Jill Rodgers and Donald Long

Jill:

"Jill, you can't be serious. Donald Long is nowhere near being in your league. He's short, and nerdy, and a truly terrible dancer; and he's a pussy compared to the men that you could have. Now, Kyle Woodrow, he is in your league; you snap your fingers and he will be on his knees begging you to marry him when we graduate," said Penny. "And, you can add to that that there is no doubt that Kyle is going places."

"So would Donald, Penny, get on his knees and propose, that is, if I snap my fingers. And, I don't care if my husband goes places, as you put it. I'll be the one doing the going places. I'm determined to be somebody, Pen; and you can take that to the bank. No, I'm looking for a man who will be there for me when I need him: the wind beneath my wings as the song goes.

"Kyle's tall, dark, and handsome; and, absolutely stuck on himself. His ego will all but force him to keep me on the backburner. I am not into being on the backburner for any man, Penny. Plus, Kyle would be cheating on me in a year tops. I will be able to dictate to Donald and make him think he's won the fucking lottery in getting me for his wife," I said. "No, no Kyle Woodrows for me."

"Oh I see, you want to be the knightess in shining armor and have your husband be your loyal squire: a Sancho Panza to your Don Quixote. Is that it?" she laughed. "You want a man who is so pussywhipped that you can do whatever you want, is that it Jill?" said Penny, now positively breaking up laughing.

"No, I just want to have clear sailing to the top in my profession. I want a man who will have my back, that's all.

The dance was the swan song of our college sorority's seniors. A bunch of us would be graduating in a week's time. Then, we would be off to our niches in the real world. Penny and I had been close since our freshman year, and we were discussing who we were going to choose to be our significant others.

"Don't look now, girlfriend," said Penny. Here comes your pirate—uh—I mean your loyal squire in waiting." I gave her a sarcastic look that told her to cool it.

"May I have this dance?" said Donald Long. I rose as he took my hand. I had a good six inches on him with my heels, but he did not seem to feel intimidated by that little reality. Yes, Donald would do. A ne'er do well in the offing for sure, but a gentle man who would be more than tractable; I was certain of it.

******

Donald:

The gavel sounded and that was it; we were divorced.

The light went out of my life that day: three months gone now. The most beautiful woman in the world, the sexiest woman in the world, the sweetest girl in the world and I were no longer an item; we were now a statistic.

I'd met Jill Rodgers thirteen years earlier at a costume ball. She was Tinker Bell and I was Blackbeard the pirate. Her costume left zero to the imagination. Mine, on the other hand, suited me. I was tough, and gruff, and rough around the edges. She was smart and pretty and quick witted. She was going places; one could just sense it.

The ball was sponsored by one or another of the sororities, and I'd been invited by Pauline Carter an old high school flame to attend. I'd been two years ahead of Pauline at Central High. She'd been one of those quiet, pretty, fragile kind of girls that every guy feels duty bound to protect, and my last two years in high school were spent protecting her, and that for purely selfish reasons.

Pauline was a senior at State, a Business Administration major, the night of the aforementioned soiree, and I'd just been discharged from the Army. If it matters, I'd been a supply sergeant. I was there, at the dance, as Pauline informed me up front, to escort her and to make her current boyfriend, Dennis Rodman, jealous. Dennis, it seems, had not been as attentive as he might have been toward our girl. Anyway, I was game, and we'd succeeded: we'd made him jealous. And, predictably, Pauline ended up leaving with him. Which was okay with me, it left me free to cruise the party. And cruise I did.

Anyway as my pirate ship cruised lazily around the premises, I fell in to the rear of the line of guys trying to get on Tinker Bell's dance card. I knew miss 'Bell'—well, from afar—from our high school days; she'd never given me a tumble then, and I'd never expected her to. Though I'd never dated her, I had socialized with a few who had. But now, ex-army and all...

I did manage to get two or three dances with her, and, surprise-surprise, a date for the following weekend. And I was surprised. I'd asked her to dance that first time thinking I had but little chance of getting anywhere with anyone in her league. But, to prove the adage that nothing ventured would result in nothing whatsoever gained, I'd managed to get up enough courage to ask, and had gotten my reward.

To make a complicated and longish story a trifle less complicated and a deal shorter, let me say that our date the following Saturday night was spectacular. The woman was a thrill a minute, and the sex was outrageous. And, no, I did not even begin to question the fact that she'd given it up kinda easily; and that, even though, as I think I mentioned, we had never mixed socially before that fateful night at the party the week before. And, allowing myself the latitude to jump ahead a little here; everything I had imagined about her that first evening at the party, ended up being true. She was smart, she would indeed become very successful—I mean very—and she was way out of my league. This last was not really brought home to me until, well, until earlier today.

******

"Hi Helen, the boss in?" I said. "I'm supposed to have an appointment."

"Yes, Mr. Long. She said to send you right in when you got here. But, she does have Mr. Loring in there at the moment. Could you hold on for just a sec while I check?" she said.

"My boss? My boss is in with her?" I said.

"Yes sir. But, I'm pretty sure that they are about done," she said. I nodded my understanding. I watched as she buzzed the boss' line.

"Ms. Rodgers, Mr. Long is here," said Helen.

"Thank you Helen. I'll be right out." Helen turned to me and tendered me a half smile. For some reason her smile unsettled me. It was almost like—something. Just then the door opened and my boss exited.

"Good morning, Mr. Loring," I said. I smiled, but he didn't return it.

"Good morning, Mr. Long.

"Helen, I'll be out in the field today. I have some mending to do with some of our customers. I'll be on the cell if anyone needs me," he said. And then he was gone without again even looking in my direction.

"Yes, Mr. Loring," said Helen, to his retreating form.

Helen seemed about to say something to me, but just then my wife came out and motioned me in: and yes, my wife is the CEO of Castor and Weintraub Consulting, a company dealing mainly in public relations and personnel arbitration. I'd been hired as a field representative for the firm a dozen years earlier, and, I was still a field rep; well, whaddya gonna do; it was my niche. At any rate, my job was to see to it that our clients were satisfied with C&W services, and when such was not the case, to fix it so that they were satisfied. Without so much as a half-smile, my wife turned on her heels and headed inside. I had a bad feeling, but I followed her.

She sashayed her way behind her desk and seemed to fall into her throne. I followed her example and took a seat across from her without being invited to do so. She eyed me—what—coldly.

"Good morning, dear," I said. We'd not seen each other since early the day before. She'd come home and to bed after I was asleep, and she'd left before I was up; well, she was the CEO.

"Donald, Brad Loring has had some not too complimentary things to say about your work. Know anything about that?" she said.

"Huh? What? I'm doing good," I said, with confidence. "I just saw him a minute ago. He came here to complain about me?"

"He says the Montrose account is about to split from us and a couple of others are thinking about it. All three are yours, Donald," she said.

"Montrose! No way. I was there this week doing the tour. They were happy. They said so, Jill. They said so!" She gazed, no stared at me—hard.

"Donald, Mr. Loring wanted to fire you. I told him I had to talk to you first.

"Donald, you're my husband. We've been together a lot of years. When we both signed on with C&W those many years ago, I thought, well, I thought that it was a nice idea, a good thing. Now, well now I'm not so sure. I never thought that someday I would be your boss. But, I am, and that's the long and the short of it," she said. "I have to think of the company first: and that for the good of the both of us, you and me," she said.

"Huh? Yeah, the company first, for the good of us," I wasn't quite being sarcastic. "Jill, I think it's great you've done as well as you have. I've got no ego problems when it comes to that. I think I've done pretty good too, no matter what Loring says. And I do not believe that Montrose torpedoed me like that; I can't believe it."

I smiled, "But you can't fix the Fawcett at home and I can," I said, smiling and trying to lighten the mood. She still didn't smile.

"Donald, you're fired," she said. "You'll get the usual severance package." What she said took a moment to register.

"What? What! I'm fired. But—but—but you're my wife. I mean don't I even get a second chance. Maybe see if I can find out what's the matter with the Montrose account? Fix things up with them, if there is something wrong? And those other companies too? I said.

"Donald, you're fired. You need to clean out your desk, and turn in your keys and passwords. I need you out by day's end, Donald. I'm sorry. I hate to have to do this, but I'd rather it come from me than from Brad Loring. You will get a decent letter of recommendation; I can do that much for you at least," she said. I could feel my face flush. The embarrassment was almost beyond enduring.

"Jesus, Jill, Don't I even rate a second chance? Oh, fuck it, what the hell!" I rose and turned to go. I stopped at the door and looked back at her. Nothing, not even a hint of regret. "Helluva note, my own wife doing this to me. Good thing we don't have children you and I. Damn good thing," I said. I opened the door and stormed out.

I decided to go home and try to calm down. I needed to calm down. I mean my own wife. What would this do to our marriage? Where was the love and support? I had to think. I had to figure out where it all went wrong. We were still man and wife. Was she thinking of dumping me too, kicking me out? I had to believe that that was a possibility. I waited, and drank. Actually, I drank quite a lot. I looked up at the wall clock; it read 5:43. She'd likely be home soon, and then what?

I heard the garage door opener engage. She was home. I remained seated on the divan in front of the TV. It wasn't on. But I was on; well, I was high. She came in and looked at me. She turned and went upstairs. I guess she didn't have anything to say—hell—I knew that that wasn't true; she'd be sayin' somethin'. I was right in the second place.

Less than five minutes after going upstairs, she came back down and stood in front of me: between me and the not-turned-on TV. She looked good; well, she always did. The TV might not be turned on, but in spite of everything I was beginning to be. The bad news was that I didn't figure to be getting' any.

"I'm sorry, Donald, and know you're maybe not in the mood to talk to me; and well, frankly, the feeling's mutual: I'm not anxious to be getting into a—discussion. Again, I do want to say how sorry I am for what I had to do this morning, but, well, Donald, I did have to do it. You just haven't been doing the job like I feel, and Mr. Loring feels, you are capable of.

"I don't know. Maybe it's because you felt you could take it easy being the boss' husband. If you did, you were wrong, Donald; there is no taking it easy in this business. Or, maybe this business just isn't your cup of tea. But, whatever the reason, while I am sorry I had to do it; I am not apologizing for doing it. Can you understand that?" she said.

I just took another sip of my drink. "For someone who didn't want to talk you sure seem to be doing a lot of it," I said. "Had to do it, huh? Well, like I said this morning, fuck it, and fuck the job!" She looked down.

"Okay," she said. "Like I said, I know you aren't in the mood to talk right now, at least not civilly. We will have to talk at some point, my husband; and we both know it. Figure out where we are going to be going from here. I love you, Donald. This doesn't have to affect us as a couple. I hope it won't, but I guess that part is up to you." She sighed. "Anyway, business is business; you have to understand that."

The truth was that I did understand it, but that said, we were still family: she still shoulda stood by me, stood up for me, at least that. Plus, I just did not believe that Montrose did to me what she'd said, what Loring'd said.

I looked up at her. Jesus! She sure did look good. "Yeah, maybe we'll talk, and maybe not. But for sure not right now, as you say. My feelings are just a little raw right now as you might well imagine."

She nodded, "I can understand that." I was getting sick to my stomach, but I had to ask her one more thing.

"But, I do have just one question for you. Would that be all right?" I said. She tilted her head, always a sign that she was surprised at something.

"Yes, of course," she said.

"What you did this morning, to me, it was only business? It wasn't the first salvo in wanting to get rid of me?" I said. She looked down, then up. She met my gaze.

"Get rid of you? No. I assure you it was strictly business," she said. Maybe it was my imagination, but though the words were the ones I'd hoped to hear, the tone was unconvincing. I just nodded and looked into the dregs of my drink; they kinda reminded me of my situation, the dregs.

******

"Well, you seem to have survived the night," said Brad Loring.

"Yes, he took things better than I thought he would. I just wish the little shit was capable of doing the job. I could have shipped him off on trips or something to keep him occupied," said Jill.

"You know, I gotta ask. I mean why did you marry the guy I mean you are so far out of his league that it isn't even funny," he said. "I mean you must have had that figured out at the gitgo; I mean you even kept your maiden name for chryssakes!" he said. "If that doesn't say something about you and him, I don't know what does.

"Jill, you have to divorce the guy. I want you to be my wife, not his," said Brad. "You and I belong together."

"I can't, dummy, he'd rape me in the divorce—economically. I make five times what he does. Donald might not be worth a damn at arbitration, but he's no dum-dum; trust me on that. If he knew I was screwing around on him, there would be hell to pay; and I don't wanna pay it," said Jill. "No, no divorce yet. I need to get him to want to leave on his own and blame himself when he does. I'm pretty smart too. I'll figure something out sooner or later. I promise." She sidled up to him and spread her legs a little to allow his thigh to rub up against her still clothed pussy.

The big man sighed, "Okay for now, I guess. Right now I gotta have me some relief. Think you can help me out?" he said.

"I think I might?" she teased.

"Oh yeah, well I hope so."

They were standing in the den of his oversized condominium. It was a three bedroom affair with a patio facing out on the four star golf course that was part of the package that his administrator's salary allowed him to afford. The golf course, too, was part of a country club membership that included a gym, a bar with a small dance floor, a twenty-four hour restaurant, two saunas, two Jacuzzis, and a convenience store.

He pulled her to him and kissed her gently. She slid her tongue between his slightly parted lips and he sucked on it.

His hand slipped to her ass and traced the crease of it through her dress. He pushed her back a little and looked at her. Leaning in he kissed the exposed tops of her breasts.

"Nice," he said.

"Of course," she said, smiling broadly.

"Get on your knees," he said. She mimicked a frown.

"Kinda demanding are we tonight?" she said.

Without answering her, he gently, but firmly, pushed her down to a kneeling position. Her hands dangled at her sides. She looked up into his expectant eyes. "Do it," he commanded her.

Slowly she reached up and got hold of his belt buckle and undid it. Unbuttoning his pants, she pulled them down around his ankles and left them there. He didn't bother to kick them off.

She touched the bulge in his shorts and smiled again. "Looks like you're interested," she giggled.

He grabbed a fist full of her blond hair and pulled her to him. She resisted.

"Ow!" she howled. He released her and she pulled his shorts down and his cock slapped her in the side of the face as she did so.

She stroked him a few times and then let her lips slide over his glans. He moaned. She sucked for some minutes. She felt him begin his eruption and pulled back from him aiming his spray onto the polished wooden floor. He leaned back against the arm of the couch and gasped.

He helped her up and turned her to face him. He kicked of his pants and underwear. He kissed her soft and long, just like he knew she liked it. No fish pucker for her; she would only tolerate soft, delicate, slightly open mouthed kissing. He'd learned that early on, and he was okay with it.

He helped her undress and then finished doing the same for himself. They sank down on the couch and explored each other more than enthusiastically.

She slipped to her knees and began bringing the dead to life. She smiled at her success and stood, then knelt on the couch beside him assuming the ass-pushed-back position of an about to be fucked female. He rose to the invitation. Standing behind her, he pressed home his cock easily spreading the folds of her labia as he entered her. She mooed.

They were silent for next several minutes. The only sounds was the faint squishing noise he made as he pushed and pulled himself in and out of her.

He felt her stiffen; it pleased him. He began pounding her relentlessly looking to come at the same time she did; it was always best that way, at least for him.

They lay sprawled on the couch, him on top, kissing her face and shoulders in the afterglow. "Your husband ever get you off like that?" he said.

"Hardly. Donald is good at some things but not included on the list is sex or business. Proof of that is that you're here fucking me and he isn't," she said. He snickered.

"Yeah, well, you really do have to figure a way to divorce the clod and marry me, Jill. I love you too, probably more than he does," said Brad.

"I told you, I will try to work it out. It's just a matter of time," said Jill.

******

The days following my humiliation were tense at our house. The more so, since I was having trouble finding another job. The economy being in the shitter as it was, was not helping. At thirty-six years old, I wasn't exactly unemployable, but jobs were just not there for me.

Jill made no comment as to my failure to become reemployed. I presumed she was feeling a little sorry for me, but, I could have been wrong about that. The fact is we just didn't talk much, at least not about that. And, something else we weren't doing was having sex. Not since the day she'd fired me. She didn't turn me down; I just didn't ask. It just seemed so—weird—to think of her that way given the circumstances. I assumed, too, that she was feeling the same.

At any rate, my mornings, the last three months of them, were invariably spent job hunting and my afternoons at the Wild Goose, my favorite watering hole.

Sitting at the bar, I wasn't in too good a mood. The barkeep, Joey Luca, had just delivered my second Jack on the rocks. I was thinking about my situation. Jill made a ton of money as CEO of C&W, so we weren't hurting financially. Hell, if it weren't for my damn male mind set, read ego, I could've just let things remain as they were and become a househusband; Jill would've been okay with it. She had actually sort of suggested it once or twice—obliquely—but she had hinted at it: "The house looks great, honey, couldn't have done better myself," or something of the like. We'd never had a maid; neither of us believed in them. We'd always shared the household and yards before, but now it was just me.