Sprung Ch. 01-04

I still read people here who say, "All the story lines have been found", "There are no original ways to discover your partner cheating that haven't been used", "there are no original consequences". To those people and the ones reading those comments, I say, CRAP! I am far from an artistic or super-imaginative person, but it only took me a matter of hours to come up with a discovery method I haven't seen and nine distinct story lines. I don't say this to brag, but to beg you not to believe the naysayers. If you believe them, you won't put pen to paper and maybe miss out on having as much fun as I have for the last three years.

I also get people writing to me saying they'd love to write but can't think of a story outline. I have on several occasions helped these people out with an idea for a story, and only once did it turn out bad when the guy showed himself to be a back-stabbing little cunt.

So, I give you 'SPRUNG 1-9'. This is the third time I've tried something different to just about everything I've ever seen here. Sure, I got smacked down the other two times but, hey, I'm an optimist.

What SPRUNG is, is a common start to a story, then nine different endings. Some short, some long, some happy, some sad, some ambiguous; but all distinctly different. Quite frankly, I think two of the endings are amongst my best work. They go from gentle to harsh down the sequence. From the continuance of a happy marriage in Sprung 1, to the whole town being warmed by the burning bitches/bastards.

My public service gift to those struggling to start writing is an invitation. Grab any of the SPRUNG stories you like and do what you will with them. Plagiarise the whole start and write your own ending. Steal one of the concepts and write your own words. Anything you like, just put pen to paper, finger to keyboard, and have fun. I desire no acknowledgement for this gift, although a private email to tell me how you enjoyed your writing and publishing experience would be nice. To this end, some of the stories are incomplete. Either imagine the ending you want or write one and publish.

If you're worried about your spelling or grammar, or if English isn't your first language, then feel free to send to me for proofreading. If I'm busy, my partner in crime, CTC, a mighty fine editor, will muck in. We can do anything requested, from commenting on the story line, to shut-the-fuck-up-and-just-correct-the-spelling. Again, acknowledgement isn't required. JUST GET OFF YOUR ASSES AND START WRITING.

This one has the common start and four alternate endings. The next five will be stand-alone stories with the same beginning as this one. I'll submit them one per day. Warning. These first four do not have a cut and dried ending. They are left open. If you don't like that kind of thing, then feel free to vote with your feet.

Many thanks to XTCHR for the advice and CTC for... everything.

There's no sex in this one.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I looked for the last time at my reflection in the mirror. Could I do it? Could I really get away with this? Could the forty-year old, not beautiful but also not plain, housewife who has never done anything remotely like this, have one extramarital adventure with no repercussions at all?

I took in my reflection. The person looking back at me would have to walk the gauntlet past her totally clueless husband. Must appear exactly as described on the packet: a dutiful niece going to look after her frail aunt for the weekend, so her other aunt could have a break. There could be no sign of the woman who was using the story as a cover to meet another man for two nights of who only knew what in his remote cottage in the mountains.

For the last time, I looked for any holes in my cover story. Auntie June was indeed sickly and was getting looked after by my Auntie Peg. Both were widowed, Peg's husband having died last year. Aunt June's husband, Nicolas, had been killed in Vietnam in the late sixties and she'd never really gotten over it. She'd chosen to have his body cremated, buried the ashes in the backyard, and built a little shrine. Every visitor to the house was expected to go out and give their regards to Uncle Nick. Auntie Peg was indeed having a break from care this weekend, but June was being taken to Peg's son's house while his mum had a respite.

So, discovery methods to scupper my plans?

My husband, Dave, wasn't on friendly terms with Aunt Peg, so wouldn't speak to her to confirm or deny my story. I doubt he even had a number for her son. Aunt June had no fixed-line phone, so Dave couldn't be suspicious when I didn't answer it. So long as I always answered my cell in the next two days, I was fine.

Could Dave drop in to June's house unannounced? Impossible. A couple of hours after I left, he was going to the airport and flying out for a weekend business trip. Our two children my sister had already picked up to look after until we both returned on Sunday. His trip was a last-minute thing. Soothing a client who thought there was a huge problem with their mansion design when it was already half built. That wasn't unknown and no amount of explaining it over the phone allayed their fears. Dave was using the opportunity to stay on site and design the gardens surrounding the house. It would save him a trip later. If I'd known about the trip earlier, I may not have bothered to make such elaborate plans of my own and invited Michael here. No. Too risky. So, with the double surety of my planning and Dave's trip, I could not envision any scenario where my not being where I was supposed to be, with who I was supposed to be with, was discovered.

The doorbell rang, and I went to the bedroom door until I was sure who it was. It was my husband's PA, Julie, obviously dropping off last minute stuff for Dave's trip. She'd been with Dave for two years now and I knew Dave was sponsoring her through architecture school. He often described her as his perfect counterpoint, seeing all the things he didn't. He even dedicated the award he won last year to her.

Any other wife might have been jealous of a younger, trimmer, better looking, bigger boobed woman that spent almost as much time with their husband as they did, but they didn't know my Dave. He would be more likely to put his cock in a lion's mouth and yell, "Dinner time, kitty", than betray my trust. I trusted him exactly the way he trusted me. A roaring noise in my head accompanied that thought. I was using that trust to abuse that trust and the sudden realisation of that almost made my conscience make me abandon my plans. Forcibly thinking of Michael, only the second guy I'd have had in my bed, taking me while I was still wearing my suspender belt and stockings, my black cocktail dress in a discarded heap on the bedroom floor, stiffened my resolve until the moment passed.

Could there have been anything in my suitcase to give me away? I'd left it open on the bed all morning specifically to show Dave there was nothing inappropriate in it. All the clothes were consistent with my cover story. Sure, there was another bag locked in the trunk of my car, with my cocktail dress and other clothes in it, but as I had the only two keys for my car, all was good. The silky negligee, fancy stockings, and push-up bra with matching panties and suspender belt, had been purchased on the other side of town, with cash. The packaging and receipts were disposed of before reaching my car, and the offending items put straight in the trunk. As soon as Michael saw me wearing them, there was no chance of him chickening out on me. Besides, they made me look sexy, and my confidence needed all the help it could get if I was going to go all the way with this.

That reminded me. Appearance. Was it consistent with a wife going to look after her aging aunt? Let's see, skirt down to my knees, showing off my calves, conservative blouse. Modest make-up that could be touched up in the car before I got to the cottage. I had considered stopping somewhere to change into something sexier before getting there, but decided it wasn't worth the risk. No, meet Michael at the cabin, an hour in the opposite direction to my aunt's house. Shower and change into sexier clothes, out to the quiet restaurant Mick had told me about, then back to the cottage for dessert. I'd packed a second dress for Saturday night, but doubted it would be necessary.

I'd once done an adult education course in cooking. The first day we'd learnt that the first bite was with the eye. I hadn't planned to wear any jewellery apart from my wedding rings, but looking at myself critically, I needed something else. Opening my jewellery box, I chose my current favourite necklace. Was it consistent with the trip? A little over the top maybe, but it helped my confidence so stayed in place. I undid the top two buttons on my blouse and leaned towards the mirror. The necklace complimented my cleavage, far and away my major asset, perfectly. Yes, it was worth the risk.

So, cover story good, nothing suspicious packed, nothing about my appearance to give me away. Was it worth reviewing the precautions Michael was taking with his wife. No. That was much simpler. He was going to their cabin as he did regularly to de-stress. His wife was flying out with their kids Saturday to visit her mum in the next state. All good.

Only one difficult thing remained to do. Getting past Dave to the front door. Somehow me and my conscience had to make the trip without giving anything away.

No, Dave was always going to be the problem. How would the woman in the mirror feel when he looked at her? When he told her he loved her? Maybe, when he again told her what a lovely person she was for doing what she was doing. Some of it I could cover by avoiding eye contact. I practiced once again in the mirror, arranging my features in a neutral expression. I'd already begun saying goodbye. A passing hug, kiss, and squeeze of Dave, and I was out of there and on the way to my once-in-a-lifetime adventure. A two-day sabbatical from being a good mother and wife. Did I need to run through my justifications to myself again? No. I'd done all that when the decision was made. I'd convinced myself of that absolutely. Otherwise, there was no chance of looking Dave in the eye in five minute's time.

For strength, I let my mind wander down memory lane a little. I was a standard stay-at-home mum until our youngest, Jenny, started full-time school. Then I started work for a temp agency and did secretarial work where needed. Sometimes, I insisted I could only work between nine and three, so I could drop the kids off and pick them up. Others, I worked later, and Dave altered his hours to leave earlier in the morning, so he could pick them up. After Jenny went off to high school at twelve, I went back to work full-time as we'd decided. I was an intelligent, twenty-first century woman that needed to keep her brain active. I'd picked up my previous career, as a legal secretary, in short order and started with one of the biggest firms in town. That was nine months ago. Dave was home not much later than the kids most days.

One of the senior corporate lawyers was Michael. There had been an instant connection between us. You know the thing, when you feel like you knew each other in a past life. In fact, I'd joked along those lines to him at our first meeting. He'd said that he had once believed in reincarnation, but that was in his last life. His humour was just one of the things that attracted me. He was big and handsome, slightly younger than I, intelligent and quick. I learned about him slowly at first, when we just happened to be in the lunch room together. That pace quickened a little after I regularly chose to eat when I saw him heading there. It got to the point where I felt a little thrill every time I saw him. That thrill had been missing from my interactions with Dave for some time.

I began to suspect that Michael felt the same way when I caught him checking I was at my desk before walking past me with his lunch. From then on, we shared lunch every day and I discovered that in many respects we were a perfect match. Apart from the fact that we were both happily married with young families, that is.

One day, we were alone in the break room when his hand accidentally brushed mine. It was electric. I knew it and he knew it. We put our heads together and made plans to slip out separately the next day for an extended lunch, way on the other side of town. Before we went, I ascertained where Dave was, and Mick did the same for his wife. We did that at least once a week from two months ago until now. Starting four weeks ago, we'd retired to his car, with its tinted windows and kissed. Starting two weeks ago, we'd planned to get away together this weekend. Now.

Don't get me wrong, we aren't in love or anything like that. You see, part of our discussions were how sexually inexperienced we were when we married and how, after many years of marriage, we were just a little bored. The sexual tension we felt whenever we were together just threw us both back to when we were young and free. Neither of us discussed what would happen after this weekend. I, for one, was intending for it to be a one-time thing, but was wise enough to know I had a problem on my hands if it turned out to be so fantastic I wanted a repeat.

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was time to go. Deep breath, Sarah. This is the hard part and should be over in minutes. Sure, you'll probably feel guilty when you see Dave on Sunday, but that's all right. By then you'll know it's all in the past and you will devote the rest of your life to making this fine man happy. Grabbing my small suitcase, I walked into the lounge. Dave was sitting on the couch, staring at a large framed photo that hung above the fireplace. Putting my bag down near the front door, I turned around.

******

ALTERNATE ENDING #1: BTB Rating 0

Putting my bag down near the front door, I turned around.

And stopped. Dave was looking at me with an expression of, what? Regret? I know what you're thinking. He knew where I was going, and this was the end. No. The regret was that fate had separated us for the next two days. I felt a sudden surge of overwhelming love. I knew with a deadly certainty that I could never, would never, betray this fine man, more than I had already.

All of a sudden, the tawdry nature of the justifications I'd used to convince myself that betrayal was okay, stained my soul.

Yes, I was a virgin when I met Dave. But so was he. He was perfectly happy to die knowing no other women, I was a lesser human being for not wanting the same.

Yes, our lovemaking was a little stale due to familiarity. But we'd learned exactly what each other did and didn't like. Had I done enough to keep it fresh and vibrant? No, I hadn't. Certainly not in the last six months as my attention gradually focused elsewhere.

And why would I want to feel like a teenager again? Why evoke memories of extreme social consciousness and embarrassing skin conditions? What the hell was I thinking about? Yes, we were young and free at that age. We were also very, very alone.

The worst and most evil justification, though, was that if I was clever enough and planned well enough, no one would ever know. That was such bullshit. I WOULD KNOW, and it would forever soil me as a wife, mother, and human being. That I had risked my perfect marriage and the happiness of my children, for what?

I stared at Dave and the tears streamed down my face. He looked confused and I was distracted. Already planning my phone call to Michael, asking that he never speak to me unprofessionally again, and my call to Aunty Peg, offering to give her the weekend off or at least give her some company. After all, I couldn't not go anywhere, could I? I would confess to her; that's right. Try to purge my soul of the stain I'd put there with my actions and thoughts to date. Maybe if I never spoke to Michael again, I could forgive myself for the sins I'd already committed.

After the weekend of confession, I would return and be the world's greatest wife and mother. A much wiser person.

ALTERNATE ENDING #2: BTB Rating 1

Putting my bag down near the front door, I turned around.

And stopped. Dave had a crestfallen expression on his face and his eyes were focused on my throat. As I looked, his eyes began to glisten, which was as close as he ever got to tears. As I stared, confused, his expression changed to one of determination.

"Wha...what is it, Dave?"

"Really, Sarah? You were really going to meet your lover wearing the necklace I bought you with love for our anniversary last year. That's just sick."

I was absolutely stunned. Despite all my precautions, Dave had apparently seen through me just like that. But what did he know? Could this just be a wild stab in the dark? A joke even? I looked in his eyes and saw infinite sadness. Whatever happened in the next five minutes, five weeks, or five years, it was going to be vastly different to the future of ten minutes ago.

I wasn't prepared for this. I'd never dedicated a microsecond's brain runtime to answering for my crimes. I'd never meant to be caught and had been incredibly careful in the planning. That meant I had to think on the fly. Dave seemed to be content to just stare at me. Could I use the justifications I'd used to convince myself as excuses?

Yes, I was a virgin when I met Dave. But so was he. He was perfectly happy to die knowing no other women; I was a lesser human being for not wanting the same.

Yes, our lovemaking was a little stale due to familiarity. But we'd learned exactly what each other did and didn't like. Had I done enough to keep it fresh and vibrant? No, I hadn't. Certainly not in the last six months as my attention gradually focused elsewhere.

And why would I want to feel like a teenager again? Why evoke memories of extreme social consciousness and embarrassing skin conditions? What the hell was I thinking about? Yes, we were young and free at that age. We were also very, very alone.

The worst and most evil justification though, was that if I was clever enough and planned well enough, no one would ever know. That was such bullshit. I WOULD KNOW, and it would forever soil me as a wife and mother. That I had risked my perfect marriage and the happiness of my children, for what?

No. I knew no amount of justification could excuse this moment. The thoughts turned to ash as I thought them. The fate of my marriage, the happiness of my family, my very future hung in the balance. I desperately wanted to keep that happiness but realised instinctively that I'd handed all the power over to Dave, whose stare was getting really, really uncomfortable.

"Dave, I..."

"Shut..the...fuck...up..., Sarah."

I was stunned by the anger those five words, said through gritted teeth, revealed. My Dave was a gentle, kindly soul.

"I just couldn't go through with it, Sarah."

He stopped talking, looked down at the ground, eyes still glistening. I waited for him to obviously compose himself. The next time he spoke, his eyes remained downcast, like he was ashamed of something.

"I couldn't believe it when I first suspected you were up to no good. It was Friday of last week. I came home from work a few minutes early, the kids were not home, and you were obviously in our bedroom. I was going to burst in and ravish you, but when I looked through the crack in the door, you were standing in front of the mirror holding a little black dress in front of yourself. It was much, well, sluttier than anything I'd seen you wear before. You had an expression on your face like you couldn't believe you'd contemplate wearing something like that.