Profiles in Narcissism - Vol. 01

"Whatever you need me to do," I said sincerely. "If it will help keep my family together."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," L.W. continued. "I'm going to need some sort of compensation, Linda."

"What are you suggesting?" I asked.

"Well, this is going to cost me at least five grand," he pointed out. "You don't have the money to help with that, and even if you did, it would be disastrous if Jim ever found that entry in your bank statement. It'll require something a little more... personal."

"You want sex from me?" I asked incredulously. "In return for your help?"

"That depends," he countered. "I'm seventy-seven. I doubt intercourse is on the menu. But, some other things, yes. That's what I'm suggesting."

I didn't even blink before answering. I had to get Jim back in the fold. If L.W. needed to feel young again, so be it. He told me that his plan might take some time to put together, and then he gave me some additional advice on how to handle Jim before we said our goodbyes.

My husband and I flailed along, not making any headway. He spent a lot of time at that bar. I finally couldn't take it anymore, so I went there in hopes of bending a fellow female's ear and getting some intel on what Jim was doing when there. To my relief, Jim was only drinking and thinking, I was told.

Jim had it in his head that he couldn't trust me not to do it all again if the chance presented itself. I tried everything I could think of to convince him, but he wasn't biting.

Then I received flowers from Marc.

I spent an hour on the phone with Dee, planning what I would do, but it was a conversation right afterward with Jane, that gave me an idea.

"It seems to me, Linda," she told me. "If Jim doesn't trust you anymore, and why would he, your actions need to speak for themselves. Get rid of those flowers, like you should have when they were delivered, and show him the card. Include him in your decision-making process. Ask for suggestions. Make him feel important."

She was right, of course. I took the beautifully expensive bouquet down to the back side of our local grocery and dumped them. That was hard to do. The attached card also made me think about my situation in a new light.

Jim was a spectacular husband. He complimented me - at least he did - before I betrayed him cruelly. We were each other's better halves, in a practical real-life way. Now he'd seen me at my worst.

I too, had seen a different side of Jim. I'd always thought male pride and ego were among the worst traits in men. Usually, it manifested itself in some smug asshole who thought he was God's gift to women. But pride could also be crushed, and ego bruised. That was equally unappealing to me. In my husband's case, he was acting like a little boy about my night with Marc.

A guy, married or not, could hit on a woman - married or not - in public or private with not a thought about it. They could secretly rendezvous with that woman, with no concern if she fucked her husband or boyfriend that morning. But, if a guy put a ring on it, she was somehow his property. Sex with another suddenly made her off limits. In Jim's case, a valid point about disease or infection, but I knew it was more ego than anything else. I could go to the supermarket any afternoon since my date with Marc, tell some guy who showed interest, that I'd screwed Marc Lavaliere, and be in a motel bed within a half-hour. Jim was making a statement, cutting me off, and sleeping in a different room.

Marc, though, was a different animal. While he truly was an animal in bed, he was also a kind and confident man. His confidence enhanced his kindness. He knew what he wanted, and he took it, without any reluctance or fear. He'd treated me with at least as much respect as Jim ever had. He considered my needs in bed, all the while making sure his needs were met. To him, I was special.

So the thought kept creeping in - should I risk another liaison with Marc? The way Dee talked about their St. Patrick's Day celebrations; Marc could even be missing me. The phone call and subsequent message confirmed it. He wanted another night together, but he also wanted to get to know me better.

Jim wasn't beside himself with worry. In fact, his calm calculating attitude scared me. He told me Marc could indeed want a relationship with me, and that it was up to me to decide what I wanted.

When I called Marc the next day, we spoke for nearly a half hour. Indeed, he was hoping for more sex but also wondering if we could get to know each other - maybe start dating. He confided that he was heading to the west coast after the upcoming season, and thought that by then, we'd both know if we were a good fit for one another. He wanted sex, yes, but he also wanted to meet my kids. That seemed a little surreal for a man like Marc, but he was the one soliciting.

In the end, I told him that because of what we'd already done, it wasn't just Jim who I had to be concerned about. We both had parents, family, friends, and neighbors who would look poorly on me if I kept on with him behind my husband's back and then simply left town with my kids in tow.

He fully understood - he told me. Marc extended the offer to San Francisco if things didn't work out with Jim. Then he offered me something. Well, two things actually - although I could see how he was thinking. One more afternoon with him at his home, when I could take time off work, and in return, he'd call me later in the day on my home line, so I could record the conversation. He did a quick role play with me; myself as the staunch loving wife, refusing him what we both wanted and he, playing the hurt Lothario. It was a kind and thoughtful thing to do.

When Jim listened to the recording, he began to soften. As I thought about getting him back in our bed, I realized that I'd completely forgotten about his stupid STD test. I went to a clinic instead of our family doctor and asked for the results to be rushed. I even paid extra. Jim would get a different story.

Truth be told, I was getting pretty sick of his righteous indignation. I'd gone with a famous athlete to have sex one time - well plenty of times, but all in one session. It was the best night of my life, by far. Better even than our honeymoon. Now, he seemed hell-bent on making me pay for it.

My problem was that I'd played the loving wife for so long, that I couldn't change my whole persona. The groveling was starting to piss me off. "I love only you... I chose you, always... Yes, I compare the two of you, but you win every time." Yeah, right. It wasn't even close.

There was a big part of me that wanted to go to Marc. To live that rags-to-riches life. To have things that would never be within reach married to Jim. To buy my children anything their hearts desired. They'd probably even forget their father over time. Who cares if Marc went out and got laid once in a while - as long as he came home to me? That's what I'd promised my husband - to always come home to him. Why couldn't he see that for what it was? A commitment.

Dee and I didn't talk much after St. Patrick's Day. For all her big talk, when Dave jumped her shit, she caved like a house of cards. I could see Dave being a lot like Jim. Always willing to linger his gaze over Jane and me a little longer than appropriate, but a real stickler when it came to his wife's fidelity.

But I was stuck now. I'd told Marc my intentions, and he'd left things open for us. I had to get Jim back on team Linda.

Five days after my fake phone conversation with Marc, I meekly handed Jim an envelope with my STD results. I picked them up from the clinic, right after my quick afternoon with Marc. To be honest, it wasn't as good as the first night. We were in a rush, and he only worried about his own pleasure.

Jim took the envelope. The first look on his face hurt my feelings, and possibly set the stage for the rest of our married life. The expression looked like he didn't care, but worse, he looked nervous, as if he now had to perform with me.

I tried to soften him up, like it seemed I had to do almost every day, now. "I think we both need this... to start healing," I said with my well-practiced little sad face. "Besides, if I get hit by a bus tomorrow, Marc will have been the last person I've been with. I couldn't take that."

It was enough. Jim took my hand, and we went to our bed. It was underwhelming, and to say I was extremely disappointed would have been an understatement. We tip-toed around his insecurities and made what he always referred to as 'slow, gentle love.' I was expecting mind-blowing. I was expecting him to be rough, and to take me, as Dee had described - reclaim me - I think was how she put it.

That didn't happen. My overly meek husband became even more so that night. It felt like when we'd done it the very first time. Jim's strong points had never included sex. Hell, I'd taught him most of what he knew in bed, and that required patience over the years.

In the middle of the night, I dragged myself out of bed and downstairs, to fulfill a promise I'd made, although I had no desire to do so. I wrote Jim another letter, doing everything in my power to boost him up. Boost that silly ego and pride. I couldn't help getting a few digs in for the lackluster sex we'd just had. I tempered it - I really did. After re-reading it, I almost started over. Letting him know that it wasn't only not the best sex we'd ever had, but how much better it was with Marc, might backfire on me. In the end, I couldn't throw it away. I couldn't burn it, with the temperamental fire alarms we had everywhere, so I just left it. I asked him to staple it over the confession letter, so we could start making new memories. At least I'd done something instead of nothing.

A few weeks later, I received a call from L.W. He may have been an old codger, but he was a wise one. He told me he had a plan and a solution, and he asked if I would meet him later in the week when the kids were in school. We settled on Thursday, my day off.

The hotel was twenty miles from our home and two towns over. At least L.W. made the effort to get a nice room at the Hilton. He had a key card ready for me at registration. When I walked in, he was already lounging on the bed.

"Hello, Linda," he said with a charming little smirk. "It's wonderful to see you again."

I smiled and sighed at the same time. "Plan first, or is it sex?" I asked.

"Relax," he admonished, but sweetly. "Have a glass of wine. Red is your favorite, isn't it?"

I saw two glasses already filled next to what looked to be an expensive Cabernet bottle. I'm ashamed to say I didn't sip it. Somehow, L.W. had quietly gotten off the bed, and was now behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I soon felt his hot breath on my neck and stifled a shiver.

"You don't have to romance me, L.W.," I told him. "We have a limited amount of time."

He wasn't offended in the slightest. That's what wisdom is made of.

"May I undress you?" he asked softly. I turned to face him, giving him my best smile. The blue dress that had been intended originally for my Husband, now a little worse for the wear, was unzipped, and gently slid down and off my body. I slid my shoes off and went for my bra.

L.W. held his hand out and up, much like Marc had that night at the Morrison. I gave him mine and he led me to the bed. L.W. had a debonaire quality to his attempted seduction, and I must admit that I was starting to get a little turned on. After he had me sit on the bed, he began to take his clothes off directly in front of me. I was bracing myself for the blowjob he clearly wanted.

But that wasn't what he wanted, for which I was very thankful. He lay naked on his back, propping up a pillow. While I just looked at him for some sort of direction, he seemed to revel in my confusion.

"What do you want?" I asked softly and seductively. "Tell me."

"Nothing traditional, my dear," he said with a slight chuckle. "I'm a seventy-seven-year-old man, with a few acquired tastes. Intercourse does nothing for me, so don't worry about that."

L.W. was a dirty bugger, I'll give him that. He had me sit facing him, between his outspread legs. After he asked me to remove my panties, of course. He asked me to use my hands to get him started, as he put it. After he was mostly hard, L.W. pointed at my foot.

"Let me have that," he said with a wicked smile.

I put my left foot in his hand, and he pulled it to him, stretching my leg fully. The old bastard licked my soles and sucked my toes, for nearly five minutes. He was giving me an expert foot massage all the while. It felt... heavenly, and I was getting turned on. Finally, he put my foot on his cock, and I started massaging him as best I could. He was responding too.

"Your other foot," he said exhaling. "Use them both, one on each side."

I did, although I was quite a novice. It was hard getting a rhythm. I was reminded, due to his thoroughly spread legs, of a time when I'd tickled Jim down below his balls. I moved my right foot over his sack massaging them with the ball of my foot, and then slightly lower, onto his perineum. That elicited a nice groan from him. Damn, I was getting over-heated. I rubbed my clit while watching him wiggle like a fish on a dock.

Eventually, and after two orgasms of my own, L.W. popped his nut. Yellowish semen dribbled out of his pee hole onto my foot. Thank goodness I'd already cum - that was not sexy. Ever the gentleman, he got up and returned from the bathroom with a warm wet towel, washing his goo from me. He kissed each little piggy, before getting up to get dressed. L.W. did all that without a word.

He poured himself a second glass of wine and turned to look at me. I hadn't moved or made any attempt to put my panties back on. That brought a smile and another slight chuckle.

"Is there something I can do for you, my dear?" he asked. "If it involves my cock, I'll warn you, my recovery time is... significant."

With a sigh, I gathered my undies and headed for the bathroom. The mood had been shattered, and it was time to get down to business.

"So, what's this miraculous plan?" I prodded, coming out of the restroom. He held my dress up to me.

"I'm not sure it's miraculous," he scowled. "I've found a way... an opportunity to possibly make Jim feel the same way as you did with your football star that night."

"Go on," I told him, zipping my dress.

"A woman," he said, "a stunning woman, a high-class escort, specifically. I've paid her to meet you in a bar - somewhere with music for dancing. I don't want to get into what we've rehearsed because I need you to have at least some semblance of shock. She'll steal him away from you in the very same way as you left Jim that night."

"What?" I almost shouted. "Why would I want that? I'm trying to get Jim back on my side, not have him go fuck some escort."

"Ah," he replied, "but he won't leave with her. She'll remind him, somewhere near the door, that he has a wife, and that he's left her without a thought. Jim will turn toward you, like a damned Hallmark movie, and you'll be there, bawling your eyes out, looking bruised and beaten."

"I don't know," I responded. "There's a lot that could go wrong with that plan. What if he tells her that he'd rather go with her? Or, what if this woman feels something for Jim?"

"Wow," L.W. just laughed at me, mockingly. "Listen to yourself, Linda. I'm trying to help you here - help the both of you, as luck would have it. I know Jim better than ever before with all the talking we do."

I was suddenly feeling a bit betrayed. "All the talking?"

"See, right there," he said accusingly. "That's what I'm talking about. Linda, you are one self-absorbed individual. I'm going to help Jim because he's like family to me, and by extension, so are you. If it was just you, probably not. You left Jim hanging, in a most cruel and humiliating way. You did it because you felt entitled to do so."

I did not!" I began, but he had me dead to rights. Instead, I hung my head.

"Jim and I talk at least weekly, sometimes more," he informed me. "He's still with you because of the children. If I can help him see why people do what you did then there's a slim chance for you two. If not, well I think you're already living your future. He'll spend all his time thinking how he can't compete with Marc because, in reality, he can't.

"He told me about Marc's calls and flowers," he continued. "Frankly, I was surprised his story didn't end in tragedy. I'm sure you thought long and hard about Marc's offer."

He had me again. I didn't answer his accusation. "Right," he added. "Many women think like you do, Linda. Find some comfort in that, but here's some free advice, from someone who's been knee-deep in my share of divorces, including my own, long before you and Jim ever met.

"Our society provides an unseen, subconscious sense of entitlement," he preached. "Without any regard for consequences, or for the future. Let's take the latter for now. Look what we just did. Up until a few years ago, I could still pleasure a woman, by any means. Age has finally caught up with me. I never remarried, after I left my money-grubbing wife. There was no need. I had my pick of the litter. Good looking, according to many of them, self-confident, and with plenty of money in the bank, to woo them."

"And the point?" I asked unctuously. He was on my last nerve, with his soapbox.

"The point is simple," he said with equal smugness. "Look in the mirror, Linda. Right now you're a beautiful woman. Curves in all the right places, and you exude sexuality. Think about all your female aunts, your mother, and maybe your grandmother. You hit fifty. No matter how much time you spend taking care of yourself, the back of your arms starts drooping. Your thighs and ass turn to cottage cheese in a short amount of time. You hit sixty, and you don't even recognize yourself in a mirror. Your neck, your stomach, and even those pretty feet - all on the serious decline, and I'm not even talking menopause. That wake-up call parallels your plight. You're no longer looking for a sexy husband, but rather a companion. Someone to keep you company, make you laugh, and fill your time.

"Jim will be a more distinguished, more experienced version of himself. If he takes care of his body, he'll still be having satisfying sex well into his sixties. You've got ten years invested in your marriage. I say marriage instead of husband because I know how much you think of him. Your actions proved that. If you remain as self-centered as you are now, I'd suggest forgetting about my plan and just leaving the guy. He'll get over it, believe me, and at your collective ages, plenty of time to start fresh."

I left flabbergasted. It was like L.W. could see right through me. Was I that transparent? I shuddered to think of it. He'd made a few good points, and I knew he had seen more than his fair share of divorces.

Still, I loved my husband - or maybe just the idea of him. He was a great father. He was helpful too and seemed to know when I needed it most. Besides, I'd already blown Marc off.

Later that week, I decided that my best option was to wait Jim out and take L.W. up on his plan. I needed an excuse to get Jim and me to a club. If I could get Jim past Marc always being metaphorically in our bed with us, I was sure we could move forward.

My birthday was rapidly approaching. Jim, bless his heart, always tried to come up with something special, but he'd get bogged down and overwhelmed when he started second-guessing himself.

Usually, I lobbed a few innocuous suggestions at him, but this year I made it clear that I wanted to go dancing somewhere. The look he gave told me what he was thinking.

"Not at the Morrison, Jim," I told him tenderly, with a disappointed undertone. "Just somewhere that has music, and I can dance with my husband."