February Sucks - In Cold Blood

For the ones tempted to roll their eyes and say, "Oh no, not another Febsux story!" good news: you're forewarned, and Literotica has several thousand other stories to read. Go, enjoy!

Thanks to bry1977 for editing help.

Tip of the hat to GeorgeAnderson for his February Sucks story (https://www.literotica.com/s/February-sucks) and blanket permission to add on to it. As most people know, this is probably the most "added to" story on the entire site, probably because of the provocative trigger - the blatant disrespect by the wife.

Several commenters on several of these Febsux add-ons scoff that no wife would do that, which made me go back to the original, and the author's explanation of what triggered it. His explanation bears reviewing:

"Many years ago, I was out of town at a conference. About 20 of us, half men and half women, almost all married, went out to a watering hole one evening to decompress. The local fauna were hitting pretty heavily on the women at our table. We guys were wincing at the crudity of the locals' attempts, while the women laughed and rejected them. One particularly bad approach drew the comment, "He's lucky I like this beer, otherwise he'd be wearing it."

"So what if it had been [famous football player: call him Jocko] saying that to you? Would he have scored?" another woman asked with a flirty little smirk in her voice.

"Hell, yes!" "Absolutely!" It was clearly unanimous.

"What if it meant, you know..."

"Especially if it meant that!" The women's laughter was genuine; the guys' was a little forced.

Understand, these women weren't dogs who couldn't get a date: they ranged from pretty to downright hot. They were in their late twenties and early thirties, and dressed for a night out.

"Um, what would you tell your husband?" one of the guys asked hesitantly.

"Um, why would I tell my husband?" The reply was instantaneous and greeted with laughter and head-nodding from the women.

"What if your husband was here?" the guy persisted. We could all hear the anxiety in his voice.

One of the women leaned forward with her elbows on the table and looked him dead in the eye. I remembered her from lunch; she'd been showing off pictures of her husband and their perfectly adorable five-year-old girl. "I would tell him that he knows how much I love him, and he knows I'll always come back to him, but I'm not going to pass up this opportunity, and I'll see him sometime tomorrow." She spoke calmly and kindly but with determination. None of us could doubt that she meant exactly what she said.

Several guys' jaws dropped considerably; I know mine was one.

"No, you wouldn't," the guy next to me muttered. The woman looked at him pityingly.

"Yes, I would, and I think every woman here would do the same."

"You might leave with him tonight, but if I was your husband, you sure as hell wouldn't see me tomorrow." He was as serious as she was.

Another woman tried to fix things. "Listen, I love my husband, I wouldn't trade him for anything. Jocko doesn't mean anything to me and never will, and he probably wouldn't even remember my name the next morning. But spending a night with him, just one night out of our whole marriage would be something I could remember for the rest of my life. An event, you know, with a capital E? It would have nothing to do with the way I feel about my husband. Afterward, I would go home to the man I love, and everything would be like it was before."

A tense silence fell on the table. "Well, that shows us married guys where we stand, doesn't it?" one guy muttered.

"Come on, guys, don't be that way. It's not that big a deal."

The party broke up pretty quickly after that, as people left by ones and twos to wander quietly back to the conference hotel. I have no idea whether the women at that table were typical. I meant to ask my wife about it when I got home but didn't get up the nerve. I still haven't. I'm not sure I want to know the answer, anyway."

His story then appears to be his stab at 'What would such a scenario look like, and how would it play out?' His original story ended up with the two reconciling. Just my guess, but it's the combination of the women's statements and his reconciled ending that sparked the by now more than a three-year-long stream of alternate endings. It certainly had me wondering when I'm at a stoplight or waiting in line somewhere, "Yeah, how SHOULD the damn story end?" Which is what prompted me to start writing here. Johnny come lately, I know, but hey, better late than never.

So, here's another way that provocative story could have played out. It inevitably will contain ideas from the myriad of other endings. A tip of the hat to those authors, too. But hopefully, the way they are combined makes for something original, and enjoyable.

The story starts when Jim leaves Morrison's.

Stunned at how someone's world can change in an hour, I gathered our stuff from the hotel and checked out. Driving home alone in the dark was almost an out-of-body experience. Devoid of all emotion, I sat at a light and had to tell myself, "The light has changed to green. That means driving through the intersection. Release the brake, and hit the gas gently."

Shaking my head as I drove, the thought dominating my consciousness was the unexpectedness and totality of Linda's change. One moment I was everything, and the next moment I didn't exist. Most of all, though, was how Linda had pulled off the surprise of my lifetime in cold blood. No angry outbursts, no tantrums at some slight, nothing.

A famous celebrity had picked her and she wasn't going to say no.

So she didn't.

Simple, really: tell a cowardly lie about going to the bathroom, and disappear. All worked out beforehand by her and her snake friend.

Snap of a finger. Gone. Fuck the husband (no, not that way) and fuck the kids. Entitlement in neon.

Clearly, she knew what she was doing, and clearly, she knew it was wrong. Obviously, it would hurt me, and yet, intentionally and deliberately, she walked out on me anyway. On our special night.

I could not wrap my mind around how anyone could do that to someone they loved and planned a special night with. If, like so many Loving Wives stories, it was preceded by weeks or months of withdrawal, dissatisfaction, or even hostility, I would understand Linda's cold-blooded betrayal--not like it, but understand it. But literally minutes after declaring to Dave that all her dances were going to be with me, while we were holding hands at the table, making goo-goo eyes at each other, so much the others joked we should get a room? How does that compute on any planet?

I considered picking up the kids early, but I didn't trust myself to take good enough care of them in this mental state. The question of what I should do floated across my mind like a banner pulled by a small plane in the distance. It was as if the cold-bloodedness of her betrayal cauterized any emotion a person ordinarily would feel. No anger, no hatred, no hurt, just (to misquote Pink Floyd) uncomfortably numb.

I first became aware of my world again when I woke up the following morning. At least I had hung up my suit, put on jammies, and turned out the light. I zombied through the shower and slid along the icy road to our friendly Denny's for breakfast.

"Where's Linda?" asked Marie, our usual waitress, as she poured my coffee.

"Do you know who Marc LaValliere is?"

"Is that a trick question? Everyone knows who he is."

Pointedly, I looked at my watch. "Well, at this very moment, he is fucking Linda in his bed in his mansion." I turned my face up and looked Marie in the eyes.

She slammed the coffee thermos down and both hands flew to cover her mouth. "What? No! For real?" My body language and tone of voice obviously dispelled any thought of this being a joke.

I nodded and dabbed at my eyes with another napkin. Holding it up, I said with a grimace, "Gonna need more of these."

"Oh, Jim." Ignoring all protocol, she bent down and gave me a hug across my shoulders. "I'm so sorry. I thought you were the lovebirds who inspired all of Hallmark's cards."

When she returned with an entire napkin dispenser, she slid into the booth across from me and said, "My boss said I can clock out since it's so quiet."

Not knowing what to say, I merely nodded.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

After blowing my nose and adding that napkin to the growing pile, I shook my head. "No idea. I'm still trying to wrap my head around what happened."

She reached across the table and patted my forearm.

"The thing that blows my mind," I said, snapping my fingers, "is how cold-blooded she did it." Between sips of coffee and growing the pile of napkins, I told her step by step how the shaming unfolded.

"I'll be damned," she muttered. "I've never heard of such a thing. Do you think they knew each other and planned this?"

"What do I know? But I don't think so. She was all lovey-dovey with me up to the very second he asked her to dance. Then, it was like he flipped an invisible switch and her change was like day to night. I didn't know she had it in her."

Marie nodded. "It's like the horse thief thing."

"What horse thief thing?"

"My grandpa always used to tell us the story. A horse was loosely tied up in front of the general store. A guy came by, untied the horse, and rode off with it. The question is: did he become a horse thief when he stole the horse, or did he steal the horse because he was a horse thief? Many others had walked past and didn't steal the horse."

"Hmm." I poured a fresh cup of coffee from the thermos. "I guess all these years I've been married to a cheater, a cruel, cowardly liar and cheater." Shaking my head, all I could say was, "I had no idea."

Apparently, her manager signaled her, because she stood up, patted my shoulder, and grabbed the used napkin pile before hustling off.

I must have finished my breakfast, because the next thing my table was filled with empty plates, and more used napkins.

When I got back home, I started packing. However this played out, there was no way I was staying married to a horse thief cheater. If cold blood was what she dealt with, that didn't leave me many options.

In no time I had my bags packed, a few boxes filled with my electronics, and I took off. My parents had moved to Florida, like millions before them, and that seemed like my best option. As I drove I pondered the question: am I running? Not really. If my parents still lived in town I would have stayed. This was about being with people I knew wouldn't betray me. The fact they lived somewhere warm, and away from all the scum that supported my cheating soon-to-be-ex was a bonus.

On the way, I called them and explained what happened. Marie and coffee had cleared my mind, so I could calmly explain my plan to my parents. My mom put the call on speaker so my dad could hear. Needless to say, I was welcome to stay there as long as I wanted. At a truck stop, I got on the internet, withdrew almost all of our money, and transferred it to a new account I created in a foreign bank. I knew I'd have to give her her half back, but since she decided cold blood was the order of the day, I'd make it as difficult for her as I could. She'd have to find a lawyer with no money, which hopefully eliminated the good ones.

Then I reported her credit cards missing. Her asshole lover surely had enough money to meet her needs. Last night he no doubt had a good start in that department. I called my boss and took the two weeks I'd saved up for an anniversary trip which no longer was going to happen.

Around lunchtime, Linda called for the first time. I let it ring to let her see I didn't want to talk to her. A text followed the call. I'm back. Where are you? Have you gone to fetch the kids?

At the next exit, I pulled over and replied. In order: I'm not. I'm gone. No.

Immediately, she called again and I let it roll over to voicemail as I returned to the freeway. To avoid any temptation to engage with her, I turned off my phone. Let her feel what it's like when your spouse decides to ignore you.

At my next gas stop, I turned on my phone to see what had happened next. Calls from her mother, Dee, and my boss. What was my boss doing, checking voicemail messages over the weekend? Oh, shit, she no doubt had received a call from Linda trying to penetrate my defenses with a flank attack.

Turning my phone off again, I attacked the final leg of my journey. When I arrived home (my new home) it took more than an hour to replay the events to my parents in detail. Then I turned to the future. "I want to disappear for at least two weeks. Please don't tell anyone I'm here. If it's a problem for you, I'll leave and stay in a hotel."

That wasn't a good plan in their view, and another few hours and beers went into considering more options until finally, we all agreed. They lived a few blocks from the beach in Sarasota, so I took my truck and found a vacant-ish stretch by the ocean, got out, and called Linda while the Gulf washed over my toes as I walked.

"Jim, where are you?"

"Gone."

"Gone where?"

"Same as you. Last night you went where you wanted to go--away from me. Today I went where I want to go--away from you."

"But, Jim, I'm back."

"And Linda, I'm not."

"I love you."

"No, you sure don't, but that's not important anymore. What's important is I do not love you. I don't love cold-blooded, lying cheaters."

"But Jim! What about the ten years we've had?"

"A question I asked myself, too, many times. Were you thinking about it as you sucked your stud's dick last night? And swallowed, like you never did for me? Did you think about our ten years when you let him fuck your ass?" I had no idea of whether that happened, so that was just a stab in the dark.

Linda's gasp confirmed my fears. "How did you know? Did Dee tell you?"

"Your friend Dee is not good at keeping secrets. She's as excited over your cheating as a fly over a fresh pile of dog shit." Again, I was keeping it as vague as possible to let her hang herself further.

"But Jim, it was only one night."

"Totally true, Linda. In one night you let a stranger have parts of you which you've denied me for twelve years. Now we know who you love and who you don't. Actions speak louder than words. Bitch."

Another gasp--I had never spoken to her that way before. For more than a decade I had spoiled and indulged her, always showing my love in actions... or so I thought. Turns out all she saw was a spineless wuss who'd put up with any chickenshit she threw my way.

"But Jim, what about our two children?"

"Yes, you cruel slut, what about them? Last night you showed how much they mattered to you. If Emma had an accident and had to go to hospital, nobody had any way to contact you. What kind of mother does that? So now we know how much they mean to you. Not nearly as much as having a jock drill all your holes as you cheat on them like a teenage groupie."

"Jim, no! It's over! It was only one night. I'm back and I'm going to make it up to you."

"How, exactly?"

Silence. "I'll do anything. Please just come back, so we can get past this together."

"Don't know about you, but I am getting past this very effectively, thank you."

"What? How? Where are you?"

"The best place I could possible be--far away from a narcissistic cunt who tosses her family away in cold blood, for a single night."

Again, a gasp, followed by a sob. "Who are you with? That slut Holly?" Holly Bermeister was my fishing buddy's sister, who punched every button on Linda's body image insecurity meter. Not only was she hung like a Holstein, she had the softest, whitest skin, and legs to die for. Worst of all (for Linda) Holly loved flirting, and the two of us were always trading borderline jokes and innuendos.

"Whoa, wait a minute," I said. "She's a slut? What does that make you? She's single but you're married with two small children. Holly's done nothing, but you walked out on your husband of ten years without a word or a glance, to go fuck a stranger. You're the slut, babe. A selfish and very evil person."

A sob followed her wail. "No, don't say that. I'm back. It was only one night."

"Correct--enough to show yourself a cheating slut. Pure evil. You knew what you did was wrong and went ahead anyway, exactly what an evil person does."

"Nooooo!!! I'm a good person. I love you."

"No, the only one you love is yourself. And maybe the asshole who fucked you last night. Actions speak louder than words--he's the only one you gave your ass to and whose cock you sucked on your first night with him. Tell me--was it the best night of sex you've ever had?"

Her silence confirmed her answer.

"So, bitch, you best go back to him, but you better hurry before he snags another married slut next Friday. Did you hear what he said in that interview last month?" Again, my imagination taking a stab in the dark.

"No, what?"

"He said he's given up chasing beautiful women. Making it with an average, unattractive married woman, he said, with saggy tits and baby bulges, is far more rewarding. Pretty women are always looking for sex and are easy, but dowdy mothers always put up more resistance, making them a bigger challenge."

"No! Where did he say that?"

"The National Enquirer ran a piece in January on his success with the opposite sex. Didn't you see it?"

"You're lying!"

"Go look it up. But ask yourself, why do you never see him with a Hollywood beauty? Or any single woman, for that matter? Pretty women dump him for younger hunks. The only ones he can make it with now are dowdy sluts like you. Anyway, if you want to keep him, you better jump, because no doubt he's going to Morrison's next Friday to harvest himself another saggy-tit frumpy mother of three to boost his ego all night."

Linda's sobs had become a continuous bawling. "You're just saying that to hurt me."

"Why would I do that?"

The answer was too obvious and all she did was cry and say, "But I love you," over and over.

"Why would I want to hurt you, Linda? Answer me."

"Because... because I hurt you?" she managed between sniffs.

"In cold blood," I replied. "You knew what you were doing was wrong. That's why you couldn't look me in the eye... just snuck out the back and had Dee spill the skanky beans to me afterward. Because the way Linda Carlisle loves someone is to ask forgiveness, not permission. Trample their hearts into the dust, humiliate them in public... and then expect them to take her back with open arms." I sighed. "No, Linda, you're not just an evil narcissist, you're delusional, too."

"But Jim, that's over. It was just one night, and I'm back. I'm going to make it up to you and be the best wife ever for you."

"You never answered my question, slut: how exactly are you going to make up the cold-blooded cruelty you dished out last night? How? Tell me. I want to know."

A text message popped up from my mom. Dinner in 10.

When it became clear that Linda had no answer to how she would make it up to me, I said, "I have to go. Someone who actually cares about my feelings is fixing me a delicious dinner."

Her scream compelled me to hold the phone a few inches away from my ear. "Who is that bitch? Is it Holly? I'll kill her!"

"There's a mature response from a rational modern woman."

"So, how long are you going to torture me before you come back?"

"Forever. Let this sink into your thick, deluded skull. I'm never coming back, Linda. What kind of idiot would go back to a cold-blooded cheating bitch without a gun to his head? You had the greatest night of sex in your life. Good for you. Now you have the rest of your life to figure out if that was worth losing your marriage of ten years. Was it worth your kids growing up knowing their mother tossed away their childhood for one night, one single night, of sex? Their entire childhood was worth less to you than one single night with a fellow narcissist. How valuable will that make them feel growing up? Do you want me to validate such a cruel cunt's choices? Think again, bitch. Goodbye."