Confession Time: Couples Therapy

Two days later, we were back in the group therapy class. Two couples, one black and one white, didn't show up, including the couple where the woman had come right out and had attacked me. It was not really a surprise, given that both of those couples seemed too far gone the previous week. Ellen and I had actually been looking forward to the session - not because we had necessarily enjoyed sharing our problems in public (in fact, I was a bit paranoid abut what else Ellen was going to reveal) but we were both looking forward to seeing Glynne and Aaron.

"Do you think they'll want to go for coffee again?" Ellen had asked on the drive.

"I hope so," I said. "It's so hard to find other couples to hang out with."

This was definitely true. When you're married, you find yourself struggling to keep up a social life that doesn't simply exist of either your friends or your partner's friends from before you were together.

Alas, it was not to be. Aaron and Glynne weren't speaking with each other. They deliberately had their chairs as far apart and angled away from each other as they could manage in the group circle. The counselor - now having fewer couples to deal with - tried to get them to talk, which was a mistake.

"Why don't you tell her, Aaron," Glynne said with a flip of her hand. She wouldn't even look at him. Aaron said nothing. "Go ahead, since you have all the answers anyway."

"It's very simple," Aaron said, cool as a cucumber. "My wife is a bitch."

That got Glynne's attention. She whipped her head toward Aaron in shock. "Go fuck yourself, Aaron," she said, grabbed her purse, and stormed out.

We hadn't even been in the room five minutes.

After she was gone, the room stayed quiet for a moment. Finally, Aaron stood up. "Well, I guess it's not necessary for me to be here," he said, and left.

I glanced over at Ellen. Her eyes were wide in shock. "I guess that's a 'no' to coffee, then,' I whispered as a joke. She screwed up her face to let me know that it wasn't funny.

Their departure cast a pall over the session, but most of all it affected Ellen. The ride home was anxiety-ridden, as she began ranting.

"We might as well give up too," she blurted out, suddenly.

"What do you mean?" I asked. I wasn't sure whether or not this was going to be a quick outburst, or just the starting point for a prolonged attack. The eggshells under my feet were starting to crack already.

"If Aaron and Glynne can't make it, how can we?" she answered.

"We don't know what's going on with them," I said, gently. "Obviously they had a pretty big fight -"

"Obviously," she said, mockingly and mimicking my voice as if I were an idiot.

"- but we don't know what it was about."

She shifted her weight in the passenger seat and crossed her arms. "What difference does it make?" she challenged. "They're not going to last, and they were my last hope that we could, too."

I didn't know what to say. I was starting to get annoyed as this was the kind of thing that she could have brought up in the therapy session, but didn't.

We were silent for a few miles. Out of the blue, she said, "If they do wind up getting a divorce, I don't want her working with you any more."

"What?" I asked, incredulous. "Why?"

Her voice was cool and detached as she turned to me. "You know why."

I had a clue, but I wasn't going to simply give in to such an unreasonable request. "What difference does it make if they're married or divorced?"

She turned back to look at the road. "There's a huge difference, and if you can't see it, you're more stupid than you look."

"I need help with the sales," I said. "I don't care if she's married or not."

"Well, I do," she said with finality. "You better hope that they don't break up, or else you can find someone else to help you out."

"Besides," she followed up about a minute later. "It won't matter. You're such a shitty businessman that no one can help you."

At the time, I didn't understand that this was part of a controlling and abusive relationship. The act of restricting or limiting who you can talk to, hang out with, work with - it's all part and parcel of a form of psychological abuse. At the time, though, it never dawned on me that this was the situation that Ellen had put me in.

I remained silent the rest of the ride home, caught up in my thoughts about what I needed to do. Sure, Glynne and I had flirted (and there's no way that Ellen would have considered it "innocent"), but nothing had actually happened. I thought about the drama at the therapy session, and knew that Ellen had a point. It was highly probable that Aaron and Glynne's marriage wasn't going to survive.

If that happened, what would I do? Would I continue to work with Glynne openly and defy my own wife? I knew that wouldn't go well. Should I do it behind her back? I really thought Glynne could help me and my small company; she had already started building a pipeline of prospective clients after only a week. If I employed her in secret, that was just a disaster waiting to happen. It had taken months to find someone who was willing to work on a pure commission and had an aptitude for the technology, so giving up someone like that was anathema to me.

Mostly, though, I was angry at Ellen for putting me in such a no-win situation. It wasn't fair, and it certainly wasn't conducive to building trust between us.

I don't know how much that little coda to the conversation influenced what happened next. All I know is that Ellen's ultimatum trigged a palpable sense of rebellion inside of me. I didn't like being told what to do at the best of times, and I certainly didn't appreciate the lack of respect she was showing me.

I stewed in my juices for the remainder of the day. Ellen and I didn't as much avoid each other as we really didn't have much of anything else to say. She sat down to watch TV and I took the dogs for a very long walk. The more I was allowed to spin my wheels in my own head, the angrier and more defiant I felt.

The next morning, I got a message from Glynne. She asked me to meet her before she had to pick up her son in the early afternoon. We had an upcoming client meeting, and so I thought nothing of it.

When the time came, I pulled into the parking space next to hers, facing a small park that looked like the school used for recess. It was abandoned, and I wondered where the other parents' cars were. I got out of my car and walked over to her Land Rover.

It was a beautiful SUV, one that undoubtedly impressed her real estate clients. It screamed success and status - something that I as a struggling entrepreneur hoped to have one day. She unlocked the passenger door, and I climbed in.

Glynne evidently had real estate clients that day. She was dressed professionally, a black blazer over a white blouse. Her makeup bag lay at my feet, the size of a small suitcase. Perfume filled the cabin of the SUV - a bit too much for my taste, but then again subtlety didn't appear to be her strong suit.

I, on the other hand, was dressed like a slob. Loose gym shorts, t-shirt, and just grateful to have at least showered that day. I wasn't sure how much time we had, so I brought the client file with me.

"Come here," she said, and crooked a finger at me. I leaned in, thinking that she was going to whisper something conspiratorial - probably something about what happened during the therapy session.

Instead, she grabbed the back of my neck and pulled herself toward me, forcibly kissing me. Her left hand dropped into my lap and began grabbing me through my loose-fitting shorts. Within seconds I was hard and her hand had found a tight grip, encircling my cock through the fabric.

I wanted to recoil. I wanted to pull away. I wanted to stop her. Most of all, I didn't want Ellen to be right.

I didn't do any of those things. Instead, I responded to her kisses and my cock throbbed in her hand. We pulled away from the kiss, but her hands were fumbling for the elastic waistband.

"Glynne," I said. My voice was husky.

"I'm busy," she said, giving me that flirtatious grin from the other day.

"What about...?"

She shook her head. "I don't care."

My cock was out in the open now. A woman who was not my wife held me in her hand and she was dropping her head on top of it.

I felt her hot breath a split second before her mouth engulfed me. To my amazement, she didn't stop until she had buried me to the root deep in her throat.

There was no denying that I wanted this. I had fantasized about this. I had masturbated to this. Despite the obvious flirting, I still hadn't been completely certain that she had felt the same way, and so the shock of what was happening was too overwhelming to actually do anything about it.

"But what about..." I muttered, my voice completely weakened in my overwhelmed state.

She lifted her face from my lap. "I said, I don't care!" she hissed. She dropped her mouth over my cock again and began slamming herself up and down.

That about covered it for thinking about either her husband or my wife.

Her right hand searched blindly for my own, and when she found it she brought it on top of her head and pressed down hard. Her short, blonde pageboy haircut didn't give me a lot of purchase, but it didn't seem to matter. I took the hint and began to 'help' her bounce her face up and down. She moaned around my dick and encouraged me to go harder and faster. I did.

Her hand snaked around to the side of the seat. A switch flipped, and I found myself starting to recline backwards, giving her better access to my lap. When she had enough room, she brought her hand back around to take ahold of my balls and massage them as her mouth worked its magic.

It had been ages since Ellen had gone down on me. I had almost forgotten just how incredible it can feel to be in a woman's mouth. I didn't know if Glynne was normally like this, or if she was acting out in some aggressive "fuck you" to Aaron, but she certainly seemed to be enjoying herself.

"Glynne..." I warned, my voice strained. She responded by placing her own hand on top of mine, and forcing me to push her head down so that I was completely inside her throat. I let out a strangled groan.

Something inside me clicked. I had been fighting my enjoyment of this, knowing the wrongness of what I was doing. I thought about Ellen's ultimatum, and it pissed me off that she had been right. Working with Glynne would have opened up all kinds of doors that shouldn't ever be opened when you're married to someone else.

Instead of guilt, though, I felt angry. I was livid that Ellen had been right and had humiliated me so thoroughly in the process. She had no right to be so correct. If only she had approached it in a more civil and respectful way, I probably would have been more on my guard, more able to resist.

The cloud of doubt cleared way to the laser-focus of self-righteousness. Well, if Ellen wanted me for herself, she could have had sex with me at least once in the past three years. I could have been fucking Ellen's mouth, not Glynne's.

Served her right.

I thrust up into Glynne's throat and pressed down with my hands. She moaned a musical, satisfied note. For some reason, that sent me into a frenzy.

Glynne's hand encircled the root of my cock, the warm palm coving my balls. She pulled me up and into her mouth with each thrust, coaxing me closer and closer.

I didn't warn her. There was no need. My cockhead expanded in her mouth and she knew what was happening. We worked in sync, each of us trying to milk my cock into her mouth.

The reclined passenger seat was only slightly more comfortable than sitting completely upright, but it didn't stop me from erupting. Her mouth filled with extra warm fluid, and I knew that it was more than she was expecting. I pulsed and pulsed, trying to squeeze out every last drop into her mouth, not letting her head move. I felt her tongue and jaw working, swallowing while trying not to catch me with her teeth.

A warmth spread throughout my entire insides. I never understood why it was so different when I got a blowjob, but something about releasing into a woman's mouth simply put me in a warm, comfortable relaxed state that never happened any other way.

I felt her tap my hand, bringing my attention back to her predicament. She was still deep throating me, even as I soothed into post-orgasmic bliss. I released my grip. She slowly sat up, grabbing her massive makeup case from the passenger footwell as she did. I watched her as she sorted herself in the driver's seat, looking extremely pleased with herself. I looked down at the mess that was my lap, saliva and semen spread all over the place.

She cracked open the case and several small trays expanded like a fishing tackle box. Everything was color-coded and neatly organized. I pulled my shorts over my cock, which was still mostly erect. The tent effect amused her.

"I bet you weren't expecting that," she said, incredibly proud of herself.

"You could say that," I said. I knew I was going to regret what had happened later, and wasn't sure how I was going to face Ellen that night.

"I'm going to divorce Aaron," she said, nonchalantly, as she pulled out various containers.

For some reason, my heart jumped in my throat. It's difficult to explain why. All kinds of thoughts went through my head, not the least of which was Ellen's ultimatum. Then other thoughts crept in. Did Glynne think that she was going to be with me instead of Aaron? Is that what the blowjob was all about? Was she going to blackmail me? I suddenly felt extremely vulnerable.

As if to confirm my fears, she added, "You should divorce Ellen." She started fixing her makeup. We could have been talking about the weather, for all the emotion in her voice.

I must have looked like a caught fish, my mouth hanging slightly open and dumbfounded.

"Relax," Glynne said, once again flashing me a flirtatious smile. "Those two things are not related."

I closed my mouth and raised an eyebrow, suspicious.

"I mean it," she said, "I'm just telling you, you're married to a manipulative bitch."

Her words struck me like a slap. Instinctively, I fought for the words to defend my wife.

She glanced at me, pausing in mid-application of her eye liner. "Trust me, I know," she said. "I am a manipulative bitch. It's part of my job description."

"Aaron, on the other hand," she said, leaning forward to look at her eyelashes closer in the mirror, "is just a little weasel."

I didn't know where she was going with that, so I just looked at her dumbly. Her voice twisted into an evil whine when she said it, the disgust and distaste completely unmistakeable. Whatever truce they had maintained while at the coffee shop that had fooled me had obviously been totally destroyed.

"Anyway," she continued, "I don't know when it's going to happen, but when I do I won't be able to work with you any more."

I swallowed. "What? Why?"

She wiped her mouth to remove her smeared lipstick. "Because I won't have Aaron's income to count on," she said, matter-of-factly. "I'll need to focus on the real estate full-time."

I didn't say anything. She had a point, but in one fell swoop she had kind of solved my problem with Ellen's ultimatum. Not that I liked it.

Glynne misread the look on my face. "Look," she said, giving me a pitying expression. "Since I was with Aaron, I could afford to take a hit on getting paid right away. But I can't work on a pure commission with your sales cycles. I'm sorry, but I have thought about this and I just can't afford to do both."

I nodded slowly. I couldn't blame her. And plus, she had helped me avoid yet another fight with Ellen. Even so, from a purely entrepreneurial perspective, I had now lost a good saleswoman. In fact, that reminded me. I picked up the manila folder about the clients that she had already started contacting.

She saw me leaf through the papers - she was old school, and liked writing everything down with pen and paper - and did a pretty good job reading my mind.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm not quitting yet. I'll still help you with these clients. I'll definitely need that commission!"

That did help. At least I wasn't completely out of luck right away.

Glynne put her makeup back in the case and snapped it shut. "Okay, now you have to go," she said.

"Oh? I thought we were going to discuss this client," I said, confused. I held up the folder to illustrate my point.

She shook her head and looked at me as if I was thick. "That's not why I asked you here, obviously," she smiled at me. She reached for my cock and gave it a friendly squeeze through my shorts. "But you have to go before my son gets out of school. I don't want him asking any questions."

She had a point. I grabbed my folder and got out of her Land Rover. She started up the SUV and pulled out of the space, and drove over to be closer to the school. Parents were starting to queue to pick up their kids, so I figured it'd be best to get out before I became trapped by the traffic.

I didn't remember the drive back home. My head was far too messed up. I floated between all of the different thoughts that Glynne had forced upon me, from the fact that I had cheated on Ellen, to the satisfaction of receiving a fantastic blowjob, to the loss of a promising saleswoman, to her warning that I needed to divorce Ellen.

I also thought about what I didn't feel; namely, guilt. Ellen and I hadn't stopped sharing our bed, but I couldn't have said exactly how long it had been since she allowed me to touch her, and even longer since she reached out to me. There were always excuses, always reasons for why we couldn't be intimate. Hell, three years was a very long time - and Glynne had been in a sexless marriage for at least twice that long.

That night, the fighting began almost as soon as Ellen got home from work.

"Did you talk to Glynne today?" she asked. The tone of her voice was odd, as if she had been expecting me to have a specific conversation with Glynne, but it was also twinged with a hint of testing me.

"Yes," I said, hesitantly. "I had to talk to her about a client she's lined up." That much was true. The fact that we never got to have the discussion was not something I wished to go into.

She slammed her things onto the kitchen table, pissed. "I thought I told you that you couldn't work with her any more!" she shouted.

I was taken aback. "No," I said. "You said that if she and Aaron got divorced, you didn't want me working with her any more."

I started to feel a bit paranoid. Did Ellen know that they were going to get divorced? Even though Glynne seemed to imply that Aaron didn't know that was what she was going to do, could Aaron have talked to Ellen? Could Glynne have told her? I seriously doubted it, but then again Ellen made me doubt myself all the time.

"You knew what I meant!" Ellen's voice continued rising. Then, I understood. No one had talked to her about what was going on between Aaron and Glynne. This was her usual gaslighting. Ellen had convinced herself that she had told me that I 'couldn't' talk with Glynne any more, and in her twisted mind, there was no 'if' about it, no condition that needed to be met.

"I told you that I didn't want you working with Glynne any more," she seethed. "And I definitely don't want you seeing her!"

Of course, she had said none of those things. It was obvious, though, that she believed she had. Glynne's voice echoed in my memory: You're married to a manipulative bitch. Ellen certainly wasn't proving her wrong.

I tried my best to remain calm, something that typically wasn't my greatest strength. Ellen had a way of pushing all of the wrong buttons. "No," I said slowly. "You said that if Aaron and Glynne got a divorce, that you didn't want me working with her any more. First of all, I didn't agree to anything. Second -"