Walking On The EdgebyStrangeLife©
Taking chances is part of living.
We all do it to some degree, every day on a constant basis – driving to work through traffic, smoking an unhealthy cigarette or eating a cholesterol-filled burger. Each day we are faced with hundreds of choices luring us with benefits in return for subjecting ourselves to certain risks or paying a price of some sort.
"Do I overtake that car or slow down? I might get home faster, but I could crash."
"Do ask that girl out tonight? She might be the love of my life, but she could be a STD carrier or a total waste of time."
"Do I purchase that raffle ticket? I might win a fortune, but I could end up with a five dollar scrap of paper."
We all do it; every day; all the time. Its how we shape our destiny and create our path through life. Usually the risk of taking a chance is somewhat proportional to the benefit, but its not always so. And sometimes the risk is far higher than we could ever anticipate.
A while ago I took a chance and made a choice. The payoff was excitement, pleasure and sweet pain beyond what I ever knew existed, but as it turned out I had grossly miscalculated the risks involved. Today I am left facing the consequences of my actions, only now realizing the terrible price I may have to pay for my choice. I stand before a desolate landscape of shattered dreams, lost hopes and innocent victims.
I honestly don't think I can fix it, but I have to try. There might still be a slim chance provided the strategy I have devised works the way I hope. Tonight I will know. Tonight I will play the only ace I have left.
God help me.
I was always good in the kitchen but this time I had outdone myself. Prawn cocktail for hors d'oevre, the main course was a Chateaubriand steak so tender you could chew it with your eyelashes and for dessert a home made walnut ice cream with a dash of spicy chocolate sauce.
We had both dressed up for the occasion and as usual my wife looked absolutely spectacular. Her long blonde hair was held together in the back with a simple comb matching the color of her dark red dress that clung to her curves like a second skin made of silk. And me? Well, I tried my best to capture the James Bond look, but even with the assistance of a custom fitted Hugo Boss tux I didn't reach the same level of optical perfection as Sharon.
The occasion was our 'Romantic Dinner at Home' evening; a monthly tradition we had upheld religiously through all of our six-year marriage. Once a month, regardless of how busy our lives were, Sharon and I would cook or order a gourmet meal, dress up and spend an evening together dining by candlelight, dancing and... well you can probably guess how those evenings ended. Of course TV, computers and cellphones were off because his was our time to talk, reconnect and romance each other like we did on our first date. Our way of keeping the spark alive.
"Remember our first date?" I asked. "Not exactly Chateaubriand steak, if I recall."
"No, not exactly. It was pizza. Deep pan with pepperoni and meatballs plus extra cheese."
I was amazed.
"Wow! You actually remember the toppings?"
"Oh yes. A girl remembers things like that. I'm surprised you didn't, mister amateur chef."
"Well, I kinda had other things on my mind that day," I replied with a sneaky grin.
"I remember that too; very well. I have always liked the way your mind works Steve. And other parts of you."
I smiled broadly.
"Remember how we mapped out our entire future on that very evening?"
"Yes you were pretty sure of yourself, weren't you badboy?" Sharon chided. "I wonder how many young college graduates would have the gall to tell a girl on their first date that he intents to marry her, move her to a horse farm in the south and raise four kids with her."
"There was never even a sliver of doubt in my mind Sharon. I knew you were the one from the very moment I laid eyes on you. From then on we were merely killing time until the inevitable happened."
"And you even named our kids in advance. I still remember the names you had picked out - Stephen Jr, William, Susannah and Shawna. I get Stephen Jr of course and my granddad would be proud to have William named after him..."
"I always liked your granddad when he taught at my school."
Sharon smiled knowingly.
"Oh, he remembers you vividly too. I believe he referred to you as 'that annoying kid who never seemed to run out of stink bombs."
We both cracked up.
"But you should know that despite all the trouble you made back then, he was always fond of you. I suspect he saw a younger version of himself in you."
"Yeah I bet he was a wild one back in the day."
I poured a glass of wine for Sharon.
"I suspect so, yes. Grandma wont tell though. Maybe she was a wild one too."
Imagining Sharon's frail church-going grandmother as a wild bitch made me laugh.
"Susannah is probably named in honor of your late aunt Sue; I get that; but Shawna? How did you come up with that?"
"Erm... it was... well... on the nametag of the girl who took our order."
"What? You seriously want to name our daughter after a random waitress at Luigis?" Sharon exclaimed stunned.
"I was out to impress my future wife and I only had three names prepared. However as we talked I realized that three wasn't enough; I wanted four kids with you so I had to think fast. I simply grabbed the first source of inspiration available."
Once again Sharon got a giggle attack.
"If you knew how often I have wondered about that name. The pizza girl... oh my god. That is so funny!"
"You could have just asked."
Sharon grew somber.
"Yes, communication is important in a relationship. So very important."
I lifted my glass in a toast.
She smiled and joined the toast
It was a memorable evening; as perfect as I could make it. We laughed, talked about everything and nothing, reminiscenced about our life together and of course we danced and kissed a lot. I felt like the luckiest man in the world having Sharon in my arms. Yes, I loved this woman with all of my heart and had done so ever since I laid eyes on her for the first time.
But sooner or later all good things must come to an end. Sharon's watch started beeping; it was the 11 pm alarm informing us that it was time for her to leave if she wanted to make her flight.
"I'm sorry love. I wish I hadn't promised mom to visit tomorrow, but I really need to go now. I'll make it up to you when I get back; I promise."
We melted together in a long and deep kiss.
"This has been the best evening I have had in a very long time. Thank you so much Steve. I wish..."
She broke away and grabbed her jacket and handbag. Then she headed for the door.
"Bye Love. See you in a few days. Be good, ok?"
"Sharon," I said in a low voice. "Please don't go."
She froze with her hand on the door handle.
"Come on Steve. I promised mom. Don't worry. I'll be back in a few days."
"No you wont Sharon."
She said nothing, still frozen in pace.
"I know everything. It doesn't matter how, but I do. Lets cut the bullshit please. There is no need for pretense anymore. Here is what will happen..."
I inhaled deeply and continued.
"You will drive to the airport – that much is true - but instead of going to Seattle to visit your mom your lover Diego will be waiting with your ticket for Brazil. In a few days I will be served with divorce papers; probably including a generous settlement on the condition that I refrain from contesting the divorce. I guess there will be a 'Dear Steve letter' from you as well, filled with meaningless explanations and useless apologies. The paperwork is probably all done and merely awaits the go-ahead from Diego. His plan is for you to become Mrs. Diego Who-gives-a-shit before the end of the year and the wedding planning is already well underway."
"How am I doing so far Sharon?"
She hadn't moved a muscle, and was still standing with her hand on the doorknob facing away from me. You could have heard a pin drop.
I continued my prediction.
"The moment you step out that door Stephen Jr, William, Susannah and little Shawna will cease to exist. They will be nothing but part of the crushed dreams of two young lovers. But I still believe in that dream Sharon, and I believe in us. We are the dream team; we were made for each other and there is nothing we can't achieve together. You are my life, my heart and my partner in everything. I love you. Please don't leave."
Sharon's shoulders were shaking now. Then suddenly she turned around and threw herself at me with a loud sob. She held on to me like a life raft and cried uncontrollably.
"I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this..."
We stood like that for maybe ten minutes. Then she broke free and looked at me, face swollen and make-up running. She looked lovely beyond words.
"Please take me to bed Steve," she whispered.
I carried her to the bedroom, where I undressed her carefully and put her down. I shed my tux in record time and began kissing her stomach. She stopped me.
"No! I need you inside me now. I don't care if I'm ready or not. Please Steve."
I got on top of her and positioned my cock against her opening. As requested I pushed forward and slid all the way in with plenty of lubrication. Sharon gave a single moan, wrapped her arms around me and kissed me.
It was one of the strangest sex sessions I have ever experienced. I just kept my cock inside her without moving while Sharon held on to me like an octopus slowly working me with her pussy and hips. There were no wild sexual acrobatics involved, and to an onlooker it would probably seem as if I was simply lounging on top of her. But Sharon was always able to work magic with her vaginal muscles, and this time she was outdoing herself. Combined with the intense kissing-action the experience was extremely erotic. After months of raw fucking with no real emotional connection, we were finally making love again. We were like two lovers desperately seeking to reconnect and rediscover something important that had been lost along the way, and I felt a surge of elation and joy. She was mine again. I had won. My desperate scheme had worked.
Despite the limited movements on my part I was beginning to feel the telltale throbbing in my cock announcing an eminent ejaculation and strengthened my resolve to hold back. I wasn't in the clear yet; I had the distinct impression that my marriage still hung in the balance if Sharon didn't orgasm with me. A silly thought maybe, but it gave me an extra five minutes or so.
But I'm only a man and, as I said, Sharon has very good muscle control. Soon the familiar throbbing returned and this time it was accompanied by a buzzing warmth spreading out from my cock and enveloping my entire pelvic area; I knew the battle was lost. But in that moment I felt her exhale sharply into my mouth and start cumming.
Because I wasn't moving I could actually feel her pulsing contractions and that kicked me over the edge like a catapult. I came so hard my prostate hurt, and I had an irresistible urge to slam my cock to the bottom a few times. But Sharon held me firmly in place and let her pussy milk me; a technique which somehow seemed to prolong the orgasm for both of us. It was an immensely powerful and satisfying experience and we remained locked together in a tight embrace in the afterglow, my cock slowly deflating inside her.
We must have drifted off to sleep because the next thing I remember was waking up on top of Sharon. She was asleep but she still had her arms locked around me. I was wondering what had woken me, when I heard heavy footsteps right outside the bedroom. A second later a tall well-built Hispanic man appeared in the doorway and when he saw us his face seemed to dissolve into a mask of pure hate.
Naturally I was ever polite and courteous...
Ah, fuck it! Of course I was smiling smugly at him. What did you expect? This asshole had attempted to steal Sharon away from me and I'd be damned if I was sorry that he had failed! To be honest it was all that I could do to keep myself from flipping him the bird, sticking my tongue out or something equally childish.
So I went for fake politeness.
"Oh hi Diego. Beautiful evening, eh? Please be a pal close the door on your way out, will ya?"
His reaction came as a surprise though. With an ear splitting scream he lunged at the bed.
"NOOOO! GET OFF HER YOU MONSTER! YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD!"
He practically ripped me out of Sharon's embrace and started punching me like Rocky. I always knew Diego was strong, but not until that moment did I truly understand the meaning of the word. I had no defense against him and I don't think he intended me to survive the next few minutes. I was dead already; it was only a question of how long I would last.
In the mean time Sharon had gotten fully awake. When she saw what was happening her first reaction was to scream in terror. Luckily for me her second reaction was grabbing a bedside lamp and smashing it on the side of Diego's head. This made him stop and stare at her in bewilderment for a second, which was all the time I needed for grabbing his crotch and squeeze and twist for dear life.
I was later told that Diego threw me head first across the room where my trajectory was interrupted by an old iron radiator. I don't recall anything about that though. All I remember before the world faded to black was sitting on the floor with my back against said radiator looking at Diego who had buckled over in obvious pain and was retching on the floor. In the background I could hear a panicked Sharon calling 911. Something warm and sticky was running down the side of my head and into my eyes, but I couldn't muster the energy to lift my hands to check.
And then nothing more...
I woke to a throbbing pain in my head and total blackness. Maybe my eyes were closed? I tried opening them and immediately wished I hadn't when my visual cortex was assaulted by a painful torrent of blinding white. Through my discomfort I heard two female voices.
"He is coming around now and will be lucid in a few minutes. Please avoid stressing him. If he shows any signs of exhaustion I must ask you to leave and come back later. "
"Thank you doctor. I will keep that in mind," my sister's voice replied.
My throat felt like I'd eaten a pound of ground cinnamon.
"Water," I rasped.
Dana held the straw of a drinking bottle to my lips, and I soaked my tonsils in the precious liquid.
My eyes were rapidly adjusting to the luminescence of the room and I was able to discern my sister's form.
"Hi Shit-brain." She said.
"Back atcha Rugmuncher," I replied with a weak smile.
With the customary loving brother/sister greetings over with it was time to get down to business.
"Where am I?"
"The Presbyterian Mercy Hospital"
"You took a flight into a metal radiator and fractured your skull."
"Holy crap! Seriously?"
"Yep. But don't worry. Nothing happened to the radiator."
"Ok – sorry. But yes, it was quite bad. We almost thought we'd lost you for a while brother dear. They drained some fluid from your head and kept you in a coma."
"Double crap! How long?"
"A little over a week."
"Sleeping in a guest room in another wing. She's been awake for days and been through hell and back. Let her sleep."
"Shit Dana. What the hell is going on? You'd better fill me in."
"Please talk to Sharon Steve. Those particular guts aren't mine to spill."
I took a deep breath in relief; Sharon was all right and still around. We were both silent for a few minutes before Dana spoke.
"So what the hell did you do to piss of that big beefy Latino dude to the point where he felt compelled to bash your head in? Was he involved with Sharon? Did she cheat on you?"
"Well... erm... eh... uhh..."
"Listen. You don't have to tell me a thing Steve, but I am a psych major AND a woman. If you have girl trouble I might be able to help. And I won't bill you... much."
"Ok," I started. "Ever heard of sexual cuckolding?"
Dana's jaw dropped.
"WHAT? You fucking idiot! You know Steve; sometimes it's really hard for me to believe that we are related. Maybe mom cheated with the mailman before you were born or something."
Yeah, my sister was never one to suffer fools lightly and she was most definitely a straight shooter. As odd as it might sound I appreciated her candor at that moment. I needed truth and honesty beyond everything else.
"Ok Steve. Let me see if I got it right. You allowed Sharon to fuck around... no you probably ENCOURAGED her to do it out of some dumb-ass male sex fantasy. Then your little game spun out of control, landed you in the hospital and almost cost you your marriage as well as your life. Does that pretty much sum it up?"
"Yes, pretty much."
"I've worked with couples therapy for a few years so I'm aware that cuckolding is a common fantasy for men, but how did you guys come up with the stupid idea of actually doing it in real life? I might see YOU in that role, but Sharon was always Mrs. vanilla incarnate. It must have required some serious persuasion."
I took a sip of water and cleared my throat.
"Honestly Sis, it had been a fantasy of mine for a long time. Sharon knew of course and didn't mind roleplaying in bed. She would make up detailed stories about imaginary lovers and tell me what they did to her while we were having sex. She actually became pretty good at it and seemed to thrive on the power it gave her over my lust. Mostly she did it for my benefit – I knew that of course. Sharon was never into casual sex and the idea of me having sex with another woman turned her off completely. So yes – I suppose you can call her vanilla. But within the boundaries of our relationship she was always willing to try anything. She is a very sexual person."
"So far you and Sharon sound to me like most normal couples. How did the game progress into the real world?"
"Sharon is a good looking girl – you know that - and she can look stunning in a dress and full make-up. When we went out she got the attention of any guy in the room with a pulse. She liked to dance and I'm not much of a dancer myself..."
"You can say that again," Dana remarked dryly.
"... so she often danced with other guys while I was enjoying a beer and socialized. Occasionally some of them would attempt to cop a feeler, but if they went too far she would push their hands away or signal me to cut in. This wasn't originally part of any sex game, mind you. We were a married couple going out to dance and have fun. Nothing more."
"Let me guess. You got inspired and started pushing the envelope?"
"Alas yes. At first we merely used it in our bedroom fantasies. Sharon incorporated some of her dance partners in her stories, often involving wild sex in public bathrooms, getting fucked over the hood of a car or in the back seat – stuff like that. And as I said, she is a great storyteller. A couple of times I almost bought it and went so far as to check the story against her actual whereabouts, but I soon discovered that it was indeed only made-up stories. However I got a major boost out of the feelings of doubt and fear before I was sure. I'm telling you Sis – It was fucking wild. Sharon could feel it too, though she probably didn't know what had sent my libido into overdrive all of a sudden."
"Then you realized that you wanted to try the real thing?"
"It was like a fucking drug. I became obsessed. If mere sliver of doubt caused by a fictional story could set me off like that, what would an actual affair do to me? I wanted to... no, I NEEDED to experience that high at least once in my life. Don't you see Sis?"