Intimate Blackout

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Of loving relationships, mistakes and redemption.
33.3k words
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AUTHORS NOTE:

Hi there, Arch here.

Okay, so I'm a sucker for punishment. I'll try again!

Hi to the readers of Loving Wives, hope you're all having a nice day.

This story is conventional. Loving wife adores husband, husband loves wife unconditionally but the marriage has issues. There's lots of romance and heart ache here and I warn you ladies this one might need that box of tissues stationed nearby.

Mistakes are made, restitution fulfilled and karma is eventually restored.

If you like your stories ending happily, read on.

As you may find, if I keep submitting to the site, nearly all of my tales have a 'happy ever after' and deal in loving, but sometimes unconventional, relationships. So be warned.

This is one such story.

To the gate keepers...

P.S. Once again I apologize for the editing. I have only myself to blame.

*****

INTRODUCTION.

JILLIAN.

His eyes were vacant, dilated and lifeless. Tubes sucked regularly whilst distressingly hollow sounds hissed intermittently.

Sobbing uncontrollably my mind shifted back, re-rolling the vivid images of the last eight hours.

Oh my god, what had I done!

Bloody Carl! He's been my husband's best friend since junior school. Why did I do it? Okay, yes he is 6'5", a muscled blonde Swedish Adonis, but I loved my husband! Carl is basic; pure male but little brain. His ability to please a girl in bed is legendary and impossible to resist. At least that's the excuse I currently cling too.

My husband is a brilliant man, beautiful and caring. He worships the ground upon which I tread; he bottles the air I breathe and yet I considered him inconsequential.

He just looks like your average Joe, only his name's Jack... average Jack.

Jack pales in relation to Carl, at least in appearance. But my Jack, despite his medium height and plain looks is a very smart and extremely wealthy man. His personal fortune extends to the far reaches of the globe. Okay, so he inherited the bulk of his fortune, but some Wall Street analysts would confirm that he'd almost doubled that fortune in the five short years since gaining that inheritance at age 21.

Now I will admit (somewhat shamefully) that I'm (was) a gold digger. I have been blessed with female proportions akin to most heterosexual men's perceived perfections and, whether that 'definition' extends to long flowing red hair and deep emerald green eyes, then that's a matter for debate, but that's what god and my Irish hereditary has gifted me.

For a girl I'm relatively tall at 5'9" and in four inch heels I look down on 6 foot tall men! Some people will compare me to a young Nicole Kidman... like when she was in that race car movie with him...

So (again I shamefully admit) I spent my late teens stalking wealthy men. I'd purposely hang out at frequented clubs or events, dressed to the nines in a ridiculously short dress or some shimmery top that would flaunt my 36c's and attract the eye of my weakened unsuspecting prey. Don't get me wrong, I'm not exactly stupid. I did complete a bachelor in Journalism, but that was more about vanity than any real reason to pursue that vocation. The title held prestige, and it offered access to celebrity functions and places of 'interest'. Not that I was ever employed, but a fake press card and 'real' references, a killer mini skirt and... well, you get the picture.

Now I do of course read the gossip rags, skim BRW or Forbes because I'm always on the prowl, searching for that one 'special' man who might notice me, fall for me... the tall somewhat skinny silky redhead in the little sequined green dress, the inappropriate side slit and silly towering ankle turning heels.

Three years ago I noticed a rather plain, but equally cute guy sitting alone at the bar in the Wentworth. This place was the venue for the AGM convention of investors in Millennium Corp, a worldwide property development conglomerate that owned some of the most expensive real estate in the world. I'd picked up on this skimming through Forbes. Now given my investigative skills, I also recognized the plain 'nobody' twirling his scotch as Jack Stevens, CEO of USED inc. (United Sates External Developments). This of course being only one of his six companies but the one dealing with the shares in MC. The day I walked into that bar I was celebrating my twenty first birthday and to tell you I was feeling confident cocky and lucky might understate the fact. It was my birthday and I was in the groove.

I clicked quickly on marble flooring in pursuit of my quarry when suddenly a big guy walked lazily into my path, blocking out the sunlight streaming through the massive windows overlooking Central Park.

"Excuse me ma'am. Is there something I can help you with today?" He sounded like a bear, a big black bear with a gruff voice. Who's been eating my porridge? I attempted to side step, but he was quick for a big man.

"I'm trying to rendezvous with my boyfriend Jack, if you'd just allow me to pass Sir." I tried on the bravado. His smile displayed both humour and disbelief.

"If you please ma'am, I have strict instructions to eject anyone not associated with the convention. Your pass please?" He didn't even bother extending his hand in anticipation... cheeky bastard!

"Jack, honey! This man doesn't believe who I am!" I called out in desperation, thinking you only get one chance. The big guy looked surprised and turned to check out my quarry, appearing perplexed with my apparent familiarity. Jack Stevens, for his part glanced up from his reverie, somewhat surprised at hearing his name. I took opportunity to side step the gorilla and darted toward my astonished victim with arms extended crying, "Jack, tell him who I am honey!" Yeah... yeah, ballsy... brazen... hey bite me!

I could hear the big guy launch after me. Jack Stevens barely had time to stand before I was wrapping my arms about him and hissing in his ear.

"Oh honey, that man's so awful!"

"I'm sorry Sir... she's very quick and..."

"It's okay Bobby, she's with me." Jack Steven's eyes twinkled. "Are you alright my Princess?"

I may have smiled...

****

That smile was a distant memory. My Jack was broken now. That first day spent at his side, holding his lifeless hand would be the first of many. I had much time to reflect on my actions, swim in my guilt and curse myself for my undeniable stupidity. The consequences of my actions would ripple through the coming ages and alter destiny.

What has been done cannot be undone. Hurt may heal but scars will linger.

I held the limp cold hand to my cheek and wept deeply for my loving husband.

****

CHAPTER ONE.

JACK STEVENS.

Five years eight months and twenty two days later... May 6th 2003.

Light... a seemingly eerie and strange sensation suddenly engulfed me. A sense of deja vu swam through my fused mind, like I'd seen this before.

Darkness transformed, like a dawning day encroaching on the blackest of nights. I remembered sleep in that moment and what that sensation once was and what it felt like. Sleep, the closing of my day, the succumbing to soft nothingness and the occasional dream. But this dream seemed never ending.

As that weird semblance of light pushed against my horizon, memory filtered back.

In that brief reflection of past I pictured my princess. She was in my arms, hugging me close and seeking my protection. The concierge appeared perplexed as I hugged her near and nodded in affirmation that she was mine, and that it was all good... and it was indeed good.

I'd been sitting at the bar wallowing in my own inadequacies. Despite my wealth and good fortune approaching a woman, for me, was akin to Apollo thirteen's moon mission. I would circle my perceived rendezvous precariously with systems flawed, never quite displaying my potential... to love a woman, or to care for a woman. Internally I was a broken thing and orbiting was the best I'd ever achieve, descending into the dark side at every failed attempt. Communication escaped me and worst of all, my apparatus was broken... destroying all possible confidence in achieving my goal.

I'd had the unfortunate luck in contracting testicular cancer mid-teens. The resultant surgery had left me 'half' able to ever produce an heir but, when later tests proved that to be impossible, having scored a zero count, I retreated into my comfortable shell of inadequacy, believing I was less than a man. Approaching girls was out of the question and every time I had the immense fortune of being in the presence of one, I'd withdraw into my shell once more thinking I could never allow a woman the misfortune of knowing me, let alone loving me.

Then my princess threw herself into my arms that fateful day and it all changed.

"Are you okay, did that big man scare you?" Yeah, it was the booze talking, but her perfume and womanly smell overpowered me. God she smelt so feminine!

The lunar module had separated, and began descending... She pulled back and blinked. Auburn lashes the color of autumn flashed sparkling emeralds; their depth oceanic.

"Nah, he's a big teddy bear." She glanced over her shoulder at the retreating giant. "Thanks for not giving me away. Can I buy you a drink?" She grinned and her face would pale a sunrise. I laughed.

"That's supposed to be my line." I motioned the bar tender, inviting the stunning beauty to order.

"I'll have a 'blurred orgasm' thank you." She smirked her wink.

What the...!!

"So, Princess..." I inquired inquisitively. "There are lots of other wealthy guys here, and some are pretty good looking too. A girl like you could attract anyone." I picked up the JD, more as an attempt to hide my nervousness than the desire to drink it. "Why pick me?"

"Okay, so you've got me pegged have you mister? You think I'm some wanton slut out to pick up a wealthy man, and perhaps burrow into their pockets?" She looked disappointed, and that surprised me. God she was intoxicatingly beautiful. "I'll admit I'd like the company of a man, but if you think I'm seeking more than just intelligent and pleasant conversation then you've entirely misjudged me." That statement was delivered with feeling and what I could only determine as sincerity. Those amazing eyes examined mine. "Yes. I'll admit I'd like to meet a wealthy man, and live happily ever after. What girl doesn't ever dream of that? I'm just a poor simple girl after all. But, any man I intend to spend my life with would need to be clever, interesting, caring and faithful. Being wealthy would, undeniably, be the icing on the cake, but all those other attributes take precedence." She paused to breathe. I was frozen... spellbound. "So, Mr Jack Stevens, if you do not fit any of these requirements, and are not seeking intelligent conversation then tell me now, and lets not waist anymore of each other's time." She crossed her arms beneath those magnificent breasts and sighed!

God I loved a take charge woman! This one made me dizzy. Her purple foggy vodka mix arrived, complete with a stupid umbrella and a forlorn strawberry floating on a creamy froth topping.

"Well, that having been stated, perhaps I should introduce myself. I'm Jack Stevens, but I guess you know that Miss..." I paused giving her opportunity. She was smiling from behind that bloody umbrella.

"It's good to meet you Mr Stevens, I'm Jillian Tomlinson, but everyone calls me Jill." She placed the drink and extended her hand, fluttering those lids knowing we'd already hugged, but offering the hand anyway. I clasped her offering and stupidly turned it over and kissed the back of her wrist. "You're Jack and I'm Jill." She giggled and that was it. I was hooked, landed and definitely about to be gutted.

The memory of my girl laughing and flicking that gorgeous hair back behind her ears as we conversed for hours is still chiseled into my memory banks, but strangely little else is. That memory, of our first meeting and that glorious night chatting on the mezzanine is still fresh and seems to have become 'fresher', like my brain had clung to it, revisiting that night over and over again as if that memory was the key to this blackness. But the dark has dissipated. There is a light. I hear a sound and it is a sound I barely recognized; the sound of a human voice. Like some foreign language it permeated my foggy consciousness. The sound kept up its rhythmic repetition and recognition finally dawned.

"Jack, Jack... can you hear me Jack? Jack, Jack... can you hear me Jack?" It made sense. I was Jack and someone was calling me.

Then the face of what I initially misunderstood to be angelic materialized, my preconception of a 'fluffy white angel' morphed into a focused vision of shiny black perfection. This angle eclipsed the story picture books. Why were angels depicted as white Caucasian blondes? My recognition of the one shaking me and calling out to me right now, was beautifully black and her smiling face was framed with long crinkled black flowing frizz.

"Oh my god... you're awake!! I'll call the doctor." The dark angel disappeared.

I recognized the sounds as words, but I struggled to understand meaning. The light was unbearable, and my awareness hurt. The darkness swept over me again but I could still hear sounds. Another voice sounded firm and instructional whilst the angel's voice bordered hysteria. Weird sensations seemed to prod and poke at the extremities of my world as the deeper voice demanded compliance.

Thinking back on that period of disembodiment I now realize I was experiencing the pain and confusion of waking from a deep and numbing sleep. Sensations slowly returned, conscious memory and understanding seeped back into my mind like slow moving all enveloping treacle. My brain was sparking once more as life returned.

My angels name was Kathy. She was a dark skinned beauty dressed in white, the uniform of St Augustine's Memorial. Her beautiful teeth blinded me but her smile radiated warmth. Big brown eyes examined me curiously. Kathy fussed and mothered about excitedly, explaining that I'd been asleep for nearly six years! That news was almost incomprehensible. Kathy explained that I'd fallen down the stairs in my home and hit my head, or more my neck and damaging the Reticular Activating System. Evidently the RAS is responsible for consciousness, and reawakening the body from sleep. Mine was damaged, along with further damage to my spinal column. The doctor has since told me my lower body is permanently paralyzed. Hips down; kaput!

Anyway it took three months to regain any semblance of proper functionality. It took the best part of a week and almost constant tears to come to grips with the reality of having missed nearly six years of my life, or at least six years of everyone else's!

Three days after that initial return to a world that had left me in its wake a similar angelic presence seemed to be examining me, only this one was porcelain skinned and appeared to have an aurora of brilliant red hair shimmering about and framing her flawless face. Shiny red lips whispered things I had no comprehension of, and deep green 'cat' eyes looked in on me somewhat curiously.

It took time but that image became my wife and when recognition finally dawned, I cried and attempted to hug her to me, in desperate need to feel her touch and to breathe in her essence.

Some memories eventually returned and I recalled her smiling face and those sparkling eyes shining from beneath the lacy veil signalling her pleasure and utter happiness. Our wedding day had been the happiest time of my life without question.

Thinking back I've realized that our union worked well, like we were two jigsaw pieces inadvertently discovered and found to fit together. Jill will freely admit that she was seeking out ('hunting' might be a more accurate description) a rich husband, someone above her station as they say. Her own family was poor, barely middle class and broken. Her parents had split when she was five and she hadn't seen her father for over ten years. I on the other hand had also scored above my weight grade. I knew I was 'plain' and certainly this spectacular creature could have chosen any man on the planet, but, as she continually reinforced, she wanted a loving caring faithful man and of course he had to be rich!

She wasn't one bit embarrassed about admitting that fact and I respected her for being so upfront. Jill was an intelligent woman, so conversation and mutual interest were paramount. We spent almost a year going out together, six months of which we were engaged. Yes, we just clicked.

Before I proposed I embarrassingly admitted my problem with regard to the dysfunctional plumbing. Don't get me wrong, I can satisfy my wife in the bedroom but having kids of our own would likely never happen. Jill just shrugged that off, claiming she wasn't really into kids anyway. But I could tell she was disappointed. We married privately and we've spent three wonderful years together. I worshiped my wife and the way her eyes lit up every time she saw me reaffirmed that she loved me too.

Although my work commitments stole precious hours away from her, we still spent quality time together and Jill busied herself in our new home, a modern six bedroom gated villa on the north shore. She'd organised the landscapers and workers who transformed the grounds to her design and installed a magnificent horizon pool. Jill was a natural when it came to decorating and transforming the mansion and within a year of purchase the place was a show stopper. I continually praised her ability and my beautiful princess glowed with pride and satisfaction. She had nested and now appeared content.

Two months spent waking up and readjusting meant we'd talked a lot, reliving the fun times including our first meeting; the fine details of that night still imprinted like a carved stone tablet onto my sketchy memory.

The last conversation we'd had, there in my hospital room, was equally chiseled in stone.

Jill stood demurely alongside my best friend Carl and both of the people closest to me appeared flighty and fidgety. I feared what was to come.

My best friend Carl and I were polar opposites. We were schoolboy buddies and friends thereafter. Carl befriended me when I offered him 'protection' money, to 'ward off' the bullies who seemed to delight in finding someone weaker than they were, a spoiled little rich kid who dressed impeccably and was dropped off at school by a chauffeur driven limo. Carl was the son of Swedish immigrants and his father had built up a profitable construction company the profits of which enabled sending their child to an expensive private school. Carl actually refrained from accepting my protection money once we'd entered college, insisting I help him with his class work instead. Problem was the guy was so fixed on his football that he never attended class anyway, so helping him became a non-requirement. He dropped out and went off to work for his father, eventually getting the boot for laziness, stupidly thinking and believing that his father would give him a free ride. His Dad had worked long and hard for everything he had and expected nothing less from his son. Carl had started up his own business as a building contractor but struggled due to work commitment and focus. I'd introduced him to Jill prior to our marriage and invited him to be best man, which he'd happily accepted. My wife had employed him many times when constructing the gazebo, the changing rooms out by the pool and a very elaborate El-Fresco and BBQ area. I admit he'd done a great job and Jill seemed very pleased with the result.

I had seen him a few times sitting quietly beside my hospital bed, seemingly examining every piece of plastic piping, the blinking monitors and myriad snaking equipment; everything... other than me, or at least my eyes.

So this day Jill was dressed in a blouse and jeans and her long toned legs appeared to be painted in blue denim. Her body was tight and perfect, like she'd undertaken a rigid exercise regime for the past five years. Her breathing however seemed strained, a little tense and tad raspy. But what had me painfully swallowing huge lumps of tainted air was the sighted knowledge that they held hands, their fingers entwined.