The Game

"And Susan isn't."

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I spent Saturday morning straightening up my apartment, making everything look just so. I refused to look or feel like a victim--I wanted the place to look like the home of a happy single guy.

So the newspapers were in the trash, the books were organized neatly on the shelves, everything was dusted and spotless, there were even flowers in a vase on the table.

When the doorbell rang at just after 12 noon, I answered the door with some apprehension.

"Hello, please--what? Christine!"

"Hello, Andy." She giggled. "Maybe I should say, 'Surprise, Andy!' "

Christine Hanson worked as a Program Officer for Global Resources; she was one of the first few people I met when I started working there. She was about 30 or so, which made her roughly eight years younger than I was. And she was a knockout.

Christine was nearly 5'10" and slim, with black hair and the most amazing green eyes I'd ever seen. She was elegant and stylish, though she had a wonderfully casual and friendly way of relating to people. She was simply one of the most beautiful women I'd ever met.

And, of course, I'd been bowled over by her appearance when I first met her. But I was also shell-shocked by what Susan had been doing to me; and in the middle of my first couple of days in a new job and a new city; and busy trying to remember the names of the other 12 people I'd been introduced to at the same time.

I'd certainly thought of her a lot, though. We saw one another several times a week, whether in passing or in some of the senior staff meetings, and she was always cordial and cheerful. It seemed that she liked me, though I couldn't be sure whether that was just her naturally outgoing, friendly manner.

I was aware that she didn't wear a wedding ring, but it was pretty much impossible that a woman as gorgeous as Christine didn't have a boyfriend. So I'd put her out of my mind as anything more than a co-worker I liked--and whom I really liked looking at. It had not yet even occurred to me to ask Eileen about her, and whether she was dating anyone.

Now, as she looked around my apartment with an approving expression on her face, I was truly at a loss.

"Christine, uh--Eileen did tell you about ... about today, right? About my wife, and, uh, what I had planned?"

She smiled broadly at me. "Absolutely." She gestured to the shopping bag she'd brought with her and said, "I've got everything I need right here."

"But, uh, you--" I was still unsure; still flabbergasted, in fact. "You realize that you'll be ... I mean, I'll ..."

This time Christine laughed, and rubbed my cheek gently with the back of her hand.

"Yes, Andy--I get it.

"Eileen told me all about your situation--what you found out about your wife and all."

She looked more serious, and she continued, "I had ... let's just say I went through something a little like that with my former fiancé, a little over a year ago, and it's not hard for me to know how you're feeling."

"I'm sorry," I said, "I had no idea."

"Well, it's not brand-new anymore--I'm over it. But it was pretty awful at the time, and I would have given a lot to be able to shove it back down his throat the way you're planning to with Susan!" She laughed.

"So--how do you want to set this up?"

I suggested we have some lunch first, and we spent about half an hour eating sandwiches at my kitchen table, just getting to know each other. I already knew how attractive Christine was--but that lunch confirmed that she was also really smart, funny, and thoughtful. I wondered if perhaps she'd go out with me, but that was a question for another day.

When it was about 12:45 I said, "Christine, if you're sure you are willing to do this, maybe it's time for you to go into the bedroom."

"I'm ready," she said brightly. We worked out what our cue would be; then she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

"This is going to be painful, Andy. She was part of your life for a long time--don't expect it to be easy. But I'll do my part, I promise you that." And with a smile, she disappeared into my bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.

I smiled to myself as I cleaned up the dishes and waited for Susan's arrival. Having Christine rather than a stranger be part of today's festivities was a very pleasant surprise.

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The doorbell rang at 12:58, and I tried to brace myself for what was to come.

There was Susan, smiling bravely. She looked frightened; she also looked beautiful. She'd worn an outfit she knew I liked, she'd done her make-up just so, and she appeared to have a new haircut.

"Hello, Andy," she said quietly, looking as though she meant to embrace me. I quickly stepped back, though, as I ushered her in.

"Hello, Susan," I said quietly. "Would you like something to drink?"

I bustled in the kitchen for a minute, getting a soda for her and one for me. I was upset by how fast my heart was beating--how strongly affected I was by the mixture of love and rage within me. I knew I needed to calm down and find a way to handle this.

When we were seated she leaned across the table, looking appealingly at me, and tried to take my hands; but I kept them on my side of the table. "All right, Susan, you're here and I'll listen to you--even though I don't think you deserve it."

She took a deep breath. "Baby, I am so sorry! What I did is wrong, terribly wrong, and I know I've hurt you so much. I was so selfish, so blind and stupid. I just..."

"Okay, stop!" I said, interrupting her and holding up my hand.

"I don't want to hear how sorry you are, how much you love me, what a mistake it was, how it had nothing to do with me, how it was just sex. Get it? Don't treat me like a moron.

"You fucked other men, a succession of them, behind my back--for years! Am I right?"

Looking shocked at my vehemence, she nodded her head hesitantly. "But honey, I--"

"Do you remember our wedding vows?" I asked aggressively, again not letting her finish. " 'Forsaking all others?' Do you remember agreeing to that, Susan?"

She nodded again, her face growing pale. Somehow she seemed not to have expected our conversation would go like this, though I couldn't imagine why not. What the hell did she think I would say--"no problem, honey"?

"Okay then. We vowed lifelong faithfulness to one another--and then you decided at some point 'oh, the hell with that' and started fucking whoever you felt like fucking.

"Tell me, Susan. How many men were there?"

"Uh, I don't know, baby, I--"

"Ten? Twenty? Fifty?"

"It was, I ... I don't know. I guess maybe twenty." She looked very uneasy.

"And how many times did you fuck them? How many different times did you betray me by letting other men stick their dicks in you?"

I sat back and waited, realizing I was breathing hard. My face was probably red, too.

"I don't know, baby." She looked at me, hoping for sympathy; her eyes were starting to tear up.

"Figure it out, Susan--do the math. I'm in no hurry."

"I guess ... it would ... I guess maybe about ... a couple hundred." She was looking down now, not able to return my angry gaze.

"Okay--we'll call it 200. A nice round number. Tell me: how many of those times were in our house--in our bed? In our marital bed?" I was practically yelling.

Very quietly she said, "I ... probably about ... I don't know, Andy. Maybe 30."

There was a silence.

"So. Now that we've gotten that out of the way--just so we know precisely what it is we're talking about here--please feel free to explain, Susan. Please tell me why, after what you've done, I should waste any more time being in the same room with you."

"Because I love you, Andy! You're the only man I've ..." she was crying by now, sobbing in between her words, "the only man I've ever loved. You mean everything to me!"

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I let her talk--let her cry and talk beseechingly to me, of her love for me, how she'd been selfish and made a terrible mistake; she thought I'd never find out, she never meant to hurt me. As though "not meaning to hurt me" made it all okay!

It was just as I had predicted. There wasn't a single thing she said that made any difference, beyond persuading me she was an infinitely more self-absorbed, narcissistic person than I had ever realized before.

After a while I wasn't even listening; her voice became a background noise to my own sad thoughts, about the years I'd invested in our relationship, about the dreams I'd had of us growing old together. The rage inside me mingled with sadness. What a waste!

And I realized that I'd never really know why she did it; she didn't seem to know herself. She couldn't give me any reason that made sense to me--beyond pure, almost psychopathic selfishness.

I looked up. It was 2:05 by the kitchen clock, and I didn't know how much more I could take. Or wanted to take.

In a loud voice I said, "I think we're about done here, Susan. There isn't anything else to say."

Susan started to cry again. "But Andy, I can't believe you're--" There was a noise behind us, from the direction of my bedroom, and we both turned to look. My jaw dropped, and I vaguely heard Susan gasp.

"Baby, you said you'd be done with her in an hour. When are you coming back to bed?"

It was Christine, speaking in a low, relaxed, unbelievably sexy voice. She was posed gracefully, leaning against the doorframe of my open bedroom door. She'd somehow managed to smudge her lipstick and tousle her hair, so that she looked like she'd spent the previous couple of hours fucking.

And she was wearing a long, pale blue negligee that draped over her a little like a Roman woman's toga might have done--except that it was breathtakingly thin and virtually transparent. Christine's perfect breasts thrust proudly out towards us, and her nipples seemed to be erect. Further down, her triangle of jet-black pubic hair drew my eyes like a magnet. She was absolutely the sexiest thing I had ever seen.

I turned back to look at Susan, who sat frozen in her chair, stunned. Her face was pale, and she seemed to have drawn into herself somehow, almost as though she'd gotten smaller and older in a matter of moments. She started to shake her head back and forth, saying, "no, no" over and over.

I stood up. "Christine is right, Susan. I told you I'd give you an hour--and as you can see I'm a bit busy. Or, in any case, I will be again in a few minutes." I smiled at her coldly, watching as she struggled to pull herself to her feet.

"Andy, I--" Susan began, and then stopped. She looked over again at Christine, and then back at me. "I ... I didn't know you ... you ..." Her voice faltered, and she just stared at me, frozen.

And then without another word she stood up--crying quietly--went to the apartment door, opened it, and disappeared down the hall. I closed the door, then turned and gazed at Christine.

"Christine," I said, almost reverently, "you are the most unbelievably beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life."

She smiled, ducking her head a little. "Thanks, Andy. It seems like this," gesturing at her negligee, "had the desired effect." I could see her eyes were full, as though she was about to cry.

"You destroyed her," I said. "She knew she was out of her league. Thank you so much."

Continuing to gaze at her, I could barely talk. Susan had pretty much disappeared from my mind.

"It helped me too, you know?" she said. "In some funny, second-hand way--like I was getting my own back with Harris, my old fiancé."

"I'm glad," I said; and then, "forgive me--I just can't stop staring. Do you want to go back in there and change?"

She just looked at me, and something in her eyes changed. "Actually," she said, "I was wondering if you'd come help me with that. I sometimes have a little trouble getting this thing off."

She laughed at my astonished expression, and came over to put her arms gently around my neck.

"I mean it, Andy. It seems right--like the next thing that has to happen here. For both of us." And then she kissed me, so lightly and sweetly that it brought tears to my eyes.

Making love with Christine was like a miracle, like a dream, except it was intensely real. We held and touched one another carefully, lovingly. We took a lot of time. There wasn't a part of her body that didn't inspire my wonder; we lay together, kissing lightly, stroking and caressing, murmuring to one another.

It was very exciting--but not rushed or feverish. I kissed her lips, her neck, and then her breasts, bringing gasps from her as I licked her nipples. We slid our hands smoothly over one another; she gasped again as I cupped her mound, while her warm hands on my cock brought me to an almost painful hardness.

Somehow we managed not to hurry. We caressed one another for a long time, even though I was already rock-hard and her pussy was wet and receptive. Then, finally, she whispered in my ear, "come inside me now."

I suddenly felt stricken. "Christine, I don't ... I don't have any condoms."

She shook her head. "It's all right," she said, pulling me up on top of her.

Missionary position meant we could look at one another, smile at one another. We did that at first; then as she got more aroused her eyes closed, and her face took on a look of intense concentration, as though she needed to focus all her attention on the sensations she was feeling.

We found a rolling, sliding rhythm that was heavenly, and stayed with it. For a long time I felt totally in control, as though I'd never need to finish. Then her breathing started to change, quicken, with sharp gasps as I thrusted harder, and I suddenly knew I was going to come.

Just before I got there she shuddered and clasped me tighter with her pussy, her arms pulled tight around me, and we groaned together as her orgasm triggered mine.

The afterglow, with her snuggled up against me sleepily, was truly heavenly. I was afraid to say a single word, of affection or gratitude, afraid to break the spell. So we lay together--me feeling blissfully happy, hoping she felt the same way.

After perhaps a half-hour, she murmured that she needed to go, and arose from the bed, gracefully naked. I started to get up but she gently pressed me back down. "No, it's okay, Andy--just rest."

She disappeared with her clothes into the bathroom, and when she emerged fully dressed she came and sat next to me on the bed. Leaning over, she smiled and gently kissed me.

"I didn't know that was going to happen, in case you were wondering," she said to me. "But, after I heard your conversation with her ... I decided I wanted to; I decided it was the right thing."

Was this a kiss-off, I wondered? Was she telling me sweetly that that had been a one-time thing? I couldn't tell, and didn't know quite what to say.

"Thank you Christine. That was the most loving, the most generous and beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me."

Smiling back she said, "I did it for me too, Andy. And you did me a world of good--not just for my ego, either!"

And with that she kissed me again, said again, "no, don't get up," and disappeared out of the apartment.

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I slept for a couple of hours, depleted both by my confrontation with Susan and by the extraordinary lovemaking with Christine.

And it was true lovemaking, I had no doubt of that. It hadn't just been a revenge fuck, and it had felt like a lot more than just an act of consolation on her part.

I awoke at about 5:00 and wandered aimlessly around my apartment, straightening things idly, a bit dazed and thoughtful. Suddenly, not letting myself think about the questionable wisdom of what I was doing, I found Christine's number and gave her a call.

"Hi, it's Andy," I said, suddenly nervous.

"Hello, Andy," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice somehow.

"I hope that wasn't too weird for you," I said, not knowing where I was going. "You were so kind and ... so incredibly lovely and sexy, and .... Well, I just needed to thank you again. And to tell you how special you are."

"It wasn't weird at all to me," she said, "just surprising. I'm not usually that spontaneous and--well, I guess I want to say, I need you to know that I don't

do that all the time, just go jumping into bed with men like that."

"I never would have thought that! I could tell that ... that it was special," I finished lamely.

"Listen," I said, plunging forward, "would you like to have dinner with me tonight? There are so many great restaurants in Chicago I've never tried, and I would love to take you to one of them."

There was a brief pause, and I waited, suddenly terrified.

After the longest five seconds of my life she said, "yes, actually, that would be very nice, Andy--I'd love to."

We talked a little about what kind of food, which restaurant, when and where I'd pick her up. It seemed like it was actually going to happen, and I could feel my whole body smiling.

Then she said, "uh, Andy--after dinner, could ... would it be all right if I came and stayed the night with you?"

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I'd been inviting Brian and Emily repeatedly, but it took three more weeks before they could find a free weekend to come visit me in Chicago. They stayed in one of the nice hotels downtown and let me show them around: the lake, the museums, Wrigley Field (which Brian was desperate to see).

On Saturday night we were having drinks in the bar at the Fairmont Hotel, waiting for our table for dinner. I was regaling them with some of the details of my final conversation with Susan--not that they hadn't heard most of it already over the phone, but we were all enjoying my retelling.

Suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder; I jumped up, smiled into the most beautiful pair of green eyes I've ever seen, gave Christine a kiss, and said, "Emily and Brian, I'd like you to meet Christine Hanson. Christine, this is Emily and Brian O'Halloran."

They greeted one another as I helped Christine sit and ordered her a drink. We began making polite conversation, but I noticed that Brian was pretty silent, just gazing at Christine.

After a couple of minutes he interrupted me in the middle of a story. He gestured to Christine and said, "my God, Andy, did you ever land on your feet!"

We all broke up; and fortunately, no one laughed harder than Emily. She knew she wasn't as beautiful as Christine, but she also knew that Brian adored her, and his admiration of Christine didn't bother her a bit.

As we went in to dinner, the two women walking a few steps ahead of us, Brian said to me quietly, "and you two are really ... you know, an item?"

I nodded. "So far so good. I have trouble believing it myself, to tell you the truth. And she's not just beautiful--she's the whole package. Generous, funny, affectionate...."

Brian had already heard some of the story, in particular that Christine was also getting over being cheated upon. He said, "well, I guess your 'shared tragedy' was a kind of a lucky break, almost."

"I don't know about 'tragedy'--it feels more ordinary than that. Something like, 'both of us being screwed over by selfish assholes'."

"Well, whatever," he said. He put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm really happy for you, Andy. It really seems like things are working out okay--more than okay."

I smiled at him, as we moved towards our table behind the two lovely women chatting together. "I'm livin' the dream, pal," I said.