Standing at The Cliff

Author's notes:

This story is loosely (very loosely) based on actual events. I want to thank the person who told me their story and allowed me to write about it with creative license. I'm glad he enjoyed it when he read it.

Now comes the warning. There is no sex in this story. There wasn't a place to put it without making it gratuitous. I know this is an erotic site, but I hate stories that have sex in it just for the sake of having sex. If it adds nothing to the story, why do it? At least, that's my thinking. I apologize to those who do read stories for hot sex scenes, and I hope there are other stories posted today for you.

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I sat on the edge of the cliff overlooking my city like some comic book vigilante. The solitude that I sought in coming here was not to be. I needed silence. I wanted the world to be still - just for a moment - so that I could collect my thoughts. Even up here, I could see the city buzzing. I could feel the vibrancy of its life. Noisy life. Beneath me, the sounds of that vibrancy echoed through the open air as it found me. I couldn't escape it. Only death would provide the silence that I needed.

I could hear the blaring of sirens wailing loudly, as if crying over the fate of an unfortunate victim. Planes rumbled as they tore through the air. Even the invisible animals around me seemed to be in a commotion. The hooting of owls, the howling of coyotes, even the barking house dogs filled the air.

The city lights twinkled in the distance with untold stories. Some of them would be erotic in nature. Others would be violent and messy. There were even stories that would be a combination of both. Quite literally, thousands upon thousands of stories were unfolding at this very moment.

For instance, earlier in the evening, there was a woman who was laying out clothes for a date. She had a vast wardrobe in her obscenely large closet to choose from. She opted for a brand-new cocktail dress that she'd recently bought. She didn't have an event in mind when she bought it. She just saw it, had to have it, and purchased it without a second thought. She often did things like that. The numbers on the price tag were insignificant to her; I doubt she even glanced at it. No matter how much she used her credit card, it was never denied. It was almost like magic; an endless well that never ran dry.

This lucky woman was preparing to look her absolute best. She wanted her date to appreciate her beauty. What woman doesn't want that? She chose her favorite lingerie that would lift her breasts and create cleavage that men loved to stare at. Her $150 perfume was ready to be spritzed in key places to give a subtle, yet intoxicating, aroma.

She took a long, leisurely bath with scented bath salts. Then, she carefully styled her hair and applied her makeup with an artist's precision. After that, she dressed in front of a full-length mirror, making sure that everything was perfect. Her cell phone rang, resulting in a short interruption to the ceremony. She took a quick look at the screen, smiled knowingly, and answered with a throaty, seductive greeting. The conversation was brief, yet it was heavy with suggestive possibilities. When she was done putting herself together, she did one final twirl in the mirror. She liked the reflection that looked back at her, as her confident smile showed. She strolled out of the room with an extra bounce in her step, and headed out into the night.

Why did I give such an exhaustive description of her preparation? Because the meticulous manner in which she prepared for a night out was something that was very odd, considering the fact that her husband was out of town. Could a woman go through all this preparation for a casual rendezvous with friends? Sure, it's possible.

However, it wasn't likely in this case. How do I know? Because I knew this woman, and more importantly, who she was going to see. I understood why she waited until her husband was out of town before she made plans with this person. Her flirty conversation confirmed my worst fears. It opened doors to areas inside of me that I didn't know existed. Angry, hateful areas. It made me sick to my stomach to even think about.

She disgusted me. I loved her with everything I had. I owed her everything. But at the moment, she was all that I hated about women.

I know that I'm not supposed to think that way. Men are taught to respect women. It's our job to love, protect, and cherish them; even to understand them. That might really be too big of a task for most men to accomplish, but we try anyway.

We are taught to put women on a pedestal. Even at an early age, boys are told that girls are sugar and spice, and everything nice. The very first woman we meet is our mother, who gave birth to us. And then we pick a woman to be our life partner who will hopefully give birth to our children. These benevolent actions are supposed to require our reverence. But, if you think about it, the story is incomplete. After all, do they create life on their own? What is an egg without a sperm?

I'll tell you what it isn't. It isn't a baby.

So, what do we "owe" women, really? Respect? Absolutely. The same respect that we should have for people in general. But why is it that so many people feel that we owe them more respect than we owe men. They don't say that in as many words, but society in general places a higher value on women's lives than men's. In sitcoms and comedies about family life, the wives are always these hot, sexy, savvy women who have the unfortunate task of cleaning up after - or fixing the messes of - the bumbling buffoons that they are married to. "Father Knows Best" has been replaced with the likes of "Everybody Loves Raymond" (Not throwing shade on that show. I actually like it. It's just an example).

What does all this mean? It means that we treat the ladies as if everything they do and say is above reproach. What they say is supposed to treated like gospel, even if it isn't right. They are only wrong when they want to admit it (actually, forced to admit it after exhausting all other possibilities). Other times, men are told to keep their mouths shut if they want peace.

Why has questioning women, or holding them responsible for the things that they say or do, become synonymous with misogyny? They do it to us all the time. Why is it that double standards are wrong, unless they are ones that favor the "fairer sex"? When men cheat, they are labeled the worst kind of human. When women cheat, it is often assumed that the husband failed her. When a man hits a woman, he is an abusive asshole who belongs in jail (no need saying I am defending abuse because I sure as hell am not). But if a woman hits a man, we wonder what he did to deserve it. Calling a man a dick is part of pop culture. Calling a woman a cunt is obscene, even when said in response to being called a dick.

Why am I rambling? Do I hate women? Is this the whining monologue of a wronged man who now views the opposite gender with disdain? Am I a misogynist?

Do you see how asking fair questions spirals into being labeled? Before you stop reading and write me off as some woman-hating, anti-feminist asshole, I need to tell you why I'm sitting on this cliff asking these questions.

My entire view on the world was completely destroyed this afternoon. Everything that I was taught as a young man was turned on its head in a matter of minutes. All the things that my parents told me about marriage was a lie. My mom told me lies about what to expect if you treat women well. My dad told me lies about being a real man. They shaped my view of what life should be like once I got married. They were the reason I was sitting on the edge of this cliff, literally and figuratively.

I think I need to go back to the beginning. Maybe then we can understand how I got here; we can see how I came to be standing on this cliff.

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FOUR YEARS AGO

"That's a fine woman you have there, son. Take care of her. Respect her. Be the man that I taught you to be."

My dad beamed with pride as he told me this. He pulled me in for a manly embrace, giving me a stern pat on the back as he did so.

"I will dad. I will."

We stepped back after the brief hug. As we stood in one of the back rooms of the church, dressed in matching tuxedos, we waited for the appointed time to make our way down the aisle to my future. I could hear the excited hub-bub of the crowd in the sanctuary.

"Where's mom?"

He smiled and snickered. "You know your mother. She's barking orders at the bridesmaids, driving everyone crazy. Even the priest got a taste."

A look of concern came across my face. "Dad, please, don't let her drive Tabby crazy. Especially not today. This is about me and her, not about mom. You know how she gets when EVERYTHING has to be perfect."

"Son, relax. Your mom is just excited, and she's trying to make sure that every goes well. She's been dreaming of this moment since she held you in her arms for the first time."

"Dad..."

"Son, look at me." my dad interrupted with a stern voice as he placed both of his hands on my shoulders. He took a deep breath, indicating that he wanted me to do the same. I followed his lead.

"You're nervous. I know what you're going through. I went through it myself. Every man goes through it. If you weren't nervous, I'd be worried."

I nodded to acknowledge what he'd said and took another deep breath.

"Calm down." He continued. "There is nothing that is going to keep Tabby from marrying you. Nothing. She loves the hell out of you. Even your mother can't drive her crazy enough to make her change her mind."

"You're right." I said, trying to quell my nerves. My stomach was in knots. This was it; the moment of truth. I would pledge my life to Tabitha and officially vow to always be faithful to her.

I loved Tabby with all my heart. I didn't want any woman but her. Still, it was a little overwhelming to think about being her husband for the REST OF MY LIFE. After all, I was only twenty-three. If I lived to be eighty-five, the rest of my life would be SIXTY-TWO years!

What if my love for her wasn't strong enough? What if I wasn't a good enough husband? What if she looked back and realized that she made a horrible mistake marrying me? What if someone better came along? What if...

My dad must have read the dark thoughts I was having. Once again, he broke me out of them. "I want you to think about me and your mother. Look at us. I've been married to her for seventeen years, and not a day goes by that I regret it. You and her are the most precious things I have, and my life would be empty without you in it. I love her just as much as I did when I saw her in her wedding dress. She is my everything. Things haven't always been easy between us. After all, I'm nine years older than her. The age difference makes it somewhat tough for us at times. We struggle, we fight, but we've always made it through. She knows that I'm not going anywhere. After it's all said and done, we each know that we have a lifelong partner in the other. Nothing is going to split us apart. I won't let it. Neither will she. Trust me son, you want that. When you wake up decades from now, and your son is walking down the aisle, you will proudly say the same thing to him."

Tears welled up in my eyes. I didn't let them fall though. I had my pride, after all. Instead, I sniffed quickly and sidestepped any awkward show of emotion by jokingly asking, "What if I have a girl?"

It took him a moment to realize what I did, but he went along with it. He smiled and said, "Then you keep trying until you get a boy. I want a grandson."

"Yes sir! If I have to have sex with Tabby every day, I will do that for YOU." His face screwed up a little when I said that, so I asked, "Too much?"

"Yeah, a little." He said quickly with a short nod. Then we bust out laughing as he shook his head in fake disgust.

I was so glad that he was back here with me. I couldn't have chosen a better best man. He was the only man that I even considered having at my side. Even my best friend Robbie wasn't in the running compared to my dad.

Henry was technically my stepdad. My "real father" left when I was two. I never got a straight story on the exact circumstances surrounding his decision to abandon us. My mother mentioned him as little as possible. The only thing I could remember - vaguely - was my stepdad marrying my mother when I was six, and they'd been dating for a year before that. So, Henry was the only dad I knew. He was the example of what a real man is supposed to be.

The wedding went off without a hitch. Tabby was truly the most beautiful woman in the room. When I saw her, all my doubts melted away. I knew that I'd made the best choice. I said my vows to her, meaning every single word. I listened as she said hers. Tears of happiness streamed from her eyes as she did. When I was finally able to kiss the bride, I made a promise to myself to never let her go.

And I never did.

Throughout the four years of my marriage, my parents were there for me. For both of us, really. They guided us through our first big argument, my mom taught Tabby a few things about cooking a Thanksgiving meal, and my dad was always ready with advice for me. Our marriage was everything it was supposed to be, and my parents had a big part in that. I tried to be the husband to Tabby that dad was to mom. His favorite saying was, "a happy wife makes for a happy life". He lived his life around that motto. He taught me the importance of always taking care of your woman.

Now, I know that all of that was a crock of shit.

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THE PRESENT

Until today, I thought my dad was the wisest man on the earth. Until today, I was trying to model my marriage after his and mom's. Until today...

I had it all. I had a beautiful life with a beautiful wife. Both of my parents were alive. I worked side by side with my dad, who owned a chain of computer shops. Our shops repaired computers, but our most lucrative business came from selling custom computers or parts online. Most of our customers were hard core gamers or people who needed quality computers. Our website was engineered to assist the customer with what he/she needed, whether they were a computer guru or a somebody who was putting together their first computer. We did well.

Was I just blind? Did I fail to see all the warning signs? Was life just so good that trouble was an impossibility?

As I looked over the side of the cliff, I saw nothing but a sheet of darkness directly beneath me. The faint city lights twinkled and danced in the distance, but the only thing that greeted me under my feet was...nothingness. No answers. No reprieve from the earth-shattering realization I now faced.

What was I to do? How could I continue with my relationship knowing that everything it was built on was a lie?

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EARLIER THIS AFTERNOON

I love Sundays. My weeks revolved around them. Most people live for Saturdays, but my guess is that those people aren't married. My Saturdays were designated for Tabby. On these days, I would render my services to her. "Honey-do" lists, dates nights, taking her shopping so that I could provide a "man's opinion" (as well as the credit card); whatever she needed of me, I was there.

But Sundays were the holiest of days, and I'm not talking church. On Sunday, I could do what I wanted. It was sort of an unwritten rule that just fell into place. Tabby understood this, even if it was subconsciously, so she usually found other things to do.

During the cold months, I had football. In the summertime, I would take leisurely trips on my Ducati. Other things I did was work on my truck, go to the gym, hang out with my best friend Robbie, or just sit around in my boxers and do nothing.

Sounds pretty fantastic, doesn't it?

This Sunday was supposed to be an exception to that. My dad and I had to go out of town to meet with representatives of a company that had just acquired one of our main suppliers. One of the first things the buyer did was raise prices on many parts that we bought from them. This would greatly affect our profit margin. So, my dad arranged for a meet-and-greet in a central location. He brought me, as well as a few other key people. We were planning to negotiate and try to come to agreeable terms. Since we had a long-standing relationship with the former company, we were hopeful we'd be able to achieve that.

This was an opportunity for me to get acquainted with the other guys, as well as meet the new owners. I didn't really know the other guys as well as dad would have liked. Most of them were his age, so there was nothing to really bond over. Besides that, in their minds I was just "his son". Nothing more. Since I starting working with dad, he was grooming me to take a more active role. This was a great opportunity to reintroduce me to them as a key person.

As fate would have it, this meeting was to take place during the worst weekend possible. SUPER BOWL LI WEEKEND! The Patriots had made it (once again) and I wanted to see Tom Brady make history with his fifth championship. Even though I knew the game really wouldn't be that interesting, and that the Patriots would just put the Falcons away early, I wanted to see it.

The meeting was on Saturday, so the plan was to fly to the central location on Friday, have the meeting on Saturday, and get a flight back Sunday morning. Robbie always threw the best Super Bowl parties; in fact, he threw the best parties, period. It was just his thing. He was the fun friend; I was the responsible one. This dynamic hadn't changed since high school. We had a long-standing tradition of trying to watch the big games together. NBA finals, Super Bowls, Final Four, etc. And we were both big Patriots fans. They'd been in 6 Super Bowls since Robbie started his tradition, and the two times I missed the party, they lost. My friends blamed me for those losses. They really did. If you don't follow sports, you won't understand. If you do, you can feel my pain. I had to be there.

You know what they say about the best laid plans. As luck would have it, there were no available flights back home before kick-off. They were all booked.

The only thing to do would be to reschedule the meeting, of course. That was my thinking. But the reps from the new company had other plans. No amount pleading to reschedule worked. They had busy schedules, and this was the only time they had available. (Coincidently, they were from Dallas. I'm sure that their lack of interest in the Super Bowl had NOTHING to do with the Cowgirls blowing it once again).

My Dad tried to cheer me up. He decided to throw a Super Bowl party in the suite that we rented. It was a nice gesture and I tried to be appreciative, but I was still bummed out.

Nevertheless, I was a team player. I put on a brave face and brought my A game. We arrived on Friday, and all of us strategized on how to approach the meeting. We wanted to make sure that we were on point and razor sharp.

The next day, we had the meeting. Funny thing, we spent so much time perfecting our game plan that we inadvertently came to think of the reps as "the enemy". We were prepared to play hard ball and not trust a word they said.

The reality was kind of anti-climactic. They were people like us. They didn't come in with expensive suits and condescending attitudes. They were warm, polite, open, and actually joked around with us.

However, when we got down to the negotiation portion of the meeting, things did get serious. We told them what we wanted; they told us what they were authorized to do. My dad politely pointed out our reputation, and how much business we had done with their predecessors. He insinuated that they wouldn't want to lose that business if they were unable to accommodate us. The reps had to get on the phone with their home office, and we eventually came to a favorable resolution. The assholes in Washington could learn a lot from small business people who disagree but listen to each other. Eventually they compromise and work things out in a way that satisfies everybody.