Betrayed

Spike's had gotten to be my regular hangout, so it was the decided upon, mostly by me, to be the rendezvous point. I was early and on my second Cuervo on the rocks when she arrived. She looked especially beautiful, at least to me. I wondered if she'd dressed like that to torture me; nothing would have surprised when it came to her now. Twenty fucking years down the toilet, and now alone and abandoned by the love of my life. Helluva note.

She saw me and gave a little wave; I didn't respond. She came to my table and seated herself without so much as a by your leave; well, I had agreed to meet with her.

"The girls called you?" she said without preamble.

"Yes, they called," I said. "Why are you here, Marianne? You made your choice, and unless you are about to change it, why are you here?" She seemed to deflate.

"Because we haven't talked, you and I, and we need to. I've met with the girls—and they..." she started.

"Let's leave the girls out of this, Marianne. This is you and me, and it's probably our last little time together; so let's focus on whatever it is that is left of us. Okay?" I said. She nodded.

"Okay, Jimmy. I understand. But, we will be seeing each other in the future even if you don't believe so now. I mean we have two beautiful daughters together. There will be holidays, graduations; well, you know," she said. I stared at her. I'd assumed that what she was saying would be part of what she was there for. But, she had no idea of the hurt and bitterness that had been building in me; I was about to inform her as to such.

"Marianne, I love you and need you. You, I believe, love me, but, you do not need me. You trading me in on another man has hurt me beyond telling. So, you will never see me again after this meeting. Not because I hate you, or even him; I just wouldn't be able to deal with the jealousy and hurt that seeing you would engender. Look at you now," I said. "You are stunning. I want you, and I know I can't have you. Do you have any idea how that sits with me? I doubt it," I said. She seemed to realize something; her face flushed.

"Jimmy, I'm sorry. I did not mean to come here and tease you. Honest to god. I feel like such a shit now. I am so sorry."

"Forget it. I'll deal with it while we talk here tonight, just not ever again," I said.

"Jimmy, find another woman. You need to have a woman to love you like I do," she said.

"You actually said that?" I said, looking, I am sure, as incredulous as it is possible to look.

"I do love you, Jimmy. I just need..." she didn't finish.

"Yeah, a bigger dick. I get it, Marianne. I'm not a complete idiot. I know what I got ain't much. But, it's what I got and that's the long and the short of it, no pun intended."

"Jimmy..."

"Yeah Jimmy. Nuthin' for good 'ole Jimmy. He can rot. Right, Marianne?" I said. Okay, I was whining. I felt like whining, so I was.

"Jimmy, stop that right now! I mean it. You are a wonderful man. And yes, okay, cock size is part of it; I won't try to deny it. That said, it doesn't mean that I can't love you for what you are, and that's plenty. Believe it," she said. I think I smirked, but if I did it was a sardonic smirk for damn sure.

"Yeah, anything's possible," I said. "But, again, why are you here?"

"I just thought—I mean—I just thought you and I could kinda—well—try to—I wanted to ask you to be, well, around for me. I know you're angry, and you have a right to be, Jim. I betrayed you. You didn't deserve that, and I will be a long time crying over that spilt milk, believe me. But, I do love you, Jimmy, and well I guess I'm here to beg your forgiveness. I know I won't be getting' it any time soon, but I have to beg anyway.

"And something else, Jim. I know this is going to sound really bad, but I have been thinking about it for some days now. I even talked it over with Marcus, and he's okay with it, with what I'm going to say. Jesus, how am I going to say this.

"Jim, any time you need—you know—something..."

"What? What are you trying to say, Marianne? Are you trying to say you'd spread for me? I mean if I asked you to?" I said. She looked at me with an expression that I could only describe as hopeful.

"Jim, there would be no shame in that, just some mutual satisfaction. I mean we've been married for a long time; it's not like it would be unnatural." I stared at her for a long moment.

"A little mercy fuck for good 'ole Jimmy. Is that it, Marianne? My cock's so small that no other woman will likely ever give me a tumble at my age. So you're willing to sacrifice yourself to let me take the edge off. Is that what you're offering me, Marianne?"

"Jim, I am not trying to insult you here, and I think you know that. But—that said—it is easier for a woman than for a man. If you need it, well, it's just an offer for some occasional fun, Jim. And, the offer has no expiration date. A mercy fuck? Well, so what, Jim. Call it whatever you want. The pussy would be real, and so would my interest in pleasing you. Okay?" she said.

"Yeah sure. You know, I can't believe how many different ways you've been able to think up to hurt me, but this one, this one surly gets first prize. If I never get a piece of ass again, you can't bet your last centavo that I will not ever be asking you for anything, most assuredly for anything sexual. Go it!" I said. "Have a nice fucking life." I stood up and headed out, my bitterness reaching a new high. And fuck, let her pay the tab.

"Jimmy! Please! Come back! I didn't mean..."

******

I was in a seriously bad mood when the girls arrived. But, as a man's little girls often do, they made me feel better almost immediately.

"Hi daddy," the two of them said in concert.

"Did mommy speak to you, dad? What did she say?" said Barbie.

"Well, you obviously know that she and I talked. What did she say? She offered me a little mercy if you want to know. I wasn't haven't any," I said.

"Daddy, if you would just..." started Barbie, with Melanie nodding her agreement.

"No!" I said. "No compromise, if that's what you were about to suggest. She's either my wife, or she's not. No in between."

"Dad, Barbie and I understand, I guess, that there is no saving you and mom's marriage. God, and how sick at heart that makes us! Mom, blew it. We understand her reason, her excuse really, but we do not agree with it."

"What Melanie is trying to say dad is that even if—when—you and mom divorce we're still a family. That other man is not part of our family. But, there will be times, dad, when we will all be together. We..." I cut Barbie off with a wave of my hand.

"Barbie, Melanie, I never want to see your mother again, and certainly not with her lover. Not ever, do you get me. I couldn't bear seeing her with another man who I know will be sleeping with her instead of me. I couldn't bear seeing the most beautiful girl I ever knew acting sorry for me. I just can't. So, no, we will never be in the same place at the same time again. Earlier today was the last time I will ever see her, and that's that.

"Girls, I still love the woman. I always will. I am more than bitter and jealous and lost—yes lost—knowing I will never see her again. But, that's the way it has to be. She's dead to me. Please don't ask me to get along with her, to deal with it. I can't! Period! Okay?" I said. The girls looked at each other, back to me, and nodded.

"Okay, dad. I guess we understand," said Barbie. "It's gonna be tough on us, but we'll honor your request. We'll figure something out, so you won't have to be around them." My turn to nod.

******

Time passed as it has a habit of doing, but that said, the pain some have to live with does not necessarily fade.

For the next three years I never heard word one from my ex; well, except for the divorce if that counts as hearing from her. Yes, my ex had finally divorced me about a year after our last meeting. The delay, I learned much later had been on account of the cost. At any rate she'd married her lover, good 'ole Marcus, immediately thereafter. She was now missus Williams. Oh, and she had kept her word about not asking for anything in the divorce.

In the end I'd given her the house, I didn't want it. I was hauling down pretty big bucks at RBI, so I just bought myself a condo and made do. Also, the court had initially given her $5,000 a month alimony. I didn't fight that either; it gave me a feeling of satisfaction to know she still needed something from me. Reasons for my willingness not to screw her over financially? My love for her just wouldn't die. No matter what she did to me, I just couldn't hurt her—and yes, I know I could have. In the end, I just shrugged and got on with my life, or tried to.

Again, it was less than a year after the divorce that she married the asshole. And again, I could have stopped the alimony with that happy happening, but, I let it go. I'd set it up so that my bank would send it to her every month. It just didn't matter to me, the money that is.

And then there was papa bear—me. After the divorce, single again and forty-six years old, I'd started dating. My ego had taken a pretty good hit, but I'm no stupido, though some might wanna argue that particular point, I had to assume there was somebody out there, some woman, that could find it in herself to love me for me, love me for the total package including my miniature dick. Hey, I brought a lot to the table. My salary was in the mid six figure range, I looked pretty good for a man my age, in fact damn good. And miniature cock or not, I still made it my business to do the best I could for the woman I was with. What was not to love, right?

The upshot? First dates and second dates I got, third dates not so much. And as far as getting lucky? Once in the first year after the divorce. In the second year, having become more than a little desperate, and tired of the games. I took my search for pussy to the next level: I began hiring escorts. They were always nice and the sex was always okay—it should have been at $300 a night. But of course, a true relationship was not happening with any of them. I had become what my ex had more or less predicted, a loser, at least when it came to women.

But make no mistake, there were plenty of women who were willing to become missus Dalton, to sacrifice themselves for the good of the cause: the cause being a much improved standard of living. But, I wanted someone real, someone who actually liked me with the distinct possibility of falling in love with me; hence, I was picky; rightly or wrongly, I felt that I had to be. So, I was careful. I always had the women who seemed to be on the up-and-up checked out: one hundred percent of them failed the check up.

The love of my life gone, and reduced to hiring friendly girls of the evening to keep me company—read to get my rocks off—my personal life sucked; life sucked.

One genuine piece of ass in three years; and she'd been as drunk as I was or it probably wouldn't have happened. I wanted to cry. Then the inevitable happened.

"Dad?" said Melanie. "You know, graduation is in two weeks. Barbie and I will be getting our B.A.s."

"Yes, baby, I know. I'll be there," I said. I hadn't seen Marianne in so long that I had momentarily forgotten that she would surely want to be there too even though it had been me who had footed the $200K to see our babies successfully negotiate the halls of academia.

"Dad, can mom come?" said Melanie. I could feel my face darken.

"Sure, but I won't, Melanie. I can't face her, even after all of this time. I just can't," I said.

"Dad, she promised not to bring him. He's staying home, away from us," said Barbie, finally chiming in. I had to smile at that. It must have pissed the asshole off to be shut out by his cuckold. But, could I face Marianne even so?

"He won't be there? That's iron clad?" I said.

"Yes," squealed the girls anticipating my giving in.

I nodded. "Okay then," I said. The celebration of my capitulation was animated, but in the back of my mind I harbored misgivings. Even with the asshole out of the picture—seeing her again—how would I deal with it? Could I deal with it? I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure at all.

She was seated at one end of a five seat row, I at the other. I looked at her once or twice and found her not quite staring at me. I felt giddy, but I don't think I gave away my nervousness by anything my face said.

Over the course of some hour and a half, the graduates made speeches, paraded across the dais to receive their sheepskins; then, came the cheering and the hugging and the mandatory screaming; and finally, the parents.

The girls literally dragged me over to where she was waiting. She looked glamorous. God did she. Long tawny locks, specially curled for the occasion; white sundress sheathing her five-nine 120lb frame; her C-cups threatening indecent exposure; oh my, how good she did look. In spite of myself or the focus of the occasion, I was as hard as a rock. And well I might have been; I hadn't had a piece of ass in almost five months. It wasn't the money; it was my disgust with myself for being unable to find a woman who didn't require it before allowing me to do her. Those types were a nickel a busload, but someone who was turned on by my charm and potential bedroom skills did not seem to exist in the sentient universe. I almost asked her if she was still willing to grant me a little mercy. Humiliation or not; I needed it; I needed her. But I didn't ask her. No indeed. I maintained my self-respect, my shredded ego, and my overwhelming horniness as well.

We each congratulated the girls and hugged them and got the mandatory kisses from them as they squealed their happiness. I think that they were as happy, that Marianne and I were together in the same place, as they were about their academic achievements. But, soon they were making their apologies and running off to their parties and boyfriends—yeah they had them, I knew—and they, the boy friends, were twins too.

My ex and I were left standing there and to our own devices. I gave a small wave to Marianne and was turning to leave when she addressed me. "How are things with you, Jimmy? Well, I hope," she said.

"Okay, I guess. With you?" I said.

"Could be better actually," she said.

"Oh?"

"It's hard, Jimmy, never being able to even mention your name around the girls or to even enquire about you. And, then there is Marcus: a good man, who is allowed no slack by the girls because of your intransigence," she said.

I stared at her for a moment. "So, what do you want from me, Marianne," I said.

"It'd be nice if you'd lighten up little. Okay, I betrayed our love. I couldn't help it, but it was my doing, and I am so sorry for hurting you. I've told you, and I'll say it again: I really would like to make it up to you at least to some small degree, Jim. That, if only to make myself feel better, if not you. I've suffered enough, Jim, please grant me a little mercy—to use your words."

"I'll lighten up as far as the girls are concerned, Marianne. But, the other..." I couldn't finish what I wanted to say. She picked up on it; I could see it in her look.

"Jim?"

"I gotta go, Marianne. I gotta go." I just turned and walked off. I could feel her staring at my back as I made my way to the parking lot some distance away.

******

Another year passed; the fourth since my personal marital Armageddon. Days filled with work—long days by choice. The nights? Lonely and filled with her—thoughts of her—and Jose Cuervo.

The girls had kept their promise. They never spoke of her to me when we visited. And, I supposed that they never spoke of me to her. I had to think that they knew I wasn't over her: they made my visits to them, and theirs to me, especially busy, or seemed to: their modus operandi to keep my mind on them. It worked to a certain extent.

One lonely night, an especially bad and lonely night, I made up my mind. I called up Dory. We'd kept in kind of loose contact since our meeting that one time in the bar. We met fairly often over coffee now, and the occasional drink and talked about everything that there was to talk about. Over time she let me in on her personal life; well, she'd pretty much heard all about mine, so why not.

Dory had been married four times. She had no children: she couldn't; her plumbing wasn't intact, hadn't been since birth. Regardless, she was pretty and men flocked around her sniffing like cur dogs looking for an easy piece. Two of her ex-hubbies had cheated on her with coworkers; she'd dumped them forthwith. Those first two marriages had netted her nothing except in the case of hubby number two, she had gotten the house; she still lived in it.

It had been Dory that had done the cheating in the cases of husbands three and four, and she wasn't especially apologetic about it. After the first two she'd made the conscious decision not to be the last to cheat. If her husbands were going to do it; she was going to do it first if only to save a little face. The problem with that was her last two hubbies had never cheated and evidently had not had any intention of doing so, so they—the husbands—had dumped her upon discovering her. Now she was, to paraphrase Coleridge, a sadder but wiser woman. Well, wiser at any rate: Dory seemed to be able to roll with the proverbial punch. I could only wish for a disposition anywhere near as equitable as hers.

Dory was, as she said, a sales person now. Her product: herself. She was a part time escort, not especially expensive, but fairly selective even at her age, which was my age. I'd bridled at her telling me that. She claimed it was the only thing she could do that paid anything, and she had been smart and saved. She was fairly well off now, and able to laugh at her past; something that I still was not able to do, and certain in my heart that I never would.

At any rate, I needed someone to talk to. I needed advice.

She let herself in. Yeah, she had a key. She was the only female that I could call a friend—and critic. Oh, and for the record, no I had never fucked her.

I was sitting in front of the fireplace. The winter cold was threatening to become winter white—real white.

"Hi stud," she said, as she plopped down into the chair opposite me. Her teasing was never appreciated, but, she, as she said, was training me to deal with women the right way; which as she also said, I didn't and wasn't.

"What happened to wimp?" I said.

"Oh, you're still a wimp, but one with hope at this point," she said, smiling. That began the most serious conversation that she and I had ever had.

"So you think I should, then," I said.

"What have you got to lose, young man," she said. "Like she said, it's pussy. You need it; she has it, so use it. I have to think that she would really like to have you back if only part time. That Marcus guy, mister big dick, may be master in the bedroom, but he ain't got a whole lot else to offer if everything you say is so."

I nodded and was momentarily lost in thought. "But, what if..." Dory cut me off in mid-sentence.

"What if what," she said. "Maybe she's changed her mind. Maybe she doesn't have time for you after all. Maybe she'll laugh at you and send you on your way, or maybe her lover will put the boff on things. So what. You gonna feel all that much worse than you have these past few years, or for that matter than you do now? You need it, Jimmy, so risk it?

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here big guy. The answer is no; you won't feel worse than you do now. Hey, if she or they show their true colors and treat you like shit; hell, you will at least finally know how it is with her and be able to unload her memory and get on with your life. At worst, the way I see it, you'll feel the same as you do now. And, the odds are, the way I see it, you'll feel a lot better. And, if it matters, likely so will she, feel better I mean." I nodded.