Fifth Place

"Wow. That's beautiful. Restaurant presentation. And it smells wonderful."

"Thank you."

She took a forkful of salmon and closed her eyes and made an "mmmm" sound as she chewed it. She followed it up with a forkful of vegetables. This time it was a groan that sounded almost sexual. "Oh, my God. This is five-star restaurant quality. How can a woman lose focus with a man who cooks like this? I'd almost be willing to go lesbian if I could find a woman who cooks like this. What's it called?"

"Sesame crusted salmon. The vegetables shall remain nameless."

Conversation lagged for a few minutes because she was just making noises instead of speaking. Finally, she came out of it. "I've lost my train of thought. What were we talking about?" she asked.

"Sex."

"I haven't lost it that much. I'm pretty sure we weren't," she said.

"Well, since you bring it up," she flashed me a look that didn't stop me, "is there anything you won't do?"

She thought a bit. "It's hard to talk about it that way. I won't do anything with someone I don't have feelings for. It's not an issue of morality. I don't even much enjoy kissing someone unless the feelings are there. Those kisses with you were restaurant quality. I don't see anything in relatively mainstream sex that would be disgusting enough to put me off. I mean, like I'm not into toe sucking, but if that really did it for you, well, I would have no problem. It's in a context. Am I willing to try this for the man I love? Yes. I don't have a lot of experience, but I'll have to find out I don't like something before I say I won't do it. Is that what you meant by your question?"

"Yes. And I'll answer that I agree with you completely."

"What about the relationship between money and success?" she asked. "Where do you stand on that?"

"They're related coincidentally. I run the business to be successful, and I enjoy it, but I don't really care how much I make. I don't need homes in foreign places. You saw what kind of car I drive. I don't think I'll surprise you by saying that I could afford a more expensive car. I'm happy with what I have. The success I'd rather have is family, friends, relationships. By that standard, I'm not doing as well as I'd like."

"I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm trying to do something about it. Hopefully it will work out."

She smiled. "I like your chances." It was quiet and reassuring.

We cleaned up the dishes and went into her living room. She snuggled under my arm on the couch. "You're an interesting man. I think you'd make a good husband."

"Do you really think so?"

"Could be." She burrowed in further. "But that doesn't include the dancing. That would tip the balance. Every good marriage should include dancing."

"Funny, that wasn't on my list."

"It should be," she said.

"Indeed. I suppose this is an appropriate time to tell you my story, as best I understand it."

"Gee, who would know why you're doing what you do, except you?"

"I only know what I did and what I saw. The rest is what I have deduced, but I'm not always right."

I was amazed to learn that Karen had deduced the story herself without the benefit of the wealth of information I had to work with. More accurately, she deduced the story from I story I told without guaranteeing my accuracy. We were a go.

There were still a lot more things to talk about, but it didn't have to be that night.

Chapter 6

It takes a lot of preparation and the right mindset to become a successful undercover operative. It turns out it can be child's play in comparison to carrying on a successful affair.

When you're undercover, everyone you would normally see or work with knows not to expect you. You're in that character almost all the time.

When you're having an affair, your wife expects to see you on some sort of regular basis. She will notice if you don't come home. Neither will it escape the kids' notice. They're not going to say to mom, "Do you remember that guy who used to hang around here?" But they will notice. So, you can't do it. You have to lead a double life without going cold turkey like you would if you were undercover. At least I didn't have the problem of telling the other woman - Karen - that sure, I'm going to tell my wife about us so that I can be with you, though oddly, that is what I would have preferred to do.

When I worked with Karen at the office, I had to be sure to keep the intensity out of my eyes, to adjust the level of familiarity in my body language. There was nobody I worked with who had any kind of grudge against me that I was aware of. As far as I knew there was no reason any of them would want to hurt me. But, as much as there is an intense excitement about being able to keep a secret, there is even more excitement in telling it to just one person who can appreciate the level of trustworthiness you show by limiting access to them. It starts out with one person. But the pressure of not being able tell grows like a blister until it bursts and everyone knows.

Even if you could tell someone who can keep a secret, it's too much to ask.

Fortunately for us, my work experience had taught me most of the ways cheaters get caught. I didn't see myself as a cheater in the traditional sense, but, if the behavior fits, well.

Developing the course provided a lot of time I could account for to my wife, although I tried to do so in as little detail as I could get away with, both to provide myself with the maximum flexibility as to how I spent my time and to avoid setting a precedent where there was an expectation that I account for it, though in other circumstances it would not have been unreasonable.

After we gave the course the first time, we spent a lot of time going over the comments and reviewing the quality of work of the participants after each course compared to before the course. It was a clear success; not big, but clear. It takes time to integrate a new approach with what you've been used to doing. It became evident that the effect of the course increased as time went on, so it became a regular part of our training.

The evaluation of the first set of employees to take the course took a lot of time and provided a lot of cover. It had been an expensive undertaking and I wouldn't have continued it just to help cover up an affair. We had to read every report from every operative who took the course and enough of their reports prior to the course to provide a basis for comparison.

The time we spent together, much of it at her place, was not entirely filled with work. It was during one of these sessions that our relationship became physical as well as emotional. Karen considered it a vindication of her views about sex.

"That was, well, I don't know what adjective to use to describe it. I don't want to wear the words out with comparisons. Whew. I knew it. We didn't do anything I haven't done before, but it was soooo much better. And don't you dare. I know you." She deepened her voice to mimic a man, me. "Are you saying I'm unimaginative? Anybody could have done this?"

It was a pretty funny impression, not accurate, but funny, and she had me laughing. Funny thing is, that's probably how I would have started.

She brushed the back of her hand across my cheek. "There wasn't anything especially different or any startling new technique. But the experience was amazing. It was with you, and I love you, and that was the difference." She just lay there and beamed.

In a display of maturity and self confidence, Karen never asked the ubiquitous questions that followed such first encounters. How was it? Was it better than your wife? She had enjoyed it and that was enough. If I had found the experience lacking in any regard, she assumed I would have had the maturity to tell her what would have made it better for me. She was an amazing woman and I was a lucky man to be involved with her. That's how you're supposed to feel.

Near the end of our evaluation of the first group, as we recognized they were continually improving, she told me what I could do to make it better for her.

We had put down the paperwork and she caressed my cheek with her palm as in a prelude to a kiss. "I want to make a baby with you. I take it from that silly smile you agree?"

I picked her up, carried her into the bedroom and put her down on the bed. "I stopped the pills. I have a coupon for a condom in case you disagreed."

"A coupon?"

"I was pretty confident. I didn't want to use up the coupon if I didn't need it."

"Confidence is very attractive."

"Would you say that if I weren't confident?"

"I love the way you banter."

"Is there anything else you love?"

"Obviously, a smartass."

"One more thing," she said in a completely serious tone, "you really should make sure I have an orgasm this time. I've read it's very helpful in getting pregnant."

"Alright," I said, with apparent reluctance. "Just this once."

I had read the same myself, so driven by the efficacy of facilitating an orgasm for her, I applied myself assiduously. Yeah, she didn't believe it either.

Chapter 6

It didn't happen that night. Of course there was no way to know that immediately, so we just carried on as if we were doing it to have fun.

Around a month and a half later, I arrived with more paperwork to review. Actually, it wasn't paperwork. Everything was electronic with appropriate security and encryption. What do you call it? "digiwork"? Not really the point, I guess.

When she opened the door, Karen looked different. She was relaxed, but then she was always relaxed with me. She seemed very happy, but then she always did in our personal moments. I could tell. I broke into a big smile and she knew.

A man who focuses on his woman's pleasure usually reaps big rewards. I could certainly score points by doing the accepted thing here - waiting for her to tell me. But she already knew that I knew. If I said it, it would show how well I had learned my lessons about reading people. What better compliment could I give her? All right, the truth is that we had been one upping each other with our insights and I didn't want to give up the opportunity. "When did you find out?"

"This morning."

"Home test?"

"A couple days ago."

"That's fantastic." I moved forward to take her in my arms.

"You bastard. You just couldn't resist, could you?" She said it with a smile.

"No, I couldn't. And I hope to be not resisting for a very long time."

"You're happy, aren't you?"

"That's rhetorical, isn't it?"

She leaned back, looked at my face and nodded. "You're happy."

It's hard to keep happy off your face. I realized that because of the number of times I heard, "Randy, you look so happy. What's going on?" over the next few months. I worked up a standard answer. "Life is good. Business is good. I'm healthy. What's not to be happy about?" And, for the most part, it was true. Being happy also made me realize I had not been entirely happy; I had been portraying it. My performance was so convincing, it convinced me. I knew I had been happy except for the black cloud following me around. I just had not recognized the enormity of its dimensions.

I spent time with Karen when I could. It was quality time; it wasn't rushed; it wasn't furtive. We talked. We laughed. And we created orgasms, just in case the baby needed them to grow, or perhaps because it was a lot of fun. I'm a little hazy on what we were thinking at the time.

I also spent an appropriate amount of time with my family. The thing I hadn't figured on when I was planning all this was that I didn't get any time to myself. I'm sure it added to my level of stress.

Karen's place was roomy enough for the two of us and a baby, perhaps two. We didn't have the pressure of finding and purchasing a place to live during the time I spent with her. And we agreed completely on accommodating my decorating needs as well as hers. She had carte blanche. I didn't care if she chose to accent the décor with suits of armor or prints of those poker-playing dogs.

As we enjoyed our time together, I began to realize I had not thought out the situation as thoroughly as I had believed. We had no friends. There were no joint friends - that would have required them knowing us as a couple and we didn't spend enough time away from her place for that to happen. She couldn't introduce me to work colleagues. Who was I? If I used an alias, eventually someone would recognize me, I wasn't totally unknown, and then would begin the slow, tortuous process of the news wending its way back to my wife. If I used my name, how would she characterize the relationship? "This is my married lover Randy." I couldn't exactly introduce her to my friends and ask them to keep it quiet. Well, I could, I just couldn't expect them to actually do it. There is a pressure to knowing a secret you are not supposed to tell. The more people who knew it, the more inexorable it would be that one of them would be unable to withstand the need to share it.

Perhaps she could tell her very best friends. They didn't know my wife. They would be sufficiently invested in the happiness of their friend that they would never consider revealing her secret. But if they had spouses, the need for secrecy for the men would be second hand. Was that it? The only friends we had who could know about us would be her single friends? How would we explain to our kids why mommy and daddy have no friends? This would have been much easier had we been living even one state away. There would be more travel, but less jeopardy.

It would have been lovely to have been able to share our happiness at being together. And we were very happy. We continued to dance together and the feeling of her in my arms was something we both relished. It was exquisite foreplay as well as being a complete experience in itself. The sex and the love-making, they're not really the same thing, were wonderful, running the gamut from hot and urgent to sweet and tender to an altered state of consciousness.

But what I enjoyed most was talking with her. She was extremely well read and pretty much any topic could lead to an intensely stimulating exchange. But the best thing about it was that I could share my feelings and fears in an unguarded way as once I had with Betty.

And we had that excitement and intensity that comes with relatively new relationships. We felt confident that the rest of the things that drew us to each other would form the unbreakable glue that would bind us together after the intensity subsided. I had the experience with Betty to convince me that was possible despite how we had wound up. Karen had the lack of experience and naiveté to convince her there was no other outcome possible.

I thought of her when she wasn't there. It was difficult to keep happy out of my demeanor. Happy was what led to conflagration that would change everything.

Chapter 7

Karen was five months along. I find pregnant women intensely appealing. They give off a feeling of hope and possibility and renewal. They confirm the elegance of nature. Tell me I'm with my pregnant woman, and I need none of the other elements which ordinarily make a situation erotic.

We were walking back to her house one afternoon. I stopped near the corner and turned to her to rub her belly. Her condition was unmistakable. She made a satisfied sound that came from deep within her throat. So did I. "That's so nice. Did you ever do that with Betty?"

"With the first one. With the second, I had to do it sometimes because she would have been suspicious had I not."

I took her hand and we rounded the corner and walked toward her place - our place. I heard a car door close but didn't pay it much attention.

And then, from a taunting voice moving towards the sidewalk from the street, "Isn't this the picture of domesticity? You're such a pathetic loser cuckold. You go out and cheat on me and your girlfriend gets knocked up by some other guy." I had a quizzical look on my face. She continued, "Oh, you didn't know? Go on, tramp, tell him."

I thought to squeeze Karen's hand to keep her from getting involved in the conversation, but I realized she probably knew as well as I how to handle herself.

"And how would you know that, Betty?" I asked.

"Because your sperm count is too low to make anybody pregnant."

This time my look was surprised. "And how would you know that?"

"I had it done at a clinic."

"What did you do, jerk yourself off to wind up with a sample?"

"Oh, you think you're so clever. Do you remember all the special treatment I gave you when you were sick? I gave you that special hand job? I was so loving and understanding. Remember how I went into the bathroom to wash it off? Straight into a specimen cup. And then I had to rush downstairs to get a cold drink from the fridge. To keep it cool and fresh. And then I remembered oh my, I have a doctor's appointment. I didn't lie. It was with a lab for testing. He didn't even have to take off a sock to count the number of live sperm." Taunting. Mocking. Getting louder by the minute.

A small crowd was gathering. She had been loud enough to draw them in.

I realized her mistake. But this didn't seem like the right time to tell her. I went into actor mode. I seemed shocked, stunned, disbelieving, confused. "But the kids. How, the kids." Dazed.

"You are so pathetic. You knew how much I wanted kids. I found someone to take care of it, for each of our children." The "our" was the most mocking of all. "You were laughable. All those efforts. All that time. I even laid with my legs elevated afterwards to sell how hard I was trying to get us pregnant. And here you are, raising three children of two other men. And now your girlfriend does the same thing to you. Just pathetic."

"God, you must have really hated me. What did I do to make you hate me so?"

"Hate you? I loved you with all my heart. I loved you more than anything. You were the most important thing in the world to me."

"You have a funny way of showing that, Betty. And you have a strange way of counting. As I see it, under the most optimistic view, I'm no better than fifth place. You, of course, were first. What Betty wants, Betty gets. You didn't even talk it over with me. Betty's needs are first. And what about Harry? Would you have not had him if we had talked and I objected? Of course not. Would you have agreed to stop with him? No Nancy? And what about Justin? I know, you think it's not the same thing. They're your children. I'm your husband. When they left to make their own lives, what would that leave you? Your pathetic loser, cuckold husband. Your fifth choice. Unless, well I noticed the three of them have only two fathers so maybe I'm actually only your sixth choice."

"A mother is supposed to love her children," she shouted.

"There weren't any children when you decided you needed to move me down to third. Each one was a choice over me." My voice was calm. But that didn't ease her agitation.

"You didn't know that. You just started to treat me worse for no reason."

"He knew," Karen interrupted. "Never once did he use the word 'my' or 'our' when referring to your children. Can you even remember the last time you heard him say 'our' about them? I was pretty sure of what you'd done the night I met him."

Betty flushed and postured.

I didn't give her a chance to jump in. "Not only have I known, but your behavior has changed steadily since then. I knew what you had done; I just had no idea why. Now I know. I've got to say I'm disappointed."

"Disappointed," said Betty. "You are so pathetic."

"Disappointed by your lack of intelligence. Disgusted by your behavior, morality and the way you let your belief that I couldn't give you children destroy your love for me, if it ever existed."

"I loved you completely."

"After Harry, your attitude changed. I could tell you thought you had something over me, I just didn't know what it was. Maybe you were hiding money in a separate account. Maybe you were spending beyond your budget. I didn't know. I just knew you had a secret that put you one up on me and it led you to treat me as somewhat less than equal. But that changed. Little by little I became less important. Now I know it's because you didn't let me give you children."