Swingin' on a Star

I guess more women would like her, if she hadn't dumped her husband for another driver as soon as she got into NASCAR. I guess more men would like her if she wasn't such an iron-clad bitch.

As I walk into the condo that I share with my husband Ted, I'm full of righteous indignation. Ted is going to pay for leaving me alone at our neighbor's place for the entire evening. I mean I know he loves that fucking car, but this was just too much. He probably took one of our smaller TVs or his iPad out to the garage and watched the game with that fucking car. Well, he's going to pay for it. I haven't decided if I want dinner at my favorite restaurant or a new outfit yet. Jewelry is not off the table either.

While walking through the house looking for him, I almost tripped over a trash bag. Why the hell does he have a bunch of trash bags all over the fucking house? I just cleaned the place up yesterday. He'd better have a good explanation for this weird behavior.

I finally found him in the one place that I knew he'd be. He looked up as I approached him and the look on his face was so sad that I almost fell for it. I really do love him. He's a great husband. He's handsome; he has a good job, and he clearly loves me. I can't think of a single man on earth that I would rather be married to. I decided to listen to his explanation before demanding jewelry. He's never done anything like this before.

"Let me guess," I said softly. "You got out here with your car and the two of you got to talking and you just lost track of time? Or did you just decide to watch the game with your car, so you could explain football to it instead of me?"

He looked up at me with the saddest look on his face, and I realized that this was serious. Even most super villains aren't going to stomp on a guy when he's already down and out. And that was how Ted looked.

"Why Teddy," I asked in a softer voice. "Why didn't you come to the party? Everyone wondered where you were. It was embarrassing to be at the party without you. Our friends kept asking me if everything was alright with us, and I didn't ..."

He turned and looked at me so suddenly that I stopped talking in mid sentence. The expression on his face was a new one. Ted and I were born only weeks apart. We were both thirty years old and had been together for ten years and married for eight.

It had been love at first sight for both of us, and we had moved in together within weeks of meeting. After ten years together I knew every quirk, foible, tick, and idiosyncrasy that this man had. But the look on his face was one I had never seen before. At least, I had never seen it directed towards me.

He looked at me as if I was some sort of rare insect that he was studying. It was as if he had never seen me before and was trying to figure me out. It took me a few seconds to recognize what was missing from his gaze. Then I realized that it was the love. My husband was looking at me as if I was just some woman he had run into at the supermarket and wanted to get away from.

Usually when Ted looked at me, I could feel the love from across the room. His gaze had that combination of awe at how beautiful he found me, and pride that I was his in it. But all of that was gone. I might as well have been Danica fucking Patrick from the way he looked at me.

"I guess I was just in shock," he said slowly. He spoke as if he was having trouble grouping words into sentences.

"What were you shocked about?" I asked. "Did you break your car?"

"No, it wasn't that bad," he said. "I was just shocked at going over to the condo next door to drop off the tables for the party. While I was dropping off the first couple of tables I looked in through the drapes hoping Mickey was there, and he could help me with the table and chairs." He paused and took a break as if steeling himself for what he was about to say.

"Instead, I saw you, bare ass naked, crawling across the floor on your belly like some kind of degraded worm just so you could suck Mickey's dick ..."

I heard his words, and they registered but everything just went black. I didn't actually faint; I was just out on my feet. For a long time neither of us said anything. When I regained the ability to make conscious thoughts, it seemed as if years had passed, but it couldn't have really been more than a few seconds.

Ted was no longer looking at me. Instead, his focus was back on his car. He stood up suddenly and went into the house leaving me there to stare at his car myself. It really was a pretty car. I could see why he loved it.

I followed him into the house, hoping he would listen to me.

"Ted, it didn't mean anything," I said. Realizing even as I said it how stupid it sounded. But it was, in fact, a statement of truth. What I had done with Mickey meant nothing. I didn't love Mickey. I didn't even like him very much. I certainly didn't prefer him to my husband.

Even while the words were coming out I knew that while the act itself in the grand scheme of things didn't have any deep emotional importance to me, it did mean a lot. It could mean the loss of Ted's trust. It could mean the loss of his love. It could mean the end of my marriage and my happiness.

I had marched into the house ready to demand jewelry, and now I was ready to beg for forgiveness. Things really can change quickly.

"Elaine, I think you should leave for a while," he said calmly. "I packed all of your clothes to make it easier for you."

"Leave ...?" I asked in shock. "But why?" He just lifted one eyebrow and looked at me as if I was stupid. Even as I asked the question, though I realized how stupid it sounded.

"Ted, Honey, I don't want to leave," I whined. My voice was louder than I expected, and I noticed the way he bristled when I called him honey. I really fucked up.

"Maybe you should go and visit your sister for a while," he said. "I need time to think."

"Ted I hate my sister," I said. "And her boyfriend is always staring at me."

"Try not to fuck him too," he spat. From the look in his eyes and the hurt, I saw there, I realized that I was in a fight. All the love and trust that we had built over ten years was gone. From the way Ted looked at me, I was far beneath even the lowest of the lowly sluts we knew. He saw me as some sort of desperate dick seeking missile, and I had to try to explain things to him.

"Ted, we need to talk, honey," I said. "I can explain this ..."

"Elaine, I don't want an explanation," he said. "I just want you gone so I can think. He suddenly stood up. The anger he was feeling added speed and force to his movements.

"Fuck it, then," he said loudly. "If you won't leave, I will."

The only thing I wanted less than to have to leave myself was for Ted to leave. If I left and he stayed, I would always know where he was. If he left, he could go anywhere.

Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, the bottom dropped out of the situation.

"Are we interrupting anything?" he asked. I turned to see Mickey carrying one of our patio tables back with Samantha right behind him carrying another.

For a second, nothing moved. The four of us stood there looking at each other. There was a perfect instant of equilibrium where everything and anything was possible. During that instant Ted could have decided not to share our problems with our friends. He could also have decided not to talk about it in front of Samantha and possibly ruin their marriage as well. He could have taken Mickey out to the garage to discuss it away from the women, as he usually did when he wanted to do some stupid car thing that I wouldn't understand. Or he could have simply told them that we were fine.

However, Ted did none of those things he crossed the distance between himself and Mickey like a bolt of light. Mickey just stood there looking even more stupid than usual. While we were at the party, one of our friends had taken a permanent magic marker and drew a beard, mustache, and bushy eyebrows on Mickey while he had dosed off. Another was about to use a red marker as lipstick, when Samantha had come back into the room. She made both of them leave immediately. Their dates were really unhappy about it. Samantha always defended Mickey. And she always forgave him no matter what stupid thing he did.

Mickey stood there with that stupid look on his face as Ted zoomed across the room. With his left hand, he slapped the patio table that Mickey was holding causing him to drop it. His right hand cocked itself and shot forward so fast I could barely see it. Ted was moving so fast it seemed like he was in slow motion. His fist arced into Mickey's jaw, and I heard and felt the impact from across the room.

On TV when someone delivers a powerful punch, the person they hit goes flying across the room. This was far more brutal than that. This was like one of those championship boxing matches. Mickey's eyes rolled back in his head. Then his body shuddered; his knees quivered as if he was losing his balance, and Mickey, all three hundred pounds of him collapsed onto my kitchen floor.

Samantha, like some sort of warrior goddess, ran over and stood between Ted, and what was left of Mickey. I guess this is a good time to admit that I secretly hate Samantha.

On paper, I should be prettier than she is. I mean, when you think about it, I have all the usual things to put me above her. Her hair is dark. I'm a natural blond. Her skin is tanned or dusky; I'm fair skinned. She's a big girl. I'm slim and petite. I have all of the attributes that men want. But it's only on paper that I come out ahead.

In reality, that mane of dark hair of hers is so long and so thick that I'd give anything to have it. She always complains about how unruly it is, and how she can't do anything with it except occasionally to put it into a ponytail that then goes nearly to her ass. What that hair is, is sexy. I think she only acts like she doesn't know it.

Half of the women in our circle spend hours tanning just trying temporarily to get our skin to look like hers does naturally. We also try diet after diet, because we never want to be fat. But all of our husbands are mesmerized by Samantha's body.

And truthfully, it's not her fault. She doesn't flaunt herself. There are times when everyone is sitting around the pool, with all of the women in swim suits. The smaller women among us wore more revealing suits. Some of us even had the courage to wear thong bikinis. And there was Samantha, perched beside her fat loser husband in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

It had to be 96 degrees out that day, and everyone was urging her to put on a suit.

"Why so you guys can make fun of my fat?" she asked.

"Sam, we're all friends," said one of the bikini-clad women. "We just want you to be comfortable. Just relax."

Several others joined in. I think the women just wanted a chance to flaunt their thin bodies, but the men just wanted a look at her huge breasts.

Samantha came back out to the pool a few moments later wearing a one-piece suit that while modest, changed the mood around the pool.

Her boobs weren't only substantial; they were immune to the effects of gravity. They stood right up without a bra. I'm not sure if it was nervousness about wearing the swim suit in public, or just a chill but her nipples were standing straight up, and as soon as they saw her most of the guys had to sit down to avoid embarrassment themselves.

Almost everyone stopped talking and stared at nearly a foot of cleavage that the v-neck of her suit revealed. Her large thighs were so well-toned that she had no cellulite on them, anywhere. Her legs and calves while thick were so well shaped that it was obvious what the guys were thinking. And her ass was a work of art. It was tight and round and quivered with every step. Each time she moved, her long beautiful hair slapped against that ass. Her ass, like a body-builder's biceps moved and rippled and drew attention to itself.

I don't know what we'd expected. But no one made fun of Samantha's body. In fact, a lot of the smaller women, in an attempt to draw attention away from their lack of pulchritude, put on cover-ups.

I think the most damning thing about that experience though was the fact that none of the women went into the pool ... except Samantha. Most of our suits cost hundreds of dollars and couldn't get wet without being ruined. There was also the fact that most of us had spent hours in front of a mirror getting our make-up to look like we weren't wearing make-up. One dip in that water and our entire look would be ruined. And I don't even want to discuss what would happen to our hairstyles.

Samantha jumped in and out of the pool with the enthusiasm of a child. If we hoped that her make-up would run and her hair would be ruined, we were severely disappointed. Samantha lined up and Cannon-balled with the men. Then she emerged from her self-dunking, even prettier.

Her make-up was still perfect because she wasn't wearing any. Her hair was unreal. Once it got wet, it formed all sorts of waves and ringlets that had several of the women there staring at her in open-mouthed shock.

Her joy at the fun she was having was contagious. She herself quipped about how she had made the biggest splash of all in the pool because of her weight. No one could look away from her breasts though. The shock of the cold water made her nipples even more pronounced, and it was those that the guys found their open-mouthed adoration at.

The worst thing about it was the fact that Samantha made every woman there realize how catty and fake we all were. When something was funny ... she laughed. She didn't do one of those fake lady-like little cutesy titters. She had a rich full-bodied belly laugh that showed off that honest-to-goodness happiness.

When she ate, she didn't just fill a half a plate with salad and a tiny corner of her man's burger. I don't think Samantha knew what a fuckin' salad was. She ate burgers and hot dogs and chips with the guys and drank a beer herself.

By the end of the evening, all the women who'd wanted to pump themselves up by showing off their bone-thin bodies were sorely disappointed. I think we all came away from it realizing that in almost every way, we, not she, were somewhat less than.

I think to sum it up using all adjectives that began with "F," we were "FAKE," but Samantha was "FIERCE."

And I saw a bit of that fierceness, standing there in my kitchen. As I watched her place herself between her knocked-out loser of a husband and my enraged spouse, I hated her even more. Sam had no idea why Ted had just knocked the fuck out of Mickey, but she would do anything she had to protect him.

At the same time, her face radiated both confusion and intelligence. "Why," she asked. Her single word, distilling an entire conversation down to its essence.

Fuck I wished I was her. Perhaps that was what it all boiled down to. We all at times wish we were someone else. We all want to be Bill Gates, or Tom Brady or Kate Upton. I just wanted to be Samantha.

She reached out one hand and gently placed it on my husband's shoulder. He collapsed. All of the anger he had been holding in dissipated instead of exploding. The next thing I knew she had wrapped her arms around him and was hugging him while he told her what he had seen that afternoon.

I watched in shock as her beautiful face went through several transformations. This woman was clearly a warrior. I saw rage, shock, sadness, and sympathy all cross her face within seconds as she took my husband's hand and sat him down at our kitchen table. She cradled his head on those huge udders, and I felt anger of my own.

I heard her tell him that we all needed to sit down and talk about the situation. She told him that he didn't want to make any rash decisions that could make things worse.

"Things can't get any fucking worse!" he screamed. She calmed him down with a touch. Samantha clearly had more control over my husband than I'd ever had. Knowing that only made me hate her more. But while she was arguing for reason and helping me, I wasn't going to interrupt her.

If I thought that she was without anger, I was wrong. Mickey moaned as he began to regain consciousness, and one of those well-shaped legs snapped out and kicked him so hard that he moved. The fury on her face as she told him to get his ass up and go home wasn't lost on me. Especially as she looked across the kitchen and found my eyes.

The look she gave me said it all. I had been someone she'd considered a friend. I had betrayed her as well as my husband, and she didn't take that lightly. I left the kitchen and went into the living room while Mickey got up and slunk away out of the back door.

For the next forty minutes or so, I heard them talking. Their voices were low, and I couldn't make out anything that they were saying. The voice I heard the most often was hers.

After a while, they appeared in the doorway. At about the same time our doorbell rang. Neither of them moved so I got up to answer it.

My sister Carol stood there looking confused. She looked me over and after determining that I had no obvious bruising started talking. "So there's trouble in paradise, huh? It's good to see that you guys have problems sometimes too."

No one said anything, so she reached down and grabbed a couple of bags. "Jeezus, I thought you only wanted to stay for a couple of days," she said. "This seems like a hell of a lot of clothes for a couple of days."

"I actually didn't want to leave at all," I said, more for Ted's benefit than hers.

"Then why are you leaving," she spat. "What did he do? Who's she? He didn't hit you did he? Because if he slapped you around, he should be the one to leave."

"He didn't ..." I began. But before I could finish my answer, she was on again.

"So he cheated on you then?" she asked. "With her?" I just grabbed a couple of bags myself and led her out the door. As I got to the door, I turned and spoke to Ted for the first time.

"Ted, Honey, I really love you. I'm more sorry than you can ever know for what I did. Please forgive me. I know that you need some time to get past this but don't shut me out," I said.

Ted just turned and went back into the kitchen. "Elaine, how about if the four of us get together, here, in three days to talk," said Samantha.

"Three days," I exploded! "We haven't been apart for more than a day since we met. Are you out of your ...?" I swallowed my words and then started again as tears sprang to my eyes.

"How are we supposed to get past this if we don't talk about it?" I asked.

"We need time, Elaine," said Samantha. "Ted is really hurt. He's in shock. He's not thinking clearly. He needs some time to process all of this and try to figure out what he wants to do. He needs to figure out how he wants his life to be, and whether or not there's a place for you in it."

"Of course he wants me in it!" I spat. "I just made a mistake. It was just a dumb ..."

"Holy shit, Sis, YOU cheated on HIM," gushed my sister! "That was sooooo dumb!" Even as she began to laugh at me. We heard a voice from next door.

We looked outside and saw Mickey. He was standing on the sidewalk in front of our house, afraid to come any closer. "Sam, my face hurts," he said.

"Good," she spat! "Go back inside the house!"

My sister erupted into hysterical laughter then. "You cheated with the Stay Puff Marshmallow man," she chuckled. I grabbed more bags and pushed her out to the car.

The next three days were hell. I called in and told my boss that I was going through a family crisis and needed the week off. He told me that I only had two days of vacation time coming so the rest would have to be unpaid leave.

I sat around with Carol, crying my eyes out while she tried to draw the details out of me. Her boyfriend Alan obviously knew what was going on because he kept looking at me and trying not to laugh. By the second day, I got Carol to run me home, so I could get my car. Once there I told her she could go back, and I would be back to her place later.