Revelations & Resolutions

Not for the first time, Scott wondered how many men his wife had been with. While Claire had prepared lunch, he had gone to his home office and started a journal of her affairs, listing the man's name, the approximate time of the event, and the details Claire had exposed. It was his intent to show the list to Claire from time to time, if only to jog her memory, and would require that she verbally sign off on the list when it was complete. He knew he could not turn off his imagination and the vivid images that kept intruding in his mind until the list was complete. The document currently listed two men: Josh and Mr. Washing Machine. Now he could add Mr. Handyman.

"I'll agree to any shortened versions that make sense like this one," Scott said. "I have some questions about Mr. Washing Machine, as you call him. Do you mind answering them now?"

"Fire away."

"With Josh, you referred to his long cock. With Mr. Washing Machine, you described his cock as long as Josh's and as thick as mine. Does size make a difference to you?"

She chuckled. "Ah, I wondered when that question would come up. Men seemed to have a fixation about the size of their cocks, with most believing they're too small. But that wasn't your question. You asked if I had a preference. I like large cocks, fat cocks, skinny cocks and small cocks, unless they're too small, say less than five inches. Your cock fits me perfectly, Scott, especially with the sharp upward bend in it when you get erect. It rubs my G-spot when you thrust into me from the top or from behind, and it spreads the interior walls of my vagina more than a thicker cock because of it's shape. Do I have a preference beyond yours? Yes. I prefer a cock between seven and nine inches. Frankly, anything longer is a little painful, and I was with one man before I met you who was so large, I refused to let him near me again. And given a choice between a long cock and a thick one, I'll take the thick one every time, and I'm not just saying that because Josh was longer than you and you are thicker. Does that answer your question?"

"Uh-huh. How large was it, the one you wouldn't let near you again, I mean?"

She laughed heartily. "See what I mean?"

He blushed.

"He said it was a foot long, and I believed him. I can only take about nine inches comfortably, but when he became excited, he shoved the damn thing completely inside me. I screamed bloody murder it hurt me so much, and it deflated like a blowout on a tire." She laughed. "I scared him so badly he probably couldn't get it up again for a year, maybe longer."

What happened to my sweet, demure wife, Scott wondered. The person sitting next to him looked the same, but she wasn't the same person he had held - invented? - in his mind for so long. He didn't know which he preferred: the woman he assumed he knew, or the new one, the real one, though he believed he preferred the real one, the open, happy person without subterfuge. The delightfully bawdy comments she had just expressed would have never escaped her mouth yesterday, but today she was open, being herself, letting the real Claire hang out for him to see and come to know.

The phone rang, and Claire jumped up to answer it. "Hello ... Josh, hold a minute." She put her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and glanced inquiringly at her husband. "Do you want me to talk to him, or would you prefer to tell him to leave me alone?" She grinned. "I'm very adept at next-day brush offs. Care to listen?"

Scott smiled. "Go ahead."

"Sorry, Josh. Did you call for a reason? ... Really? Why should I even consider such a proposal? I told you last night I didn't want to have an affair with you. Besides, Scott is twice the lover you are. ... Let's just say we made a mistake and leave it at that. ... Just a minute." She turned to Scott, again covering the mouthpiece. "He wants to know if we'd be interested in a wife-swapping party? I wouldn't be surprised if Nancy were listening on another extension. She's..."

"Tell him you'll call him back. We need to talk."

She hung up without saying goodbye and sat next to him. She wore a worried look on her face. "Do you want Nancy?" she asked.

"Good God, no!"

The telephone rang. "Let the answering machine take the call," she said and took his hand in hers. "If you want...God, this is difficult. If you want another woman, I'd try to understand. I wouldn't like it, but..."

"Claire, I don't want another woman. I haven't wanted another woman from the day I met you, and I'm certainly not interested in joining some sleazy wife-swapping group. Let me clarify a few things. I've lied to you." He hesitated, and when her worried look turned to one of sadness, he hurried on. "You asked me if I had ever fantasized about being with another woman. I told you yes - a lie. I told you I had fantasized about you with another man - another lie. I lied to you because I wanted some answers at the time, and if I had told you the truth, you would have clammed up."

Her sad look brightened. "That's it? Those were your lies?"

He nodded.

She grimaced. "I'm happy the lies weren't more serious, but I don't understand. You become excited when you think about me with another man, yet you say you've never fantasized about me with a another man."

"I know it's confusing. I don't understand why seeing or thinking about you with another man arouses me, but it does. I can assure you the arousal happens without volition, so don't make too much of it. Until I realized you had been with other men, probably quite a few, an image of you with another man never entered my mind. Now, I can't turn them off. That's why I need to know the details, the circumstances of each of your infidelities, so I can put my imagination to rest. Do I want you to have more flings, as you called them? No, but I can see why you might think I would because your flings arouse me. How we ultimately handle your nature and mine is yet to be determined. Don't assume anything, not yet. Okay?"

She nodded. "So you know, I agree with you. The last thing I would do is join a wife-swapping group. Your word was perfect. They're definitely sleazy."

"Call Josh back and tell him where to get off. I'd call him, but I don't want him to know I know about the two of you."

She smiled and made the call. "Josh, it's Claire. ... No, I did not discuss your proposal with Scott. Scott doesn't know about last night, and because what happened will never be repeated, hopefully he never will. I love my husband..."

She placed her hand over the mouthpiece and told Scott, "Nancy is getting on the phone." Returning to the phone, Claire said, "Hello, Nancy. ... I see. Let me ask you, has Scott ever indicated he had a sexual interest in you? ... Then what makes you think he might? ... Sounds to me you're involved with wishful thinking. Listen carefully, I'll tell you this once, and once only. I'm sorry I allowed things to get out of hand with Josh last night. I can guarantee it will never happen again, and Scott and I will never join you or anyone else in a wife-swapping party. ... You've got to be kidding."

Again her hand covered the mouthpiece. "She's threatening to tell you about last night, Scott, unless I push you to join them. What a bitch!" She went back to the phone. "Do want you have to do, Nancy, but if you or your husband say a word about last night not only to Scott but also anyone else, I'll expose your sleazy wife-swapping group to one and all. Do Josh's business partners know how filthy he is? What about your mother? Does she know how squalid you are? And, I'm certain your children don't realize how depraved their parents are. Pursue this course of action, and I guarantee they'll find out. Don't ever call me again, Nancy, and the same goes for your slimy husband. The two of you deserve each other!" She slammed the phone down and cursed.

Scott applauded. "Well done!"

She slumped and sucked in air. Her angry expression softened and slowly evolved into a worried look. "Do you think I'm sleazy, Scott?"

Good question, Scott thought. He could see his hesitation disturbed her, but he didn't have a definitive answer, so he told her his thoughts.

"So it's possible you think I'm sleazy," she said when he finished.

"Not really. For some reason the word, sleazy, doesn't fit."

"How about slut?"

He laughed. "Closer. Let's avoid labels, if possible. Do you see me as a cuckold?"

Her eyes widened. "Good Lord, no. I see what you mean. No labels."

She rose and started to clear the table, so Scott went to his office and added the handyman to the list. Just as he was saving the file, Claire strolled in.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He told her, and a tear ran down her cheek as he finished.

She squared her shoulders. "The word slut fits me, Scott. I'm a slut. I've always been a slut. I like to fuck. From my first clumsy fuck in the back seat of a car, I knew I'd become a slut, and I did. I'm sorry. If you end up wanting a divorce, I'll understand."

He held his arms out for her, which caused her silent tears to turn into a heartfelt sob as she rushed to him, settling on his lap. He held her while her slim body shuddered with each sob until she calmed. "Hush," he said. "Remember, no labels." He brushed her hair from her face and then brushed her lips with his. He could taste the salty flavor of her tears on her lips. "Would you prefer I delete the document?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. You were right. I might need such a list to jog my memory. That's why I suddenly felt so sad and realized I was in fact a slut."

"No labels, Claire. We agreed."

She moved to her feet. "Excuse me for a minute. I need to wash my face."

She turned and left the room, returning a few minutes later. She asked if she could use his computer, and sat in front of the keyboard.

"Scott, I've been dreading telling you about the second time I was unfaithful, and I need to take back one of my conditions. I don't want you inside me when I tell you about the second time. In fact, I don't want to tell you about it at all, but I know you need to know. May I write about it, put it on the list and let you read it?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. Leave me, please. I won't be able to do this with you in the room. When I've finished, I'll call you back. Okay?"

He nodded. "There's a football game on TV I wanted to watch."

An hour later, Scott sat in front of his computer. Claire had left the file open.

* * * * *

Name: Jason Tillman

Approximate Date Of The Event: November, Six Years Ago, approximately two months after Mr. Washing Machine

Details: I met Tillman in an elevator. When I entered the elevator, he was the only occupant. He looked like he was in his early fifties, very distinguished in his dark, three-piece suit, like a lawyer or a business mogul. I smiled at him when I entered, and he returned my smile. The elevator cab lurched down and suddenly stopped as all the lights went out. I found out later there was a power outage in the area.

I was frightened at first, but the man calmed me with assurances that someone would soon come to our rescue. He introduced himself. I told him my name, and we chatted in the dark. That's when I felt his hand on my butt. I pushed it away and told him I was happily married. He laughed. I remember it sounded evil to me. I should have listened to my intuition.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he said.

I told him no.

"You went out with my son years ago. I remember you. I watched him fuck you in our living room."

That's when his last name clicked. I had dated a boy named Barry Tillman when I was sixteen or seventeen.

It was very dark in the elevator. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, but I could feel Tillman's hot breath at my neck, and suddenly his hands grasped both of my breasts. He pulled me back against him, and I could feel his erection at the small of my back. I'm ashamed to say, the situation excited me. I didn't stop him, and he became bolder, reaching under my skirt and roughly rubbing my pussy over my pantyhose and panties.

He kissed my neck as he continued to fondle me, and then said, "It will be a while. We might as well amuse ourselves until we're rescued."

By now, he had pushed his hand under my hose and down in my panties. His fingers found my already wet cunt and he jabbed a finger inside me. I wasn't that wet yet, so it hurt. I winced, and he seemed to become gentler. His other hand left my breast, and I felt him move it up under my skirt, and he pulled off my hose and panties. I cooperated. By now, I wanted to "amuse" myself, too. I was hot, Scott. The situation fit my preferred scenario of a quick, nasty, never-to-be-repeated fuck perfectly.

But he rushed me. I quickly determined he cared little about me, and he bent me over and shoved his cock into me from the rear, making no attempt to ease it gently inside me. He hurt me, Scott.

"Easy," I told him, but he ignored me, actually laughed that evil laugh again, and I started to wonder if I had allowed something to begin I'd feel sorry for later. Little did I know.

Instead of becoming wetter, I started to dry up. I no longer wanted Tillman and tried to get away from him, but he grabbed my hair with his fist and twisted.

"You're not going anywhere, bitch. Fuck me back! Move your ass, you slut!" he growled.

I was frightened by then, very frightened. I even feared for my life. I reasoned he would come soon, and it would be over and done. Hah!

He came as I predicted, but he didn't stop. He pulled my hair and forced me to my knees facing him.

"Clean my cock with your mouth, cunt," he shouted forcefully.

When I didn't perform on his command, he jerked my face toward him. His half-hard, slimy cock slid along my cheek. "Clean it, bitch," he yelled again, and his hand twisted in my hair. I cried out in pain, and he grabbed the back of my neck and squeezed as hard as he could. My neck was bruised for a week.

I became frightened for my life, Scott, so I cleaned his filthy cock with my mouth, reasoning the sooner I finished the sooner the nightmare would end, but with my mouth around him, he started to get hard again. His hips began jerking, thrusting in and out of my mouth. He had a large cock and I couldn't take it all, but he didn't care. I gagged, and he laughed.

"Swallow it, slut," he ordered and jammed his cock into my mouth to the hilt.

God, that hurt. I had difficulty swallowing for a week. He kept fucking my mouth, and suddenly his cock swelled up a little and he spurted his come into my mouth. I didn't have a chance to swallow, and it started to run out my nose. I gagged and tried to pull away. I couldn't breathe, but he didn't care. He jerked my hair and pulled me tightly to him.

That's when I bit him. I didn't care if he killed me anymore. The son-of-a-bitch had hurt me and humiliated me, and he was smothering me, so I bit down on his filthy cock as hard as I could. He screamed and slapped me, sending me flying across the elevator floor. I curled up in the corner and wept while he cursed me.

"You cunt! You made me bleed!"

"Good," I said between sobs. "I hope the slimy fucker falls off!"

That's when he kicked me. I found out later he cracked two of my ribs. Gratefully the pain from the kick was too much for my body to take, and I passed out. When I came to, the lights in the elevator had come back on, and I could hear sounds through the door. Tillman stood across the elevator from me looking like he could kill.

"Cunt!"

"Fuck you," I said. Brilliant, huh? I put my underwear in my purse just as the elevator doors opened. I rushed away, happy to get away from the violent man with my life, swearing I'd never let another man do what Tillman did to me. You noticed the black eye Tillman gave me when hit me but accepted my lame excuse for its cause, and I was able to hide my broken ribs from you by faking flu symptoms and hiding out in bed for a week.

The episode shamed me, Scott, and I know what you're going to say. You'll ask me how I could consider another quick, nasty, impromptu fuck with another man ever again. Well, I didn't, not for a year, and I'll tell you about that time while we are in bed tonight with you inside me.

Please forgive me. I love you with all my heart.

* * * * *

Scott looked down through tear-ladened eyes. He was not erect, thank God. He was angry, though. He wanted to find Tillman and beat him within an inch of his life. He raped her! He violated her, beat her and raped her, and she believes she was at fault.

He walked from the office and found Claire curled up in the fetal position on the sofa. He sat and took her in his arms.

"I'm so sorry, Claire. And I don't forgive you because there is nothing to forgive."

* * * * *

I love him so much, Claire thought as she watched her husband read a goodnight story to their daughter. He was such a good father, and she couldn't imagine finding a better husband. She hoped beyond hope they could fashion a solution to their problem and keep their marriage together.

He'd been furious about Jason Tillman after he had read the account of what the man did to her, so angry she feared he might do something foolish, so she had made him promise to back off and leave it alone. Once he'd calmed down, he asked if there were further incidents similar to Tillman's.

"One," she had said, "although not nearly as bad. Tillman was the worst."

"Write it down," Scott said. "I don't want to listen to you tell it to me while I'm inside you. I'd be like the guy with the foot-long cock. I'd go soft like a blowout and wouldn't be able to get it up for a year."

She laughed, and hurried to his office. When she finished, he read the file. This time, she had stayed in the room with him.

He turned to her and said, "I can't for the life of me understand why some men get off inflicting pain. I guess some women enjoy it, or it wouldn't be so prevalent. I'm glad you're not one of them. Come here." He had held his arms out to her, and she had happily moved into them.

As Claire listened to the story Scott was reading to Katy, she knew he was about finished. She had read the same story to her daughter at least a dozen times - it was one of Katy's favorites - so she moved down the hall toward the master bedroom. It was time to tell her husband about the third time, and curiously she looked forward to relating the events to him. To her mind, it was her hottest quick, nasty fuck, and she believed the details would turn Scott on big time.

Ten minutes later when he entered the bedroom, Claire was lying on the bed masturbating. Thinking about number three excited her, and she couldn't resist touching herself.

"Sexy," Scott said. "I love the new you."

"Good, because it's the real me."

He removed his shirt. "I'll brush my teeth and get ready for bed. I'll be with you in a minute."

"Hurry," she said. As she waited, she began to have doubts. The incident turned her on, but perhaps Scott would consider it a bit bizarre.

He reentered the bedroom naked and half-hard and cuddled up next to her. Taking her into his arms, he kissed her passionately. "Claire I think you're looking forward to telling me about number three, or am I wrong?"

"You're not wrong. It was my favorite. If ever there was a time I might have considered repeating one of my flings, this would be the one, but I didn't. To be honest, it happened out of town, or I might have arranged a repeat. It was quick and nasty and hot and fun, Scott. Are you hard?"

"Yes."

"Slide into me. I want to get started."

"Damn, you are excited! You're really wet."

She giggled. "I know. Ah! You feel so nice inside me. Be careful with my clit, though. I don't want to come until I finish telling you the details. Okay?"

"You've got it, baby. Go ahead."

"Well, as you know, I'd sworn off my impromptu flings after Tillman. He scared me, Scott. I was tempted a couple of times, but I didn't feel certain the man in question wouldn't be like Tillman, so I backed away every time. Number three happened a year and a month after Tillman. I was still teaching then, and a group of teachers planned a trip during the Christmas break to Phoenix, Arizona to get out of the cold country for a few days. Husbands and wives were invited. We signed up for it. Remember?"