Jean and the Great Beach Charade Ch. 05

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Old pain and new beginnings.
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Part 31 of the 33 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 11/23/2014
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loerics
loerics
953 Followers

Chapter 5

The Conclusion: Despair is a Sickness unto Death

After Jean, had walked out, I lost contact with her. She just disappeared. The first couple of days, I tried not to worry. I told myself, she just needed some time to think things over. I was sure she'd be back in a couple of days. I plunged into work and waited for her to call. As the week passed, I thought about how furious she had been. Maybe it would take more than a few days. I tried not to think about Florida.

When Friday came, I got impatient and tried to call her at work. Her phone rang several times until it was answered by the receptionist. I said I was trying to reach my wife, Jean Williams. There was a pause, and then they said they would transfer me to HR. I repeated that I was trying to reach my wife. Again, there was a pause. I was puzzled. I had called my wife at work several times in the past with no trouble.

I was asked to verify my identity. I gave them our address and Jean's maiden name. The person was finally satisfied and apologized. Jean's company had strict rules on giving out personal information. They told me that Jean had not returned to work after her vacation and was taking sick leave. I could hear the suspicion in their voice as they relayed information a husband should already know. I asked if I could leave a message for her to call me when she returned to work.

Not being able to contact my wife left me to brood alone. I obsessed about what happened in Fort Walton Beach. The more I obsessed, the angrier I became. I knew I bore part of the blame for what happened. Certainly, I should have stood up to Brent and demanded that he return my wife's beach wrap he had taken while she was competing in the disco contest. I knew at the time that I was an asshole when I told her if she wanted the wrap back, she should dance with the big Alabama quarterback. I told her I didn't care that she was only wearing her bikini panties and high heel shoes. I blithely pointed out to her that most of the girls in The Club were dancing topless and were wearing far skimpier bottoms.

I enjoyed watching the muscular athlete take her in his arms and grind his body against her as they slow danced. I got a massive erection when I saw Brent shove his hand down the back of her panties and finger fuck her on the dance floor. I intended to protect my wife when I followed the quarterback and my wife outside. Instead of intervening, I watched him seduce her with his monstrous cock while I hid in the shadows. I even jacked off twice while I watched him work his massive cock into her tight pussy. I stayed concealed while he fucked her so well, she begged for more. I saw Brent pound his big cock into her so hard her ass slammed against the aluminum siding of The Club with an unceasing thumping that still resonates in my head.

We might have survived the evening if Brent had just honored my wife's plea that he not cum inside of her. OK, I know, my wife and I were both being stupid, really fucking stupid. I was recovering from a fertility operation so we could have the children my wife and I wanted so much. We had been trying for a couple of years, and we both hoped my little procedure would finally let us conceive. Our Florida vacation was timed to achieve our goal while my wife was at the peak of her cycle. Our charade turned into a nightmare when Brent didn't pull out. I had responded to my wife's scream too late to prevent the arrogant quarterback from flooding her womb with his potent seed. I tried to reassure my wife that everything would be all right, but she was devastated. Her disgust with herself soon turned to anger directed at me.

I was also angry at myself for not stopping Brent from fucking my wife. That's my responsibility as her loving husband. I'm not supposed to let other men even hit on my wife let alone fuck her senseless. Once I was back in California, and alone, I began beating myself up for being a colossal fool. I felt remorse every time I thought about that night. I felt terrible when night after night while thinking about Brent fucking my wife, I jacked off. What kind of a pervert was I?

At first, I tried hard not to think about how my wife had treated me after Brent fucked her brains out. I tried to take the blame, but she gave up on us after Brent shot his potent cum into her fertile womb. Immediately after fucking Brent, she told me our marriage was over and started treating me like scum. She stated her intention was to drive me away. The nicest thing she called me was an asshole. She reveled in fucking anyone who was available in front of me. I got treated to two more exhibitions of her fucking Brent while she yelled out to the world that he fucked her better than me. She even begged for him to flood her womb with his cum and give her his baby. My anger built as the pain and hurt consumed me. Once I allowed myself to question her actions, the floodgates opened.

I analyzed every moment of our beach charade, over and over. I couldn't decide if Jean knew that I was in the crowd that watched her fucking all comers in public on the beach. If she knew I was there, was her praise of Brent's cock intended to hurt me? I thought it might be even worse if she didn't know I was there. In that case, she was honest when she said Brent was the greatest fuck she had ever had. What was I to think about her begging Brent to give her his baby?

I kept coming back to my failure to intervene before Jean succumbed to Brent's seduction. I had always been slow to react to a crisis. It is an affliction common to scientist and engineers. We tend to over think everything. Sometimes being slow to react is a good thing. It had saved my life in Vietnam. Our strung-out column was ambushed by North Vietnam regulars. Mortars began landing all around us, and I caught some shrapnel in my left leg. My platoon was near the middle of the column. My Sargent yelled for us to follow him toward the front of the column, and half a dozen men charged after him into the tall grass. I struggled to get to my feet and shoulder my pack that held over sixty pounds of M60 ammo in addition to my own gear. Before I could follow, my platoon was met by a hail of enemy fire. Bullets whizzed around me, and I dropped to the ground.

I had been staying down for some time trying to decide what to do when I saw the heads of enemy soldiers above the grass. The bastards were calmly searching for wounded Americans and shooting everyone they found. I raised my M16 and drew a bead on the closest one. When I pulled the trigger, all I heard was a click. My weapon had jammed. No one heard me curse over the roar of battle.

I turned around and crawled toward the rear of the column. I evaded the enemy soldiers and soon came to the remnants of another platoon that had managed to set up a perimeter. A brief lull in the battle allowed me to identify myself, and I joined the battered troops. A lieutenant was overjoyed to learn I was carrying M60 ammo. I was assigned to feed the belts for a machine gunner. I barely got settled when all hell broke loose. We barely had ten or twelve yards of visibility, but at least we had interlocking fields of fire with M60s on our left and right. The damn North Vietnam regulars kept pouring out of the tall grass.

Occasionally, my teammate sprayed a tree about 20 yards away. More than once a body would drop from the tree. I guess he waited too long to clear the tree during an intense probe of our position. I heard the sickening sound of AK47 rounds impacting soft flesh. I heard a grunt from my companion, and he stopped firing. I rolled him over and yelled for a medic. A round went through my thigh, and another ricocheted off my helmet. I swung the machine gun up and sprayed the tree. A couple of bodies dropped. A medic bandaged me up while I continued operating the machine gun. Somehow, we held the perimeter with the aid of artillery and air support.

One never knows how they will react in combat. Some tough guys panic while some easygoing guys turn out to be heroes. I certainly wasn't a hero. I only survived the initial assault because I hesitated. Once I settled down, I did what I had been trained to do. I didn't deserve the Bronze Star I was awarded, but I certainly earned the Purple Heart.

The point is that I have a history of hesitating in a crisis. Hesitating had saved my life in Vietnam, but it had been a disaster in Florida. I had failed my wife when I hesitated and allowed the Alabama quarterback to seduce her. I failed her again when I didn't prevent my wife being gang banged in our hotel room as part of a sex slave fantasy. One of the last things she had said before she left me was that she had expected me to rescue her both times. Her anger and shame had driven her to the decision that she couldn't stand to face me for the rest of her life. Her actions the rest of the week in Florida were made with the intention of driving me away. Now that we had returned home, I was once again indecisive. I couldn't believe that five years of building our marriage had been a waste.

I couldn't stand being alone in our home and became a regular at the bar in the local VFW. Alcohol dulled my emotions but loosened my tongue. I told anyone who would listen that I had hidden in the dark and watched the big Alabama quarterback fuck my wife. I left out the events afterward. To a man, they all told me to divorce the cheating whore. I thought about putting a bullet in my head.

#

I was surprised that it took Lil over a week to question me about my depression. Our department secretary was well known for her irritating habit of prying into "her" engineers' private lives. She felt it was her personal responsibility to ensure the happiness of "her boys." Only the fact that she did this with humor and innocent flirting made it tolerable. OK, truth be told, every one of us nerds were in love with our secretary. I considered her one of my best friends. She had welcomed me into the department when I started my first job after college. Also, she had taken my wife under her wing and helped Jean settle into life in a strange, new city.

"Steve, I'm sorry I didn't find the time to talk to you sooner, but the boss had me buried with the annual performance appraisals. I thought you were just tired from a week sunbathing and bonking your lovely wife. You're acting like someone shot your dog. I want to know why my favorite engineer is so down."

"Lil, I'd rather not talk about it."

"OK, now I know you need to talk. You're going to take me to a late lunch in a cute French Bistro. We're not going to talk while we enjoy our lunches and drink a liter of wine. After you relax, you are going to tell me what is eating you. Don't think about saying you are too busy because I know for a fact you haven't done jack shit since you got back from Florida."

True to her word we had a quiet lunch. The restaurant was almost deserted. I drank two glasses of wine for everyone she did. I hadn't planned on telling Lil anything about my Florida disaster, but when I started, I couldn't stop. Lil didn't have to encourage me once.

I was holding my head in my hands and staring at the table when I said, "Jane said she wanted a divorce and walked out the door. I haven't seen her since."

Lil took my hands and held them until I looked up into her eyes. I expected her to tell me to never talk to her again.

"Steve, you're an asshole, a first-class asshole. The two of you played with fire and got burnt, but it may not be the end of the world. I can hear in your voice that you still love Jean. She's my friend too. I'm going to have a talk with her and see where she stands."

"Lil, she was pretty clear when she said she never wanted to see me again."

"Steve, this is San Francisco. A lot of swingers do things as crazy as you described. Of course, they normally have an agreement beforehand. I know neither of you is a swinger, but both of you love each other deeply. I think given time, you can get through this if you are both willing to try. Let me talk to Jean."

We had lunch again a couple of days later, and Lil said, "Jean asked me to tell you she was serious about the divorce. Underneath all the anger, I could sense she still loves you. She just doesn't realize it. I'm sorry, but you need to be patient. It's going to take some time."

"Great, so I'm supposed to be patient? What do I do when she serves me with divorce papers?"

Lil held my shaking hands, "Steve, you are such an asshole. You fucked up royally. You don't have any choice except to wait for Jean to change her mind. She may not ever come back, but confronting her will only make things worse."

#

I tried following Lil's advice to stay away from Jean. It was nearly two weeks before I lost patience and tried to call my wife again. I tried several times to reach her at work over the next several weeks. I was sure she was back at work because the phone would ring a couple of times and someone would answer it. I said, "Jean?" and they hung up without saying a word. Once when no one answered, the call was transferred to the receptionist at Crucial Biotech.

"I'd like to talk to Jean Williams. Is she in?"

A pleasant voice said, "Who shall I say is calling, please?"

"This is her husband, Steve Williams. It's urgent."

"I'm sorry Mr. Williams. I've been told not to respond to inquiries from you about our Mrs. Williams. If you want to contact her, you must do it outside of work."

"What? I'm her husband. I just want to talk to her."

"I'm sorry, but I can't help you. Contact her at home."

I stared at the phone for a moment. "OK, can you tell me where she is staying or at least give me her number?"

"I'm sorry that is confidential information. I couldn't tell you even if I knew it. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

I hung up and stared at the floor. I had no idea where my wife was living and had no idea of how to contact her. I was sure the receptionist's refusal to give me any information was evidence that my wife was still working at Crucial Biotech. I retreated into drinking. I alternated between anger and depression. I watched a lot of television. After watching a show involving a man stalking a woman, I thought why not give it a shot. It had been nearly two months since our beach charade, and everything I had tried to find Jean had failed.

I left my job early on a warm Friday morning and waited in a parking lot across Page Mill from where my wife worked. All I had to do was watch for my wife's car and follow her. I gave up around 8 PM. I drove into the parking lot where Jean worked, and it was deserted. How had I missed her?

I got up early the next Monday. I parked across the street again before walking to the back of the Crucial Biotech parking lot. I hid behind a tree surrounded by some bushes. I had waited over an hour before I saw her in the passenger seat of an unfamiliar car. She got out and walked into work with the driver. My wife looked healthy but subdued. My wife is not a morning person, but she was quiet even for Jean.

I was surprised to see that the driver of the car was Cathy Miller. This was the same woman who had been the object of our charade in Fort Walton Beach. My wife had been recovering from a leg injury when we went to the company picnic. Afterward, Jean had teased me mercilessly about staring at Cathy's impressive breasts when I had teamed with her friend in a three-legged race. Jean had even taken a photograph showing me ogling Cathy's big tits. When I protested my innocence, my wife pointed out my obvious erection in the photograph. Our beach charade in Fort Walton Beach was based upon Jean impersonating her sexy co-worker for the entire week. Jean had even dyed her hair blond to match Cathy. I suspect Jean shaved her pussy on a whim, although she might have seen Cathy in the gym.

I watched the two of them walk into the building together. Jean's hair was still blond, and both of they had their hair in a long French braid. I stared hungrily at the two beautiful women as they walked up the stairs. Their braids swung back and forth in time with their swaying hips. Both women were long legged with great asses and narrow hips. Jean was a little slimmer than her companion but generous as my wife's breasts were, they were no match for Cathy's bouncing beauties. My intense physical reaction confirmed how long it had been since I had slept with my wife.

I was thrilled because I could use Cathy to contact my wife. I drove to the nearby research lab where I worked and waited an hour before calling Jean's friend. I gave a fake name to the receptionist, and she connected me to Cathy without asking any questions.

"Hello, this is Cathy Miller. How can I help you?"

"Hello, Cathy. This is Steve Williams. I'd like to talk to my wife."

There was a long pause. I was afraid she would hang up. Finally, Cathy whispered, "You shouldn't be calling me here."

I'd forgotten that the two women had adjacent cubicles. I said, "Please Cathy, I'm desperate. I don't have any other way to reach her. I messed up bad. If I could just talk to her, I'm sure we could work this out."

"I'm sorry Steve, but I don't think Jean wants to talk to you. From what little she's told me, both of you messed up royally. I don't know if you'll ever be able to work it out, but I can't betray her trust. In any case, I think you need to give her more time."

I was afraid she was going to hang up. "Please Cathy, at least tell me how she is doing."

"Steve, I can't talk now. We're working on a deadline. Maybe we could meet on Wednesday?"

"Oh God, thank you. Where do you want to meet?"

"How about lunch at the Acapulco on El Camino around 12:30? "

She hung up as soon as I accepted. I thought Wednesday would never come. It was a good thing I didn't have anything pressing at work. I bounced from one mindless task to another as I waited for our luncheon.

I got to the Acapulco shortly after noon and sat in a booth where I could see the entrance. I ordered a pitcher of their famous Margaritas. I doubt anyone in California made a better Margarita and certainly none stronger. I hoped to take the edge off before Cathy joined me. I also intended to ply her with a couple of the strong drinks to encourage her to talk. Of course, she was late, and I was halfway through my second glass by the time she arrived.

Cathy gave me a tentative smile when she saw me. It was pleasant watching her walk to the booth. I think young girls practice that walk so much they forget they are even doing it. Her swaying hips made her large breasts bounce under her white blouse. I doubt there is a bra in the world that could prevent Cathy's lovely breasts from jiggling. When she got closer, I locked my eyes on hers. She looked nervous, and I don't think it was because I had ogled her breasts.

I stood up and said, "Thanks, Cathy for meeting me. You don't know how much it means."

Cathy sat down and said, "Hello, Steve. I'm sorry I'm late. The deadline got postponed, and we're still struggling with the requirements. I have to eat anyway, but I can't stay long."

"They're pretty fast with their lunch specials. Can I offer you one of their famous Margaritas?"

"Oh God, I'd love one, but even one would leave me useless. I can't do that to the team. I'll stick with water."

So much for planning. I flagged down a waiter, and we placed our orders. She asked for the diet Chicken Flautas, and I ordered their Burrito Grande.

I took a swig of my drink and said, "How's Jean?"

"Not good. She doesn't want to talk much about what happen. She started to say something about you watching her making out with a football player, but then she clammed up. Whatever happened, she is feeling guilty and deeply embarrassed."

"I'm the one to blame for what happened with the Alabama quarterback. Everything Jean did after that was a reaction. She left me angry and confused, but I just want her to come home. I know we can work it out if we just make an effort."

loerics
loerics
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