Love Is A Silk Blindfold Ch. 06

I grunted. The rest? Obviously not half of it. A quarter? A tenth?

She wrote that she had quite soon fallen in lust with Mancini. She also thought she owed him for helping her find the ropes. And giving her all his support in climbing the ladder. Yes, she had slept with him and he had been good. He had made her feel less of a girl and more of a woman. He had taught her to love her body. And his. It had been an ecstatic time.

That was when I almost threw the letter away.

I read on an hour later.

She had come to the point of our meeting and marrying. She told me I had shown her that there is more than lust and sex. She had fallen in love and it had been the best she had ever felt. I was her entire world.

She wrote that she understood that she should stop seeing Mancini (read: fucking). Even if it was only sex. The "should stop" made me understand that it took her a while to really do it. Which meant that she was still fucking him after we had fallen in what she kept calling love.

A taste of sickness rose in my throat.

Yes, she admitted. It had been hard to stop "seeing" Robert. He was sweet, she owed him and he was there. But the night before our marriage she had put her foot down, she wrote. The sickness overwhelmed me. I had to throw up before reading on. I wondered why I didn't stop and flush the letter through the toilet together with the rest of the bile.

She was proud, she wrote, that it had been so easy for her to remain loyal to me that first year. It had been the happiest time of her life.

Then there had been the pitch for the Boston company. I remembered how often she and Mancini had been over there to prepare for that. I also remembered how great our nights had been each time she returned.

This time I kept control over my stomach.

Yes, in the rush of all the emotions during those exciting times, she had fallen for Robert again. It had been like a dream, like a constant wave of arousal. The high-power energy of the pitching. The thrill of it. The closeness in their luxury hotel. The being away from me.

She was sorry. But she also reminded me that she had always come back to me and had never denied me anything.

Not denied me? I thought about her sudden refusal to suck my cock. Her starting to get on top and control me. Her urging me to eat her out. Now I understood. The thrill of the Big World had reduced little me. I was hubby. I was sweet and she loved me. But I now seemed so very...well, how to put it?

How grateful should I be?

Then things got, eh...complicated, she wrote.

Mancini & Associates had finished as one of the last two pitching agencies for the prestigious Boston account. At least, that was what Mr. Huntington, the CEO, told them. He had invited them to his house in Hyannis Port to discuss the final brief. He had been so very nice and easy. Not at all snobbish. He really made her feel important and clever. He insinuated that if it had been up to him, they would have won the first time he saw her walk in.

He took her out to his impressive yaught alone, she wrote. And she was so sorry, but yes...

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

Of course I knew enough by then. Am I a masochist to want to know more? Maybe. Please cast your stones, all you perfect men who are now sneering at me.

I read on.

I read how she had not only kept fucking her boss, but also had made quite a few boat trips with Mr. Pepper-and-Salt. He stayed easily at the top of her favorite-clients-list. On top too, I presume. I assumed she even fucked him when I was with her to these parties, being pampered in the most expensive hotel suite they could find.

I really had to understand that this was all business, she wrote. It had been fun, but she had never loved me less because of it. I shouldn't accuse her of betraying our love or even cheating. It had been in the best interest of everyone, me included.

A poorly controlled nausea returned.

Okay. Meanwhile, darling Robert had discovered a little gold mine. The next pitch was in New York and he had told her how much the prospect client appreciated her. Betty is gullible, I guess. And vain. But she is no fool. She wrote me proudly that she had refused to do her next CEO. And she hadn't!

Should I share her pride or what?

I knew I shouldn't. A few lines onwards it became clear why she refused. It was in the city and she wanted to do "all in her powers" not to hurt me, remember? I might stumble onto what happened. I might find out and yes, it was all just business, of course. But I might not understand. She loved me too much for that to happen. She refused.

Bravo.

I shook my head incredulously. But what came next was even crazier.

Robert had found a hooker who looked so much like Betty that she could have been her twin sister. A new scheme developed. The hooker would pretend to be the Betty Robert promised to the prospect. As a nice detail he added the wig and the make-up to "protect Betty, as she was married and her husband lived in New York."

The prospects ate it up as greedily as they ate her stand-in.

They were extra aroused at the thought of fucking an adulterous spouse. The scheme was an instant success and soon a new routine developed. The Canadian whore would be the entertainment in the Big Apple, Betty would see to the pitches outside the five burroughs. She never said as much in the letter, but I hardly needed my imagination to know.

That is when I really tore up the letter.

To be honest, there wasn't much left. I guess just some gibberish about her loving me and wanting me to be protected from hurt. That her love for me really was way too strong to be destroyed by some innocent business-fucking. And that I should please forgive her. We ought to talk like grown-ups. We surely would find a way as long as we loved each other.

I did not want to find it. I just wanted to call the attorney I had been seeing and tell him to goddamn hurry up with his divorce papers.

And yes, for you suckers of procedures – I glued the letter together again and sent it to him. He already had the porn clip.

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

I lay in the grass.

A fly buzzed close to my ear. The ballgame had ended. Maybe the sun was lower too. I didn't look.

It had been hard to find ways to get my revenge on Betty.

But I knew that in some sick way it hurt her greatly to have lost me. She had fucked around like crazy, but somehow she had seen that as professional strategy. Like a really professional whore. Like something that stood apart from our private lives, our marriage, our precious love. She had lied and lied again, but I guess she would explain that as meaning to protect our love. A noble deed, as it were.

What do I know? I even think she believes it. Am I the mad one?

Maybe she really thought she had never betrayed me. It was just a job well done, wasn't it? Look at their success! Mancini's business had tripled over the last five years.

Which brought me to a much more satisfying revenge.

I was certain that Betty was duly punished by me never allowing her back into my life. Not even to see me and explain. I heard from mustual friends that she doesn't understand it. She tells people we'll be back together again. I love her as much as she does.

There she is wrong. I love her more.

Paul, Judy and a lawyer friend helped me setting up Mancini and his big friend from Boston. We sent both of them copies of what we had and the threat to publish them. We also promised to sue both companies for alienation of affection and sexual harassment.

It took them three hours to offer me a million.

I got on the phone and laughed.

They went and doubled their offer. Then they tripled it. I still laughed. I had no intention to take their money. Money meant nothing to them, not in these amounts. It meant even less to me.

So my lawyer went to court and sued both.

The press had a field day. The case is still in court. It looks good, but I don't care if I win or lose. I already won. Mancini has lost three quarters of his business. Huntington has been silently dropped. I guess poor Betty will lose her job soon, as there won't be a Mancini & Associates left to fuck for.

I doubt there will be new openings for her.

Did I intend that pun? Ask Mr. Freud.

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

Am I happy with my revenge? Am I even slightly satisfied?

"It is good to have closure," my sweet little doctor with the big glasses says. She is a doll. But she is dead wrong. It doesn't help a bit. I still hurt. I still cry at night. I still miss her.

No, not true. I miss the one I loved.

The last rays of the sun kissed my face. Cool fingers touched my lips. They slowly followed the outline of my mouth. I pouted and kissed them.

"Let's go," a voice whispered.

I stretched my arms and pulled her over me. She kisses wonderfully. She is sweet and tender. She loves me. I may once even love her.

We stood and walked into the setting sun. It drowned the great silhouette of the city in front of us. I pulled her closer. She laughed.

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

Ah, yes, of course.

You'd love to know who sent me the porn video. I won't tell you. But he is a good friend. The best. He once told me to go see what he didn't get to see.

I never did. So he went and did it for me.