Getting Out of Town (Feb Sucks)

This is an entry into Literotica's Valentine's Day Story Contest 2024.

February is upon us, and we have a 29th this year. What does that remind us of? That's right, the belated Valentine's Day party saga of the Carlisles. Did you also forget their last name? For the ones tempted to roll their eyes and say, "Oh no, not another one!" good news: you're forewarned, and Literotica has several thousand other great stories to read. Go, enjoy!

Once more, a tip of the hat to GeorgeAnderson for his February Sucks story (https://www.literotica.com/s/February-sucks) and blanket permission to add on to it. As most people know, this is arguably the most "added to" story on the entire site, probably because of the provocative trigger - the blatant disrespect by the wife. Oh, and the reconciliation ending, too.

Several commenters on several of these Febsux add-ons scoff that no wife would do that, which made me go back to the original, and the author's explanation of what triggered it. You can find my summary in a previous story (https://literotica.com/s/february-sucks-lindas-welcome). No sense repeating it. What that means is any comment along the lines of 'no woman would ever do that' will be deleted, because as GA documented, some claim they will. Why? Other than selfish hubris, who knows? They didn't say.

So, here's another way that provocative story could have played out. It inevitably will contain ideas from the myriad other endings. A tip of the hat to those authors, too. But hopefully the way they are combined here makes for something original, and enjoyable.

This story starts the night after Linda had left Jim.

I came to, as it were, when I saw nothing but darkness around me, only the road sign saying 'Freudenburg 30 miles ahead.' How had I gotten here? All I remember was the shock of learning Linda had abandoned me in a cruel and cowardly fashion to go screw the arrogant piece of shit football player in his home, no doubt a massive mansion to reflect his equally massive member. Used without a condom, the way I know arrogant assholes like him do.

Some Valentine's Day celebration.

By the time I gathered my thoughts, the 25 mile marker flashed by. What the hell, I may just go bed down there for the night, or what was left of it.

Motel 6 was the first sign I saw and, as promised, they'd left the light on for me.

I dropped the bag we'd packed for the hotel on my room floor and collapsed on the bed.

Next thing I knew was a surprised gasp. "I'm sorry. I knocked and there was no answer." The housekeeping lady backed out when I told her she should come back in an hour. I'd been so out of it, I hadn't even heard her knocking or calling out the usual "Housekeeping!" warning.

After a shower and fresh clothes I'd packed for our drive home from the other hotel, I hit the closest diner for a greasy breakfast. While waiting for the server and then the meal, I turned on my phone to scroll through the messages and voicemails. That took but a second or two, because... there were none. Nobody knew or cared where I was or what had happened to me. Everyone had their lives to live and this was the weekend. And the bitch was probably having a morning round of sexual ecstasy with her new stud, with no thought of her loser husband of ten years, or her kids.

The people who did know what happened probably assumed I'd slunk home with my tail between my legs, waiting for the great football god to fully empty his balls into his cum receptacle du jour and dump her on our driveway when done. Like they said, I'd get over myself and survive. After all, it was only one night, right? Which she deserved, because wasn't she chosen by the great football god of the city? I'd be fine, no need to check.

Except I wasn't fine. After breakfast I went to a Walmart Supercenter, bought a few changes of clothes, and returned to the motel to extend my stay for a few more nights.

Back in my room, I opened my laptop and caught up with what was happening in the rest of the world. Not much, as I quickly discovered. Not knowing what else to do, I surfed social media. Not much there, either. Should I shame Linda on her Facebook page?

Before deciding, I Googled the asshole she was probably giving a goodbye fuck to even as I surfed. Below the Google entries sponsored by the league, the team and the charities he supported, I came across an odd post. Someone evidently had videoed Asshole LaValliere from the moment he arrived at Morrison's last night. Who would do that, and why? According to the narrator, he wanted to see which married woman the arrogant prick would select for himself last night to cuckold the next hapless husband. This apparently was not the first time the stud had done this, and this poster knew, because the moment Linda left to go to the bathroom, the videographer got up and went to the side entrance. Asshole's teammates didn't suspect he was on to the plot, so they didn't harass him.

His video captured Asshole starting his Escalade, which he had illegally parked in a handicap parking spot. Football gods apparently don't get ticketed for arrogances like that. Then he pulled it to the side entrance and waited until Linda, with a broad smile on her face, got in and landed a long, fat kiss on her hero's lips. After cleaning her tonsils for a minute or five, he put his monster SUV in gear and took off. King of the world.

As the noise died down, the Google poster's soft narrating voice spoke clearly, "And that is exactly how he ended my marriage a week ago. And everyone thinks this asshole is a hero. When is someone going to expose him?"

After downloading the video as proof for my inevitable divorce, I watched it a few more times through my teary eyes. Finally, I unclenched my fist and messaged the guy. I'm the husband. Do you have any other videos of him pulling stunts like this?

After waiting a few minutes and not getting any reply, I lay back down and sank beneath the waves of fatigue and depression.

--

A ringing phone awoke me. Linda. "Hi Jim, I'm back. Where are you?"

"Gone. I moved out after you left me."

"What? I didn't leave you. I'm standing in our kitchen. Where are the kids?"

"You most definitely left me, you cruel coward cunt," I snarled.

She gasped. I'd never spoken to her like that in all the twelve years we'd known each other. I was on a roll, though. "Without even a word. You just lied to me about going to the bathroom and walked out to go fuck a football player. If that's not leaving me, I don't know what is."

"I didn't leave you. Dee told you I'd be back today and here I am. Do you have the kids with you?"

"No, I figured when you eventually return to the planet the rest of us live on, you'll start realizing you still have responsibilities and fetch them."

"What, you just left them with Mrs. Porter?"

"Well, yeah. I figured you knew how to deal with that, being the new expert at absentee parenting and all."

"Jim, stop it. I told you I never left you. I'm in our house and you're not."

"Damn straight I'm not. I'll never set foot in the same building as you again, ever, you slimy bitch."

If I thought I'd spark some guilt in her, I had another think coming. "Oh, get over yourself and stop overreacting. It was only one night."

"Sorry, honey, I must have missed that part. When you were so adamant about how you'd bust my balls if I ever stepped out on you, even for one night, I missed the part that said you'd be off the hook if you did it for one night with a celebrity."

After a pause, I continued. "Yeah, no. Upon further review, I don't think I missed anything. You, we, never said anything about any exceptions. One and done. Weren't you the one who coined that phrase? So, no, I'm not overreacting. If anything, you are underreacting, because suddenly it suits your slutty purposes.

"You did the one, and now we're done, you unfaithful bitch. You don't get make and change rules at your sole whim. Overreacting, my ass."

I was still fuming. "You cheated. You are evil. Cruel, too, leaving me out there, swinging in the wind as everyone laughed at your wimpy cuckolded husband. So, no. I'm not coming back. I hope the night of sex with your new boyfriend was worth it, because you just destroyed a happy ten-year marriage. Well done, you narcissistic cunt. Now I suggest you go and pick up the kids." Before she could reply, I ended the call and turned off the phone.

When I reopened my laptop, Vince, the guy who posted the video, had responded. No, this was the first video I took. Last week he did this to my wife. We drove all the way from Freudenburg to celebrate our fifth anniversary at Morrison's. Now we're not only not celebrating our anniversary, we're no longer together.

Me: You're in Freudenburg?

Him: Sure am, where are you?

Me: In the Motel 6 on the east side of town, next to the Denny's.

Him: Wanna meet there? I'm wearing a burgundy hoodie with our high school team logo.

--

Vince looked to be in his late twenties, professional, reasonably fit without being a bodybuilder, with brown eyes and dark brown hair.

After the introductions, he said, "So, what's your story, how did last night come about?"

In the middle of my dismal tale, his phone rang. Lifting a finger, he said, "Gotta take this, sorry.

"This is Vince. Oh hey, Tony, thanks for getting back. Wait a second, we need to step outside so I can put the phone on speaker." He waved at me to follow him.

We stepped outside and when we reached his SUV, he chirped it open and we got in. "Okay Tony, you are not going to believe this. I have with me on speaker the guy in the video whose wife got kidnapped last night. Tony, meet Jim Carlisle. Jim, meet Tony Stevens, reporter for the Freudenburg Tribune.

"Jim, I called Tony this morning to tell him about the video. He wanted to see it posted on a public website so he could respond as a reporter would to an independent news item."

"What do you mean independent?" I asked.

"Tony is my cousin. If he found the item on Google nobody could accuse him of using the paper to avenge my marriage being lost."

"Okay, whatever."

Tony asked, "Jim, is it? Tell me the whole story. Do you mind if I tape it?"

Vince replied, "Hey why don't we meet at your office? It has heat." It was, after all, the first of March, and damn cold, with snow still on the ground from the previous dump.

"To think a mind like that has to rot one day," Tony replied with a laugh. "I'll meet you there."

--

Tony's office had heat, coffee, a conference room and all the electronic tools one would expect from those who manufacture news.

After starting the recording, Tony explained that since Vince's run-in with LaValliere the week before, he'd been on a search to find what he could do to (a) stop the guy from ruining more marriages and (b) find a way to introduce some form of retribution.

"What I discovered from my research is this asshole's main goal is not getting laid. If that was it, you'd expect him to have a mix of single and married women, but from all accounts he exclusively targets married women. Why? Seems he has some insecurities, and he gets off on humiliating other men."

"Hmm... a bully, in other words," I mused, "so his main target last night wasn't Linda, it was me. But why? We don't even know each other."

"The only thing I can think is out-of-control competitiveness. By cuckolding a guy out of the prettiest woman in the room, he's reaffirming his superiority, kind of thing. That's also why he insists on taking the women home the following day, so the husband can see who humiliated him: better looks, more fame, more money and of course his million dollar Ferrari classic. His mission isn't complete until he looks the hubby in the eye to see the defeat there."

I could only shake my head. What does it say about our society when it not only allows a cruel narcissistic jerk to run around freely, but rewards him so excessively?

"Probably why he does so well on the football field, too," Vince said. "Sticking it to the defenders covering him. He makes it personal."

"Interesting theory," I offered. "But in the meantime, Vince's marriage is ruined and I'm pretty sure mine is, too. Someone has to stop this guy. This is ridiculous."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do," Tony said. "Because of who he is, the league, team and players union will throw their billions around to stop any reporter trying to besmirch a key cog in their moneymaking machine." Turning to me, he continued. "Vince's footage is good, but to make it really count, I would need to tell your story. Are you willing to do that?"

"Sure, it's not like I have much to lose any more," I said with a shrug.

"Oh, you would be surprised. You will be belittled and ridiculed, your kids will be hammered at school with all kinds of innuendos, not the least of which is that you are a child abuser or pedophile and they're covering for you. You need to think long and hard about this. Do you know a good lawyer?"

"Yes." Amid all the averageness and failure in my family, we did have a seasoned, savvy and successful lawyer, who went by his initials, LW. "Want me to call him?"

"It can't hurt to talk."

"As soon as we're done here," I said. "What are your plans with this story?"

"The second coming of Ray Rice," Tony replied, referring to the events in 2014 surrounding the Baltimore Ravens' star running back.

"What do you mean?"

"The NFL commissioner waffled and made it 'he said, she said,' until TMZ released the video of him punching his girlfriend. The video pretty much ended his career, even though he was one of the league's top running backs."

"But nobody punched anybody last night."

"I know, but that's not the point. The point is the aftermath of Rice's incident showed everyone that a video of any event becomes more important than the event itself. That's why I asked Vince to see if he could back up his claims with an actual video. It may take a little while, but once this video hits the internet, LaValliere's career will be over. It's six months before the next season starts--plenty of time to cook his goose. The NFL or the Sharks will not be able to sweep his behavior under the rug any more. What I want to do is find as many other victims of his cuckolding campaign to support Vince. If we can get one or two more people to come forward to corroborate your stories, that will hopefully vindicate both of you to those who see you as wimps for letting a football player steal your wives so easily. It will help the story immensely if you agree to be interviewed as the victim in the video. That will give the story real legs."

What did I have to lose? If Tony released the video without my name, all our acquaintances will recognize Linda and me. Our kids will be no better off than if our names came out and I told my story in detail. "Okay, let's do it."

Around five, Tony wrapped up his story and made a 20-second teaser video to send to TMZ.

"Why?" I asked. "You have everything on your site."

"But nobody will see it. TMZ reaches a hundred million viewers. I'll get them to include a link to our article for those who want more details. All they want is eyeballs on their site. So if we host the actual footage it saves them a dime or two--a win-win. If I send it tonight, they'll have it locked and loaded to release tomorrow to their own viewers, as well as the national media, who will be hungry on a slow news day."

Nobody could argue with logic like that. Armed with a copy of the video, I moved to another room, opened my laptop and emailed it to LW, with a message to call me.

Ten minutes later my phone rang. "How the hell did this happen?" he asked.

"Good evening to you, too, uncle," I replied. "It was just like you saw on the video. We were supposed to celebrate a belated Valentine's Day because the actual day got snowed out, remember?"

"Holy shit. I can't believe Linda would pull a stunt like that. Did you guys have a fight?"

"Not at all. On the contrary, just a few moments earlier she told everyone at our table she was going to dance with only me all evening. I am even more surprised than you. Just like that, in cold blood, she simply walked out to go fuck the asshole all night long. Didn't even bother to pick up her coat."

"What are you going to do, son?"

"First thing is we're gonna get TMZ to run the video tomorrow and release it to the national media. Because of their reach and his fame, we expect most of the country to have seen it by dinnertime tomorrow. Then I'm hoping you'll be able to sue the crap out of the NFL, the Sharks, the asshole himself, the club, and all the charities and businesses sponsoring him."

"What a way to blow away the cobwebs of my supposed retirement. You do realize, your chances of getting any real money from those pigs is pretty slim?"

"Maybe, but if someone can figure a way to squeeze some bucks out of some deep pockets, it would be you. My main goal, however, is to expose the asshole and ruin his career."

"Hmm, okay. Exposure can blow back in your face pretty quickly, though. Do you have a PR person to coordinate the pushback you're gonna get?"

"Never even thought of it. Do you think I need someone like that?"

"Will you ever. You're going to get hundreds of requests for on-air interviews. Their lawyers are going to depose you and get you to make mistakes they'll capitalize on. They'll become a school of piranhas focused on destroying you."

"Do you know someone I could get at such short notice?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. She's been in the PR game for over ten years, and knows hundreds of good people. Name's Tanya Farnsworth. Want her contact info?"

"Please."

--

Minutes later Tanya and I started getting acquainted over the phone. I walked into Tony's office. "Dude, I need you to meet my new PR person."

"Great, let me just finish up sending this out and getting it onto our site."

I introduced Tony and Tanya, and sat back as they talked lingo I didn't understand. After a while, they conferenced LW in, and the three put together a plan.

As their conference wound down, Tanya wanted to speak to me and I returned to the office Tony had given me to use. "I need to be closer to the action. Have you moved back to your home?"

"No, I'm in a neighboring town, shacked up in a Motel 6."

"Get a suite with three or at least two bedrooms at a decent hotel with a fast Wi-Fi connection for a week starting tomorrow. Don't worry about money, we'll sort that out soon enough. I'll call LW and get him to join us. Your life is going to be crazy for the next few weeks, and we all need to be close together to keep everything together and on the right track."

"I don't know--"

"Listen, now is not the time to be a small-town prude. There will be no time for any monkey business. You've just gotten Tony to declare war against billion-dollar superpowers, and you have no idea who they really are. These guys eat rubes like you for breakfast before ordering their main meal. Within the week, we'll be getting a short-term house rental for our headquarters, so be ready."

When we hung up, my head spun like a top. In less than 24 hours, my life had transformed from preparing for a small, intimate Valentine's Day celebration to a national media and legal war. It was like I just took my seat in a movie theater, the lights were dimming and the biggest blockbuster of all time was about to begin.

Except I had no popcorn.

Epilogue

TMZ did what they do best, create the biggest ruckus the sports world has ever seen. LW sued the league, the team, the union, the hotel, Morrison's, the band, the offensive linemen who threatened and bumped me, the city for not clamping down on the known travesties earlier, the companies whose products Asshole endorsed, and the charities who traded his fundraising for bestowing him with a good name. Deep pockets as far as the victim eye can see.