Lowlander

A wife gets lost in her fantasy.

A story for the, Literotica 25th Anniversary Challenge.

[Copyright © 2023. By the Author. All rights reserved]

The clouds, that had been gathering all day and threatening rain, parted briefly, just after sundown, and allowed a sliver of light from the waxing gibbous moon through. It shone on the ancient standing stone that some quirky ancestor had absconded from Scotland with and set up at the top of a knoll on the family estate, here in the New World. Its enigmatic carved face was briefly illuminated by the lunar glow and seemed to almost come alive in the eerie light. Then the clouds closed up again and the stone seemed to be just waiting there patiently, as the late fall storm crackled and thundered - splitting the sky over the helpless landscape, periodically charging it with a quick strobe of brilliant energy pulsing light. The rain began to drum down and run in raging rivers over the indecipherable runes that covered the monolith.

"If only the lightning had of hit the damned thing, back then, and blown it to hell, where it belonged." John would later reflect on that night when it all started, "My life wouldn't have been changed forever... but, on the other hand, maybe it was the best thing that ever happened to me."

*****

I'm Johnathan - John to my friends. My buddies would sometimes rib me, as guys have been known to do, when we get together for a couple of drinks after a game of golf, by calling me - totally average John. Average handicap, average size at five-ten and one seventy pounds, with hazel eyes, and my neatly cropped blond hair was unremarkable except for the odd one that was bleaching to white.

My wife, of almost twenty-five years, Sheila, and I met in our first year of university at a mixer, when we were only eighteen. I was first attracted to her by her fiery red hair and green eyes mounted on a tiny five foot nothing frame, but the proportionally big boobs and bubble butt were certainly eye catching. So, I took a chance and started to chat her up. I know it's a cliché but we clicked instantly. It was a mutual agreement to date each other exclusively that whole year and eventually plans were made to get married as soon as we graduated. Both of us were young and foolish and thought we would be together forever. We told both sets of parents about our intentions, expecting their blessing, and were surprised by the cool response to our plan.

My father even took me aside at the 'meet the other parents' dinner, in our small city, and tried to convince me that this was a bad idea. "Don't be too hasty." He expanded on this theme, "this is a time in your lives to experiment and explore other options, rather than settling on the first girl you get a serious lust on for." In his, rhetorical, words, "If you were buying a car, you would kick the tires and take it for a test drive or two, but you would also want to compare it to other makes and models...right?"

His cautionary speech, and a similar one that Sheila endured, didn't change our minds. Long story short, we got an apartment together the next year and have been together - and have been, I thought, inseparable, right up to the present. In hindsight, my father's words make me think he was a lot smarter than I gave him credit for at the time.

*****

"John, we need to talk." Sheila started. Then she hesitated as if at a loss for words as to how to continue. I had just poured, and handed, her a glass of the burgundy wine she liked and gotten myself a finger of a new single-malt Scotch that I was trying out. It smelled and tasted like an excellent Scotch should and I was looking forward to enjoying it for many years to come.

We sat down on the couch together and she scooted further away so she could face me. "This is not looking or sounding too good," the alarm bells where ringing in my mind, as I watched her warily.

Apparently emboldened by my silence, she plunged ahead. "John, we're empty nesters now..." It was true, our kids, a son and daughter had both recently flown the coop and were establishing lives of their own - as is only right. My one disappointment was that they had flown so far away, because I knew Sheila was really feeling at a loss without them being constantly underfoot as children - or more recently when they were at university, but still within a reasonable driving distance for visiting.

She was silent for a moment as if to collect her thoughts and frame what she wanted to say next. "John, our twenty fifth anniversary is coming up...we're both in our mid-forties - we're going to be fifty in a few years..."

"Yes, I know. That's why I'm in the process of retiring and selling out my shares, to my partners, in the dot com..." I nervously, rambled out. "Very soon we'll have enough loot to do the things we always dreamed about. I was thinking about: finally, fully modernising this ancient, sprawling, estate-house; travel and adventure; having wild monkey sex on some exotic beach ..." My voice trailed off as I realized she didn't seem to share any of my enthusiasm, except maybe for the last one.

"John, that's what I want to talk about..." Her eyes were downcast suddenly studying the hardwood floor, like she'd never noticed it before.

"John..."she said as if determined to spit it out before she lost her nerve. "We got married very young...maybe too young..."

I had a distinct sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Some of those, 'We need to talk,' stories I had read on Literotica flashed before my mind's eye. I had got a vicarious thrill out of them at the time, but that's because they were fiction. I didn't believe they ever happened to real people - certainly not to me.

Then she dropped the bomb.

"I want your permission for...a Hall Pass."

"What?" I shouted.

That seemed to really stagger her. I hardly ever raised my voice - Never directed at her.

She paused before continuing. "You know I love only you. And I will forever. But, I feel like we've fallen into a middle age rut. I want to try something new and see if I can recapture that feeling of excitement we used to have. Remember how alive we felt when we were young?"

The absence of an immediate response from me caused her to pause in what was obviously a prepared speech. I felt like I had been blindsided and it was taking me a moment to come to grips with what she was saying. "It won't be forever. I'll have an adventure, just for me, and then I'll come back to you and we'll do all of the things you want to do right into our old age together."

"Not going to happen!" was my immediate, perhaps ill-considered response, which I blurted out. "Think what this will do to us - to our marriage. I can't believe you're seriously willing to throw away more than twenty-five years of our lives."

My futile attempt to shut her down had the opposite effect - she just dug her heels in, "John, let me explain..."

"No, I don't want you to do this - I don't want to give permission for any...Hall Pass." I said banging my clenched fist on the coffee table for emphasis, with a loud, glass rattling, thump. "Hall pass, my ass - I've read stories about this, call it what it is, you intend to go out and fuck some guy. How long have you been planning this? Shouldn't I have an equal amount of time to think about where we are at in our lives and where we go from here?"

Then the next evil suspicion just slipped out of my mouth before I really considered what consequences might result. "Have you already got a guy just waiting in the wings? Has he got a bigger dick than I do? Or have you got more than one guy lined up? If looks could kill, I would have been hit by the lightning I saw building up in the thunderstorm gathering behind her eyes.

I tried to calm things down with a more conciliatory tone, "If you do this, it will probably be the end of us. There are so many things here that you have to consider..."

But it was too late. She didn't answer any of my questions. She just threw at me, "Don't you dare try to confuse me with your logic. Just because you went to graduate school and got an MBA you think you're smarter than me, well the world needs nurses too. Don't start an argument with me about this." She had screwed up her usually pretty face into an ugly scowl. "John...I'm determined to do this!"

That, was that. A silent standoff began. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped several degrees. I felt there was a huge chasm opening between us. I had blown my only chance to have a calm discussion about her feelings and maybe, just maybe, talking her out of this disastrous decision.

After a painful minute of the silent treatment, she toyed, for a moment, with the shiny new, colorful patchwork, leather shoulder bag that I had lovingly bought for her. She really loved it and had taken to lugging it around, full of God knows what, everywhere she went. Then having apparently reached a decision, she abruptly stood up, announcing, "Maybe I'll come back in a while when you've calmed your ego down and we can talk about this like adults. I'll explain my feelings so you can understand my reasons for doing this." She stormed towards the door.

I began to say, "Sheila, I'm begging you, please forget about this destructive fantasy..." the door slamming behind her with a loud definitive bang chopped off my fruitless plea.

There was no wrapping my head around this nonsensical decision that she had spewed out. Maybe I should chase after her, but then thought that might just prolong the argument - better to let things cool down until she comes back on her own.

I looked out the window but couldn't see where she had gone. The previously pounding rain had quit drumming on the roof and the waxing, almost, full moon now shone down in all its cold majesty. It penetrated through the wispy ground fog and gave a haunted look to the starkly monochromatic landscape, around our house. I thought that was a suitable reflection of my current feelings. But the moonlight did nothing to illuminate a path forward. No help for me to navigate my way through this minefield in front of me. It seemed like even the gods were laughing at, and focusing their 'other worldly,' glow on all of my lifelong plans, and wisping them away with the fog.

Before risking saying or doing anything more, when she came back, which was bound to end up in disaster, I did what any sensible man would do - grabbed my car keys and headed out to my favourite watering hole to sort my jumbled emotions out, or at least drown my sorrows.

*****

I'm not really much of a drinker - one or two is usually my limit - but not after the shock I had just been punched in the gut with. Handing my car keys to a long-time friend, who I had known since high school, the bar-keeper, Bonnie. I flashed her a weak smile.

She had been single and the owner of the small hole-in-the-wall bar ever since her husband had unexpectedly passed away from pancreatic cancer a year previously. She was taller than Sheila at about five six and very well endowed, "Rubenesque," came to mind. She kept her wavy blonde hair shoulder length so that it didn't get in her way when slinging drinks.

"Pour booze for me until I can't remember what the wife and I are arguing about, and then send me home in a cab."

That's what she did. Somewhere during that foggy night, while somewhat still standing - actually mostly sitting on my stool while desperately clutching onto the bar for support - I had drunkenly confessed to the sorry mess my marriage was in.

"It's probably something I did, or more likely didn't do," I arrived at, what seemed to me, in my alcohol fueled, befuddled state, this profound conclusion. I vaguely recall Bonnie's wise barkeeper's absolution of, "Stop beating yourself up. It's not your fault - it's hers," for my obvious sins and failures as a husband. Then she called me a cab.

*****

The next day about noon, bright sunlight streaming in the window woke me. Just barely making it to the toilet before losing the meager contents of my stomach - vaguely recalling nothing, except bar nuts, had been my supper the night before, then noisily ralphing again.

The thought, "Whoever coined the saying, 'Getting drunk never solved anything - it just makes things worse!' Sure got that right." Because I felt distinctly worse than I did before last night.

Then my phone rang splitting my head open with the sound. I croaked, "Hello."

"Why hadn't Sheila answered the phone?" flitted through my mind. Glancing at the bed, there was no sign that she had even slept there last night.

It was Bonnie on the line, "So, you're still alive. Do you need a ride to come and get your car? I'm just on my way to open up but I can swing by and give you a lift."

"Yah that would be great...when?"

"In about a half hour or so."

Somehow, I staggered into the shower and let the soothing water wash over me. Then managed to accomplish the other usual morning rituals. It was Saturday so I didn't bother with a shave, but brushing my teeth thankfully got rid of a foul taste in my mouth.

Using, "there wasn't enough time to make the real stuff," as an excuse for my total lack of motivation to use the drip machine, I settled for a cup of instant coffee. As the first few sips of the life giving brew started to lift the fuzzy fog in my head, I realized there was dead silence in the house except for me rattling around. Totally alone. Sheila hadn't slept in our bed and a check of the guest room had shown it to be empty as well. I could see through the kitchen window her car still sitting in the driveway.

Where was she?

Before I could ponder that question further, Bonnie arrived to pick me up.

"How do ya feel?" she said, brushing the golden hair back from her pretty face.

"Like the other team's enforcer checked me head first into the boards."

"Well, that'll learn ya. How's Sheila doing today? Did she give up on this 'Hall Pass' silliness, you were going on about last night?"

"Don't know. Didn't see her this morning. She left and went somewhere else last night... and stayed there."

"Oh, that's not good. She must really be pissed. Well, I'm sure she'll show up sometime today, after making her point. And expect you to apologize, grovel, and give her your permission."

"Yah, I expect you're right."

"Don't...just don't - Give in, that is. Again, Sheila's just trying to yank your chain with threats, until you give up and give her permission to go out and have her flings." She cautioned, as we pulled into the parking lot and stopped beside my car.

"I have no intention of giving her permission - wouldn't be able look myself in the mirror if I did."

Going home and finding out if there was a chance to save my marriage seemed like a good idea just about then.

*****

There was still no sign of Sheila.

She didn't come home all that day.

She didn't come home all that night.

In the early afternoon, I did all of the usual things, searching for her: Called all of her family and friends; called the local hospital; called both of my neighbours even. On the one side was the farmer I leased my fields to for grazing his cows and on the other the guy who ran a construction contracting business and used his back forty to park his heavy machinery. No sightings - Nothing.

Called the police and told them she was missing. The cop I was talking to politely informed me to calm down. When I admitted we had been having a heated argument before she abruptly left, I suddenly found myself being accused of some vaguely defined crime. Most of the call was me, strenuously denying I had threatened or used any violence against her.

He seemed to lose interest in the whole thing after that. Then he said, suppressing a yawn, "She's probably just run away for a while, got plastered in some bar and checked herself into a motel somewhere. She'll probably come home tomorrow once she's made her point and scared the daylights out of you."

"Look, she didn't take her car..."

"So, maybe she just phoned somebody to come and pick her up, while she was walking down the road. Or maybe she stuck her thumb out and hitched a ride - single women never have any trouble getting picked up for a ride." But I'll make a note of it. However, when she shows up, be sure to give us a call and let us know, so we can wrap up this incident report. Or, call us back in a couple of days if she's still missing and we'll open an official 'missing persons' file." Then he dismissed me with a polite, if bored sounding, "Good-Bye," and hung up.

That did not reassure me at all. Now I had visions of faceless, nameless, psychopaths picking her up, raping, murdering, and burying her in some anonymous hole in the ground in the rural countryside hereabouts.

I spent the whole day frantic with worry. The sun went down and the waning gibbous moon came up. I happened to be staring out the widow, looking at the moonlit landscape, trying to decide what I should do next when Sheila strolled through the door as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened for the last two nights. She acted like she didn't have a care in the world. In fact she looked quite excited and pleased with herself - if very disheveled, with her long red hair tangled in knots. And was that some hay clinging to it?

"John," she announced, throwing her arms around my neck and giving me a curiously distracted tongue free buss on my lips, "I've just had the most wonderful adventure. I'll tell you all about it in a while. But right now, I'm dying to have a bath. They didn't have any hot water where I've been."

"And where exactly was that?"

"Through the stone, Silly. Just like in those romantic stories that I love to read." She seemed oblivious to me like she was lost in some adolescent, teen-age-girl, fantasy.

How exactly does that work - I'd really like you to explain. Is it like some kind of ancient stagecoach were you buy a ticket and shake, rattle and roll until you get off at your destination, or what?" She ignored my sarcasm and babbled on, "I met the most handsome Highlander..."

"Ah now I get it, that's why you snuck off - to have some tawdry little affair. Well that's perfectly understandable."

This time she didn't ignore my scoffing tone. In fact, she looked at me like she was just waking up from a dream and realized that I was there.

"The stone on our hill was stolen and brought here but it is still connected by magic to stones in other circles in the highlands." She asserted.

"Magic, my ass. You don't really expect me to fall for that crap? And tell me more about this highlander."

"He's younger than us: so strong and virile; long, wind-blown, blond hair; handsome, clean shaven, rugged face; he has a very big sword in his kilt."

"We made mad passionate love under the full moon!"

I felt my eyes bulge out and my mouth drop open.

"Say, what?"

"What's this bastard's name? Wait, let me guess...Macbeth!"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is, that's his clan. His first name is Duncan."

"Not that you need to know, because it has nothing to do with you."

I was so taken aback that it, momentarily, took a bit of wind out of my sarcastic sails. But before I could even begin to think of something more intelligent to say, I threw at her, "Dunkin' the Dick, or is it Sword?"

"And what exactly do you think you mean by this, 'Nothing' to do with me...?" I sputtered. "What about your marriage vow to me twenty-five years ago? Does, 'I have forsaken all others and will cleave only unto thee,' ring any bells?

She totally ignored my question and scurried off down the hall towards the bathroom.

"That's it," I thought, "She's lost it. She's gone totally off the rails." Yet I couldn't really believe that she had done something this devastating to our marriage. I hoped that maybe it was just some fairy-tale crap that she had picked up from one of her cheap pocket book romances that she was throwing in my face, as some demented idea of a joke. Or, as Bonnie had said, "Sheila's just trying to yank your chain with threats, until you give up and give her permission to have her flings."