Paul Takes a Holiday

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But she was already taken.
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MattblackUK
MattblackUK
1,438 Followers

Bob Holiday felt conflicting emotions. His best and longest friend Paul Foster had died after a long fight with cancer and he had left a request that Bob would write and read a eulogy at his funeral.

He had met his friend when they both attended their first day in kindergarten and they had remained steadfast friends ever since that day, when they were in their early 40s.

They'd grown up together, attended the same schools and the same local college and they'd even double-dated. They had never fought over the same girl, however. That, although they had never had a formal agreement, was something they just didn't do.

Once they had established their own careers, Bob was a design consultant and Paul a sales executive, they did not see quite so much of each other, but they were still often went out for drinks after work. They were still as tight as ever.

Paul had married Carol and Bob had married Maeve, who, with her long, red hair, attested to her Irish roots.

Carol and Bob had two children, a boy and a girl, and Bob and Maeve had a girl, Tegan.

The families became close, they took trips with each other, they had barbecues and had regular dinner parties together. At least, until Paul and Carol divorced. Then not so much or so often.

It was the evening before Paul's funeral. Bob was sat in his study, thinking about what he could or should put in his eulogy to his best friend.

This was a hard job. A task that required finesse and care. What stories to include? Which to leave out? To mention the divorce or not? Bob knew few of the details of the divorce. Which was strange as he and Paul were normally very close. Still, divorce hits people in different ways.

What to do? What to say? How to encapsulate 40-odd years of a man's life? Not an easy job. Then Bob remembered that Paul had sent him a poem that he had written himself, a couple of years back. Bob had saved the poem on his hard drive, as he had been impressed by the words that had told so much of Paul's life. Odd, in itself, as Paul had shown little interest in writing anything, previously, especially a poem.

For the life of him, Bob could not remember the title. And with thousands of files on the family computer, it would take far too long to track it down.

He realised that if he searched on the name 'Paul' that should narrow it down a little.

The search revealed several documents, including the poem and one that was a huge file that appeared to be a long Internet Message file.

He did not recognise the file, he was intrigued by it. He opened it and within seconds wished he had not. In stark terms even the very first messages showed his wife to be a slut, who had been having sex with Paul for the last three months of his life.

With mounting outrage, Bob read the messages that the two had passed between each other, in which Paul had obviously groomed Maeve to become his slut.

It was horrible for Bob, because as he read through the messages he began to lose first his respect for Maeve, then his love for her. But at the same time his friendship for Paul was rapidly transforming into something that felt like hatred.

The latter shocked Bob, as he could not recall having hated anyone in his life before that time. He had thought he had hated people before, but that was before he had discovered the treachery of Paul and the infidelity of Maeve. His best friend? The love of his wife, the mother of his child? What the fuck?!

Now he truly knew and understood about hatred, what it was, how it was hurting him. How it was hurting him to hate the two people he most loved in the world. And he didn't like that one little bit.

He looked at the screen, saw the words of love, of betrayal, of treachery of scorn and derision and he shouted out: "But none of this is my fucking fault! It's not fair! I loved those two miserable bastards! And this is how they repay me? Bastards!"

He wondered how Maeve would try to deal with it. No matter how she tried, what she said or did, he knew their marriage was over. Burnt to ashes in the white heat of the furnace of her betrayal. The Phoenix was a mythical bird. There would be nothing rising out of the ashes of their marriage.

He thought of their daughter, Tegan. What the hell would she make of this? She'd loved Paul and she had called him Uncle Paul when she was a little girl. With a sudden lurch in his stomach he wondered if Tegan had known about her mother's self-declared three month leave of absence from her wedding vows?

If Tegan had known and had either approved of what her mother had done, or had just not cared enough to tell her father, then his relationship with Tegan would be in the balance, too. And that idea hurt him, badly.

He decided to send Tegan a text message and ask her to come back home as soon as she could. He felt a need to get all of this out into the open as soon as he could.

He saved the file to a flash drive and then emailed a copy of it to his Yahoo! account, in case Maeve tried to delete it when he confronted her when she returned home. He then printed the whole file, there were pages and pages of her infidelity in black and white.

She had been stupid to save it on the family computer, but who said people caught up in the excitement of an affair were capable of rational thought?

He sat in front of the computer. But it was not the cheating words on the screen that captivated his attention. In some almost primeval way, he needed to read of the infidelity with it laid out before him, ink on paper. So he printed all of the pages out.

He knew when it had started. Maeve had told Bob that she was worried about Paul. He was their best friend, Godfather to Tegan and he was dying of cancer. With no hope of treatment. So, she'd said: "Shouldn't we do something?" Bob had readily agreed. He would cut the lawns and do the gardening, offer any DIY work, whilst Maeve would use her nursing skills to tend to Paul's needs.

Tend to Paul's needs? Bob felt the bile rising. With an effort he stopped himself being sick.

They had started out by mocking Bob, by remarking on how gullible he had been. It was Paul who came up with the idea that was, to Bob's entirely reasonable view, the marriage killer.

He had proposed an idea to Maeve that she had accepted with alacrity. Paul's idea was a simple one. As many really evil ideas are. Maeve would get a virtual divorce from Bob for the duration of the remaining period of Paul's life. She would then 'marry' Paul, so that when she returned to her husband Bob it would be as Paul's widow. Her marriage to Bob would then automatically be re-instated, but Bob would not know that he had ever been divorced in the first place!

"That way," Paul had written, there will be no problems with you being unfaithful to Bob, as you would not be married to him!"

There were a few more inane bits that Bob skipped over until the next message that took his attention: "But there's one thing you must do, Maeve, whatever you do, do not let Bob have you sexually during our marriage. I don't care what you do, how you fix it, what stories you tell him, but no sex for him until after I am dead. Then you and he can fuck like rabbits again, for all I care!"

"Paul, that's a big ask, but I will do it for you. I'll make sure I don't have sex with my soon to be but temporarily ex-husband during the duration of our marriage! If he wants sexual relief, he'll have to take care of himself!"

"That's fine, Maeve. Please do that for me. I have always wanted to fuck you, but never felt able to ask you to cheat on Bob. But now I am dying, well, I decided to ask you to help me. I really do hate to ask you to do this to Bob, after all he is my best friend, but I am sure you can square it with him afterwards. After all, he doesn't have to know, does he? And he isn't dying like I am, is he?"

The ceremony of the divorce and the marriage had been performed by some ratty little shyster that Bob vaguely knew, Baxter Veegles, who as well as being a lawyer who had been banded from practising law, now ran a pawn shop, was also a pastor in one of those semi-legit Internet churches. There was even an attached image of Veegles 'marrying' Paul and Maeve. They were dressed up as a bridal couple.

The messages between them after the ceremony that carried on throughout the three months, until merely days before his death, had been a mixture of romantic banter and of poking fun at Bob, about how clueless he had been, about how stupid he had been to be divorced and cut off from sex and not even realise it, and so forth.

Bob sat, tears streaming down his cheeks. How could his wife and his best friend do this to him? And why couldn't that shit have had a type of cancer that had left him impotent?

Fuck! To find out this on the very evening he was supposed to be writing a eulogy for the man who he had, wrongly, as it turned out, thought of as his lifelong best friend? He would rather go down to the private viewing in the funeral home and piss on the corpse in the open coffin!

He wondered where his wife was? Gazing into the face of her lover's corpse, perhaps? Where had she said she was going? Oh, yes. To help Paul's sister, Nancy, with the floral arrangements for the funeral. He wondered if Nance had known of the affair? He doubted it, feeling sure she would have tipped him off about the affair. But then again, he mused, surely he would not have thought either Paul or Maeve being capable of such treachery.

He heard the front door open and close and presently Maeve came through into the den. Showtime! He thought, as he watched her.

"Hi, dear," said Maeve. "I just dropped Nancy back at her house. The flowers are just beautiful! I think the mourners will just love them..."

Her voice slowed to a stop. She looked at him. "Honey?" What's wrong? Has something happened?"

He looked at her and shook his head. "No, everything is right, well, in a way. But yes, something did happen. I just found out that my so-called wife and my so-called best friend have been cheating on me for three months. That's what fucking happened, your treacherous bitch!"

She staggered back a couple of paces, an indeterminate expression on her face.

"Oh, Bob! You were never supposed to find out about that! Never! But this has nothing to do with you and me and what we have! Please! Believe me!"

"I can't believe you, you little slut!"

"Please don't call me a slut, Bob! I am not a slut!"

"Well, what term would you use to describe a woman who cuts her own husband off from sex so that she can pretend to be the husband of another man? Who gives her body to that other man, whilst denying her husband any sexual contact or comfort at all?"

She slumped into a chair in the den, shaking her head. "But it wasn't like that Bob! Not at all! You've got it all wrong! I was just helping Paul out. Really, that was all I was doing. I wasn't cheating on you. Can't you understand that?"

"No, Maeve. Not only can I not understand it, it is not right! You have cheated on me. You and that bastard Paul planned it all down to the last detail. When was the last time we had sex?"

His sudden change of tack took Maeve aback. "Why... well... I can't quite recall..."

"Of course you can't," he said with a sneer. "But I can. It was the night before we went over to see Paul, to see if we could do anything for him. That was a shade over three months ago."

"I know, Bob," and I know that must have been tough for you. Even before you knew why I'd decided to stop having relations with you. But I can make it up to you. And I will make it up to you, I promise." She nodded emphatically.

He looked at her, with an incredulous expression on his face. He snarled at her: "How will you do that, Maeve? Stop fucking John? Oh, wait! He's dead, isn't he? And female to male necrophilia, well, that's just not going to happen for several technical reasons, right?"

She gasped at his crude remark, but said nothing, tears started to glisten in her eyes.

"Well, what about letting me fuck you? Oh, just a moment! You are my wife, husbands and wives are supposed to fuck, aren't they? So how will that be making anything up between us?

"Maeve, we know how many times we fucked in the past three months. None. So, let's just work out how many times you and Paul the Perv got in on together, shall we? Let's average it out at twice a day, seven days a week, let's average it out to 4 weeks in a month, so that makes a grand total of 168 times. 168 to zero? Wow, now that's a pretty shitty balance, isn't it Maeve? How do you propose to make that up to me, huh? Huh? Can you answer me that, you stupid slut?"

"Please Bob! I am sorry! But please don't call me bad names. Please!" By now, the tears were starting.

"'Bad names'?" he shouted. "If you think these are bad, just ask yourself what our friends and families will be saying about you and Paul!"

"You are just saying that to upset me," she whined.

"You little idiot! If you think Paul would be able to resist telling people about how he got you to cheat on me, well, good luck with that!"

"Bob," she said, trying a different tack, "I am now your wife again. True, you were not ever supposed to know that I was never your wife, but how about you regain your rights to your wife? Take me upstairs and make love to me."

Bob laughed at her. "You... have got to be kidding me, right? I... why the hell would I even think about fucking you, ever again?"

She winced: "Oh, baby, don't use that word 'fuck' you know how I don't like it. We don't fuck, we make love."

"Oh, really?" he leafed through the pages of printouts. "Is that so? Well, let's see what we have here:" He read an extract from the IM messages: "'I love it when you fuck me, Paul, my beautiful new husband. Bob my ex-husband could never fuck me as good as you have been doing this past month. I don't know how I'll ever be able to go back to Bob's bed and to be once again his faithful spouse, when you have shown me what a real fucking is. I'd like to be able to live here with you, but I have to go back to my old house and at least play the part of being Bob's faithful wife.'

"So, bitch, if I was so bad in bed, why didn't you just get the fuck out of my life, years ago? So I could have looked for someone who appreciated me for what I was, what I could do in bed? And not trash talk about me to her lover?"

Now, Maeve began sobbing in earnest. It had all been so wonderful! To help a friend feel better about this being their last months on earth. To, yes, to use trash talk about her husband to help boost her lover's ego and to add spice to the affair, too.

She had compartmentalised Paul's slut and Bob's faithful wife so well, that when she found that the two separate and different lives collided and coalesced together, she knew that she had fucked everything up.

"But what do you want me to do?" she sobbed.

"Just make the phony divorce you got, a real one. Just get the fuck out of my life!"

"But... I don't want a divorce! I want..."

He roared at her: "This isn't about what you want, you slimy little skank! You fucked my best friend for three fucking months! You got a fucking phony divorce to make you feel better about cheating on me! But now, I want a real fucking divorce! Understand?"

His outburst of a rage so real and present in their den that she could almost see it, was so toxic that it stunned Maeve into silence. No begging, no sobbing, just silence.

A silence that was broken by the voice of their daughter from the doorway: "Guys? Mom? Dad? What the fuck is going on? A divorce? Why? Daddy? What could mom have done that can't be fixed without needing a divorce?"

"Oh, Jesus! Oh, Tegan, baby, I am so sorry you had to hear that. I just... it... your mother cheated on me."

Tegan gave her mother a look of disgust. "Oh, mother! How could you? What the fuck? Jesus! What a cliché! Into your mid-40s and you start to run around on daddy? Damn it! Who was it, mom? That hunky pool boy, next door? That personal trainer I saw you eyeing up at the gym? Who was it, huh?"

Maeve looked down, and shook her head.

"Oh, Christ, mother! So bad you can't tell me? Well, I'll just have to ask dad. Well, dad, who was she having an affair with?"

Now back in some semblance of self-control Bob said: "It was... she had a three month affair with Paul Foster. The only reason it stopped was because he very inconveniently and inconsiderately of him, died."

Tegan looked at her mother, her mother looked back at Tegan and saw a look that was a combination of rage, anger, hurt betrayal and shock.

"Oh, mother! Tell me that what daddy said isn't true? Please!"

Maeve shook her head. "I am sorry, Tegan, but what your father told you is, strictly speaking, true. But I only did it to help Paul to get through the last months of his life. I didn't do it to hurt your father, honestly!"

"Well, mother, just looking at daddy and I'd say that though the first part of your mission might have worked, you fucked good ol' Uncle Paul over to the other side and through those pearly gates, but the second part, about not doing it to hurt daddy, well, he looks pretty much fucked over and hurting really bad, to me!"

Maeve cursed herself. First for allowing Paul to convince her to have IM chats that he insisted she save "to leave a record of my last months of life" and secondly for saving the file on the family computer.

However, Maeve rallied and, as cheaters will often do when cornered, attempted to deflect the blame for their actions on to their betrayed spouse: "If your father hadn't been snooping around, he would never have known!"

In a dejected tone of voice, Bob replied: "I wasn't snooping around; I was just trying to find a poem that Paul wrote a few years back. I wanted to read it as part of the eulogy that bastard wanted me to read out at his funeral. Christ! That must have been a real turn-on for him and you, Maeve. Getting me to write and deliver that eulogy, at his funeral, knowing you had been fucking him behind my back."

"Oh, no!" shouted Maeve. "You mustn't think that! Paul wanted you to do that for him, because you were his oldest and best friend, and he wanted you to read it out because..."

"Because he was fucking his wife!" shouted Tegan, interrupting, forcefully. "Oh, mother! If you believe that shit, then no wonder Paul was able to get you to cheat on daddy!"

Tegan glared at her mother. "How many other times have you cheated on daddy?" She then moved over to her father and protectively cuddled against him. "And, though this question might hurt my daddy, and me, too... is daddy... really my daddy?"

Maeve shrieked. "Oh, God! Of course he is! He is your biological father as well as being your daddy, too. Please don't ever doubt that! Ever! Either of you! Surely you know me better than..." she faltered to a stop, because she realised that, no, her husband and her daughter now no longer knew her better than that.

"I am sorry, both of you, I am so sorry for what I have done. Bob, you are hurting in the worst way possible. Those things I said to Paul in those Internet Message things, I said them only to buck Paul up, not to put you down. Not really. You were never meant to hear them, to read them.

"You mean the world to me, Bob. Please! Is there no way past this for us?"

"Daddy, can you forgive mom for what she did? Give her a chance to make it up to you?"

Bob said nothing to Tegan, but he pointed to a few choice items on the printouts and Tegan read them. She turned to her mother, with tears in her eyes. "Damn you, mother! You really have given daddy no room for manoeuvre here, have you? Either he buckles down, lets you get away with it, or he dumps you and files for divorce, if he is to retain any degree of self-respect." She turned to her father and added:" Isn't that right, Daddy?"

MattblackUK
MattblackUK
1,438 Followers
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