Like an Elephant

By Likegoodwinecopyrighted February 2011

Your votes and constructive comments are appreciated, as they will help me grow.

Thanks to grogers for his very, very patient editing

Friends and family used to call me "The elephant". Am I that big? Not at all! I'm average height and weight at 5'10" and 172 lbs. No, I was called "The elephant" because I have the uncanny ability to remember almost everything. My name is Peter Marchand, and I am a freak of nature.

I'm not that great with math, but ask me what our family phone number was in 1982 at Camp Grayling, and I can tell you. That's no mean feat, as I was an army brat and we changed posting every two or three years. I can also give you the exact address: street number, street name and zip code.

My life as a teenager can be summarized in the question: "Peter, what's auntie Marge's new phone number again?" I swear my parents, as well as my brothers and sisters, saved thousands of dollars by never using pencil or paper to write down a number. Just ask it out loud while I was around.

That was useful... for them. And they appreciated it.

What they didn't like as much was the fact that I also remembered everything that was said, going back as far as 2 or 3 years. Longer than that, I wasn't as good with the verbatim but I still remembered the gist of things.

"I told you that we had a party to attend at the McGregor's! Peter, didn't I tell your mom about the party at the McGregor's?"

"Yes Dad, you told her last Saturday during the hockey game in the second period. But, Mom, you didn't know for sure if you all could go and, you said 'I'll check to see if we can find babysitter and get back to you'".

Well, guess who didn't get a nice hug from either Dad or Mom that night.

I had been taken advantage of like that my whole childhood. As early as my teenage years, I realized that it would be better for me to keep this ability to myself. It was too late with my family, but at least it was possible with my new friends when we moved again, and again, and again.

I made it a habit to ask my friends things such as "What's the number again?" or "Was it Saturday or Sunday they will face the Jets?" just to appear to be a normal forgetful human being.

However, I still took advantage of my ability to memorize everything. In 12th grade, when interviewed by the school career advisor, I asked him what would be the most lucrative careers. When I had to choose between head of a mafia family in New Jersey, an arms dealer in Colorado, a plastic surgeon in Hollywood or a criminal lawyer anywhere in the world, I choose the less despicable one. I became a lawyer. Not a flashy criminal trial lawyer by any stretch, but one who remembers every single statute and every court ruling I ever read or heard of.

I am not a highly publicized criminal trial lawyer; I am simply a tax lawyer who deals with income and expenses and knows all the ways to reduce the tax burden for all the hard working citizens, including the richest: the head of a mafia family in New Jersey, an arms dealer in Colorado and many plastic surgeons in Hollywood. I know all the loopholes, and given a chance, I could know all the fake boobs joyfully bouncing around in LA.

Everybody's following so far? Ok, now comes the rest of the story.

Fresh out of law school, I met Annabelle, an MBA student, two years my senior. She was witty, cute and really outgoing. She was a magnet to my dull, average looking, demure guy. Opposites attract the saying goes -- and that was true with us.

While dating me, she was also seeing others, and she was forthright about it. She even joked about the excuses she made when she was unavailable: visiting friends, family emergencies, group class work.

Over the next six months of dating she did a wonderful job breaking me out of my shell. I was still average looking, but I was leaving behind all the complexes I developed during my childhood. I even became a humorous guy. It's easy when you remember all the jokes you ever heard -- and the timing necessary to really make people laugh.

As a result, we grew very fond of each other. I was fond enough of Annabelle to ask if she would consider going out with me on an exclusive basis. She took a few days to consider it, then agreed to the new terms of our relationship. I was officially her boyfriend.

It lasted for six months and ten days: Since September of that year, Annabelle's sister had been planning a ski vacation in British Columbia for January 15 to 17. One day, Annabelle let the cat out of the bag when she told me that she was planning to visit her sister that same weekend. I let her go, following the principle that some people, given enough rope, will hang themselves. And she did just that.

Annabelle phoned me the following Monday.

"How was your weekend?" I asked.

"It was marvelous," she said, "we spent a whole weekend shopping and catching up, you know, sister stuff."

"And how were the ski conditions in Whistler? Any good?" I asked.

"I don't know what you mean," she replied, "How would I know such a thing?"

Well, if she had paid attention to what her sister was telling her for the last few months...

"How would you know? Your sister spent the weekend skiing in Whistler -- that's how," I replied dryly.

There was a long silence over the line.

"Shit! I forgot!" she finally said.

"Well, you better forget my phone number too!" I said, and hung up on her.

That was it! I've heard a lot of stories about people getting lost in their web of lies, and Annabelle was lost right from the start.

The next week I got a letter from Annabelle saying how sorry she was, explaining that she wasn't really ready for an exclusive relationship at her age and shouldn't have misled me. I threw the letter in the recycling bin.

I spent the next two years mostly involved with my new job with a local law firm. I did date a bit but nothing serious. First, I had to put in a lot of hours to prove myself, and there wasn't that much time to lay the groundwork for a real relationship. Second, the episode with Annabelle left me wary of any emotional involvement. So for two years, I looked mostly for pleasurable female companionship, nothing else.

One day, I was sent to a new account that needed legal advice handling their tax return with regard to some investments they made over the last fiscal year. I was to meet with the CEO and the vice-president of finance.

When I was ushered into the conference room, a familiar face was at the table: Annabelle. The meeting went smoothly, and I ended up with a very pleased new client. As the meeting ended, Annabelle came up to me.

"Hello stranger! Fancy meeting you here!" Annabelle said.

"Hi Annabelle!" I said simply, focusing on the delicate task of putting all my papers back into my briefcase.

"Say, it's almost lunch time! What about we go for lunch and catch up a bit?" she said in a friendly manner.

I didn't want to, but at the same time, I was curious. And she was still very cute.

Did we have lunch? Sure! But right after lunch, we ended up at Annabelle's apartment for some serious fucking.

Bad memories, memories are bad! Good fucking, fucking is so good!

And that's the way, as two professionals, that Annabelle and I got reacquainted.

She wasn't involved with anybody at the time, and I was still single. We started dating again.

Over the next two years, I never suspected that Annabelle was still the two-timer that she used to be. That was enough for me. Forget (that's such a weird concept) what happened before and let bygones be bygones.

We were soon married.

We lived happily for 63 months, 2 weeks and 6 days. We shared many things together, but I always kept my ability to recall everything to myself. I must have still been a bit wary of Annabelle to keep this secret.

Over the last two months, Annabelle had regularly came home late from work with justifications such as visiting friends, family emergencies or working late. These reasons sounded way too familiar to me, as they were her usual explanations when she was two-timing me many years ago.

But they could also be the truth, and I decided to let it pass.

However, one week I had to travel out of town for a couple of days to meet with an accounting firm that was conducting an independent audit of one of my clients who was in the process of selling his company.

Back at home on Friday night, Annabelle and I made love. She was a tiger in bed. Soon after, I got up and headed to the small half-bath next to the bedroom. Annabelle never uses it because the mirror is too small and the lighting too low.

The toilet seat was up!

I recalled perfectly the last time I had used it: I had put the seat down, just before flossing and brushing my teeth. The seat wasn't up following a cleaning either, as there was a faint yellow stain on the rim of the bowl, a shade darker than last week.

I already told you that I am not the smartest guy around, but there is a limit to how dense I can be.

A man used this washroom to take a leak within the last week. The only door to the washroom being in the master bedroom, he had to have been there.

Remembering Annabelle's past behavior, and her recent string of suspiciously late homecomings, I had a sinking feeling that she was cheating on me. I had to find out.

I had two choices: Just wait and catch her in an obvious lie or be proactive and dig out the hard facts. I choose the latter because it would probably give faster results.

The weekend was painful. I didn't feel very loving and caring while Annabelle was the opposite. Well if it worked for my mom, it would work for me: I had a splitting headache all weekend long. I played the part so well that Annabelle convinced me to see a doctor on Monday.

Monday morning, I was seeing a few specialists -- but not the medical kind. I talked first with a colleague who worked divorce cases, and then I met with a private detective who could find out for sure if Annabelle was cheating. By the end of the day, Herb, the private detective, had our house wired for both audio and video. All I had to do was to give Annabelle enough rope to hang herself. Well, it worked once...

Using the ploy of my headaches, I told Annabelle that I had to travel a couple of days to go see a top notch neurologist recommended by my doctor. Despite my suspicions, I felt bad the way she showed so much concern for my supposed ill health. I had to convince her that it would be useless for her to travel with me. She was adamant that I needed her support, but finally relented on the idea She was so worried that I almost believed I was wrong to assume that she was cheating.

How can my wife show so much love and caring while being a tramp and betraying me at the same time? It just didn't compute in my head. However, there was no turning back without revealing my own lies.

So on Thursday morning, she dropped me at the airport, and I quickly made my way back to town and registered in a downtown hotel. The more I though about Annabelle's behavior in the last few days, the more I believed that I was wasting my money.

As promised, I phoned her on Thursday evening. She showed real worry when I was evasive about all of the tests I was supposed to have undergone that day and the others coming the next day. Her genuine concern and her effusive love that poured over the phone made me feel so bad. Her emotions ran so high toward the end of the phone call that she had a hard time speaking, as she choked back her tears. What a fucking cheap husband I was.

I had a hard time falling asleep that night, guilt and remorse were eating away at me. I was such an idiot to forget how much Annabelle loved me. I was now sure that my suspicions were unfounded.

The next morning, a phone call from Herb proved me dead wrong.

A few minutes later, I was sitting in Herb's office, watching a video recording made the prior evening. The image was a bit grainy but it was a good view of the front door, the dining room and the living room from what I assumed was our TV stand. I heard a faint noise. Herb turned a knob and the sound of keys unlocking the door came up loud and clear. The door opened and Annabelle appeared, going to punch our code on the alarm system.

Then a second person appeared at the door. Damn it! It was Brad Schwartz, Annabelle's co-worker whom I had met a few times over the years at their various company events. Taller, and I have to admit, more handsome than I, Brad was married and had two young, pre-school children.

As soon as the door closed, he grabbed Annabelle and tried to kiss her. She pushed him back a bit, then collapsed in his arms and returned his kisses. Theirs wasn't the tentative kiss of two new lovers. It was a long and passionate kiss of two lovers who were familiar with each other.

With one hand, he was caressing her ass and pulling her to him, and with the other, he was massaging her breasts. Slowly, without breaking the kiss, they made their way into the living room.

I wanted to yell my disgust and my anger at the monitor.

Soon Brad had Annabelle on the couch and he was pinning her down under his weight. Her blouse was opened and her breasts were spilling out. Not too long after that, Brad went on his knees in front of the couch and began to remove Annabelle's panties as she raised her bottom and held her legs together to make it easy for him. Then smiling directly at him, she opened her legs and pulled her feet up on the edge of the couch. He went between her open thighs first kissing her labia, then licking in her slit, and finally he began to eat her pussy.

"Oh yes Brad! It's so bad and so good at the same time," moaned Annabelle, her hands gripping his hair.

Soon after, Annabelle had a near silent orgasm. But for me, her cherished husband, the signs were obvious.

She pulled Brad back on his feet and began to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. Pretty soon, she had his cock firmly in her mouth, sucking and licking it with passion. I know because I have been on the receiving end of many of her excellent blowjobs.

"I'm about to come, honey," said Brad while mouth fucking Annabelle.

She released his cock, turned around and offered him the heavenly sight of her perfect ass.

"I want you this way," she said.

Without a word, Brad put his cock at the entrance of her pussy and in one swift movement had himself buried all the way inside her.

"Oh shit you're tight! After two kids, my wife feels like I'm fucking the Lincoln Tunnel," said Brad, full of poetry.

He began fucking her faster, and I knew he was about to come.

Just at that moment, the phone rang. I looked around in the private detective's office until I realized that the sound was coming from the video.

With Brad still fucking her, Annabelle grabbed the phone and looked at the display. Without a word, she disengaged herself from Brad and sat straight on the couch.

"Hi Honey! How are you? How do you feel?"

I realized then that I was looking at the other end of my phone call the previous evening. Just for the fun of it, I started to repeat my side of the conversation for Herb's benefit.

"Well, not that great, to tell the truth: I still have my headache, and with all the tests today, I am totally exhausted" I answered.

Brad came closer to her, pushing his rigid cock in her face. Annabelle pushed it aside but didn't let go. She started to gently stroke him.

"Oh poor thing! I wish I were there with you. You shouldn't have talked me out of going with you", she said, still stroking Brad who was now having a field day with her breasts.

"What kind of test was it?" she asked.

"Too many to talk about, Sweetheart! Too many, and many more tomorrow", I lied.

"Did the doctor say anything at all about what could be the cause of the headaches? Any hint?" she asked, her face a mask of worry, just visible behind the cock that Brad was still trying to force into her mouth.

"Well he is not sure. He said, he prefers to run all the tests before giving an opinion, but it could be nothing or something serious" I said skating around the question.

"I..." she started to say, but Brad forcefully inserted his cock in her mouth, cutting her short. She pushed him back. "I..." and again Brad cock found it's way in. Annabelle was finally able to wrestle Brad's cock away from her.

"I'm so worried about you honey! I..." Brad's cock again interrupted her. Pushing him back a bit, "I love you" she was finally able to gurgle.

"I love you too," I said and I remembered that I hung up as guilt was overwhelming me at the hotel.

She let the phone drop to the floor, grabbed Brad's cock and finished him up with a quick blowjob, taking his cum in her mouth and swallowing all of it.

I got up and was about to leave. I had seen enough and didn't want to see any more. And I thought she was choked by emotions! My ass! The cock pushed down her throat was what was really choking her.

Herb asked me to sit down and watch another clip.

By the darkness visible through the bedroom window, I realized that it was way later yesterday evening, and apparently the two lovers had been at it for hours after my phone call.

Brad and Annabelle were in bed. It was a view down from the foot of the bed, probably from the smoke alarm. Annabelle was riding Brad's cock cowgirl style. I know that some men get a kick watching their wife being fucked by another man. Not me! I was simply crushed.

"Listen" said Herb.

Annabelle's voice could be faintly heard.

"I told you before, Brad. It's the last time. We should never have let it happen. It was a big mistake," Annabelle said, as she worked her cunt on his cock to get him to cum in her.

"I could call what we did many names, but a mistake is not one of them," answered Brad. "It is so good, we shouldn't stop seeing each other."

"Brad, my mind is made up," she said as she fucked him faster. "I felt bad cheating on Peter before, but now that I risk losing him, I realize how much I love him, how much he means to me," and as he reached for her breasts, she arched them out to him so they could enjoy his caress .

At that moment, Brad grunted and started to come. Annabelle pushed her pelvis further down to receive all his cum and kissed him till the end of his orgasm, still moving on him to maximize his pleasure.

She stayed on top of him with his cock in her; then finally, she climbed off him and sat on the bed beside him, Indian style, facing the camera. Her well-fucked pussy was in plain sight.

Tears were running down her cheeks.

"I'm scared he is going to die, Brad. He has never been so sick before, and all those tests... Oh! Brad, I love him so much".

More tears were dripping from her cheeks.

Under any other circumstances, these tears would have melted my heart. Her distress was sincere. The problem was that the tears flowing down her cheeks and dripping off her face fell to the same place as Brad semen was dripping out of her pussy.

Again I stood up and walked toward the door.

"Won't you give her another chance, man?" asked Herb. "She really loves you. Man, I would do anything to have a wife that loves me that much! Can't you forgive her?" he added.

"I can't forgive her for one simple reason" I said. "I could never forget it!"

THE END

Yeah, I know! Many readers will want to know what happened next? Did he confront her? Did he sue her employer? Did he send the video to Brad's wife? Well, it's up to you to imagine the normal outcome as you see fit.

Who cares! It's just a story for the fun of writing. One day, I might decide that her genuine love for him is too much for him to give up, and another day, I might decide to have him work hard to hurt her as much as she did hurt him.

I love fiction!