Adulterer Jack

Anyway, when the play ended, the audience members jumped to their feet and applauded and whistled and called out 'Author, Author.' A tall, blond-haired guy, probably in his early thirties, came out on stage. He was dressed all in black and he simply bowed to the audience and then came down off-stage to mingle. The stagehands came out and started gathering up the folding chairs and setting up a food table and a cash bar. I guess this was the after-party.

We went over to get drinks and I was glad we did. The bartender didn't even hesitate to card her. She obviously expected it and quickly showed her ID. It was a load off my mind when he handed her the glass of wine.

We walked over and joined the group surrounding the director. Amy pushed through and said "Congratulations," and then kissed him on the cheek. And that was it. She came back to me, smiled and said, "Let's go to your place."

Once we were in my car, I said, "That was interesting. I'm not sure I understood what it was all about, though."

Amy seemed to consider this for a moment and said, "I don't think 'understanding' is what it was. I think you're just supposed to experience it. What it means is really just what your own experience tells you."

She was looking at me as I gave her a sideways glance and she started to laugh, "Okay, it was rather pretentious wasn't it? I had to go because Jerry is dating one of my roommates. I'm sorry you had to sit through that."

I laughed in response and we continued talking on the way to my place. She was funny and articulate but still seemed very young.

I took her coat when we entered my apartment and I started to ask if she wanted anything. Before I could say anything, she said, "Do you have coke?"

I started to head for the kitchen to get her a soft drink when I realized that wasn't what she meant. I stopped, turned back to her and said, "Sorry, no I don't."

She didn't seemed upset, "That's okay. You're kind of cute; I don't think I'll need to be high to do you."

With no other preliminaries, she stood up, let her dress straps fall from her shoulders, and began pushing the dress down. She was wearing one of those bralette things and she certainly didn't need it.

I was beginning to think that I wouldn't be able to do this. She looked like a little girl. If she had a bald pussy, which seems to be all the rage these days, I was going to be sick.

Then she pushed her dress all the way down and exposed her dense, thick bush of curly black hair. It was a perfect delta and I wasn't sure what to think as my cock started hardening. This was no little girl. I stripped off my clothes and led her to the bedroom.

Once in bed, I realized that any attempt at oral sex on my part would have me end up with a mouth full of those curly nether locks, so I was quite pleasantly surprised when Amy had her first orgasm as soon as my fingers stroked her clit. It seemed that, with no body fat on her at all, her nerve ending where right at the surface.

I quickly rolled over so that I could support my weight with one hand while I guided my cock into her with the other. She orgasmed again and I leaned into her and began rhythmically driving into her.

But, after a short time it became obvious that I was having a problem. I was getting bruised badly by her pubic bone; it was like I was fucking a skeleton. Since there was no fat layer at all between skin and bone, I was hitting it hard and it was starting to hurt. I tried to adjust my angle of attack in different ways, but nothing I did helped.

Finally, I had to pull out and turn her over on her knees so that I could enter from the rear. There wasn't much padding back there but at least there was some. We did try cowgirl, but I was never a big fan of that position. Later, she told me that that was her favorite.

We also talked more and I found it to be one of the more interesting conversation I had ever had with a woman. Unlike Jennie, Amy seemed able to keep up her end of a conversation no matter what the subject was. When she didn't know something, she freely admitted it and was glad to learn something new. I found her fascinating.

Amy worked in the gift shop at the art museum, but she told me she also worked weekends in the city at a friend's dress boutique so I drove her home the next morning. We continued talking on the way there and I seriously considered asking her out again, but the age difference was the least of it.

We lived in two different worlds and it was obvious that we had few interests in common. More importantly I think, was that we weren't a very good sex match. We parted on friendly terms but that was about it. She really was just beginning to enjoy her young life and it didn't seem marriage was anywhere near being on her radar.

-

I actually did meet a few women who were very much interested in marriage.

Evelyn had three boys under the age of 10 and an ex-husband who disappeared after falling six months behind on child support. I didn't dismiss the possibility out of hand; a ready-made family with more to come could be interesting. The problem-well, one of the problems-was that she had an attitude about it.

All men were scum but she would be willing to have sex with a man if he would help, and by that I mean pay the bills. But the ultimate deal-breaker was her statement that more children were not on the menu; she said she had her tubes tied after her divorce. Dinner did not end with dessert.

-

Clarissa was great entertainment. She was already seated with a glass of water in front of her when I arrived at the restaurant. She stood up as I approached our table and I saw that she was wearing a prairie dress that covered her from neck to ankle.

I introduced myself and we ordered our meals. I had the waiter bring a bottle of wine to share and after he had poured glasses for both of us, Clarissa got right to it, "Jack, I want you to know that I am a virgin and will be a virgin until our wedding night."

I nodded and she went on, "But I want you to know that there is not going to be a problem with children."

She reached beside her and brought up a photo album and placed it on the table facing me. She opened it and pointed to the first picture of a woman standing, also in a prairie dress, holding a baby and standing alongside a group of five more children.

"This is my oldest sister, Abigale, and her children."

She turned the page and there was a slightly younger woman, again in a prairie dress, with a child in a stroller and two others standing beside her.

"This is Bethany and her children. As you can see, the women in my family are quite fertile so you can be assured you and I will have our own children."

I think it was at that point that I stopped listening and started wondering about her sisters' names. I speculated that there might be an even younger sister named Deborah or perhaps Dolores. I had to work to keep from laughing out loud. Ab-ig-ail, Beth-a-ny, Clar-is-sa and then Deb-or-ah.

I kept it in by taking another sip of wine. This caught Clarissa's attention and she said, "Jack, I know our Lord turned water into wine so there is nothing wrong with a man drinking wine, but once the first child arrives, I would expect you to set a good example by not drinking in front of them."

I didn't say anything, but I did take another sip. She went on, "One other thing that I do insist on is that all of us attend church services every Sunday. Our very souls will depend upon that."

Obviously, we weren't a good match at all. I wanted to put a quick stop to this, but I didn't want to be nasty about it. "Oh, Clarissa. I'm afraid I need to confess that I'm an atheist."

She smiled, "That's perfectly all right, Jack. My brother Abraham can discuss this with you. He has saved so many other sinners that I'm sure he can help you see the light."

I nearly choked on the wine but I recovered quickly, "Well, I'm sure Abraham is a fine fellow, but you see I'm one of those radical atheists. I don't simply doubt the existence of God, I am positive He doesn't exist. Besides, I haven't been inside a church since I was 12 years old and I won't be going again, ever."

This wasn't entirely true, Jennie had wanted a big church wedding and I was happy to go along. Nevertheless, my statement had the desired effect. Clarissa looked sick and said, "Well. I don't think there's any reason to continue this further." She stood up, grabbed her photo album, and walked out of my life. I never did get to ask her why there were no pictures of the fathers in albums.

-

And then there was Linda. I had thought Jennie was my soul mate, but, in truth, we were just kids who didn't know any better. Linda, on the other hand, was the real thing.

From the moment we met, everything was easy. Where we weren't the same, we complemented each other. She didn't just laugh at my jokes, she actually got some of my more off-the-wall comments. I enjoyed her company and thought of her as my best friend. It was a real joy being with her.

We each had our own lives and friends and we easily blended it all together. When the lease on her apartment ended, she moved in with me. We put her furniture into storage, planning to use it when we bought a house together.

We had begun talking about wedding plans when it all fell apart.

Linda always got home from work before I did. She would be in the kitchen, preparing dinner and I would walk in the door like the husband in some 50s sitcom and call out, "Lucy! I'm home!"

This time it was different. The kitchen light was off and there was no sign of Linda. My apartment wasn't that big and I quickly found her in the bedroom. She was sitting on the floor in front of an open suitcase with her back to me.

"Linda, what's wrong?"

When she heard me, she jumped to her feet and, with tears in her eyes, she rushed over into my arms, "Jack, it's terrible. My Dad's had a stroke. It's bad and I have to go home."

I held her and squeezed her and stroked her arm. "Of course you do. I'll help you get ready. Have you made plane reservations?"

We took care of packing and made all of the arrangements to get her out on an evening flight. We seemed to have everything under control and I asked, "What else I can do to help here?"

She stopped what she was doing and turned, facing me, and said, "After I leave, you could start packing all the rest of my things and send it all to me. Then, perhaps you could arrange to have all of my furniture shipped from storage to my parents' home."

I was perplexed and I'm sure my face showed it. "Linda, if you find that you've forgotten something, you can let me know; I'll overnight it to you. The rest of your things are fine right here. I'll keep an eye on everything until you come back."

She had a look on her face like I was stupid or something, "Jack, I'm not coming back. My father is in serious condition. I have to be there for him."

Her voice broke as she continued, "And when he ... when he goes, my mother will be all alone. I'll have to be there for her."

I didn't know what to say. Did she think that her parents were special, that they were going to live forever, in good health? Didn't she see that this was something that every child had to face at some point? Didn't she understand that children became adults and had to live their own lives?

Apparently not. There was nothing I could say that would change that. I would look like a selfish monster if I tried to push our relationship. I nodded my head and mumbled something about forwarding her things.

I didn't give up though. I called her each day during the next week. She never took my calls; I'm sure things were hectic. Instead, I left long messages for her to listen to when she had the chance. I had hoped it would help, but apparently it didn't.

After the first week, Linda answered when I called the next time and made it very clear that I was distracting her and annoying her and that she didn't appreciate my intrusion. I was shocked but I got the message. It didn't feel good at all.

* * *

Long after the fact, I realized that I should have seen someone about the depression I was feeling, but, at the time, I knew I was as tough as the problems I faced and didn't need any help. But I was actually more depressed than I had ever been before in my life. Two women had decided that there were things in life more important to them than I was. I definitely took it personally.

At work, I continued to be careful in what I said and how I behaved and I'm still not sure what made me drop the ball that day. I was getting off the elevator, heading home, when I saw Diane Conklin standing at the exit door of our office building, obviously waiting for a ride. When she saw me, she waved me over.

I should have turned and exited through the garage.

Diane was easily the sexiest woman I had ever seen in real life. She made Victoria Secret models on television look like teenage boys. Everyone knew that she didn't belong here; she was obviously slumming and she acted like it.

She worked in our PR department and she was known to be difficult. Any man who made a pass at her was reported for sexual harassment as was any man who said anything at all that could be construed in a sexual manner. Her file was said to be an inch thick.

Women weren't immune from her toxic personality either. Anyone who had to deal with her had better be totally prepared and totally professional. I heard one of the women warning her secretary, 'Just deliver the package and get out of there. Don't get Conked.'

I guess I wasn't thinking straight and when she called me by name, I simply walked over to join her. I don't know what it was about her, but simply being near her was an aphrodisiac. Even though she dressed in conservative business outfits, she still looked sexy as hell and her voice alone exuded the sexual appeal of the sirens of myth. It must have been pheromones or something.

Without preliminaries she said, "My husband's got two tickets to opening day."

If there was anything that could lift my spirits, it would be to talk about baseball, "Well, good for you. Maybe I'll see you there; I never miss it myself. There aren't many things in life better than opening day of major league baseball."

"I know, right? But, there's one slight problem. He's not taking me, he's taking his father."

I stood there not saying anything. I'm old school, I guess, but fathers and sons have been going to opening day like forever, so I didn't have much sympathy.

She continued, "He knows how much I love baseball. And besides, I'm the person he sleeps with at night and wakes up to in the morning."

That's when I made the big mistake. I was just thinking it, but somehow I let it slip out, "Well, there's a picture I won't be able to get out of my head."

Diane had the strangest smile on her face when she asked, "What? ... Are you picturing me in bed?"

I tried to mask my reaction, but I think I may have cringed. She turned to face me directly, arched her back slightly and said, "Let me enhance the picture for you, Jack. I sleep in the nude."

I was in trouble. I couldn't believe it had happened so easily and so quickly, but all I wanted to do was get the hell out of there. I mumbled something about having to run and headed for the door.

I could hardly sleep that night, tossing and turning and imagining what my HR interview would be like. At work, I did have the reputation as someone who could be trusted. I kept eye contact even if the temptation to stare lower was almost overwhelming; I never made off-color jokes and I even became the guy that female staff came to when a male co-worker behaved inappropriately. I would talk to the fool man-to-man so that HR didn't have to get involved and everyone was happy.

Now, all of that was gone. Diane would report me for sexual harassment and I would become merely another statistic. Could things get any worse? I slept badly that night.

* * *

I sat in a stupor at my desk the next morning. Between my lack of sleep and my jumpiness every time the phone rang, I couldn't get anything done. So, midmorning, I went down to the lobby coffee shop to get a shot of caffeine.

I was sitting alone in the corner, by the window, drinking my coffee when Diane walked in and sat down across from me. I nearly jumped up and ran out of there, but she reached over and took my hand, "Jack, I want to apologize for yesterday. I shouldn't have teased you like that."

Her touch was electric and I wasn't exactly sure what was going on as she continued, "I've always thought of you as one of the good guys. I know what people say about me, but the truth is I'm the victim here."

I was alert at that point, listening to this line of bullshit, but she kept at it, "I shouldn't have to be here. ... Look at me, I'm the classic trophy wife. I should be spending my mornings at the spa, my afternoons shopping, and my evenings at fabulous places with fabulous people. Instead, I'm here in this fucking place, working this fucking job, with these fucking terrible people." She smiled, "Present company excluded of course."

"Look, Jack, I know you're one of the good guys ... one of the very few. I heard about your divorce and I've seen that you haven't let that change you. 'You're a good man, Charlie Brown.' That's why I need your help."

I was totally perplexed, "What could I possibly do to help you?"

"Let me just put it out there: I'm stuck in a loveless marriage and I need someone to make the nights easier to bear."

She saw the expression on my face and lifted her hand to indicate stop, "I know, I know. This is a no fault state and all that, but I'm trapped by finances.

"My dear, sweet husband, Oliver, that little toad, conned me into marriage by letting me believe he was rich. The fact is, he will be rich-or so my accountant tells me-but not until the end of next year. I don't know-stock options, deferred compensation, IPOs-it's all too complicated for me to understand but it's something like that and it means we'll be rich. But the point is that I have to hang in there until his ship comes in before I can afford to dump his sorry ass.

"In the meantime, I have to work to make the extra money we need to maintain our lifestyle and I'll be damned if he gets anything more than what he's paid for. Which means I have to fill my sexual needs in my own way. Which means very discreetly with very discreet gentlemen-like you."

I sat there looking at her. Why didn't she just file the damn sexual harassment complaint and be done with it? Why this elaborate setup to try to suck me into an even worse position? I reached down to get my phone out so I could record the rest of this conversation, but Diane noticed and said, "Here, give me your phone."

She snatched it from me and began tapping away. When she finished, she turned it to me and said, "There, now you have my private number. Think of me as your Parisian Courtesan. I'm free every afternoon, Monday through Thursday until 7 PM. All you need to do is text the time you'll be home and I'll be there. I know where you live."

Now I was sure this was some sort of trap, but she continued to explain, "This is for your protection, too - plausible deniability, if you will. That number belongs to a throwaway phone paid for with cash and there is nothing that will indicate that you are involved with me in any way. Even if someone saw this, all they would see is the time. You could always say you thought you were setting up a delivery time and had the wrong number or something like that. No big deal."

She was looking at me expectantly. I didn't know what to say, so I just said, "Let me think about it."

"No problem. If you decide to get lucky, all you have to do is text me the time." She stood up and walked away, leaving me to consider what had just happened.