February Sucks - My Sequel

I didn't say anything, but I'd thought that one over. I'd been reading up on that very subject.

Dee continued, "To make a long story short he got hard again and carried her upstairs. She said his arms were so big; she felt like a child. Linda said she was amazed; it was a huge room with a round super-king-sized bed with satin sheets and either silk or satins pillows and quilts strewn all over the place. She said it had the look of a big harem room. She said he got out a costume and dressed her; it was a harem girl's outfit with a filmy transparent top and long translucent trousers that he tied off with ribbons around each ankle. She said he kissed her all over while he dressed her. She said she felt like totally nervous. He even had a thin metal collar he locked around her neck. She said, dressed like that, she felt helpless, like completely in his power. She said she felt like she was his slave. After he dressed her she said they slid around for another half an hour at least until he did it again. She said she kept pretending she was his slave girl and he was a sultan or someone like that. She said she couldn't even count how many times she'd gone off, but she was getting really sore."

I said, "You don't say."

Dee said, "Oh I do say, but that wasn't all."

I could tell Dee was really enjoying herself. She continued, "He stepped away again, came back in the bedroom, and they lay there for a couple hours and just cuddled. She said they lay there and he kept kissing her all over. She said his fingertips gave her chills everywhere he touched. She said she'd never felt so alive, not ever, not in her whole life. She said he started whispering things in her ear. He asked her to tell him her name, and when she told him Linda he said no. He said her name was Scheherazade, that she was his wife, and that this would be the first of a thousand and one nights. She said that made her cry, and when he asked her why she was crying she said it was because she so happy. He kissed and nibbled on her breasts. I asked her "if he used a condom, and Linda laughed and said no he didn't, and she was glad because she wanted to have his child."

When Dee said that I think it hurt more than hearing about the actual sex.

Dee didn't notice my misery, she droned on, "Then, to her surprise he was hard again. That third time he made her kneel on all fours while he got her from behind. She said he took his hands and tore a big hole in the back of the trousers. She said just the tearing sound made her go off. Linda said she thought he wanted to do her rear end. She said that was something you and she had never done. She said you guys never did it, because you said some women thought it was degrading and you respected her too much, but she said, even if it hurt she wanted him to do her rear."

Dee laughed, "She said he didn't, but they did do it a third time. After that they went to sleep. They didn't wake up until around nine the next morning."

I was angry about what Dee was saying, but I held it in. I did say, "Linda can be a wildcat."

Dee smiled, "Not the last time. The last time they did it again on his bed, but they did it sideways. She said he was slow and gentle. She said it was like they were a married couple. She said she even pretended she was Scheherazade and they were married."

When I heard that I just went numb.

Dee was oblivious to my pain as she pushed on, "They had what she called languorous sex that last time. They showered together; he scrubbed her with some real expensive soap. Then they went downstairs; she wore one of his terry cloth robes. She said it was incredibly large, like maybe three times as big as any of your robes. Then for breakfast he fixed, get this, fresh caviar. They both got dressed, and he brought her back to you. She said all the way back he fingered her pussy. She said she was terribly sore, but if he wanted to stop, she would have willingly done it again, right there in his car. He kissed her goodbye in the car before she got out. She said she was sopping wet, and a little afraid you might notice. He thanked her for the most wonderful night of his life. He kissed her breasts over her dress and left a wet spot in both places where her nipples were. She thanked him. She told him she loved him and she'd always remember him."

Dee blushed, "I'm sorry Jim. I shouldn't have told you that."

I grinned the grin of the condemned and said, "What, about the love? Forget it, it's OK."

Dee said, "She said he helped her out, watched her walk to her front door and drove away.

I said, "Gee, four times in one night."

Dee laughed and said, "Yeah. I was so jealous. Dave's a one and done man."

That didn't make me feel any better; there had been a handful of times when I'd done Linda three times, but they were very rare. I thought we might be done, but something else had popped into my head. I asked, "Did Linda say anything about drugs. I mean had she taken anything?"

Dee shook her head, "I asked Linda the same thing. I even asked about Ecstasy, but Linda said the whole time from his car to their breakfast she'd only had a little water, and that had been out of a bottle. She said she was wide awake and fully alert the whole time. She said it was all Marc."

I thought, 'So that was it.' I didn't say what that night really meant to me. I asked her, "She didn't say anything else?" Then I asked, "Someone made some money off my wife's great night,", "Do you know anything about a nondisclosure agreement?"

Dee looked confused, then righted herself, "You don't know do you? Then, of course, you wouldn't. Later Linda called me and said you found out about the flowers. They weren't technically flowers. You see before Linda left that Saturday morning she signed an agreement that the two of them would keep their night of love a total secret. It was Linda who signed a nondisclosure agreement, but then when their story leaked to the newspapers he thought she might be backing out. The flowers were what she called a gentle reminder from him of their secret or what she called their 'special promise'. She talked to him one more time and told him she'd never said anything, and that their special night would remain their secret for all time. I remember she said 'for all time' like it was this great agreement."

That was a surprise. I had one last question. I asked, "Sometimes when people enter into these special, you know, one of a kind happenings there's a memento."

Dee interrupted, "You mean like a gift."

I nodded.

"You are a thinker aren't you Jim," she said. "Well there was a gift."

I felt it again, that gnawing. I asked, "Do you know what it was?"

"Hell yeah," she said. She brought it over and showed it to us. She was really proud of it. I mean to her it was like the Hope Diamond, the Crown Jewels or something."

Dee didn't even wait for me to say something. "He gave her this kit. He'd bought it at Neiman-Marcus. It was a gold cosmetic kit made by Chanel. It had to be worth at least a thousand dollars. She opened it up and showed it to us. There was a note inside. It had a key. She wears the thing, the key I mean, around her neck. You know she has a cross on a thin chain around her neck. The key is tiny and it's covered by the cross."

I knew about the cross. It had been a gift from her dad when she was a child. I asked Dee, "Did she say what she did with the cosmetic kit?"

"She sure did," replied Dee. "She said she was afraid you might find it so she hid it in her dresser drawer. She said you'd bought her a manicure kit once, but she's never used it. It's in the back of the top drawer of her bureau. She said she slipped the Neiman-Marcus box with the cosmetic kit under the manicure set. She said she gets it out every day, opens it, and looks at it. She said it reminds her of how special she was for that one night."

'Jesus,' I thought, 'What a wealth of information Dee was.' We talked a little while longer, but by then Dee started to get antsy. Dave was due home, and she didn't want any more trouble. I didn't know exactly what that meant, but I'd heard they had their problems.

She walked me to her front door. We kissed each other on the cheek. She winked and whispered, "I'm here for you if..." she winked again, "you need anything."

I winked back, "I'll keep that in mind." I reminded myself, if there was one woman on the planet I did not want to sleep with it was Dee. I walked down their drive, got in my S-10 and drove over to a nearby Starbucks. I needed a cup of coffee and time to think about what my next step would be. As I sat there slowly sucking down my Latte with the extra shot of expresso I wondered how many cosmetic kits Marc Lavaliere might have bought from Neiman-Marcus. I bet he had a carton full. I bet he had a whole closet full of women's costumes. Yes, I had a lot on my mind. I felt the dull pain still in my chest from the bullet hole, but there was that other, deeper, gnawing down there as well.

I drove home. I knew Linda wouldn't be there. I went upstairs and searched her bureau. There it was! The Neiman-Marcus box. I opened it, and took out the cosmetic kit. God it was beautiful! I'd never been especially talented at much of anything, but I knew how to work open a lock like this one. I got it open. Inside there was a note. I read it, "to a real sweetheart, let this be an eternal source of warm and happy memories." Of course it wasn't signed, it was just a simple generic message, and something he might've written in a dozen identical kits.

I started to put it back, but at the last second made a decision. I took my pen knife, my good old 'camp king', and made a deliberate and deep scratch across the inside of the top of the kit. I knew Chanel would never let anything go out with such a blemish. Linda would reopen her special gift, and she'd see the scratch. What she thought, and where it might've come from would be her never mind.

I had to retreat and think some more.

I called my dad and told him to call Linda to tell her I'd be gone for a few days. He asked me why I didn't call her. I told him I didn't want to hear her voice. He didn't respond to that, but he said he would take care of it. After that I drove over to the Walmart and bought several changes of clothes. I had a place to go.

Back when we were kids my mom and dad used to take us camping. It wasn't anything great, just a tent, a couple fishing rods, swim suits, a Coleman stove and a couple lanterns. No big deal, but we had fun. We fished. We swam. We played Uno by firelight, and dad told us scary stories while mom got the ingredients together for S'mores. We were all happy.

There was one place we all especially liked. Out in West Virginia there's a town, Buchanan, and near Buchanan there's a small state park called Audra. We used to set up camp by the river and just live the life. I talked Linda into going there once, but she hated it; she hated the mosquitoes, sleeping in a tent, the outdoor cooking, and the cold river water. That's where I went.

Of course I didn't pitch a tent, no, I got a room at the local Hampton Inn, and I meditated. Two things came to mind; one, while Linda was out playing dress up and fucking the football player I'd been home, in the cellar seriously contemplating how to take my own life, and second, all our married life had been basically about doing what Linda wanted to do. I liked to camp. I liked to fish. I used to have a pram; I thought dad still might have it. I remember I'd go fishing on some of the nearby man-made lakes. I even had a cheap canoe. Canoeing I remembered was great fun, exciting. I used to go horseback riding. I used to hunt. Hell, I had an old guitar back home; I remember I was pretty good once. I was part of a group in high school; I couldn't sing, but I knew how to play.

I thought about my dad and mom. Between the two everyone knew dad loved mom a lot more than she loved him. I guess that's the way it always is; one partner in a marriage loves the other more. In our marriage I always knew it was me who loved Linda more. I thought, even if it had been an equal relationship she still most likely would have betrayed me.

In the end it all came down to a few self-evident truths. First, I still had some feeling for Linda, but love, like it had been, was gone. Second, if I had killed myself that horrid night I'd be gone, but she would have moved on. She would have found a replacement. Third, I loved my kids, and I loved and respected my grandparents. If it was just my kids I'd divorce her, but there was grandmom. I couldn't hurt her, not after what I'd found out, but on the good side, to save her feelings was essentially a short run burden. If granddad was right, and grandmom was almost gone I was certain I could put up with Linda a little longer.

There was another fly in the ointment though. Linda and her football hero had gone at it bareback. They'd done it four times! I seriously doubted Lavaliere had had a vasectomy. I'd gotten one! 'Bareback,' I thought. When had Linda gone through her last menstrual cycle? I believed it was that first week in February. If that was the case then Linda was fertile the night of her great "love in". What if she was pregnant? That would be a deal breaker all the way around. If she was carrying the football player's child, then she would carry it all by herself. I sort of knew the law. I believed, being her husband wouldn't matter, I'd still be stuck holding the bag, but that didn't mean I'd have to live with her or pretend the bastard was mine. Linda and I needed to have a serious talk. The subject of pregnancy would be on the list. Meanwhile I was going to make some purchases. I wanted to get back all the things I'd given up!

But for sure, there had to be some kind of talk.

-----V-----

After several days in West Virginia I got back to where my home might still be. Honestly, I didn't have much hope, but there was grandmom. I swallowed a Xanax. I walked in the front door, and I had to say it. I called out, "It's me, Jim. Just plain old, same old me!"

Linda came out from the kitchen, "Hi Jim. I missed you. The kids have missed you. Tell me, are you home now. I mean for good?"

I answered, "I don't know Linda. I've done a lot of thinking."

She came up to me and tried to put her arms around me, but I wouldn't let her. She said, "I miss you Jim. I miss your handsome face, your warm smile, your discreet manliness. I miss being in your arms. I want you Jim."

I listened; 'discreet manliness' I thought, discreet as opposed to the football player's real manliness.

Then she asked me, "Jim, the children are at my parents. They won't be home for hours. Would you make love to me?" She coughed lightly, "I mean, I need you honey. I want you inside me. Love me Jim. Take me upstairs right now and make me a happy woman. Make sweet love to me."

I was horny; I looked her over. She had on a simple cotton pink dress that I could see zipped up the back. On her feet were white socks and a pair of brown moccasins. She wasn't wearing any makeup. I thought bitterly of the cosmetic kit. I reached out my hand. She reached out to me. I said, "Come on." I led her up the steps.

The next hour and a half were, to me at least, both wonderful and awful. Linda seldom talked while we had sex, but this afternoon she kept whispering about how this was going to be the start of our new life together. She kept making quiet promises about her love and future loyalty. I kept quiet. I just wanted to enjoy the few moments we had. I thought, 'I loved her once.'

She was wet and warm, and she knew how to clench her pelvic muscles to enhance both our experiences. I didn't sense anything profoundly different. She was as relaxed and comfortable as she'd always been. I enjoyed the contented passion. I was surprised at my ability to control myself. I thought of Dr. Smith and his pills.

There were a couple troubling things however; for one it was late afternoon, and though the drapes and blinds were down we were enjoying ourselves in the half light of a spring day. She kept her eyes closed the whole time. This was out of character. Linda mostly kept her eyes I'd say droopy, or half open, a kind of smoldering vague sleepy, but sensuous look. It was almost a practiced look. But now it seemed a couple times as though she were clenching her eyes closed, forcing them closed as though she was shutting out her immediate environment. Was she keeping them closed so she could shut me out and fantasize about Lavaliere?

Then there was a second thing. I'm no Adonis, no Olympic athlete, and certainly no football player. Yet Linda seemed to be groping my body, or for want of a better phrase, she was evaluating my body. Twice she took one of her hands and tried to wrap her fingers around one of my biceps. I was sure she'd done something like that with her football player, and I was equally sure my arms failed miserably by comparison. I was glad I'd been so long without some sexual release, for I was sure her subtle touchings would've caused my hydraulics to fail.

We got through it. I enjoyed it. It wasn't great, but as they say, bad sex is always better than no sex at all. Afterward we lay there, and she started to analyze the experience. I'd not done much reading, but from what I had read I knew it was almost always the man who did the post coitus analysis. I knew then I was under the microscope, and I was certain I was failing. She was making excuses. Did it matter? Yes it did, and I didn't like it.

She leaned down and tried to take me in her mouth. That truly put me off. Dee had told me about Linda's experience with the football player. Plus, in all our ten years of marriage she'd almost never done anything like that. I reflected on Dee's comments, and realized Linda had come up with a new test. Even though I was sure I could recover, I was determined not to give her the satisfaction. With determination I sat up on the side of the bed and said, "Linda, it's time we talked."

She sat up on one elbow, "Now," she asked?

I said, "Yes, now. Put something on and let's go downstairs."

We both got dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen. She put on a pot of coffee. I sat and waited.

Moments later with coffees in our hands I started, "How many times did you and Marc have sex that night back in February?"

She gave me a sad look, shrugged, and whispered, "I think two times, and then once again in the morning."

"That's not what Dee said," I replied.

"When did you talk to Dee," Linda asked?

"That doesn't matter," I told her. "Do you know what Sildenafil is?"

"No I don't," she replied.

It's the scientific name for the chemical in Viagra," I said.

She answered, "So what's that got to do with anything?"

I told her, "Marc is a football player, a professional athlete. He takes all kinds of pills." I tried not to smirk, but I know I did. I said, "What do they say? Better life through chemistry. Viagra is usually taken orally, and requires at least two hours to start working. Did you know it can be taken by injection? Did you know if taken that way it can start working in a man's system within minutes. Linda do you know what 'refraction time' is?"

She was getting restless, "No I don't, but I think I'm about to find out."

"You are," I said. "Refraction time is the length of time it takes a man to recover from a sexual event. I bet good old Marc recovered in a matter of minutes didn't he?"

She nodded and whispered, "Yes."

Then I asked, "Tell me Linda, did he excuse himself to the bathroom right after each sexual event?"

She answered, "He said he wanted to wash off."

"He didn't ask you to wash did he," I said.

She said, "No he didn't. He said he liked the way I smelled."

"I'll bet he did," I responded. "You actually did it four times. I know that, and each time the two of you did it bareback. Am I right?"