Fortune and Men's Eyes

Still, after a few of her adventures into the "other America" it was clear that my wife was buying into the party line. So, Karen and I had our first real arguments about her endorsement of McGhee's over-flexible views about the way the ends justified the means.

It was disquieting. I'm a nerd. I'm totally apolitical. I could care less who's running things, or what their ideology is. But Karen was starting to sound more-and-more like her boss. And he was a proponent of the type of gun-boat diplomacy that hadn't been talked about in this country since the halcyon days of Teddy Roosevelt.

McGhee was also clearly crooked. He had been a small-town mayor before his elevation to Congress. Yet, in his thirty years as a member of that august body he had amassed a vast fortune; all of it on a salary of $174K a year.

Of course, he was a canny old dude. Hence, he was more-or-less immune to the feet of clay syndrome that affected some of the dumber or greedier members of the old-boys club.

The problem was that, Karen was fascinated by importance. She was drawn to it like the proverbial moth to the flame. And I was definitely NOT the candle type. So, when we argued I could sense that we were slowly drifting apart.

We were both at the stage in life when our present actions would more-or-less dictate how we finished the race. Obviously, Karen's desire to "change the world" demanded that she hitch her wagon to power. That was McGhee, and therein lay the rub - as somebody once said.

I just didn't view moving-and-shaking as part of my remit. So, it was no-doubt inevitable that our divergent personalities and career paths would lead us in different directions. The last straw came when she announced that she was taking a weeklong trip to Sharm el-Shiekh.

Karen said that she was doing it on behalf of the esteemed member of Congress. The obvious concern was, "Why would a guy who represents a constituency whose worldview didn't extend much past deer hunting season, want to talk to people on the butt end of the Sinai?"

Karen told me that she was going as McGhee's representative to tripartite talks on the future of intelligence sharing among the Arab League States and that Sharm el-Shiekh was the Miami Beach of the Red Sea.

Since McGhee was Chair of House Armed Services the idea that his Chief of Staff was involved in efforts to hammer out a multilateral agreement with the major Arab countries made a convincing argument. Particularly since McGhee wasn't traveling with her.

His absence also cemented the idea that Karen was starting to swim in the big-boy's end of the pool. Still, we had lived together for almost seventeen years. You can tell when your soulmate isn't quite right. And Karen was radiating the vibes that she was into something illicit.

In fact, everything about the whole gambit sounded wrong. My wife was a doer and a fixer, not a diplomat. Even worse, she was flying by Gulfstream IV, which is reserved for the heavy hitters, not a staffer. More significantly, that type of international travel was also out of McGhee's league. So, this trip was at the behest of somebody else, somebody who was much more powerful.

In fact, it had all the earmarks of a tit-for-tat. It's never about the sex in one of those situations. It's about the influence. That just greases the skids for the REAL negotiation. I'm not the kind of insecure weenie who jumps to conclusions. But in this case the deduction was pretty elementary. And our marriage was toast if my suspicions were correct.

We'd been married for a long time and Karen had always been steadfast. But people fake road trips all the time and she had a burning lust to make a difference. I couldn't help her. But her beauty had always attracted predators. So, maybe she'd run into somebody who COULD.

The problem was that I couldn't confront her based on a simple hunch. I'd sound like a paranoid wussy if I did. I'd rolled the dice with her before and come up "lucky seven." Now, I was going to have to roll them again and hope I didn't "crap-out."

Karen planned to be gone Sunday through Saturday. Hence, I set up one of our rare special evenings on the night before she left. There was no way she could claim to be busy and still look me in the eye.

I'd arranged a reservation at the Capital Grille over on Pennsylvania. It was the kind of place that only a lobbyist can afford. But I wanted to make our last night memorable, if this was truly the end of things.

Karen was sitting opposite me looking stunning in a little black dress. There was no sign of the innocent freshman I had met almost twenty years ago. The girl next door had morphed into a woman of eye-watering beauty.

It's Karen's perfection that makes her so intimidating. Her face is flawlessly proportioned, her makeup is immaculate. Her hair is a thick, shining, golden cowl and her attitude is always self-possessed and serene. Karen is a woman who knows who she is.

She had always been confident, even when we were young. But the past year had given her an extra jolt of personal charisma. She was gazing across the table with deep affection.

I should have been content to know that she'd given me her heart. Instead, I smelled a rat.

Nonetheless, I was committed to NOT sending the love of my life off to who-knows-where thinking I was an asshole. So, I started with a simple, "Tell me about this trip. What are you planning to do while you're over there? It's interesting thinking that you are going to such an exotic place."

Karen's face, which had been glowing with love a micro-second earlier, totally shut down. She said abruptly, "You know I can't talk about those things. It's classified." Her tone told me that she would have to kill me afterward.

I said defensively, "It's a diplomatic mission isn't it? Why is it so top-secret, hush-hush?"

She looked at me blandly and said ipso-facto, "Just because it is. Everything over there is sensitive and it's especially difficult for me because I'm a woman. This trip is upsetting to me. So, I have to ask you to stop talking about it."

I interpreted that as, "It really bothers me to betray you. So, let's move on to happier topics?" She didn't want me to remind her about what she was about to do; which was a pure sign of innate guilt.

Well at least she was suffering SOME pangs of regret. Personally, I was feeling more-and-more hopeless.

But I had to hold onto my cards. I couldn't give her any hint that I suspected something was wrong. That is, if I wanted to spring the trap that I was planning.

I said smiling weakly, "Okay, do you want to talk about getting away for a while when you get back?" I knew from our recent history that idea would be a total non-starter. But I still wanted to see how Karen would react.

She looked horrified and said, "I can't even think about that right now. I love you but I'm in the middle of something very important and I have to give it my full attention."

Then she added with a glorious smile, "Let's run away to some place like St. Lucia once I get things arranged, get naked, live on the beach - not even think about anything other than where we're going to have dinner."

Now that was an outright astonishing statement, given that she was planning to get naked and live on a beach with somebody else for the next week. I really didn't like being an object of pity. So, I laid down one of my prime cards. I said, "I'm just worried that I might be losing you to another man."

It was clear that was the last thing Karen thought I'd say. Her creamy skin went deep red right down to her superb cleavage and she said emphatically, "You'll never lose me. I'm yours forever. That isn't what this is about. I just need to do this to fulfill a promise that I made to myself."

She looked at me searchingly and said, "You understand that, don't you? I swear that I am going to put my career on hold and concentrate on raising your children after this is over. But this is just something that I have to do to move on in life without regret."

Well no... I didn't understand that at all.

If she thought that I would consent to her having a romantic fling as a prelude to moving on to motherhood, then there was one serious flaw in her logic. That would be the assumption that we would still be married when she got back.

Karen casually dropped her clothes as soon as we got back to our place. Then she strolled over to the bed and lay down. I sat next to her and looked into her eyes. Desire was crouching there like a hungry predator. I stood and quietly undressed. Then I lay beside her. She scooted to accommodate me.

Karen needs physical affirmation when she is feeling insecure. The more insecure she feels, the more she needs to have me inside her. It's like the physical connection reinforces our special bond. We were facing each other. She slowly and deliberately reached one leg over my hips fumbled a bit and pulled me into her. No help was required. She was soaking and white-hot.

I glided to the top. We both groaned with the sensation. I could feel the little flutters and nips that her passage always makes when I am deep inside. She her other hand was at the back of my neck looking intently into my eyes, like she needed to find something there.

I tried to communicate my love. But the sense that I was losing her released the beast. It was irrational and savage instinct; one that I'd never felt before. I heard a voice that must have been mine give a low animalistic growl and then I threw myself on top of her.

Karen was no longer my lifelong friend and companion. She was my bitch. I had to breed her. I wanted to pound her like she was a red-hot horseshoe and I was the blacksmith. My last rational image was the smirk of satisfaction that she got as I set about absolutely ravaging her.

I put my hands under her thighs, lifted them and spread her wide. She actually moved her legs a little bit further apart and rotated her hips, like she was saying, "Is that your best shot!!??"

Then I was beating directly down on her grunting like a wild boar, humping my entire lower body forward, like I was trying to crawl right into her.

I normally know what Karen is doing while we fuck. But consciousness had long since left the building. All I could see was a lustful red haze. I felt a stirring in my groin that told me that great forces were about to be unleashed. The culmination was a cataclysmic eruption that would have rivaled Vesuvius standing on Krakatoa's shoulders.

That added stars to the red firmament. I have never been so out of control in my life and the cumming was so violent that it actually hurt. I was having a hard time catching my breath. So, I lunged out of Karen to lie gasping on the bed next to her, not knowing whether she had come, or not; and not really caring at that point.

I finally got enough awareness to roll on my side and look at her. Her beautiful full breasts were rising and falling rapidly, nipples exceptionally extended. And she was out colder than a mackerel. Her legs were spread as wide as I had left them, and fluids were leaking out of her.

She popped one eye open and looked at me with profound smug kitty-like satisfaction. I said, with sincerity, "I'm sorry if I hurt you".

She looked at me like I was an idiot and said, "Hurt me!!! I just set a new orgasm record!!! It's nice to feel YOU lose control once in a while!!"

I still didn't understand what had hit me. I guess jealousy and suspicion will do that to you. The fact that Karen's much smaller body could handle the pounding that I'd given her, and then like it enough to pass out, just reinforced the suspicion that women are a stronger and much superior version of the species.

The problem was that my wife was leaving on a jet plane and that would probably mark the end of our beautiful life together. The realization totally obliterated any ability to sleep.

*****

Karen was particularly misty eyed as we hugged and kissed goodbye. She was flying out of the private facility on the south end of DCA. So, I just dropped her and drove around to the economy lot next to the TSA Integration Center.

I didn't even need binoculars. I watched her departure through the 10x magnification of my iPhone. I needed a photographic record for the subsequent divorce proceedings.

Karen emerged onto the tarmac, towing her rollerbag and looking exotically beautiful. She was with a guy in a sharkskin suit. That's standard legal attire. It's hard to tell where the sharkskin leaves off and the lawyer begins. He didn't look like anybody I needed to worry about. He was almost effeminate.

The Gulfstream started up, taxied out, lifted off the runway and disappeared into the overcast. That officially marked the end of life as I knew it on this planet. I bid it a tearful farewell.

Why was I being so melodramatic? Logically a one-time fling is no big deal. Humans aren't naturally monogamous. It takes conscious effort to stay faithful. And THAT was exactly my point.

Exclusivity is the foundation of partnership. Hence you can call it whatever you like; alternate lifestyle, business arrangement, or whatever. But there is no marriage if there is no willingness to be exclusive.

You have to know that your mate is wholly dedicated to your personal wellbeing; as much as you are to hers. There are no loopholes, or conditions. The circumstance is just too important for grey areas.

Karen and I used an image from Animal Planet to describe it. I know it sounds silly, but it was a perfect illustration of what marriage meant to us. Visualize a pair of arctic oxen, standing steadfastly, back-to-back, horns pointed out, each resolutely defending the other's blind spot from the encircling wolves.

That was Karen and me. I could always count on her and she could count on me. That was why the idea of her loss overwhelmed me. So yeah, I cried a bit. I had given her my total devotion and she had repaid me by running off to fuck some bigtime power player. How could I EVER trust her after THAT??!!

Well... I might not be influential. But nerds are known to be vicious, when cornered. So, I dropped a rat; ahem! a "remote-access-trojan," on her. Cheaters don't realize that the virtual world is full of rats. If so, there would be a lot less cheating.

It might be ungentlemanly to bug your wife. But my heart had hardened. All I needed was Karen's password, which took John the Ripper all of ten seconds to crack. Then, there could be no guessing. I would have the evidence.

And, after that there would be no point to our alleged marriage bond. Karen would have proven once and for all that our enduring alliance was a fraud.

The rat ran in the background. So, it would cut into her battery life. But everything that happened near her would be recorded and periodically batch uploaded to the cloud. The uploads would max her data plan too. But the cell bill would be HER problem.

I didn't plan to go over the actual evidence until I needed it. Honestly... I just couldn't face witnessing my wife's betrayal in real-time. I know that putting off the inevitable was a classic case of avoidance behavior. But come on!!! I was already dealing with a lot of shit!! I didn't need any extra heartache.

I had a busy week. I found a lawyer and the financial arrangements were completed. I also had to sit in our lonely house and eat my heart out. I don't think I slept more than two hours a night for the entire seven days.

At the end of the week, I was waiting outside the lower level exit at Dulles for Karen to clear the CBP checkpoint. Even somebody coming back from a week of trashing her marriage has to go through Passport Control. The final act would take place once we got home.

The control point doors were open. So, I saw Karen the instant she stepped into the exit tunnel. She looked radiantly beautiful and my heart flip-flopped in agony. She got a loving smile on her face as she started to race toward me, arms spread wide. But she never made it.

Of all the government agencies, there's something about the FBI that screams FED!! I'd noticed a group of them gathered right at the exit point. They looked like a pack of eager fox hounds, baying for the start of the chase. I wondered what they were doing there.

I found out as soon as Karen stepped into their jurisdiction. Suddenly, I was standing at the back of a swarming pack of feds, watching my wife being arrested. Karen's face went from loving, to confused, to non-plussed, to terrified.

She gave me a panicked look as the Klingons grabbed her and hustled her out the door to their waiting collection of shiny black Suburbans. I stared at the receding crowd with a WTF look on my face.

A couple of the older and more self-important types were briefing a bundle of reporters. I drifted over to where they were standing. As I approached, I heard words like "international arms trafficking" and "money laundering."

Seriously??!! My wife!!?? All I could think was, "Karen I hardly knew ye."

After the boss-feeb had finished blustering for the press, I approached the happy group and said with as much indignation as I could muster, "What's going on here. Why is my wife being arrested?"

They all whipped around. The oldest of the group, who was clearly the leader, looked at me astonished, pointed and said, "Seize that man." And here I thought that phrase had gone out of vogue in the 1950s.

*****

They transported me to the Hoover Building in the back of a Crown Vic. I didn't even rate a feebmobile. I kept asking the two agents in the front seat what was going on. But apparently, their voice boxes had been removed when they were shipped up from Quantico.

My mute feeb companions parked me in a grey-walled room with the classic one-way mirror. I thought to myself, Really??!! I was too confused to be frightened. You know how it is. Your whole thinking is in one direction and then you're yanked in another. I was just getting my mind around where I was.

My interrogation was perfunctory. The interrogator was a she-feeb. Her partner was a slick dude right out of central casting for "The Silence of the Lambs." She started in without preliminaries, "If you tell me everything and leave nothing out you can walk out of here a free man. But if you lie or hold anything back you are going to spend a lot of time in ADX Florence."

I fell back flabbergasted, mouth working like a recently boated tuna. I finally gathered my wits, hunched forward and said, "I know a lot of things. But I don't have the slightest idea what you expect me to tell you. So why don't we start by explaining why I'm here."

The she-feeb got a look of disdain on her face and said, "We have your wife on arms-trafficking and money laundering; related to her efforts to bring down the Maduro government in Venezuela. You mean to tell me that you don't know anything about that?"

I went back to imitating a tuna fish.

Karen Ritter, my wife, the innocent freshman girl I'd met almost twenty years ago was one white Persian cat short of being a James Bond villain!?? Incredible!! Where was I when all of that was going on!!??

The two of them sat there staring silently at me. I must have looked as confused as I felt because the she-feeb said angrily, "Dr. Ritter, we need an answer."

This was getting too absurd. I didn't even TRY to organize my thoughts. I just started talking.

I said, "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Karen is my wife. She's no international woman of mystery. There is no way on God's green earth that she would even contemplate, let alone DO, what you are talking about. She simply doesn't have the world view, or reach."

The she-feeb said, "She was in Egypt to broker an arms deal between the Saudis and the Sudanese. That deal was going to bring a lot of money to Juan Guaido's resistance forces in Venezuela. We know that because we have been monitoring her since we were tipped off by one of our assets in the Sudan."