February Sucks: Same Old Me (1of4)

This is a derivative work and alternate ending of GeorgeAnderson's story "February Sucks!" GeorgeAnderson is the author and sole owner of February Sucks and the characters he created. He no longer responds to requests for permission to create alternate versions and conclusions of his story, of which there are now hundreds posted in Literotica's Loving Wives category. It's now a TYPE of story, a structure that's been endlessly riffed upon like an old Jazz Standard. For the uninitiated, "Loving Wife" Linda ditches her husband Jim in front of all their friends, to spend a magical night getting railed by NFL hero and hunky sex god Marc LaValliere, confident that Jim will just have to deal with it and welcome her back when she's done. The original version can be read here:

https://literotica.com/s/february-sucks

WARNING: This is a Long, Long Story. The four parts total 93,000 words. There are pages and pages of dialog that many will find superfluous, and I'm covering OLD, well-trodden ground. Anyone familiar with LW stories and the "February Sucks" trope will find this to be a grueling test of your endurance. There is no Burn-The-Bitch, there is no Reconciliation-At-Any-Cost, and if you don't want to read a long story, then STOP RIGHT HERE and go do something else. And please, for the love of god, don't rate the story poorly because it's too long and you refused to read it or didn't finish. Just go about your business and leave me alone.

WARNING #2: If you've already read my story "C is for Cookie," you won't find much new in here. That story has its roots in this one, and I ended up saying most of the same things. I really hate repeating myself, but in this case, there was no way to avoid it.

This version of "February Sucks!" begins with our POV narrator, Jim, arriving back at the table with his shithead friends, after Linda abandons him with the help and encouragement of her friend Dee.

***

"Jim, try to think of it this way, maybe it will help." Jane was trying to sound sympathetic. "What if the cover model from the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue was here tonight? Say she picked you out of everyone here to dance with, and then she offered to spend the night with you. Can you honestly say you wouldn't be tempted? Can you honestly say you would turn her down?" The pleading look in Jane's warm brown eyes made her look like a particularly winsome puppy dog, and was usually quite effective in getting her what she wanted. Not tonight.

"Would I be tempted? Sure. Is that the sort of thing I'd fantasize about? Also yes. But would I turn her down? Yeah. Yeah, Jane, I would. I'm MARRIED. Part of me would regret missing out on an incredible thrill, I admit it, but that's not the part of me that's in charge. If I did that, it would hurt Linda beyond my ability to ever make it up to her, and I would regret THAT a million times MORE. I'd be turning my back on our marriage, which is the most import thing in the whole GODDAMN WORLD and I'd feel like absolute SHIT for the rest of my FUCKING LIFE if I was the kind of man who'd do that to his wife. I'd have no self-respect after that. I don't know how I could ever live with myself."

Jane's warm brown puppy dog eyes looked back down at the table.

"Temptation is one thing, Jane. Everyone feels temptation. But THIS... this is not temptation. This is not fantasy. This is... God, are there even words for it? Betrayal. Abandonment. Humiliation. CUCKOLDING. I mean... FUCK. You just watched Linda walk away from me with that Asshole like I didn't even EXIST. What kind of a wife does that? What kind of a partner? That's not even how you'd treat a FRIEND. That's not how you'd treat a DOG."

I just stood there, shaking for a moment before I could continue. "Tell me this, Jane. Let's say Miss Bikini Supermodel came over to this table, scooped up Phil away from YOU, danced with him the way Linda just danced with Marc the Asshole, and then snuck him out the back door and fucked him senseless for the rest of the night? Would that be okay with you? Should Phil just presume that your love for him is strong enough to overlook that little hiccup in your marriage? Would you be waiting at home for him, with your kids, when he finally did the walk of shame the next day... or the next evening, or the night after that, or, hell, maybe on Monday if she decided to keep him for the weekend? And what would you say to him? Would it be 'Hi, Honey? How was she? Hope you had fun! Please tell me all about the amazing sex! Was that the best pussy you ever had, or what?'" I towered over her in her seat, practically growling. "Tell me that's what you would fucking say, Jane. Look me in the eye and tell me that is what you would fucking say."

She said nothing. She just swallowed.

"You made your point, Jim," said Phil. There was steel in his voice.

Fuck Him.

"You too, Phil. Jane's a very pretty lady. Instead of Linda, that Asshole could have decided to pluck Jane away from you as if he'd had the god-given right to her. Maybe Linda would have put her hands on you to prevent you from cutting in on them dancing. She'd have said 'Let Jane have this, don't ruin it for her.'" Jane winced as I echoed her words. "How much fun would you be having if your beautiful wife dropped you like a sack of garbage to run off and spend the night with another man's cock in her? If she ran from you like she couldn't get away fast enough? No big deal, right? She'll come back... sooner or later, you hope. Maybe she'll be a little stretched out, sore, and sticky... but your marriage is strong enough to survive that, isn't it? I'm sure we can all count on you to be a good sport. Maybe she'll even let you eat out her creampie. Is that what you want, Phil? You want a mouthful of Marc LaValliere's sloppy seconds?"

Phil looked like he wanted to hit me. I'd stepped in something that activated a deep well of anger in him. His fists were clenched and I could see the veins and tendons in his neck. Did I really inspire all of that? Whatever he saw in my eyes, and whatever I saw in his, he decided not to take it out on me.

"Jane!" He barked, whipping his head towards her, "We're Leaving."

"But Phil..."

"NOW, GODDAMNIT!" She barely had time to grab her purse before he grabbed her wrist and yanked her out of her chair, practically dragging her away from the table.

Dave jumped back in with "Jim, don't be like this, okay? Come on."

It was all I could do not to punch him in the mouth.

"Hey Dave, old-buddy-old-pal, would you like to know what your darling wife Dee told me over there at the bar?" My resolve about being the nice guy had apparently left town.

"What?" he said, while Dee stared at me furious and wide-eyed, her mouth pinched shut and trembling while she tried to kill me with her brain.

"She said that if Asshole had tapped her instead of Linda, she'd have done the same. She'd drop you in a heartbeat, and to hell with however you might feel about it. She'd expect you to suck it up and deal with it when she got back. IF she came back."

"That is NOT what I said."

"The hell it isn't. You said it proudly. With defiance."

"Dee. Did you really say that?"

"It doesn't matter, that would never happen."

"The fuck it wouldn't," I said. "It did happen, right here, in front of everybody. It just didn't happen to YOU. But it could have." I turned back to Dave. "If Asshole had gotten a better look down Dee's cleavage, he'd be fucking YOUR wife instead of mine right now, and the rest of us would all be trying to keep you from getting one of the guns out of your safe and murdering both of them."

"Jesus Christ, Jim." That was Andy.

"I would never kill anyone." Dave had collected himself. "I would be upset, sure, furious, even. Hell, I can barely even imagine how you must feel, Jim. But I'm not going to jail. And I'm not going to eat a bullet, either."

"What WOULD you do, Dave? I'm asking, for real, here. I'm in unfamiliar territory. I don't know what the fuck I'm gonna do. I'm out of ideas. What if it was you? What if you were me?"

"I honestly don't know. I wouldn't divorce Linda."

Dee relaxed a bit.

"I would, however, divorce you, Dee."

"What?"

"We don't have kids to think about. It's just us. If you turn into a cheating slut, you're gone."

"Fuck you, Dave. Like you wouldn't bang the supermodel."

"No, you're right, I might. I probably would. And I would expect you'd divorce me over it. If you didn't skin me alive, first."

"Damn right."

"And we are going to have a conversation about this, later, DEAR. But you guys," Dave said, back to me this time, "You and Linda are tight. I've never seen a couple more in love. You're in love with each other, and with Emma and Tommy, too. You've got the kind of marriage and family everybody dreams of having. You can't let this thing fuck it all up."

"I'm not LETTING anything happen! This is all happening in SPITE of me! You ALL conspired to STOP me. I'm not fucking anything up! SHE is!" I was breathing heavily, nearly panting. My heartbeat was racing in my ears. "It's damn sure not up to me to fix it, if it even CAN be fixed. Why the fuck should I have to be the 'Good Guy' while she gets to play 'Bad Girl'? Why does SHE have the right to ignore our marriage when another man comes along? And you guys are like 'Oooo, Linda's got this amazing opportunity, and Big Dumb Stupid Boring Old Jim has to ruin everything by getting all boo-hoo butthurt just because his so-called wife dumped him to go fuck a football player!' I mean, what the fuck would you guys be saying to Linda if I dumped her to go sample some strange tang? Would you be making fun of her for feeling jealous too? Would you be telling HER not to make a big deal of it? FUCK NO, I'd be the bad guy, and you all know it. So how the fuck is it that I'M the unreasonable one here?"

A quick survey of glances darting around the table revealed that yes, I'd called them out on what they knew was bullshit, and it was starting to dawn on them that their reasoning wouldn't sound very good if they said it out loud.

"She's not dumping you, Jim."

"Fuck You, Dee."

"She's not! She'll be back!"

"So you said. And two minutes before you said that, what were you doing? You were lying to me, distracting me, flirting with me, and manipulating me so that Linda could sneak off without a word. You were also telling me how HAPPY you'd be to cheat on your own husband. So, yeah, forgive me for not listening to another fucking word out of your fucking cheater whore mouth."

"Dave, are you going to let him talk to me like that?"

"I don't know, Dee. Maybe Marc LaValliere should defend you instead. He's bigger than I am. I hear he plays football."

"DAVID."

"I need another drink. Anybody else? Jim? No?" He got up to go back to the bar. Gus and Helen joined him. Maybe they wanted to calm him down, or maybe they just wanted to get away from me, I couldn't tell. Andy finally spoke up.

"Jim, I think we all owe you an apology. It's shitty, okay? It's really shitty. Linda has no business running off with the guy like that, it doesn't matter who he is. She should not expect you to treat this like it's no big deal. She may expect you to forgive her, and hell, you probably should, but she's definitely the one being unreasonable. It's complete bullshit and I know it's going to be hard on your marriage. Just... don't go off the deep end, here, man. Take some deep breaths and try to get some perspective. That's all."

"Fuck. I cannot imagine any perspective from which this might look any better."

"We're your friends, too, okay, Jim? Not just Linda's. I mean, we're here for you. Anything you need."

"I don't know what I need. Shit. I need to have a wife that won't run away and fuck strange men when she gets stars in her eyes. I need to be able to trust the woman I love. I need to respect the mother of my children. I need to rely on my partner in life not to fucking betray me. That's what I need, but that's sure as shit NOT what I've got."

They were quiet again after that.

"Know what I need? I need to get the fuck out of here, away from you backstabbing assholes, that's what I need." I got up, pounded the rest of my whiskey, and then grabbed Dave's mostly empty one which he'd left at the table and downed that, too. Then Phil's. Andy didn't say a word when I knocked back his as well, because fuck it. Despite all the booze, I had never been more clearheaded and sober. "Enjoy your evening. I know I won't."

Then I grabbed Dee's drink and dumped it down the front of her dress- she was too shocked to respond. "Leaving! I'm leaving," I told the bouncers as they approached. I stormed off, putting my sad, fearful so-called friends behind me.

***

My anger cooled as I walked the block and a half to the hotel. It was replaced by the deepest sadness I had ever known. Linda and I were supposed to be making this walk together, holding hands, chafing our friends about what they were going to get up to once they got to their rooms, and being chaffed in our turn. She was supposed to be holding my arm that way she does, and pushing her face into my coat sleeve when the conversation got too risqué. Instead, I was alone. Alone, I rode the elevator, trying not to remember what Linda and I had gotten up to in other hotel elevators. Alone, I entered what was supposed to have been our room. Alone, I faced the wreckage of our special night.

I turned on the light, and shut the door behind me. Suddenly, I was sick to my stomach. I made it to the bathroom and waited for heaves that never came. It was just dizzying nausea that had nothing to do with digestion. After I no longer believed I would actually puke, I got up and shambled towards the bed.

The bed where I was supposed to be making love to my wife that night.

But that was never going to happen, was it? Maybe it would never happen again.

What's worse, she'd laid out a sexy little bra and panty set that I hadn't seen before, right in the middle of the bed, as if she meant to rub my nose in it. They were dark blue, darker than her dress, edged with black lace. In my mind's eye, I could see her modeling them, with that combination of love and sensuality in her eyes that was all her own, that had been all mine until tonight. I took the lacy little garments tenderly into my hands, as if holding them might bring her back to me. It didn't work. I wept.

My wife, my lover, my best friend, had been taken from me by another man. He had casually, easily, plucked her from right beside me, as if he had every right to do so. He didn't care what she meant to me; all he saw in her was a pretty fuck toy for the night. And she had just let him! I didn't matter enough to her to inspire even the slightest resistance. It was as if she, too, thought he had a right to her, stronger than whatever right I had earned by almost ten years as a faithful, loving husband. Yes, maybe it was supposed to be just one night. But maybe also the next morning, or even into the afternoon. Fuck. And what would he, and this night, leave in her heart and mind and senses? What could I ever do that would compare to, let alone compete with, the city's hero, the handsome stud, Marc "The Asshole" LaValliere?

It was still early, not even ten o'clock. I felt exhausted, but sleep was a million miles away. I was so on edge, I doubted I would sleep at all. Thinking about what we had planned for this room, I knew I couldn't stay. I hadn't unpacked much, I'd basically just dropped off the bags and freshened up before dinner, so I gathered up what little I had so I could check out. I looked at Linda's bags. She'd unpacked a bit to get changed into that fucking blue dress and lay out her lingere in order to taunt me.

I called her. It went straight to voicemail. Of course.

"Linda, I know who you're with and I know what you're doing and I can't fucking believe you'd do that to me, that you'd do that to us. I'm giving you a chance to turn around and come back. Come back right fucking now, Linda! Or there's not going to be any fixing it." I hung up and sent her pretty much the same thing as a text. I waited a few minutes, fuming. I finally threw her shit into her bag and zipped it up. All but the bra and panty. I tossed them into the trash can, just like she did with our marriage. Then I took both bags downstairs and went to the front desk to check out.

The professionally chipper young woman behind the desk looked worried as she asked if the accommodations had not been to our liking. I stared at her for a moment, trying to make sense of her question, then realized that couples who rent a mini-suite like that usually don't check out until the last possible moment. I looked at her name tag, which said "Robin."

I stared at her, dizzy, not knowing what to say. I may have been swaying on my feet. I felt like I was in some kind of trance. I can hardly imagine what I must have looked like.

"No, Robin. The room was lovely. We just won't be using it like we'd planned. My wife..." I choked up. She just looked at me, not knowing what to say. After a few desperate shallow breaths, I managed to say "... she left with another man."

"Oh. Oh, Mister Johnson, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry to hear that."

"Thanks."

"No, listen, I'm VERY sorry." She looked really distressed. Maybe something might have happened to her at some point that made infidelity a tender issue. "Please let me say, your wife must be... well, you seem like a nice man and I'm sure you didn't deserve this."

"That's very kind. Very kind. Thank you, Robin. Maybe you'll see me here again someday."

"I hope so, sir. Have a good eve... I mean... Good Luck."

When I got home, I contemplated going to bed for almost three seconds before dismissing the idea as ridiculous. I could no more sleep than flap my arms and fly. Especially not in that bed. Besides, our little starter home didn't have a spare bedroom, or even a sofa big enough to lie down on. Emma and Tommy had child-sized beds, there was no way I could squeeze into one of those.

Where the fuck was she? What was she doing right that second?

I shuddered and didn't even want to know. I shook my head, trying to clear it of unbidden images of her sucking and fucking and gasping and moaning and getting plowed by Marc Fucking Asshole LeValliere. I was not successful. Suddenly, the booze sloshing around in my system hit me all at once- I fell woozily to one knee and threw up all over the kitchen floor. My skin crawled, I flashed hot, then cold, then shivered as I emptied my insides, not even caring that I didn't make it to the sink.

It's funny what drifts through your mind when you're barfing your guts up. Part of me started thinking that I'd have to clean all this up before Linda got home... but, like I'd said to Jane, it wasn't the part of me that was in charge. Part of me wondered where all this was coming from, and how much I'd actually had to drink. Was it the drinking, or would I be throwing up just from all this fucking despair? How long was this going to take? What was I going to do next?

I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve- it came away with a thin line of mucus. I took out my phone and called her, one last time, as her husband.

"Linda. I know your phone is off, but I had to take one last chance that you might back out." I could hear that my voice was raspy- I made no pretense that I hadn't been crying and throwing up, and there was no way she couldn't hear it. "I thought maybe, just maybe, you might come to your senses and give our marriage a chance before you destroy it forever." I was quiet for a minute. "Okay. That's it, then. I've turned the corner. There will be no getting over this. No going back. I don't know what's going to happen with the marriage, or Emma and Tommy, or the house, or anything, but it's all broken. Nothing's going to be the same. That life is over. It was over the moment you dropped my hand to dance with him. You never looked back. Well, I'm sorry, but neither can I. Goodbye."