The Camp Ch. 01: Mike and Sandy

"Mount the figure!" the sergeant ordered. The men picked up the straw effigy and tied it securely to the pole.

"Sanders! Front and center!" the sergeant ordered. Mike stepped in front of the sergeant, who handed him a lit torch. Mike grabbed the torch. "Burn the Bitch!" the sergeant ordered.

"Sir! Burn the Bitch! Aye, Aye, Sir!" Mike shouted in response. He walked to the pile of wood below the straw effigy and set the wood on fire. The flames licked up, catching the straw on fire.

"Burn! Burn! BURN!" the men chanted as the straw figure caught fire. As the flames covered the figure, the photos curled up and burned to ash. "BURN! BURN! BURN!" the men shouted, pumping their fists in the air.

They continued to chant and pump their fists in the air. The chants turned into howls and angry growls as the figure burned. Soon, the figure fell off the pole and burned as it lay on the ground. A few of the men unzipped their trousers and urinated on the figure.

Soon, the fire burned down and the figure was reduced to ash. Strangely enough, Mike and the others felt as though a heavy weight had been removed from their shoulders. The sergeant gave everyone a beer and the men celebrated. That night, they all slept soundly.

...

Meanwhile, Greg was fuming as he drove to visit Sandy. Sandy looked at him as he burst into the house.

"Greg, what's wrong?" she asked.

"That fucking bastard husband of yours got me fired," he said. "I'm going to kill the motherfucker when he gets back."

"He what?" she asked, incredulous. Her husband didn't have the backbone to do something like that, she thought.

"Yeah, he filed a complaint with the company and threatened to sue them," Greg said.

"Mike wouldn't do that," she said. "You know he doesn't have the balls to do something like that."

"All I know is that I'm going to break that little fucker's scrawny neck when he gets home," Greg growled.

...

Two days later, Mike and his fellow classmates stood at attention in freshly-laundered jeans and denim shirts as the camp commander addressed them.

"You men have come a long way since you arrived," he said. "You came here, scared, uncertain about your future, defeated and humiliated by the ones you loved the most. Now, you've gotten your manhood back. You look like men with the confidence to take on the world. You have the tools and the wherewithal to take on and successfully complete whatever you set out to do.

"I wish the best for each one of you. Remember, we're here for you 24 hours a day, seven days a week. If you need anything - anything at all - even someone to talk to, we're here for you. Now, go and take on the world!"

The sergeant stood in front of the class.

"Class, attention! Dis...missed!" The men whooped as they picked up their bags and headed to the bus, stopping to shake the sergeant's hand. They gathered before entering the bus to exchange contact information, promising to stay in contact with each other.

On the flight back, Mike wondered what he would face when he got home. There was no way he was staying with Sandy. No, that ship sailed a long time ago. But he wondered what she was doing. Or to be more precise, who.

He didn't have a whole lot of time to think about it as he fell asleep for the rest of the trip. When the plane landed, he grabbed his things and headed out to the long-term parking where his car was parked. He drove to the neighborhood where he knew Greg lived with his wife, Julia. As he approached Greg's house, he saw only one car in the driveway and knew that either Greg wasn't there or he had taken his wife's car.

Driving up to the house, he saw Julia come out of the house and walk to the car. He had a brainstorm and pulled up to the curb in front of the house. Julia looked at him as he got out of the car.

"Mrs. Morton," he said. She walked over to him.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

"Ma'am, my name is Mike Sanders," he said. "I work for your husband."

"Oh yes, I've heard Greg mention you," she said. "Aren't you the guy who went into some kind of mental institution a few months back?"

"No," Mike said. "I have been gone for three months, but it wasn't to a mental institution. The fact is, your husband and my wife drove me to do what I did."

"What do you mean?" she asked. He pulled out his briefcase and handed her a folder.

"Your husband and my wife have been having an affair," he said. Her eyes grew wide as she looked at the photos in the folder. "In fact, they spent a weekend in Las Vegas a while back."

"That fucking bastard," she hissed. "He told me he had to go to a conference in Boston."

"Mrs. Morton," he began before she cut him off.

"Please, call me Julia," she said.

"Julia," Mike said. "If he hasn't been already, your husband is going to be fired from his job. In fact, he may be with my wife right now. I'm heading to my house right now if you want to join me." Her eyes flashed as she looked at him.

"Okay," she said after giving it some thought. "I'll do it." She got into the passenger side of the car and Mike drove to his house. On the way, he told her a little bit about what had been going on and the real reason for his absence. "You poor man," she said when he finished. He shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm doing much better now," he said. "I feel like a new man in so many ways." By now, they had pulled up in front of his house. Greg's car was in the driveway. They got out of the car and met a man wearing a shirt and a tie. He was carrying a manila envelope.

"Are you here to serve papers on Sandy Sanders?" Mike asked. The man nodded his head. "Okay, let's do this," Mike said. They went to the house and rang the bell. Sandy answered the door and looked shocked as she laid eyes on her husband for the first time in three months. He resembled her husband, but she didn't recognize the strong, muscular man who pushed his way into the house.

"Mike?" she asked as she looked at him. Greg came running into the room, wearing only his boxer shorts and his shoes. His shirt and trousers were laying across the couch. It was obvious what they had been doing. When he saw Mike, his face turned red. He hadn't seen Julia yet, but she saw him.

"You fucking bastard," Greg roared, charging Mike. He swung a meaty fist, but Mike easily put him on the floor and broke his arm. Greg screamed in pain, grabbing the arm. Mike saw a bone had broken the skin. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a broom and a roll of duct tape out of his utility drawer. He spotted one of their good decorative kitchen towels hanging on its rod and grabbed it.

"Mike, please, that towel was a wedding gift," Sandy begged.

"Outta my way, cunt," he growled as he brushed by her. Sandy was shocked. Mike had never spoke to her like that before. As she watched, Mike unscrewed the head of the broom off the long wooden handle and easily broke it over his leg. He put the towel on Greg's arm to help stop the flow of blood and put the broken arm in a makeshift sling, using the two broom pieces and the duct tape. Greg moaned in pain as Mike stood up.

"What are you, a fucking wimp?" Mike asked Greg. "Shut the fuck up. It's only a broken arm." He looked at Julia. "You'd better take this piece of shit to the hospital so they can set that arm properly. And while you're there, have him tested for STDs."

"Thanks, Mike, I will," she said. "Just one thing first." She walked to Sandy and slapped her so hard she left a red mark on Sandy's face. "That's for fucking up my marriage." She walked back to where Greg was lying on the floor and helped him get dressed. He looked at Mike with hatred in his eyes.

"I'm not finished with you, asshole," he said through his pain. Mike grabbed him by the collar and went nose-to-nose with him.

"Any time, fuckwad," Mike said. "Next time, I'll snap your fucking neck." Greg's eyes went wide. Mike had never spoken like that to him before. Julia pushed him out the door and they left. The process server walked up to Sandy.

"Sandra Sanders?" he asked. She nodded her head. He handed her the manila envelope. "You've been served." He turned and walked out the house. Sandy opened the envelope and nearly collapsed when she read the paperwork.

"Cruelty and adultery?" she asked. "Are you serious? I'm going to fight you on this." Mike opened his briefcase and pulled out a large folder and an envelope.

"Just sign the fucking papers, cunt," he said. "Or all this is getting sent to everyone you know. Family, friends, co-workers. Everyone. I have pictures, video, you name it."

"You wouldn't dare," she said quietly.

"Watch me, cunt," he said.

"Please, quit calling me that, Mike," she said.

"Why?" Mike asked. "Isn't that what you are? A lying, cheating, scheming, no-good, two-bit scum-sucking cunt ready and willing to fuck anyone and everyone? How many cocks have you had over the last three months?"

"Only one or two," she said. Mike snorted.

"See, that's exactly what I meant," Mike said. "I've counted at least 50 different men and I'm sure there's a lot more."

"My God, Mike," she said. "What happened to you?" He looked at her hard.

"You, cunt," he said. "That's what happened. Now, sign the fucking papers. NOW!" She jumped when he yelled at her. He slammed a pen on the counter. "DO IT, CUNT!" he ordered. Shaking, she picked up the pen and signed the paperwork. He looked at the paperwork before putting it back in his briefcase.

"Now, pack your trash and get the FUCK out of my house, cunt," he said. "You have ten minutes. Whatever you leave behind will either get burned or thrown in the trash." She stood quietly, tears flowing down her cheeks. "MOVE YOUR ASS, GODDAMMIT!" he yelled, causing her to jump. She realized he was serious and began running through the house, collecting the things she wanted to take.

As she scurried to gather her things, Mike kept an eye on his watch. He felt a bit generous, so he gave her an extra two minutes, chuckling to himself as she struggled to load her things in her car. Finally, she finished and stood in front of him.

"You have everything you want, cunt?" he asked. She nodded her head. He grabbed her purse and took her house key. He tossed her purse back and grabbed her left hand. As she watched, he pried her wedding and engagement rings off.

"Please, Mike, I have no place else to go," she cried.

"Too bad, cunt," he said. "You should've thought about that before you started all this bullshit. Just make sure I have an address so I can send your half of what we get on the house and the final paperwork."

"I take it there's no way you can get past this," she said.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he asked. "You abuse me, then fuck damn near half the county in what was supposed to be our marital bed and you expect me to turn a blind eye to it? You're fucking crazy, cunt."

"I'm sorry," she said, looking at the floor.

"Yeah, you sure are," Mike said sarcastically.

"Do you really hate me that much?" she asked. He thought about her question before speaking.

"Not quite as much as I did a couple months ago," he said. "But I sure as hell don't love you anymore. And no, don't even think about trying to get back with me. I loved you exclusively for years, worked my ass off for you, put up with your bullshit, hoping you would start to love me. But you couldn't even bother to write me a fucking letter in three months. Clearly, you didn't give a shit about anyone or anything but yourself. So now, the only thing you have to worry about is yourself. If I were you, though, I'd get tested for STDs. There's no telling what all those men you fucked may be carrying."

Her face grew white when he said that, but she knew he was right. She nodded her head and started for the door. Before she left, though, she turned to face him one last time.

"I'm sorry, Mike," she said. "I never really wanted to hurt you. And for what it's worth, you look good. Really good." He nodded his head.

"Thanks," he said, observing that she never once said she loved him. She walked out the house, got in her car and drove off.

Mike took the signed paperwork to the local counselor, who immediately handed it to an attorney for filing. From there, he splurged on new clothes, since nothing he owned fit him anymore. Then it was off to a real estate agent to put the house up for sale. He purposefully avoided the office where his wife worked.

The next two days, he cleaned out what she had left and placed it in three piles - one for "burn," another for the dump and the third for Goodwill. The burn pile included Sandy's wedding dress, their wedding album and the photos of them together. He wanted nothing around to remind him of her. He pulled the large bed from the master bedroom and put it in the front yard with a sign marked, "Free." It was gone in an hour.

That night, he put the contents of the burn pile in the firepit outside and watched as the flames turned it all into ash.

"Burn. Burn. Burn," he said to no one in particular.

Sandy ended up staying with her parents for a few weeks, but later moved into a one-bedroom apartment with Greg, who was now going through a very acrimonious divorce from his wife. Mike heard from her family members who seemed upset that he would toss her out into the street. They had no clue what she had done to him, so he sent them each a select few pictures and videos to help bring them up to speed, telling them there was plenty more if they wanted it. They didn't and they never bothered him again.

Mike went back to work, a new man, and took Greg's old job as promised. Everyone complimented him on the way he looked. Three months ago, he was a scrawny man who basically kept to himself. Now, he exuded confidence and manliness, but didn't let it go to his head. Several of the other men in the office asked him about his makeover, but he would only smile.

Quite a few women in the office noticed the changes in Mike and tried to draw close to him, hoping for a romantic fling. He kept them at bay, not wanting to become another Greg.

The house sold in about a week, and Mike sent Sandy her share of the profits, which wasn't very much. By now, he had moved into a nice upscale condo with a beautiful view of the river that ran through downtown.

Two months after returning from the camp, he received his final divorce decree and went out to celebrate at a local club with some friends. That night, he celebrated his newfound freedom with a vivacious blonde he met at the club, having more sex in a few hours than he had in the last year with Sandy.

A few months later, he got a call from Sandy's parents. According to them, Sandy had tested positive for HIV, and had passed it on to Greg, who was nearly destitute and unable to keep a job of any kind. Her mother told him that Greg went into a rage when he learned about the HIV and shot her in the head with his pistol, killing her instantly. When he realized what he had done, he turned the gun on himself and blew his brains out.

Mike gave his condolences and offered to pay for her funeral, but they declined, saying it would be a waste of money. Both Sandy and Greg ended up getting cremated by the county.

"Stupid cunt," he thought to himself after ending the call.

Life went on for Mike, who now spent his time either working, exercising at the gym or clubbing with his friends. He wasn't looking to get romantically involved with anyone, but as luck would have it, he met Jeanine, a recent divorcee who moved into his complex.

He found himself instantly attracted to her and asked her out on a date. It turned out that she was also attracted to him and the two dated exclusively for nearly a year before he popped the question. To his amazement, she accepted and they were married within a few weeks.

Two months after returning from their honeymoon in the Caribbean, she told him he was going to be a father. Several months later, he held his young son in his arms and promised himself he would be the best father a son could ever have. He swore this young man would not grow up to be what he had once been.