February Sucks - the Details Matter

Like yesterday, Linda had to stop to go pick up the kids. No more writing for a while, she thought. Once back home she fixed them a snack, learned about their day and helped them with homework. They asked to go to Wendy's for dinner but she said no. After dinner they all took a walk around the block. It felt good to be outside and move a little. The kids both took baths and then Linda read to them and put them to bed. Jim had not called. Strange she thought. She hoped everything was alright. Probably a late client dinner, she concluded. Jim would be home tomorrow afternoon so she decided to try and finish the journal tonight. She grabbed a glass of wine and returned to her story.

[Back to the journal]

I padded down the stairs in my bare feet wearing his jersey. Time for a reckoning, I thought. I was worried about awkwardness and the proverbial walk of shame entering the kitchen. Oh well, here goes.

I put on my best smile and walked in. I needn't have worried. Marc's face lit up when he saw me.

"Hey, that jersey looks great on you," he said.

"Thanks," I replied. "He's my favorite player."

He grinned and asked, "How was the shower?"

"Heavenly," I replied honestly.

It was my first real look at his house. The kitchen was modern with a big island and a bunch of custom cabinets. It was tastefully decorated, but needed a woman's touch.

"Help yourself to coffee," he said.

I grabbed a cup and sat cross-legged on one of his bar stools. There was little awkward silence before I finally blurted out, "Well last night was fun and wholesome."

We both burst out laughing.

"It sure as hell was," he snorted.

He motioned me over with a wave of his hand. I climbed off the stool and went to him. I nestled into him, as he reached around my shoulders and gave me the biggest, sweetest hug. He then kissed me on the top of my head and asked, "You hungry?"

"Starving," I replied. "I burned a lot of calories," I said as I started giggling again.

He smiled and asked, "How do you like your eggs."

"Scrambled is fine," and I returned to my seat.

I watched him cook and thought back to the exhilaration of last night. The reality of my life was waiting for me, but last night's memories were still so vivid and fresh that I decided not to dwell on the dread that I knew would come soon enough. I was content to linger a while longer. There would be time to get organized and head home after we ate. We both scarfed down our food and just enjoyed each other's company. He talked a little about his family and growing up. Nothing too personal. I did the same although I was careful to steer clear of any mention of Jim.

It was starting to get late so I finally asked, "Marc, can you give me a ride home?"

"Of course," he said, "but can't you stay a little longer? Maybe until tomorrow?"

"No. I really must be heading home. I have a lot to face and I need to get started." Besides," I teased, "you need your rest."

I must admit I didn't expect Marc to ask me to stick around. I knew he would be polite, but I also thought he would be anxious to be rid of me and get onto whatever he had planned for the day. His invitation was touching, but also a little scary. You see I wanted to stay.

Linda paused her writing. She wasn't sure she wanted to write what she was thinking. Eventually she went on. I promised myself I would be honest in this journal, so here goes, she thought to herself.

I was developing feelings for Marc.

There I wrote it.

No women can be with a man as I was with Marc, and open herself up so completely and intimately without the physical connection passing from sex and mutual gratification to something more. Women just aren't wired that way. When we were spooning just minutes before it was definitely more than just sex. It was gentle and slower. It felt good and right, and not fleeting.

He was no longer a stranger and a one night stand, but someone that knew me like few others.

Enough, I remember thinking. Somehow I had to get a grip and put those thoughts out of my head. Reaching down and guiding Marc inside of me last night put my marriage on the ropes. Staying with Marc until Sunday would, no doubt, end it, I concluded. But, if I was honest, how Jim would react to me showing up on Sunday was only half my concern. How I would react was the other side. I had feelings for Marc now. By Sunday would I be in love? I didn't think so but I didn't want to find out.

"But I'm not ready for you to go," he added. "At least can I see you again?"

There was something desperate and pleading in his tone. It caused me to pause and study his face. I was grateful to see that his eyes, matched his tone. He truly wanted me to stay. It was like the roles had ironically reversed. Last night I was completely under his spell and in the morning he seemed to be under mine.

"Marc don't make this harder than it needs to be. I have a marriage to repair. This was wonderful, but I can't stay another day with you and I won't be able to see you again," I said firmly.

I saw him flinch ever so slightly.

And then I did something completely out of character and unexpected even for my new wild self. I have no recollection of any forethought to my actions, but I do remember saying to him, "This has to end this morning, but it doesn't have to end now."

I stood up and slowly lifted his jersey slightly above my waist, exposing myself to him for the first time in the light of day. I saw him catch his breath as he saw me standing bottomless in front of him. I padded around the table to where he was sitting and climbed onto his chair facing him. I straddled him and lowered myself onto his lap.

He reach up and grabbed my face and kissed me deeply.

I heard him softly mutter, "Thank you," as he continued kissing me.

At some point I stood up and held out my hand. I led him back into the living room to the couch where it all began. I pulled off his jersey as I sat on the edge of the couch and he stood in front of me. I pulled down his gym shorts to release his hard-on, and for the second (and last) time I took him in my mouth.

It felt wonderful. Tasting him again. Breathing him in again. Arousing him again. It also reignited my passion knowing that he still wanted me and that last night was meaningful and not something cheap. His eyes were closed and as strong as he is, he was unsteady standing in front of me.

I selfishly didn't want this to end in my mouth, so after a few minutes I pulled him out and laid back on the couch. He climbed in between my legs and I guided his penis into me for the last time. The fervor was gone. The intensity was gone. All of the newness and energy from the night before was replaced by something even more powerful - connection. We made love for a long time. I lost myself in him again. I ran my hand through his hair. I touched his face, traced his jaw line with my fingers. I ran my nails down his powerful back. I wanted to memorize every one of my senses. Last night I felt desired, this morning I felt needed. It wasn't love, but it was personal and more dangerous than lust. It's also the time together that I cherish above all the others.

After, he came, we laid together entwined, content to just be together. I finally propped myself up on my elbows and said, "It's time."

"I know," Marc replied.

I headed upstairs to clean up once again and change.

"Please keep the jersey," he called out to me.

"Marc you know I can't." I came down several minutes later in my dress, carrying my heels. He was waiting. I gathered up my coat and clutch and we headed out to the car.

"You pack light," he said as I climbed in.

"Yes," I agreed. "I left you a couple of presents."

His confusion was followed by realization and a big smile. "I'll treasure them," he said.

I knew that there was very little chance I would see Marc again after this ride and there were a few things that I needed some clarity on. "Marc, were you at the club last night just to pick up women?" I asked.

"No." He replied instantly and definitively. "It's not like that. My buddies called and asked me if I wanted to go. They weren't bringing dates so I tagged along solo," he explained. "I like that place," he offered. "I love ballroom dancing and have even thought about teaching it when I can't play anymore. It's sneaky good exercise."

That mollified me a little. but I still was curious. "Okay, but why did you pick me?" I asked.

"I told you in the car last night. You were captivating."

"Marc, that's sweet, but tell me why?" I persisted.

"Come on Linda. I'm a guy. I'm not good explaining emotions."

"Please try. It's important."

"Okay," he stated. He reflected silently for a moment before beginning, "My eyes were drawn to you the moment I saw you. There is something about you. The fact that you aren't attuned to it just adds to the allure," he said. "You are pretty, no doubt. You have great legs and a gorgeous smile," he added with a grin. "Linda, it wasn't 'hotness'."

"Oh gee thanks," I interrupted.

"No hear me out. You're beautiful don't get me wrong, but there are a lot of beautiful woman that I don't give a second look. I don't know. If I had to say 'why you' I think it was your effortless and obvious femininity. It was intoxicating even across the room. How you pulled your hair back behind your ear. How you smiled at your friends. How you tilted your head back when you laughed. How your eyes sparkled. How you owned the dress. How you moved on the dance floor. How you stayed in the moment and never seemed to drift off. All of it instantly grabbed my attention and held it. It also drove me to ask you to dance. And I am so glad I did," he concluded.

I let his words soak in for a while. His description was so specific and heartfelt. It was the sweetest thing a man outside of Jim had ever told me and it made me inwardly happy.

Now it was Marc's turn. There was an elephant in the car with us and it was Jim. If taking another man's wife right from under his nose was an ego boost or a turn on for Marc, I'll gratefully never know because he never said and he never once mentioned Jim or seemed concerned, but this morning he was concerned.

In his usual, direct fashion he asked me a very uncomfortable question: "What do you think you'll face?"

Was it finally occurring to him that when he asked me to leave with him last night, he was asking me to pay an enormous price? Was he feeling guilty. Was he concerned with my marriage? My safety? His question jolted me out of my quiet thoughts. It was obvious that he was considering that there would be ramifications for me.

"Not sure," I replied.

"Linda, here's my number. Call me if this goes south."

"Jim is not that kind of man," I said a little defensively.

"I'm sure he's not, but keep it just the same."

I had to cut Marc some slack. He doesn't know Jim and was clearly worried about me. It was sweet as I was now caught in the middle between two men who cared about me.

"You're truly a good guy Mr. LaValliere."

"What were you expecting?" he responded with a smile.

"I don't know shallow, conceited, full of himself," I teased.

Marc Laughed, "I'm glad you see that I am not that guy."

"I do," I remember saying thoughtfully. "I think I truly see you."

"Linda, last night and this morning meant something. I'm still trying to process it and figure it out, but it was special...at least for me."

Again he caught me off guard with his vulnerability. "It meant something to me too. More than you will ever know," I replied.

And that was basically it. Once I got those words out of my mouth, he turned the corner onto my street.

"My house is just ahead. Please drop me off here and I'll walk. I don't want you pulling into the driveway. If he's there, your presence will inflame him," I said.

"Not a chance. I'll stay in the car but I'm taking you to your house, and sticking around until you're in the house," he said.

I was inwardly grateful. I leaned over and we gave each other a quick goodbye kiss. He pulled into the driveway and we said goodbye.

"Your husband is a lucky man," was the last thing he said.

And that is the end of my fairytale. My roller coaster thrill ride was over. It ended when I left Marc's car. Although it was never meant to be forever, I felt an immediate loss and some sadness. My real life awaited on the other side of the front door. And that real life is still on shaky ground and still needs work to repair. My kids are doing okay, but my marriage feels like it is veering towards another crisis. How my life will eventually turn out is still unknown and a story for another journal.

It's worth noting that, Marc did reach out to me again. It was sometime after St. Patrick's. He had run into Dee and Dave back at Morrison's and had asked about me. Soon thereafter I got some flowers and a card asking me to call him so we could meet back up. I showed it to Jim and let him know I did not keep the flowers. When I didn't contact him, another bouquet arrived. I then blocked Marc's number. 100% of my attention at that time was rightly on repairing my marriage; I didn't need this distraction.

Blocking his number seemed to set Marc off a little. He left some snarky voice mails. As Jim listened to them I am sure they reinforced Marc's shallowness; To me they reinforced that our night meant something and he was hurting a little.

It soon became clear that ghosting Marc wasn't going to work. He asked that I call him, without Jim around, and tell him to his face that I wanted nothing to do with him. That seemed reasonable so I did. We talked for over an hour. I told him how hard my life was. I told him our marriage was hanging on by a thread. He got quiet and introspective. If I were to guess, I think Marc had reached a point in his life where he wanted what he first saw across the dance floor when Jim and I were dancing; a life with someone you love. Because he saw that I could give it to Jim, I think he wrongly assumed, given our time together, that I could give it to him. His hope that I would leave Jim for him, was part wishful thinking and part miscalculation on what my night with him actually meant. It was a diversion from my reality, it was never meant to be a permanent escape from my reality.

Marc finally broke the long silence, "I'm not helping am I?"

"No Marc, you're not," I replied. "In fact you're making it harder."

"That's the last thing I want for you," he said. "Alright. I'll walk away and stay away," he said.

"Thank you, but I need one last favor," I said.

"Name it," he said.

"I need to call you back. I need to record the call so Jim can hear," I said.

He immediately understood. "Sure. Happy to. I'll be the 'prick' you need me to be. It's the least I can do for you," he said.

I was appreciative and I could picture his knowing smile over the phone.

Before hanging up he said, "Linda, I will never forget you."

I have not talked to Marc since.

Journal Footnote: As a final entry I want to capture some important, but somewhat uncomfortable thoughts. These are some additional details that Jim doesn't (and I hope will never) know.

Jim never knew I had shaved myself for him on what was to be our special night. It was going to be a surprise. Our first physical contact after that night was not until the STD results came back after St. Patrick's. My pubic hair had long since grown back.

Jim doesn't know I left my bra and panties at Marc's, and entered our house completely bare under my blue dress. I don't know if he thinks I was wearing them or had them stuffed in my purse. I'm not even sure he gives a fuck where they are. He never saw them, so he would never know if I wore them again. I'm glad I left them at Marc's. They are truly his and no one else's. He probably threw them away, but I like to think he didn't and kept them as a reminder of our night together.

Jim doesn't know that I initiated and fully directed our last sexual encounter. I am sure he would think less of me if he knew how I had presented myself to Marc wearing just his jersey, not to mention how I led him to the couch, took him in my mouth willingly, and pulled him between my legs one last time. Jim believes Marc was always the aggressor and I was a powerless victim of his lust. That belief is, of course, inaccurate.

Jim doesn't know how relieved I was when he refused sex after I returned Saturday morning. I thought it might be a pathway to make up, but I was delightfully sore and I just wasn't ready for my husband to go where Marc had just been less than an hour before.

Jim never noticed my tiny bite marks. I was able to easily conceal them with makeup. I watched them fade over time and, if I'm honest, was a little melancholy when the last one disappeared.

Jim doesn't know how right he was when he sarcastically mentioned me wanting to stay at Marc's through the weekend. I know it was the right decision to come home Saturday, and I also know that there would have been no hope for our marriage if I had stayed through Sunday, but I was tempted and I still let my imagination wander and contemplate what new experiences that extra day might have held.

Jim doesn't know that I brought a little of Marc into our home and up to our master bedroom. I told Jim I had thoroughly cleaned up, and that is true. However, after I got home, when I was showering upstairs in the master bath, a small amount of Marc's semen dripped out of me. I gathered it on my index finger, just like I had done the night before. I also, ashamedly, brought it up to my lips and nose while my husband sat downstairs. I breathed it in and stuck my tongue out to just taste a tiny bit before washing it off. It brought a pleasant shiver through me as I realized it was the last intimate act of my fairytale.

Finally and most problematic, Jim doesn't know Marc and I made love the last two times we were together. I hinted at it in my letter more to let Jim know that Marc was gentle. However, if Jim knew how tightly we held on to each other that final time knowing it was our last, it would break his heart.

I have been brutally honest throughout this whole journal. I have written things that I am not proud of. I have explored things that are uncomfortable and shameful. So I have no reason to lie now and can honestly write that I was not tempted to reconnect with Marc. Flattered, yes. Tempted, no. He was my fairytale. He was not my real life, and although real life can't measure up to the excitement of that one night, it is still somehow better.

[End of Journal]

Whew that was intense she thought as she wrapped up her thoughts and logged out of the program. Having said that, she knew right away she would want to revisit this journal from time to time. She would compartmentalize the memories during her everyday life, and when she needed to experience the night again in all its full, vibrant and naughty x-rated detail she would find some quiet time and reread her most intimate thoughts about her most intimate night. It gave her comfort and made her smile. She also knew instinctively that if Jim ever read it, they would be done forever.

He had asked her right after reading her account of her time with Marc, to please explain to her how she was going to help him get past this? She remembers that at the time she tried some lame analogy about a family car and a sports car. She knew Jim liked cars and thought the analogy would work. In hindsight it was dumb.

What she should have said was simply, I can't. You'll have to get past this on your own. You can't undo, un-see, or unimagine what I have done. So for your own peace and sanity you'll have to find it in your heart to forgive me.

It was a sobering thought, but she understood it was the truth. Maybe it was this truth that was getting in the way of their marriage now. In fact, I think that's it, she thought.