tagLoving WivesBest Moment to Nightmare and Back

Best Moment to Nightmare and Back


One of the greatest moments of my life was about to happen, as I stood just off to the side of my wife and watched the doctor deliver our second child, our first son. The head crowned and with a final yell and push from my wife, Traci, the Oriental baby came out of her wound and into the doctor's waiting hands.

The room got instantly silent, except for the heavy breathing of my exhausted wife. The doctor and the two nurses didn't actually look at me, rather I saw them each take a furtive glance at me, while I stood there in total shock, with my mouth wide open behind the surgical mask I was wearing. I think my eyes might have been bugging out of my head, too.

Not that there was anything wrong with the baby. He seemed to be perfect in every way as one of the nurses cleaned him up - except for the fact that he was Oriental. My wife comes from Scandinavian stock and I'm a typical Eastern European mix, and neither one of us has Oriental anywhere in our DNA.

The nurse who had cleaned him up went to hand the child to me, but I backed up like she was carrying a package of dog shit. She then took him to my wife, who by now had been straightened up a bit by the other nurse, and handed him to her, who looked at him with glassy eyes, gave him a kiss and hugged him to her half-gowned body. To this point no one had said a word since the birth.

Feeling light-headed, I looked for a chair. Finding none, I decided the floor of the delivery room was as good a place as any to pass out.

I don't know how long I was out, but when I came to I was on a bed across the room from Traci, who was sitting up with the baby cuddled in tight to her. Traci had a smile on her face, and from what I could hear was softly humming a lullaby. Before I could get up, the nurse that tried to hand me the baby was leaning over me, talking in hushed but very definite tones.

"If you're going to start something, I'll throw your ass right out of this hospital, right now," she said. "This is not the time nor place for this. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied numbly.

Despite my head feeling like I'd been sleeping in a blender and my stomach feeling like I'd been gut-punched, I got myself out of the bed and staggered out of the room and over to the nearest nurses' station.

"I'm Sam Long," I said to the first nurse who approached. "My wife just had our baby - a baby - and I want to make sure that I am not listed as the father on the birth certificate. If I am, then I will sue this hospital for everything I can get on the grounds of you folks helping to perpetuate a hoax."

"Betty, this is the guy," the first nurse said to someone behind her.

A matronly looking woman with short brown hair and glasses came up to the counter, giving me a look that showed both pity and disgust.

"We understand Mr. Long. Unless we can confirm that you are the father, we will not put your name on the birth certificate. By the way, would you like to take a DNA test now? I can have someone take you to our lab. You cannot be eliminated as the father until a DNA test confirms that, despite what the baby looks like. One of you could have Oriental DNA without knowing it."

"I've been DNA tested, and I don't even have a trace of Oriental in my heritage," I stated flatly. "And my wife is just about the whitest white girl you will ever meet. So let's get me over to the lab right now."

Because of the situation, they said they were going to rush the results and would find out tomorrow what I already knew today. In the meantime, there was this little matter ...

My heart was crushed. One minute I'm expecting the arrival of my second child, the next minute I've been slapped in the face with my wife's infidelity - in front of an audience, no less. We still hadn't talked since the birth, which occurred about six hours ago. I hadn't gone back to the room since I awoke from passing out. I'm not sure I'd be able to stop myself from doing or saying something really ugly. I've never hit a woman in my life, but right now, slapping the shit out of my cheating whore wife sounds really appealing. Spending some time in jail for doing it doesn't seem that bad, either.

Instead, I went home to an empty house. Our 3-year-old daughter, Anna, is staying with my in-laws a couple of towns over, so when I got to the house at about 7 p.m. it was just the dog and me. I sat there in the family room (ha!) with just a single light on, sipping bourbon from a shot glass.

Three shots later my cell phone rang. I assumed it would be Traci, but when I looked at the number I saw it was the in-laws. What could they possibly have to say, except to apologize for their daughter being a cheating slut. I picked it up one ring before it went to voice mail.

"Sam, we know what you're probably thinking," my mother-in-law began, "But let's all be rational about this. Larry and I are sure there's got to be a good explanation."

"Mom, you know there's no good explanation to this. I'm sorry to be the one to say this out loud to you, but apparently you raised a cheating whore."

There was a long silence at the other end of the line. Then my mother-in-law hissed at me, "Well, don't go do something stupid!"

I hung up. I didn't need this shit from her. I'm not the one who broke my wedding vows.

I poured another shot and began to sip it down. Life sure has a funny way of slapping you around.

I was 32 years old, worked for a successful IT company and made a good living. Traci, my wife of nine years, was also 32, and she also made a good living working for a large financial services company. We met halfway through college and had been inseparable since then. We married a year out of school, bought a nice house in a nice neighborhood two years after that and four years later had Anna, named after my late mother.

We each had our work and our hobbies, but we spent large amounts of time together because we both enjoyed each other's company. I would have said that we were each other's best friend, but at least from her standpoint that apparently isn't true. You don't do to a best friend - let alone a husband - what Traci did to me.

Even after having the first baby, Traci was still a looker with a killer body, long blond hair, beautiful blue eyes and an upbeat personality. She is the kind of person who draws people to her.

I had several more shots before I finally fell asleep on the sofa. No sense going up to our bed - our marital bed - considering I didn't have a marriage anymore. The dog woke me at his usual morning potty break time, 6 a.m., and then after doing that I went back to sleep. I finally roused at about 9, slightly hung over, somewhat confused, and still raging angry. I called my immediate boss, and before I could say anything, he asked me how it felt to be a dad twice. I calmly told him my tale of woe, and told him I needed to take the last two days of the week off for personal reasons. I had the time saved up, and he completely understood.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I really am," he said with genuine sadness in his voice.

I checked my phone before heading into the shower. Still no call from Traci. Probably just as well. After getting cleaned up, I called Stan Wise, an old friend and an attorney, told him my story and set up an appointment for next week. Then I got in the car and headed over to the hospital.

I still wasn't sure what I was going to say to Traci, but those thoughts went out the window when I got up to her room and her parents and Anna were there. They all looked at me when I got to the doorway, and Anna made a dash to me and hugged my legs.

"Missed you, Daddy, Have you seen my new baby brother?"

"Yes, I have, Sweetie. Are you being a good girl for Grandma and Grandpa?" I inquired.

"Yes, I am Daddy. We're having lots of fun," she replied.

"Great. Well you continue to be a good girl and I'll see you in a few days."

I then motioned for my in-laws to take Anna and leave the room. On the way out, Larry put his hand on my arm and spoke quietly. "Be cool and be smart," he warned.

"I'm so cool I'm not even armed," I replied back, knowing that Larry knew I owned two pistols and was quite proud of my proficiency with them at the range.

Larry and Alma gathered up Anna and left the room, leaving Traci and I alone. The baby was breastfeeding off of her right boob. I walked up closer to the bed, but stopped about five feet away. I didn't look at the kid; I didn't go over and give Traci so much as a peck on the cheek. I just stood there, my eyes locked on hers for about 10 seconds before she finally broke contact and looked away. That feeling of wanting to smack the shit out of her was returning quickly.

"Really, Traci? Not even a heads up? You had, what, seven months to warn me. What, couldn't find the time in your busy life?"

I never raised my voice, nor took my eyes off of her face for a second. She looked up briefly, switched the suckling baby to the other breast, and immediately put her eyes back down.

"I was hoping it was yours," she whispered. "Or at least looked like me."

"I'll bet you were, you cheating whore. So who's is it, and how long has this been going on?"

She gave me a brief flicker of a look before putting her eyes back down. I think she was trying to gauge my anger before telling me anything.

"It's Victor Komatsu's son," she said almost defiantly. "We've been seeing each other for about a year and a half. I'm in love with him."

"You mean the boy-genius boss. He's like what, 23 years old? Him?" I spluttered.

The kid in question is Traci's boss. He's an MIT graduate, and apparently been tagged with "rising superstar" status at her company.

"I'll shoot his fucking dick off," I said, my voice now rising a bit in volume as I struggled to contain my composure.

"No, you won't," Traci said forcefully, looking me square in the face for the first time since the initial staredown.

"And why not? I answered back just as forcefully.

"Because apparently you weren't paying attention to what I said earlier. I'm in love with him."

"Oh, no, you apparently think he gets a free pass because you, my wife, are in love with him? You're my wife, so anyone you're in love with not named Sam Long is a piece of shit in my book, and gets no fucking free passes."

"Sam, he loves me and I love him. You can't change that. I screwed up, Sam, I should have told you, but you can't change how we feel about each other. After you divorce me, he and I will get married."

"So when exactly did he replace me in your love. And is that why you fucked him bareback, intending for this to happen so you could shove me out the door quickly?"

I could see the wheels turning in her head as she was trying to figure out what to tell me and to not set me off. Then she gave a small sigh, and started spilling.

"It started off as innocent flirting. Then it progressed to enjoying a few dinners together. I never planned on sleeping with him. That just sort of happened."

"So you just thought it was some innocent fun, and never figured out that a married woman with a family shouldn't be enjoying dinners with a single man," I interjected.

She raised an eyebrow at me, then continued, "At first we used condoms when we had sex, and while the sex was great, it just never felt right, so we abandoned those in favor of bareback. We tried to be careful with our timing, but apparently we weren't as careful as we thought."

"But I thought things between us were good, even great, and I know the sex was fantastic, unless you were faking those screaming orgasms," I said.

"Things were good between us, Sam," she said. "And the sex was fantastic. I never faked anything with you. It's just that I found someone who made me feel a little more special, a little more fantastic. It's like the age old philosophical question: what do you do when you meet the person of your dreams and you're already happily married?"

"So you throw away nine good years for 'a little more special, a little more fantastic?' And you do it like this? Like this? Really? If you cared for me at all, Traci, you couldn't have done this. This was absolutely shitty. You might as well have driven a truck over me at a crowded intersection. I can't even begin to describe the looks I got in the delivery room. They think I'm pathetic, and you're a slut of the highest order."

As I turned to walk out the door, I bumped into one Victor Komatsu. When I realized who it was, I grabbed him hard by his suit jacket and flung him against a bulletin board on the wall. The board came crashing down, Komatsu's jacket ripped and he tumbled to the floor.

"Stay the hell away from me, you fucking bastard!" I screamed as two nurses headed into the room. I walked out.

The divorce went relatively quickly because we split everything we had, except for Anna. Traci as the mother naturally got Anna, with me getting every other weekend visits and a month in the summer. There was to be no alimony because we made about the same money, but of course I had to pay healthy child support.

I didn't say a word to Traci during any of the proceedings, but I had my lawyer make sure the judge knew exactly the circumstances of my humiliation. That's probably what got me the month in the summer with Anna, because even the judge recoiled when he heard about the delivery room bullshit.

Traci and Dickhead didn't get married until a year after the divorce, I found out from some friends who had retained my friendship as well as hers. While I really didn't solicit the news, I did find that interesting, based on how much she said they were in love.

I dated some over the next few years, and wound up having sex with most of those I dated, but I never really got anywhere near considering marriage again. I just wasn't going to do it without feeling that real spark, but to be truthful, the ending with Traci took a lot out of me, and I was not sure that I could ever trust a women unconditionally again.

My time spent with my daughter was always a blast. I made sure that nothing was going to interfere with my time with my Anna. I made sure she got my full attention when we were together, and we did a lot of together things like fishing, going to ballgames, even getting our hair streaked the same color one time.

Traci stopped working about a year after she and Dickhead married because the bastard was promoted to vice president and was given a huge pay increase. I heard this from several friends, but my daughter, in her innocence, was passing along this information to me with her news about how great her new toys were, or what the family did on its last vacation. I never asked for any information about her mother or the family, and since I was doing well myself, I didn't begrudge Traci and Dickhead doing well, even better than me. What I didn't hear from Anna, however, was how much fun she had with her parents, or about them playing games and actually doing things together. From what I could surmise, both Traci and Dickhead doted on the baby, and Anna seemed to get the leftover love.


I was in the mood for something different when I stopped in a new pub for a drink or two and a sandwich after work on a Wednesday night. The place was fairly new, having opening maybe a couple of years ago, seemed clean and was fairly well-lit for a bar/restaurant. There were about 30 patrons in the place when I walked in, with about five at the bar and the rest at tables. There seemed to be a lot of women paired off, and as I settled in to a bar stool I noticed many seemed to be sitting intimately close, as opposed to just being seated randomly at tables. And then it dawned on me: not only was I sitting in a gay bar, but to be more precise I was sitting in a lesbian bar.

"Well, so much for making a pick-up here," I thought.

But considering I wasn't out trolling for any action, I decided the place met my main requirement of clean with good lighting. So I ordered a bourbon and a pot roast sandwich, and kind of watched the others as more people started coming in.

I had been there an hour when a couple of women sat down next to me at the bar. At first they were talking to each other while I watched the TV over the bar, then they dropped their voices a bit and started whispering to each other, occasionally looking over at me and giggling. They were good looking women, I'll give them that, but after five minutes or so of this giggly routine, I finally had enough.

"Look, if I've got barbecue sauce on my face or toilet paper on my shoe, just tell me about it, and stop the schoolgirl giggling stuff. You two are killing me," I said in my friendliest tone, and that's how I met the women who would become my best friends, and as close to me as family outside of my daughter.

"We're sorry. We didn't mean to be rude, but I guess we were," said the one closest to me, who introduced herself as "Butch." The other one also apologized, and introduced herself as "Sundance."

"Like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, from the movie," I said, and they both laughed.

"Sort of," replied Sundance.

"You do realize this is a gay bar, and you're not going to get lucky here," Butch said. "That's why we were giggling. You're so obviously straight, and you're so obviously in the wrong place."

"I'm not sure if I've just been insulted or complimented, or both," I responded back. "Why can't a straight guy just hang out in a neat place like this, with good food, by the way, and not be trying to get lucky?"

If I were trying to get lucky, either one of the two would be a good choice, I thought. Butch had long brown hair, a beautiful face and the body of a Greek goddess, while Sundance was a flaming redhead with alabaster skin, long legs and, if Butch was a "10," then she was a "9.5."

"So, stranger, tell us your name and your story," Butch said to me while looking into my soul with her big brown eyes. How could I not?

So for reasons I am still not sure of, I proceeded to tell both 30-somethings the tale of my life from the time of Traci's screwing me to the present, nine years later. They both listened intently, looking appropriately horrified at the right times. When I was done, I felt tremendously relieved, I have to admit.

By this point, I was buying, and we'd all had a few, so at that point I asked them to tell me their stories. They both admitted easily they were lesbians, and had been a couple for a little more than five years. Butch was an attorney by trade, and told me that while she had tried guys for several years, she finally admitted to herself she was gay in her early 20s, and has never looked back. Sundance, a medical tech, said she knew from the time she was 15 she had a much deeper attraction to girls than boys, but she had tried out a few boys just to make sure.

We talked like we'd known each other for years. At about 10, however, the ladies got up to leave, citing their job commitments, but before they left I asked them if they would mind if I showed up again and we talked some more.

"We come in every Wednesday night for sure, and sometimes on Saturdays," said Sundance, "And we're good with you as long as you don't mind being the only straight single male in the place, which means you might get hit on occasionally. Be cool with that and show some class."

"I've got it," I nodded.

I started showing up on Wednesday nights and the three of us ate, drank and discussed everything under the sun. Sometimes we'd be joined by others from the regular bar crowd, sometimes by friends not regulars but stopping by for a visit. When Butch and Sundance were there, there was no topic untouchable. Sometimes my being the only straight single male in the group made me the "expert" on certain subjects, sometimes it made me the butt of jokes, but the relationships were real and I enjoyed The Royal Crown crowd tremendously; so much so, that I started hanging out with several of the crowd outside of the bar, and even introduced my daughter to several. This was the closest I had come to having any kind of family since the divorce, even if we didn't all have the same "stripes."

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