Silence; or, The Bet

Needless to say, Marc never turned up for the Monday appointment either.

******************

One day the following week, Marc looked up from his desk when his administrative assistant knocked on the door.

"Marc, your 10 o'clock is here."

"Thanks, Audrey," he said, glancing at his calendar. It showed a two-hour appointment with a new client to discuss what would supposedly be a complicated family insurance matter. He sighed to himself; two-hour appointments were invariably boring, but they paid well. Even if the client didn't buy insurance, he still had to pay for Marc's time.

Marc stood as a middle-aged guy in a tweed sport coat walked in. "Good morning," he said, offering his hand, "I'm Marc Zoumakis. Please come in, Mr. Klein."

Marc's visitor sat, looking him over speculatively. Then he said, "Mr. Zoumakis, I have to begin with an apology. I'm here under false pretenses."

"I, uh, don't quite understand."

"Mr. Zoumakis, my real name is Alan Fisher. I'm the counselor who has been working with your wife Sheryl." And with that, Fisher went to the door, opened it, and beckoned in a sheepish-looking Sheryl. He closed the door again and the two of them sat in Marc's client chairs.

Marc reddened. "Just what the fu-- what the hell is going on here?"

Sheryl looked scared. "Marc, Dr. Fisher and I couldn't get you to meet with us. So we're ambushing you. I know it may not be fair, but I couldn't see any other way. And I'll pay for the two hours, whatever happens," she added.

Angrily Marc said, "Dr. ... Fisher, is it? And how does this sort of thing jibe with the ethics of your profession?"

Fisher smiled. "That's a fair question, Mr. Zoumakis. I know this is ... unusual. But there's nothing coercive about it. You can walk out of here right now and not come back for two hours. You'll still be paid for the appointment.

"However, in my professional judgment it's high time that you and Sheryl--Mrs. Zoumakis--began working together to deal with the problems in your marriage."

"The only 'problem' is that my wife turns out to be a cheating, lying cunt." Marc was furious, but he kept his voice down.

"I understand why you feel that way." Fisher's voice was calm. "And I understand that you haven't spoken to her since you learned of her ... cheating, is that right?"

Marc nodded, still fuming.

"Well, it seems to me that, whatever resolution you and Sheryl come to of the situation between you, further silence is unlikely to help you get there. You haven't thrown her out of the house, right? Nor, so far as I know, have you filed for divorce."

Marc shook his head.

"Well, that appears to mean that you haven't yet given up on the marriage, whatever your thoughts and plans may be. Why not give Sheryl a chance to talk to you about what happened? I know it won't be much fun--but at least then you'll have a clearer sense of what you're both dealing with."

"I know what I'm dealing with," Marc snapped. "A lying bitch who--" He stopped, and took a deep breath.

"Okay," he said, finally, looking only at Fisher. "I'll listen. But don't expect anything more out of me than that. I'm not having some touchy-feely 'healing session' or something," he said in a scornful tone.

"That's fine," said Fisher, quite unruffled. "Sheryl, why don't you tell Marc--may I call you Marc?--about the bet, what led up to it, and what happened after?"

At the word "bet" Marc's eyes widened and he stared at Sheryl, but said nothing.

She leaned forward, an imploring look on her face. "Honey, I'm so sorry--I know I did a horrible--"

She stopped, watching as Marc spun suddenly in his chair to face out the window, his back to her.

Fisher said, "Sheryl, I think it would be best if you just told the story, okay? I'm not sure that apologies are helpful right now. And Marc, would you be willing to turn back around so that you can see your wife as she talks?"

Slowly, Marc rotated his chair back to face his wife and the doctor, his gaze aggressively blank and neutral.

"It happened because of a bet, Marc. I mean--that's not the whole story. But Anthony and I chatted all the time at work, and he's kind of a big flirt. Every once in a while he'd make a light pass, always kidding, like 'hey, are you free after work tonight? Want to come see the view from my apartment?' It was always a joke, and I always shot him down, you know, rolled my eyes and told him to get his adolescent fantasies under control."

She was speaking quietly, carefully, watching her husband. He was silent and motionless, watching her, listening. She had to tell this horrible story, she'd been practicing in her head for weeks--but she was scared to death.

"Anyway, there's a game he plays in his office with some of the other guys. He's got an empty coffee can nailed to the wall, lying on its side on the floor. And he and the other guys stand across the room and try to roll ping-pong balls into it. It's impossible to do, they always curve away, no one can ever get one in.

"So one day a bunch of us had just finished a big report and we were hanging around in Anthony's office for a few minutes, drinking coffee and letting off some steam. And when everyone else wandered away he made another joking pass, you know, like 'tonight would be a good night for you and me, Sheryl--how about it?'

"And I laughed and said, 'in your dreams, Anthony' or something like that. And then he said, 'well, how about a bet then?'

"He said, 'I'll give you ten chances to roll a ping-pong ball into the can, and if you make any of them you win. And if not, I get one chance. And if you miss all ten, and mine goes in, then I get my night with you.'

"And I said, just playing along, 'and what if you lose, big shot?' And he said, 'I'll put up $1000.'

"It was completely crazy, and I knew he was kidding. I just looked at him and said, 'you'd really risk $1000 just to have a shot at me?' And he pulled out his checkbook from his desk and wrote me a thousand-dollar check, right there on the spot, and laid it in front of me.

"And I swear, Marc--the very first thing I thought of was, 'how cool would it be to take Anthony's money and treat my husband to a romantic weekend in the Cincinnatian or the Hilton Netherland Plaza--fancy dinners, a hot tub, lots of sex.'

"I loved the idea, Anthony paying for you and me to have a sexy little getaway."

She watched him, his face utterly still. She went on with her story.

"And I'd seen him and the guys in the office with those ping-pong balls. No one EVER got one in the can--nobody even got close.

"So I thought about it, still thinking it was just a crazy lark; and I said, 'I'm a married woman--I couldn't spend the night with you.' And he said, 'okay then, an afternoon or a morning. A couple of hours with you, alone, in private.' And he tapped the check. 'I'm completely serious, Sheryl.'

"It was so ridiculous, Marc! I just laughed and said 'gimme the damn ping-pong balls!'"

Marc glanced over at Fisher, who was sitting calmly, watching Sheryl tell a story he had clearly heard before. Marc's own pulse was racing, but he simply looked back at Sheryl.

"So Anthony went and closed the door, and then he got ten balls out of his desk, smiling at me the whole time, and I took them, and-- Well, you can guess what happened. One or two ended up a couple of feet from the can, but none of them went in, and most of them were all over the place.

"So I helped Anthony pick them all up, and he dumped them back in his desk drawer and picked up one of them. I knew he wasn't going to make it but I was still a tiny bit nervous, and--

"Anyway, he-- he just rolled it and went straight in. Straight into the back of the can."

She looked down at her hands. "I couldn't believe it. I just stood there, staring at that damned coffee can. And he smiled at me and said, 'let me know when would be a good time for you,' or something like that. And he put the check away, and I walked back to my office in a daze."

She was afraid to stop now, to slow down before she'd finished. But the next part was the hardest, and she hesitated.

Fisher saw it and said, "So you'd lost the bet, and you felt you had to keep your promise?"

Sheryl nodded, her eyes on the floor. "Yes. I know it's utterly ridiculous--I mean, a stupid bet with a co-worker is going to make me cheat on my husband?

"So I guess, I mean ... I guess, I sort of must have ... wanted to do it--a little." Her voice had diminished to a near-whisper.

"I mean, he'd been flirting with me for a long time, and it ... felt good. The flirting. Thinking that a young guy like Anthony could actually have the hots for me.

"So you don't have to say it, Marc--" She stopped, almost smiling to herself for a moment at the idea that he was about to say something. "You don't have to say the obvious. I know it. I could have just told Anthony to fucking forget about it, that I would never sleep around on my husband, and that would have been that. He might have been pissed off a little but tough shit, right?

"I mean, he was the guy who was trying to screw a married woman, with his stupid bet, so he gets what he deserves. So I must have ... I must have wanted to do it. Some. At least a little. And it was like losing the bet made it easier, gave me some sort of permission. Because I'd made him a promise--and he'd put up the $1000, actually wrote out the check.

"So I met up with him--once--a few weeks later. The day you saw me, at that damn motel on 651. We spent a couple of hours together and we ... we had sex. Intercourse. Twice. It was only that day--never before and never since. And no one else, ever, since our second date."

She looked imploringly at Marc. "I'm so sorry, honey. I know that it was--"

Fisher stopped her, putting a hand on her arm gently. The three of them sat in silence.

Marc was flushed with anger--he had to restrain himself from throwing something. He got up and went to the window, putting his back to the two others in the room, and he stood there for a long time. Finally he turned back, looking only at Fisher, and said, "great--a lovely story.

"Okay, I sat here, I listened--now get the fuck out of my office."

Sheryl gasped, but Fisher just nodded and indicated to Sheryl to stand, and the two of them moved to the door. "Thank you for your time," he said to Marc.

As they were leaving Marc surprised himself. "Wait," he said. "Dr. Fisher, uh, would you come back in for a moment?"

Fisher took a couple of steps back into the room and Marc closed the door behind him.

"I'd like to come talk to you--without Sheryl, just you and me."

"That would be fine, Marc. Let's set it up." They pulled out their appointment books and found a time.

"Just one thing, though--what we talk about is private, okay? You don't repeat any of it to Sheryl. Not a word."

"Agreed," said Fisher, and he went out of the room.

******************

Nothing changed right away, but after a couple of weeks Marc noticed that he felt a little different. His appointments with Dr. Fisher gave him an outlet to talk about his anger, his hurt feelings, the insecurities that any man would feel when his wife screwed someone else--a younger, good-looking guy.

Fisher listened carefully, asked questions, shared his own views occasionally. He took Marc's feelings seriously, never giving the sense that Marc was over-reacting or that his pain and anger weren't fully justified. To his own surprise, Marc began to realize that he trusted the guy.

At their fifth appointment Fisher said, "do you think it's too soon to start talking about the future, Marc--about what you want, going forward?"

Marc thought about it. "You mean, besides tossing her ass out of the house and making her sleep on the porch for a month?" He gave a sour grin. "That sounds appealing, actually."

"Would it help? Because it wouldn't surprise me a bit if she went along with it. She feels terrible, Marc. I know that you're bitter and angry, and you have every right to be. But Sheryl is suffering too. She blew up her marriage and hurt you very badly, and she knows it, and she has no idea how to make it right."

"Yeah, well, life's a bitch, isn't it?" Marc growled. Then he sat up and said, "okay--good question: what do I want?

"Besides wanting all this never to have happened--which I can't have. I guess I want to try to find a way back. As you know, I haven't been to a lawyer to start a divorce. I was very happy with Sheryl for 20 years--I just ....

"I want some ... some sort of ... atonement, I guess. Beyond a fucking 'apology'," he said, making ironic quotation marks in the air. "I want her to have to make up for it, somehow.

"That must be what the silence has been about, at least partly. At first it was just because I was so angry--I wanted to hurt her, and I thought that silence would do that even better than screaming and yelling. I was looking to punish her, and I guess I have."

Fisher said, "do you worry that she'll do it again? Is that a big part of it, wanting to make sure that she has to pay such a high price that she won't ever cheat again?"

Marc sighed. "I don't think she will. I think she's paying a pretty high price now, actually--not just with me but with the kids. They're baffled by what's going on, and that really disturbs her, she feels like she's hurt them too. Which I guess she has."

******************

Usually when Sheryl went up to their bedroom Marc was already in bed, on his side facing away from her. Some nights it was the other way around--he stayed away from the bedroom until after she was asleep. They hadn't touched each other, in bed or out, in more than three months.

So Sheryl was utterly shocked when she walked into the bedroom around 10:45 on Thursday night to see Marc there, sitting quite naked on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. His legs were a little spread and his half-erect cock lay sprawled across one thigh. He looked at her without saying anything.

"Marc, what--." Sheryl stopped herself; she knew he wouldn't speak to her. Watching him, knowing he was watching her, she undressed quickly and pulled on one of her sexiest nighties. Then she went over and kneeled down next to his side of the bed. Looking up at him, she began stroking her hands up and down her husband's thighs.

He just watched her, enjoying the sensations as her hands slid up and down, his penis lengthening and thickening. When it began to stand up she moved her hands up higher, stroking it, caressing his balls. And when he had a full erection she leaned forward and took it between her lips.

Oral sex had always been part of the pleasurable routine of their bedroom life, and Sheryl knew what Marc liked. She sucked and licked him slowly, watching his eyes, wondering if he would pull her up onto the bed and fuck her. But he was totally passive, lying back and letting her bring him off.

When she knew he was very close, rock-hard and ready to shoot, she paused, glancing at his face; but he gave no signal, and after a few moments she returned to work, bringing him to an intense climax as he jerked and groaned, shooting what felt like months of cum into her mouth. She wondered if he'd even masturbated since the last time they'd had sex--she had, but only once or twice, without much pleasure. She hadn't been feeling very sexy these days.

She swallowed his cum and continued to suck him gently as he softened. When she could feel his body totally relaxed she sat back, smiling at him. She knew she had pleased him but was disappointed that he wouldn't give her the slightest smile, not even a little nod of recognition.

Still, she said, "thanks, honey--that was nice." Getting no reply, she went into the bathroom to take off her makeup and brush her teeth.

When she returned to bed his light was out and he was, as always, turned on his side away from her. Turning out her own light, she snuggled up to spoon him, but he shifted his body away from her. With a sigh, she went back on her own side. She'd hoped for something in return for her blow-job, and her pussy felt moist and swollen.

Instead she waited, and after his breathing told her he was completely asleep she masturbated quietly, trying not to shudder or moan. She was so aroused that she came within minutes, then turned over and fell quickly asleep.

******************

Nothing was different after that night--at least not right away. Marc presented himself for blowjobs twice more in the next week or so, and Sheryl obliged him, again without getting any response or any sexual satisfaction herself. When she found herself feeling resentful, she reminded herself of what she had done, how she had betrayed and hurt Marc. And it redoubled her determination to be patient and loving, and to show her devotion to her husband in any way she could.

By now it had been so long that Allie and Jeff were oddly used to the totally strange dynamic in their family. Dad would act quite normally around them, be his usual funny and loving and supportive self; and so would mom. He just ignored her, and she never spoke to him except when absolutely necessary.

It was beyond obvious that this couldn't go on forever; but the kids were busy enough that they didn't worry about it much. The family didn't seem to be breaking up, that was good enough for them.

A few days after the third blowjob, Sheryl made a special dinner. It had crossed her mind the day before that their 20th wedding anniversary was less than four months away. Who knew if they'd even be married then, let alone in a mood to celebrate? It made her sad, and more determined than ever to do what she could to save her marriage.

So she did the necessary shopping and cooked Marc's very favorite dinner: lamb chops in duck sauce, green beans amandine, rice pilaf and a salad. The meal had a history: she'd made it for a number of special occasions, like important birthdays, once to celebrate a big promotion, and once to thank Marc for being very loving and supportive after her mother had died.

Neither Allie or Jeff even noticed, but she could see Marc take an extra second to look over the table before they began to eat. The kids vanished to do their homework the moment they put down their forks; and as had become his habit Marc got up to leave about two minutes later, making no effort to help clear the table.

Behind him Marc heard Sheryl say, "I hope you enjoyed the dinner, honey--I made it special."

Before he could stop himself Marc said, "it sucked," and continued out of the room. He grinned to himself in surprise.

Alone at the table Sheryl sat, utterly shocked. Then she laughed to herself. "The first two words I get out of him in more than three months, and that's what he has to say?"

She was thrilled, actually. She knew he liked the dinner. What mattered was that he'd spoken to her--even unkindly. She listened to him heading out of the house, and felt more hopeful than she had in a long time.

******************

Marc sat at the bar, half-listening to the drone of the announcers. Early season baseball, what could be more boring. He drank a little of his beer, but he was pretty full from the lamb chops.

He hadn't meant to speak to her--not a word. It wasn't anything he'd planned, it just slipped out. The dinner was his favorite, and it was delicious, and he knew she'd made it on purpose. He thought about how patient she'd been with him.

Not that he didn't have it coming, the fucking bitch had cheated on him!

But she'd taken everything he'd dished out, all the silence, all the rejections, and kept things going. Kept running the house, taking care of him and the kids, doing all the things she always did.

Even the blowjobs. Damn, that had been cold of him. Well, wait a minute--didn't the cunt deserve it? But she'd stroked him, sucked him off lovingly, without a word from him--a word or a gesture--and smiled at him. And done it a couple of more times, the next week.