Ashes to Ashes and Dust to Dust

For his last birthday, the last gift she bought him before her death, she gave him a striped shirt that she loved. Yet, because the shirt was green with yellow horizontal stripes, it made his pot belly look like a watermelon and he never wore it. Determined to go on a diet and lose enough weight, so that he could wear the shirt that she so loved, he never did.

Just as she was, when they first met, she was big into helping to save the planet and preserve the environment. Before recycling was the norm, she took it upon herself to be responsible for establishing recycling drives and helping to clean up the town streets of trash, mainly bottles and cans. She was instrumental in changing how he and others thought about the planet. Not even returning his empty beer cans for their deposits, he didn't think he'd recycle a damn thing, had it not been for her. More than thirty years ago, when people are just now embracing recycling, she was ahead of her time.

Just as she met Henry at an Earth Day event 31 years ago, she met John last year, too. Twenty years her junior, he didn't know that they were lovers. He'd never suspect his wife of having an affair, especially with a man young enough to be her son. In the way she loved him, he'd never suspect she'd cheat on him. How could she be unfaithful, when he trusted her with his life. The mother of their three children, she was his loving wife. If he couldn't trust her, who could he trust? When she broke that trust and ripped that bond, he was devastated. Then, when she untied their knot of forever love, by falling in love with another man, he was broken. Filled with revenge and a mad man's rage that he's never felt, he was insane with retribution and revenge.

Now that he's old, bald, and fat, he's not much competition for a young, good looking, 28-year-old guy with a body as hard as his cock. To say that he was hurt, angry, and jealous that she had cheated on him, especially with a man twenty years her junior, is a gross understatement. Every time he thought of Kathryn sucking and fucking this young stud, he was enraged enough to kill.

After he heard they were intimate, he was preoccupied with imagining them together. He couldn't eat. He couldn't sleep. He made stupid mistakes at work. Knowing how sexually adventurous Kathryn was, when he was working at digging holes in the cemetery and filling them in after the funeral with dirt, he couldn't help but imagine John was working at digging his way in her life and filling in her holes in his bedroom, living room, bathroom, basement, his man cave, and in the kitchen. Then, when he found residues of baking flour beneath the stove, the refrigerator, and under the legs of the kitchen table, he knew that Kathryn had recreated the Postman Always Rings Twice scene with John, too.

How could she? That was their special sexual scene, their private time together, and their memory. Along with everything else, she smashed that memory of that for him, too. Ruined, it was all ruined. They were together for 30 years, his whole life was devoted to her. Now, none of it mattered. Nothing mattered. Feeling nothing and caring about nothing, as if suddenly a zombie, but not allowing himself to fall over, he was the walking dead.

It enraged him, when he imagined that John not only saw his wife naked but also felt, caressed, sucked, and licked her everywhere that no man should ever touch another man's woman, especially when that woman is his wife. He didn't understand how someone could cheat, lie, and have an extramarital affair. They took a vow to love, honor, and to be faithful, 'til death do they part. Well, now that she's dead, indeed, they parted. Officially, their marriage is over.

Once he heard that Kathryn was having an affair, there wasn't a room in his house, where he could find peace and comfort that wasn't violated by the imagined image of her having sex with John. If he went in the bathroom, he thought of Kathryn having sex with John at the bathroom sink. When he took a shower, he imagined him fucking her there, too. When he sat on his toilet, he imagined her sucking John's cock and him cumming on her tits, just as she had sucked his cock and allowed him to cum on her tits, so many times before. So livid with rage, so angry that he saw red, he couldn't think straight.

When he went in the kitchen, he imagined Kathryn fucking John on the kitchen table, in the bedroom on his bed, in the living room on the living room carpet, down the cellar on his pool table, in the garage on his workbench, and in her car, while parked in the driveway. No matter where he went in that damn, God forsaken house, he couldn't stop himself from thinking of Kathryn fucking and sucking John. Then, he started finding things. He found a pair of gloves in the front hall that wasn't his gloves. There was a half finished cigar in the ashtray and his beers, even after he just bought some, were routinely missing.

He was devastated. Kathryn, the love of his life, his baby, and the mother of their children, was fucking and sucking another man. How could she do that to him? Why would she do that to him and to them?

It was a small town and John and Kathryn had been seen around town together holding hands and kissing. With not much else to do in a small town, where everyone knows everyone, people were talking and the gossip finally reached him. Just as husbands are always the first suspected of foul play, when a loved one dies suddenly, husbands are always the last ones to know when their wives are unfaithful. Not a man to sweep things under the rug, he confronted Kathryn's lover and John was a brazen bastard about their sexual affair. If he had a gun, he would have shot him dead right there.

He couldn't believe it, when he saw John wearing the shirt that Kathryn had bought him for his birthday, the one that she so loved, the green one with the yellow stripes. It made him look fat but the shirt fit John's muscular body perfectly and made him look hot. Nonetheless, a birthday gift from his wife, that was his shirt and not John's. She gave it to John because he didn't wear it and he had planned on wearing it, as soon as he lost some weight. How could she re-gift him his birthday shirt? If he was a younger man, he would have torn it off of him.

"Yeah, so I'm banging your wife and she's on her knees sucking my cock," said John with a face full of disrespect and defiance. "So what?" He laughed and his laugh was loud enough and mean enough to make Henry quake with what he planned to do. He had the kind of laugh that no judge and no jury would convict him for killing such an evil man. "What are you going to do about it, fatso?"

The movie Bugsy with the scene where Warren Beatty, playing Bugsy Siegel confronts Joey Adonis, played by Lewis Van Bergen, for disrespecting his fiancé, Virginia Hill, played by Annette Bening, flashed through his mind. In the movie, Bugsy tells Joey to show him his cock. When, Joey is reluctant to expose himself, Bugsy pulls down his own fly first and reaches his hand inside. While Joey's attention is diverted and he's looking down watching, Bugsy hits him with a sucker punch followed by a barrage of knees to the face. Henry wished he was man enough to do that now to his wife's lover. He wished he could beat the crap out of him. Only, physically, he was no match for him.

Digging his own grave without his help, Henry couldn't believe the audacity of this young stud. Actually, he was right, there wasn't much that he could do about him having an affair with his wife. Not now, anyway. John was younger than him by twenty years and much stronger than him but, to his favor, having lived life longer, Henry was smarter and wiser than him.

"I'll fix him," he said to himself. "I will. He'll be sorry he ever looked at my wife, never mind touched her, kissed her, and fucked her."

Digging is what Henry does and after doing some digging of his own, he discovered that no one liked or trusted this John guy. A newcomer to his beloved, small town, he was viewed as a stranger and an interloper. Rather than have a public altercation, one that he'd lose, no doubt, and one that would put him in a bad light with the townsfolk, make the police take unduly notice of him, and, with nothing much else to write about, maybe even make the front page of the local Tribune, he confronted his wife. Still not totally believing his wife was cheating on him, totally in love with his wife to trust her enough to give her the benefit of the doubt, he needed to hear from her lips that she was having an affair with this asshole.

Maybe with flowers, a bottle of wine, some hot sex, and some understanding and forgiveness on his part, after seeing a marriage counselor and talking to their priest, they could get through this rough patch of her sudden infidelity and be happy again for the next thirty years. He's big enough to accept some of the responsibility of her cheating. Maybe he hasn't been as attentive and as affectionate as he was in the past and obviously still needs to be now. Maybe hormonally, she's just going through something.

Still in love with her, even though he'd never cheat on her, he'd never forget how she hurt him. Yet, he was willing to forgive her. Only, thinking it was just a sexual affair, when he scratched beneath the surface, he discovered that it was much more serious than that. It was love.

"Sit on the sofa with me, so that we can talk, Kathryn. Tell me what happened between you and this John guy," he said calmly. "I need to hear it from you and in your words."

"I'm sorry, Henry," she said wringing her hands, while looking down at her lap. "He blanked my mind with his kisses. It was the kind of kiss that you used to give me, so long ago," she said finally looking up at him and making eye contact, but not with sad eyes but with happy ones that showed she was in love, but not with him.

So, she kissed him. That's okay. It's just a kiss, no big deal, he thought. I'm always kissing my dog and that doesn't mean I'd have sex with Buster. She probably just kissed this guy and that's all there is to it and nothing more than that, he thought in a feeble attempt to convince himself otherwise.

"So you made out with this guy? I can understand how you were lonely and with him being so much younger than you, you felt flattered. I get it. I really do. Between my job at the cemetery and volunteering as a fireman, I haven't been home much lately."

"You're gone from morning to night, Henry. During that time and in that separation, we've grown apart," she said in a quiet, albeit detached voice.

"I realize that I haven't given you the attention and the affection that you obviously still need and I'm sorry that I neglected you, Kathryn. I'm sorry. It's all my fault that you had to find that kind of sexual comfort elsewhere. Please forgive me," said Henry biting his tongue, but willing to say and do anything to get his wife back in his life.

"With you unable to maintain an erection, Henry, it's been a while since you've sexually satisfied me in the way that John does and can."

Until John, both virgins, just as she was the only woman that he's ever known sexually, he was only man she's ever known sexually and he couldn't believe that she'd actually have sex with anyone else but him. Even though he heard his wife say the phrase sexually satisfy, he felt hurt that she'd blame her having an affair on his inability to maintain an erection. He took that as a direct affront to his ego and, after all the years she spent fortifying his confidence with positive thoughts, he couldn't believe how emasculated she suddenly made him feel.

For good or for bad, through sickness and in health, that's not fair and no reason that she'd used him not being able to maintain an erection as an excuse and as justification to have sex with another man outside of their marriage. If she, God forbid, had breast cancer and they removed her breasts, is that his green light to be with another woman, one who had tits? Not in his book. He'd never hurt her in the way she just hurt him.

"Okay, now that I know your reason for cheating, we can fix what's wrong. I'll get the doc to give me a diet plan to follow and a prescription for Viagra. Also, I plan on quitting my volunteer fireman job and taking some time off from digging graves. We haven't had a real vacation in a while and I have several weeks of vacation time coming to me. Maybe we can go to Vegas or wherever you want to go. We can visit your sister in California."

"It was more than just kissing, Henry," she said still showing happiness and excitement rather than sadness and remorse.

"There's more? What else? What else do you want to tell me? Tell me everything. Let's clear the air. You may as well get it all out now, so that we can start with a clean slate later."

Only, it was obvious to him now that Kathryn didn't want to start with a clean slate, at least, not with him.

"He made me so hot, Henry, when he started feeling my breasts and fingering my nipples through my blouse and my bra," she said, as if apologizing to him, finally, instead of rubbing it in his face, which was what she did anyway. "Then, when he put my hand on his cock and I felt his big, hard prick through his pants, especially after you haven't been able to maintain an erection lately, I was so aroused that I allowed him to go up beneath my blouse, lift up my bra, and take out my tits."

"We can get through this," he said in a defeated whisper. "I'll do anything to make it right. I promise I'll be a better husband."

"Oh, my God, Henry, I was so wet, so very wet," she said, as if talking to a girlfriend, instead of her husband. Then, as if he wasn't even there in the room, she closed her eyes and grabbed herself, as if she was about to play with herself. Then, her eyes popped open, in the way that he imagined her nipples hardened, when John touched her tits. "I was as wet as I used to get with you, so very long ago, Henry. I swear, I thought I was going to have an orgasm, when he started sucking my nipples, while going up my skirt and fingering my pussy through my panty."

There's his inability to maintain an erection again. For sure, without doubt, he'll go see the doctor on Monday and have him prescribe some Viagra. Okay, thought Henry quietly to himself, so they did a little touchy feely, as if a couple of horny teenagers at a movie. So what? That's no big deal. She's still my wife. We can get past this.

"So, let me get this straight, Kathryn," he said looking at her, while suspecting that this guy probably forced himself on her. "So, while kissing this, John guy, he felt you up, felt your tits, sucked your nipples, and fingered your pussy through your panties, while forcing you to fondle his cock through his pants. Is that right?"

"Yes, except for forcing me to fondle his cock. I wanted to feel his cock, Henry. I needed to feel his cock. It's been such a long time, since I felt a hard cock and I so wanted to touch him," she said resting her hand on his knee. "To be honest, Henry, with your cock the only prick I've seen and felt in my hand, and with you no longer able to get an erection, I was curiously excited to know what his hard cock felt like and looked like."

Flashing red with clanging sounds, in the way his firehouse does, when there's a five alarm fire, his brain was a pinball machine that nearly went on tilt. He just wanted to punch her in her face. Now he understood how Mel Gibson could lose his temper, along with his mind, over his live-in ex-girlfriend, Oksana Grigorieva. Whether accidental or on purpose they all knew which buttons to push and when to push them.

When he looked at her now, he saw John touching and sucking her tits, and fingering her pussy through her panties, while she fondled his hard cock through his pants. The image flooded his brain, as if he was watching their disgusting sexual video on a wide screen TV and he couldn't see anything else. Still, knowing that she wasn't big on blowjobs, even though he knew that she hadn't, he needed to ask her the big question. Feeling a bit awkwardly embarrassed asking his loving wife and the mother of his children this question, not yet even thinking of her as a cheating wife, but just a touchy feely wife, while knowing full well that she'd never do that with anyone but him, he asked the question anyway.

"Did you blow him, Kathryn?"

"You know me, Henry, once I start kissing," she said with an uncomfortable smile. "One thing quickly led to another. French kissing, as if we were teenagers at a Prom, he touched me in all those places where you used to touch me. He made me feel wanted, needed, and desired. He made me so wet, Henry. I was so wet and so horny that I'd do anything."

Anything? What did she mean by anything? She still didn't answer his question, but he let it slide for now. Fearing he'd hear her give him a different answer, even though he needed to know, he didn't want to know, if she blew him.

"Did he finger fuck you?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation, as if she was excitedly talking to him about redecorating the house and was eager to share the her ideas with him.

Gees, that bastard had his fingers in my wife's pussy, he thought. He's gonna pay for that. I'll make him suffer for that. I surely will. He'll be sorry.

"Did he give you an orgasm with his fingers?"

"Yes," she said squirming and fluttering her eyelids, as if just the words orgasm made her think of John fingering her pussy.

He was afraid to ask the question, but he did anyway.

"With his mouth?"

"Yes," she said suddenly closing her eyes, putting her head back, and putting her hand to her breast. "Oh, my God, Henry. I've never cum so hard, as when he was eating my pussy." Then, when she opened her eyes and seeing the hurt and angry look on his face, no doubt, she apologized. "I'm sorry, Henry."

Only, her apology was as empty as their marriage and as cold as their bed had been recently. He wanted to backhand her, but didn't. Never could he hurt the love of his life in the way she was hurting him now. Figuring she was going through the change of life, he never pushed her for sex, but he never figured she was getting what she needed from someone else. Having already gone past the point of no return, he was losing his patience, along with his temper. He could only control his temper for so long and never has he had to confront the fact that his wife was nothing but a cheating, fucking whore.

"With his cock?"

"Yes," she said looking at him wide-eyed, as if he was the image of John's cock. "We make love, Henry, but he fucks me, really pounds me. Oh, my God, Henry, he has such stamina. He's a fucking fuck machine. I've never sweated, while having sex, but I do with him. He's such a generous and experienced lover."

"Just answer me this. Other than me, was John the only man you've been intimate?"

"Good God, Henry. Yes, he's the only other one. What do you think I am?"

"To be honest, I don't know anymore and I'm trying to figure that out, Kathryn. Suddenly, I don't know who you are, but I'm beginning to get a good idea of what you are."

"I'm still me, Henry," she said touching his hand, but he pulled away from her touch, as if her hand was on fire.

"So, he fucked you?"

"Actually, to be honest, Henry, after he fucked me those first few times, I fucked him."

They fucked more than a few times? They had sexual intercourse. That bastard had his cock in my wife's pussy. That no good, dirty, son of a bitch whore fucked my wife. Just wait. I'll fix him. Just wait. I'll fix him good, he thought to himself.

Tense with anger, quaking with rage, it took all the control he had not to explode. Still, already knowing that she didn't, she'd never blow him, she barely blows him, he still needed to ask her the question. He didn't know why a blowjob was so important and so symbolic of her infidelity, but it was and he still needed to hear the answer from her mouth.