I guess if was only a few minutes, before you stirred from the bed. Steve followed your lead. I was left lying naked in the middle of the bed, covered in cum. I heard Steve gathering his clothes. I heard you in the bathroom running water. I can't say for sure how long it was before you came back with a warm, wet cloth and began to clean me off. I think I fell asleep.

I'm not sure how long I slept, someday you'll have to tell me. When I woke you were getting dressed and Steve was gone. You smiled at me and thanked me for a wonderful morning, it had been just as you had fantasized. Even then I knew things had changed. Once you were dressed I walked you to the door. I felt good, I had given you what you had wanted and I had enjoyed it. We hugged at the door, then kissed. A soft kiss, an end to the day kiss. I felt it again, things had changed. Oh, I was still your slut, I am still your slut, but it's different now.

You made me suck and fuck a man I did not know. You watched as I sucked his cock. You watched as he pounded his big dick into my ass, after you had already used me. And you watched as he came all over my face, his cum mixing with yours. I had been thoroughly used by you and your new friend.

So our relationship has changed. Sure, I'll be your slut from time to time, but now I want more. I don't want you alone any longer. I want you and Steve, you and anyone. I don't just want to suck and fuck you, I want you and many more. So next time don't ask, just bring Steve. Next time bring Steve and another friend and another. I want to suck three or four cocks and get fucked by three or four guys. Our relationship has changed because of today. I'm still your slut, but now your fantasies are my fantasies. And it's your fault. I hope you're happy now. I know I am.

Sincerely, Your Slut

Will



A Dear John Letter



Here's a very short story for you. I don't have much time and this is a little lunch hour effort that came out one day. Don't take this seriously. It's just a wink.

Edited by Scalia.

Your votes and comments are welcome. 

*****

"Dear John,

I simply can't stand it anymore. It is important for you take the time to read this letter so you understand my decision.

I met Steve six months ago at a Denver conference. I'm still not sure what happened and why. Might be the rarefied air of Colorado coupled with a bit too much wine at our closing diner, but the truth is I ended up in bed with that young man.

I had no right to do that. Steve was way too young for me as he is only in his early 30's and I was 45. And there is also the slight matter of the wedding band I wore when he dragged me to his bedroom.

I can't tell you that it was nothing. He was an attentive lover with a lot of stamina. Sex with him was simply astonishing. 

I am not belittling you as you are also a marvelous lover, but Steve was different.

That's why I wasn't able to let him go. If it had been only this one lapse, I could have hidden the truth and learned to live with my guilt while resting in your arms. Memories of that meeting would have faded with time. But I was too out of control after that roll in the hay and I needed more. Steve was very willing to give me more. 

When you discovered my affair, it had been already four times that we had met, including that first time in Denver. The glimmer of novelty was already fading and we were about to let it die. I don't know if it was our last meeting but it was already too late.

You didn't have to tell me. I know that my evasiveness about my late meetings or my weekend getaway had already spelt my doom. I understand now that we knew each other too well; it was impossible to hide something so life changing.

This mutual knowledge means also that when you kicked the motel room open and discovered us in bed, I knew we were done as husband and wife. Your face was an open book and I was reading disgust, hate and a great sorrow. 

Seeing you in the doorway, I knew the life I loved and adored was over. It was without surprise that I looked at you beating up Steve. For a few moments I feared and wished you would do the same number on me. I sure warranted that. But you didn't. You simply left me there in that dirty motel room, where I belonged.

What I didn't know or even envisioned was the kids' reaction. It was already hard to realize that the man I loved so much now hated me. My shame and guilt were overwhelming and your rightful hate was crushing me. But my children's rejection was impossible to cope with.

I went from having everything to having nothing. I had a loving and caring husband. I had two loving children already putting their teeth in the world. And now I have nothing left.

You are not responsible for my action. I am.

For what it is worth, I am very sorry. I love you and will continue to love you till my dying breath. Tell the kids that I understand their reaction and still love them so very much.

But if it is hard to even think about living without you my love, just to think about living without the love of my kids makes it unbearable. That's when I remembered what you told me when I asked what I could do to earn your forgiveness. Well, I did it.

Yours forever,

Martha"

John read again the last paragraph, unable to remember what he said to his wife. 

He had walked in the house and known right away that his ex-wife had been there when he saw all the pictures of him and the kids on the coffee table in the living room. Going upstairs, he had found her dead on their bed, an empty bottle of pills in one hand and a letter addressed to him in the other hand.

He was poised over her dead body trying hard to think about that fateful last meeting when it dawned on him what she referred to. He had said so many things, hateful things. He bent over Martha and smelled her breath. Sure enough, he smelled fecal matter. 

He shouldn't had said "Eat shit and die".



A Dear John Letter for Jeff



Dear Jeff,

By the time you read this I will have left you.

I know this is kind of cheesy leaving you a Dear John letter, but I knew there would be a horrible scene that I frankly just don't want to face. Consider me a coward if you like , but I can't face the hurt I know I'm going to cause you. You see I got bored. I'm bored living the same routine way we've lived for the last 28 years, plus the 4 years we dated in college. I'm tired of you reading my mind, and finishing sentences. Even though it feels good when you rub my neck or feet that certain special way, I just know you'll do what needs to be done just by the way I sigh, or the way I plop down into a chair or bed., and that is starting to bother me. It feels like I don't even own my own thoughts, and it is scary.

I'm also tired of our boring sex life. Oh I know you'd object most to that statement. I know I rejected your advances 98% of the time, and hold off initiating sex until I'm good and ready. You have to understand, knowing you want me gets me hot, and I love being on the edge sexually for days before finding relief in a release. And I know you've wanted to be more adventurous, but I always see you as my kids' Dad, and the thought of him getting adventurous sexually just seems inappropriate. He should be a fine upstanding conservative man. So I never sucked your dick like I wanted to, even though you made love to my pussy for hours with your SO talented tongue. And I never gave you my ass because that dick of yours is way too big! I never wanted to have trouble walking the next day baby, so you have been out of luck.

I know all of this seems hypocritical and selfish. It seems selfish because it is, and that is why I am leaving. I need the thrill of the chase, the excitement of a new lover, and you can never be that again. You were so hot when we were young, playing that guitar with Buddy in the band, riding your Harley in that sexy leather jacket, the wind in your flowing blonde locks, sweeping me off my feet on the dance floor whether at a rock and roll club or in the ballroom, the beautiful paintings you made of me and the kids. But we grew old and complacent in how we treated each other. The rock band gigs faded so you could coach soccer, the Harley is parked in the garage, buried beneath the kids sports equipment in front of the mini-van, and my knees just couldn't keep up on the dance floor. You do still have that beautiful hair though. But now the kids are grown, and I'm not comfortable in the mini-van life, which you seem to have grown to love.

I assure you, I haven't cheated on you, and you remain the only man I've ever had sex with. I have found men who interest me, though, and before I began sneaking around on you, thought it best to break it off with you. I couldn't bear the thought of disrespecting you by sneaking around, Jeff, I always loved you too much for that. 

I'm sure our paths will cross again, but I do not ever want to discuss this with you. I've spoken with Sam, and requested he represent you in the divorce. He has drawn up the paperwork leaving you with everything but my clothing and personal effects, which I moved out today. I even left you ½ of my pension and took on ½ of our debt service, minus the mortgage. It's only fair, I helped incur it, and I want to be at least fair. Please, shed your tears in private, so when we meet for the kids events, we can continue to avoid a scene. But fair is fair, so if you wish to respond in a letter, I promise to read every word, and to value your parting thoughts.

Love Ellen

I read it over and over again, frozen to the spot in the kitchen where I picked it up. There were no tears, not yet. I was too numb. There was nothing to indicate this was coming. There was no expression of discontent, no hint of wanting more, no fighting, no clues of another man in her world. We touched, we kissed, we smiled, we did the little things that two people intent on growing old together. In fact, I had spent the last year trying to Romance her, trying to re-kindle our passions now that our youngest had moved out for good after completing college. I bought jewelry, only to be admonished it was too expensive, and she'd rather have chocolate. I turned the control of sex over to her because she claimed I was stressing her out by pressuring her to make love. She told me holding hands was just as good for her. I guess she did give me a clue, I just thought she was slowing down with her change of life. 

So here I stood, the last to know. I grabbed a beer, and a shower. Yes, at the same time. When I finished the beer, I grabbed two more, and went back to the shower. There was no one around to admonish me for leaving a water trail on her floors. I drank intent on finishing my supply. That wasn't going to happen, I cellar fine beers like wine aficionados cellar wines. I cellared wines too I didn't make a dent in the beers I had stored, but if I had, I would have turned to my wines! I did make a serious dent in my consciousness. I woke up the next morning with a searing headache, on the floor of my basement, naked from the shower. I went upstairs, threw up everything I had consumed, went to bed and cried.

I was 11 when my grandmother died. Grandpa took me aside and talked to me a lot at the wake and the funeral. He taught me a lesson: "You get three days of mourning when someone dies. God raised the dead in three days, you can resurrect your life. Cry. Scream. Kick things. When you're old enough, drink. Get into a good bar fight. Pray. Do as much of this as you can. Then stop and get back to your life. Honor the departed by moving on. A man doesn't dwell pn a past he lost, he lives in a present he is building and the future he's moving towards."

Grandpa was wise. I considered my wife's desertion to be the death of our marriage. I cried my eyes out, drank myself silly, put holes in sheet rock walls with my fists until they were bleeding, then used furniture or whatever else was handy to get the job done. I screamed. I kicked. I drank. I barely ate, but I figured, hey beer is grain, yeast and water, just like bread, right? And wine is fruit. There, my food groups all in two bottles. 

I was off for the summer. She waited until the day after the school year closed to leave. Good planning. But I woke up the Tuesday after the Friday she dropped her bomb and came out of mourning. First I called my kids. Ellen had let them know about her decision, and they had frantically tried to call me. I was too drunk to answer the phone, but assured them I was ok. I cleaned up the house, and then called my favorite charity to come and get a truckload of donations. There was no way I was going to hang on to the clutter of a failed marriage. I kept furniture that had been in the family. I boxed up pictures and photo albums, my kids could have them if they wanted. I treated all other memorabilia the same way, but threw away the ridiculous knick knacks we had acquired. What the hell did I care about the Spanish pottery or the brass cats we bought in Portugal?

The next couple of days, I visited Home Depot, purchasing flooring and carpet, paint, and oh yeah, new sheetrock. I intended to make the house my home now, the pink and coral walls and frilly curtains were history. I stopped at Sam's and signed the paperwork. He said since it was uncontested and only one lawyer was involved, our divorce would be final close to the time school went back in session. I sold the mini van, and drove down to a little dealer in a back alley downtown, I drove home in a '76 Triumph Spitfire convertible, just like I'd always wanted. British Racing Green, beige leather upholstery, and chromed wire wheels. I unpacked the Harley, which was easy after purging the garage of all that old unused clutter. 

But the best move I made was to call Buddy. That call changed my life as quickly as my wife's letter, just days earlier. A half an hour after telling him what happened, Buddy and the boys descended on my home. Buddy was my best friend since third grade. We formed our band together, played ball together, took the same classes, double dated together. He was my best man. I was his. The demise of my marriage was catastrophic in his eyes, and there was no he would let me go through the metamorphosis of my home front alone. 

Our band had stopped playing years ago when life intervened, but the people we had befriended had not forgotten us. When I say Buddy and the boys, there were a lot of boys. We had played for weddings, funerals, parties, and picnics for many people. We had often performed at a cheap rate or free because we liked the floks who followed us from gig to gig. Good will begets good will, and when they heard I had trashed my place with the intent to re-make it as my home, the good will gates opened wide. Over the next two weeks, painters, carpenters, masons, plumbers, every type of tradesman you can imagine fixed so much more than my walls. Within a month, you couldn't recognize my house. It was remade inside and out.

Funny thing about a crowd of guys, they come with a crowd of girls. Their wives and girls dropped by project "Jeff's House" to supervise, and soon began bringing their single friends for project "Jeff's Lovelife." No one was aggressive in their matchmaking attempts, it was too soon for that, but it was obvious that seeds were being sown, and soon I was out dancing and partying 2-3 nights a week. Impromptu barbecues and parties popped up at my house, and I never lacked for company, though I really didn't want to jump into a relationship before my divorce was final.

Buddy suggested re-forming the band. In fact he had gone out and secured gigs already, in some clubs where the owners were old friends. Before the fresh paint was dry on my house, "Buddy and Jeff" opened at Jimmie's and took over Friday nights. He hooked us up with Saturdays at a little dance club down in the city, and booked a duo act for Sunday afternoons at a popular seafood restaurant down on the water. We sounded like we had never stopped playing. We were all at similar places in our lives, where our kids had either moved out or didn't need us any more. We all looked pretty good, and all carried all our own hair, except Ronnie, our drummer. We hit it off big. Our "following" was happy to come out of hibernation and paid their covers to pack the houses every night.

My sons visited every chance they got, helping with my renovation and even sitting in with the band once in a while. I had them under strict orders not to tell their mom a thing about me, and if she asked, tell the truth. "Dad was very upset, but has moved on and is fine." My daughter who lived in Australia with her finacee, was under similar instruction. My kids were good to me, and I had always trusted them to respect my wishes. I knew they were truthful when they told me Ellen was getting no information from them of my well being.

I also took time to fight solitude by enforcing healthy habits, improving my diet, and stepping up my exercise routines. I never let myself go out of shape, but now hit the pool with vigor, and the road (running or biking) with determination. Every evening, even before going to a gig, I also lifted, alternating leg days with upper body.

I had remade my home, my social stature, my activity calendar, my relationship with my kids, and my body within a month of Ellen's departure. I guess it was time to respond to her letter. After all, she had invited it, right?

Dear Ellen,

Thanks. You were right.

Goodbye,

Jeff.

I emailed it to her. Short and sweet, it said it all. I didn't have her new address, and actually didn't want it. Someone tried to tell me she had hooked up with some handsome kid my daughter's age who drove a fancy car and was a real smooth talker. They had been seen together down at the shore in clubs and on the beach. Anytime someone told me about her, I politely told them I didn't care to hear. But we had many friends, and those little pieces soon fit together to paint a picture of a torrid September-June Romance. Maybe October-June. November- May? It didn't matter to me, I actually wished her well. Grandpas three day rule had me all "moved on," and I liked the me-right-now too much to dwell on the us-that-was. 

The end of the summer is a sad reality of a teacher's life, but August is a hot time for a musician. This year was no exception. Buddy and I were booked into festival after festival, right through September. Labor Day had us playing 2-3 times a day. The busy schedule kept me from reading her emailed response. I wasn't ignoring her, I just thought we were exchanging one letter and moving on, after all, that's what she wanted, right? I just was too busy and having too much fun to check email.

In fact, I had all but forgotten my marital travails when Sam called with the news that our case had indeed taken a fast track. It seems a certain clerk with a family court judge was a fan of a certain band. I was to be officially single Friday. After a month and a half of life metamorphosis, Friday I would again be a bachelor. We were playing at an Arts festival/Street fair in town, and suddenly, all those short-short-high skirt-wearing and deeply-plunging-neckline sporting females were fair game. Cool!

The street was mobbed when we took the stage. We cranked the amps to "outdoor" settings, and let fly with our hard driving style of blues. We covered songs, we sang originals, we improvised jams on the spot, and had people partying heartily. It felt really good. The guys had dug into the vaults and found our masters from back in the day, We never did get around to cutting a record before we started having kids, but we found plenty of material to fill a couple of makeshift albums now. CD's are much easier to produce than vinyl used to be, and we put together old and new tracks, and the sales table was doing a brisk trade. I was getting looks from women of all ages that had me truly ready to break my sex drought. I didn't see Ellen in the crowd. I missed her attempt to get behind the stage, as I slung my guitar on the backbar which I had put on my bike years ago especially for guitar transport. I didn't see her running towards me as Michelle, a 30 something buxom blonde swung her leg to sit behind me. I didn't see her face drop as she realized another woman was sitting in her seat for the first time in the entire life of my 25 year old bike. I didn't see a tear form as I drove off away from her. I wish I had.

Michelle was awesome. I'm not going to tell you about how I buried my face in her ample cleavage or blow by blow descriptions of her blow by blow job, or how much cum I deposited after weeks of denial, look for another story. Suffice it to say, I went after her all night long, rebounding like a 16 year old and cumming like a horse. I totally wore her out. At the end of the night, she told me she would never forget me for our time together, but suggested I not to call her again. I guess she was afraid of how long it would take her to recover and be able to walk normally.

I didn't think I could avoid Ellen forever. And I didn't. I next spotted Ellen next at our regular Friday night gig at Jimmy's. She came in the door with her boy toy and another young couple. They found a table, ordered beers. As soon as I saw her, I gave the boys a sign that we were moving outside our prepared set list. The band had always loved playing "American Woman" back in the day whenever we spotted an ex girlfriend in the house, and it was always the offended guy who got the mic as soon as the girl was spotted. It was our way of closing ranks in respect of our friend. We clung tenaciously to the ideal that a girl who broke up with one of us wasn't good for any of us, and none of us ever crossed the line to date another's ex. 

I began the guitar riff in the slower style Lenny Kravitz popularized when he covered the tune. I never enjoyed the tune more as I sang with all the soul I could muster. The guitar solos were memorable, and really got the crowd going. I didn't see Ellen's face drop when she recognized we were playing this old tune for her, but Buddy's wife did. She later told me tears began to well as I sang the lines "stay away from me" and "go on and let me be" and streamed freely at "Don't come knockin' around my door, I don't wanna see your face no more." She left before the end of the song, barely in control. Boy toy and friends didn't go with her, and stayed for hours drinking and dancing. I guess there was some trouble in paradise.

A week later I got a visit from my older son. Apparently Ellen and Boy Toy had it out that night. He was apparently tiring of her charms, and she was tiring from keeping up with the activity levels, sexual and non, of a twenty something boyfriend. He was upset that she had restricted his lifestyle by avoiding places where we played. Word had gotten out the band was actively gigging again, and wherever we played was the place to be. It also turned out that he was more than displeased that she had given up property rights in the divorce, and had been planning to move into my house. I had suspected he was gold digging, but what a usurper. I guess he didn't know of our prenup agreement that if either of us left the family for greener pastures, we left completely. The other would keep the home, the money, the furniture, the accumulated material of a life together, regardless of how short or long that life had lasted. It was her Dad's idea, since he didn't trust any man's intentions with his little girl. I had no intention to harm her, so I would have signed anything. Apparently Ellen remembered, and that was probably why she proposed such an easy to accept divorce agreement. 

Boy Toy had sent her packing and she had spent the last night crying to the kids over the phone. I really did feel for her, but remember, I had spent my three days in mourning for my marriage, and was now free to care without being affected myself. The kids were not happy with my attitude. Of course, they saw me as still unattached, and believed I should take their Mom back into the family home, at least to help her get on her feet. I disagreed. To take her in meant I'd have to be responsible for the mood swings she would undoubtedly experience in spades. The normal menopausal experience she shared with me prior to the divorce was bad enough, dealing with them, her feelings of rejection by Boy Toy, humiliation in crawling back to me plus potential guilt over dumping me in the first place were not items I wanted to add to my daily menu. I was eating better, living a simpler uncluttered life in a clean uncluttered home, enjoying my golden career years as a highly respected teacher, having a ball with my band and playing duo gigs with Buddy, and my love life had never been active. I couldn't imagine bringing home another woman only to have to introduce her to my ex-wife sitting in the living room watching TV and eating ice cream and bon-bons. No, I had never enjoyed being single this much when I was young, and had no plans to do anything to crimp that style now.

Days stretched to weeks. The kids toned down their "take her in" lobby to the point of "help her out," and I obliged by letting them raid the storage unit I had rented for the furniture and stuff that was too good for the dump when Ellen finally rented a small apartment. I even loaned them the truck the band had purchased to haul gear from gig to gig. 

With the new school year in full swing and an active schedule for the band, I rarely saw Ellen. She taught in the same district, but in a different school building, so our paths crossed occasionally, but I truly didn't take notice of her when that happened. I was a popular item of discussion in the rumor mill. Maybe it was due to the frequent appearance of the Harley or the sports car. Maybe it was my enhanced activity level that carried over into school life. Maybe it was my new status as the available bachelor. Rumors didn't matter to me. The band was immensely popular, my barbecue parties were renowned as a good time, and I was never lacking for female companionship. Happy as a clam, I simply didn't miss married life.




A Dear John Letter for Jeff



I flew to France for Thanksgiving. It was a long held dream to be in France the day the Beaujolais was released for sale, and Thanksgiving fell early enough that the calendar worked. Bags packed, I was surprised when my son called the night before I left and asked me to a Turkey day dinner at Ellen's. He was truly upset to find that I had other plans, and immediately pinned me down to hosting a family Christmas He and his girlfriend would cook, I just had to provide a place. He told me all 3 kids were coming into town, and they really wanted a special day to reminisce. 

I relented on the condition that Ellen knew she wasn't welcome to bring a date, and that I would return the favor by dedicating my company especially to the kids. I was genuinely surprised when he told me his mom wasn't dating at all, and that she was actually quite lonely. I just wasn't interested in having some guy smirking like the cat that got the cream through a family gathering like this, so I didn't pry into the why's and why not's of my ex-wife's love life. They were welcome to stay at my home for as long as they wanted. In fact, I wanted all the kids to stay at home with me rather than going to a hotel. 

"Dad, Mom will feel so badly about that, us all being 'home' and she having to leave when it's over."

I mulled over what he said. This would be my family's first reunion since the kids had moved out when we all could be together. Ellen belonged there too.

"So invite her to stay also. But she will have to accept being the only one not to sleep in her 'old room.' I don't think that would work out well. She is welcome to the guest room. If you guys bring guests, they will have to sleep with you or go to a hotel."

"Thanks Dad! This will mean so much to all of us."

He was right. Christmas fell on a Saturday that year, and everyone arrived on Thursday night My daughter and her fiancee flew in from Australia, and my son and his girlfriend picked them up at the airport on the way driving into town from Boston. My youngest was with them also, as he was in college in Boston. Ellen pulled up about ten minutes before them, and I watched her sitting in her car before the kids pulled in. Guess she was nervous. It was heartwarming to see them all gathering to hug and kiss on the front yard, and for the first time since I came out of my 3 day mourning I felt a little bad about the water that had passed under our collective bridge. 

The 6 of them came strolling into the front door to find a very pleasant homecoming. Of course neither my daughter or ex-wife had been in the house since I remodeled, so that in itself was a bit of a surprise. But I had put up the Christmas decorations in much the same as we had decked the halls for years. Candles, nutcrackers, centerpieces were all in place, though on my new furniture. The tree, with all the old ornaments we bought on vacation or were hand made in art class by the kids, sat in its venerable central pace. I had added a fireplace when I renovated, and a warm fire glowed with the spirit. The smells of the tree, the fire and mulled cider filled the room. Plates of cookies and fudge sat in every nook and cranny, and the table was set with the fine china that Ellen's grandma had passed along as our wedding gift those many years ago. There was no doubt that I had made our house into my home, but their was also no doubt that my home was more than ready to host Christmas for my family. My family. With all that had happened it seemed strange to consider, but they truly were my family. The kids, though grown were still my flesh and blood, and though divorced, my ex-wife had held the key to my heart for most of my grown life 

There was enormous hustle and bustle as they checked out the place. I had restored the kids bedrooms to nearly the exact décor they had grown up with, with the exception of tempering the hot pink in my daughter's room to a more mature soft pastel shade. I had also replaced their old single beds with comfortable queen sets while managing to coordinate new headboards with their childhood desk and dresser sets. The spacious guest room had been remodeled as a studio, complete with a drafting table to paint by the window allow the instruments, amps and recording gear needed to music. I had expanded one side of the ground floor opening up a small library into a large room with the TV and a pool table. The living room had been formally arranged focused on the large new hearth, which had brand new Christmas stockings, one for each of us, Ellen included.

The kids noticed the stockings and froze looking at each other with a devilish gleam in each eye. As one they broke the silence and raced for their stockings. As they did I saw they years melt away from their bodies, and suddenly they were little kids again flying headfirst into the joys of Christmas. Maturity re-gained its dignity when the older two also retrieved their partner's stockings and brought them back babbling separate accounts of childhood memories the stockings brought back. It had been our cusJeff to lovingly decorate little inexpensive gifts and treats to fill the stockings before we moved to the major gifts beneath the tree. Soon they were all nibbling cookies and chocolates and trying on ridiculous novelty socks that would only get worn on Christmas days. 

"But Dad, your stocking is empty! We didn't know, so we didn't bring anything to stuff it."

I grabbed my stocking from the mantle and looked inside.

"No hun, you did fill it! You are all here, reminiscing, laughing, playing. You are filling it now with the essence of Christmas. You're filling it with love!"

There were some hugs and some kisses as we all wished each other Merry Christmas. Ellen lingered in our embrace a bit longer than an expected of an ex wife, but not uncomfortably so, and for a while there it felt as if we were still one big happy family. The kids realized there were probably presents under the tree, and the giddiness of childhood Christmases flooded back in an instant. Gifts were exchanged, the feast was sumptuous, and after dishes were done, the guitars came out and we had our customary Christmas jam. It grew late, and we began to adjourn to sleeping quarters. Ellen moved to the hall closet to get her coat.

"Thanks for being so sweet to me today. I really appreciate spending Christmas Day with you and the kids. I know I have myself to blame, but of all the things I gave up, I miss the family time the most."

"Well, the kids are all grown and on their own. This would be just as rare if we were still together."

"I know. But I miss the family time you and I used to have too, you know, the family-of-two time. I guess I'm trying to finally say I'm sorry to you. I really screwed up a good life for us both."

"Don't beat yourself up! We always told the kids to follow their dreams, to be happy. You did just that! We still have good lives, they are just different now."

She looked at me incredulously, "You mean you feel that little for what we had? After today, you don't feel at all nostalgic? Jealous for what we lost?"

"Ellen, we had today, and it was beautiful! Just what is it we lost?"

"We lost each other...I lost you. And I'll never forgive myself for it!!! And you could care less!!"

She was crying freely now. I put my arm around her and she broke down completely. I had cried myself out when she left, but felt sad for this to be happening to her on Christmas day. When she finally calmed down, I reminded her that while we dated in college, she had broken up with me. She had been afraid we were getting serious too soon, and wanted some time to think if she really wanted to spend the rest of her life with one guy, exclusively. I reminded her how hurt I had felt that she left me, but that I would never want to be totally with someone who didn't feel totally devoted to me. I told her I had given my marriage one of my three day mourning periods, and come out on the other side ready to go on living my life. Today she was a beautiful part of my life, and I thanked her for that. 

I was calm, and that eased her out of her tears. I invited her to stay the night, pulled out the bed in the studio, and grabbed a t-shirt of mine and a robe for her to wear around the house. I heard her sobbing when I came back upstairs after locking up the house, and didn't think she'd sleep much. I however slept like a log. 

The next day was a continuation of Christmas, and Ellen was thrilled when we all begged her to stay for the entire weekend. We didn't talk about our past again while the kids were there,, but I recognized the looks Ellen used to give me when we were married. I saw the "I love you so much" and "You're wonderful" smiles. I even answered a couple of the "hug me" and "Can I have a kiss" looks. We read each others' minds like we did when we were married. At the table she'd pour her coffee and I'd add just the right amount of milk. I'd butter my pancakes and look back to see that she had applied just the right amount of maple syrup. We finished sentences. We did, however, sleep in separate rooms. The kids all left together, with my daughter planning to spend time in Boston with the boys and then head to Vermont for some skiing. 

That left Ellen and I alone in the house we had bought together. I stoked the fire, she opened a bottle of wine. We sat and talked. We reminisced, we joked, and then we got serious.

"I was so stupid, so wrong, and so cruel. I know I can never make it up to you, and don't expect you to forgive me, but I do want to say I'm sorry. I want to at least be friends again. You were not only my husband, you were my best friend, my advisor, my most trusted colleague, my partner in crime.... and I miss all of you so much."

I looked at her and smiled, and the dam broke. Ellen can talk, and she wove a masterpiece of a one person conversation on the spot. She told me of her slipping into boredom, even though she now realizes she had shut me out to create the vacuum of passion we had suffered together. She told me of the excitement of meeting a flattering younger guy, and the allure of a secret love affair. She told me how easy it had been to rationalize me into a monster, when she was the one acting monstrously. Her tale was one of extreme joy in the acts of betrayal, followed by rage that I didn't fight for her, that I was indifferent and just let her go. She told how jealous she was of my life when I landed on my feet and reverted to the lifestyle I had enjoyed when we met, especially when she saw some pretty young (ah Michelle, you never forget your first post divorce tryst) thing riding in her spot on the back of my Harley. The jealousy brewed to an all out rage when she saw me with girl after girl, all offering something different that Ellen felt was superior to what she had given me. 

Her emotions took a severe dive when the divorce was final, and she discovered boy toy only dated married women until they were single then dumped them. Seems he liked spending their husbands' money ever since his father, an old school conservative who strongly disapproved of his son's home wrecking ways, disowned him and revoked his trust funds. She didn't find another prospect after the break up. It seems the good men her age were either already spoken for or were unwilling to get serious with a woman who had cheated on her devoted first husband. There were plenty of men who would buy her a drink, dance with her, or climb into her bed, but there were no keepers. Younger guys were happy to date her, after all she looked hot and oozed sensuality when she wanted to flip that switch. But wanted nothing to do with a long term relationship with someone well into menopause. Makes it tough to start a family in those conditions!

I listened to her ramble until she ran out of steam. I poured another glass of wine for each of us, and handed her over with a smile.

"Yes, I guess from what you've said, you were pretty stupid. But you don't have to make it up to me. Like I said, you followed your dream, and I loved you enough to allow it."

I wish I had a picture of her face at that moment. She clearly didn't expect me to tie my reaction to my love for her.

"I did forgive you, almost immediately. How could I hold you there in my marriage when you wanted out? I couldn't keep you tied up or caged in the house. If I forbade you to do something, you'd have just hidden it from me and gone ahead. Your note might have felt cruel at first, but looking back, it did make things clean and tidy. We didn't fight over property, didn't have to worry about custody since the kids were grown. I should thank you for that!

Ok, so I'm not your husband anymore, and it may be quite a while before you call me a best friend or an advisor. Trust is definitely an issue for me, but if you want to trust my advice that label is up to you. Partners in crime might be a little bit intimate for where we are now as well, but how about if we just call us "friends?"

Her eyes teared up as she melted into my arms. She stayed another night. No don't go there, we slept apart. We just had a lot to catch up on. It seemed we were ok sharing the role of parent together again. The next day, she went home to pack for a New Year's trek to join the kids in Boston. I had gigs all week, it is a very lucrative time to be a musician. Of course the side benefit is that my mind was on my music, and I didn't give Ellen a second thought. The school term started up right after the New Year, and my new schedule didn't leave much room to see Ellen. 

We next crossed paths at an in-service conference in April. We sat beside each other, and found ourselves together at a table for two for lunch. We had a lovely talk, and centered up my daughter's upcoming marriage in Australia. It seemed we were back to sharing the role of friends together.

Towards the end of the lunch she thanked me for treating her so well, both today and at Christmas. She said she was so happy we could move on as friends, and asked me if I would do her one favor. She blushed, and then hemmed and hawed a bit, and finally stammered out a request to take her for a ride on the Harley one Saturday.

"Sure!" I answered without skipping a beat. "Sunday is supposed to be warm and beautiful, and we aren't playing at all. Let's ride up north, stop for a great lunch, and spend some time in the fresh air."

She was smiley and bubbly. I was drawn to my memories of her on the bike with me when we were younger. The day always ended with an amazing bedroom romp inspired by hours of her arms wrapped around me from behind, hands roaming all over my chest and....well you get the picture without more detail. She always teased about the next time we'd go out for a ride with something big and powerful between her legs, and the motorcycle was nice too! I wasn't sure I could resist her. I was right. I couldn't. We rode up to the falls, and I felt her hands wander. We hiked to the top of the falls, and followed the long trail around through the woods back down the hill to the bike. We stopped in a quaint little town and strolled the street browsing antique shops. It was the kind of day I absolutely hated, except for the fact I was spending time with this woman who I had spent my life with seeing as beautiful in every way. Lunch was great. By dinnertime we had returned back south and stopped at a great little seafood dock for dinner. Candlelight, delicious food, the waves gently lapping at the dock, boats gracefully passing, there was no doubt she was being wined and dined. I took her home, my home, our home. I took her to bed, our bed, my bed. 

Yes, we made love this time. It seemed we now shared the role of lovers together.

We saw each other for dinner and a movie the next week, and yes, we made love again. We even had lunch a couple of times. We never talked about where our relationship was heading. Thoughts of the word exclusive in any of its forms were nowhere near either of our minds.

Our daughter's wedding was right around the corner. We had discussed the details in detail, and I had been proud to write all the checks without complaint. Hey the band made some money playing all those festivals had been profitable, we had paid the mortgage off while we were still married, carried next to no credit card debt, and I was employed full time, at the top of the salary scale, and had no dependents to support. I wasn't rolling in dough, but I was comfortable and had the money in the bank.   The detail we hadn't shared was our travel plans. We had each made our arrangements separately, though were both staying in the hotel where all the guests would be together. When we compared notes, we discovered we were on the same plane. I invited her to meet me at my house ad share the car I had hired to take me to the airport.

The day of the trip arrived, and Ellen came over early. I had barely rinsed out the coffeepot and turned on the dishwasher with the breakfast dishes when the car pulled into the driveway. Our driver whisked us off to JFK. Our bags were checked curbside, and we headed into the terminal together. Now there aren't that many direct flights from JFK to Sydney in a day, so the check in counter was not crowded and we entered the check in line together. I stepped up after Ellen, and the counter person asked why I hadn't taken the short line for first class passengers. I had bought a first class ticket since the flight was so long, but usually flew as cheaply as possible. I didn't realize the benefits began with express check in, and the ticket agent got a chuckle out of that. She directed me to the first class lounge. Ellen was waiting for me and we cleared security together and headed for the lounge. I checked in at the desk, and the attendant didn't question her coming in with a coach ticket, but offered the standard "There is room in first class, and I could seat her next to you. Would you like to upgrade?"

Well, go ahead and call me a pussy whipped sap for being the nostalgic pussy who whipped out his sappy credit card and plunked down the hard earned currency for a betraying ex wife's comfort. You'd be wrong. I know it looks that way, but something about flying half way around the world with my daughter's mother to attend my daughter's wedding in first class seats that folded back into a bed while she cramped in coach with no leg room seemed wrong. When we boarded the plane by rows, I made her wait with me. She was a bit annoyed, and worried that she would lose her seat to a stand by she began to work up a snit. I explained I had checked her in when we came to the lounge. Snit defused. Of course the snit disappeared entirely, but when she was seated in first class beside me, and I gave her the mother of the bride rationale, her mood changed to a degree that had me imagining mile high membership. Don't be silly, gentle reader, by now you must know public displays of affection aren't my style, especially in a cramped toilet on an airplane!

We arrived in Sydney, and the week was magical. We toured, we visited, and best of all we launched my daughter in her own marriage. I can't tell you how proud I was to deliver my only line, "Her mother and I do" to give her away after walking her down the aisle. I escorted Ellen at the reception, and enjoyed the appropriate dances. Of course a highlight of the evening was when her brothers and I joined the band to perform a rousing version of "All American Girl" as a musical offering to our little girl. After the reception, Ellen, the boys and I all gathered in the hotel lounge. One of them went right to the heart of the matter.

"So what's up with you two?"

"Nothing new sweetie," Ellen replied, "Your dad and I are just being your parents. We've put our past behind and are enjoying life. Is that ok with you?

"Yeah Mom, it just looks like more than that. It looks like you are getting close again, maaaaayyyybeeee I dunno, getting together again?"




A Dear John Letter for Jeff



"Honey, I'm not stupid. I went a bit insane awhile back, and made a stupid mistake. Ok, I was stupid then, very stupid. I'm responsible for that, and I accept the consequences. Dad and I have talked about it, and what he told me is right. Just like we always taught you, I made a choice, I left the relationship, I accept the consequences."

The boys looked at me to follow up. I had nothing to add, so I sat there smiling and sipping a delightful local Australian ale. 

"C'mon Dad, Mom answered the question, do we get to hear from you?"

"Boys, you should be happy we didn't spend the week here making snide hurtful comments demeaning each other. I hear that's what divorced couples do at events like this. Beyond that, I think what you are asking falls generally in the realm of my love life, and that is out of bounds. Didn't I teach you not to kiss and tell? So why would I?"

"But Dad, you love Mom! We can all see that. And we are both old enough to know what it means for a girl to tell you she wants to be just friends. So without giving me nightmares and bad pictures of your love life, just tell us, are you and Mom friendly beyond being just friends."

"Son, with our history, if we are friendly, it will always be beyond being just friends. She's the love of my life, the mother of my children, and the best friend I ever had. It's one of those things we humans just can't turn on and off at will. Beyond that, there is no answer I can give you, because that part of our life story is unwritten."

We talked a while more, then went up to our rooms. I had just slipped into pajamas when there was a knock on the door. It was Ellen. I let her in. We went to bed. She thanked me for the first class upgrade. Before I even breathing returned to normal she began thanking me for a wonderful week Then she thanked me for making my daughter's wedding an event we approached as a couple. I was totally exhausted from accepting thanks, when she thanked me for what I told the boys in the lounge. She stayed for breakfast, which I ordered from room service.

The trip home was dreamy. We arrived at my house, and before she left she gave me a deep kiss.

"I want you know, that I am here for you for whatever you want, whenever you want. Someplace along the line, I forgot why I loved you. Someplace in the routine of being a grown up I forgot how much I loved you. Leaving you was the biggest mistake I could ever make. I threw away the most precious thing I could ever have. Hurting you will always be the biggest regret of my life, and I wish I could just turn back the clock. Whatever, whenever, just let me know. Want a friend to play tennis? Call me. Need a roadie? Groupie? Back up singer? I'm your girl. Need a lover? I'm your woman. Have sex, abuse me, make love to me, I'm there. Need a meal made, I'll cook. I'll clean, fold your laundry, do dishes and windows. I will never ask or expect exclusivity, I know I gave that up. But if you ever ask, the answer is yes. Friend, girl friend, mistress, lover, wife, just ask. Thanks for being so....so...so you! You are wonderful, and if you someday decide to settle with someone else, count on me letting her know what she has, and that she had better make you happy, or I'll be waiting."

"That's really sweet of you Ellen. I have been so happy we've been able to get close again. I'm just not sure I'm comfortable hanging labels on us. I don't know where we are going, I'm just happy we are going there together at least part of the time. I spent all my life living with women, and usually doing their bidding. First my mom and sister, then right after college marrying you. I kind of enjoy living in a home where I determined the colors and the level of clutter. I enjoy cooking my own food the way I like it, and having the fridge full of my favorites. I love playing in the band, and I confess it's been good to have an open sex life. I don't plan on changing that soon. Do you remember the note I wrote responding to your letter?"

"Yes. You said I was right, thanked me, and said goodbye. You didn't even sign it 'Love.'"

"I meant every word in that note. You were right, we were stale, and needed a change. The thank you and goodbye were heartfelt. Anything about 'love' would have been out of line and shallow. Any thing else I could say would have either just been spiteful or would have made me seem like a begging whining wuss. I'm not very good at any of that. So I wrote what needed to be written and stopped."

"What needs to be written now, Tom?"

"Not a thing. I've showed you everything you need to know."

"Yes, you have. You've showed me that you care. You showed me you still find me attractive, and sexy even. You showed me you want me. You stand by me where the children are concerned. You've shown you love me more than a casual lover, enough even to share dinner and breakfast. You enjoy my company enough to date me. You respect me, and our history enough to upgrade me to first class, pay for our daughter's wedding completely without asking a cent from me, and to declare to our sons that I'm the love of our life. The only thing that seems to be missing is a more full time role, being your wife. I want you to know I understand that, and will never press you on that topic. I know I gave that right away. But understand that if you ever choose to ask, the answer is "yes" in advance, and I'll be praying every day of my life for the chance to say it."

She kissed me goodnight. 

Sure, I considered what she said. But come on, get real! I am indeed pussy whipped, so why stop at one? I had the world in my hands, my own home, my kids were grown, financial comfort, an ex wife dedicated to getting me back who by her own admission would do anything anytime, a fit body and all my hair, a combination of a hot band and a Harley, and a never ending supply of women who wanted to jump on the back of my bike and ride of to an after party and put big and powerful things between their legs. Oh sure, I loved Ellen enough, and their was that thing about someone to share the golden years with, but really. Maybe I'd change my mind when we turned 60, but not now. I didn't write "Dear Jeff," so I didn't feel responsible for the aftermath. I had forgiven her, I had made up with her, I had my life in order. 

So I picked up the phone and called that buxom blonde who climbed on the Harley after the street festival and became my first post divorce fuck. She giggled into the phone when I asked her if she was serious about never calling her again. She assured me she was ok and walking again, and invited me to come right over.

Even as I fired up the Harley to ride over to her place I knew someday I'd ask Ellen to marry me again. But this was not that day.



A Dear John Letter



Jerry of course got the rest of his salary and he also had the foresight to get an insurance policy that would pay him if his career ended due to injury. Most of the time the top of the line pro football players purchased this type of policy for protection. Jerry was in very good shape financially but the death of his dream left him depressed.

He had surgery on his knee and moved back home for rehab. It was my 6th month and I was home on my second 30 day leave so Julie and I met him at the airport to help get him home and settled in. We also hoped to cheer him up and break the depression that gripped him. 

Julie and I spent most of my leave taking care of Jerry. We did get to spend some alone time but other than about three days and nights a week we were with him. Julie fussed over him, made him laugh, and helped him forget about his dead dream, at least for a little while. 

Jerry thanked me for making him think about a plan B and said that he was going to work in the marketing department for the football organization that he had played for. His exact words were, "You're the best friend I've ever had, thanks Patrick." Considering what was to happen later, if I was his best friend I would hate to be his enemy. 

I was making a substantial salary so Julie didn't work. The salary was way over what I could have earned back in the real world; that was the reason I accepted the contract. Instead she spent her time with wedding and honeymoon plans, house hunting for the future and decorating our apartment. During my first two sessions at the mine Julie would email me at least every other day. 

Nothing earth shattering or important, but just a note to let me know that she was thinking of me plus updates on the wedding plans. It was a comfort and helped push back the loneliness of being in the middle of miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles. 

After Jerry came home he sent me an email every week or so to tell me about his rehab and his new job. He also told me not to worry about Julie that he would help her with the wedding plans and be her beck and call guy since I wasn't there. 

After month 9 the emails from Julie tapered off to a couple of times a week. This didn't bother me because there was only so many times to write I miss you and there were no unforeseen problems in the wedding plans. My emails back weren't all that interesting either; there isn't a lot you can say about snow, ice, and being lonely. 

I was required to attend training on new systems or changes to existing ones during my visits home. Monday to Friday I would attend seminars for 4 to 6 hours a day for two weeks. The evenings, weekends, and the final two weeks were mine to enjoy. It was almost like a normal job and Julie and I would go to movies, out to dinner, or clubs. We did have evenings that we stayed home like a normal couple. We saw Jerry a lot during these periods.

My prior two visits followed the routine that had evolved for my time at home. After the first excitement of being home passed, Julie and I would settle into our "normal" routine. A few times when I got home from "classes" Jerry was at our apartment. Julie said he was helping with some items about the wedding. 

At first the emails from both of them would tell me about some of things they were doing for the wedding and where and what they had done together. But as my scheduled months at the mine continued, Julie's emails seldom mentioned Jerry and his never mentioned Julie. 

Then Julie's emails dropped off to once a week or once every ten days or so. At the same time Jerry stopped his emails entirely. This decrease in communication, the fact that they didn't mention the other one anymore, and the tone of the emails should have rang a warning bell in my head. 

But I loved Julie and Jerry was my best friend so I didn't think anything about it. In hindsight I should have known that there was a problem. (I can't make up my mind if hindsight is educational or just a way for life to show how it screwed you over) 

My last visit home was in month 9 and then the "Dear John" email afterwards brought to a head all the things that I should have noticed before. So I sat there in my cold room (it wasn't really cold, I just felt that way inside) basking in self pity. Then a piece of advice that my dad had given me a few years before popped up in my head.

I was feeling down about some school related thing, I don't remember what now, but Dad said, "Patrick when life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Throw the damn lemons back in its face, say fuck you, and get on with your bad self." Dad's a philosophical gem, don't you think?

****************************

It had been a month since my last visit home and two and a half weeks since the infamous email from Julie and my two to her. The emails that basically changed my life and my plans for the future. I had begun to heal a little and was looking forward to going back to the world in less than 30 days. Then I received two things that sort of tore the scar tissue off the wound.

In the weekly mail run, I received an unexpected package; it had Julie's return address. I opened the package and looked at the two items inside. One was the engagement ring that Julie and I had picked out and the other was a note with only two words, "I'm sorry."

The other surprise was in the weekly email from my dad. After the normal everyone is fine and what was going on with the family he added that Julie and Jerry got married the previous weekend. Great, just god damn great, I thought. That's just what I need, something to think about for the rest of my time in this frozen hell hole.

My contract was finally completed and it was time to go home. The company offered me a large bonus if I would sign up for another year, but I wanted to get back to the real world. Just look at what the first contract had cost me. Another year and I might lose my sanity as well as my fiancée. No it was time for me to return and rebuild my life.

On the trip out of the "Great North" we spent the night in Yellow Knife. I would get a plane out the next morning, assuming that the weather would hold. I took a ride with a fishing boat on the Great Slave Lake; I was on a mission. 

The lake is over two thousand feet deep at points and one of these deep holes is where I deposited the engagement ring that Julie had returned to me. I know it was an empty gesture but I felt it put a period to that part of my life. Now I could move on.

*********************

When I returned to the "world" I took a month off just to thaw out, and then I started job hunting. There are a lot of mines in Missouri and I hooked up with a large mining company very quickly. Times were a changing, as the song said, and computers were being used by the mines to increase production. This was my specialty.

I was concentrating on my work, maybe too much, and had little social life. Oh, I wasn't a hermit but I didn't go out very much and never with the same girl more than twice in a row. That was okay, look at what happened the last time I became involved with a woman. I didn't need the aggravation of a romance.

That's what my brain told me but someone forgot to tell my libido or my heart. I had been back to civilization and at my job for about a year and into my life stomped Alyssa Ann Cassidy. Yes I said stomped.

Alyssa (Ally) worked in the purchasing department for the same company. We first met on the phone when she called me to chew me out for spending money for some new hardware for my department. She told me that I was supposed to consult with her or her department before I bought anything. My response was "Bull shit" and I hung up on her.

About 20 minutes later I had a wildcat in my office ripping off a piece of my tail. "Who did I think I was? There were procedures in place for capital expenditures. Did I think I could bypass the rules?" Etc etc etc.

"Who are you?" I had no idea that this fireplug was the one I had hung up on.

Ally introduced herself and then continued to climb on me. I had stopped paying attention to what she was saying because I was too busy looking at her. This little pixie was giving me a first class reaming and it was fascinating. She went on for about ten minutes and never used vulgarity or repeated herself. I was impressed.

She was only about 5 feet 1 and couldn't have weighed more than 100 pounds. Her Irish ancestry was evident with her reddish brown hair and green eyes. Her face was flushed and she had a terminal case of cuteness, which made her adorable. As I watched and listened to her I thought, so much for not wanting anything to do with another woman. 

To say that I was attracted and interested in Alyssa Cassidy was an understatement. She finally wound down and waited for my response. I think she was ready to start all over again if I didn't agree with her.

"Do you understand now?" Ally wanted me to admit to my mistake.

"Yes, but I do have a question for you," I answered.

"What is it?"

"What time should I pick you up tonight for dinner and what kind of food should we have?" I was going from one extreme of not wanting to get involved with anyone to the other extreme of becoming infatuated with a woman the first time I met her.

Ally was speechless. She didn't know if I was serious but she must have read something in my eyes because she smiled and giggled. For the record we had pizza and beer that evening. Also for the record we didn't spend the evening staring lovingly into each other's eyes.

We had a serious discussion concerning the right way for purchasing and production to work together. Ally was surprisingly levelheaded and very smart. Of course she agreed with me on a lot of things and that may have colored my assessment of her.

I wanted to spend a lot of time with Ally but I limited myself to an average of two dates a week. The more time we spent together the more we wanted to. We weren't in love (yet) but we certainly were developing more than just a friend's type of relationship. 

On a Saturday evening Ally and I were at a club having a drink and dancing. (Let's be truthful here, it was a neighborhood bar that we liked.) We had just sat down after a few dances when I heard a voice from the past.

"Hello Patrick, how are you?" I turned and came face to face with Julie and Jerry. It was Julie that greeted me.

He still had the All American boy good looks but that hard body had began to soften up. Jerry was beginning to get a slight paunch. The six pack abs has turned into the whole case. Julie was still a beauty but she looked a little hard with too much makeup and she was dressed in clothes that were way too revealing. They made her look sort of slutty. 

They both looked....I don't know how to explain it. Wait yes I do, as my dad would say "it looked like they had been rode hard and put away wet".

I nodded at them and thought now I could tell them in person how I felt about them. Then I realized that I wasn't angry anymore; I had moved on and they weren't worth my time and effort.

"We would love to talk about old times and get caught up. Can we join you?" Again it was Julie talking; Jerry hadn't said a thing. He kept eyeing me like he thought I was going to attack him.

"Sorry, we were just leaving. You can have the table," I answered. 

Ally was a little surprised because I hadn't mentioned leaving to her but she followed my lead. We were in my car before she said anything.

"Who was that?" She was naturally curious.

"No one of consequence. I'll explain later, if that's okay?"

Ally nodded, smiled at me, and moved over to sit close to me as I drove. She put her head on my shoulder as I took her home.

Maybe there is hope for me. We'll take our time and make sure but our relationship certainly looks promising 

Maybe I didn't want to be a loner after all. Maybe if I was going to be alone I would do it with Ally. .

Quote: Life goes on.