Scales Balance

Apparently, for those 10 years, I had merely been holding his place.

I must have sat there staring at that particular photo for two minutes, tears running down my cheeks, before my investigator roused me from my stupor.

"I'll let you digest these, Mr. Conroy. I'll show myself out," he said.

I've felt better after being punched in the gut. I staggered over to my private bathroom, leaned into the toilet and lost last night's supper ... and maybe lunch, too. It was an epic hurl. While I had expected what was coming, I was still not nearly prepared to handle it. My life as I thought I knew it ceased to exist.

But despite how devastated I was, it's hard to quit loving someone, no matter how mad and hurt I was. We had an anniversary coming up just a week away, and our tradition was to meet at our favorite Italian hotspot for a nice dinner after work on that Friday, followed by dancing and then a night of hot sex. While I figured the hot sex was out the door, maybe if I got her in a romantic, nostalgic setting we could have a heart to heart and just maybe fix what was wrong, or at least work on fixing it.

My marriage died March 30, 11 years and two days after it started. We had 7 p.m. reservations at Maricelli's the Friday night after the actual anniversary. I stopped at a local florist and got a dozen red roses, and got to the restaurant at 6:55. The hostess seated me and I bought a bottle of champagne. Seven o'clock came and went. I ordered an appetizer at 7:30. Eight o'clock came and went. I surrendered the table at 8:15, gave my waitress a nice tip and moved to a seat at the bar. At 9, I called her phone, which was turned off as it went straight to voicemail. At 10, I asked the bartender to call me a cab since I consumed too much alcohol to safely drive. I gave him a nice tip, too, and got into my cab for the longest ride home I ever endured. My house was dark when I got there.

I didn't hear a word from Traci all weekend. I didn't try calling her anymore. I just sat in the house and drank, draining a bottle of Monkey Shoulder scotch on Saturday and a bottle of Angel Envy rye on Sunday. At about 4 that afternoon, she rolled in, bag in hand, and quickly announced that she was going up to wash the road grime off.

I was off the sofa and almost on top of her before she could react. I was not surprised that her breath smelled of cum and she had the smell of sex all over her.

"Headed over to Mom's a little early this weekend?" I sneered at her while she started backpedaling. I know my breath smelled like rye and whatever I had dug out of the fridge to eat during the day.

She turned and started to walk into the living room to give herself some space. Then she spotted it, although I think she might have smelled it first. It was a box of food from Maricelli's that I had put down on her favorite low table across from the sofa. It was still closed, but had been sitting in that same spot for almost two days, and smelled pretty bad. Right next to that was the dying roses.

She looked aghast. The light of recognition came into her eyes.

"Mom had a problem I had to take care of ..." she started before I held both of my hands up to stop her. I have never come so close to hitting a woman before. Instead, I reached for the folder that was next to the roses, opened it and shot a variety of photos of her and Bat into the air.

"You lying, cheating whore!" I hissed. "He almost ruined you before, and now you let him ruin us! I loved you with everything I had, and I thought you loved me the same way, but I find out you loved him more. You threw us away for him, you stupid bitch!"

Traci looked scared and shocked. I had never spoken to her like that before. I think she was afraid I might hurt her.

"I-I-I do you love, Jimmy!" she finally shrieked. "I love both of you. I'm sorry. He was my first ..."

"And he's still first," I cut in. "Go to him. I won't stand in your way. In fact, I can't stand the sight of you! Pack another bag and get out of here. Come back when I'm not here and get whatever shit you want to keep. And here, give him this since it has no more meaning to me, you cunt."

With that, I slid my wedding ring off my finger and flipped it at her. She missed it, of course, and it wound up on the floor. She left it there, ran up to our bedroom and threw some stuff in a large suitcase. I glared at her as she descended the stairs.

"You've totally destroyed me, you bitch! I totally get that you worship the ground that prick walks on, because that is the way I loved you. Completely. Unrestrained. All in. But apparently that's not enough. You'll run back to that piece of shit, who gave you up once and married another. Did he even give you a sincere apology for that?"

She left the house in a jumble of tears. I didn't give a fuck.

The divorce went through in about nine months. We split everything pretty evenly because it was a no-fault state.

I let my lawyer handle everything, and only showed up at the official signing for the divorce. Probably out of guilt, she didn't ask for alimony, even though she certainly could have. Although she made great money as attorney, I was far outdistancing her, and I was already figuring on that since we live in a no-fault state. So that was a nice surprise.

++++++++++

I hadn't seen Traci in the four years since the funeral when she showed up at a bar I frequented. Actually, I didn't see her, one of my friends did, when the date she was with started getting handsy one Saturday night.

"Hey, isn't that your ex-wife with that big dick over there," my buddy Brad said.

I turned to see what he was looking at, and sure enough, some big bastard had his hand around Traci's upper arm, and they looked to be having words. I watched for about 30 seconds, and I could see by the look on her face that they were having some sort of disagreement, and despite how hard she was trying, she couldn't extricate herself from his grasp. He was a big bastard, too; I'm guessing 6-4, 225. I go 6-0, 180, and while I'm solid, I had only been in one fight in my entire life, and I lost that one. I was hoping that he would take the hint and things wouldn't get to that point.

Brad could see I wasn't looking forward to this, and he asked if I wanted help.

"Nah, there's no need for both of us to get noble and hurt, if it gets to that."

I walked over to their table, and asked if there was a problem. Traci looked at me with a deer in the headlights look, but big dick didn't even turn his head and just sneered at me.

"Not unless you're looking to get some ribs broken, little man."

"Look buddy," I said as politely as I could. "That's my ex-wife you've got your hands on, and I fucking hate the bitch more than anyone, but if I don't get to manhandle her, then nobody does, got it?"

"If she's your ex, then why do you even care?" he shot back.

"Because even a bitch doesn't deserve that shit. Now get your hands off, fuckwad!"

I paid careful attention as he removed his hand from Traci, and then swung hard at me. I sort of blocked the punch at my face and he wound up giving me a good shot to my shoulder.

"God damn it!" I growled as my anger grew. I realized I wasn't so much angry at him; I was angry at her, but he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I charged into him, headbutting his chin and knocking him against the table he had gotten up from. He dropped his head from the pain of my blow, and the last thing I remember I was raining blows at his face.

Ten minutes later an EMT was looking at my bloody and broken hand, telling me I would need to go to the emergency room to get it casted. The blood wasn't mine. Apparently, I'd gone into a fit of rage, started yelling "I hate you," and beaten the guy to a bloody pulp. An ambulance had taken him to a hospital. Fortunately I had witnesses that saw him strike me first, or I'd probably be headed to jail.

Before my buddies took me to the emergency room, I had to answer a bunch of questions from the two cops who showed up with the EMTs and the ambulance. After they were done, Traci was standing off by herself, waiting to talk to me. She approached skittishly.

"Did you really mean it when you said you hated me?" she asked softly. "I know you were yelling at Ernie, my date, but I knew you were talking to me. Do you really hate me that much; still, after all these years?"

I put my eyes down.

"Yes, I still hate you, but only because I loved you so much. The way you loved Bat -- completely, without reservation -- with all your heart and soul -- that was the way I loved you. But you deceived me and cheated on me and showed me that you were his ... and never mine. How could I not hate you?"

"But we had 10 good years together. Doesn't that count for anything?" she asked.

"You just don't get it. You had 10 good years with me while I held the spot for Bat. I might have thought I had 10 good years with you, but the way it turned out it was all a lie. I was second in your heart the whole time when I thought I was first. You stole 10 years of love from me."

I wound up having to see a pair of therapists over what my friends called "The Traci Incident." The first was for my anger issues. The two police officers at the scene told me they would give me just a written warning if I agreed to see a shrink, with no criminal charges filed. Dr. Seth Friedman turned out to be a nice enough guy, and I actually think in the long run he helped me to get a handle on both my anger and trust issues.

The second therapist was for rehabilitation on my hand. While I didn't need surgery, the two breaks took long enough to heal that my doctor figured physical therapy would be wise, and who was I to argue. So I started working with Lucy Yamaguchi, a therapist at the hospital, twice a week.

Lucy appeared to be a 20-something Asian-American who looked like she came off the Chinese gymnastics team -- 4-foot-10, 90 pounds, pixie haircut, no boobs. She couldn't have been further from my usual type, but that was OK with me because I really hadn't been looking for a partner since my divorce -- remember, those trust issues.

When you spend two hours a week with somebody, there's going to be some conversation, and ours started off with her asking me how I broke my hand so badly. Being a truthful kind of guy, I gave her the Reader's Digest version. She looked shocked, to say the least.

"And you say you don't even like this woman? I find that hard to believe," she opined bluntly. "Sounds like there's a lot more going on than you want to admit."

"My other therapist -- the one for my head -- says that, too," I admitted. "I've been working with a shrink on the anger and trust issues."

"Don't even talk to me about trust issues," she responded back. "Seems I've got those, too. My ex-husband couldn't be trusted to stay away from other women, which is why he's been my ex for six years. I won't put up with that from anybody."

We talked about a lot of things over the next six weeks as I rehabbed my hand. I found out she was actually 37, but with her unblemished alabaster skin, the little girl hairstyle, and the fact that she didn't have an ounce of fat on her body, she got carded every time she wanted to get a drink in a bar or restaurant. She was married to her ex for eight years before they split up, and like, Traci and I, she and her ex did not have children.

I found I really enjoyed her company, and after my last official rehab session ended, I asked her if we could continue to see each other socially. She hesitated for about a second, gave me an adorable pixie smile and said yes. I asked her out for the next weekend, and she accepted -- as long as I didn't take her to an Asian restaurant. I must have looked a little surprised at her comment, because she got a glint in her eye, made a clucking noise with her tongue and said, "Gotcha, hotshot!"

"Game on," I thought to myself.

Lucy and I dated for almost six months before the first time we got intimate -- and that only came about because she was frustrated with how slowly I was moving. She had made a smartass remark about something, and I leaned over toward her in a restaurant and gave her a playful peck on the lips, but as I started to pull back, she stood up, put her hands on the table, and leaned in to me, with her lips still attached to mine. We must have continued the kiss for another 10 seconds before we broke apart, and I'm pretty sure I looked like a deer in the headlights.

"OK, stud, is there something I'm missing here? Do I not do it for you? You're killing me here!" she said.

I sputtered. I stuttered.

"Honestly, and this is going to sound ridiculously stupid, but I feel sort of like a pervert. You look like you're barely 18, and I look all of my 45 years. I get all sorts of stupid looks when we go someplace, like I'm robbing the cradle and should be ashamed of myself."

"So now you've added shame to the anger and trust issues?" she retorted. "Man up, Jimmy. To quote that line from Meg Ryan in Top Gun, 'take me to bed or lose me forever!'"

I called over our waitress, handed her $150 for a bill that was around $85, and we left.

I did quite well for myself with the ladies before I met Traci, but not nearly as well since the divorce, again due to my issues. But with this adorable little pixie putting me on the clock, so to speak, I figured it was time to put up or shut up. I took her back to my house and had her naked by the time we got to the top of the stairs. She apparently really was a gymnast in a previous life, and when we first got in my door, she jumped up against me, locked her legs around my waist and that's how I walked up the stairs, removing her small items of clothing as we were ascending. She somehow shifted around enough that her panties and skirt were hanging by a foot as we got to the top.

That was just a warm-up for what was to follow. I'm a boob guy, I'll admit, and Lucy, I'm guessing, was an A-cup. She was probably wearing a bra just to keep her nipples covered. But with what happened below the waist, I never even gave much thought to her tits. The minute we got to the bedroom, she removed her legs from around me and quickly stripped me. She then jumped up into my arms, and almost without stopping, impaled herself in one move on my hard dick. It was a good thing that she was soaking wet at this point, or it could have been painful for both of us ... well, more painful. She was just a nick too aggressive and small, and when she came down hard on me, she rammed her cervix hard into my cock, and both of us got a little shock from that.

That only slowed her down for a couple of breaths, because 30 seconds later I was standing up holding her by her hips as she bounced her body up against me repeatedly, actually pounding me! It was fucking amazing, pardon the pun, and after about another half-minute I got into her rhythm. I don't think we went three minutes like this, though, before she suddenly stiffened, let loose a high-C shriek and started spasming like a women possessed. Twenty seconds of that set me off like a rocket, and at one point I was afraid I was going to rip right through her. That was the strongest I had cum in years, and almost the second I finished I collapsed backward on the bed with her still astride me. I leaned up and locked lips with her, giving her my most sensuous kiss as our bodies stayed locked tight. She then put her head down against my chest, and we laid there breathing heavy for a few minutes until I felt her pussy muscles start to grip my half-soft dick. Much to my surprise, I was hard again in about a minute, and she started to slowly move her hips.

I know I gave her the biggest smile I had because it felt like my face was going to break wide open from grinning. She grinned back as I slowly rolled her over and made passionate love to her.

We took a break for some sleep at that point, but how long we were out I have no clue. All I know is that when I awoke, she was on top of me cowgirl and I was rock hard. She slowly increased her pace as I woke up with all of these wonderful sensations coming from my cock. This joining was half making love, half fucking, and over the course of the next hour we changed positions three times -- all without me leaving her still-tight, still-wet pussy. The woman was an absolute Gumby.

The next time we woke up it was morning. I can't even begin to describe how sore this 45-year-old body was, but how good my 45-year-old soul felt. We kissed like longtime lovers, then got into the shower together. The redeeming warmth of the water brought my soreness level down, and in short order I was rubbing the soap into a lather from her shoulders down to her pussy, stopping occasionally to clean her pussy with my fingers. I then leaned down and took first one, then the other soapy hard nipple into my mouth, and before long she was stiffening, then shrieking out another orgasm. She tried to reciprocate on my dick, but I had to tell her that my soldier needed a break.

I fixed us breakfast after we got out of the shower. If I say so myself, I'm a pretty good cook, and I could tell she was impressed. We didn't talk much while we ate, just sort of smiled a lot at each other, like we were both in on the same joke and nobody else knew about it. There's some silences that need to be filled; this was good just the way it was.

And then I saw it. The look. The exact same look that Traci had given Bat all those years ago that told me that he was first in her heart, and I never would be. But this time it was Lucy giving that look, and it was directed at me. She had put a bite of food in her mouth and was quietly chewing, and just looked across the table at me with the most love I had ever seen in anybody's eyes looking back at me. I did the only thing I could do. I took her other hand in mine and asked her to be mine for the rest of our lives.

"Wait, what?" she responded after nearly gagging on her food. "I know last night was special for me, too, but isn't this rushing things a bit? What happened to your trust issues?"

"Last night was special for me, but that's not what this is based on. Let's just say you just passed the breakfast test with flying colors," I said.

"You're serious, aren't you?" she said as she looked me directly in the eyes.

"Never been more serious in my life," I asserted.

The waterworks began at that point as Lucy broke down into a blubbering mess.

"Oh my God I love you so much," is what I think I heard come out of her mouth as she came halfway across the table and started hugging me for all I was worth. She cried like a baby in my arms for a good five minutes. I have to admit I was overwhelmed.

When she finally stopped crying, she separated from me a bit, looked right into my eyes and said, "You're cooking breakfast every day!"

"Deal!" I replied right back.

She never did ask me what the breakfast test was, and I never did tell her. All I will say is that I got to see that look of adoration many times over the years, and every time I saw it I knew I made the right choice.

We waited two years after getting married to have our first child, a daughter, and then had a son two years later. Lucy stopped working as soon as we found out she was pregnant the first time. We certainly didn't need the money.

++++++++++

I was holding the door for Lucy at one of our city's fancier restaurants on a Saturday night out without the kids when a couple came up right behind us, so I motioned for them to go on in as well. The man looked to be about 10 years older than me, but the woman seemed to be about my age, 55. As they stepped past, I thought she looked familiar, but I know a lot of people so I didn't take a good look, until she stopped, right in front of me, and said, "Do you still hate me so much you can't even be civil to me in public?"