Just Once... If You Don't Mind?

This story is the property of the writer Kalimaxos.

Any unauthorized reproduction or reprint without the express authorization of the author is strictly prohibited.

My characters are often flawed, and like real life, my stories are a shitshow, like life.

***WARNING***

Mine is an open-ended story of infidelity. It is designed that way. I was initially going to write multiple endings but decided that I would instead read what ending other writers/readers come up with.

So read, put your thinking caps on, and have at it. Unlike school tests, there is no "right" answer, only your version of it in your universe.

If I have grammatical errors, you'll get over it. It's a free story. I have dyslexia, and English is my second language. I make mistakes and have no editor.

So dive in.

******

A glance

When it happened, she didn't say, "honey, we have to talk."

I guess I should have seen it. But like most people, comfortable in their life, I ignored the signs until it was upon me. Some of us can be too trusting. But happen it did, and we better get to it.

My wife and I lived in a cul-de-sac. The six homes along the front end were modest three-bedroom houses. In contrast, the four toward the back end were four-bedroom homes with more property than the rest. Living on the first corner home, I had never met or been invited into the bigger homes up the street. Not until the first block party the Goldstein's threw inviting everyone.

My wife Marcy (47) and I, Rick (48), are in our late forties and empty nesters for some time since our youngest son Kyle (18) went to college upstate. Our daughter Rhonda (20) is in the Navy, much to her father's chagrin. I am a retired Army Colonel and adjusting to civilian life; if anyone who spent almost thirty years in the Army can. We are the Westons.

So here we were at the Goldstein home backyard. Marcy was trying to endure Chuck Marston from across the street talking her ear off about something. Chucky was probably trying to impress her with his muscles instead of the conversation. It can't be the topic as she rolls her eyes at me, giving me the save me signal scratching her nose.

But I'm talking to Jenny Harshly, the single hot mom whose hubby left her with two kids and forty pounds to lose. Well, Jenny has lost the pounds at the gym and is talking my ear off about fitness or something. I smile at my wife and scratch my own nose, and smile. She gives me the "stop talking to the big tittied blond and come rescue me if you ever want to get laid again" look.

Taking Jenny by the hand, I lead her over to my wife and Chuck, the muscle man. Jenny lets me but is wondering why I dragged her over as much as my wife is.

"Chuck," I say, reaching over to pump his hand. "Have you met Jenny?"

He is a bit confused, thinking with one's dick will do that to a man, but he manages to pull it together and reach over to take smiling Jenny's hand. I take the opportunity to rescue my wife.

"My hero," she says, giving me the wife is not amused look, even though I saved her from the clutches of that cad. "Took you long enough. You do know that Jenny's boobs are not real, right?"

"Considering I paid for yours, hun, I think I know," I reply.

"Let's go home," she says. "I need to get to the airport early for my flight."

On the way out, we pass that young couple, the Nielsons, by the gate. Vincent Nielson nods to me, making way, while his wife, Leslie, smiled politely. We had done the obligatory "chat with every couple" thing with them, so we just walked out. For some reason, Vinnie's look toward me and his wife's stare seemed a bit strange. As if she was starving and looking at her next meal. Very strange indeed.

The way they looked at each other after and back to us betrayed conspiratorial intentions. But after years in the service, the last spent in the intelligence branch made this retired army guy a bit jumpy and eternally watchful.

But I followed Marcy in the hope of some pre-trip-parting sex.

We are not strangers to separations, what with me having flown off to wars and training missions for years. That posting in Korea had about killed our marriage with us seeing each other only twice that year. It was supposed to be four times, but we got into a nasty argument when we met up in Hawai and almost got divorced. Long story that one. You'll get the abbreviated version.

Years of military life take a toll on any marriage. The separations, stress, and "distractions..." yeah, you get it. All I know is that Marcy had lost the attitude when I returned, and we managed to get back on track. But I knew something had happened during those months. The time she and I had been on the rocks. Or should I say, someone?

It's a common thing in military marriages. We all like to think that military people and their spouses are angels. But the reality is that we are like everyone else: flawed. And most civilians do not understand the stress we are all under. I don't expect you to understand if you have not lived it. Hell, even some in the service choose to stick their head in the sand and think their lives are as ordinary as everyone else's. But they are not.

The fact is that we have a higher than average divorce and infidelity rate. Go ahead, shoot the messenger. But after years in the service, I realize how lucky Marcy and I are to be together still. Even knowing she had probably cheated when I was away.

How did I know? Because Marcy and the kids went back to our hometown while I was away. While there, she got a job at the local hospital. It was near a hotel my ex-girlfriend from high school worked as a manager. And she saw Marcy at the parking lot of Red Roof Inn across from the hospital.

Lydia let me know when I was still in Korea, but she didn't have definitive proof. So I hired an investigator to follow her. I felt stupid when I got the report. Marcy's hospital was renovating, and their parking lot was a construction site with only half the spots available. So Marcy had to park at the Red Roof Inn lot, as were half the nurses and orderlies at the hospital.

But there was a timing issue. Marcy always showed up ninety minutes to two hours earlier for her shifts. But that had stopped when I returned home. If Marcy had been seeing someone, there was no way to know. Lydia could have been wrong or right, but it was enough for me to realize that I was neglecting my wife, and Marcy could have been going to another man since I was not there.

There is nothing worse than knowing and not being sure.

Having been posted to Korea once, I would never have to be posted there again. A year is a long time to lose from one's family. A year of lost connection with one's children and their lives I would never get back. And the last months of our separation had changed any notion I had that our marriage was unshakable.

Who the guy might have been, I would never know. All I know is that we had young children then, and I wanted us to keep the family together. Also, Marcy seemed determined to solve our issues rather than leave. And so did I. But I had to give up something that had been dear to me. Flying.

Being an Army helicopter pilot can be dangerous. Having flown Apache gunships in Desert Storm and peacetime, I knew that I was lucky not to have crashed or worse. And I was starting to see a slowing down in my reflexes. That was the final draw. When the opportunity to switch to Army Intelligence came, I took it. It meant less dangerous assignments and, better yet, more time at home.

Now, I did deploy to Iraq and Afghanistan three times when the war there flared after 9/11. But in my new capacity as an army spook, I was safe in the rear with the gear, as they say in the combat arms. It gave Marcy peace of mind. But I worried about how things were back home with her. Hearing of marriage after military marriage failing in all those years got to me.

On my last deployment, I knew I had enough. Instead of going to Army Command and Staff College (the prerequisite school before becoming a general), I decided it was time to get out. It hurt, but I realized that Marcy and I had almost lost each other and broken up our family twice. The odds of us surviving if I stayed in for the General's stars that may or not come were not good.

After I retired, the job I landed as a consultant brought in more money than had I stayed and became a general. Did I miss it? Sure I did. But then, some things in life are more important than others. I was there for my daughter's senior year in high school, and I saw her and my son graduate. And I still had my wife. THAT... is priceless.

***

The trip

Marcy had continued with her nursing education and now was the top nurse in a hospital surgical team. They did brain surgery, of all things. Yeah, life and death specialized stuff. The hospital had a group of brain surgeons who did the cutting, but three stood out: a retiring older doctor, a woman in her mid-forties, and a forty-year-old new talent that had joined them that year. Dr. Tray Cardosa.

I had met him a few times at parties. Being tall, dark, and handsome, Dr. Tray was typical of specialist surgeons: full of himself. They do get god complex after they dig into enough brains and save a few lives, these types. And I could tell he had a thing for Marcy, who kept herself in good shape. Did I tell you she had been a cheerleader in college and a long-distance runner? Yeah, well, she had the figure of a thirty-year-old at forty-seven. Something that Dr. Tray did not fail to notice.

I had caught him staring at her when he thought I wasn't at parties. I could just imagine how he was with her at work when I was not around. And much to my dismay, she gushed over how great a surgeon he was and how he would be the next leader of the hospital's surgical team. I was starting to worry.

The one time I brought it up, she stayed quiet for a while before saying anything.

"I understand how you feel, Rick, but this is my job. I have to work with these doctors, and frankly, they are aggressive with all us nurses. It takes the edge off in the operating room. Usually, after a very stressful moment that the doctors managed to save the patient. The flirting is a relief mechanism to us all. Then it gets serious again, and no one does anything."

"What about in between, Marcy? Do you just turn it off? When you go to his office or lunch. Just how does my wife openly flirting with another man work?"

"Do you remember how you and that CIA woman were tight as a team before you deployed to Iraq?"

"Yes, but we didn't..." I tried to say.

"How do I know what you did and what you "didn't" do?" she said mockingly, doing air quotes. "I know that she was smitten by you before you deployed. I saw it in her face, Rick. Had I told her it was OK, she would have gone on her knees for you."

"Marcy, nothing happened with Diedre."

"So you say, Rick. I had to trust you, with... Diedre... so now you have to trust me."

It had not been a good evening after that. It has been four months since that conversation, and the issue hung in the background of our life like an ominous cloud. If they were doing anything, they were doing it at work. But I have been in hospitals enough to know there were plenty of rooms and offices unoccupied for people to use and find privacy. And her Red Roof Inn two-hour early arrivals of the past haunted me.

But she did have a point. I either trusted her, or I didn't. The thing is, Marcy was also justified to be suspicious. Diedre Kiel had indeed offered herself to me in Iraq. And once, after we survived a roadside ambush, she had cornered me in an unoccupied office. Not having had sex in three months, I gave in to her advances, letting her blow me. I brought her off with my tongue and fingers after. We were thinking of going all the way when the sirens went off, and the base was under mortar and rocket attack. We took it as assign to be wary and never did messed around again.

At first, I had felt guilty. But then I remembered what Marcy had done when I was in Korea and said to myself if she can do it, so can I. This was my turn. It's mindless sex, and that is all. Once I get back, this will be as it never happened, and Marcy and I will be even. I was fooling myself.

So here we were. Two cheaters, still married to each other, discussing trust. Yet considering how Marcy was still attentive and loving, I figured I had been paranoid due to our past. I was almost positive she had cheated back then, but almost... doesn't cut it. On the other hand, I knew I had. Not all the way, but in my book, a dick in someone's mouth is cheating. So was my tongue on a pussy, not my wife's.

***

And now their entire team was on the way to South America for a Doctors Without fuckin Borders excursion. Brain surgery for poor people in five countries lasting close to six weeks. Marcy knew I was not keen on Dr. Trey, but this trip was not something she would pass on for her career. Nor was I going to make waves considering how supportive she had been of my military career.

"I've stayed home many times for you," she had said. "Many times not knowing if you were still alive or dead, Rick. Suppose you had crashed or been taken prisoner, like those men and women in Desert Storm. I would have had to raise two children alone. I did my part. Now it's your turn to wait for me."

What do you say to that?

Things were a bit strained in the morning when she left for the airport. The night before, she had spent a lot of time packing and talking on the phone to her mother. I found it irritating as it cut into our intimate time alone; time that seemed less and less in recent months. Not wanting to start an argument, I let her do her thing and went to bed.

I woke the following day with her gone.

No message, no kiss goodbye, and nothing else either. I looked around the house in case she left a note, but there was nothing to find. Just the missing clothes she had packed and her laptop. Just in case, I checked my phone for messages, and there were none. To say I was annoyed and worried about the way she left was an understatement. I was pissed.

After I made some coffee and calmed down, I looked up her flight. It was on the way to Colombia, their first stop. They would land in a few hours, and hopefully, she would text or call from there. Oh well, I thought, another chapter in the marriage.

Only she didn't call or text or anything.

After double-checking that her flight had landed in Bogota, I debated contacting her. But all I sent her was a short text.

"I hope you are doing well. Nice way for you to leave Marcy. Speaks volumes."

I received no reply. Not the next day or the one after.

***

Running had always kept me focused when I was stressed, and this time was no different. It took all my self-control to keep a steady pace, but my frustration and anger at my wife's silence drove me to run faster than usual. By the time I reached near our culdesac and sprinted the last block, I was out of breath and gasping for air.

"Rick, are you OK?" I heard a familiar male voice ask.

Looking up, I saw Vincent Nielson in his front yard. They didn't live in the culdesac, but their house was just behind ours, with our backyards separated by a small fence and a gate we never locked. Just past him, I saw his young wife on her knees working on the flowerbed. Nice ass! I thought as Vinny turned to see what I was staring at.

"Nice view, eh?" he asked with a suggestive smile.

I looked away from his wife's ass and just nodded. That was a strange situation, but my mind was too preoccupied to take it all in.

"Vince," I replied. "I'm tired from my run and need to hit the shower. Catch you another time, OK?"

"Sure," he replied. "Leslie and I would love to have you over. I mean both you and Marcy."

"She is out of the country for a few weeks," I replied, noticing Leslie turning to smile, still on her knees. Oh, that ass! Was she wiggling it? WTF!

"You can come by yourself then," he replied. "We can grill some stakes. Bring a sixpack or some wine if that will make you feel better."

"OK," I replied. "I'll let you know."

"You are always welcome, Rick," the younger man said with a weird knowing smile.

"Right," I said and walked to my front door on the sidewalk.

"That's the long way around, Rick. You must be tired. Please feel free to go through our yard.

I did, but my mind was on my wife and her disappearing act without a word. Still, Leslie's ass and inviting smile were a close second. I wondered what going through "her yard" would be like before I went into our house.

***

The call from hell

After a shower and a cold drink, I looked around our empty home. The TV droned on as I waited for a call from my wife that never came. Before I noticed, it was dark outside. And still, no call, text, or email from Marcy.

I had enough and called her hotel. I had her itinerary pinned and knew her room number. Having checked the time, I knew it would be around ten at night there. They patched me to her room, but there was no reply.

"I'm sorry, Señor," the manager said in good but accented English. "There appears to be no answer."

"Who am I speaking to?" I asked.

"Pablo Espinosa, hotel manager at your service, Señor. And your name is?"

"Rick Weston, Pablo, Mrs. Weston is my wife. I have not been able to contact her since she left. Can you confirm that she has checked in to your hotel? Do you know what she looks like? Have you seen her?"

"Yes, Señor, Señora Weston checked in with all the others from the medical team. I saw her earlier with them in the dining room. They came back from the hospital after surgery. They all looked tired. They ate and went upstairs."

"Can you send someone to check on her room and call me back? Let her know to call me."

"I will do so, Señor," he replied.

As he hung up, I realized that he had seemed guarded; as in careful what to say to me. And I had enough conversations with people from other countries to know that Pablo Espinosa was not struggling with his English.

Looking at my phone, I reviewed my contacts. I was looking for the contact information of one of Marcy's nurses. Penny. Yes, she and Marcy were tight. In fact, we had gone to dinner with her and her husband last August. What was their last name? It started with.... There, Penny and Josh Washington. Was Penny on the trip?

Just then, my phone rang. I checked caller ID: Pablo Espinosa, Bogota, Columbia.

Shit! Not Marcy.

"Hello Pablo," I said. "Any news of my wife?"

"Ah... well, Señor. She was not in her room. I don't know where she could be. Maybe she and some of the ladies are together in a room, or they went out."

I realized that I was getting nowhere with Pablo. He was becoming tight-lipped and uncooperative.

"Can you do me a favor, Pablo?"

"Yes, Señor." he was no longer as polite, but he tried.

"What is Dr. Tray Cardosa's room number?"

"514 Señor, why? Do you wish me to call him?"

I winced, seeing in the itinerary that Marcy's room was 515.

"Not at this time, Pablo," I managed to keep my cool. "One more thing."

"Si Señor, but I am kind of busy."

"Humor me, Pablo, and call the room of Mrs. Penny Washington, please."

There was a slight hesitation, and then he replied.

"Si Señor, wait, please," and the line went to music.

Fuckin elevator music. Even in South America! Some time passed, then I heard three long rings before someone picked up.

"Hi Rick," Penny replied.

She knew it was me. I had a feeling Pablo told her who was calling. Or she had expected me to? It kind of sounded like she had.

"Hi Penny," I said. "Sorry to disturb you this late."