tagLoving WivesVerna and Clyde Truesdale

Verna and Clyde Truesdale

byRC1960©

I looked around at the now mostly empty front room. It, like every other room in the house, was devoid of furniture and almost every other sign that anyone had lived in it, at least in anything like recent times. When she, my wife, got home; she was in for a big surprise. I had to smile to myself. Smile? More like a sneer, actually. When my wife: that traitorous, low down, mean-assed, cold-hearted bitch of a woman got home; she was in for a bit of payback for damn sure; not that it could ever equal what she was doing to me. No, no, I was gonna play hell ever getting even, that for damn sure!

Verna had announced to me that she was going on the trip whether I liked it or not. I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all. To her credit—very little credit—she had hesitated the week before, as I watched her hand on the door knob, a little unsure of my reaction which had been cold and quiet after the initial arguments of the days before.

"Clyde, there is nothing going on between me and Marlon King. He's just my boss. I have to go. There are no bases for your suspicions. Please, get a grip, Clyde. Deal with it," she said. Then she'd turned, gone out, headed for the waiting cab, and left.

Deal with it. Her words were nothing short of an ultimatum. They had also been the death knell of our marriage. She didn't know it yet because she hadn't gotten back from her—their—trip. She would know it, as soon as she walked into the house and found it to be only a shell of its former glory.

"I'd sold it all the previous weekend. I hadn't made much money in the effort. I'd priced everything to move fast; it had. Bedroom sets for $50. Pots and pans and appliances for $5, for a set of kitchen knives $1. I had an extra $900 in my wallet as I surveyed the damage.

Suspicions? Suspicions hell, I had certitudes! Oh yeah I had 'em. Three and four very late nights a month at the Bell Travel Agency, her place of employment. Phone calls, answered by me with no one else on the other end of the line. Oh yeah, I had certitudes. The biggest gimme in all of this had been the fact that she hardly ever mentioned her boss anymore, not for the past year; I had wondered about that, and at first I'd asked her about it. She'd blown me off.

Before her going silent about good 'ole Marlon, it had always been Marlon this and Marlon that ad-tedium; then, she apparently noticed that I'd started getting edgy whenever his name came up. I never said anything directly, but it seemed clear to me that there was a reason for her to want me to not be edgy. And then, there had been her company Halloween party of the month just passed.

Verna had disappeared after having me get her a drink. When I returned with the refreshments, she was nowhere to be found. After some little time, I started looking for her. No one could tell me where she was. It could have been my imagination, but my queries seemed to make the people I'd asked nervous. It was some forty-five minutes later that she'd finally found me—rather than the other way 'round. She'd been all apologetic: she'd had an equipment problem, since solved, she'd airily assured me.

That she'd had an equipment problem was apparently true: her skirt was badly torn and had been put back together with an odd piece of cloth and a couple of safety pins. She'd said it had taken her that long to find the stuff to do the fixin' and get it done. Oh, and hadn't Nora found me and let me know what the problem was? No, Nora hadn't found me. I had no idea who Nora was, and well, more fuel had been added to the fire of my now frenzied imagination.

She'd called every night since she'd gone on the trip and tried her best to make me see the light, or as she put it, allay my fears. But, the darkness in my heart and soul, would not go away. I had said little to her on her calls, though I had accepted them, I figured I could at least make her nervous about the way she'd talked to me when she'd left. "Deal with it!" Oh, yeah, I was dealing with it.

I sat on a folding chair by the phone. She was due to call again in about fifteen minutes; I looked at my watch. I would be gone the moment we hung up on each other. This was the final act. Well, the final act before the divorce at any rate. She'd be receiving the papers for that little gambit as she walked up the steps to the house, and that before she saw what was no longer inside. Oh yeah, I was dealing with it.

I let it ring three times before picking it up.

"Hello," I said.

"Clyde?"

"Yeah, it's me. Can't fool you, Verna."

"Clyde, please, I'm calling you every night just like I promised. Nothing bad is going on here, Clyde, really. Again, I'm sorry for the way I talked to you before I left. It was uncalled for, and I don't know what I was thinking," she said.

"Nothing's going on? Except you're fucking him, right Verna?" I said. "I was your husband, I'm the only one supposed to be doing that."

"What's this 'was your husband' nonsense, Clyde. You are my husband, not Marlon King." It was noteworthy that she had not answered my question.

"So you say, Verna. So you say," I said.

"Clyde, I said I was sorry for what I said to you, and my attitude. I will make it up to you when I get back on Sunday. I'm gonna see to it that you are one very happy fella. So, just calm down and cut me a little slack. Please, Clyde," she said.

"Good luck with that, Verna, I warned you and you pissed on my blue suede shoes anyway. Have a nice rest of your time with Marlon, I need to be going. Bye."

I hung up on her. The phone rang again even before I got to the door. I guess she was nervous; well, good. Maybe it would mess up her sack time with her asshole boss; I hoped so.

******

As she put down the receiver, she heard him snicker. "What? You think it's funny?" she said.

"Hell yes, I think it's funny. You sitting there naked as the day you were born staring at my fire-hose of a cock while you try to convince him that we're not doing what we're doing. That's the very definition of funny," said Marlon.

"Yeah, well, I'm trying to save a marriage—mine. I was an asshole when I left, not giving him any room to save a little face. I broke the cardinal rule of relationships: never humiliate your significant other to the point where he or she can't rationalize what's happening to him, him in this case.

"I think he's planning on a separation or even a divorce. And all because of my Grand Canyon sized mouth! Jesus, why can't I do anything right with him anymore," she said.

"Well, you could have stayed home this trip; I didn't exactly force you to be here. You knew he was going to not like it given his recent and obvious suspicions. Hell, how often have you had to fend off his questions as it is," he said.

"You're right. I was just tired of sneaking around and us never being able to feel relaxed or be together when we wanted. I figured this two week getaway would be a good little hiatus for us. You know, from the daily grind and everything," she said. "And—the pressure he's been putting on me these last months. Jesus, Marlon, I needed these two weeks!"

"Yeah, well, with you sweating it every time we've been together these past days that hasn't exactly been the case has it?" he said.

"No, I guess not. I'm sorry about that," she said.

"Marlon?"

"Yes?"

"We need to talk to him, do for him, I mean together. Make him believe that we aren't doing anything. I need him to trust me again. You need to become his friend, his close friend. Allay his concerns. The way things are; it's really tough for me. I don't know yet how we're gonna do it, but we just have to find a way.

"I mean you're single again, since Janie left you, but I'm not; and I don't really want to lose him. You gotta help me out here," she said.

He came to her, his obscenely thick eight-point-five-inch cock swinging in front of him. "Okay. We'll try," he said.

******

"Yes, Mr. Truesdale, we can do that for you. You want pictures, videos, and sound. That about it?" said the very pretty private detective. I nodded and rose to go.

"They'll be there for another few days," I said, repeating what I had told her, Janis Hickok, earlier in the meeting. "You've got my retainer, and my number. Just let me know when you've got anything useful."

"Will do," she said.

Driving to my new place was uneventful. I didn't dwell on the misery of it all. It was kind of a "been there done that" kind of thing. Being only a bit on the high side of five-five, and not all that good looking, had always been a cause of embarrassment for me. Ever since high school, any time I got the nerve up to ask a girl out, it seemed like I got shot down. There had been Mary Lou, of course. Pretty, nice hooters, a butt worth worshipping: she was the exception. But, in the end, she dumped me too—for a jock! Now, my wife, if not actually dumping me, was dumping on me. I'd had enough.

Verna was just the latest to put me down. Difference is that we'd been together for so long that I thought I'd turned the corner, that my luck with womankind had changed. But now, after seventeen years of marriage, my illusions had been laid bare and brought home to me in big time.

Traffic seemed light for the time of day, well, there's an upside to everything. I knew of course that I would feel it, the pain, later; it was inevitable. For the record I was of the opinion that Verna would feel it too, but at least, in her case, she had someone to share it with. Me? Nada.

******

She did a slow turn around preparatory to stripping for him. She was going to give him the best she had.

Their plane was set to lift off the next morning. They'd be home by the afternoon. She knew she would have a battle on her hands with her husband; she was worried, very worried; but she'd handled him before. Still, her nightly calls. He hadn't answered them these past few days. She pushed her concerns from her mind. Her lover was here; she was his for one more night. She would make it good for him, and, for herself. Clyde? She'd make him forget his anger and suspicions; she had it all planned. Her husband might not be much of a lover, but she was a very savvy woman; she would make him believe he was a regular Don Juan; she had to.

"You like?" she said. He nodded and licked his lips.

"Oh yeah," he said. Naked, she came to him. He reached for her, but she stopped him by holding up her hand.

She slowly raised her hand and circled it in the air finally pointing to the floor. He'd been there before: he knew the drill. He got on his knees. She wanted to be worshipped before she would reward him; he would therefore worship her.

"Kiss my feet, Marlon." He leaned forward and did as she told him. He straightened up, and she turned around. He needed no further command; he leaned forward and kissed each of her buttocks almost lovingly. She giggled.

"You really are a pussywhipped wimp when we get right down to it, aren't you, Marlon."

"By you? Absolutely," he said.

He parted her nether cheeks and began licking her anus. She shivered; it was one of her favorite things. A man, who would do that for a woman, really was hers to play with. It was one of the things, besides the size of his dick, that made him such a good fuck toy for her. If only her husband, straight-laced and boring Clyde, would put that kind of imagination into his efforts maybe their love making would improve; she sighed.

She pulled away from him and lay on the bed, her legs splayed obscenely inviting him. She was his to master. He smiled.

He swung his legs over her face and his cock dangled tantalizingly over her lips. She licked the precum from its tip. She felt him lower the glans a little effectively pushing himself past her lips and into her mouth. She began to suck him even as he began licking her slit. As she sucked, she started a slow, very light teasing of the length of his cock with her fingers: something she knew would bring him off, and that sooner rather than later.

He sucked her clit into his mouth and all but tortured it. Her juices began to drain from her. She felt him shudder as he squirted his cream into her now engorged mouth. She tried to swallow it all but failed as the white sauce dribbled out and down the sides of her cheeks.

He rolled off of her, looked into her lust filled eyes, and waited for what he knew would come next. She wiped the sticky excess from the sides of her face with the back of her hand.

She started tickling his balls, then the shaft, then alternating between them before beginning to lick it to life once more.

Satisfied, as his cock returned to steel hardness, she plopped down beside him and spread her legs yet again. He spun atop her and pressed home the tip of his cock.

"Ugh! A little slower, okay. You're not my husband; you should know to go a little slower, okay."

"Sorry, slower it is," he said. He pushed and pulled in a rhythmic but relentless, if indeed slower, back and forth motion that brought forth both a grimace and a steady stream of ahhs from the female beneath him. At last he was buried to the hilt. He paused and kissed her tenderly. Their tongues dueled; the battle between them ended in a tie. The smell of her, as their combined juices and spit dried and coated their bodies, incited his lust to an extreme state.

He pulled halfway out and slammed into her. She rose to meet him, her face a mask of pain and pleasure. She bucked like an unbroken horse. He'd already come big once; he was able to last some minutes before he shivered, paused but a fraction of a second, and rammed her like a jackhammer cumming in gobs that filled her vagina and left her stuttering and dribbling spit out the side of her mouth. She orgasmed, squirting more of her own juices out of her even as he shrank from her opening.

He lay on top of her panting. Finally rolling off to the side, he lay exhausted beside her.

"You're not done, buster. Do your duty," she said.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. Positioning himself between her legs, he began avidly sucking his own cum from her gaping pussy.

******

The cab pulled up in front of the house and its two occupants got out. The cabbie helped with the bags to the front porch. Marlon, tipped him, and nodded to his girlfriend.

"He's gone I know it. He's not been answering the phone these past few nights. But, just in case, Marlon, stick to our plan, story; I mean if the opportunity presents itself. Okay?" said Verna. She keyed the lock and went in. Marlon followed.

"Sweet Jesus! He really is pissed off.

"I gotta tell yuh, Verna, this is a statement with all of the i's dotted and all of the t's crossed ever so neatly. He doesn't want you anymore. But there's good news," said Marlon. She looked stonily at him.

"I want You," he said.

******

The timing for some reason hadn't worked out as I'd planned: she hadn't been served when she got to the house. She had, however, been served the following day at about the same time planned for the day before. Crossed signals. Well, whaddya gonna do.

The house phone and the utilities would all be dead in a few days. I'd arranged it that way. I'd left them on on purpose, that, to guarantee that she'd get home and see the place and have time to digest what she saw. She had, Janis Hickok had the proof.

I'd kept my cell. Not so I could catch her calls, but because it was inconvenient for me to change numbers. My job as a sales rep for Claremont Inc., a dry goods wholesale house, required that I be reachable by my customers—the job was too good to be screwing with my phone number.

She did try to reach me, seemingly almost every hour on the hour since she'd gotten back. I hadn't taken her calls. But, she finally did catch up with me—in the field—in the foyer of one of my best customer's office. It was either talk to her or risk a scene.

As I announced myself to the receptionist, she looked past me to someone sitting with her back against the wall.

"Hello, Clyde," she said.

"Verna!" I said.

"Yeah, can't fool you," she said, mimicking me. "We need to talk. Here or lunch, you choice," she said. It was obviously a threat.

"The IHOP on 3rd in an hour," I said. She smiled at me, picked up her wrap, and left. She hadn't uttered another word.

******

I saw her in a booth against the far wall.

I took the seat across from her. She leaned back in hers. "Well, you sure make it tough to make my case, to apologize—for the fortieth time—husband mine," she said.

"Yeah, maybe 'cuz I don't want to hear anymore of your lies," I said.

"Clyde, I was telling you the truth. Marlon and I didn't do anything. I mean except business," she said.

"Verna, do I really look like the village idiot to you? I'm not you know. I'm a whole lot smarter than you and your asshole boss are evidently willing to give me credit for," I said.

"Clyde, I swear, nothing..." I held up my hand to stop her. I pushed the manila envelop I'd been carrying toward her. She looked at it.

"What's this?" she said.

"Proof positive that you're a really bad liar, Verna," I said.

"Clyde, please. Please, we need to talk. I mean long and hard. There are things..."

"What things, Verna? What things? You're fucking the asshole. Have been since forever, I guess. Before I had only my suspicions; now, I have the evidence. As do you," I said, nodding toward the manila envelope.

She looked down. "Clyde, okay-okay, I admit it. I admit I've been the idiot, not you. I guess I've tried to have my cake and eat it too. You and the wonderful things you do to and for me, and—well—and Marlon's skills," she said. She began to cry.

My turn to lean back in my seat. "So it is about my bedroom skills, or maybe his," I said. She looked up at me. She nodded.

"Yes. I'm a selfish woman, Clyde. I guess I always have been. I always want things to be my way. I've been this way since I was a child, I guess.

"Clyde, I am so sorry. Clyde—I'm sorry I've hurt you—but—I'm not sorry about doing Marlon. I might be a cheating asshole; but, a hypocrite I am not, Clyde," she said.

I sat forward and folded my hands on the table between us. My turn to look down and speak. "Not sorry?" I paused to get my breath. "Verna, I have loved you more than my life, done my best too support, love, and protect you. But, today you have dealt me a really bad hand. You've lied to me, and now you've let me know that I can't satisfy you. You need someone else, or, more accurately somebody else's cock. How am I supposed to deal with that, Verna. You know, deal with it, as you told me to do when you left on your trip. What do you expect me to do?

"I know you've been served with the divorce papers, Verna. Just sign the damn things. There's no hope for us. None. Telling me what you just have; well, you've left me no room to even hope," I said. Now, she was crying full out. We got some looks from the locals.

"Clyde, I know it seems like I have left us no room to get by all of this. But, Clyde, if you could only give me a little leeway here, maybe—just maybe—we could make it through," she said.

I had to smile. The woman was nothing if not determined. "Make it through? I'm actually curious how you might manage something like that, Verna?" I said. "I mean after telling me that I am essentially useless as a man, a lover."

She seemed to writhe in her seat. "Clyde, you are far from useless, and you are every inch a man. But, this, it is about bedroom skills. Well partly, anyway. And, by the way Marlon is also a man, and not a bad man.

"He's not an asshole, Clyde, as you keep calling him. But, he is a cheater, and so am I. So, I guess, on second thought, that does make us, the two of us—bad people.

"Clyde, I want to keep you. And, I want to keep Marlon too—on the side. He will never come between us in any meaningful way. All he is, is a tool to help me satisfy my sexual needs and I his. He fills a need that you can't at least not to the same degree. You just never seemed to be able to learn how to do a woman, Clyde. And I understand that. A lot of men are like that," she said.

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