SASG

George talked. I worked. Samuel held parts and handed me tools as needed.

I learned that George, like me, was married right out of high school. They didn't 'have to' get married. They both wanted to wait until their wedding night to have sex, and they just couldn't wait any longer. Apparently they had great sex for about four years. One day she dropped the bomb on him.

"Honey, do you ever wonder what it would be like to be with another woman? You know you are the only man I have ever been with. Sometimes I wonder what I have missed."

Crap, those words are almost just like what Michelle said to me a few months ago!

***

It started the two summers after Michelle graduated from Newbury College. Right after graduation she got a job as the assistant marketing director at drugstore chain that was head-quartered in Boston. Her boss, the Director of Marketing and Promotions, was John V. Adams. The arrogant son-of-bitch claimed to a direct descendant of the two presidents named Adams. I did not instantly dislike John V. Adams when I met him, but I did not instantly like him either. He had that arrogance that some people describe as confidence. I didn't realize it right away, but he apparently had confidence that he was going to fuck my wife.

Like a love struck, blind husband I ignored any and all clues.

One Saturday morning, right after a nice loving making session, Michelle hit me with those words."

"Axe, have you ever wanted to experience other women?"

"Yo, Shell, are you accusing me of fooling around?"

"No, no. Not that. I was just wondering if you ever thought about it."

"Well, I did have the hots for the Seven of Nine in that 'Startrek: Next Generation' TV show, but other than that, you are the only one I really want for a bed partner." I said this half-joking, but still serious.

"Axe, I wonder what experiences I might have missed. You are the only man I have been with, but I do wonder and think about fun with other guys."

"Thinking is one thing, Shell, but acting on it is a definite 'no way José.'"

***

We got George's air conditioner going in short order. Martha insisted that we stay for dinner. "I made extra spaghetti and sauce; it won't be good tomorrow so you have to stay," she insisted.

In addition t the spaghetti there was tossed salad, garlic toast, and a bottle of red wine. She was a friendly and gracious hostess.

"Guys, I overheard part of the story George was telling you," said Martha. "Maybe you can guess what happened next. It turns out that George's first wife wasn't really 'missing' fun with other guys at all. She was doing a guy on the side for a couple of months before her little talk with George. She and I worked at the same bank. I still do. She's gone. When I suspected that she was cheating on George I warned her. 'Yer gonna lose him when he finds out.' I told her. 'And when you do I might just hafta have him for myself.'"

George added, "I didn't know until after Martha and I got married that Martha was the one who found ways for me to discover my first wife's cheating. I am glad she did. I have a happy ever after!" He leaned over to kiss Martha. Just a quick smack, but a loving one."

He lifted a wineglass in salute," Thanks to you fine gentlemen of the Sass-gee I have air conditioning." The chilly nights of a few weeks ago when I first met up with the SASG were now long gone. It gets hot in South Dakota!

***

After I told Michelle "No way José" she dropped the subject. She never mentioned it again. I mistakenly believed that she wasn't seriously thinking about having sex with another man. She apparently even had the man picked out. It was Mark V. Adams, her supervisor at work. Looking back on it I see that I should have become suspicious right away when Michelle talked about missing out on experiencing other men. I ignored it -- and other signs -- until it was way too late. I just assumed that people were faithful and honest, just as I had always been. You know how it is. Crooks think everyone is a crook. People who cheat on their taxes think everyone cheats on taxes. Liars assume everyone lies. Devoted faithful spouses assume all spouses are devoted and faithful. Later events showed how naïve I was.

***

"Good morning, Paul," I said bright and early at McDonald's the next day. I didn't sleep well because of the South Dakota summer heat. Sure, my Alero has air conditioning, but I didn't want to run the engine all night long just to keep me a bit cool.

Paul was alone. Other members of the Single Again Support Group hadn't arrived yet. Paul wore his trademark bib overalls with a flannel shirt. Something was different about him. I looked him over a bit. Ah ha. He got a hair cut since I last saw him yesterday.

"Good Morning, Xavier, You are early today," stating the obvious.

"What's with the shorter hair? Got a job interview or something?" I teased.

"Nope. Say, how did it go with fixing George's air conditioner?"

"Got it done is less than an hour. Had dinner with George and his wife, Martha."

"I haven't met her, but from the way George talks about her she must be something special."

"I learned a bit about George's first marriage."

"Xavier, his story is tame compared to some of the others in Sass-gee," Paul solemnly pronounced.

Samuel slid into the booth with us just then.

"George sure was pleased with your work last night.

Paul burst in with "Sam, it's high time you told Xavier the story of why you are single again."

"Yes, sir!" He smiled.

"X, the tale you are about to hear is sad, but true. It's the story of promises made and promises broken. The story if fidelity and infidelity. It's the story of me and Bobby McGee."

"Sam, quit being so darn dramatic," Paul cursed, "and tell the truth. There wasn't no Bobby McGee."

"Yes, sir, Paul, sir," Samuel said. He was no longer smiling. "But there was a Bobbi, just not a McGee."

To me he said, "Paul's heard this story a time or two already, so I am sure he will 'correct' me if I make any mistakes. My ex-wife is Roberta. Most folk call her Bobbi. She's a low down, lying cheating slut who can't keep her legs together when she's around men. Around men other than me I mean. She wasn't such a slut; anyway I don't think so, the first eight years of our marriage."

He took a couple of bites of his McMuffin.

Paul interjected, "Looks like Sam here is still a bit bitter about his Bobby McGee."

"You got that right, old man," Sam continued. "Me and Bobbi had a hardware store west river.

I know I shouldn't interrupt, but I had to know. "West river; what's that?"

"South Dakota is pretty much split east and west by the Missouri River. Folks often refer to the western side as west river and the eastern side as east river."

"Thank you."

"Anyway, my grandfather started the store shortly when he came home from fighting Germans in the war. My father took over in the sixties when grandpa had a stroke. I started working there when I was ten. I learned just about everything about hardware from Dad, and I took a few business classes at Black Hills State."

He paused for a few sips of his coffee. Mark and George joined us then.

"I met Roberta at Black Hills State."

"Sam, your story is gettin' to be a bit too wordy," Paul said. "Git on to the cheatin' wife part."

Samuel nodded and went on, "OK. That slut wife of mine had a lover on the side. I had some suspicions. You know how people say you should communicate and not jump to conclusions? Well, I communicated. I asked her if she was having an affair. She responded with something along the lines of 'how dare you accuse me!' I was locked out of the bedroom that night."

"Hoo boy, I know about communication problems," Mark said, "My marriage suffered from a communication mix-up. Oops, sorry, Sam. Keep going with your story."

Samuel resumed. "Two days later Bobbi asked, 'remember the question you had for me Tuesday? The answer is yes. Yes, Sammy, I am having an affair. I love him. I don't love you.'"

"That's cruel." I said.

"Hey guys, I need to get to work pretty soon. But here's the ending. Roberta left. She filed for divorce. I ended up losing the family business. Now I am just a salaried worker at someone else's hardware store." Samuel got up and left.

***

I wonder if Samuel's way of finding out about his cheating wife was better than mine. Is it more traumatic to walk in on your wife with her lover when they were getting dressed after doing the dirty deed?

Samuel confronted his wife with his suspicions. I had suspicions, too, but I doubted the evidence so I never confronted Michelle. Would it have turned out differently had I confronted her? Actually I did not have suspicions as such. I had uneasy feelings. The first of those uneasy feelings was the day I got my HVAC technician certification in the mail. I completed the requirements a few weeks before and sent in the paperwork. My boss at work promised that a promotion and a huge raise go along with certification.

"Woo hoo, Shell! Look at what I got in the mail," said I as I proudly showed her the certificate. "This calls for a celebration! Let's go dining and dancing."

I was too excited to notice that Michelle was not eager to go out, but she finally said, "Let's go to the Legal Beagle. I have heard good things about that place. They have a dance floor in the lounge next to the restaurant, I understand."

"Sure, why not?" I went to the bedroom to pick out some decent going-out-to-celebrate clothes.

We I came out a few minutes later I heard Michelle on the phone. "My husband's taking me out tonight....the Legal Beagle....yes, isn't that a coincidence?" She giggled after that last part.

I just assumed she was sharing the good news with one of her friends from work, and didn't suspect I should suspect anything.

"Hello, handsome," she said to me. I better go get pretty, too.

"That shouldn't take too much effort, Shell."

"Tee hee. Flattery will get you everywhere, but not until later, Axe."

Dinner was good. I enjoyed my walleye with slivered almonds. Michelle, however, kept glancing over to the room next door – the room with the bar and the dance floor. I just assumed that she was anxious to dance.

Yes, she was anxious to dance, but it turned out that I wasn't her first choice in partners. I did not know that her boss and many of her co-workers were having a celebration in the Legal Beagle's Lounge.

"I will go find us a place to sit in the lounge, while you pay for dinner, OK?" She didn't wait for my answer. Off she hustled.

A few minutes later I looked around for her. I expected she would be alone at a booth or at a table. I didn't see her.

John V. Adams walked up, "Hello, Xavier, so, I understand you are the reason Shell was late getting to the staff party."

My mind was wondering about that. First, why was he calling her Shell? That's my pet name for her. As long as I've known her she has been Michelle to everyone except me. Second, Michelle was expected at a party that I knew nothing about?

"Xavier, your wife is with us at our set of tables. Come along." He said that in his pompous commanding manner.

John V. Adams led the way. He sat in the chair next to Michelle. I ended up at the end of the two pushed together tables. I was next to strangers. They were polite enough to say hello, but pretty much ignored me after that.

When the next set of music started, I got up so I could dance with Michelle, but before I could get to her she was on her feet with Adams and then onto the dance floor.

Some guy was in my chair when I got back to the end of the tables. He was having a cozy conversation to a woman there.

"Excuse me. That's my chair."

"Not anymore, bud," he growled at me. I suppose if he had bothered to look at me he might have been less rude. I hadn't played football for a few years, but I still had my linebacker size and body. I have never been in a barroom fight, but I was sure tempted to start one. I chose to walk away. I didn't really want to sit there. I wanted to be with my wife.

My eyes searched for her. The dance floor was getting crowded with those people who think a slow song is for polishing buckles and other belly rubbing gyrations. I finally spotted Michelle with John at the far end of the dance floor. They were violating one of the 'principles' I learned in dance class: they were not keeping at least one body distance apart. In fact, if either was wearing a belt buckle it certainly would be well polished.

Yes, I know that should have been another clue. I should have been suspicious. Instead of suspicion I felt irritation. There was that John V. Adams – great, great, great, something descendant of the John Q. Adams – enjoying my wife's company when I should have been.

I worked my way over to them. The song stopped. I heard Michelle say "gotta pee." I don't think she even saw me as she rushed past.

Michelle disappeared. So did John V. Adams.

I found a stool by the bar, and ordered another of whatever beer they had on tap. My eyes wandered around the room and frequently glanced at the empty chairs where John and Michelle sat earlier. No sign of either of them. I was becoming even more irritated. Maybe I was suspicious too, but didn't realize it yet.

Finally Michelle appeared. She sat at her place. About two minutes later the Adams asshole showed up, too.

I made my way over to the table. I stood behind her. I heard her say "No, John, my feet hurt too much to dance anymore." The slowness of her speech told me that she had had too much to drink.

Michelle jerked when I put my hand on her shoulder. She swiveled in her seat to see who was touching her. You might say she had a look of surprise upon seeing me. "Axe, what are you doing here?"

"We came here together, remember?"

"Oh, yea, I forgot," she pointed to John. "Have you met my boss from work? He put on this party."

"Yes, we've met," I grumbled. John said hi and then looked away. I think he was stifling a smirk.

Michelle then just slid off her chair onto the floor. She laughed the whole time. I managed to get the tipsy Michelle on her feet and out of the lounge. I got her into the car and took her home.

I put her on the couch and removed her shoes. I remembered the comment about sore feet so I started to massage her toes and arches.

"I don't feel like sex tonight," she said. She no longer acted drunk.

"Huh?"

"Every time you rub my toes you expect me to spread my legs for your cock, and I don't feel like it tonight!" She sounded angry.

"But, Shell, you said your feet were sore from dancing, and I was just trying to make them feel better."

"Back off, Axe, I'm not in the mood, so leave me alone."

Sheesh! I wanted to be a loving husband. I wanted to get over my irritation with the way she ignored me all evening. I wanted to overlook the fact that she suggested the Legal Beagle because she knew of the party with staff and Asshole Adams. I wanted to believe she still wanted and loved me. I decided to back off. I left her there on the couch and went to bed.

That was a lousy way to celebrate my HVAC certification.

***

Mark and I were the first at McDonald's. He asked me about my air conditioning experience, "Why haven't you gotten a job as an HVAC tech?"

"I just want to keep moving. A real job would just tie me down, and I am not ready to settle yet."

Just then Paul arrived.

"Look at you!" Mark exclaimed.

Paul wasn't wearing his ever present bib overalls. He wore a white shirt and a tie, and his beard was cropped short.

"What's the occasion, Paul? Getting married? Job interview?"

"My daughter, Stacy, is coming to town. I haven't seen her since...well since... a long time. I wanted to look nice for her."

Just then a woman appeared. She ran to Paul. "Daddy!"

I could see a resemblance. Paul and his daughter had the same eyes, the same cheeks, and the same no-lobe ears. Standing at about five foot seven she appeared tall next to her father. I would guess that this woman was not more than forty years old. Not bad looking for someone that is no longer a youngster. The baggy sweatshirt wasn't baggy enough. It was obvious that large breasts attempted to hide under the sweatshirt. The jeans were not teen -tight but snug enough to let us know that perfect legs and butt were there.

I peeked at the left hand. No ring.

"Guys, this is my daughter, Stacy."

"Stacy, the guy with the coke bottle glasses is Mark. He's a high faulting engineer with some big outfit. The big guy with all the muscles – and not just between the ears – is Xavier. He's a dishwasher who fixes air conditioners on the side."

"Hello, Mark. Hello, Xavier," said the dark haired woman with a beautiful smile.

Yikes, Mark is smitten! He couldn't take his eyes off her. I think she was smitten in return.

Paul and Stacy slid into the booth. Paul by me, and Stacy across from him – next to Mark.

"Gentlemen, SASG is an equal opportunity group, isn't it? Stacy is single again, and before anyone gets the wrong ideas let's get a quick version of her story," Paul said.

Stacy's story was short and quick. She was married for a dozen years. She and her husband didn't have much in common and just drifted apart. Two years ago they decided to separate; the separation became a divorce.

A couple of weeks ago she returned to South Dakota. Just out of curiosity she dialed her old home phone number one day and was pleasantly surprised and very pleased when her father answered.

Stacy became a regular visitor to McDonald's and SASG. The official reason was to spend some time with her father, but it soon became apparent that the real attraction was Mark Anderson. They became a loving couple.

***

Once upon a time Michelle and I were a loving couple, too. Even though her dad paid for the schooling I supported her college quest at Newbury College. Later, she supported me during my studies and apprenticeship as a heating cooling technician. We supported each other when it came time to buy a house. We were, I thought, a loving couple. That's why it hurt me when she rejected my attention – rejected me – the night we 'celebrated' my HVAC certification.

She didn't want a toe/foot rub because it would lead to sex. She didn't want sex. A more alert, a more suspicious husband might have concluded out that Michelle already had sex. When she and John V. Adams disappeared that evening, they might have been off doing the hanky panky.

I resolved to continue being a loving husband, but I would be careful to show affection without appearing to be demanding sex. I refrained from initiating sex but continued to do loving things such as massaging her back.

A few days after the incident at the Legal Beagle Lounge incident and aftermath Michelle said, "My feet hurt." She was at the other end of the couch and planted her feet in my lap.

I massaged each toe carefully, and I rubbed the soles gently without tickling. She purred the way she did on our wedding night. I did not move to the calves, or thighs, or pussy. I concentrated on the sore feet.

Michelle probably wanted to make sexual love, but I was determined to prove that I could do a loving thing like a foot rub without expecting it to progress to sex. It was hard, but I managed to control myself.

"My fingers are tired," I finally announced, "and I gotta pee."

I did not go back to the couch. Instead I emptied the dishwasher, putting everything in the right places. I then swept and mopped the kitchen. I do those things, but not usually on a Thursday night. Michelle watched TV until bedtime.