Ethan and Marie

"I am so sorry, Ethan. I guess, Howard just lost it. His wife has kicked him out: that's why he went off on you like that. She's a real bitch, I guess," she said.

I couldn't believe my ears. My personal whore and her personal asshole cheat on the asshole's wife and his wife's the bitch! But, I contained myself. "Why are you here Marie?" I said.

"You're my husband, of course I'm going to be here for you," she said.

"Well, thank you for that. You been here all day?" I said.

"Of course. I wouldn't leave you alone while you're like this," she said.

I knew she had something else to say, but she was holding back for the right moment. I could smell it. We talked for some time about how I was feeling and such, and then she got to it. She was clever too; I had to give her that.

"You know, your insurance was cancelled when you quit, but I made Howard reinstate you as a full time employee so you would be covered while you're here," she said. She looked proud of herself. Okay, I knew what was coming next.

"Ethan, do you think you could bring yourself—I mean I know you're a kind hearted person—" she stopped. She was afraid to go on. I waited, as bad as I was feeling physically, I was feeling real good in other ways at that moment.

"Do you think you could not press charges against Howard. He is so sorry for doing this to you. He would like to make it up to you. And, and, he promises, and I promise, to not cuckold you ever again," said my wife. I was so dumbfounded that I couldn't get my thoughts together for some moments.

"Marie, he pissed on me! Did you see that! He fucking pissed on me! Never mind," I said. "He damn near killed me, and then he humiliated me in front of you like no one ever humiliated a husband before! What did you think about that, Marie? What did you think about it! Did you enjoy seeing me like that, him peeing on my face!"

"God no, Ethan. God no. It was awful. I felt awful for you. I really did," she said.

"And yet you still went and talked to the asshole," I said.

"I needed to make sure you got your job back Ethan, and, and the insurance. And—he didn't mean to be so cruel—to humiliate you like that, Ethan. He just lost it. I..."

"Let me ask you. Are you saying if I don't press charges that he won't interfere with our marriage anymore? Is that what you said a couple of minutes ago? You mean you'll come back to me, I mean as my wife?" I said. "You mean no more you getting fucked with his big cock?"

She could see I was playing her. Her tone began to sound a little bit desperate; she really wanted to save the sonovabitch!

"He's a good man, Ethan. He doesn't deserve to go to prison. Punish him yes, but please don't send him to prison. Please don't do that to him, Ethan. I promise our affair is done if you will only grant him a little mercy," she said. "I promise to make it up to you in spades too if you will do this little thing for me—for him."

"You say you are done with him, if I don't press charges?" I said.

"Yes," she said.

"But, if I do press charges you'll keep seeing him?"

"Ethan, that's not what I meant at all. Not at all," she said.

"And, our sex life? Yours and mine?" I said.

She smiled. She began to feel a little more relaxed, in control, maybe close to getting what she was asking. "When I said I would make it up to you, that's exactly what I was talking about, young man," she said.

Now it was my turn to smile. "No, Marie. No mercy fucks for me. I finally got the message: I know you don't love me anymore. I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole. As for not pressing charges; I haven't made up my mind about that. If I don't, it'll be because I have other reasons for not doing so. I may not have an eight-inch cock, Marie; but I definitely have a brain, and I ain't gonna be anybody's wimp-assed cuckold. You better go now. We're done you and me. I will let you know about the charges thing later," I said.

"But, it wouldn't be any mercy fuck for you..."

"Just go, Marie, we really are done as husband and wife. Your lover almost killed me. I won't be giving him another chance," I said. She started to go. She was halfway to the door. I called after her.

"Marie, I really have loved you. Hell, part of me probably still does. Goodbye, Marie." I said. She started to say something but just nodded instead. I was once again alone with my thoughts.

******

I pressed charges. He was brought up on aggravated assault. But, as I thought might be the case. Marie testified against me. She told the court I had attacked him with a knife—an out and out lie. The judge, who seemed to know the attorney for the defense really well, knocked the charges down to simple assault; he got sixty days. The judge didn't seem to believe that he had to do all that he did to me just to defend himself, and allowed that, though he had gone a little too far in the heat of the moment, that good 'ole Howie baby had been provoked by the "alleged" knife attack by me.

As Marie was telling her lies, I stared at her with unadulterated hatred. I vowed that someday I would have my turn. She never met my eyes. I was stunned that the judge never picked up on that.

It was a month later that I was served with divorce papers. I should have filed myself, but had decided to let her or her boyfriend pay for it: bad mistake. The court date was short. She proposed, and I counter proposed. She asked for the house; she got it. She asked for alimony; she'd get it when I got a job. She asked for half of my vacation and sick leave accruals; she got those too. She asked for half of my retirement; she failed there; I guess I had to be grateful for small favors.

She sneered at me when we left the courthouse. I just looked at her coldly. Her boyfriend was still inside, but would be getting out in a few days. He would no doubt be buoyed by the fact that my wife had screwed me over in the divorce.

Well, there it was. I was financially ruined. M wife of fifteen years had cuckolded me. I was depressed as hell. And, the supreme irony? I still needed her sexually; I guessed I always would, but I would be losing out there too.

I wasn't sorry I'd gone ahead and preferred charges against the asshole. I had to do it. He'd robbed me of my life and my wife. I'd had to do something.

She'd taken half of my stake. I'd had to find a job in a hurry. I got lucky and got one doing about the same thing I had been doing, but now I was an assistant. The company was a subsidiary of Finegold Industries. I made about two thirds what I had at Gilchrist, and a third of that went to Marie. I was hurting. Another irony was the fact that when Finegold Inc. checked to get my references and work history, Howie baby had given me a good one. I wasn't sure if that was because he wanted to make sure I made the alimony payments to my ex-wife, or if Julie had maybe had something to do with it. But, it did help me get my assistant super position. Who said that life wasn't stranger than fiction.

For those last months before the divorce was final, I cried almost every night. Okay, I really am a pussy. Worse, I'm a pussywhipped pussy. I know it, and I don't give a damn; well, actually I do, but I am helpless to do anything about it. Anyway, I had just the medicine for it. And, my local eighty-proof pharmacist, Charlie, was more than happy to waive any and all limitations on the dosage; and, I abused the privilege with gusto.

The papers separating me permanently from my cheating spouse arrived right on time; some seven months after the incident with Howard baby. I was free, but alone and yes, frightened, shaky.

******

A couple of weeks after I got the final papers, I got a call from Julie, my ally at Gilchrist's. The dynamic duo had married in Vegas. Well, big assed surprise.

It was 7:00PM a couple of days later, and I had been ensconced in my usual location at the end of the bar sipping my usual, a not too dry martini with two Spanish olives.

"Well, whaddya know, it's sadsack," said an all too carefree female voice behind me and to my left.

"Well, if it isn't body beautiful herself," I retorted, after a lazy glance in the direction of the interruption.

She laughed. "Well, I'm glad to see you can appreciate the gorgeosity of the female form at its best," she said. "There may be hope for you yet, not much but some."

"Let me know when you decide," I said.

"Look," she said, turning serious, "Charlie told me about your divorce. Bummer, but shit happens. That's life in the big city, as they say."

I was alone and hurting and still crying in my lonely beer—well, martini, but who gave a damn. "Like to join me for a drink?" I said, out of the clear blue sky.

She looked me up and down and took a seat. "Okay. Bourbon, neat," she said. Charlie had been watching the little scene and showed up with her drink already poured.

"So, you're still lost and lonely," she said.

"You could say that," I said. "It ain't somethin' one gets over in a hurry."

"No, I guess not," she said. "You know—Ethan isn't it—you're a good looking guy. No need for you to wimp out on yourself. Just make the decision to get on with life. Find a girl who can appreciate what you got and do right by her. She'll take care of you and make you forget the bad stuff."

"Yeah, well, that's what I thought I had. I didn't," I said.

"Touché," she said. "Anyway, there are plenty of star quality women out there, trust me I know. You just need to take the time to find one." I looked at her like she had hit on something. She noticed.

"What?" she said.

"You wanna go out sometime? I mean with me?" I said.

"Me? You? I mean with you?" she said.

"Yeah, I'm on the hunt for a star quality woman. You it?" I said. I was figuring that at worst she would demur and then maybe back off the pressure. Well, I saw it as pressure.

"But, you're a white guy!" she said.

I looked myself up and down. "My God! You're right. I never realized until now—Oh my God, what am I going to do? I'm a freakin' white man!" She burst out laughing.

"You still haven't answered me," I said, turning serious.

"Okay," she said. "But, just remember, I never kiss a guy on the first half of the first date."

"Huh?" I said. Now she laughed even harder.

******

We decided to take a chance and hit a country western bar and grill I knew about. The likelihood of running into a swarm rednecks might be increased, but hell, it's a free country; screw the assholes in it.

The Chili Pepper Club, was crowded, but I was able to spot a small high-rise drinks table with too equally high-rise barstools empty beside it. We grabbed them. I signaled the bar girl with the tray; there was always a bar girl with a tray in sawdust joints. She took our order and headed off to fill them.

The drinks came and we talked, sipped our beer, and watched the activity heat up on the dance floor. I was in rare form for a guy who should've been cryin' in his beer. Chelsea laughed at almost everything I said. I wasn't sure if she was employing her brand of therapy or just impressed with my eloquent wordology.

Somebody started a line dance. We left our coats and drinks at our table and hit the floor. It was there that we got a few not too friendly looks from a couple of lowball cowboy wannabes. We ignored them and did our thing; it was fun. Dance over, we headed back to our table. Two newbies had appropriated it.

"Hey, fellas, this is our spot," I said, as politely as I could.

"You weren't here. We are now," said the larger of the two assholes. I was ready to go at it, but Chelsea put her hand on my arm and warned me off. The bargirl was back picking up our drinks.

"Let it go, Ethan. It isn't worth it," she said. I was miffed, but I knew she was right. But right then, the big one crossed the line.

"Tell yuh, what buddy boy. Your darkie there goes outside with me for a little R&R and we'll buy you a drink. How's that?" he said. The arrogance on the man's face was way over the top. I never even saw it coming.

Chelsea's foot literally flashed. The big guy squeaked rather than yelled and slipped to the floor. He was clearly going in and out of consciousness; his kneecap if not actually broken was seriously bruised. His eyes glazed over and he seemed about to conk out. "Be careful who you proposition asshole," said Chelsea.

By now a dozen bodies had surrounded us.

"I heard the asshole, Mac," said the bargirl to the guy with the baseball bat. "He had it coming. Same as last time." The guy with the club, I think it was the barkeep, just nodded, and told the guy's pal to get the hell out and to take his fallen comrade in arms with him.

The cops arrived just as the two assholes were making it to the door. They, the wannabes, looked sheepish; well, they had been humiliated—by a girl. In a way, I could kind empathize with them. Humiliation was something I knew a lot about. They questioned us and some of the bystanders. One of the latter came forward: shaved head, tattoos, nasty looking fellow.

"Officer, I know this lady, she was a DI at Pendleton a few years back. The asshole picked on the wrong woman tonight," he said.

"Hi sergeant," mister nasty-looking said to Chelsea.

"Back atacha...?" she responded.

"Private Springer, sergeant," he said, identifying himself. She smiled. She didn't know him, but they were both Marines.

We were warned by the police not to cause anymore ruckus or they wouldn't be so tolerant the next time around. The fact that the assholes had caused the problem seemed to get lost in the telling—go figure. But they, the cops, didn't harass us anymore that night; I was grateful for that.

"A Marine? And not only a Marine but a drill instructor?" I said.

"You never asked," she said.

"How was I supposed to ask about that?" I said almost giggling.

"It doesn't bother you?" she said.

"Hell no," I said. "I think it's interesting as hell." She looked at me quizzically.

"Most men don't like it when they find out," she said. "I was hoping to get to know you better before I told you my life story."

"Well, the cat's out of the bag," I said. "The milk is spilt. Water over the dam, whatever. Give." She sighed.

"Okay, but just the short version tonight," she said. I nodded.

"We were poor; didn't have a lot of options. My bothers let me work out with them. I got real strong and real fast—for a girl. When I got outta high school I took the ASVAB, scored a ninety-two—well I had been hanging with my brothers—and I was an A-student. The Marines took me. I made squad leader in a year and was given temporary command of a platoon for short time. I made buck sergeant. Colonel Stansfield saw what I was doing, checked me out, and I eventually ended up at Pendleton schooling raw recruits. Had that duty for seven years before I mustered out. I was in for a total of twenty-years," she said. I looked at her like she was lying!

"You were in the service for twenty years! No way," I said. You look like your twenty-five."

She snickered. "Right. Well, I'm thirty-nine, just," she said.

"Fuckin'-A," I said. "I take it you're pretty good at self-defense and such."

"Very good," she said. She wasn't braggin', she was merely informing me.

"Hah, I wish I was. There are a couple of assholes I could name who I'd love to be able to dance with—I mean like you," I said.

"I could train you," she said. "Might be fun." We laughed and danced and drank some more and put the incident with the assholes behind us. Finally, worn out, we had one for the road and decided to head out.

******

The ride back from the club was slow. She nuzzled me, leaning over and putting her hand on my leg, high up on my leg. I looked over at her. "I think we're on the second half of our first date," I said sounding as serious as I could. She took my face in her two hands and leaned in and kissed me as I tried not to run into a tree or something. God she tasted good.

We went to her place.

"Have a seat, I'll be right back," she said. She wasn't; it took her ten minutes. When she did return she was wearing a black, knee-length negligee, and carrying two glasses of white wine.

She sat beside me on the couch. We tilted glasses, sipped our wine, and said absolutely nothing; it would have broken the mood.

She kissed me. I kissed her. I let my hands roam up and down her arms. I knelt down in front of her on the floor and lifted her nightie, but not too much. I wanted to go slow.

I began kissing the inside of her thighs. She tasted good, and she smelled wonderful. I looked up at her as I began to slowly pull her panties down and off. I nuzzled her bush.

Soon I was licking and sucking on her mons. Her slit was wet, not moist, wet, and almost dripping. I stood and took off my clothes. I was naked and she might as well have been.

As I stood in front of her, She took my cock in her hands and stroked it, very slowly. She leaned in and took it in her mouth. It was the best blow job I had ever gotten. What she was doing with her tongue could not have been found in any Marine Corps manual, but then again, what did I know.

I lifted her up and pulled her down on the floor with me. I rolled on top of her and forced her legs apart. I lay between them rubbing my cock up and down her mons.

"Put it in me, Ethan. I need it. It's been a long time," she said. "I positioned myself and she pulled her knees back and spread herself open for me. I slipped in without the slightest problem. She was wet beyond belief.

I began screwing her slowly and steadily. After some minutes, I don't know how many, I felt myself loading up. I began pumping her for real. She began to hump back at me driving her pelvis into the cruel assault of my cock. She made little squealing noises. Her breaths were coming in staccato bursts; she was having multiple orgasms and I finally unloaded into her washing her insides with my sauce.

We lay there for some moments trying to get back some semblance of routine in our breathing rhythm.

Before the night was over, I had her three more times. The most in my entire life. But, I can't take all of the credit; her tongue did a masterful job of getting me up when I was sure I couldn't get it up no matter what she did.

Sex with Chelsea looked promising as hell!

The next morning I lay musing on the bed while my new best love was showering.

It still rankled that I was a humiliated cuckold, but I was beginning to get some degree of my self-respect back. Dating a girl like Chelsea was a whole new ballgame for me. Yeah she was black, but so was Halle Beery, and I wasn't sure which of the two was prettier. I was dying to see how Marie would react when she found out I was with a woman so much her better that it was actually embarrassing, and yes, black too.

******

She watched him as he rolled off the bed naked as the day he was born. She was well fucked. She had to give him that. His cock would have been hard to replace. He was a helluva a cocksman. He headed for the bathroom to get cleaned up; he still had a company to run.

Missus Howard Gilchrist the first had dumped him and screwed him over even worse than she'd screwed over her husband, ex-husband, Ethan Crowley. She was Mrs. Howard Gilchrist now. The downside to that little reality was that Howard wasn't exactly "all that" when it came to husbandship, but that was okay, she had options. She relaxed waiting for him to come out. The coffee was on downstairs and they would have a roll or two, sip their coffees, and talk some before he had to go.

She was waiting for him and just pouring their cups when he came down.

She sat and watched him hang his coat on the back of an empty chair. He took his seat across from her.

"You look satisfied, little lady," he said.

"Hmm, yes," she said.

"Heard something about you ex today," said Howard.

She perked up. "Ethan?" she said.