Player Three

Thanks to my team. Harddaysknight is my mentor and gives me critical review. Hale1, SBrooks103x, Stev2244, Cagivagurl and GeorgeAnderson are my readers and editors. I think you all.

Sometimes you just wanna have fun. There is nothing groundbreaking here, just a story about relationships. I wanted to do something fun for me, and hopefully, fun for readers. If that doesn't sound like your bag, best hit that "back" button now. This won't please the cuckolding fans or the psycho-murderers. Don't waste your time. If you like romance and marital drama, just ordinary people struggling with life, I hope you enjoy. Randi.

"So, what do you think?" my wife asked. "Do you think it might liven things up a bit?"

Patricia is a very lively woman, and the thought of "livening" her up any more seemed like overkill to me. "Um, well, I have to admit I've never thought about it," I said. "Can't we just rent a dirty movie, or something?"

"Think how much more exciting it would be to actually be there," she said. "We would get to see real live people, not some bored actors. These are real people. Jack and Pam have been going for some time. That's how we can get in, as their guests."

This was not a good advertisement; I'd never much cared for Jack and Pam. I suppose she was hot enough, in a slutty kind of way, but she'd always looked at me the way a cat looks at the fish in an aquarium. It was a speculative sort of look, and I'd never much cared to be thought of as someone's tuna salad. Jack was a slimy sort of guy. He was a car salesman and you know all the clichés. He fit them very well, and he had always been overly familiar with Patricia, in my opinion.

"I don't take that as a recommendation," I told her. "Anything they're involved in is bound to be sketchy. They make me shiver and feel like I need a shower every time we're around them," I said. "No, I think I'll pass, Pat."

She huffed and got red in the face. That was a sure sign that she was getting mad. She had quite a temper, as I'd found out through the years. She'd been trying to talk me into going to this private club for a couple of weeks. I guess it was one of those "swingers clubs." I'd never cared for swings; ever since my sister talked me into trying to jump out of one at the park when I was nine, I'd avoided them like the plague. That broken ankle had convinced me.

"Well, I can't go without you." She puffed out her cheeks in a cute little pout. "It's only for couples."

"I wonder how long any of them stay couples?" I mused. "I'm pretty sure the place is a divorce factory. You know Jack and Pam have both been married three times, right? I figure they'll be on to number four before the year is out."

"Yes, but we have a really strong marriage," she protested. "There's no way that just going and checking the place out would cause us any problems."

I agreed that we had a strong marriage, at least that had been my impression. Evidently, I was mistaken. "I really have very little interest in watching random strangers try to hook up," I said. "What would be the point, Pat?"

"Just to spice things up some," she said. "Just think how hot it would make you if some beautiful woman there made a play for you."

"I don't think beautiful women go there," I said. "Skanks and hoes, more likely. I'd be afraid to touch one of them. I'd probably get some incurable disease and my dick would fall off."

Just the thought made me shiver. "What's gotten into you, Patricia? What's all this "spice" bullshit? Chili powder, oregano, garlic-powder, those are spices. Do you have some sort of spice fetish? You want me to dust your clit with red pepper?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "When couples have been married as long as we have, things get a little stale, don't you think?"

"I think you've been reading some stupid article in Cosmo, or something," I said. "Maybe you've been talking to boring people who need to 'spice' things up. Did you read some inane article talking about '10 ways to get your husband to have sex instead of mowing the grass,' or something? No, I don't think things get stale unless you're an idiot or a slut. You seemed pretty fresh last night when you were moaning like you were dying. We make love three or four times a week, sometimes twice when we get going."

She looked embarrassed. "Don't get the wrong idea here, Daniel. I'm not talking about anything being 'wrong' with us. We make love and you do it for me, every time. Don't you want to just have sex sometimes? Just get some hot woman and fuck her brains out?"

"No, I have absolutely no interest in 'some hot woman'," I said. "I have a hot woman, and I fuck her brains out on a regular basis. I happen to be married to her."

She dimpled up. "Thanks, baby, but don't you ever get tired of the same old woman?"

"No, I don't," I assured her. "If I was that sort of man, I wouldn't have married you. I'd just have played the field."

She came and sat on my lap, starting something that ended up taking place in three different rooms of the house. I thought that was the end of it and put it out of my mind.

*****

I guess in many ways, we were a fairly typical couple. We did and enjoyed the things most other people enjoyed. We had become a little too relaxed about the time we turned 40. We both put on twenty pounds, really didn't work to stay romantic all that hard, and a little distance started to develop. Patricia caught it before I was hardly aware.

"Daniel, we need to do something," she said as we were cleaning up after dinner one night.

"Um, okay, what did you have in mind?"

"I want us to join a gym," she said. "I want to get personal trainers, get ourselves back in shape, because I don't feel like you're attracted to me, anymore, and your stamina in the bedroom is not that good."

I was a little shocked, but it seemed like a good idea. "I think you're right," I said. "I'll look into it, or do you want to do it?"

"I'll do it," she said. "I also want some date nights, Daniel. I don't feel like we're as close as we once were, and I don't like it. I feel fat and old, and like you don't love me as much as you used to."

"Patricia, you're as beautiful to me as the day we met," I told her. "I get that we've let things slide a little. I'm sorry I wasn't aware of it. I'll work on everything you mentioned."

We joined a gym and she talked to a dietician. She became a vegan. I was fine with that, for her, but I wasn't doing that. I went on one of those low-carb diets, worked my ass off in the gym, lifted and did cardio four days a week with a trainer and I lost 30 pounds in the next three months, rearranging some of that weight from love handles to upper body muscles, too.

Pat struggled to get the weight off, even though I knew she was working as hard as I was. It was a slower process for her, and she got frustrated. I caught her crying a few times, and we'd talk about how hard she was finding it while I cuddled her.

I signed us up for a dance class, and when we finished learning Eastern Swing, we signed up for more classes. It was fun, and good exercise. A year later, we were both in the best shape of our lives, and we had reconnected in a meaningful way, as husband and wife. Once again, I thought everything was good. That is, until she got on the "going to a swingers club" kick. After that initial conversation, I thought it was over.

I was mistaken. For the next three months, every time Patricia thought I was at a weak moment, she whined about "going to the club," spicing up our sex life and other ridiculous shit until I was heartily sick of it. "Think about it, Daniel," she said. "We joined the gym, and it was great for us, physically. We took the dance classes. That was great for our connection. This could be the same for our sex life."

I suggested that we try going to "non-swinger" clubs, just dance clubs, and we tried that. We went three times to three different clubs. Men asked her to dance, and she seemed to enjoy it. I didn't feel threatened, and I thought it was good. We had great lovemaking sessions on all three of the nights. I mentioned it for a fourth time, and she said, "Daniel, I don't want to go."

"Why not?" I asked. "It's fun. You get asked to dance a lot, and I like watching you, dancing with you."

"Have you looked at the people in those clubs?" she asked. "They're probably at least 15 years younger than we are, they're all 20-somethings and I just feel old and out of place."

It was on a Friday night when I finally decided the "club" thing wasn't going away. She had made a delicious dinner and practically broke my sexual apparatus. We were recovering after a long and strenuous event, and she mentioned it again.

"Daniel, Pam told me they were having an open house for new couples at the club. I think we should go and just check it out."

I sat up in the bed and she fell off me where she had been lying half draped over me. She seemed startled by the sudden change in posture. "Patricia, do you want a divorce?" I asked.

She looked at me as if I had grown a third eye. "Of course not," she said. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

"I don't know how I could make it clearer to you that I'm not interested," I told her. "The only possible reason to go to that place would be to hook up with someone else. Is that what you want?"

She dropped her eyes. "No, at least not right away," she said. "If we get comfortable and like it, I thought we might at least consider it and talk about it."

"I've considered it, and we're talking about it," I told her. "After careful consideration, my answer is that there's no way in hell I'll ever step foot inside that place. I've also decided that this is the last conversation I ever want to have about clubs, spice or any of the rest of that bullshit."

"But..." she began.

"No buts," I said. "I see two options here. One is that you get out of bed, right now, go somewhere else to sleep tonight and I call an attorney in the morning. We'll be divorced as quickly as possible, then you can find all the "spice" you want, any time you want it."

She looked shocked. "No, Daniel, that's not what I want..."

"Okay," I said. "The other option is seeing a psychologist and a marriage counselor. I'll set that up tomorrow."

"Why do you want to see a psychologist?" she asked.

"I must be nuts," I told her. "Actually, the psychologist is for you. The marriage counselor is for us. The psychologist will help you figure out why you're trying to destroy our marriage; the counselor will try to help us see if our marriage can survive."

"There's nothing wrong with me," she practically yelled. "You are so stubborn and narrow-minded. You're the one with the problem. If you would get over your possessiveness, realize this could be so good for us, there wouldn't be a problem. Are you really that insecure?"

I rolled my eyes. "Why is it, Patricia, that when a man says he wants exactly what his wife promised him the day he got married, some slut is always talking about his "possessiveness," and him being 'insecure?'"

"What did you just say?" I guess she picked up on the 'slut' comment.

"I see that you've chosen option one," I said. "Take your ass down the hall and I'll call an attorney in the morning."

She got all stubborn, but she weighed 120 pounds and I weighed 220 pounds. She was five-four and I was six-two. It was all a matter of physics. I picked her up, carried her struggling body to the door, evading her slaps, deposited her outside, closing and locking the bedroom door.

She beat on it, softly, not wanting to wake the girls, I guess. I didn't want to wake them, either. I could foresee some problems on that front. Our girls were pretty much the center of our lives. They were mine, anyway.

They were twins, and 19-year-old college freshmen. They had chosen to go to the state university about 15 miles away so they could stay at home and commute. They had the grades to go anywhere they wanted, and we could have afforded that, too. That wasn't what they wanted, and I was ecstatic that it wasn't.

You could see by looking at them that they were our children. They got their height and the ability to tan from me and their ash-blonde hair and looks from their mother. They were slender, but muscular, tall willowy beauties who turned heads everywhere they went. I loved them with every fiber of my being.

They were not going to be happy. I lay awake, trying to make sense of it all. It was obvious that Patricia wasn't going to let this go. I had been patient, treating the madness like a philosophical discussion. I was done with that. I had meant what I said about the two options.

I had no idea what I was going to say to the girls. Liv and Cat (Olivia and Catalina), thoughts of their reaction, kept me awake far into the wee hours of the morning.

It was Saturday morning, and I woke up at my usual time. I was tired, but I had that inner alarm thing that woke me up at six every morning. I groaned my way out of bed, unlocked the door and stumbled into the shower. By the time I was on my second cup of coffee, I felt human. Patricia usually slept late on Saturdays, and so did the girls, but at nine, they came bouncing down the stairs, dressed for tennis. They had their bags and rackets, looking so beautiful they made my heart swell with pride. I had forgotten they had told us they were playing a club match.

"Hey, Dad," Liv said, and they both came over to give me a hug and a kiss.

"You sure you don't want to come watch us?" Cat asked.

"Don't want to step on your vibe," I said. "There are probably fifty boys who are going to be there just to watch you two."

Cat rolled her eyes. "Right. There are going to be so many. There are going to be spectators, and there will be parents. Please, Dad. I think we can win the doubles."

What the hell? I sure didn't want to spend the day with a pissed off Patricia. I loved watching them play, anyway. "Are you sure?" I asked.

They both squealed like they had since they were tiny little things and got something they wanted. "Oh, yeah," Liv said. "Get dressed. This is gonna be fire!"

I went and put on better shorts and a nice white polo, grabbed my iPad, sunscreen, and went back down. They were eating some disgusting looking cereal, so I grabbed their bags and carried them to the garage. I decided to take the Trackhawk.

I only drove it on special occasions, the girls loved it and this seemed like a special occasion. I loaded their gear and went back to see if they were ready. They were putting their bowls in the dishwasher, and they were ready.

Their eyes sparkled when they saw we were taking the Jeep. "Wanna drive?" I asked, jingling the keys.

They did a quick rock-paper-scissors, and Olivia won. "Imma drive on the way back!" Catalina got her claim in. "Shotgun," she gave me a kissy face.

I climbed in and we were off. Liv pinned us back in our seats at every stoplight, and we all had goofy grins frozen on our faces. They were both very good drivers, aside from that need to accelerate like a bat our of hell away from the lights, and I trusted them. They played awful music, though.

Liv drove about five miles over the speed limit in the middle or left lanes, and we were at the complex quickly. I got a text just as we were unloading the girls' gear. It was from Pat. "Where you @?"

"Tennis with the girls," I sent back.

There was nothing for a minute, and I could imagine the steam rising from her. "We need to talk," she finally sent.

"Later." I turned off my phone.

The girls had already advanced to the finals, and they played together like a well-oiled machine. The team they were playing was good. One of the girls, a tall black girl, had a killer serve when she got the first one in. Liv and Cat had trouble with it, and lost the service games when she served. The other girl wasn't nearly as formidable an opponent, and they jumped on her second serve, hitting powerful passing shots. They broke her service twice, and held theirs in the first set, winning 6-4.

The service game didn't go so well in the second set for the tall girl; she didn't hit many first serves, and they won 6-3, for a straight-set match. They got a nice trophy and went off to shower and change. It was close to 2PM by the time we were ready, and the girls were "starving."

Of course, Dad got to take them to eat. I didn't mind that a bit. Cat drove us to one of those upscale burger places, and I had a blast with one of my angels on either side of me in a circular booth. We got frozen custard concretes for dessert, and I put my arms around them. I had it to do, and it was one of the hardest things to start I ever experienced.

"I have something to tell my babies," I said.

Two sets of huge brown eyes looked up at me. "Uh-oh," Liv said. "Sounds serious."

"Spill, Dad," Cat said.

"Well, I hardly know where to begin..."

"I think we kinda know," Cat said.

"Dad, just tell us." Liv took hold of my hand that was resting on her shoulder and nuzzled her soft cheek against it.

"Your mom and I are sort of having a problem." I just blurted it out.

Cat sighed. "Yeah, that's what I was afraid of."

"How did you know?" I asked.

"Remember when we went over to Rick and Chelsea's last week?" Liv asked.

I nodded. "Well, we were playing board games, and we came home to get our "Hit the Silk" game." They were huge board game players. "We walked through the back yard and when we came in, Mom was on the phone. We heard her talking to that ratchet, Pam."

"We hate Pam, Dad," Liv said, "and Jack is a creeper. The way he looks at me makes my skin crawl."

I squeezed them. "What was she saying to Pam?"

"She was talking about getting you involved in some club," Cat said.

"Yeah, she was talking about "swinging," or some shit," Liv said. "It was gross, Dad. We were super freaked out. We just left and went down to the park and talked about it. We knew you would never go for that. We hoped it would just go away. What's up with Mom, Dad? Is she like, losing it, or something?"

"I have no idea," I told them. "She's been going on about this for months. She has some idea that this will 'spice up' our marriage. I've told her I think we're plenty 'spicy' without that, and that I'm not interested, dozens of times. She just won't let it go."

"So, what are you going to do?" Cat asked.

"It all sort of came to a head last night," I said. "We had just finished... you know..." God, this was embarrassing. They both nodded. "Anyway, she brought it up again. I lost it. I told her she needed to see a psychologist, and we needed a marriage counselor. Either that, or we needed to file for divorce."

They both gasped. "Oh, my God," Olivia said. "We didn't know it was that bad."

"Dad," Cat said. "I think we all need to have a talk with Mom. Please, don't do anything until we have a chance to talk to her, okay?"

"Noo, I don't want to get you two involved," I protested. "This has nothing to do with you."

"Are you nuts?" Catalina asked. "How can we not be involved? How can you say it doesn't have anything to do with us? We live with you, for Christ's sake. Do you imagine if you and Mom get a divorce that won't affect us?"

"No, baby, that's not what I meant," I said. "I... there isn't... I don't know what I mean, girls. This is breaking my heart. It's bad enough that this... shit is happening. I don't want you to be hurt..." Suddenly tears were streaming down my cheeks.

"Let's get out of here," Liv said.

I dropped money on the table, they slid out, pulled me to my feet and we walked out, my babies snuggled up under each arm. Cat drove us down to the park near our house. They pulled me out and we walked to a picnic table, both of them holding one of my hands and swinging our arms, just like they had always done.

We had spent many a happy afternoon in that park, and my memories overwhelmed me. Pushing two little blonde pixies on the swings, hearing those adorable little voices calling out, "Watch this, Daddy!" as they did some particularly daring feat on the equipment. I remembered Cat falling off the slides and breaking her arm when they were seven, Liv doing a flip, jumping out of a swing and nearly making me have a heart attack. It filled my heart with love and anguish, at the same time. Was my life going to become just fading memories of a happier time?