Making It to 25

This story is part of the 25th Anniversary Challenge

*

Just is not 'just' another word. If you think about it, it's the cornerstone of deception. When we were kids and Mom asked, "What are you doing?" What was the inevitable reply? "I was JUST ________ (fill in the blank)."

Its goal is to minimize the guilt, negate the accusation and turn the spotlight back on the questioner. Like last Saturday night, at the neighborhood cookout. Clear as daylight, my wife of more than 24 years, had 'that' expression as she flirted with our neighbor, Jack Reynolds. You know the expression I'm talking about, the extra-wide smile, uproarious laughter over the feeblest joke, the double meaning words, the innocuous-on-the-surface (but plentiful) touching. We've all been there, seen that. Often it's alcohol-fueled, temporary, mostly innocent and it blows over. Not this time—I knew. I'm Grayson Hull, 48, engineer, 6 foot even, in reasonable shape courtesy of gym diligence. My wife Tracy is 47, 5-6, average build, Italian looks and reasonably attractive.

So, walking home from the neighborhood get-together, when I asked Tracy what the fawning over Jack as all about, The Word surfaced. "Oh relax, Gray, we were just (my emphasis, not hers) having fun. I think my Long Island iced tea had a little extra oomph and he had three empty bottles next to him. You have nothing to worry about," and she stopped, turned, and laid a long, loving kiss on me, leisurely tickling my tonsils.

Problem is, I did have something to worry about—me. In the last few months, I'd gotten diabetes and an enlarged prostate. Age, what can I tell you? Because I had taken my "vitamins" for tonight I was ready, but the reality is the nights I could be "ready" had steadily become fewer. Yes, Big Pharma had their pills and our doctors fulfilled their roles as legal drug pushers, so I wasn't quite over the hill, but life is life, aging is aging and, well, you know what I'm trying to avoid telling you.

Compounding the problem is these seemed to be the years when Tracy's libido was celebrating an emptied nest with increasing gusto.

So, walking home with my lovely and loving wife, I knew I had a date with destiny, and tonight's flirting with Jack reminded me that date was sooner than I wished. I had two choices: Be reactive or be proactive.

With my engineer's mind, I figured the first thing to do was gather information lest I be overthinking a non-problem.

That night in bed went wonderful as always. Tracy got off at least four times with foreplay and then we came together for the grand finale. Wonderful.

It was the last night I slept peacefully, though.

—

Sunday I rummaged through the junk we'd accumulated through the years, and retrieved an old laptop. While getting dusty, I let my mind run over Saturday night, trying to figure out what I could do, if anything. Off I went to an electronics store to pick up a few wireless minicams, which blew me away with their clarity and sound. Two pen audio recorders, too.

When I got back from shopping, I found a note saying Tracy'd gone for a walk in the park with Gwen, another neighbor and friend. Perfect. I took the time to install minicams throughout the house and connect them with a recorder app on the old basement laptop which kept running, despite the closed lid. When she got back I went to fiddle in the garage and dropped one of the pen-recorders into the console of her car. After she went to bed I dropped the last device into her overcrowded purse.

—

Monday morning I started working our finances. During the years, I'd set up and discarded multiple corporations of various types, some in Tracy's name and some in mine. I applied for, and got, a credit card for one of Tracy's corporations. The credit card company, eager for interest income had a generous offer for balance transfers, valid for the first two months. If my suspicions were unfounded, it would be easy to cancel the card—no harm, no foul. But if...

Between appointments, I made similar preemptive moves, trying to overcome the deep sadness which began settling over me. We had such a good life together, but, I was beginning to conclude, all good things must end. That was a major bummer, because we'd had such a good thing.

It wasn't love at first sight when we met in my senior, her junior year at college (civil engineering for me, math teacher's stuff for her). We dated through her senior year and a year afterward, exclusive for a year before we pulled the matrimonial trigger and began a lovely marriage, complete with two beautiful girls, both now in college. In line with where apples fall, Amy (oldest) was an engineering senior and Judy was a junior preparing to be a science and math teacher.

I loved becoming an empty nester, as did Tracy. Our sex life got a spring in its step when we didn't have to worry about my loud beauty letting it all hang out. I loved that passionate Mediterranean temperament.

But, like I said, we had a problem. And the problem was my declining ability.

Monday night, after we watched an old movie together, Tracy yawned, got up and said, "You coming?"

"Nah," I replied, "I have to go through a few files for a meeting tomorrow. I'll be up in a while." I headed to the garage to retrieve the console recorder. After I downloaded it to my laptop, I listened. And died.

The file played her cell ringing, which her car's stereo system picked up, so I heard the whole hands-free conversation.

"Hey, Trace, how America's sexiest woman doing?" Jack's voice was easy to recognize. Damn. So much for 'nothing to worry about.'

"Hanging in there, stud, can't wait for tomorrow night."

"The old Gray stallion not doing it for you anymore, huh?"

"I know it's not his fault, but he is older, running out of gas."

"And your tank needs filling, doesn't it?"

"That's right. How many times do you think you'll do me tomorrow?"

"Take the afternoon off and you won't be able to walk by the time old out-to-pasture gets home."

"Ooh, I can't wait. Now don't whack off until then, I want all you can give." I cringed when she offered no disagreement to Jack's insults.

"You got it, babe, this service station's tank is full for you."

"OK, I'm at school, parking, ready to be Miss Sweet to the little innocents."

Wow. One day into my espionage campaign. How long had this been going on? It certainly did not sound like something new, but something that, in spite of what Tracy said, I needed to be worried about. Very worried.

Then my mind went to Tuesday, tomorrow. Where was she going to get her tank filled up by my opportunistic neighbor?

Anger gripped me. No. Not on my watch. My life might have been about to change, but I was damned if I was going to be a passive victim.

—

Tuesday, I called one of my friends, who owned a small auto repair shop, with an old pickup to fetch parts for their jobs. "Hey Nick, Gray. Can I borrow your pickup for a small errand? I'll leave my truck for if you need a vehicle."

"No problem, buddy, when do you need it?"

"Around eleven, I should have it back to you before five."

"Not a problem."

Around eleven, I told my assistant I wasn't feeling well, to reschedule all my appointments. At Nick's place, we exchanged keys and I took off in his nondescript white Toyota pickup, which I parked halfway down the block.

—

With a heavy heart I walked the few steps to our house, let myself in, took a diet soda from the fridge and flopped into my favorite recliner.

Barely twenty minutes later, Tracy rushed in, talking on the phone. "Yeah, I just got here. Give me fifteen minutes to get ready." As she hung up, she saw me and froze. "Grayson, what are you doing here?"

"What, no honey, sweetie, darling... or even hello?"

A million thoughts flew across her expressive face. "I... You... Uh..."

"Yeah, I get it. I shocked you. Come. Sit down. We need to talk."

"Uh..." I could see her panic. She needed to stop Jack before he barged in with his hard weedwacker.

Not happening.

"Tracy," I barked in a loud voice I never used, "I said sit down. Now!"

"I..."

"Now! Don't make me angry. There," I pointed at the loveseat opposite me. "Now!"

Flustered and, yes, a tad fearful, she stumbled into the living room and sat. "What's wrong, Gray? What's gotten into you?"

"You're about to find out. Take a deep breath, put your phone away, and listen."

With a deep sigh, she closed her eyes for a long while, then opened them, much calmer.

"Thank you. I'll be out of here in less than ten minutes, so you can relax. Last Saturday night was a wake-up call for me. First was your heavy flirting with Jack," Her face crinkled into a frown. "And after that, our wonderful time together." Her face relaxed and a genuine smile passed over it. "But Sunday, as I cleaned up the basement and saw things that reminded me of the wonderful times we've had, I realized something. Tracy, I am truly sorry, but I'm not the man for you I used to be."

"Honey, what are you talking about? You're more wonderful than ever. Every woman I know envies me for the perfect husband I have."

"Thank you, and you've been the perfect wife for me, too. Words can never say how happy I've always been with you. But, and there's no easy way to say this, so I'll just lay it on the line. With my health issues I can't get it up as often as I used. I've noticed, though, that your libido is going the opposite direction. In the past we were perfectly matched, but I no longer am sufficient for your needs."

She tried to interrupt, but I held up my hand. "No, please, let me finish. This is hard for me. It's not any fault of mine or yours. It is a reality, and we need to figure out a path through this, one based in respect and honesty."

A look of worry crossed her face but she held her peace.

"The way I see it we have three options. The first is we have an amicable divorce."

She gasped and brought her hands to her face, but I held out my hand again. "Wait, I'm not finished. Please hear me out. We can stay friends, because I'm not mad at your or anything. We'll present a united front for the kids and everyone else, and you have the freedom to satisfy your natural urges when, where and with whomever you want. I love you enough to give you that freedom, but not while we're married. That way, when you have sex with someone, I'll never hold it against you, and you'll never owe me any explanation.

"Second option, you understand the vows we took mean the world to me, and you elect to continue living with me, despite my decreasing ability to satisfy your urges. Sickness or health, as our vows said.

"Option three, we take the view that your urges are, as some like to say, nothing but sex. Whenever you feel your needs exceed my ability to satisfy you, you tell me, without feeling guilty. I promise to not feel insulted or put down in any way, but I'll get hold of an escort agency and arrange for a man to get you caught up, shall we say. Now, before you get all indignant and offended, please understand a few things. I've thought about this long and hard, and I think this is a workable solution. Those men are skilled, certainly more skilled than Jack or I or anybody else you know, so you know they'll get you off better than anyone else. Second, you don't know them, they don't know you, so there's no risk of any emotional attachment. They're clean and safe. So there's no risk to our relationship. Because I'm the one getting you the escort, I won't feel humiliated and you don't have to worry about my feelings. We can always figure out the details to make it work.

"Those are the three options I can see. I'm open to any other solutions you can think of. My main two goals are your satisfaction, and honesty. No subterfuge or hidden feelings."

She looked nervously at her watch.

If I wanted to, I could expose her treachery, but my main concern was preserving a good thing, not putting the final nail into it. So I wanted to get out before Jack the snake arrived. Besides, I didn't think she'd be able to absorb anything else I say, so I stood and her face showed immediate relief.

"However," I said, again with as much firmness as I could muster without shouting, "One option is DEFINITELY NOT acceptable to me, and that is fucking Jack Reynolds behind my back. I have enough faith in you to think you'd never sink so low as to become a cheating, lying slut."

Her face reddened and she looked down.

I continued, "Doing something like that would lead me to go with option number one, divorce, except not amicably. Okay, thanks for hearing me out. I'll leave, as promised. Think about this. I'll give you until Friday to think it over, so you have time to talk it out with any of your family, friends or whoever. And, of course, anytime you want to talk to me about it, I'm here."

I opened the door. "Let me say very clearly, Tracy, I love you with all my heart. Everything I think, say and do revolves around you and my love for you. Please accept my apology for my inadequacy and dumping this on you without warning. I don't know why you came home early, but whatever it is, good luck. Don't make dinner, I'm taking you out to Antonio's." Blowing her a kiss, I left.

As I drove away, I saw Jack walking toward our house with a spring in his step, obviously not noticing me in the anonymous pickup. I couldn't wait to see what the cameras would show me later tonight.

—

I had just switched vehicles back with Nick when my phone rang. Tracy. "Hi Gray, can we meet at DQ for a blizzard?"

"Of course. Now?"

"Yes, right away. We need to talk."

Could I dare to believe that was good news? Too little time had elapsed for her to have done anything with Jack. Dairy Queen had a store two blocks form our home where, through the years, we had gone from time to time, usually to celebrate something with a pair of tropical blizzards. When DQ took it off the menu, the local store manager kept it as an unwritten menu item.

When I pulled into the parking lot, Tracy stood waiting for the order she'd already placed. The server tipped them upside down as usual, to show they weren't soggy, and she took both. Rather than take a table, she said, "Let's go sit in your truck. It's more private."

"You said we needed to talk," I said as we settled in.

Nodding, she took her first spoonful. "Ray, before I say anything else, let me say the most important thing of all: I love you. You are the only person I have ever loved since the day we committed to be exclusive."

"I know that, honey, and I feel the same way. That's why I wanted to address this before it became an issue."

Lowering her tub, she looked at me. "Gray, it is already an issue. I don't want it to be, but I can't help how my body feels."

"I know, and I can't help how my body is not responding. The question is how we handle it. Like I said, and I cannot emphasize it strongly enough, having you fuck someone behind my back is not an option I can live with."

"Just for the sake of argument, why not? Where's the harm if I meet someone, have sex and nothing else, and I come home and be the exact same wife I've been for you for almost 25 years?"

"Sounds like that's what you want. Is it?"

"Ray, please, don't make this an emotional argument when I just (there was that word again) asked you a simple hypothetical question."

"That's the problem right there, Tracy. It isn't 'just' (I made air quotes) a hypothetical question. But, to humor you, I'll try to answer. The answer has many dimensions. First, men are men, and competitiveness is in our DNA. Whether it comes from ape-time or wherever, look around you. 80% of ESPN's viewers are men, because men are drawn to anything competitive. From boys' farting contests at age ten, to 4th of July hotdog eating contests, sports, racing, by far the biggest participants and audiences are male. Like it or not, that's just how we are. So, any man you sleep with will gloat that he's putting one over on me. You can dismiss it as a fragile male ego if you want, but the fact is when you fuck any another man, he will put me down. You will hear it and not want to break the mood so you won't defend me."

She recognized the truth and looked down, blushing.

"You're unable to defend me," I continued, "because actions speak louder than words and he'll end any defense with, "Well, if he's so wonderful why is my dick buried inside you?"

"No, no, that's—"

"Trace, don't argue with me about that. I'm a man and I understand men a lot better than you. Look me in the eye and tell me Jack has never said a denigrating thing about me."

Blushing, she looked down again.

"That's the first problem with having sex with a man we know. The second is humans are humans. The longer you kiss and fuck someone, you can't help building an attraction. You can't avoid it, we're simply wired that way. So, if you kiss and have sex with Jack, or anybody else, there is no way you can avoid building affection of some sort. Call me selfish, call me what you will, but I refuse to be married to someone building that kind of affection with another man. But, like I said, I respect your needs, and I regret my inability to meet those needs, and I'm sorry to put you in a position where you have to choose. I love you and I hate to do this to you. But I won't stay married to you if you fuck Jack or someone else. Do you understand how I feel? I understand your needs, and your question, and where you're coming from, but do you understand where I'm coming from?"

With a sigh, she looked at me and turned to look out the passenger window. "Yes, Gray, you answered my question. I don't agree with you that I'd be unable to have simple sex with another man and still be the same wife for you."

"Oh, I agree you can still be the same wife for me as you see it. But you're totally dismissing the insult it is to me. I am not enough for you, so you get another man to make up for my deficiency. You don't seem to give a shit for how that would make me feel."

"Are you telling me your frail male ego can't stand the thought of you not being perfect?"

"Frail male ago? Let's look at that. How would you feel if I hung out last Saturday night with Gabriella?" Gabriella Masterson was one of the neighbors at the party, the one with the biggest bazookas, 44DD if an inch. Lovely ones, not just big. Furthermore, Gabriella loved putting them on display. Not surprisingly, all the other wives didn't like that. Worse, all the time I knew Tracy, she had a complex about her B cup size. No matter how often I reassured her that they were more than adequate for me, she had a strong inferiority complex about her boobs.

With a frown, she said, "You know very well how I'd feel."

"So how is that not a frail female ego? Newsflash, darling, frail egos are gender neutral. We all have them, and mine is no bigger or smaller than yours."

Pursing her lips, she nodded slowly. "I never thought of it that way, but you have a point."

"Does the point extend to answering your question? Do you see what's wrong with you sleeping with someone we know?"

She took another scoop of the blizzard, looked outside, at me and outside again. After a sigh, she told the window, "Yes. Yes, I do."

Wanting to press my attack, I asked, as sweetly as I could, "Tracy, why did you come home so early today?"

Her eyes grew wide, and she started choking and coughing. Clearly I'd caught her by surprise. She blushed and started stuttering. "I...I... thought I forgot my appointment book at home." Her expression showed a questioning hope, as if to say, "Please let me off the hook."

Someone once said the best tactic when questioning someone silence, so I kept my gaze on her eyes, and spooned another little dollop of frozen delight into my mouth, waiting and staring.

"What? Why were you there?"