Perception Collides With Denials

Finishing another story found unfinished for whatever reason. A little different for me.

Billy Shaver: "When the devil made that woman Lord, she threw the pattern away. She was built for speed, with the tools you need, to make a new fool every day."

= = = =

My name is Ross and I'm on cloud nine today. Just five years out of college and I've been appointed to an elite team for a yearlong project. It's a small family owned business that I work for and I've never had any reason to doubt old man Gibbons' word. He promised stock options to everybody on the team if we come in on-time and under budget.

Whitney, my bride of four years, enjoyed the celebration dinner but seemed oblivious to the implications. The sex that night wasn't a marathon bud wore me out none the less. Smiling I might add as she's as good as I've ever had. Okay, I'm not that experienced. Computer nerds are kind of like that.

We moved here for my job. I'm a software problem solver. If it fails, get it to fail again learning from all of the unsuccessful attempts. Then get it to vary, again learning from each failed attempt. Armed with your newly acquired knowledge you simply connect the dots. Think of it as eliminating letters in Wordle. If only a few letters remain then the solution is obvious. I was hired with a signing bonus large enough to pay off my student loan and credit card. Not much left after that but I'm debt free other than car loans.

Whitney and I married six months after the move. We were engaged and living together at the time of the move. The wedding was held back in her hometown about thirty miles away. She doesn't have a college degree so she works doing mostly clerical stuff. Her current job has lasted two years and she seems to like this one.

When we first moved here we tried out most of the nightclubs. Fox and Hound, Night Crawlers, and a few others were meat markets. At one of them, after we'd each been propositioned, Whitney remarked "This is disgusting, let's get out of here!"

Seeing men and women, with and without wedding rings, getting it on in the booths was not how we thought the world worked. We're kind of naive that way. However, it did lead to some hot sex at home on those nights. Sharing isn't what either of us find acceptable. It has been discussed and we are in full agreement.

So what could be the problem? Nothing. Everything. Maybe I've gone about this all wrong.

How did we get here? Well, I guess the moisture on the slopes started to accumulate about six months ago when Whitney and her friends began stopping off on Friday afternoons at a pub. That pub is next to the parking garage by the office building where she works. It's also where I'd met Whitney for lunch a few times. Typical Irish decor including the pudgy round-faced guy nursing his beer. They even carried the alcohol free version of Ireland's famous brew for those that wanted the putrid taste without the buzz. It was far from a pick-up joint. Pretzel mix, sliced gherkins, and a really nice Irish stew.

Where Whitney works, non-management gets off at 2 Pm on Fridays. She'd always get home before me and was often a bit tipsy. I chided her that a DUI or even a DWI would cost her a bunch. It would come out of her savings, not mine or ours. We agreed to leave each other's pre-marriage bank accounts alone before we tied the knot. No legal documents just an understanding between us.

After one Friday afternoon outing Whitney was hot to trot in the sack when I got home. Her pussy was dripping and hot. She just wanted me to fuck her and I didn't last long with her pushing back and squeezing. I didn't think much about it at the time, but being a problem solver it occurred to me that some other guy must have gotten her fired up. Is that all he did? She'd been doing this Friday afternoon thing for a long time and not come home wanting a quickie so it wasn't the thought of coming home to me that turned her on.

Three Fridays later she was ready to romp again. My little head wasn't buying it this time.

"What's wrong?" from a perplexed Whitney holding my limp dick.

"Who got you all fired up? Thinking of me can't be it or we'd be getting it on every Friday night before dinner."

"Can't a girl want a little nookie from her husband?"

Things went sideways and ended with "Fine, do without. I'm not cooking. Order pizza if you're hungry."

Apparently I'm an insecure person. To the best of my knowledge that's not a crime. Whitney must have repeated it a half-dozen times. I had blue balls by Wednesday night when we finally had sex again. It wasn't romantic so I guess I was still in the dog house.

+ + + +

The next 'incident' started to unfold about a month later. Friday, no sex when I got home, but we did eat dinner out.

"Janet's brother plays in the band 'Tail Gunners' and she wants all of us to go watch them perform."

"Husbands and boyfriends too or just you ladies?"

"Just the ladies. She wants to go next Thursday because the weekends are too crowded. Since we still have to work on Friday we'll probably only stay for the first set."

"Will you be driving?"

"No, Janet says we can all fit into her SUV."

"Go for it."

Of course it wasn't exactly as portrayed. When Whitney came out in her heels and a tight-fitting short dress with plenty of cleavage showing I objected.

"Excuse me, but married women don't go out dressed like that without their husbands."

"Oh please. I don't know if there's a dress code."

"For a raunchy band you don't know if there's a dress code? My guess is that shirt, shorts, and shoes are all that's needed. Where are you going?"

"I don't know. Janet never said."

With a quick internet search I found the event.

"Says here that they're performing at Night Crawlers. Isn't that the place you called 'disgusting'? And now you're dressed up like that? Well at least you're starting out with your wedding ring on."

Janet picked up one very pissed off Whitney. On her return the anger was still raging strong.

"Here, feel my panties. I'm not wet! You're not getting ANYTHING either. The girls think you're a complete ass!"

I slept on the couch. Putting in more overtime on my project was happening more often and becoming easier. Sex was becoming an infrequent event.

+ + + +

The final straw took a while to break me down. Whitney's birthday fell on a Friday and she celebrated with her friends after work. She came home with several gift bags and went directly into the bedroom. A few minutes later she came out, having changed clothes, and was ready to celebrate with me. Dinner wise anyway. Seems sex was now off the table for me on Fridays.

Sex, since the band event, had been two people getting their needs filled. It was neither loving nor tender.

Life went on and a couple of Fridays later I came home after work to find Whitney with a dildo getting herself off in our bedroom. She glanced my way and then closed her eyes and moaned "Since you're not interested in me on Fridays the girls gave me a birthday gift!"

I ordered Italian. More overtime.

The more I thought about it, the more red flags started flapping. Whitney went grocery shopping on Saturday so I snooped. It didn't take long to find the dildo. It was bigger than I'll ever be. Not by much, but definitely longer and thicker. Time to take action. With a few keystrokes I was able to locate, modify, and print a post-nuptial agreement.

Sunday afternoon I dropped the hammer.

"Whitney, we need to talk."

"Now what?"

"This is a post-nuptial agreement. I've had my signature notarized. You'll need to do the same."

After glancing it over "ARE YOU ACCUSING ME OF CHEATING?"

"Calm voices please. As far as cheating, I hope not, but you've been acting like it. This just puts on paper our agreement to keep finances separate. There are penalties for infidelity, equally applied of course."

"Pray tell, what have I been doing?"

"Well you come home from your Friday outings all hot and bothered and hide whatever or whoever got you that way. You dress up like a groupie to go see a band perform at a known meat market, again hiding where you were going. Next you show up with a dildo larger than my wedding tackle. Apparently you've gotten a taste of a bigger cock and liked it?"

"FUCK YOU! JUST FUCK YOU!"

It went downhill from there. I'm blowing things all out of proportion. The dildo was a joke gift. Lighten up. Has your frail male ego been bruised?

Whitney was absolutely incensed. I have my set of beliefs and usually act accordingly. If I recall, that's one of the things that she liked about me. Until, of course, she was in my cross-hairs.

"I'm not signing this" as she shoved the papers in my face.

+ + + +

You don't need a court case number to procure the services of someone to deliver a document. The post-nuptial agreement was deliver by a process server Monday afternoon.

Her first message "YOU MISERABLE ASSHOLE! DO YOU KNOW HOW EMBARRASING THIS IS? I'M SPENDING THE NIGHT WITH JANET!"

Whitney was home on Wednesday, or a holographic image of her that didn't speak. The post-nuptial agreement was torn into pieces on the kitchen table. So be it.

On Friday morning Whitney was served with do-it-yourself divorce papers along with a note 'Since you won't sign a post-nuptial agreement you've left me no choice.'

My phone lit up with insulting and demeaning voice and text messages. I saved the one where she announced 'I might as well divorce you if you're that fragile.'

I didn't see Whitney until Sunday afternoon when she showed up with her parents, John and Mary.

Working on my laptop at my makeshift desk I heard them enter the room. Three angry faces.

"Afternoon folks. Cold ones are in the fridge if you're thirsty. Help yourself."

John spoke "Ross, this post-nuptial thing has spiraled out of control. Time to set things straight and call off the divorce."

"So Whitney, you're ready to sign it and start acting like a married woman?"

Mary answered "A post-nuptial document means you don't trust Whitney. You can't have a marriage without trust."

I closed the lid on my laptop I presented my case "So let's see who should be trusted. Whitney told me she was going to see a band play. Claimed she didn't know where she was going but then dressed up like the sluts do in that nightclub. I'm supposed to believe she wasn't on the prowl?"

Whitney screamed "I didn't know where we were going!"

John jumped in "And that's all this is about?"

"Oh no. On some Fridays she gets home from the pub so horny she can't wait to get it on. Wasn't me who turned her on. She won't say who."

Whitney sniped "He's so fucking insecure. There's nobody."

"Hold on" as I went to our bedroom and made a beeline to Whitney's hidden cock drawer.

When I returned I tossed it onto Mary's lap, who acted like it was a venomous snake "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?"

The dildo went skidding across the floor.

"Well, it's called a dildo. It's your daughters. She been using it ever since going out to see the band play dressed up like a hooker. Can't tell you why her girlfriends thought she needed one? She uses it, even in front of me. Tell them Whitney. Tell them that it's fatter and longer than I've ever been and will ever be. If this is what's she's used to now I'll never be able to satisfy her again. Time to move on don't you think?"

John broke the awkward silence that ensued "Whitney?"

"It's not like that. Ross has been insinuating that I've been cheating on him. I haven't. It was a gag gift from the ladies that I work with."

Father to daughter "I think I have to side with Ross on this. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck then it's a duck."

Whitney, with clenched fists and face turning red, looked like a volcano trembling leading up to an explosion "Can we just go home?"

It was my turn "Your home is here but I'm not going to be working my butt off only to have to split it with someone showing the signs that married life isn't for her. I want protections and most certainly won't be starting a family if things don't change."

Whitney wasn't budging "I need time to think about this."

Mary drove the knife in "We'll drop you off at a motel then. Get your head and ass wired back together before it's too late young lady."

+ + + +

Epilogue:

Whitney returned with her stuff later that evening. She looked defeated. The dildo was still on the floor where her mother had tossed it. Symbolically she picked it up and make a show of putting it into the trash.

I hadn't spoken a word. She sat on the floor by my desk "Can we talk?"

Friday afternoons with the girls when she came home all hot to trot she told me why. Some of the ladies are into kinky stuff and although Whitney had no desire to be that way, it did turn her on. She says she was too embarrassed to even discuss it with me as she never dreamed stuff like that went on and was afraid I'd think less of her for getting turned on about it. Any time I want a polygraph test to prove her fidelity she says she's more than willing to take one.

No expensive private detectives. No hidden cameras. Just being proactive and forcing a light to shine on some shadows.

And so the road to recovery began. I printed out the post-nuptial agreement again and we went together to the notary Monday at lunch. Three copies. One each and one for the lockbox.

My work project came in on-time and under budget. The stock options didn't seem all that valuable until Gibbons went public. Now Whitney gets the implications of why it was such a big deal.

It's been two years since our showdown and we are in agreement that there should be a family where there once was none.