tagLoving WivesIf Only We'd Known

If Only We'd Known


This is a work of fiction, however, certain elements are loosely based on real life events. Names, locations and descriptions are wholly fabricated. Resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Warning, this story has very little sex, and is somewhat convoluted. There is graphic violence that is part of the overall plot. If this is not your cup of tea, then move on. You've been warned.

I've submitted this story as is, with minimal editing. I did correct whatever glaring mistakes I found. However, it is a long story and I have a very limited amount of time to spend on things like editing with a fine toothed comb. If a reader finds an error; spelling, grammar, discrepancy, etc., send it to the complaint department. I'm sure they'll eagerly take care of whatever the issue happens to be.

As usual, I write for my own enjoyment, and simply share with you all.

~In The Beginning~

Malcolm Harris was not a happy man, and by the same measure, neither was his wife, Jessica. Lately, their marriage had been a little sluggish. No, if he were completely honest with himself, their marriage was more than torpid. It had come to a virtual stop. It wasn't that they didn't try, nevertheless, the relationship between him and his wife was becoming, by bits and pieces, increasingly strained. They'd been married twenty-four years, and known each other nearly thirty years, and one would think that after such a lengthy time together, they'd have learned how to iron out the wrinkles. But, this time, somehow, it was different.

He didn't know when it began, but he knew when he noticed it.

It was six weeks ago, on a Saturday night. They'd been out shopping most of the day. It was their normal weekend routine of the last ten years, as everything else they'd done was routine. After shopping they'd stopped for a bite to eat, at their usual place. Although they might order something different off the menu, they'd already tried all the dishes offered, thus no matter what they ordered, that too was routine. Then home to unload their purchases, put everything up, and later, watch a bit of television. As ten o'clock approached he began to feel the all to familiar tingling in his crotch, his body already anticipating what years of marriage usually predicted happened on Saturday night.

All routine.

The number of times their weekend cycle had been broken, he could count on his fingers and toes, and was usually caused by Jesse's monthly misery, or on those even rarer times, when one of them was ill.

Jesse was now forty-six and not yet at that stage of her life that men nearly dreaded worse than women, known as menopause. So they took great pains to insure that Jesse didn't get pregnant, as she wasn't on the pill. A health issue prevented her from using that particular type of contraceptive, so it was either use condoms -which he despised- or, if Jesse felt up to it, which she usually didn't, she'd jerk him off or give him a blow job, before, as she often said, the "real" sex began. It had become sex and not love sometime ago, but Malcolm had passed it off as a quirk of women as they grew older. Because, Jesse had assured him, she did love him, she just wasn't as into the sexual aspect of their relationship as he was.

Regardless, Malcolm looked forward to Saturday nights, it was the only time Jesse would want to have sex, or allow him to have sex with her, and although the distinction between the two particulars irked him some, he'd slowly, albeit reluctantly, come to accept it. During the week, as they both worked long hours, Jesse was never up to doing more than cooking and some cleaning. Malcolm helped with the chores, including the cooking and even with the cleaning, on those days that Jesse ended up working later than he did. Still, Jesse would complain she was too tired or wasn't in the mood. It hadn't always been that way, as the first ten years of their marriage had been filled with sexual escapades two times a day, and sometimes, multiple times a day. Sadly, those wonderfully pleasant days were far behind them. More recently, Malcolm did try, on occasion, to work one in during the work week, but Jesse never gave in, so Saturday night was their special night.

As ten o'clock came and went, Malcolm waited for Jesse to get up, go upstairs to shower, while he watched a bit more television, before he would follow to wash up, and meet her in bed. He could feel a small smile crease his face, as he waited for Jesse to begin her routine. Yes, he was really looking forward to his time with Jesse.

And, she never budged.

She sat there, reading a book, while occasionally glancing up to watch whatever was airing on the television, before going back to her reading.

He waited, but as his anticipation grew so did his frustration, and finally, he asked with what he thought was a soft but manly tone, "Honey? Are you going up to shower?"

A moment passed before she looked up at him, while blinking a couple of times through her reading-glasses. "I'm sorry, dear, what did you say?" she asked without any indication she'd heard his question.

"I asked if you were going to shower and...", he let his question trail off, thinking she'd get the hint.

"Oh", she said, looking away. After a moment, she took a deep breath and turned back to him, "Not tonight, Malcolm."

Unsure that he'd heard correctly, Malcolm sat there a few seconds, somewhat taken aback, while his wife returned to her book. She didn't look sick, and he knew it wasn't that time of the month, because when it was she'd get real cranky, and she'd been her usual self, plus she would have told him. He asked anyway, in case he somehow missed something. He'd been working extra hours at the plant the last month and came home dragging, so something might have got past him.

"Are you feeling okay, Jesse?"

Without looking up from her book, she replied, "Yes, I'm fine."

He waited a moment more to see if she was going to add anything else, but she continued to read.

"So, what's the problem?", he asked in a carefully measured tone of voice.

Sighing loudly, she closed her book with a snap, putting it down on the end table, and stood up.

"What do you mean by that? Just because I don't want to have sex tonight, you think something is wrong? Listen, Malcolm, I just don't feel like having sex. It's that simple. Okay?"

Flabbergasted by her unexpected response, his thoughts became jumbled, as he tried to process what she'd said, then unable to come up with a rational reason for his wife's attitude, his mind went into a white out; blank.

All he could do was stare at her in surprise, shock and some hurt. Her tone was cold, even calculating, and definitely unyielding, and in her quiet voice, he thought he heard something else, something he'd heard often enough elsewhere but never in his home- Loathing.

She turned and strode out, walking to the stairs, and practically running up to the second floor. But, before she turned away, he saw something on her face that caused his soul to freeze -disgust. As quickly as he saw it, her face smoothed to a detached calmness.

He sat there, suddenly feeling very alone, with a sickly rumbling growing in the pit of his stomach. He was sometimes slow to realize how things were around his home, as when the children were growing up, he noticed the minor changes come over them, and if he didn't understand immediately where they were coming from, he would sit down, think things through until he'd come to terms with whatever it was. This time, it was a sudden intuitive knowledge, with no thinking required -she'd grown apart from him, and somehow, he'd missed all the signs.

He didn't know what had caused the change in Jesse that he had just experienced, but he suspected it wasn't something that had occurred instantly. It had been there for years or perhaps, all along, but somehow she had managed to hide it from him, or at least deal with it better. Until tonight. And the knowledge, far from making him feel better, left him feeling even more distraught and more deeply confused.

Malcolm loved his wife dearly, even more today than when they met thirty years ago.


He'd just turned seventeen and he'd been at the park with some friends, drinking beer as a special belated birthday celebration, and in general, enjoying the day, when she came running by. Her honey-blond pony-tail glistened in the sunlight as it swished back and forth across her shoulders, while her tie-dyed t-shirt stretched provocatively over her perky medium-sized breasts. Her black running shorts were so tight, they looked like they might have been painted on, daring her cute round ass to show it all. Her long slim legs were graceful as they swept along, at a steady stride, but he could see the muscles play along the length of her sleek legs as she ran by him and his friends. They jeered and whistled at her, but it was as if they were nothing but an annoying wind, because after a passing glance, she ignored them and in couple of seconds she was past them, hidden among the trees lining the path she ran.

Malcolm had been out with a few girls and he was certainly no virgin, but this girl who had run by him, had caused his heart to beat funny, and his stomach to feel even funnier. More than that, she filled every fantasy his young imaginative mind had created since he began to realize the magical potential of girls. He knew he had to meet her. She was a goddess!

It was weeks before he saw her again, but not for the lack of trying -he was at the park every chance he had to get away, hoping to see her again. He had envisioned how he would go about meeting her; he'd spent every waking hour dreaming about it. Not that he was truly prepared, because how does a guy go about preparing to meet a goddess? Still, he had to try.

He was leaning against the trunk of his car, arms crossed, nearly dozing in the warm Sunday afternoon sun, when he heard the sound of rapid footfalls approaching; crunching the fallen leaves with a paced rhythm. He roused himself, stifling a yawn, and tried to appear cool. Then she was there. She wore the same clothing as before, although her tie-dyed t-shirt might have had a different pattern on it, it was hard to tell, especially since his attention was focused on how well that pattern bulged out and how it heaved up and down in rhythm with her pace.

Screwing up his courage, he gave a casual wave. Gotta act cool, he thought, but she never looked his way. Knowing his time was limited to couple of seconds, he pushed off from the trunk, straightening up, calling out to her.


She didn't slow, but she did turn her head, smiling at him. She smiled! At him! The feeling he had experienced before, although it had never really left him, surged back, only twice as strong. No! It was ten times stronger! It made his knees weak and he felt like his heart would burst out through his chest. He tried to say something else, but his mouth wouldn't work. Damn it! Try again!

"Hey..." and he stopped. He heard the word come out as a low croak, not manly or even boyish, more like something a pond frog would sing out. Quickly, he tried to clear his throat by swallowing, but his mouth was dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and before he could could utter another word she disappeared among the trees. He stood there a few eternities, stunned, before his failure hit him like a ton of bricks. For an instant, he played with the thought of running after her, but that might spook her. Plus, it wouldn't be cool.

'Shit! I had the chance and I blew it! But -it's a good thing she didn't hear me, she'd probably would have laughed at my imitation of a frog, and never talk, or ever smile at me again.' Then another, less pleasant, thought intruded, 'What if I sound like a frog every time I'm around her?'

Saddened and disillusioned by his failed attempt at talking to the goddess, and disgusted by his suddenly croaky voice, he opened the door to his car, a 1967 RS Camaro, entered, and was about to start the engine when he heard an angry scream start up then abruptly cut-off.

He wasn't sure if it was her, his goddess, but even if it wasn't, someone was in trouble. Without thinking he jumped out of the car and dashed down the trail.

In seconds, he was there and it was the goddess, but she wasn't alone. Two large older teens had a hold of her and were trying to drag her into the bushes. Each had one of her arms, while one of the teens had his other arm, crooked around her head, covering her mouth, effectively silencing her. She was struggling fiercely, but each of the teens was far bigger than she was, and he could see she was quickly losing the battle. Then he saw her eyes. As deep blue as the cloudless sky and as furious as the depths of hell. But also, he saw a pleading look that tore at his soul. Without another thought, he put on a burst of speed, doing the only thing that came to mind. Without warning he crashed jarringly into all three of them.

Some sixth-sensed must have alerted one young thug, because he looked up towards Malcolm at the last possible instant, his eyes widening in surprise and perhaps, fear, before the world ended in a cacophony of pain and crashing darkness.

"Oh, please! Wake up! Please!"

He heard the voice, an angel's sweet voice, calling out. He tried to open his eyes but a blaring pain hit him as he became aware. The pain seemed to course nauseatingly through his head, but then it ebbed somewhat. He felt someone tugging at his arm, and tried to open his eyes again. The pain was still there, but it had eased a bit more, becoming tolerable.

A red haze seemed to cover part of his vision, but his other eye worked just fine and it saw the vision of loveliness that had to be an angel. No! It was a goddess. His goddess.

"Can you stand up?"

"I think so", but another pain hit his right arm as he tried to use it to push himself off the ground. With a groan of pain he fell back.

"We can't stay here. I think you knocked them out, but they're beginning to move and they might wake up anytime. Can you try again to stand? I'll help you."

Oh god! He had groaned in front of the goddess. First he croaked, now he groaned!

"Please, try to get up." said that wonderfully soothing voice again, but he heard it laced with worry.

"Okay...I'll try."

This time he used his other arm and it seemed to work okay. In a few seconds, he was standing up, albeit unsteadily.

He hurt worse than after a tough high-school football game. He hurt like never before, but as he tried to get his bearings, he saw the two thugs were, indeed, beginning to stir. There was blood on both of the thugs, but he didn't know if it was theirs, his or a mix of the both. He knew the haze covering one of his eyes had to be blood, and although he wiped at it, it wouldn't go away. He was bleeding, and his right arm hurt like someone had used it as a bat, although it looked okay to his one good eye.

He was in no shape to put up a fight, and just like the goddess had said, they had to get away.

He looked at her, and she looked back at him. She gave him a hesitant smile, but she must have a busted lip, because she moaned a bit then stopped smiling. Malcolm could see smears of blood on her mouth and face, although her face didn't show any lacerations.

"We have to go, I'll help you walk." with that she grabbed him under his good arm and started to lead him away. And, he saw she was directing them in the same direction she'd been running. Wait...

He stopped and asked her, "Do you have a car nearby?"

She had stopped too, and when she looked at him, she shook her head no. "I run from home and I run back."

"Okay. My car is close. Back the other way. If we hope to get away, we'd better try to make for it." Malcolm tried to explain without slurring his words too much. He felt like he would pass out from the now increasing pain, but somehow managed to stay on his feet. He doubted she'd be able to carry or drag his unconscious weight that far. Also, it wouldn't be cool to pass out after he'd already croaked and groaned in front of her.

Without replying, she turned them around and began leading him to his car. They spoke little, keeping mostly silent, each trying to make as little as noise as possible, so as not to let the thugs know where they'd gone, in case they fully awoke before they were far enough away.

They made it to the car without incident, but they thought they heard angry voices coming from up the path.

"Can you drive?" Malcolm asked the goddess giving her a weak smile, "I don't think I can drive well enough not to wreck us." indicating his useless and painful arm.

She looked at his hurt arm and nodded, "Yes, I can drive. Automatic and manual. Let me have the keys."

Wild panic over took his mind as he padded his pants pockets with the hand of his good arm, and didn't feel the keys. She must have seen his increasingly desperate search, and asked, "Do you think you dropped the keys?"

"I don't know. I was getting ready to leave when I heard...Look in the car! In the ignition!" he demanded urgently, his pain momentarily forgotten in the dire need of the moment.

She bent in through the still open driver's door to see if the keys were in the ignition, and Malcolm, even as horrible as he felt, couldn't help but enjoy the view of her small but well rounded bottom.

"Yes! The keys are here! Come on, get in! I think I hear them coming!" she exclaimed with a nervous edge to her voice.

As quick as he could walk, that is, stagger, Malcolm went to the passenger side and got in. It felt weird sitting on this side of the car, knowing he was a passenger in his own car.

The engine awoke with a throaty roar. With a practiced spin of the wheel she backed up, straightened the car, then tore out of the park, the Camaro's 327 cubic inch engine roaring its approval as they reached the main road and rapidly sped off. Although she drove with what appeared abandon, she handled the car skillfully.

"Where are you going...uh...I don't know your name." said Malcolm dully, as he watched her drive.

"I'm taking you to the hospital. And, my name is Jessica. Jessica Ann Robertson. And yours?"

Jessica! A beautiful name, fit for a goddess. His sight was getting blurred and he felt so tired, but he forced himself to answer. "I'm Malcolm Harris. My friends call me Mal. You have such a...a..."

What was he about to say? His mind had gone blank and he couldn't remember. A darkness was descending and he was becoming lost in it. Soon all he saw and heard was a blurred inky blackness and the roar of distant waves, and then...utter silence and a deep deep darkness.


His thoughts were interrupted by the waitress asking him if he was ready for another beer. Nodding his head, she took off.

He watched the waitress's retreating back as his thoughts drifted back to his wife. He'd asked her point blank if there were any problems, and she acted as if there were none, but he could tell she was lying. Maybe she knew the problem existed, but at the same time, she didn't know what to do about it. It wasn't the first time they'd had problems, but it was the first time he didn't know what it was, much less what to do to get past it. Most certainly, if she would talk to him, they could figure it out and go on from there.

As Malcolm sipped what was left of the beer, all these thoughts and others, went round and round in his mind. Malcolm didn't normally drink, and even rarer did he go to a bar to do so, but the last few weeks at home had been more than stressful, as he and Jesse forced a tired strained joviality between them, while whatever it was, loomed over them.

Finishing the beer, Malcolm looked around the place he'd chosen to think and drink, or was it to drink and think? Didn't matter either way, it wasn't the type of place he'd normally go to. At least it was quiet; the music that played from the jukebox was easy listening and at a low volume, not all that intrusive. The lighting was low, but not too dim, and no one seemed to care one way or another about the stranger sitting by himself at one of the corner tables. The bar was also out of the way, and that was the main reason he was here. Malcolm didn't want anyone who knew him to walk over and get too curious.

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byJLRemora2© 81 comments/ 109959 views/ 109 favorites

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