All In

I nodded while I worked with her hair.

"When I was little my mom always called my dad a wuss. She did it so much that, even though I knew it was disparaging, I thought of it as a term of endearment. Long after he was gone she would say things like, "My wuss always treated me better than that," or "My wuss wanted me to look my best." After a long pause she continued, "She chased him away. She loved him more than anything else, but couldn't stop herself."

She continued, "You're not going to leave me are you?"

"Of course not."

That appeared to mollify her, but she continued, "We need to do this, right?"

The evening had proven that all of our tired techniques had been exhausted and that we were out of alternatives. We needed to do it and I needed to be strong. I said, "Don't worry. Everything's going to be all right."

She put on her makeup, while I got dressed and packed for the night. I helped her put on the hot red dress then I admired how she looked with a whistle as she slowly spun around in front of me. She stopped, put her hand on the lump in my pants and said, "Are you going to be a wuss and let another guy fuck me?"

I'd been over it a thousand times in my mind. Although I'd convinced myself that we were doing the right thing, there was no way to be sure. I was tired of second guessing myself and I wanted to get it over with. I assured her that we were good, and that if anything went wrong it was my fault.

She thoughtfully considered my words, touched the side of my face with her fingertip and said, "Thank you."

At around 11:30 she dropped me off at the hotel. As I sat there in the lonely hotel room it became obvious that this wasn't one of our games. It wasn't sexy or seductive. It was dull and lonely. I became anxious. I tried to read the book I'd brought, but I couldn't focus. I turned on the television, but it only increased my anxiety. I turned it off. I checked that I'd left the adjoining door ajar and then I checked it again. I tried to relax, but it was no use.

I ended up sitting in the chair at the desk with the reading light over the bed on. I hashed and rehashed what we were doing in my mind. I listened to the sound of the guests in the hallway. The families with children had all gone to bed. At around 2:00 the drunks started to migrate in from the closing bars. I hoped that Trudy would walk in the front door with the impish grin that let me know that I had endured enough. That somehow she knew the pain in my eyes was substantial enough to last us for years and that we could go home.

Instead I heard her laughter outside and the opening of the door to the adjacent room. I flashed back to my bedroom in the 7th grade, to the stories that sounded so exciting, to her laugh outside my window in high school to her tears in my car. The wild thumping of the mattress in our apartment. What the fuck was I doing?

I heard her open the adjoining door on her side, and then I could hear everything that they said. He told her how hot she was and how hard he was. I heard the smacks of their kissing and the soft rumble of the bed clothes as they turned down the covers and crawled in.

I stood up to put an end to it, but as I reached for the knob I realized I was too late. He was already inside her. He grunted and grunted, then grunted some more. The mattress squeaked and grated against the box spring. It seemed like they fucked forever. I heard him groan and then it was quiet.

About fifteen minutes later Trudy came through the doors to find me in the chair. She said, "It's done. You are now my cuckold." She lifted my chin with her finger and said, "Let's see."

I felt empty and alone. I was certain the pain she needed was in my eyes.

She inspected my face, then said, "Oh, my. Are you all right?"

The impact of her tryst was more than I had expected. but I had to be strong and do what needed to be done. I said, "I'll be fine."

She sat on the bed, holding my hand. "Should we go home?"

"No, not after that. We're going to finish this. We're going to do it right and then never do it again."

She gave me a hug and then went back into her room. We secured the adjoining doors and then I tried to get some sleep.

Somehow I miscalculated and didn't realize that the next day was civic Friday. I was a few minutes late even though I only had to walk across the parking lot.

"Are you okay?" asked one of the girls.

"I didn't sleep very well."

My staff knew what they were doing, and they really didn't need me. They served food like a well oiled machine while I mingled with the masters of small-town commerce and carried on as I usually did. Everything was running smoothly until one of my waitresses asked, "Is that your wife?"

I looked over to see Trudy in her red-hot dress flipping her hair and laughing. It was the laugh she used to get my attention. She was seated at a booth near the entrance. Sitting across from her was a guy from the factory. His face was familiar. It was Bill Kiest.

In a lapse of self control I leaned against the counter and tipped over a large tray of coffee cups, which shattered on the floor. Everyone in the restaurant looked to see me fixated on Trudy and Bill. They all followed my stare, then simultaneously wondered, "Who's that with his wife and why is she dressed like a hooker at 8:30 in the morning?"

Trudy scanned the room full of attention focused on her, then looked at me and smiled.

As prepared as I thought I was, I wasn't ready for this. Now everyone I worked with and almost all of my customers knew what had happened, and soon the whole town would know. I didn't know what to say and I couldn't think. I must have been in some form of shock.

The waitress got one of the busboys to give me a ride home while she cleaned up the mess. Trudy arrived home soon after.

"BILL KIEST? YOU FUCKED BILL KIEST?"

She was impassive. She didn't protest, but she didn't yield either.

I picked up a bowl and threw it as hard as I could. It shattered after leaving a hole in the drywall. "FUUUUUCK," I shouted. After pacing around the house unable to collect my thoughts I said, "I have to leave." I grabbed a suitcase and went upstairs to pack.

Trudy followed me, "You promised me that you wouldn't leave."

"What promised? You fucking fucked Bill Kiest, the guy that dragged me through the mud, and made the seventh grade hell. I can't leave? Watch me not leave."

"You said you were all in. What does that mean to you? All in only when it works for you? We agreed to do this. We agreed that we needed this. You said you were ready. You can't leave. It's not fair."

I exhaled deeply and sat on the edge of the bed. "Don't you see that I have to leave? Everybody in town knows what happened. No one will respect me if I stay."

"Look at me." Trudy commanded. "Are you really going to leave before we have sex?"

"How can you think about sex?"

"Because that's what this is all about. I need you. I need that look in your eyes. I haven't seen it in years, and I need you to do what only you can do to me."

"We are SO not having sex. I couldn't get hard right now if my life depended on it." I thoughtlessly threw some clothes in the suitcase and said, "I know I promised not to leave you, but I need some space right now. I'm going to go away for a few days and then we can talk."

"When?"

"Now."

"No, when will we talk?"

"I don't know, maybe in a couple of weeks, maybe more. Right now I don't want to be near you."

"That's not going to work, Thanksgiving is this coming Thursday. Let's talk on our way to pick up Cindy at the airport."

Oh crap, how were we going to explain this to Cindy? She'd probably already heard about it from her friends on Facebook. I took a fresh start at packing, taking enough to last a week. I grabbed my coat and headed outside. I heard Trudy's cell phone ring as I closed the door.

The next week at work was brutal. Everybody had advice for me. Customers, waitresses and even the busboys had something to say. Some recommended the divorce lawyer that saved a relative a bunch of money. Others recommended a counselor that saved the marriage of a dear friend. I politely nodded, then draw the conversation to a close by asking for the phone number so that they could end their pitch.

I could handle the advice, but the pity that was unbearable. I was still a man and I wanted to be treated like a man, but when people pitied me I felt like the cuckold that they thought I was. Every sad glance from a passerby and every solemn customer reminded me of what Trudy had done. There was no escaping it.

On Wednesday afternoon I picked up Trudy at home. She gave me a hug and a soft kiss on the lips before following me to the car. We politely conversed as we made our way to the highway. Eventually she said, "Everybody hates me."

It struck me as funny until I realized she was being serious. "I got fired on Monday. They said I brought ill-fame to the company. Not just the store, the whole damned company. I swear half the people cheered as they walked me out the door."

"That's harsh."

"Yea, and then I went to the diner where you used to work and the waitress wouldn't serve me."

We drove in silence for a while, then she said, "I'd apologize for hurting you, except that was the whole point. I'd do it again if I had to."

"I understand that, but why Bill Kiest, and why did you have to parade him in front of me and everyone I know?"

"Because he was your tormentor and you will never be jaded to him. I tapped into that pain to make it linger in your eyes for as long as possible. He was perfect for that."

"Did you ever think that you'd gone too far? That I wouldn't be able to handle it?"

"I think you'll be just fine. You'll come back to me."

Her confidence was galling, but I was afraid she was right. At the same time there was an injustice that needed to be set right, and I needed to tackle it.

We met Cindy at baggage claim. She looked liked she'd matured by five years in the few months she'd been at college. She was no longer pert girl that we had raised. She was now a beautiful woman. She ran across the room and gave me that big spin of a hug that daughters give their fathers once they've moved out. She greeted her mother with that fake cheek-to-cheek kiss that politely expressed loathing.

Once the car door was securely shut Cindy let loose on her mother, "What the hell did you do mom?"

"Honey, I hope you never understand."

"Oh I think I understand. Is he rich, or does he have a nine inch dick? Did you think about dad at all or was it just about you?"

Trudy wore that impassive look that meant she knew better than to engage her enraged daughter.

"Are you guys splitting up?"

I said, "Well, I'm not sleeping at the house, if that's what you mean."

"Shit mom, you don't even have the decency to move out?"

"I don't want to split up, sweetheart. I want your father to come back."

"Then why did you do it?"

There was a short silence, then Cindy continued, "Was it worth it?"

"If your father comes back to me, then it was worth it."

"That is so fucked up. You expect him to just eat humble pie and come back?"

Trudy shook her head and said, "It's not like that."

I dropped them off at the house and then went back to my hotel. I was dealing with so many conflicting emotions that it was nice to have a space away from Trudy to decompress and to think rationally, but after a week I was beginning to miss her company.

We got together again the next day for Thanksgiving. My job was the turkey. Once the bird was in the oven I took a cup of coffee out on the deck and enjoyed the beautiful November day. The sky was clear and I could see all the way across the valley.

Cindy came through the sliding glass door to join me, "Are you okay?"

I gave her a hug and said, "Yea, I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me, sweetie."

We stood there in embrace for a few moments, then she said, "I don't understand why you put up with it."

"I hope you never do."

She took a step back and looked up at me, "That's what mom said. What's going on?"

I looked at my beautiful girl. Her eyes were the same color as her mother's, but her overall coloring was a bit lighter. Her hair was silky smooth and she smelled like a spring day in a field of wildflowers. She was still full of unrealized potential and unburdened by commitments and regrets. At this age Trudy and I were both already dealing with a mountain of problems.

She ran her finger down my cheek the way her mother did when she saw the pain in my eyes, studying my face as she did. "Are you sure you're all right?"

We stood there holding hands for a few moments, then she said, "I have to go," and abruptly left.

The conversation at dinner was polite if uncomfortable. I thought Cindy might press for the understanding that Trudy and I had both hoped she would never have, but she didn't. Instead it seemed like she was having a hard time not looking at me. I caught her staring time and again.

Even Trudy noticed. "Is there something wrong with your father's face?"

"No, no, it's just that I haven't seen you two in a while."

The day after Thanksgiving Trudy and Cindy went off to battle the Black Friday crowds. While they were out, I dropped by the house to grab some clean clothes and do some chores that had been neglected. I answered a knock at the door to find Bill Kiest on the doorstep. He was wearing a dress shirt and slacks that might have fit well a few years ago. He'd made a halfhearted attempt to shave and mat down his unruly hair.

"Where's Trudy?" he asked, then pushed past me into the house.

I let him take a few steps into the house then said, "Follow me." as I lead the way into the kitchen.

As he came around the corner I cold-cocked him in the nose. I'd hated Kiest since the seventh grade, and the pain of the bones breaking in my hand was cathartic. I couldn't blame him for what he and Trudy had done, but he owned this visit to my house.

He took a dazed step back and inspected the blood on his clothes. He still had a couple of inches and at least thirty pounds on me, so I knew I needed to keep the initiative. I hit him again, this time in the throat. He retaliated, but I was ready and took only a glancing blow. My right hand was in too much pain to hit him again, so I tried with my left. He easily blocked it, then landed a blow of his own. We exchanged blows for only a few minutes before we began grappling on the blood-slick floor. There was no biting or hair pulling, so I guess you could call it a clean fight, but there were no holds barred. Exhausted and gasping for breath, I ended up sitting on the floor with my back to the oven. His back was to the refrigerator.

He spit out a mouthful of blood and said, "You think you're some shit with your hot wife and fancy house. But you're not so much. Your wife came on to me. She wanted a real man. A man who could satisfy her."

I spit out my own mouthful of blood. I wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind, and I didn't have the breath to say it even if it did.

"Do you know what she calls you? She says you're a wuss. She says she's married to a wuss. Do you think a woman like that should be married to a wuss?"

"Did she say that I was a wuss, or that I was her wuss?"

"A wuss is a wuss, and you are a wuss."

He knew the words, but he didn't appreciate what they meant.

"Out of all the guys at the bar she chose me. She said that she remembered me from school. What do you think of that wuss? She's been thinking about me since we were in junior high!"

I struggled to recover. I desperately wanted to hit him again.

"Did you know she was cheating on you?" He read my expression and said, "You knew! You're a fucking cuckold bitch!"

He was right again. The image of me shaving her pussy for him sprang to my mind. I struggled to get up, but didn't have the strength. So I racked my brain for a verbal counter. By fucking my wife, he had me at a disadvantage, but I did the best I could by calling him a dropout and a loser.

We were there, on the kitchen floor, insulting each other when Trudy and Cindy came home. Cindy rushed to console me, while Trudy stood back and considered the situation. I'd hoped that she would tell him what a worthless piece of shit he was, but she didn't.

Instead she looked down on him and said, "Did I give you permission to come here?"

He replied with a hesitant, "No."

"Then why are you here?"

"I thought..."

She interrupted him, "Did I give you permission to think?"

Again he replied, "No."

"If I had wanted you to come here I would have told you. I know where to find you when I need you. Now go, and don't come back here again."

Despite the pain of my hands, my broken nose and my busted ribs, I fixated on the word 'when'. It implied that there would be another time and that I would have to endure this again. It was obvious to me now that I had no idea what I was getting into when I said I was ready.

I spent Saturday letting my wounds heal. Both of my hands were in casts and my nose covered with a stiff bandage. I watched TV while I tried to eavesdrop on Trudy and Cindy, who were talking at the kitchen table. They had checked me out of the hotel and moved me back into Trudy's bed.

Cindy was obviously disillusioned by her mother's behavior. She pressed for a rational explanation or an apology or at the very least a response that she could understand. Trudy tried to explain that sometimes all of the options were compromises, and that the choices she made wouldn't make sense until Cindy had seen the world through her eyes.

Cindy said, "Explain it to me mom. I really want to know."

Trudy protested, but Cindy continued, "Please tell me, I promise I won't judge you."

Eventually Trudy relented and told of the pain that she craved in my eyes. Cindy didn't say anything and I couldn't see her reaction.

That night in bed Trudy all but raped me. She'd been primed and ready for sex for over a week and wasn't going to take no for an answer. I really didn't want to fuck her, but in all our years of marriage she had never said no to me, so I let it happen. She started by stroking my cock while kneeling at my side. Once she got the response she wanted, she leaned over and dangled her gorgeous tit over my mouth.

I stretched to suck it in. Once I had it, I began to nibble at the nipple. All the while, she stroked my surging cock, forcing it to an erection despite the damaged state of my body. Once it was hard enough, she swung a leg across me and brought her pussy down hard upon it.

I just laid there on the bed while she did all the work. As usual, the lights were on, and she spent the whole time looking into my eyes. I don't know if the physical pain in my body compounded the emotional pain in my eyes, but her cunt was dripping like I had never seen it. Each pass of her pussy down my shaft forced more fluid onto my balls.

She came with a loud cry that might have woken the neighbors, but I was certain that Cindy heard it. For me her orgasm was bittersweet. I was glad that she was finally satisfied, but I was certain that it wasn't worth the price.

The next morning I woke up late and found Cindy and Trudy in the living room talking. Cindy's flight was in a couple of hours and Trudy suggested that I drive her. "It will give you two a chance to chat."

I might have protested based on the condition of my hands, but I wanted to spend some time alone with my daughter so I agreed. She drove, and for the first few minutes we sat in silence. Then she said, "Dad, if I tell you some stuff, will you promise not to judge me?"

"Of course sweetie, I'm your father. I'll always be on your side."

"And there's some stuff I really want to know. Will you please be honest with me?"

"I'll try. I promise I won't lie to you."