Looking Right At It Ch. 01

My strategy of "lie back and wait, see what happens" had not exactly paid off. It was time to look right at what Julie had done—and make her look at it.

When Julie found me in the living room Friday evening there was a surprised look on her face.

"Honey, is everything OK? I saw your car when I got home, and wondered if anything had ...."

She broke off when she saw my face. I was sitting up straight on the sofa, looking at her with a face that must have conveyed the icy anger I was feeling.

"Hello, Julie," I said quietly. Then, "anything go on yesterday that you neglected to tell me about?"

She stood very still, just looking at me. She looked too terrified to speak.

After a minute of waiting I reached over to the side table and picked up the tape recorder I'd brought down from the bedroom. Without speaking I pressed "Play".

In the quiet room we heard Bobby's voice say "C'mon, Julie, suck it."

Then Julie: "I ... I've never ... Bobby, I don't know how!"

Bobby: "You've never sucked a cock? ... Okay, babe, it's not so difficult. Just take it gently in your mouth... just the head, that's it. Ooh, good! Now use your tongue all around it—just keep your teeth from scraping me..."

The tape stopped suddenly. With a sob, Julie had lunged forward to press "Stop". Now she was sitting on the edge of the sofa, crying, her face buried in her hands.

I listened to her cry for a few minutes. Then I got up and walked to the door.

"I'll be back in half an hour. In case it's not already obvious to you, we have some talking to do."

With that, I left her and climbed the stairs to the bedroom.

*** *** *** ***

When I returned to the living room Julie was sitting on the sofa, gazing out the window. She turned to look at me, and I saw her red eyes and the make-up that had streamed down her cheeks along with her tears.

I sat down without a word and looked at her, waiting.

Finally she said, "Alan, I ... I know you ... you must be expecting me to explain what I've done ....

"But I can't! I've done a terrible thing, I've cheated on you, I've broken our marriage vows, and I can't ... I don't even know what happened. I know I've hurt you, and ..."

"Do you love him?" I interrupted her, my voice quiet but harsh.

Her head swung towards me, a shocked expression on her face. "Of course not! It was just ... just a stupid flirtation that got out of hand. I'm so sorry, sweetheart!" She started to tear up again.

Quietly but relentlessly, I made her tell me all of it. The meaningful glances at works, the kissing in the stock room, the first time at his apartment, and then their tryst in our bedroom. Her voice flat and toneless, she answered all of my questions. I even asked her about the positions they fucked in; looking at me shamefacedly, she told me about the doggy-style and the time she sat straddling him in a chair. Her expression made clear that she remembered just as well as I did that she'd refused to try things like that with me.

"And was he a good fuck?" I asked, still in a quiet voice. "Did he make you come? Is he better than I am?"

For the first time she hesitated, crying harder—but she must have felt she had no choice but to answer me.

"It was ... exciting, Alan. Because it was somebody new and different. And he's only 26, so he can ... he can do it again pretty quickly."

She saw the pain deepen in my face, and turned away.

"And you were cheating on me, right Julie? You were fucking him behind my back, and it was a turn-on, wasn't it?"

She looked back at me, distraught. I could tell she wanted to cry, "no, Alan, no it wasn't like that"—but she couldn't deny it.

"And then there were all the new tricks," I went on. "Sucking your first cock, after 22 years, and it wasn't even your husband's! Getting your pussy licked, and not by your husband's tongue! Fucked from behind, fucked on a chair, fucked all afternoon in your own bed, your husband's bed—but not by your husband!"

"Stop, Alan, stop!" Julie was weeping, looking at me beseechingly.

"Oh I will, Julie, I'm all done." I went to the hall and returned with the suitcase I'd packed upstairs in the bedroom. When she saw it Julie jumped up and came towards me. "Please, Alan, please don't leave!"

"Oh, I'm not leaving," I said. "You are! I've packed some of your things—and I want you out of this house. Now!"

She looked at me in utter shock, and I went on.

"I don't want to see you this weekend. You can come back during the day on Monday and get the rest of your things. That will be your last chance—after that I'm changing the locks."

"But Alan, please, you can't throw me out!"

"On the contrary, I most certainly can. Go to your sister's, go to your parents, find a hotel, I don't give a shit. Just don't plan on coming back here.

"This is how it is Julie. I don't want to see you, talk to you, or hear from you for two months. Don't call me, don't email me, don't send me a fucking carrier pigeon."

"But honey..." she was wailing. I ignored her cries. Taking her firmly by the arm and the suitcase in the other hand, I walked her down the hall to the front door.

Getting more and more hysterical, she cried, "Alan, don't do this! I'm your wife!"

"You WERE my wife, you silly bitch. But right now you aren't anything to me but a slut who fucked another man in my bed! And you're getting the hell out of my house!"

Turning to the hall table, I put her purse in her hand and the suitcase on the front step. Then I moved Julie, still sobbing, out the door and closed it firmly behind her.

[End of Part 1—This story will continue in two months.]