Betrayed

"Also of course," I said. "Marianne, what are you trying to say?"

"Jimmy, I really liked it. I'd kinda like to do it again, at least..." she stopped in mid-message.

"What? You want us to have another go at it? Do it again with some other guy?" I said.

"Well..."

"Well, what?" I said. "I mean we can talk about it. I'm not against it totally. But, well, we did make a promise to ourselves not to do it more than the once. It was supposed to be a onetime deal."

"Yes, I know. But this time...Jim this time it would be me alone. You wouldn't..." I think I paled, then flushed.

"What!" I almost screamed. She quailed. "The answer is a flat no! Not a chance! You do that and it ends us. Got it!"

"Jimmy..."

"Who did you plan to do it with, just for the record?"

"Jimmy, please don't yell. It would only be for a short time. He's in town again, and..."

"Marcus? Marcus Williams?" I was still blowing out the walls.

"Jimmy please! Please don't yell," she said. I was progressing from angry to insane with rage

"Pack your bags, Marianne, you no longer live here," I said, and I stormed out.

******

I drove around for literally hours. I didn't stop even to pee. Finally, there was no holding it back; I had to go; some things won't wait.

Spike's Bar and Grill had bathrooms; I used the men's. The place was busy even at noon: lunch crowd, I supposed, the food must have been good. There was a seat at the bar. I took it, ordered a straight shot of Cuervo Silver, and settled in. I was fuming and the Mexican elixir had always been there for me when I was, fuming that is. The barkeep dropped by periodically to see how I was doing. Around three o'clock he asked me for my keys; I gave them to him.

"I'll get you a cab, man, when you're ready," he said. I nodded without saying anything. I had no place I had to be, and I just wanted the traitorous bitch I'd married to be gone and away from me. Of course you knew that it wasn't going to be as easy as that.

Around 5:00PM I was delivered to my house. Things were kinda blurry, and kinda mellow; and those were the good things. I somehow managed to get my uncoordinated physicality into the house, challenge though it was.

"Jimmy! Where have you been? I have been worried sick!" said Marianne.

"Yeah right," I said, not quite sneering. "What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to get out. We're done."

"Jim, this is my house too. You can't just kick me out, and we need to talk; and, we're going to," she said. "And, we are by no means done."

In my inebriated state it was hard to press my side of the issue.

The, "...we have to talk," shit she'd laid on me turned out to be more of a, "she talked" kind of thing; there was virtually no input from me. I actually started to nod off a couple of times. She was having none of that though; I got periodically shaken pretty good to keep me on point whether I liked it or not. Some little time later; I had no idea exactly how long; she finally got to the bottom line.

"So okay, Jim, that's all I have to say. I get it. I won't ask anymore. You win. There will be no repeat with Marcus or anyone else. Satisfied?" she said.

I heard her, and I think I tried to smile. "I feed to fleep. I tire," I said.

I stumbled up the stairs and made it to the bathroom, that just before an estimated seven Cuervos on the rocks brought about an intestinal revolution—or maybe it was a revulsion—that caused me to spend a deal of time worshipping at the porcelain altar.

Marianne stood just inside the door to the bathroom the whole time watching me retch my guts out. She said nothing. I think she was sympathetic to my plight, but this was one ordeal that she could do little to help me with. The dry heaves having finally subsided, I literally crawled back into the bedroom and onto the bed. Marianne helped me shuck my shoes and socks and pulled my pants down and off. I was out cold in a nano-minute.

******

Things were kinda frosty for the next few weeks, but, overall, we were seemingly getting along without undue difficulty; but, then, now, the letter. Helluva a thing. I wasn't getting drunk and manipulated this time; I was gone; that since I didn't seem to be able to run her off.

I packed, and spent the next couple of hours finding a place to flake out for the night. Tomorrow being Saturday I figured to look for a little better place than the La Quinta Lodge; I had the money—helluva deal.

I had been just about to cross the parking lot from the lodge to get myself a drink at the little bar there when I looked at my watch. It was 9:00PM. The letter said that she'd said she'd be back by 10:00.

I was parked a little ways down the street from the house when she pulled in; it was 10:05. I'd left the front porch light on, when I'd left, and now that worked for me. She got out of her car. She looked a bit disheveled. Well fucked too, I thought. I saw her hesitate before keying the lock to go inside; I wondered what was going through her mind. She went inside. She'd find my note soon enough.

I drove off. As I did I was thinking of our girls. Soon, I would have to tell them, tell them something. But what? That their mom and I had fantasies that had come back to bite us in the ass? That was the truth, and the truth didn't look too good. Maybe I could come up with a plausible lie. Fuck! For a smart guy, I sure wasn't thinkin' too smart—if at all.

******

She sat at the kitchen table, head in her hands, her cell phone on the table in front of her. She picked it up and punched in the numbers. Fifteen minutes later, a late model Caddy pulled up in front of the house. A large, well dressed, black man got out and went up to the house. He didn't bother to knock; he just went inside.

"So he's gone," said Marcus.

"Yes," she said. She handed him the paper with the large print note drawn in red marks-a-lot on the back of her letter to her husband. He took it, looked at it, and nodded his sympathy.

"I thought that maybe he'd—well—I don't know what I thought," he said. Her turn to nod. "Whaddya gonna do?"

She looked up at him. "I don't know. I think I may have lost him. Damn him!" she said.

"You've got me. I mean if you want," he said. She shook her head.

"I don't know, Marcus. Like I told Jimmy, with you and me it's just the sexual need not the emotional stuff that I have with him; well, had with him. I just don't know."

"Well, you know I'll be around when you finally decide," he said.

"I know, and I appreciate your willingness to help out," she said. "I just hope he's okay. I feel like shit if you wanna know. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt the guy. He's just so one way. I don't know, maybe it's me."

"No, it's him right enough. He married you, and he isn't into sharing; not in any real sense of the word. I can understand it; I don't agree with him of course, but I do understand where he's at," said Marcus. She gave him a frustrated look.

"What?" he said.

******

The same bartender was on at Spikes. He remembered me. Sign of a good barkeep, I thought to myself.

"Cuervo Silver?" he said. I looked at him. He was wearing a name tag this time. I didn't remember him wearing one before. It read Sam. A good name for a bartender, I thought.

"Yeah, sure," I said.

I'm not sure how long I sat there, a few hours maybe. I looked up at the wall clock; it read 1:37. It was almost 2:00AM and closing time. I slid off the stool and somehow managed to get to my car and back to the La Quinta. The next thing I knew the sun was up and burning me awake. I'd left the blinds open, and now I paid for that little faux pas by having to get out of bed and close them.

The little bar and grill across the lot from the motel had the virtue of being open at 6:00AM. I took advantage of that little reality.

I'd just gotten my dry toast and soft boileds when a woman slid into the booth across from me. "Hey Jimbo, how's tricks?" she said. I looked at her for a full ten seconds before recognizing her.

"Dory! Is that really you?" I said. I hadn't seen Dory Simmons since high school. She was every boy's punchboard at the time, even mine. And, here she was sitting across from me smiling like she knew something I didn't.

"Yep, it's really me. I could ask the same of you, Jimmy. But no, I recognized you last night when you checked in across the street at the motel. I was just coming out of my room when you registered and headed for yours. You looked kinda down, so I figured to wait till morning, now, to come on to you." She giggled.

"Yeah, well it really is me," I said. "And you look good, Dory. Come on to me?"

"Yeah, I remembered you from the old days in high school: Horny, dinky dick, pretty good oral. I'm in the market. Need a little tender loving?" She said, laughing. I frowned. "I'm just pushing your buttons, guy; lighten up for goodness sakes. Nothing's that bad."

"Yeah, well, not everybody shares your opinion about the state of things," I said. "And, it might be a little while before I'm in the market."

"Uh-oh. Woman problems?" she said.

"Marriage cratered. Wife decided I wasn't enough for her. How's that for tellin' it like it is," I said.

"Really? I remember when, if I may," she said. "I mean, you weren't that bad. Not much of a cock, but you did real good oral, like I say. Some of your skills get a little rusty did they?" she said. I looked at her; I was not amused.

"Must've," I said. I wondered what she was doing staying at a cheap assed motel like the one across the street. I didn't ask.

"Wanna talk about it?" she said. For the life of me I did want to talk to someone. But Dory? Well, why the hell not. Two hours and several cups of Java later she knew the whole story.

"Wow," she said. "That is heavy. Jimmy, if you don't mind a little advice..."

"Shoot," I said. "Whatever you've got to say couldn't be less useful than what all I've been thinking." She leaned back in her seat and took on a serious look. In high school nobody would have accused Dory of ever being even remotely serious, a good piece of ass. But serious, not. But, it had been a long time, and people do change; that was sure as hell a fact.

"Jimmy, we've not seen each other in forever. Now, some unnamed god has decided to have our paths cross, go figure. Jimmy, I've been married four times. Twice I was dumped on and twice I did the dumping. I'm a complete failure economically. But, at the game of love—read sex—I'm a regular icon. I can tell you for sure I've learned a helluva lot; trust me on the one; I have learned one fucking helluva a lot in the love department," she said.

"Well, that makes you and me pretty much diametrical opposites, I guess," I said. "I'm a major success economically, but, unlike you, a complete failure at love, or sex if it comes to that." She smiled her understanding.

"Jimmy, from your story, I'm gonna go out on a limb and tell you straight up: you're doing it wrong. Go back to your woman. Give her her space, and learn to live with her little quirks," said Dory. I looked at her like she was some kind of alien.

"Are you fucking kidding, Dory? She's replaced me. I'm clearly not enough for her. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel," I said. "Oh, she wants to keep me around right enough. Her salesman boyfriend does not command the kind of scratch that I do. In the divorce she'll get alimony, probably, if I can't figure a way to get out of payin' it; but her lifestyle is going to take a major hit at the very least."

"Exactly," said Dory. "She knows very well, I'm sure, that she might get a serious ass kicking economically by doing what she's doing, and she's willin' to risk it all for this—salesman—as you say. It isn't the money she wants, Jimmy; it's the physical stuff and maybe the affection that she evidently feels she's not getting enough of—well—from you Jimmy. We women, Jimmy, do not think like you guys. We need to feel loved, protected, adored. You guys just want to be turned on all of the time. Once the new car smell goes out of a marriage, read sex life, it takes people who are real adults to get their act together and make the marriage work.

"Jimmy, you need to suck it up and go back and prove to the woman you love that you do in fact love her," she said.

"Hah! Fat chance. Wimp out! Not me, I'm not a wimp, Dory. I will grant that I am an idiot—no argument—but a wimp? Not even," I said.

"Really? Whose idea was it to do the original sharing?" said Dory.

"Well, we both..." She raised an eyebrow; it stopped me cold.

"Not what you just got done telling me just a little bit ago," she said. "You are a wimp, Jimmy. A big, giant, huge assed wimp sure as you sit there. Only a wimp would be willing to watch while his wife was getting royally screwed by another man.

"Let me ask you, Jimmy, before Marianne met mister whatshisname, did you check to find out how big his cock was?" I eyed her. "Well, did you?" I looked down.

"Well, I did ask him to, you know, describe—well—himself," I said.

"And, is he bigger than you, Jimmy?" She was smiling; she knew the answer to her own question.

"What does that have to do with anything!" I said, beginning to lose it. She smiled.

"It has everything to do with it, Jimmy. You are one of those guys who gets off on being humiliated, and mister big-dick did just that to you, and your wife saw it. That's why at first she all but ignored you that night, Jimmy. I don't think she even realized what she was doing, I mean the ignoring, but that is what it was: she saw you for what you were. She still loves you, and yes a woman can love her wimpy little fellow, don't doubt it. But, the bottom line, Jimmy, is you are a wimp," she said. "Still...

"The good news for you is that it doesn't matter an iota. Being a wimp in the bedroom, if not in life in general, is neither bad nor good. It's just one of many realities, and sometimes it can even be a conscious choice. If it turns you on to be a wimpy cuckold, Jim, go for it. It hurts nobody. What can hurt, and that big time, is the price people pay for denying the truth about themselves. Accept what you are and enjoy it."

"You couldn't be more wrong, Dory, but thanks for the advice. See yuh around," I said. I got up, threw a twenty on the table, and left her sitting there, a half smile playing across her features. We'd meet again and, when we did, it would be a surprising situation.

******

The meet up with Dory had both bothered me and got me to thinking. Oh she was totally wrong about my being a wimp, but was she wrong about my wife thinking I was. That much of what she'd said made some sense to me.

I had indeed become my wife's willing cuckold. But, it had just been a game, just the playing out of a mutual fantasy, a onetime deal. The problem was that Marianne had discovered that she enjoyed it too much to give it up. And not only that, she wanted me to be okay with it. She had to know I wouldn't be okay with it; unless, unless she did think me a wimp and was just trying to see if she could get me to accept my place as one. Could that be it?

Question: should I go back and try to see if my wife and I could find some middle ground? I didn't think so; that would be wimping out for sure. So, failing that, what next? What should I do? I was floating and the current was all crazy and without direction. My daughters! What was I going to do—tell them. That had to be my next move. There was nothing for it.

******

"Who was that on the phone?" said Melanie.

"Mom. She just laid a bomb on me—us," said Barbie.

"She and dad are having trouble, Mel, big trouble. We gotta go home and see what we can do if anything."

"What? What kind of trouble?" said Mel.

Barbie looked at her sister, "Mom has taken a lover. She's told dad about it, and, surprise surprise, he isn't happy. He's moved out. Mom hasn't seen him for days. She's called his work, but he won't take her calls.

"Mel, I think mom and dad are getting divorced. This is not good."

"No!" said Melanie. "Not mom and dad."

******

The twins sat across from their mother just staring at her. "Please, girls, one of you say something," said Marianne. She had just gotten done explaining herself, and her daughters had not been especially supportive.

"Mom, how could you! Why?" said Barbie, finally taking her cue. Her mother looked at her with a forlorn expression.

"Girls—I—I couldn't help it. Marcus, your dad, I had to make a choice. I made it and I'm not even sure it's the right choice. But, I've made it, and I am going to stick by it. If I get the chance to make things—somehow—right by your father, I will. But—girls—I have to do this for me. And yes, I admit it; I betrayed your dad, and I did it big time. I guess, I know he will never forgive me for what I did; but girls, I hope you will be able to forgive me. I just had to do it, girls," said Marianne.

"You haven't answered my question, mom. Why did you do it? Melanie and I need to know," said Barbie.

Marianne rose from her seat and walked across the room, faced the wall, turned, and returned to her daughters. "Girl's, I'm forty-five years old, same as your dad. I have never had an orgasm with him. Never! I was with Marcus Williams one time, and I had three. Have you got any idea how that rocked my world! I tried to tell your dad. I tried to have my cake and eat it too, but he wasn't going for it. I don't blame him. I completely understand his feelings, and how I hurt him. I'm a selfish skunk. But, that said, I can't help it. I need, I mean need, what Marcus can do for me," she said.

"But mom, dad could learn. Even as young as we are, Melanie and I know that a woman has to train her man," said Barbie.

"Yeah mom," said Melanie. "Teach that good man you're married to what's what. He's not stupid, mom, he could learn how to please you." Their mother looked at them, her face a veil of sadness.

Girls, when it comes to being a provider, when it comes to being a loving father, a gentle lover, an interesting and funny life's partner: your father has damn few equals," said Marianne.

"Then what's the problem, mom, that only leaves what we've been talking about here. This—thing—has to be fixable," said Marianne.

"Girls, what I'm going to say, you must never repeat to your dad. If he figures it out for himself, well that's one thing, but none of us must ever mention to him what I am about to tell you. Got it!" said Marianne. The twins nodded.

"Girls, if you took a Hebrew National frank and cut it in half you'd pretty much have a replica of your father's cock: slender, very short, good for peein'. I can hardly feel him when he's inside of me," said Marianne.

"And of course this Marcus fellow..." started Barbie, almost sneering.

"Eight very thick inches," said Marianne, interrupting her daughter, "and believe me I feel every bit of him and that every time. And, he's not just a big cock. He's a gentle and considerate lover too, just like your dad, and a darn good man in every way. He doesn't have your father's business skills, but he makes a good enough living, good enough for me. Money was never an issue for me anyway. If it matters, I will be asking for nothing in the divorce except the house. No alimony, no claim on your dad's retirement, nothing. I mean nothing except the house. And, even then, if your dad fights me on it, I wouldn't even insist on the house. I'd just be going for my freedom to marry Marcus." Suddenly, she turned and ran from the room.

The twins looked at each other. "Barb, we have to talk to daddy. I don't know what we can say, but I do know that he is going to need our support for a while, maybe a long while."

"Yes. Yes we do need to speak with him, and we need to do it today," said Barbie.

******

I'd gotten both calls within five minutes of each other: my wife's first, and then the one from my daughters. I had misgivings about honoring either request. But, that said. I'd agreed to meet with Marianne before I even got the call from the twins, so I told my daughters that I would meet with them that night. It made more sense to do it that way anyway since I would then at least know more about where my wife was at. After all it was Marianne whose decisions were setting everyone else's agenda—especially mine—so it was almost a no brainer.