Fathers, Brothers, and Sons

When I moved away, she made a little querulous noise, and then an irked one when she saw why. "A condom? Really?"

As I rolled the latex sheath down, I said, "Take it or leave it. I have no idea where you've been."

Alli tried a seductive little smile and said, "I can suck your dick first, if you'd like. I know how you--"

"Nah. STDs can travel through saliva, too. I won't be going down on you anymore, either."

She started to object, then thought better of it, instead inviting me into her embrace with a strained smile. I didn't take her roughly; there was no punishment involved, no spanking her ass or hammering her cunt or anything of the kind. On the contrary: it was simply intercourse. It lacked any passion on my part beyond what was necessary to get off.

Allison was vocal, as usual; I was not. She tried to kiss me several times, and while I was receptive, I never initiated. Her eyes and her voice became desperate as our coupling went on, begging me to engage with her on some level besides the purely physical; I did not.

Normally, even if I hadn't gone down on her, I still would have taken the time to make sure she enjoyed herself; Alli was multiorgasmic, something she and I had both enjoyed a number of times. On any previous occasion, if we had the time, I would have gladly expended the effort to make sure she got off at least three or four times before I did. This time, though, she came once, about halfway through, and was close again when I finished filling the condom with useless spend.

When I was done, I was done. As I rolled off of her and stood up, Alli whined, "I was so close!"

My hands busied themselves with the task of removing the condom. It had been over twenty years since I had worn one, and it wasn't like riding a bike. I ended up spilling just a little. "So use your fingers."

Alli tried one more time to engage me with a coquettish smile and a playful tone. "I'd love it if you used your fingers, instead." When I held up a single digit to show her the cum on it, she giggled, "So?"

"You don't know where I've been either." Her jaw dropped as I walked into the bathroom to dispose of the rubber. When I finally climbed into bed a few minutes later, her back was to me, and I once again fell asleep to the sound of my wife's weeping. It didn't take long; I'd gotten off, after all.

The next day was a Saturday, and the kids were already out of the house when we woke up, Julie having been tasked with weekend taxi duties as partial payment for the used car we'd given her. I woke after Alli with a spring in my step; getting laid had put me in a better mood than I'd been in a while.

My wife was sitting at the kitchen table, looking miserable. Breakfast hadn't been prepared this time, nor was coffee ready, so I grabbed a poptart and started a cup brewing. Alli stared at me, angry and unhappy, but silent. When I raised an eyebrow, she complained, "I didn't like that."

"That?"

"You know!" Alli hugged herself and looked away. "Last night."

"Seemed like you got off. Unless, of course, you've been lying about that for years, too."

Fury flashed in her eyes as they returned to me. "No, I haven't! I've always enjoyed how you make love to me! But that wasn't making love!"

The coffee was done brewing, so I pulled out my cup and blew on it, then took a sip. I stared at her the entire time, making her wait for a response until I was ready. "No, it wasn't." She watched me expectantly, but a further response wasn't forthcoming.

Alli's gaze slipped away again as her discomfort grew, before she quietly said, "I didn't like it. It made me feel... dirty. Cheap."

I helpfully offered, "Used?"

"Yes."

"Doesn't feel great, I agree." She looked straight at me then, eyes narrowed, and opened her mouth to speak, but I beat her to the punch. "You've used me for sixteen years. Used me for free childcare for another man's kid, to put food in his belly and a roof over his head.

"Why did we move into this house, Alli? So we'd have more room for three kids; our old house would have been fine if we had two. I've driven him around, gone to PTA meetings, coached him through classes and sports, poured my heart and soul into making him everything he could be.

"So, yeah. I used you like a whore, Alli. Just like you did with me. Only difference is that I didn't pretend to love you while I was fucking you."

My wife burst into tears, but I had no use for them, no interest in the performative grief she displayed for a marriage that she'd killed. There was part of me that still loved her and felt terrible for the things I'd said. But that part was growing smaller by the day.

That wasn't the last time that we had sex; far from it. If she felt the need, she would initiate, and I usually responded positively. If I felt the need, she never turned me down, no matter how tired she was. I was never cruel with her, always making sure that her body was ready with my fingers before we began, and she usually came at least once.

But I used a condom every time, and we rarely fucked facing each other anymore; doggy and prone and reverse cowgirl became our go-to positions. That way she wouldn't have to see the love that wasn't there. Like I said, I was never cruel.

Outside of the bedroom, things changed as well, but not in a way that would betray the rot eating at the heart of our marriage. The kids didn't have a clue-- I don't think-- even when we were at our worst. Julie was off doing her own things, and Travis usually was as well. Megan was a little nerd like her daddy, so she'd be in her room playing games and doing puzzles most of the time. Dinnertime was generally without tension, and the weekends were busy with all sorts of activities.

What changed most obviously was how I spent my time. One of the things that I realized early on was that there was no way I'd be able to have a social life after divorcing Alli if I didn't go out and make some friends of my own. I had friends, but they were almost all "our" friends, which meant, for the most part, that they were Alli's friends. She had always been the social one. So I decided to fix that.

The problem was that I had no idea how to do that at first. Anyone who's tried to make new friends as an adult, especially a middle-aged adult, will tell you it's hard. Even moreso if you aren't very good at being social.

But Tate, again, came to my rescue, and even let me kill two birds with one stone. He was part of a cycle club; not a motorcycle club, but a bicycling one. I had gotten a bit pudgy as age and a sedentary lifestyle took their toll, but that guy was about as fit as they come. So, one day, I showed up at home with a bicycle rack and a brand new, way too expensive bike attached to it. Alli let it go uncommented upon, but Travis was very excited. Before the weekend was out, there was another bicycle on the rack, and Tate's group had another member.

More importantly, though, I made a lot of friends there. Isabella was the first; she was a stunningly fit woman, a dozen years younger than me, with a slim, athletic build, beautiful green eyes, and long auburn hair that she kept in a braid when she was cycling.

Yes, she caught me checking her out.

But then she just laughed it off. "Hey, I know how I look. As long as you're not a perv about it, I don't mind; your eyes have to go somewhere." I felt like a perv, but she didn't seem to think so. Neither did Janine, her wife, who was almost as attractive. Ah, well. I was still technically married anyways.

And, oddly, they ended up being some of the best friends I ever had. They both encouraged me and taunted me as I tried to get back in shape, and although I was never going to get near the level of health they were at, they did their best to get me as close as they could. In turn, I offered them some of the insights that age could bring; twelve years might not sound like a lot, but there's so much of a difference in perspectives and experience between someone who's just past thirty and someone edging close to their mid-forties.

More than that, though, they were both fun. They were nerds, too, of the puzzles and games variety. I joined them regularly for game nights, sometimes bringing Travis or the girls along. Janine and Isabella loved kids, and that was one of the things I regularly talked with them about. Isabella was planning to go through IVF, and they wanted advice on bringing up their son or daughter when the time came.

Alli wasn't thrilled about me hanging out with two younger and very beautiful women, especially after my comment about her not knowing where I'd been, but she was somewhat mollified by the fact that they were married to each other. And if she hadn't been? Fuck her. The whole point of getting out and being social was to make friends I'd still have after we divorced. Isabella and Janine were much like Tate in how they treated Alli: there was no animosity there, but neither was there a real friendship.

They weren't the only friends I made there, either, nor was cycling my only new hobby. I also got back into martial arts. I had studied shotokan in my senior year of high school, after my run-in with Evan, but had to drop it when I moved to college. I remembered enjoying it, and I happened to pass by a place teaching kenpo. It wasn't the same art, but beggars can't be choosers. Since I was just looking for new ways to both be social and out of the house, switching arts was fine. It's not like I was trying to become a black belt.

The guy that ran it was kind of a blowhard, but in a fun sort of way, unlike my brother. He was a big, brash guy, goofy and friendly, named Jack. Of course he was named Jack. He was like the Platonic ideal of a "Jack." I enjoyed my classes with him a lot, and since I was one of the older students, he and I would sometimes joke around after class, which led to us going out to a bar together from time to time.

I made other friends there, too: Tom and Mike-- twenty-five year old twin brothers that were kind of Jack-lite-- and Lila. Lila was closed off at first, but she warmed up to me pretty quickly. Her boyfriend, Trey, was a really nice guy, and another nerd; Lila was so grateful when I roped him in for game nights with Janine, Isabella, and the kids. It meant that she no longer had to pretend to understand the byzantine rules of whatever Trey's new obsession was. That alone made sure that we were fast friends, but she and I also bonded over our relative ineptitude when it came to our chosen art. I got in better shape cycling, but I had more fun at the dojo.

Travis glommed onto kenpo, as well. He had gone through a tae kwon do phase as a grade schooler like a lot of kids did but dropped it after a few months. I was in an adult class, and he was in a teen one, but he rode with me to and from the dojo, and we talked about school, girls, music, and all of the other things that teenage boys obsess about when it was just the two of us in the car.

It was strange that Travis and I became closer after I found out he wasn't my son. That's one of the things that always strikes me about my story: I probably wouldn't have gotten involved with either of these sports if I hadn't seen that "B" on his charts. If I hadn't, I doubt we would have become as close as we did. My life had been upended, but it was nice that I was able to find at least one bright bit of treasure amongst the wreckage.

I made sure to make time for my girls, too. Julie was pulling away, as I expected her to do at that age, but I made sure that we still spent time together. It was an experience that I'm sorry to say she didn't get enough of when she was younger; her brother came along not long after she did, and Megan had taken her slot as Daddy's girl not much longer after that.

She was tough and independent, but I wanted to make sure that she knew that her dad was always there for her, no matter what. We had always had a strong bond, but this intentional renewal only strengthened it. I had no doubt, by the time she left for college, that she knew she could always come to me for anything.

Megan, well, Megan just stayed Daddy's girl. Daddy's girl that could kick ass, that is. She got irritated that Travis and I were getting to have all the fun at kenpo, and she joined in after six months or so. That, plus the game nights, plus her instinct naturally being to come to me when she needed help, meant that there was no doubt who her favorite parent was.

I know that sounds Machiavellian, but it wasn't my intention when I started this. I just wanted to spend time with my family while I still had one. You'll notice that nowhere in there do I mention the times we all spent together as a family with Alli, although those did happen. We went to the movies sometimes, or on occasion we'd all veg out around the TV, or even lasso their mom into a game or two. But Alli and I spent almost no time alone together outside of the bedroom. On top of that, she was still traveling regularly for work, while I was almost always there for them.

She did have some time just with the kids, though. In addition to cycling, kenpo, and game nights with my new friends, I started to take short weekend trips. Sometimes I'd bring one or more of the kids along, to go camping or on a long bicycle trip, or to go compete at a tournament with Travis or Megan. But, on occasion, I'd just go by myself.

I didn't tell Alli more than the bare minimum about where I was going or what I was doing. What I did was none of her business, as far as I was concerned. It took her a while to accept that, but eventually the news that I'd be taking off for a weekend was met with a slightly brittle "stay safe." It was rare that I went very far-- usually no more than an hour or two drive away-- and I only traveled if it wouldn't interfere with the kids' activities. I was never irresponsible.

Well, except for that one time, about nine months after I learned what Alli had done.

On that occasion, early on a Saturday afternoon, I found myself in front of a grubby door in a grubby building in a grubby part of a town several hundred miles from home. After knocking, I heard a loud voice bellow, "Yeah, just a minute!" The peephole turned dark. I heard the sound of locks being opened and a chain being removed. And then, standing before me in all his toxic glory was my older brother, Evan. "Fuck are you doing here?"

He smelled like beer and sweat, but that wasn't particularly new. Ever since his wife had left him, he'd been like a parody of a post-divorce trainwreck. That might be understandable if it had been only a few months, but it had been years. Even at Thanksgiving, he was barely cleaned up and sober. But on a Saturday afternoon? He looked every bit the walking dumpster fire on the outside that he'd always been on the inside.

"Wanted to talk." My affect was neutral; I knew the way this was likely to go, but I wasn't going to shove it in that direction. However, I wasn't going to go out of my way to be nice, either. I'd long since moved past "sibling rivalry" with Evan, even before my run-in with the letter "B" and Alli's revelations. I openly loathed him when social circumstances allowed for it.

"About what?" His eyes narrowed with suspicion, or possibly just with the effects of daylight on them. I wouldn't be surprised if I'd woken him.

"Travis."

A quick flicker of his usual dickhead self showed through for one moment, a smugness that he quickly tried to hide. "What about him?"

"I think you know."

And there it was in its full magnificence, the shit-eating grin I'd come to hate over the years. "Dunno what you mean."

"Yes you fucking do. Cut the act."

He shrugged. "Okay. So, you finally figured out you weren't his daddy?"

"Yeah." I shook my head. "You knew all this time, and you didn't tell me. Why?"

"Why the fuck would I?"

My shout resounded down the hallway. "Because I'm your brother, goddammit!"

"Only 'cause Mom fucked Dad. Jake was more of a brother to me than you ever were." I stood there, dumbfounded, as he continued, "And, yeah, you're a little beta bitch, but he figured Alli loved you, and you were a good husband to his sister-- no idea what she ever saw in you-- and that you'd be a good dad to his kid, so I told him I'd keep it quiet."

"But you couldn't help taunting Alli."

Evan snorted, "Bitch had a chance at me instead of you. Can't blame me for getting a few shots in here and there. Never would have happened if she'd married a real man in the first place."

I just kept staring at him for a minute before finally asking, "What the hell did I ever do to make you hate me so much?"

That big shit-eating grin was back, and it made me want to throttle him. "You were a pussy. I wanted to have a brother I could be proud of, someone that was into football and cars and shit, like me and dad were." He chuckled. "I usedta wonder if you even were actually my brother, or if mom got around behind Dad's back. But, nah, I can't believe that. Dad wouldn't put up with being a cuck like you."

I tensed for just a moment, and he laughed. Then I forced myself to loosen up, preparing for what was about to happen. "Say that again, asshole."

"What? Cu--" He didn't finish that word. Didn't say a whole lot for about the next minute, either, outside of "Oof" and "Ow" and "Aaaugh!!!"

Something I learned pretty early on, even when I was younger, was that guys that are big and strong often don't know how to fight. If you didn't know how to fight either, yeah, they'd maul you. But if you were even marginally skilled-- like, say, six months of shotokan as a kid and eight months of kenpo as an adult-- along with the conditioning that came with bicycling and martial arts as a way to avoid your wife for nearly a year, then, yeah: it's pretty easy to kick the shit out of a big guy that never actually learned how to fight.

My first shot caught him in the nose, a quick jab that gave a satisfying crunch; I didn't know if it broke then, so I hit him again with a followup before he could even respond. That finally woke the bear, and my asshole brother roared as his hamhock of a fist soared through the air towards me.

But Evan was slow, his muscle covered over with a layer of fat. On top of that, he had either just woken up, was nursing a hangover, or had gotten an early start on his daydrinking. Or maybe he just sucked. I didn't know. I didn't care. I just knew that I had over-prepared for this confrontation, and I enjoyed the hell out of it.

His flailing swing was easy to evade, and I barely even felt the air off of it. The big lug was overextended, so it was trivial to duck to the side and jab a fist into his kidney a couple of times. Evan howled with pain as he reached down to grab me; that didn't work out so well for him either.

Kicks in a fight are usually a bad idea, but they do have their place, especially if you're good at landing them precisely. I wasn't, but my brother had two bad knees, and they were pretty close to each other; he hadn't been expecting a fight, so his stance was little changed from when he'd smugly greeted me at his apartment door.

Did I mention that Evan's football career, lackluster though it was, ultimately ended due to knee injuries? That's how the fight ended, too. My shot wasn't precise, and I didn't do as much damage as I'd wanted, but a quick snap kick to one leg was followed up by another one into his crotch.

Evan was bleeding from the nose, clutching his side in pain, staggering, and now he had a pair of scrambled eggs below the waist. An elbow to his face knocked him on his ass and ended the fight-- such as it had been-- with a pathetic thud.

I was breathing hard, more from the adrenaline than the exertion, while he sat, dazed, in his doorway, leaned up against the frame. When he finally spoke, his teeth pink with blood from a split lip, he said, "Huh. Maybe you are my brother after all."