Return from Yukon

"During those two weeks, in that rough country that seemed so far away from everything civilized, I began to fantasize about a man. Big and strong, at home in the wild country, a man of few words but decisive action. He would sweep me off my feet and carry me, a willing captive, away from my father to his lair. Sometimes it was a cave, sometimes a hut. We would lie on bearskins and kiss interminably while he held me close. We never did more than that; my romantic imagination didn't extend very far back then! Then he would return me to my father in time for us to go home, and I would happily go back to civilization. Everything would be like it was before, except for the sweet memories which I would have forever.

"It was a girl's fantasy, not a woman's: absurdly romantic and terribly naïve. I think many girls have fantasies like that. When I had sleepovers, my girlfriends and I would tell each other our fantasies, but my 'hairy Scotsman' was always the best. They never got tired of my telling it. As we grew older, sexual elements entered the fantasy; we would occasionally get ourselves off to it.

"My idea for our honeymoon was to live out my fantasy, not with some hairy Scotsman, but with my beloved husband. You would carry me away from civilization, and we would have a whole month to ourselves in the wild country. Of course, my fantasy now included our fucking each other's brains out on a regular basis! Then we would happily return home, with memories to last a lifetime, and begin to raise our family.

"I must confess that I rigged the coin toss method. I was afraid you would figure it out and not participate, but you didn't. Or maybe you did and decided to let me win. I know you do that sometimes. Either way, I was excited about finally fulfilling my fantasy, with the man I wanted for the rest of my life.

"Everything was perfect until the morning we left on the boat. More precisely, until I saw Pierre. Unbelievably, there was the hairy Scotsman from my fantasy, come to life and standing right in front of me! Of course he wasn't Scottish, but he looked like him, walked like him, and talked like him (that is, he hardly talked). You were busy arranging things with the captain, so you didn't see me goggling at him, but he did. The look he gave me told me that he knew exactly what I was thinking, he'd seen it all before, and he knew what to do about it.

"I fled below deck. I had to get myself under control. I paced that little cabin, reminding myself that I wasn't eleven any more, I had a husband whom I loved, and this trip was going to be the beginning of our family. But every time I would start to fantasize about you, he broke into my thoughts. Every time he did, my panties got wetter.

"I was in turmoil. I thought maybe a quick rub and a change of panties would settle me down. The only place that had a lock on the door seemed to be the head, so that's where I went. The door was latched open, so I thought it was empty. I couldn't see inside until I was right in the doorway, and there he was. He was just finishing. He must have heard me coming; he turned toward me with a grin on his ugly face and that huge cock in his fist. I had never seen one that big, that threatening. I stared at it. I couldn't move. He shook it at me, and it started to grow. We were barely a foot apart. It looked like it might grow long enough to touch me, and I shrank away from it, back to the wall, still staring at it.

"He came slowly forward, still pointing that weapon at me. It kept growing; I could see precum on the head. I had to walk backwards to keep it from touching me. He steered me into the cabin I'd just left, finally backing me into the bed. I didn't so much sit on it as fall onto it in a sitting position. His cock was now aimed at my face, its tip barely a foot away from my lips. I was afraid he would take me then and there. If he'd tried, I would have been completely unable to stop either him or myself. I'm sure he knew it. He laughed and pulled up his pants, and backed away a step or two. He dominated the little cabin.

"'Let me tell you a story,' he said. He told me about a young couple he'd taken when they were out tent camping. He told me every detail: how he found them, how he took them, everything he did to the wife and how much she loved it, and how the husband came to accept it and even to enjoy watching, before he let them go.

"I was completely lost in his tale, it meshed so well with my girlhood fantasy. I was flushed and shaking by the time he stopped, and my pussy was a swamp. I felt like I would cum if he kept talking. He laughed at me.

"'I've done that to three couples so far. You'll be the fourth.'

"'My husband...' I began.

"'He won't be a problem.' I knew he spoke the truth. I knew he could and would have his way with both of us. We could do nothing to prevent it except turn around and go home. I refused to even consider that: I knew I would never get another chance at my wilderness holiday. I knew you would hate it, but it would only be a month, and I knew I would love the complete fulfillment of my fantasy, 'hairy Scotsman' and all. After all, I had won the toss, and I might have hated your classical culture trip, too. It would be just this one month, and then we would go back to civilization and our normal life. It would be a memory of a fantasy, and would have no effect on the rest of our lives. That's what I thought, and that's how I could choose to have this, and still love you.

"I knew he wouldn't hesitate to hurt you if you tried to resist him, and I knew he could do it. I didn't want that, so I negotiated with him. I would be completely willing, whatever and whenever he wanted. I would do my best to keep you calm and help you accept it, and keep you from trying to escape or rescue me. I would tell him about any plans you made. In return, he would not physically injure you, as long as you didn't threaten him. I also told him about my period, and we agreed that he would come and take us on our fourth day at the cabin. You know the rest.

"I tried to make it look like I was just going along with the inevitable, because I wanted to make it as easy on you as possible. The truth is that I let Pierre replace you in my girlhood fantasy and joined him in hijacking our honeymoon, and it was better than I ever dreamed it could be. I did try to protect you, and I never stopped loving you. I always looked forward to the end of the month, when we would go home and resume our lives together. I could then pursue the dream of my heart. But during that month, that one month out of all of our lives together, I got to live out my fantasy in all its barbarian splendor.

"I know you'll find it hard to believe that I actually thought we could return to our normal lives after all this as if nothing had happened, but it's true: I did. I told you that more than once while we were there. How could I do that? Partly, I had already been thinking of our holiday as time out of time: something that wasn't really part of, and had nothing to do with, our normal lives. That was always part of the attraction of the wilderness holiday anyway. I was already deep into my fantasy when I first saw Pierre, and he fit in so well that he completely took it over, and I let him. Also, I'm sorry, but I completely left you out. I didn't want you harmed, and I'd have died if you had left me or if he'd killed you, but you weren't part of the fantasy I was living, not after I saw Pierre. I'm very sorry and ashamed of that, but it is the truth.

"When we got home, I did my best to pretend everything was like before, and I know you did too, until that day I was looking at the catalogue, and you couldn't pretend any more. Then you asked me to consider how my actions affected you. That brought the whole thing crashing down on me. This is the truth: there is no time out of time; everything we do both affects and demonstrates who we are. The truth is that for a month, I was another man's slut, his fuck toy, while together he and I humiliated the man I love. I did it willingly and enthusiastically, and I ordered you to just accept it. Then you brought me home, pregnant with his child.

"I can't even begin to imagine how this has hurt you. I know you love me, otherwise you'd have strangled me by now. Otherwise you'd have left me there, under those boulders, next to Pierre. Oh my darling, I am so very sorry. I know you would never have done anything like this to me. Is it any consolation to you that I most likely killed my own dearest dream when I broke your heart? I hope it might be, but I know you too well to think that you would take any pleasure from my pain. I didn't take pleasure from your pain; I just didn't consider it. Maybe that's worse, I don't know.

"I must say a few words about Jack Fallon. It's obvious looking back that he drugged you that night, and I was stupid not to think of that possibility. I already knew that he wanted in my pants, and wasn't very particular about how he got there. It's clear to me now that he deliberately incapacitated you so he could get to me. I didn't know he was your rival at work until well after the last time he blackmailed me: I thought it was all about getting me into bed. I can claim credit for only two things: I ended it myself, on my terms, and I'll never be that naïve again. I had hoped you would never be hurt by finding out about that, especially since he turned out to be such a rat, but Pierre forced my hand. Fallon is pond scum, and I can't think about him, or sex with him, without loathing.

"These have been my thoughts, these last two weeks. I have cut off my own future. I have nowhere to turn, nothing to look forward to, and it is entirely my fault. I know you will leave me when you receive the test results. I will carry the baby to term and give birth; what then? I do not know.

"I know you've been worried about me these last few days; I've seen it in your eyes. I know the thoughts I'm thinking are not healthy, and the hormones from my pregnancy probably aren't helping. I know that when we went in for the DNA samples, you asked that kind nurse to keep an eye on me. That was sweet of you, but you didn't need to. As I've said, none of this is the baby's fault, so I'll make sure I hold it together long enough to give birth. I'll try, anyway. How on earth did you manage to hold it together and not go crazy during that month Pierre and I tortured you so?

"I don't want to end this, because while I'm writing, I can pretend I'm talking to you, like we always used to, and you'll understand like you always do, even when I don't make sense. But I can't pretend any more, and there's nothing more to say, except one thing. Even after my dream is dead, I will say it for the rest of my life, and use my last breath to say it once more.

"I love you always.

"Helen."

I read her letter twice before it slipped from my fingers onto the table. How had everything worked out just right to go so horribly wrong? Why does fate play such tricks with poor, helpless worms?

She was right that I had let her win the coin toss thing. If I'd known about her fantasy then, I wouldn't have done that, but who tells their spouse the deepest, darkest fantasy they had when they were eleven? Her strange behaviors the last couple of weeks made sense, too, if that's when she first began to think of the month from hell in terms of what it did to me, and to us. I wondered what I should do about that. What she'd done to the statuette worried me more, the more I thought about it.

Why was I worried? Why couldn't I just say she'd done the deeds, she deserved the consequences? She could carry the baby to term, put it up for adoption, and go out looking for all the hairy Scotsmen she could find. She could go crazy or not, or die or kill herself or not; it should be nothing to me. Why wasn't it?

I could sort of see how it could have happened. It made some sense, in a weird sort of way, if one could accept the idea of putting love on hold for a month. Which, of course, is nonsense: what kind of love is that? I was nowhere close to being able to forgive Helen, and didn't know that I wanted to try. On the other hand, did she deserve to lose her life or her sanity over what she'd done? And who got to decide that: her? Me? Some shrink somewhere?

Pierre was a predator. He preyed on my family; I killed him to make him stop. It worked. I never felt the least guilt over it, and I never will. Then what about Helen? If you conspire with a predator, and take up his cause, does that make you a predator, too? What if you only do it because the predator spotted a weakness in you and took advantage of it? Turned you, as it were? Can you be both predator and prey at the same time?

I believed Helen was truly sorry, and I knew she had finally told the truth. I still didn't see any way our marriage could continue. If Helen could decide once to spend a month humiliating me and having great sex with someone else, while still saying she loved me, why couldn't she make the same decision again? Yes, she had said over and over that it would be one time, this was her one chance, but what was to stop her from changing her mind and doing it again? There was no way I could live with that. Then there was Pierre's kid on top of all that.

So, what should I do about Helen now? I looked again at the statuette, lying scarred and broken in the shredded remains of the catalogue. Something was seriously wrong with my wife. If she'd broken her arm, would I take her to the hospital? Of course I would. I'd do it for a roommate or a friend from work; I'd probably do it for a stranger in the street. So why not for the woman to whom I'd promised my love?

I called Sarah again to check on Helen.

"I think you're right about her. She's not eating well, and spends way too much time worrying about what you'll do after you read her letter. Then she'll sit somewhere crying and ripping paper. I'm starting to get a little spooked."

"So am I," I sighed. "Do you think she'd be better off at home? Would it help her to see that I'm not in an uncontrollable rage after reading the letter?"

"I don't know. It might, but I really think she needs to see someone."

"I do, too. Let's do this. Why don't you tell her that I'm no worse off than I was when she left, and that I'm good with having her home, and leave it up to her?"

We agreed on that, and Helen came home that night. She was quiet and tentative around me, and I tried to reassure her.

"We're both hurting a lot. We only have a few more days of suspense, then we can start to move forward. Until then, let's try to help each other get through this. Right?"

Sharing a bed with Helen was incredibly hard that night, but I was afraid of what she might do if I didn't, so I held her as she cried herself to sleep, trying to keep my erection away from her. The thing has no conscience.

I came home a little early from work the next day. I wanted to talk with Helen about seeing someone, and make the appointment as soon as I could. I found her sitting at the kitchen table, staring at an unopened manila envelope addressed to me. She looked up and spoke as I entered.

"We both know what's in this envelope. I know that once we open it and read what's inside, you'll leave me. You may be worried about what I'll do when I'm alone, but you don't have to. I think knowing won't be nearly as bad as not knowing, and in any case, I'll have to stay strong for the baby. I'll not kill him, nor let him come to harm. We'll stick to the plan: you don't need to hesitate about opening the envelope, or about leaving me." She spoke firmly and with determination.

I nodded. I opened the envelope. It was surprisingly thick: how much paper does it take to say either match, or no match? I read the top sheet: Sample A, adult male, giving my full name, birth date, and address. The long string of numbers matched the one on the ticket I was given when I'd given the sample. I checked. There was a bunch of stuff describing the sample and how it was handled, so I wouldn't worry that it had gotten switched somehow. Sample B, infant female, in utero, followed by Helen's information. Probability of direct blood relationship: 99.92%. Right there in 18-point black type.

The blood rushed from my face as I dropped the papers onto the table. Helen was carrying my daughter. I had pretended that might be the case when we first got home, but I'd given up on it when I knew Helen was sure the child was Pierre's. Now it was true. My daughter.

Helen picked up the paper and read it. I heard her gasp. "Oh, thank God, oh, thank God," she repeated over and over in a low voice, then she turned and looked me in the eye.

"I know this makes your decision more difficult. I'll give you all the space you need to work it out. If you still want to leave, now or later, I won't fight you. It's what I deserve, anyway. Whenever you leave, though, I will always have something of you. Because of that, because of her, I can finally put that month behind me, and even if you aren't here, I can love you by loving her. You won't have to worry about me again: for the first time since the day you found me with that catalogue, I have something to live for."

She got up and walked behind my chair, wrapped her arms lightly around me, and kissed the top of my head. Then damned if she didn't go get one of those baby furniture catalogues and sit down at the table and start paging through it, a tender smile on her face, and one hand on her no-longer-flat belly. I stared at her as if she had two heads.

"Helen, what the hell just happened? Two days ago, you were ripping paper and cutting things and acting for all the world like someone who was about to lose it. Someone with mental issues, you know? I was afraid I'd find you cutting yourself next. Now you're all happy and content and looking at baby furniture again. I'm no shrink, but I don't think normal people just flip a switch and become all better. Is this some kind of act you're putting on? Do I need to get you some help? Please tell me what's going on here."

She smiled at me. Damn, I'd forgotten how that one particular smile could always make the sun come out.

"I'm not acting, Darling. A couple of weeks ago, I realized that once you left and I gave up the baby for adoption, I would have no one and nothing to live for, and it was my own fault. I was so desperate I even thought about keeping Pierre's baby, just so I would have someone, but I realized I wanted nothing to remind me him. Worse, the child would always remind me that I'd thrown away my real-life dream for a fantasy.

"I was in complete despair. I knew you were worried about me. I briefly wondered why: after all, we both knew we were finished, it was just a matter of time. Then I decided it didn't matter. I told you I would survive long enough to deliver the baby, and I would have, but I said nothing about what would happen afterward. I knew there was a chance I would kill myself, because the thought of doing so didn't bother me.

"Then came this." She picked up the DNA test results and kissed them. "I am absolutely going to frame this. Now I have something, and someone, to live for. Even though I won't have you, and I don't deserve to have you, I will have something of you to love for the rest of my life. Now I have hope." She thought a moment. "That is her name: Hope Eleanor." My mother's name was Eleanor; she and Helen had always gotten on well.

"Darling, I can see by your face that you're still worried. I know all the decisions you thought were made just came unstuck, and the ones you're facing now are a lot harder. As I said, I'll give you your space as you figure things out, and I'll support whatever choices you make. You don't have to worry about me, Darling. I will love our Hope, even though I don't deserve her, and love you through her, and raise her to honor her father and be a better woman than her mother, whatever happens."