Alcohol Stupid

"Not much worry about that, Jeff. Alison called last night when I was out and accused Sheila and me of hiding you. So nasty that Sheila was in tears when I got home. We both feel terrible we didn't stop you two but what Alison was saying was way out of line. If you two are going to patch things up you need to remember it was a one time mistake, you were both drunk and you both were equally guilty. Any way you think we can help, all you need to do is ask, bud."

"You're right. We were too drunk. As far as I know this was a one time affair but, if so, is it the last? And should I tell her I couldn't - no, wouldn't - go through with it?"

"What the fuck! Jeff, I'm putting you on speaker phone. Sheila is busting my ass and needs to hear this."

And so I told them everything after leaving the club with Denise. That I had been too late with my text to call it off. What the pictures had shown. And I read the messages Alison had sent me and the basics of her rant at my secretary.

When I finally reached the end, the silence dragged on for several seconds Bruce gave a soft cough. "Sheila can't talk right now but she's still here. What now, Jeff and is there anything you need from us?"

"I wish I knew, guys. With a lot of talk and maybe a marriage counsellor things could be put behind us. At least we could blame the booze and that we would never be so stupid again. I haven't told Alison she's the only one to break our vows. On the one hand, if she knew then she may end up feeling guilty and it poisons our relationship. Flip side's she could see this as a victory and I wimped out. These last couple of days I've given this a lot of thought and begun to realize how much of our relationship has been based on our competitive natures - two individuals trying to show each other who's the best even when we play as a team. We may respect the other's strengths but only as far as we can analyze them to come out on top. As to the bet, Alison was the winner. Morally, while not innocent, I was better. Either way, we both have lost and she needs to understand this. So far, no signs she plans to be gracious in victory."

We talked a bit longer before saying our goodbyes. No solutions were uncovered but I knew I had friends who were there for me.

Tuesday I bit the bullet and made the call. Alison was as cold as the Arctic winds in winter but agreed to meet that night for dinner. My one stipulation was a quiet restaurant as it seemed like a more neutral place where we might open up. That proved to be a false hope. Alison had all the empathy of a loan shark's gorilla come to collect on your overdue gambling debts. Basically, stop being a pussy. Time to pay up. And it was all my fault for agreeing to the bet when I was not only sure to lose but should have understood the consequences. No compromise, no regret.

Even blessed with hindsight, I really don't think I had been a pussy that far. My motivations had been to buy time. Enough I could come to grips with my own emotions. Even more with the hope Alison would come to realize what a disaster we both had created. All I had was the hope, by returning home and fulfilling the terms, she would understand the competition was over and we at least could try and rebuild our marriage. And so, come the next day I entered my 28 days of purgatory.

The first three days every spare moment was spent in cleanup. Every dish in the place had been used and left all over. Three loads of laundry and she demanded virtually all of it be ironed - something we never did before. Every meal was something complicated, specifically chosen by ingredients we didn't have and, so, I would have to run out shopping. Her car to be washed, shined and vacuumed. Clothes she hadn't worn in years to the dry cleaners (for which I had to pay). And any sign of her thawing? Nada. Exhausted by bedtime, I was exiled to the couch while she slept soundly in our marital bed. And then there was Saturday...

Looking back, I don't recall three days, let alone a week, where Alison and I didn't have sex. All Saturday evening, as I toiled away, Alison pranced around in an uber-hot teddy with all her charms on display. If I wasn't already worked up enough, she upped the ante lounging on the cough and popping one of our porno DVDs into the video. I knew that she knew I was doing my best to ignore the display but she knew I knew I was losing the battle. Hard to maintain composure when a beautiful woman goes from massaging her full, perky breasts to pushing down her panties and beginning to openly masturbate.

"You can stop what you're doing for now. Come over here and take over!"

Now I have never had trouble working Alison into a frenzy whether using fingers, tongue or cock and found her quite wet and willing for one, then two, then three fingers. A little thumb massage on her clitoris and she was in full out heat. With a hand to spare, I reached up and pinched the nearest nipple.

"Who gave you permission to touch my breast?! You're here to serve me and I'll tell you what I want. Now, get down and give me your tongue!"

"No!"

"What the hell do you mean, 'No'? You're here to do as I say, loser."
"The bet was anything short of potential physical harm. Until you are screened for STDs, no way my mouth or dick are touching that cunt of yours!"

Must admit, I was feeling just a bit smug as she stomped off slamming the bedroom door. No way she could even get an appointment for screening before Monday and even preliminary results would take another couple of days. I thought I had a small victory. Her revenge was not slow in coming. Come Sunday morning...

"If you won't keep me happy for the next few days, I'm going to need something to satisfy my needs. That decrepit sex shop across town is open by noon on Sundays. You're to go there and buy me a vibrator. I really found Brent's cock a perfect fit so the one you buy must look real, be close to ten inches long and two inches wide. He wasn't much past nine inches but I need a little extra to hold onto while more than ten is wasted - when I had him slamming into me hard it hit some places that were a bit sore. A little wider than two inches would be fine. I really enjoyed the snug fit and think even a bit bigger than Brent would be exciting. Not a black cock, though. I want it to remind me of how Brent's looked and got the job done."

That night she spent the evening walking around completely naked. By 8 she had me draw her a hot bubble bath and, after she had soaked for several minutes, she had me sponge her down. Once dried off she laid back on the bed and had me carefully shave her all the while asking if her soon-to-be lover would like her preparations and new look. Evidently she didn't feel it was enough and had me massage her with a scented oil until her entire body glistened.

"I think I'm ready, now, Jeff. You can leave. 'Eveready Brent' and I would like some time to get to know each other intimately. Leave the door open in case there's anything I want you to know."

For the first few minutes I heard nothing which, I suspect, was her way of teasing/torturing me. Eventually a soft buzzing could be heard and gradually began to increase. Maybe just my imagination that the vibrator noises began to be accompanied by rhythmic squishing sounds. No imagination for what came next.

"Slow, Brent! God you're so big! It'll never fit!" "Is it all in? I've never felt so full. Please, be careful." "Oh, Oh, Oh! So fucking good!" "Harder dammit! Fuck me harder with that big cock!" "Shit, I'm cumming, again!" "Stop. I can't take any more! I've never cum so hard in my life!" and, with that, the buzzing stopped and silence took over. She might have simply faked everything as one big show but I knew this was all quite real. As far away as I was, the aroma of a bitch in heat was overpowering. Eveready Brent appeared to be something of a stud.

By the time our STD screening came back clear (yes, I had done one to so Alison felt I was equally at fault), Alison had a new way to one up things. Now, nightly, it was my job to give oral pleasure to "get her ready for 'Eveready Brent'. Once my tongue had given her one or two small ones I would be sent away to listen to her big O. Surprisingly, it became so scripted I would fall asleep midway through. Meanwhile, without a great imagination, Alison had begun to run out of errands and I had discovered enough free time to begin my own planning.

There was no question in my mind I owed a big apology but handling it was perplexing. I finally decided jewellery was the answer and scouted out smaller shops for just the right look. Picking out the piece itself ran risks and I opted for a $500 gift certificate and a heartfelt note. Making sure she would get it and accept it, I left it with the superintendent.

"Denise, You didn't deserve the way that I treated you. Nothing will undo such hurt but I hope you will accept this and pick out a piece you like. It's already money spent so if you can't stand to have something that reminds you of me, please give it to a friend. Maybe you should have something that could be your talisman to protect you from predators like me. You're too nice a person.

Jeff

PS: Should you ever want to talk, here's my number. I'll understand if you don't call"

With difficult job number one done, I could move onto other plans.

As the end of the month slowly drew nearer, Alison revelled in the role of conqueror and, if anything, seemed disappointed my servitude was approaching completion. No sign of regret at just how badly our marriage had suffered. She had tasked me with arranging a "Grand Finale" night on the town for the last evening - missing the irony one of these had precipitated the mess we were in. Fancy dress, fine dining and dancing and, if all met her expectations, my return to the conjugal bed with the chance to start the new month happily tucked between her thighs.

I planned every detail with her pleasure maximized to the stroke of midnight. I bought her a pricey, new LBD. New undergarments. New CFM 4 inch heels. An appointment at the salon for "the works". Expensive but well short of the million bucks she looked like; she was radiant. A limo for the night starting at the fanciest restaurant in town with champagne and ending with a flaming dessert. Then limo to a club with more ballroom style than the dance club that hosted our debacle. By 11:30 we were home and she was hot to trot. The dress came off two steps inside the front door as she strutted her stuff like a Victoria Secret model headed for the bedroom. In the nearly eight years we had been together, I had learned dozens, maybe hundreds, of ways, zones and positions that would drive Alison wild and I used all of these and maybe a few more. With fingers and tongue I would push her right to the edge of the precipice before leaving her dangling and begging for more. I watched the clock knowing I was forbidden penetration before month's end and with a huge climax in store. My dear wife must also have been time watching as the second our bedside clock read midnight the command came, "Fuck me! Fuck me now and stop teasing me! Show me if you got what I want!"

And so I fucked her. Figuratively. Not literally.

Still fully clothed, I had only to walk to the closet to retrieve a bag with a few belongings. Pointing to an envelope on the hall table I concluded, "I've left you my new address but moved all my things earlier today while you were at the spa. Joint accounts are closed and credit cards are paid and cancelled. I divided the savings 50-50. The other papers are for a trial separation which you can sign and get to my lawyer on Tuesday. Otherwise, I'll need to have you served. We may still work this out - I've booked an appointment with a marriage counsellor and left you the details. Should you not want to make the effort, let me know with enough time to cancel. In the meantime, don't call me. I need some space."

I was somewhat surprised Alison didn't try to contact me. My lawyer let me know she had submitted the papers signed as needed. I knew she had contact with Bruce and Sheila as Sheila had become a close friend but I didn't pry. No sense getting them caught in the crossfire. Bruce and I talked almost nightly but we avoided any talk of the marital woes. It would have been as if Alison and I never knew each other were it not for confirmation from the psychologist she had booked her input interview and I should do likewise. Each of us was expected to outline our views of what we expected, what our marriage had been like and, basically, how we saw life in general. Two weeks later, we would meet together to begin the process that might bring us back together or confirm we should part.

Dealing with a shrink, both one on one and in the couples sessions, proved more interesting than I had expected although maybe less helpful than it might be for other couples. I simply can't begin to capture the details here and, of course, had only glimpses of the interviews Alison had without me present. A great deal of time was spent examining our competitiveness and how it shaped and then dominated our relationship. How even in team endeavours it was still two of us aspiring to be the main contributor and our "mutual support" was more a form of goading the other not to be better but, more, not to be a liability. How it was almost a foregone conclusion one of us would cheat and that was more likely to be Alison who was fighting to be dominant in a still male dominant society. In my sessions, this theme warranted closer examination as male egos struggled more accepting a spouse who had strayed and was I a male who could forgive and move forward. A great deal of my individual interviews examined the hurt I continued to carry due to Alison's subsequent actions which, to me, were far harder to forgive than the actual tryst. And for the fragile male psyche, no small amount of time was spent reviewing Alison's choice of phallus, the taunts it evoked and the subsequent reminders brought about through her 'Eveready Brent' simulations. The joint sessions were able to get Alison and I communicating but they usually deteriorated into contests between two strong wills and our counsellor was regularly drawn in to referee and break up melees.

Gradually, however, I found I thought about Alison less and was becoming somewhat comfortable with my new single's status. Not happy, mind you, but much less traumatized than during my month of servitude. Quite probably, Alison had done me a favour in that regard as if she had intentionally driven me away.

Bruce and Sheila were a big help but even more came from a most unexpected source. It was an evening sitting alone watching a meaningless baseball game when Denise called. She apologized for not having called sooner to thank me for the gift certificate which had gone to purchasing a necklace and pendant. She explained it was something she would wear on dates or nights out with the girls and, should she meet a guy who was coming on to her, she would hold onto the pendant as a way to keep focused and avoid misjudging men. I had to chuckle and explain to her my gift was, essentially, a reminder to steer clear of guys like me. We had such a lovely chat we agreed to meet for lunch which became the first of several. No, there was nothing sexual going on - she was ten years younger than me, rather sweet, inexperienced and innocent - but we became very close in a brother and sister way. So much so she had me chaperone a couple of her early internet dates.

Meanwhile my luck with dating was going nowhere due to my own apathy and lack of effort. Sheila tried to be matchmaker with a couple of her friends and Denise actually set me up with a divorcee she worked with but it was all either too early or the chemistry just wasn't there. I mainly threw myself into work projects (resulting in a nice promotion and bonus) or into my jogging (now up to ten kilometres each weekday and a longer run on Saturdays). Sundays were a day of rest although that might just mean a long bike ride. I wasn't a hermit but this might have been the equivalent for someone living in a big city.

So here I am. Saturday morning, seven km. into a fifteen km run. A beautiful cool autumn day and feeling reasonably good with my life, all things considered. Such a lovely day to run it's surprising I'm almost alone. Through the trees up ahead I can make out just one other runner but she's on her own. It must be a girl. The outfit is a bright green and blue and this section of the trail is used only by more serious runners - no guy who's into running would wear an outfit like that. Might as well push up the pace a bit and see what's up ahead... Yup, a girl.... Must admit, she has great form.... As in technique but, yes, I also note as in lovely shape. Long legs, nice ass and that outfit.... Oh my God, almost painted on. With these new suits made with new stretch materials and no seams they cling to every line and, even from this distance, I see no signs of underwear. Maybe they would chafe. Let's get a little closer for confirmation.... Shit, she's laughing!

"Liking what you see? You could always join me. Promise I won't bite, Jeff."

What? Damn!!! Alison!!! How? Why? My mind freezes and I start to stumble. Flat on my face and just good luck into a pile of leaves. Can't remember the last time this happened. Totally embarrassing even if it hadn't been in front of my nemesis. Ease up slowly. Only a scrape of two. Nothing broken, nothing sprained. Only thing hurt's my pride....big time.

She's pulled up a little ways down the path. The first look is concern but, as soon as she sees she won't have to carry me to help, the laughter starts. It starts gently but quickly escalates and while I start off feeling indignant, soon I can't help but join her.

She turns and starts to run again calling back over her shoulder "You had better hurry up and join me. Can't trust you to not hurt yourself running alone!"

Must admit I'm not averse to staying behind her and watching the action. She's gained a bit of weight but it's gone to all the right places. Instead of all the angles a low body fat athlete tends to have, she now has rather marvellous curves and, like I said, watching that ass in motion was hypnotic. Still, not polite to stare so I'm catching up. We run side by side in silence for awhile. Jogging. Not our old all out competitive style and our new rhythm seems somehow soothing. Enough comfort I feel I can ask, "How did you find me? Most people don't know this course."

"Bruce told me. WHOA.... Before you go off all hissy on how he sold you out and how you can't trust anyone these days, let me explain. I've been after him for weeks and he wouldn't say a thing except that he might tell me when he thought you were ready. He called me up this week and said you might be willing to talk. I figured here was as close to neutral place as we could get and, so, here I am. If you don't care to talk, we can just run a ways. If you want me to leave, I'll leave."

Truth is, it's nice to have company and I'm not as upset as I would have expected. Relaxing, to jog along in silence. Too good to last.

"Why didn't you tell me? Maybe not at the start but, perhaps, during counselling."

I'm no genius but I don't need to be one to know where this is going. "So Bruce couldn't keep that a secret either?"

"Bruce? No way he would let that one slip. No, it was Sheila. We had a bit too much wine one night and she she just couldn't hold back" (Christ, I thought. Booze will haunt me forever.) "She explained what happened with Denise and why you didn't tell me at the start. I just can't understand why keep it secret later."

While I do feel a bit cornered she has still made an effort so I guess this is as good a time as any.

"Our shrink and I spent a long time on this without really deciding what was best. In the end, I decided our sessions were about trying to help us resolve how one of us always needed to come out the winner and the other the loser. My telling you I didn't screw another woman would end up looking like I was only out to take the moral high ground and make you the villain. The reality was we both lost. You may have carried it a lot further but I had failed you and our marriage. You're a big girl, a strong woman. I can't tell you that you can't do something when you've thought it out but it was also my responsibility to step in when you didn't see the risks. I as much as pushed you, and our marriage, into this disaster. It doesn't matter Denise and I didn't have sex, what matters is I even considered such a dangerous contest and I deserve to pay the same price as you have."