Christmas in the Woods

Hey folks, another year has come and gone. Merry Christmas.

* * * * * *

My name is Clinton Conners. I'm thirty-five years old and at the beginning of this story, I was confused, and pissed off. Those were, however, the only things I knew about my situation. Of course, there were other things going on in my life, but at the time I was blissfully unaware of how stupid I was.

As I looked around the small airport terminal, I was still wondering how the hell my boss had convinced me to be there at that moment, doing what I was doing.

It was a Fall Friday morning, the day after Thanksgiving, and everyone else who worked for our company, like most of America, had the day off.

Yet, there I stood in that tiny terminal, waiting for an even tinier plane that would take me North into Canada. My goal was to secure a deal with a small Canadian manufacturing concern that might be able to subcontract some of our parts.

The company, Northstar Manufacturing supposedly had extremely new, state of the art CNC and robotics manufacturing systems that were more advanced than anything we had and anything in our area.

From what I'd been able to find out from people who dealt with them, the company had only five or six employees. I wasn't totally sure about how a company that small would be able to handle the volume of parts that we needed. But my boss was adamant that I go up and scope out their operation.

I can still remember the conversation that had pulled me away from the holiday celebration I'd been having the evening before. In a way, I'd been happy for the distraction. The eight of us; me, my wife, Katie, my brother Chuck and his wife, Annie, my parents and Katie's parents, had just begun my mother's favorite topic of discussion.

"So when am I going to get some grand kids out of the two of you?" she'd asked. Her question had prompted Katie's mom to join the topic in full agreement.

Everyone looked at me. The smirk on my father's face told me that he was enjoying the sight of me squirming under my mother's relentless questioning.

Just as I began to open my mouth to shift the blame to Katie. The phone rang. Katie, with nearly preternatural skills dove for it, taking the phone into the kitchen with her. Her supercilious grin let me know that she had purposefully abandoned me to the maternal inquisition.

However, only a few seconds after her triumphant exit, she came back into the room, frowning.

"It's for you, Honey," she said handing me the phone. "It's Frank."

Frank referred to Frank Walters, my boss and the owner of the engineering firm I worked for. Only Frank would call me on a holiday, at dinner time. Frank lived, ate, and breathed work. He had probably worn his way through all of his relatives and had turned to me to continue discussing whatever project he had dreamed of next. For once I was glad he thought of me.

"Yeah Frank. Happy Thanksgiving to you too," I said into the phone.

"Clint, my boy, I've been thinking," he said. "Look I don't want to ruin your Turkey Day, but I need you to come to the office tomorrow morning. I have another brilliant idea." Even as I hung up the phone, I knew that I was going to hate his brilliant idea.

But I used the phone call as a distraction. I pretended that I had to go to our home office to receive an important e-mail. In the privacy of the office, I checked my personal mail and played a few games until I heard the sounds of at least one set of parents preparing to leave.

I came down the stairs just in time to see the door closing behind them and my parents getting ready to leave as well.

"I can't believe he calls you on the holiday," said my dad, "What a slave driver."

"Yeah but someday, I'll take over for him," I said. "He has no sons and his daughter has no interest in the business."

"She'll probably marry someone who will though," said my dad.

"Not many chances of that," I said. "She's pretty firmly on the gay side of things."

"Well maybe her lover will be interested in the business anyway," said dad.

"It won't matter," I countered. "Frank is as homophobic as they come. There is no way he would turn the business over to a lesbian."

"I just hope Frank appreciates all of the dedication and commitment that you show," said my dad finally.

Anyway, this morning I found myself in Frank's office listening as he outlined this little jaunt into Canada. Completion of this trip is going to earn me a bonus and a company-paid trip to Hawaii for Katie and me.

One of the things I liked about Frank was the fact that he asked a lot of his employees, but he gave a lot in return. This trip, for instance. He arranged for me to fly on a small, private, business carrier. It was a first class, luxury jet that carried no more than fifteen passengers at a time. I would avoid long lines at check in. All the seating on the plane was supposedly comfortable and well appointed. And there would be no screaming children or problem passengers to avoid or deal with.

Frank had also arranged for a first-rate hotel room with all of the amenities. He had even told me that I could take Katie along.

Katie had looked at me sympathetically when I told her and just shook her head. "Not gonna happen, Cowboy," she smiled. "I love you to pieces, Honey. And I hate the fact that you have to do this on your break. But just remember, you're working hard now, so later, when we're older, we can have a wonderful early retirement and travel the world together. However, be that as it may, tomorrow is Black Friday. There is no way I'm missing all of the sales to go traipsing around in Canada with you. So call me frequently and get your ass back to me as soon as you can; but I am not going with you."

Thus far the entire day had gone smoothly. It had yet to snow, which was unusual for a November in Michigan. The temperatures were in the upper forties and low fifties, so I was taking advantage of the situation and still driving my Mustang. I had enjoyed the fact that the airline offered indoor, secure parking. It made me feel confident that my Mustang would be safe and looked after while I was away.

I was actually only going to be away for two days, but I still worried about my car. However, with that worry taken care of, all I had to concern myself with was the task ahead of me.

The procedure for boarding the plane was different. I simply showed up at the hangar at the time the plane was supposed to take off. There was no ticket. I simply presented my driver's license as ID. A woman checked my name off of a list, and I got onto the plane.

There were several people already on the plane. Two of them, sitting separately, were your typical dark suited business types. Both already had their heads in their laptops and scarcely looked up as I entered the cabin.

Another pair, were obviously a business man and his secretary. It appeared they were traveling on business. However, their expressions spoke differently.

There was a gray-haired older woman, reading a magazine. And last but not least there were a couple of guys who seemed to be some sort of technicians.

I took a seat in the middle section of the plane, mostly because it was away from everyone else.

A few moments after I sat down, a loud mouth older guy with two younger men, who were obviously his subordinates got on. They talked loudly about every subject that came to mind.

Several of the other passengers looked up at them, but the older guy with them only glared back. He was obviously too rude to take any notice of the discomfort of others around him.

Just as the woman with the list checked over it one more time and made a visual head count, another woman slipped through the doorway. Almost every head snapped around as she came in.

She wasn't anything like Katie. She wasn't anything like any of the girls I had ever dated. Katie was taller, thinner, much more my type. Or so I thought until that moment. But within less than a second of glimpsing that woman, my opinion changed. I also felt a flash of anger.

After seeing her, Katie suddenly seemed, unfinished ... or to frame it in third-grade mathematical concepts, my wife suddenly seemed ... Less than.

Suddenly, Katie's firm pert breasts just weren't enough. A couple of years ago, Katie had gotten a boob job. She didn't do it to make them bigger. Most of the women in Katie's family had those deflated, upturned, flap-Jack breasts. Katie got hers rescaled to make them while not bigger, just fuller.

She needn't have bothered. The woman who'd just gotten on the plane made all of those types and comparisons, moot. Although she was covered all the way up to her neck, there was no disguising the magnitude of the flesh under her blouse.

Although it was clear that she was wearing a bra that had probably been designed by a structural engineer. Her ... You couldn't even call them breasts. The only word that fit was titties. There was almost something primal about them. Breasts just didn't seem applicable. Breasts are those tiny or moderate, protuberances on the front of a typical woman.

These were like tiny planetoids. They had their own gravitational fields that drew the interest of everyone in their vicinity. Anyway, whatever contraption she wore to keep them immovable, was barely functioning. Those tits might be contained, but they would never be restrained.

And there was far more to her than just those boobs. Every part of her body seemed to be fully realized. Below her titties, her belly teased its purpose. Again, she wasn't a waif-like and barren appearing creature. The softness of her belly hinted at its true purpose. Another flash of anger came over me as I imagined my children growing there.

That soft tummy also said a lot about her personality as I imagined it. She seemed to me to be the type of woman who would dig in and actually eat with her man. She was clearly not one of those coltish girls who foolishly subsisted on salads and grass. This was a full-bodied woman who would not only eat with you but would have a beer or two and watch the game with you too.

As she turned looking for a seat, all of the blood in my brain shifted in an instant towards the other head. Her ass was broad and seemed to be missing something. Sure it was plump and round to the point of appearing to be ... Juicy. But it really seemed to me that it needed to have my hands on it ... Constantly! Even as I sat there my hands clawed themselves as I imagined squeezing and caressing that ass.

Her legs, plump and shapely, were meant for more than simple locomotion. They served as the guardians for the Promised Land. In that split second, I saw myself spreading those magnificent legs to get to what I really wanted.

All of this bountiful pulchritude was packed into a woman who was only five foot-two, if that. However, those curves and what they promised paled before her eyes.

Even from across the room, those eyes drew me in. I was locked in her gaze like a moth to a flame. And just as I realized that I should look away; the intimacy of our eye contact was wrong in its intensity; I realized that I had fooled myself.

Every man on that plane and some of the women had also thought that she was looking only at them, alone.

As I sat there dumbfounded, with growing anger, the loud-mouthed guy was already on his feet and moving towards her. His disdainful sneer had morphed into some sort of sickening grin as he approached her. But she was far faster on the uptake than anyone else in the room.

Even as he cleared his throat to speak, she whipped that body around and placed it in the seat beside ... Me? "Is anyone sittin' here?" she asked.

I was simply too stupefied to swear. I quickly shook my head indicating that no one was. Her voice was more musical than anything released since Motown left Detroit. Again, I felt that flash of anger. It wasn't directed at her. Nope the anger was directed at myself.

At thirty-five years old, I had never once before that afternoon, ever considered cheating on Katie. I simply wasn't the kind of man who abandoned his commitments. But from the second she walked on that plane, all of the stupid love songs I had heard throughout my life suddenly made sense.

Even worse was the fact that I was sure that she wasn't feeling any of the turmoil she had erected in my mind, my spirit, and my pants. The loud-mouthed guy slunk back to his minions after giving me a look that could have melted tungsten.

"Do you want the window seat?" I asked, timidly.

"Why, thank you, Honey," she smiled. "I always like to see where I'm going. Aren't you a nice young man."

Before she said that I had never considered her age at all. In that instance, I began to wonder why age even mattered when it came to women. Shit, let's face it ... Hot is hot. And a woman that hot is simply beyond age. However, it did cause me to wonder how old she really was.

Getting back to my magnanimous act; I actually gave her the window seat, so she'd be all mine for the short duration of the flight. If she had been sitting on the aisle, half of the fucking plane could have dropped by to chat with her. But this way, I had her to myself, and things would be far more cozy.

As the plane's engines rose in volume, I looked closely at her. There were all kinds of questions running through my mind. How old was she, actually? What did she do for a living? I saw several small rings on her tiny fingers but not an actual wedding or engagement ring.

At that moment, the ring fastened securely on my own left fourth digit suddenly became heavier and hotter. By concentrating on the ring and the image of Katie, waiting faithfully for me back home, I was able to tear myself away from the woman beside me and pull out my iPad to go over the information I had on the company I was about to visit.

As the plane began to move down the runway, I tried really hard to concentrate on my work and not the woman next to me. I also told myself that I hadn't done anything wrong. I hadn't so much as touched the woman. I hadn't done anything to hurt Katie. All I'd done was to have a few errant thoughts. My marriage was still as secure as it had been this morning. I hadn't actually betrayed Katie. Besides, what she didn't know would never hurt her.

* * * * * *

Katie

What he doesn't know won't hurt him, I told myself. It was only a momentary spike of guilt. I'd had them many times over the years. So having one as Kyle rushed swiftly towards me was nothing new. Usually, I handled them by being extra loving towards Clint for the next few days.

Most of the people I know think that Clint and I have the perfect life together. We have all of the trappings of a successful couple. We have a beautiful home. I picked it, and Clint works his ass off to make sure that I have almost everything I need. Someday soon, we'll add a couple of kids to the mix. And in the end, we'll retire rich, fat and happy. Maybe we'll travel and see some of those exotic places everyone always talks about. Or perhaps we'll just continue doing whatever it takes to make us happy.

Most of the people I know would be appalled at what I've been doing. The thought of me having affairs or even one affair would paint me as some sort of scarlet woman. Okay, let's face it; they'd declare me the worst whore to hit our town in this millennium. But in the real world, all of my female friends would almost immediately go after my husband. The single ones would be trying to get into his bed before my smell even left the sheets. The married ones would take just a little bit longer. Most of my male friends would be angling to be the next one to screw me if they could do it without anyone knowing about it. None, would want to marry me, but they'd all want to fuck the slut, just for variety.

Most of the people I know are sheep. They go through life with blinders on. They want all of the things that everyone else wants. There isn't an original thought among them. They live their lives like some old saying. Happy wife, happy life, and all of that bullshit. The problem was that I wasn't fucking happy. Not at all.

I married Clint with the best of expectations. However, somewhere along the lines I just got tired of being number two, shit maybe even number three in his life. Frank was number one. Maybe not even Frank, but just that God Damned job of his.

My husband wasn't devoted to my happiness, as much as he was his job. Giving me all of the things he did was just a by-product of him being successful at his job. But after a while, things no longer made me happy. I craved attention. And if it didn't come from my husband ...? Well, if ya can't be with the one you love ...?

Kyle ran up to me as if he had been dying without me.

"I missed you so badly," he said.

"Oh God, Kyle," I smiled. "You act like I have the only pussy on the planet sometimes.

"As far as I'm concerned, you do," he said. "At least it's the only one I'm interested in. How long do we have?"

"Two days at least," I said, "Possibly three."

We ran up the stairs, with him grabbing at me with every step. When we got to the top, he followed me into the bedroom. We both began shedding clothing with abandon.

He pushed me down onto the bed and penetrated my vagina in one stroke. His brutality stemmed from his overwhelming lust. Kyle was too young to be a skillful lover. But what he lacked in technique, he made up for in strength and stamina.

He drove himself into me over and over until I screamed for release. When we were done, I did the one thing that experience should have taught me against.

I let him talk.

"So is it in the garage?" he asked. All at once, my orgasmic bliss faded, and anger took over.

"No it's not," I snapped. "He drove it to the airport. Does it disappoint you?"

"Well, no," he said. Disappointment colored his words.

"And to think I thought my pussy was what you were after," I said. "But I'm beginning to think you really want to get your hands on my husband's car."

"No," he said quickly. "It would just be a hoot. You know how you keep telling me that he never lets anyone drive it. It would just be one more thing that he's sharing with me without him knowing it."

The phone ringing prevented further conversation.

I snatched my phone off of the table beside the bed. After a brief conversation, I turned to him and told him to get out.

"I thought I was staying for a couple of days," he whined.

"Both my mother and my mother in law are on their way over," I said. "And neither one of them is stupid. I'll call you when I get back. We're going shopping."

He dressed and left without another word. I spent the afternoon spending Clint's money and listening to two old women talking about how much Clint loved me. My guilt seemed to grow with every statement.

I ended up having dinner in town with the moms after our shopping was done. As usual, my guilt drove me to buy more Christmas presents for Clint than I had intended. And I wondered, not for the first time, about our future together.

I guess I really didn't know what I wanted. I had no idea, whether or not I still loved Clint. All I knew was that I loved the lifestyle his job gave us. And whether or not I loved him, I was not ready to give that up. I was very fond of Clint, and I wouldn't hurt him for the world. I wondered again if maybe divorcing him was the kindest thing I could do.

I decided again that divorcing him would be stupid. Neither of us wanted that. Clint loved me with all of his heart. A divorce would only hurt him. And it would hurt me. At thirty five, I was no longer a spring chicken. I had seen how badly most of the women I knew fared during a divorce.

Most of them ended up losing in more ways than one. They ended up being some guy's booty call and losing most of their dignity. They also went from having control of 100% of a man's income, to having control of maybe 40% if they were lucky. And most of them ended up losing their homes and having to get a job.