Petey Pegs the Preacher Ch. 02

The next email I got made my eyes widen and the pit of my stomach knot:

To: Kathy@***.com
From MRSWeslyanWonder@***,com
Subj: BITCH!!

You despicable SLUT!! Read this all the way--don't skip a word.

I wish I'd never discovered this, but I have. John left this email string open on our computer and I stupidly looked at it. So I've got my own hidden account now.

I could still just scream, even though it's been a week since I read your letters back and forth. My husband performed oral sex on you!?!? And your lousy friend!?!?! And you penetrated his anus?!? Do you have any idea how I feel about that!?! Betrayed is how. And mad, and depressed, and sad, and guilty. And after a whole week of mostly anger, now it's mostly guilt. The fact is, I don't like sex anymore. I'm fine with helping him masturbate, but I get nothing from his trying to start something with me.

I haven't told him I found out. I almost did. But as mad as I am at you for what you did, and how you conduct your life, he's actually happy more often now. I thought it was the masturbation I'm helping him with, but I think he likes having someone he can bare his soul to. I wish it was me, but clearly, it's you.

I don't trust you, though. He's risking his whole career with these emails. In your last letter, you said you'd be in Indianapolis. I want to meet you, face to face. Either that or I'll make sure John regrets what he's done.

Anne

Hooooooolllllllllyyyyyyy shit!

I let that sit a few days before trying to decide how to answer. Or IF to answer. In the end, I sent a brief message:

To: MrsWeslyanWonder@***.com
From: Kathy@***.com
Subj: Meeting

Dear Anne,

I'm so sorry that this has hurt you. And how could it not? As I mentioned to John, I felt miserable, and still do, about that evening.

I will meet with you. In the meantime, please be assured that I hold John's emails in absolute confidence. In fact, I delete my copies as soon as I've read them.

Kathy.

I set the meeting for the hotel lobby, and alerted Dene who insisted on coming down to watch out for me. After Anne and I met in the lobby, I planned to take her to the same coffee shop where John and I had our conversation. Dene was within earshot with her back turned, staring intently at her cell phone. When she was confident I wasn't about to get gunned down, she checked us out of the hotel and went ahead of us and set up her laptop at a table. When we arrived later, I guided Anne to a quiet booth, sitting with her back to Dene.

"Anne, I want to make it clear that I think a lot of John, and I'd never do anything to embarrass him. I don't want anything from him, or you, and if you want me to stop correspondence, I'll let him know we're done. A 'Dear John' letter I suppose." I tried to put a little humor and smile in that last remark. Anne didn't smile back.

Anne was a large woman--past plump and well along to obese. She had pretty features--I found myself speculating what she'd looked like in her 20's.

She was having trouble beginning to talk. I just let her have the time.

Finally, she spoke.

"I wish you weren't so pretty. It makes me feel even worse. I've got this urge to compete for my man, but: a) I wouldn't stand a chance against you; and 2) I don't have the faintest desire to have sex."

"Anne, I've made it clear to John we're never going to meet in person again. And you don't have to compete. He loves you. You already have him."

"I don't want him writing to you anymore. I'm just worried that if he doesn't have you as an outlet that he'll find some other woman." Anne was near tears.

"I don't think he will," I disagreed, "he scared himself pretty badly with me. And you know from his emails that he's happy with your Sunday evenings."

"I've enjoyed that too. As long as he doesn't try to start something with me," Anne replied. "But I can't believe he wanted anal sex. And getting whipped."

"Does it bother you that he enjoys those things?"

"I'm more surprised than disgusted, but yes, it bothers me. When we were young---" she looked up suddenly and blushed deeply. "Well, we, um---" she looked back down. "Oh, I don't want to go into that--and why on earth was I starting to with you, of all people!"

"You seem more relaxed with me now. I promise, I'm not an ogre, and I'm all for you and John. You must have gathered from the emails that there isn't much that would offend me."

She gave a sharp laugh. "I don't want to scratch your eyes out any more, I guess."

"Thank goodness!" I smiled back. "But I'm a safe listener, and I've probably got some insights into your side of the marriage. Don't feel compelled to share more than you want to, but don't hold back fearing my judgment either. I can almost guarantee I've been where you are emotionally. Anne, how do you feel about John now?

"Oh, I still love him. But I'm scared to death he's about to leave me. Or even worse, that he's hanging around when he doesn't really want to because he thinks it's the 'honorable' thing to do. I've got some health problems. I wasn't always this heavy. I don't much understand what he could see in me anymore."

"Oh, Anne. John isn't anywhere close to leaving you, and not because he's being held against his will. He still loves you. Trust me on this. Can I ask you a personal question?" I ventured. "I've had a couple of times in my life when I had absolutely no interest in sex too. Is this something recent with you?"

"That's not something I talk about with strangers!" she snapped.

Oops, too far.

"Sorry for asking, Anne. But honestly, it happens to all of us sometimes. If you're interested, I can tell you about some of my past, including those times."

"Crap. That's like trying not to look at the corpses in a car wreck. You don't want to see the gore, but you can't look away. Okay--what happened?" Anne asked.

"Good" I thought to myself. "We're going to be friends here in a bit, I think."

"I've had two long stretches," I replied. "The first was when a drunk driver killed my husband. The second was when I had breast cancer."

Anne looked at my chest. "You had, I mean, are, um--did you have reconstructive surgery? John said you put your--God, how can I be saying this so casually--put your breast in his mouth."

"No--I just had a lumpectomy. It was an early catch, thank goodness, and no recurrence since then. It was the radiation and chemo that did me in. The worst of it was over in a few months, but I was on Tamoxifen for 5 years and I really never did feel like having sex in that time."

"Did you have to take anti-depressants?" Anne asked.

"Not then. I did when my husband was killed. The kids were little--it was pretty overwhelming." I suspected from her question that she might be on SSRIs--that would sure kill a libido. I let her have some silence and didn't probe farther.

"I have fibromyalgia, among other things," Anne finally said. "I take Prozac for it. I suspect that's why I don't like sex anymore. And maybe why I eat so much. It may help the fibromyalgia, but I still hurt a lot, and pretty often. Overdoing things physically is likely to trigger a bad spell for me, and even if I felt like it, sex probably wouldn't be worth what would flare up later."

"I'm sorry," I said, and gently place my hand on hers. She recoiled.

"Sorry again," I said, "I meant that to be comforting--I shouldn't presume I can give you any comfort at all."

Anne remained tense, holding me in her stare, but not speaking. Finally she slumped back against her chair unclenched her hands and turned her gaze to the table.

"You might be helping," she said, very softly, still looking at the table.

"How so?" I asked, as gently as I could.

"I love John. I don't think I quite realized how much he needed sex. I knew he was masturbating, and I thought that was all he needed. I guess some part of me likes it that he indulged his fantasies. Not a very big part of me, mind you, but some. I knew he liked to be submissive. I just don't have the energy to be that person for him anymore."

"Well, that's something, then. Quite a bit really. Anne?"

She looked at me again and raised her eyebrows to encourage me on.

"I think you and John need to be more open about this--including talking about his encounter with me. Don't you?"

"It sounds like a good idea until I try to imagine how to start a conversation like that."

"It might be easier if you looked up a marriage counselor first and made an appointment for the two of you?"

"I'm not sure I could tell a stranger about all this."

"It's not easy to 'break the ice' but I think if you did, a good counselor could draw out the things you need to talk about. Things that you might not get to on your own--either of you. And listen, Anne, what do you think the odds are that John left his 'secret' email open on purpose? Either purposely or subconsciously? Do you think it's possible HE wants to start a conversation but doesn't know quite how? Remember he almost told you everything about me the minute he got back."

Anne looked stunned.

"It's not impossible," she finally said.

"It might even be probable," she added, after another pause.

"Does that make it easier to think about talking with him?" I asked.

" 'Easy' doesn't fit in this drama anywhere!" she exclaimed, an edge returning to her voice.

"Easy doesn't fit," I agreed, "but easiER helps move through it, yes?"

She glared at me.

"Anne, look, I'm ready to follow your lead. If you don't want me to have any more contact with you or John, I totally understand and I'm out of here. If you think I can make things easier between the two of you, I'll listen to how you think I can do that and do my best. But whether I'm around or not, I think you and John need to have a very frank talk about sex and your relationship. Please, please, don't let this fester inside you. Even if you can't open a conversation with John, find a good counselor and talk it out with them, OK?"

"I've got a healthy dose of cognitive dissonance going on, Kathy. You're the 'other woman' and my emotions are reacting just the way you'd expect. But when I think through this, I buy that you're not pursuing a physical relationship with him. I can see his point of view and it's probably lucky it was you when he did what he did. My emotions are screaming to send you packing, kick John to the curb and live on my own. But at least some of those things are not very bright."

"Maybe this is a good time to take a break?" I suggested. "You have a lot to think about--and unless you have any more questions, you probably don't need to have me in front of you while you do."

"You're in town tomorrow and tomorrow night, right?" Anne asked.

"I'm leaving mid-morning, day after tomorrow," I answered.

"Do you check your email pretty regularly?" she asked.

"Too often, probably," I smiled sheepishly.

"Did John ask you to buy anything for him at the sex store, like you offered?" she asked, again with an edge.

"No--I haven't heard back from him on that one."

"I'm thinking about something that might involve you. If I decide on it, I'll email." She rose and left, walking briskly toward the door.

I scheduled an Uber for 5 minutes, picked up my purse, cleared the table and walked past Dene, motioning with my hand to hold her place. I had a hunch Anne would be watching me leave. I waited inside for the Uber walking out looking at my watch a minute before it was due. I scanned up and down the street as if looking for my ride and spotted Anne in her car, a half-block down on the other side. I pointed her out to the Uber driver and asked her to keep an eye in the rear view. Anne did a U-turn and followed us and the driver asked if she needed to call the police.

"Nothing that dire," I assured her, "just a nosy friend."

I had been staying at Embassy Suites, but we had changed to the J.W. Marriott for tonight and tomorrow night to avoid being ambushed by Anne later. I had the Uber drop me back at Embassy Suites. I walked through the connector to Circle Centre Mall, scheduled another Uber pickup and phoned Dene. No sign of Anne this time--I had the driver swing back by the coffee shop to pick Dene up and we decided to have a nice dinner at St. Elmo's Steak House. It was embarrassingly close--we were there in minutes.

"That didn't go nearly as badly as it could have," Dene opened.

"No," I agreed, "but John may not get off as easily."

"I'd say leave this alone and cut off all communication with the both of them right now, but I know you too well," Dene pretended to glare at me.

"Well, I'm not going to initiate anything, I can tell you that!"

"I'll lay you 10 to 1 she's going to ask you to be there when she confronts John," Dene grinned wickedly.

"You can just lay me, period, assuming we can waddle back to the hotel after dinner, and let tomorrow bring what it will."

We spent the rest of the dinner catching up on our families and planning how to bring my guy, Andy, into some play time with Dene and Rex over Memorial Day weekend, coming up very quickly now!

Dinner was truly delightful, and we were stuffed to the gills by the end of the meal. Earlier, I'd been joking about 'waddling' back to the hotel, but it didn't miss the mark by much. We did walk, and enjoyed the early evening.

Checked in and in our room, Dene headed to the shower while I sank into the recliner and dialed in some light classical music on the TV's music channel.

Dene came back in wearing a teal satin chemise and sat on the end of the bed.

"You look beat, kiddo," she said. "Go hop in the shower, and I'll get things ready to give you a nice massage."

THAT lifted my spirits! Under my sister Jan's tutelage, we had both learned massage when we were still in our teens. We hadn't practiced it much on each other recently, and in spite of my weariness, I found the energy to be eager for it. I popped out of the recliner (OK, I GOT out of the recliner) and headed for the shower. It had a very generous shower head and I let it run a long time before toweling off.

Dene worked her magic with the massage oil, and I actually drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up to the alarm clock's buzz, then realized alarm clocks don't buzz anymore and slowly became aware--it was Dene's vibe! I rolled over to watch her as I eased into consciousness and she smiled at me.

"Good morning, lover!" Dene greeted me, "good sleep?"

"Marvelous! I can't remember when I've been treated to such luxury. How are you coming along, there?" I replied.

"Got a pretty nice glow building," Dene purred, "but I wouldn't turn down a little help."

I rolled over to her and began kissing my way up her leg, pausing behind her knee. That little area was one of her erogenous zones--she described it as close to being ticklish, but in an exceptionally erotic way. She let me linger there for just a bit before pulling my hair lightly to urge me farther up. I continued slowly upward but didn't yet take in her slit. She was still using the little vibe there anyway. Instead, I used my lips and tongue to trace the outline of her bush as it rose past her thighs, ascended to her navel and came down the other side. I nestled my cheek contentedly in the tender curls that had been turning me on since we were first lovers, some 4 decades earlier. I relieved her of the vibe, replacing it with my tongue. I slowly extended it as deeply as I could into her sopping vag and curled it upward firmly as I drew it back out eliciting a low moan from Dene. I knew from experience I could almost reach her G-spot with my tongue and often got close enough to do some good. I pressed the tip of my tongue hard into the upper wall of her pussy and ran it slowly back and forth. I eased out, swapped in fingers for tongue and continued to work alternately on her G-spot and her clit. I used my index and middle fingers to sandwich her clit hood as I slid back and forth, flicking my fingers together as I squeezed her clit between them. I hadn't nearly repaid the length of the sensuous massage she had given me last night, but I could tell she was ready to finish. I ran 3 fingers up her cunt to knead her G-spot and moved my lips back to her clit. I sucked that engorged little love button between my lips and began sucking it in and out rapidly and then pounded my fingers in and out. She didn't last 30 seconds after that, exploding in a wild orgasm, thrashing on the bed and pumped squirt after squirt of pussy juice onto my face and the bed.

"Oh, fuck!" she sighed, and laid back down legs akimbo. "Now THAT's the way to start a day!"

"Happy to help," I said, smiling, and kissed her forehead gently as I rose. "Gonna grab a shower now--wanna join?"

"Yes. Except for not wanting to move yet." She waved me on.

I took a quicker shower this morning, and gave my hair a quick shampoo as well.

As I walked back out Dene called: "Your phone's been dinging--sounds like you've got emails coming in. Did you leave me any hot water?"

"I used every drop," I teased, "you'll have to make do with cold."

I checked my phone. There weren't any voicemails or texts, but I had a dozen emails and some Facebook IMs. I checked the emails first. 7 spams, 3 from friends, one from Andy and, sure enough, one from "MrsWesleyanWonder."

"Kathy--please call me between 8 and 10 this morning." Her phone number was included. It was 9:30 already, so I called, but still concerned over keeping our new location from her, I went down to the lobby, batted my eyes at a guy in the lobby and borrowed his cell.

"Anne? It's Kathy."

"Thanks for calling. I want you to help me buy whatever stuff it was you used on John."

"You mean . . ."

"Whatever you used --the crop thing you used to hit him and whatever you used to, um . . .penetrate him."

"I'm intrigued, Anne. What do you have in mind?"

"I've been trying to figure out how to confront him without completely poisoning our marriage. I'm not going to let it be secret, but he's going to be racked with guilt. He'd keep trying to be extra nice, or buy me something we can't afford, and he'd never be able to do enough to let himself off the hook. So I'm going to light up his ass, partly because I'm angry, but mostly because he NEEDS to be punished--that's just how his psyche works."

"That's not a bad approach, Anne, from what I've gathered about him. But you'll need to be careful about how it will make YOU feel. You remember from my emails that I deeply regretted it. Just make sure you think that through. Or maybe talk to a counselor first? "

"I can't imagine talking with a counselor about ANY of this. Can you tell me how much the stuff costs?"

"I think I spent a little over $200 on it, Anne."

There was a long pause.

"That's more than I thought. So I think you need to foot the bill, Kathy."

Now it was my turn to pause. It wasn't that I couldn't afford it--I just wasn't sure I wanted to be complicit in something that had so much potential to go off the rails. In the end, I agreed. We worked out meeting at the Adult store on 82nd street near Castleton Shopping Center. I'd tried to keep the conversation quiet and brief, but I got quite a look from the guy as I thanked him and handed the phone back.

I went back up to the room to tell Dene what was up and, again, she insisted on being close. She drove to the shop ahead of me and waited across the street in the parking lot for a Mexican restaurant. I could have driven, but decided I didn't want her to see my car and took another Uber. The driver, teasing, offered to go in with me but didn't seem at all surprised about my destination. I did ask him to stand by until I waved him away.