Cheryl's Lament

"Other than some malnutrition and some strange scar tissue, you're basically in good shape," he said. "I am concerned with those sores on your back and the condition of your skin, so I would recommend you see a dermatologist." He gave us a diet and an exercise regime to get me back into shape and gave us a prescription for medical-grade vitamins and supplements. He also gave me a prescription for birth control, just in case. "We'll send your samples off for analysis and get back to you in a couple days," he added. "And given what you told me earlier, I suggest you talk with a counselor. If you like, I can recommend one."

We thanked him and took his recommendation, although I wasn't sure I wanted to go through that. How could I possibly tell a counselor the whole story without ending up in a padded room, I thought.

From there, we went to the dentist. My teeth were cleaned and the cavities were filled. Fortunately, I didn't lose any of my teeth, but the dentist was concerned about a couple of them and wanted to do a follow-up in a couple months.

Things went okay for the next several days. We heard back from the doctor, who said that other than some levels that were off due to my malnutrition, the tests came back okay, which surprised me. You made me stick to the diet, even though I wanted to eat everything in sight and I found that my strength was starting to return.

Throughout all of this, you were so kind and considerate to me and for a while I thought that maybe we could make a go out of our marriage. You never spoke to me in anger, never brought up my affair with Enrique, and was so patient with me. You even worked out with me and helped retrain me to do basic things around the house, like operate the washing machine and the dishwasher. It was hard to get around, since I couldn't walk more than a few steps without the walker, but you were always there to help.

It was also hard for me to get used to wearing clothes around the house. After spending so much time naked on that rock, it just felt natural for me to go without clothes. I could tell it bothered you, but you didn't make a big deal of it, and simply asked me to put on a robe or something.

I also had to deal with the nightmares from my time chained on the rock. Several times, I woke up, scared and sweaty. A few times, you had heard me screaming and came into my room. I felt so safe when you held me and rocked me back to sleep like a young child.

"What happened to you?" you asked me one morning after my screaming woke you up. You listened patiently as I recalled what happened. When I finished you thought for a moment before speaking.

"Interesting," you said. "Even with all that, it took almost a whole year before you had a change of heart. Still, I have to give you credit. I don't think I could have handled that for more than a day."

"So you see, Lionel," I said. "I really have changed. I'm not the greedy, selfish bitch I used to be."

"Perhaps," you said. "But the proof is in the pudding. Can you really resist temptation? You know, when that ring began flashing, I knew you had undergone a change. I could've left you there to be tortured for all time if I wanted. But I had to know if the change was real or not. I had to see it for myself."

"And I have changed, Lionel," I said. "I know now that I screwed things up and I'll never do it again. I promise. I'm really sorry for all the hurt I've put you through and I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

"Do you know the difference between ethics and morals?" you asked. I thought hard before saying anything, but you continued. "There's a whole school of thought about this, and I know some would disagree with me. That's okay. To me, the ethical person does the right thing because there's a set of rules that guides him. Or her, as the case may be. The moral person, on the other hand, does the right thing because he or she knows the difference between right and wrong. If, for example, a person lives in a setting where adultery is considered to be okay under certain circumstances, then the ethical person will quite likely have no problem with having sex outside the boundaries of the marriage because the ethics of the community says it's okay in certain situations.

"The moral person, however, views adultery as being wrong because it goes against his or her personal standard of right and wrong, regardless of where that standard originates. When we married, we took a vow to forsake all others until death do us part. To me, that meant all other women were out of bounds -- period. The circumstances don't matter. Can you understand that?" I thought about it for a bit before answering.

"And that's why you couldn't do what I had asked you to do," I said. You nodded your head.

"That's right," you said. "In that case, what you asked was both morally AND ethically wrong. Sure, I might have gotten away with it, but I would've known that what I did was wrong and illegal, and I couldn't have lived with myself if I had done what you asked. Understand something. My clients trust me because they know that I'll never steer them wrong or tell them something that isn't true. If I don't know, I tell them. And they know that I'll not only do what I say I will, I'll do what is both legally and morally right. Trust is everything, especially in our business. You should know that."

"I think I understand," I said. "And now, you don't know if I can be trusted to do the right thing even when no one is looking."

"Bingo," I said. "It all boils down to trust. You burned me, good. You hurt me in the worst way possible and even committed crimes against me. So no, there really isn't any trust left. That has to be earned. Can you really do the right thing even when I'm not around? I don't know yet. We'll have to see."

"Fair enough," I said.

"Look, don't get me wrong," you said. "I'm not perfect by any means. After all, I killed your boyfriend and left you on that rock."

"I don't blame you for any of that," I said. "If I hadn't cheated on you with him, it never would've happened. Besides, Enrique would probably have killed you the first chance he got."

"You're probably right," you said. "Anyway, right now, my priority is to get you back on your feet."

"Thank you for that, Lionel," I said. "It means a lot to me." I wanted to ask more, perhaps talk about reconciliation, but I knew that topic was off-limits, at least for now. So I didn't bring it up.

Eventually, your vacation, such as it was, ended, and you had to go back to work. By then, I was able to get around the house a bit more and I wanted to start pulling my weight. I didn't think it right of me to lay there and let you do everything for me, even though I did enjoy the attention.

By then, you had bought me a new laptop and showed me how to use it so I would have something to do while you worked. I found myself starting to get stronger with each passing day, and I noticed I wasn't quite as ugly or haggard as I was when I first came back. Something else happened that you didn't notice. I was falling in love with you all over again. And for all the same reasons I fell for you over a decade ago. I could only hope that you had some feelings for me as well.

A few days later, my period came. I cried when it happened, both out of relief and shame. Relief that those four things who raped me didn't get me pregnant. And I was ashamed that I messed up the sheets on your bed. You said nothing as you quietly changed the sheets, then brought me a tampon and reminded me how to use it. You didn't even complain when I asked if you could get me some feminine hygiene products.

As time went on, I got stronger, thanks to the diet, your cooking and the exercise regimen the doctor had put me on. My skin was slowly healing, thanks to the cream and the medications the dermatologist gave me. I still had nightmares, and you still came into my room to comfort me.

I finally got to the point where I could cook something without burning it to a crisp and you even ate it without a word of complaint. I guess Tabasco sauce really can cover a multitude of sins.

No more was said about Enrique, my time in purgatory -- that's how I saw it -- nor was anything more said about divorce. I knew the day would come when you would drop the papers on me, but I hoped it wouldn't be for a long time, if ever, so I tried to put it out of my mind. We were little more than room mates, but not much more. I was anxious for there to be more, but I had no idea how you felt about it.

I can't tell you how many times I wanted to wrap my arms around you and smother you with kisses, but I didn't know how you would react. Would you reciprocate? Or would you push me away? I had no way of knowing what was on your mind. I had always been pretty good at reading people and their body language, but you were a complete mystery. Maybe that's why you became such a good litigator.

We went out a few times for dinner, but I never really felt comfortable. It wasn't your fault, though. It was me. For some reason, I didn't feel safe around people I didn't know. I liked to think that you took me out because you still had some feelings for me, but I suspected you were simply trying to get me acclimated back into society. Whatever your reason was, I simply enjoyed being with you.

I started spending more time on my new computer while you were at work. At first I caught up on all the news, but then I searched for any information on Enrique. I learned that most of his legitimate businesses had either been taken by one government or another, and the rest simply collapsed, bankrupt.

I read about that Mexican colonel, Alejandro Rojas. I knew he had been after Enrique for some time. He took credit for wiping out Enrique's camp, and no one disputed the claim. I knew what I had seen with my own eyes, though, and those things on horseback certainly weren't part of the Mexican Army.

Somehow, Rojas got word about Enrique's last arms shipment -- maybe it was from you, or maybe one of those cowboys, I don't know. At any rate, I read that he had intercepted it. He was decorated, promoted to General and hailed as a hero. What's the name of that old song? Que Sera, Sera? What will be, will be.

Eventually, I decided I would need to find work before too long. I knew I would have to at some point. I didn't want to be a burden to you, and I realized that once you had me served with papers I would need to support myself. I started looking at job postings and wrote up a resume. I thought about getting back into the legal profession full-time, but knew I didn't exactly have a stellar record. I checked and learned that the firm didn't file any ethics complaints with the state Bar, so that was a good sign. But there were still problems.

For starters, I had been out of circulation for a year, and I knew potential employers would frown on that. I would also have a very difficult time explaining what I had been doing during that time. I laughed when I thought about it.

"Oh, I was chained naked to a rock in a different dimension for a year while animals chewed on my body," I imagined myself telling a potential employer. Yeah, that would go over real well, I thought sarcastically.

Then there was the fact that I had been fired from Dewey and Cheatham. It wouldn't take more than a phone call or two for an HR person to learn about my indiscretions with Enrique. I seriously doubted anyone would hire someone who had been fired after becoming a consort to a wannabe dictator.

I even thought about asking you for a job. I had worked with you before, when you first struck out on your own. Perhaps you would let me work with you again. Or maybe, you wouldn't want to see me around the office all day.

But I realized that I would eventually have to find a way to support myself at some point. Perhaps I could work as a legal secretary, or a receptionist. It would be a waste of talent, but at least I would have something coming in.

Then I remembered the off-shore bank account Enrique had me set up. That was the account I used to put the money he paid me for my legal services. The last time I looked, there was a lot of money in it, but I didn't remember how much there was. For that matter, I didn't even know if it was still active. But if the money was still there, it would be a big help, even if I had to give half of it to you in a divorce.

I made a mental note to go through my papers you stashed in the basement to see what I could find when I felt I could safely go down there. The last thing I wanted was to get stuck down there and not be able to make it back up.

About eight weeks after I got back, I was sitting on the couch, looking through our old wedding book and photo album, remembering the good times we had when were first married. We were so young and so much in love with each other. As usual, I sat on the couch naked as I thumbed through the photos.

There were several pictures you had taken of me on the beach during our honeymoon. I remember I was a bit of an exhibitionist at the time, and would flash my breasts, letting you take pictures of me. That was the day we got naked and made love right there on the beach. Fortunately, no one was around to see us as we ravished each other's bodies.

As I sat there thinking about those days I felt a familiar stirring between my legs and found myself slipping a finger down below. For the first time in a year, I started to feel horny. I looked at the hair between my legs and had a wicked thought.

I went to the master bathroom, grabbed a pair of scissors out of my drawer and trimmed what I could. Then I grabbed a razor and some of your shaving cream and turned on the water in the tub. You had a seat next to the tub I could sit on while taking a shower, so I put it in the tub and sat down. I covered my pubic area with shaving cream and started shaving myself. I remembered how much you liked it when I shaved myself and I was giddy with excitement.

When I finished, I grabbed the shower head and rinsed myself off. Seeing my bald pussy, I began fingering myself again. I was wet, and not just from the shower. I closed my eyes and remembered the way you used to make sweet love to me.

Before I knew it, I had propped my feet on the sides of the tub and was furiously rubbing myself, sticking first one, then two fingers inside me. As I did so, I closed my eyes and thought about your cock being inside me, fucking me to orgasm. I moaned as I finger-fucked myself.

"Oh yes, Lionel," I said to the shower, hearing my voice echo in the otherwise empty bathroom. "Fuck me, baby. Please. Stick that beautiful cock inside me. Fuck your wife one more time." As I rammed my fingers inside myself, I imagined that it was you between my legs, fucking me. I felt an orgasm coming -- a strong one -- and began rubbing my clit.

I shook when it hit and I knew I had actually squirted inside the shower. I threw my head back and trembled as one orgasm after another hit.

"I love you," I moaned, picturing your smiling face in my mind. After a while, I caught my breath and was finally able to calm down. As I opened my eyes, I realized you weren't really there and I felt tears falling down my cheeks. Then I started sobbing with the realization that I had probably lost you for good.

"What have I done to you, Lionel?" I cried as I sat there in the shower. Right then, I decided that I would do whatever it took to win your heart back. I know I deserved whatever you dished out to me -- even divorce. But, I reasoned, if God could give me a second chance, surely, you could too, Lionel. I swore at that moment I would rather die than dishonor or disrespect you ever again.

I looked at the clock and realized that you would be home in a couple hours. Perfect, I thought. I drew a hot bath and added some fragrant oil and soaked for about 45 minutes. After I dried myself off, I grabbed some of those scented candles you like so much, put them in the master bedroom and lit them. I wrote a note and left it on the kitchen counter where I knew you would see it: "Dinner is upstairs."

Giggling like a schoolgirl, I went upstairs and freshened up my hair, dabbed some perfume and inspected myself in the mirror. I still wasn't as pretty as I used to be, but I looked much better than I did when I first got back. I only hoped you would still like what you saw. Then I pulled down the covers on the bed and climbed on, waiting for your return.

I heard the garage door and knew you had made it home. I spread my legs and assumed a sexy pose, hoping it would entice you. I could feel the wetness between my legs as I anticipated your reaction. I heard the door open and your footsteps. They stopped for a bit and I hoped you were reading my note.

Then I heard you start to climb the stairs. I saw you enter the bedroom. You stopped, your eyes wide as you took in the scene before you.

"See anything you like, cowboy?" I asked in a sultry voice. You walked to me and looked at me from head to toe. I could see your cock start to tent your trousers and smiled.

"My God, you're beautiful," you said. "And you shaved. For me?" I nodded my head.

"Of course, silly," I said. "Come on, why don't you take those clothes off and join me? I need my husband, more than ever before." As I watched, you practically tore your clothes off, and soon, you were naked before me. I could feel myself getting even more excited as your cock sprang forth, bigger and harder than I ever remembered.

I put my arms up and you came to me. When you kissed me, it felt like it did when we dated so long ago. I wanted to climb inside you, to become one with you. We kissed with a passion I hadn't felt in a long, long time.

Then you went between my legs and began kissing me the way you used to. It felt so good to have you back where you belonged. I cried out and moaned as you pleasured me with your tongue. You were always so good at that.

You positioned yourself between my legs, your beautiful cock poised to enter me for the first time in well over a year. I looked up at your face as I took your shaft in my hands and guided you inside me. We both gasped when you entered me. I needed this so bad.

We held each other tight as you worked your way into me. It almost felt like it did the very first time we made love. I couldn't get enough of you. I never wanted it to end. Soon, we were bucking into each other, moaning and gasping.

"Oh yes," I cried. "Make me your woman again, Lionel," I begged. "Please, baby, don't ever stop."

"I won't," you said as you fucked into me. I wrapped my legs around you and tried to pull you into me even more. You pushed even deeper into me as you hit that special spot and I could feel an orgasm start.

"I'm cumming," you whispered.

"Do it, lover," I said. "Cum inside me. Fill me up." You tensed up and I could feel you spurting inside me. I came with you and it felt like magic. After a few moments, we calmed down and looked each other in the eyes. You smiled -- really smiled -- for the first time since I got back. Wrapping my arms around your neck, I kissed you and you responded.

"I love you so much," I said after we kissed.

"I love you, too," you said, filling me with hope.

"I needed that so bad," I said as we laid there on the bed.

"Me too," you said. "So, what's for dessert?" you asked. I laughed, realizing this was the Lionel I married over ten years ago. I grabbed your hand and pulled you off the bed.

"Let's go take a shower and see what we can do about dessert," I said. You joined me and we showered together for the first time in a very long time. Afterward, we went back to the bed and made love for what seemed like hours. Snuggled up next to you in bed, naked, I slept better than I had in a long time, and suffered no nightmares.

That day, it felt like we had started a new chapter in our lives. The next day, you suggested I move back into the master bedroom if I wanted to. If I wanted to? Of course, I wanted to! I knew we still had a lot to resolve, but at least I felt like there was a chance.