Paying the Price

I've only done one bad thing in my life, but it truly was despicable. Eventually my past caught up with me. Directly due to that one heinous act, many years later, I was forced to share my gorgeous loving wife with another man. Some might say that my troubles are fully deserved.

I majored in physics and maths at university, but although I am quite intelligent, I was heading toward a merely average degree due to my predilection for seeking out willing female company at every opportunity.

Throughout my stint at university, I shared a flat with an exceptionally clever guy named Tom who was my opposite in that his studies were the only thing that occupied his mind. He read constantly, always science oriented stuff, spent hours on his PC researching, and filling ream after ream of paper with his scribbled equations and calculations. One day Tom sat me down, and with an excited gleam in his eye, confided that he thought he had discovered something that no one else in the world knew to do with quantum physics, the home of string theory and that strange molecular-level world where the past can be changed. What Tom had worked out in his head was a breakthrough to all current accepted thinking.

He spent the whole of the next year perfecting all the small details and working it up to be presented to the world as his finals thesis. During this time we talked about it constantly; he used me as a willing sounding board to clarify his thoughts, and, I am sufficiently clever that by the end of the year I could grasp the principle, discuss it intelligently and explain it to others if the need arose, but I totally lacked the genius to have conceived it in the first place. Tom existed on a completely different mental plane than I, and I was convinced that his name would one day be mentioned in the same breath as Einstein and Hawking.

Tom didn't smoke, very seldom drank, and as far as I could gather he had never fucked a girl. Some might think that, as the perfidious beneficiary of the coming tragedy, I deliberately took advantage of his abstemious nature. Toward the end of the year Tom's thesis was polished, typed and printed, and the finished product enjoyed the benefit of my scrupulous proofreading. Tom was now content to sit back and bask in a well deserved feeling of satisfaction, but I insisted that we could not allow such a momentous event to pass without some kind of celebration.

Rather reluctantly Tom accompanied me on what turned into a bit of a pub crawl, just he and I because he had no other friends. We had a good evening and it conveniently drew to a close at a tavern not too far from our flat, but at that point I found myself talking to a real cracker of a girl: face, figure, legs, the works. The real bonus was that she seemed to think that I was pretty special too. I knew she was primed to go. Although Tom, usually not a drinker, was obviously very inebriated by that time, I selfishly pointed out my situation and he reassured me that he could manage the ten minutes home by himself.

Sadly, during his short journey Tom was knocked down and killed by a speeding hit and run driver.

The accident was blamed on joy-riders after the stolen vehicle was later found nearby, burnt out and abandoned. I found out when I returned the next morning and discovered it was my sad and unpleasant duty to identify him at the mortuary. Afterward, returning in sombre mood to the empty flat, the first thing I saw was Tom's thesis, sitting temptingly on the desk.

The vital fact was that nobody but myself knew about his discovery. Tom had told no-one about his work, not even his tutor because he had heard too many apocryphal tales of student breakthroughs stolen by those monitoring their work. My immediate thought was that, was that as Tom was no longer able to enjoy the benefit of his work then why shouldn't I? After all, I put a fair number of hours into the damn thing myself.

I let it be known that I was devastated by what had happened and wanted to be left alone. In fact, I spent that time of seclusion transferring Tom's thesis from notes and pages in his hand to my own. It took twenty-four hours of solid toil, but at the end of that time I had moved all his files to my own PC and eradicated all sign of the thesis from his. Finally I printed a new pristine copy with my name as the author, not his.

I then waited a decent grieving time before delivering the thesis to my tutor.

The science world went crazy, and suddenly I found I had a hell of a lot of money and celebrity. I had more grants and funding than I knew what to do with. I gained a double first and was offered a couple of very lucrative lecture tours with a good job to follow at the main particle accelerator when they were completed. As long as I continued to present Tom's thesis topic, which I knew by heart at this point, without expanding upon it, I was able to keep up the illusion that I was the brilliant, rather than merely clever, one. I found the run-of-the mill physics work just about within my capabilities, but there was always an air of expectation surrounding me. I admit that I played to this by appearing intense and reclusive, but after three years I detected disappointment in the constant queries about what I was working on, which was becoming a bit of a strain. Just in time, I was contacted by a head-hunter to something completely different, working as a civil servant for a British government department at Whitehall, where I spent the next fifteen years.

In the UK, governments come and go but the work of the state carries on almost unchanged from one administration to the next. Whenever a fresh government takes power with its grandiose new policies, it is the Whitehall power elite who advise on what is possible and what is completely unfeasible. After fifteen years in the job, I was not yet at that level, still hovering a couple of bands below. Those years had been good to me; I earn a fantastic salary and have acquired a totally gorgeous wife, Fiona, whom I absolutely adore.

Fiona is eight years my junior and we met when she was temporarily assigned to me as secretary for a special project, three years after I started my government job. One can get an idea of how beautiful she is by the fact that before me, she dated a couple of premiership footballers, each for a few months. My good fortune was that she dumped them both, throwing away the chance to become a 'WAG'. She was far too intelligent to find the life of a celebrity partner fulfilling and had little desire for wealth for its own sake. We clicked from the start and by the end of the project; she was sharing my flat and had agreed to become my wife. After twelve years of very happy marriage, we live in a Georgian period house in the best area, regularly attend state banquets and the countless parties we are invited to cater only to intellectual elite and strictly A-list celebrities. We remain childless through choice, mainly because life was too good to take time out for pregnancy, but of late I think she is aware that her biological clock may be running down.

This particular Monday started like any normal day, but after an hour I was summoned to the big boss's office. There was nothing ominous in this because I was often called in to give a report on some ongoing situation. Usually it would start with him offering me a drink and we would conduct our business standing in a fairly relaxed manner but this time it was very formal, with a chair waiting for me directly in front of his big desk. Sitting to the side was another man. He was completely unknown to me, but his one defining feature was a singularly hard looking face.

I won't give the name of my boss except to say that it started with the word 'Sir'. Without any preparatory greeting he asked, "How patriotic are you, John?" His voice was cool.

I gave a short laugh to ease the tension I was suddenly feeling and replied, "About the same as any average guy I suppose. Perhaps a bit more than most."

Sir was not amused. "We expect a great deal more commitment than that from a person in your position; I would have thought that goes without saying."

I bristled slightly at his tone. "Well I'm certainly not giving away any secrets. Perhaps if you told me what exactly we are talking about, I may be able to give you a more meaningful answer."

"In that case, I will hand you over to Mr Smith here. I can tell you that he works for one of our security services but you don't need to know which one."

I turned to look at the mystery man. "You have quite a large social circle," he began without preamble, "A mixture of friends and acquaintances I would guess."

"Mainly the latter," I confirmed.

"What about Grigor Vasovnovitch?"

"I know who you mean, tall, black wavy hair and rather arrogant. I heard he's some kind of naval attaché. I don't think I've ever actually spoken to him directly."

"But it wouldn't be hard for either you or your wife to strike up a conversation with him."

"I could," I said, "but why would I? The fellow seemed far too full of himself for my taste. What is this all about anyway?"

"This is the reason you were asked about patriotism," Mr Smith began. "What if I told you that Grigor Vasovnovitch is a top class Russian agent, and we think he is operating against the best interests of this country by dealing in nuclear-grade weapons? What we need is to get one of our people very close to him in the hope he might get careless and let slip some information which might give a clue to what he's up to. The problem is that both you and Grigor move in rather rarefied circles in which any new face is likely to stick out like a sore thumb. What we badly need is someone who is used to socialising at that level, and one who has been established there for many years. You and your lovely wife fit the bill perfectly. We feel strongly that any true patriot would view it as his or her duty to help us."

I laughed because I found it hard to take this seriously, "For a start," I said, "I thought this whole spy thing finished with the end of the Cold War. Apart from that, suppose that I bought this Russian a couple of drinks or even invited him round for the evening, I can't see him saying, 'Oh by the way, some other oligarchs and I are planning to smuggle weapons-grade uranium into your country.' I'm sorry but I honestly don't see how I can help."

"I agree," the spook said quietly, "But I think your wife could."

"Now I don't understand, what can my wife do that I couldn't?"

Just a hint of a smile flitted across the otherwise humourless face of the security man. "To put it bluntly, the kind of information we want is most likely to be carelessly revealed during pillow talk and we're pretty sure that Grigor isn't gay."

I was stunned for a moment but then thought that I must have misunderstood. "Are you suggesting that my wife should have sex with this guy?" I said slowly.

"It will have to be more that just sex," Mr Smith told me vary matter-of-factly, "I am envisioning more of an affair because we need to cultivate a situation where he is very relaxed in her company. Your wife is a very beautiful woman so I'm quite hopeful, if only because I doubt if we could have found a better lure."

Now I was angry. I jumped to my feet, sending my chair spinning behind me. "It's out of the fucking question," I told them.

"Sit down John, it's not as simple as that," Sir said quietly, taking over. "I warn you that if you don't at least listen to what we propose, I'll call in the guards immediately and have you escorted from the premises."

I was about to stalk out but something in his voice halted me, so I recovered the chair and sat, rather ungraciously. "I don't care what you have to say, you can't expect me to literally ask the woman I love to prostitute herself to another man, simply on your assurance that it is in the national interest."

Seeming to ignore those words, my boss said, "It has been brought to my attention that you were rather devious in your early career. Does the name Tom Reynolds mean anything to you?"

Suddenly I felt very cold. I think I nodded, maybe not.

"There is a theory concerning particle bonding bearing your name that has become incorporated into the current molecular science paradigm, which I now I am informed was in fact conceived by Tom Reynolds. Everybody abhors stealing from the dead and stealing their inspiration is even worse. If this were to be disclosed, you will lose your position and all other employment in the Service, all research avenues will be closed to you in perpetuity and after the inevitable publicity, you will become a general pariah with no chance of ever finding meaningful employment. That is after everyone and every institution that has ever remunerated you sues you for civil fraud. Your only consolation is that, regrettably, I don't think you will end up in prison."

"And what if I do what you ask?"

"Your life will continue unchanged, apart, based on your reaction, from some inevitable emotional and psychological repercussions, obviously. In fact, once we are sure that you are amenable to the proposition there might even be promotion in the near future, if you get your wife to do what we ask."

"How did you find out? After all this time I thought I was safe."

"We have always known," it was Mr Smith who chose to answer. "From his very early years, the Service was aware that Tom Reynolds had great potential, so his work and progress was always secretly monitored. His theory created great internal excitement, so from the moment you submitted your thesis; we knew that it wasn't your work."

"If you knew, why wait until now?" I asked in despair.

"Because there was no percentage in revealing your perfidy, when to do so would have also revealed our monitoring. His discovery was available to the world, he had no relatives who would suffer from the loss to his estate and most importantly, by allowing you to progress in your career, your vulnerability made you an asset for us to call on if required in the future."

"Was my employment in the civil service connected to this?" I blurted out the question as it sprang into my mind.

Mr Smith nodded. "I read from your file that it was believed at that time that your limitations were at increasing risk of exposure as long as you stayed in the academic research end of the physics field."

"No matter what I say, I can't see my wife agreeing," I said, effectively surrendering.

"I don't anticipate any problems there," Mr Smith declared confidently. "As long as we have you on board I'm sure she will realise what you stand to lose and agree to go along." I was to discover later the reason for his certainty.

"You don't know what you are talking about," I replied with some heat, "If it were any other guy then perhaps I might persuade her, but she danced with this Grigor guy once and immediately afterwards described him as 'obnoxious'.

"She actually danced with him twice but I regard what you say about her reaction as a very positive sign, it may surprise to know that far more women end up having sex with men they initially detest than with men to whom they are indifferent."

"I can't see that."

The psychology is well proved," he explained. "If a woman encounters a man she is attracted to but knows he is the wrong type, she immediately seizes on some reason to reject him. When she feels no reaction at all then there is no need to comment."

Sir took over at this point to say coldly, "I will give you seven days to do whatever convincing is necessary, for a man of your 'calibre', that should not prove too difficult. However, if by next Monday you are not ready to proceed with the project, then your employment here will be terminated and you may expect other ramifications to follow, including our initiation of your public exposure and ruination, to which I previously alluded."

I've never been as glad to escape from anywhere as much as from that room but after the initial flush of relief, I realised that that I remained in a state of limbo. It was even stranger back in my office, because everything was the exactly same as I left it barely an hour before, but during that brief interval my whole life had changed completely, from steady certainty to extreme flux. My problems were actually much worse than my tormentors could have realised: Fiona did not know of my long ago subterfuge and I knew that at least her initial regard for me derived directly from my one-time fame and supposed brilliance. How was I to suddenly get her to fuck another man without revealing the reason for the pressure I was under? I immediately realized it was likely to be impossible.

By the time I arrived home, armed with a couple of bottles of expensive wine that I knew to be my wife's favourite, I had worked out a rough plan of attack. I waited until we were settling down for the evening before producing the wine and suggesting that we skip TV and spend the evening talking in the way that we used to. Fiona gave me a funny look, but seemed willing to comply, only delaying long enough to fetch the salted nuts that we always enjoyed with wine.

After some general enquiries about her day and some household stuff, I asked, "What do you think about our sex life? Is it still exciting for you?"

Fiona rather surprised me by immediately taking my question seriously, "I admit that there are no longer the same amount of sparks that there used to be, but I'm very happy with what we've got. I'm certainly not going to run off with some fantasy lover if that's what you're worried about. Anyway, isn't it normal for couples to calm down, you certainly can't keep up the same frantic pace for years."

"Some people do."

"Well I would certainly like to know what their secret is."

"Well some do it by being less strict about monogamy," I suggested quietly.

My wife's demeanour immediately changed. "So who is the little slut?" she shouted angrily "Don't tell me, a new bimbo has started work in your office and you want to seduce her with my permission, the same as you seduced me all those years ago. Well think again buster, keep your dick in your pants except around me, or else I will take you for every penny you've got."

This was starting far worse than expected. "No, you've got it all wrong," I protested anxiously, "I only ever want to have sex with you, it's you I was thinking about. I thought that if you slept with another man then you would get extra pleasure. .I know I would get pleasure from seeing you satisfied, and it could put a whole lot more excitement into our marriage." This was a total lie and my whole body cringed at the thought of what I was proposing.

"That is a crazy idea, whatever made you suddenly come up with that?"

"According to some forums I've been checking out, quite large numbers of people do it but only the wife plays. A lot of them claim that it has enlivened a boring marriage, even when they had almost stopped having sex altogether.

"I've heard of those weirdo forums, but you are the last person I would have thought would suggest something like this," Fiona said disparagingly, "You used to be so jealous, at one time I thought you were paranoid."

"I've been a bit stupid with my attitude in the past mainly because I was so terrified of losing you, but now I'm a lot more confident."

"I would have thought you would stand a greater chance of losing me if I start screwing other men than if I stay faithful to you," Fiona remarked drily.

"At one time I thought that too, but they claim it can be just the opposite. The wife treats the other man as a kind of living sex toy, and the husband and wife plan each new encounter and talking about it afterwards, brings couples closer together. The wife gets the pleasure of extra sex and the husband gets the excitement of knowing about it, or even watching."