With a Little Help From my Friends

"My opinion wasn't considered," I replied. "If he made you pregnant, we can get child support from him, at the very least."

"I shouldn't get pregnant," insisted Linda. "I'm a couple of days from my fertile period. I don't want to have his baby. Why would you even suggest something like that?"

"Don't get your panties in a wad, if you're wearing any," I snapped. "You had unprotected sex with a stud football player. His swimmers could be working their magic even as we speak."

Everyone in the family knew I had a vasectomy after the birth of our two children. Our family was complete and we didn't want the stress of worrying about an unwanted pregnancy.

"I told you I cleaned myself thoroughly," insisted Linda. "Don't make the best sex of my life into a negative thing. I won't get pregnant."

"As long as you're certain," I replied, apparently relenting on the subject. "Have you figured out how you're going to respond when friends and relatives start asking you about your night of incredible sex? Will you tell them how good it was, how much you enjoyed everything and how proud you were when he chose you to fuck?"

"I don't see any reason to bring the matter up with other people. We'll just keep it between us," answered Linda naively. "It was quite a rush when Marc chose me. Were you surprised?"

I just stared at her for a few seconds. "I was very surprised. Your plan is to hope no one ever mentions your fuck-fest? Doesn't that seem a lot like hiding your head in the sand? Eight other people dining with us knew you left to get fucked, never mind all the other patrons and staff."

"Our friends wouldn't tell anyone," assured Linda. "No one else knew I left with Marc, so I don't see any issue."

"You seem to have thought of everything," I replied with a nod of agreement. "Could I ask why you left without telling me? You had to know I'd be worried."

"I knew you'd never go along with it and try to stop me. I'm sorry about not trusting you to accept my decision. Most husbands would be making an unpleasant scene right now," reasoned Linda. "I appreciate how understanding you are about it all."

"Let me get this straight. You actually thought I would be upset and try to stop you from getting fucked by a football star?"

"I wish you wouldn't keep referring to it as 'fucking'. That makes it sound vulgar and cheap. To answer your question, I did think you'd be upset. Having your wife leave a restaurant to make love to another man could be a little embarrassing," she concluded.

"Are you saying it was your intention to humiliate me in front of our friends?" I asked thoughtfully.

"No! I didn't want to humiliate you. It's just that many husbands would see it that way. Male ego is such a fragile thing. I realized that you loved me without any reservations and we'd be able to work out any little bumps my night with Marc might create. It seems I was right. Let's go upstairs and make love now. It's time for you to reclaim your wife!"

"I have to mow the lawn. I should have done it this morning, but I was distracted," I replied as Linda's smile suddenly disappeared. "Did you get some sort of bill of health or something from your fucker? We can't have sex until we know you're clean. There are some nasty STDs out there, as well as HIV.

"On second thought, never mind any paperwork he might have had. He could have contracted something after he was tested. I hear he's a real man whore," I stated, with emphasis on the whore part.

"He's a professional athlete!" protested Linda. "He must get tested all the time. He's a very neat clean guy. You don't have to worry about Marc giving me anything."

"You're right. I don't have to worry about it, but you do. I Googled it this morning," I added. "It can take up to 6 months after infection for the HIV antibodies to develop. You'll need to be tested now for STDs and HIV, and then again for HIV in six months."

"Are you serious?" demanded Linda. "You know damn well the odds are against Marc giving me HIV. You're just being petty."

"The odds are against me blowing my brains out in a game of Russian roulette, but I'm still not going to play it," I responded patiently. "Six months will be over before you know it, unless you're going to fuck him again. That would set the time table back."

"It was just one time!" exclaimed Linda. "I'm your wife. I won't be having sex with anyone but you from now on. I want to be your loving wife as long as we both live. You and the kids mean everything to me. There won't be a second time with Marc."

"Yeah, I almost forgot how much we mean to you last night when you were in Marc LaValliere's bed sucking his cock. Thanks for reminding me."

Linda must have noticed the sarcasm dripping from my response. "You really aren't okay with me spending the night with Marc, are you? You were just pretending to be happy for me so you could find out what I did with him. I was expecting more from the man who claims to love me."

"If you're referring to me, you'll never go wrong underestimating my character. The good news is you certainly weren't disappointed last night," I shot back.

Linda appeared to have an epiphany. She looked worried. "Jim, I never meant to hurt or embarrass you. I love you! We can get past this. Let's never discuss it again. We can work to get back to where we were before yesterday if we try. You're the only man for me."

"Why would I believe that when you dumped my ass in a very public manner as soon as some stud told you he'd like to fuck you? How do I know it won't happen again?" I demanded. "What if he calls you up in a week and tells you he wants another piece of your married ass? What then?"

"I'll tell him my husband is the only man who gets a piece of my married ass!" responded Linda hotly. "I've been hit on quite a few times over the years and I've always been able to turn the guy down."

I just stared at her until she broke eye contact and looked down at her feet while her face turned red.

"I have to mow the lawn," was all I said as I headed for the garage. The good thing about mowing a big yard is it gives a guy a lot of time to think. I did just that as I spent a couple hours cutting the grass and trimming the edges.

When I finished and went inside for a drink, the house was quiet. I looked for Linda and found her asleep on the sofa. I assumed she hadn't managed much rest the previous evening.

I washed up and went into the small room where we have our desktop computer. I turned it on and logged into Face Book. The first thing I saw was a message from a friend of mine from work. I didn't usually use Messenger, but I clicked on the icon.

"Jim, you should look at Jane Freeman's page. It's about you and Linda. I hope it's all bullshit," was the entire message. With a feeling of dread, I entered Jane's name in the search and found her immediately. I went to her homepage.

It only took me a few seconds to find the post to which my friend had referred. Jane had a rambling description of her evening at the swank 'Chez Pierre Restaurant' and the surprising turn of events. She never mentioned Linda, or Marc LaValliere by name, but that was just about the only thing she had omitted from her recount of the evening.

It seems that one of her female friends was approached by a famous football star while dining and was asked to dance. After a few dances, she excused herself to go to the ladies' room and never returned. Her friend's husband briefly searched for her until another friend of his wife's explained she had left with the famous athlete.

I decided I might dodge the bullet aimed for my heart since, after reading it twice, I saw that no names were mentioned. Then I read some of the replies. A woman whose name was unfamiliar to me commented that she had seen Linda Bennett dancing with Marc LaValliere for several dances. A bit later, she noticed Linda's husband was standing by his table alone. Linda was nowhere in sight, and neither was the famous Marc LaValliere.

That was all it took. Dozens of comments about Linda, Marc and me, or any combination thereof were quickly posted! I skimmed the comments and came to the conclusion that most of those posting had determined I was a cuck wimp. Linda was an easy lay. Marc, on the other hand, was a great tight end and a lucky bastard.

So much for Linda being able to trust her friends! I was disappointed, but not surprised in any way. People love to talk, and Linda had given her so-called friends plenty to talk about. Oddly, I felt worse about the names they were calling Linda than I did about my new nicknames. It was slightly easier, although far from pleasant, to be considered a wimp than to have my wife, the mother of my children, called a whore, a slut, a skank, or at times, all three.

I worked in marketing for a large company and knew a lot of the tricks on how to shine shit, but this was beyond anything I had ever encountered. How could I protect my wife and kids? Hell, should I even try? Linda had fucked more than a football player, namely our marriage. It was floundering in deep shit.

My boss at work had always preached that we need to think outside the box. I sat at the keyboard for half an hour before an idea began to take shape. It wasn't a solution so much as it was directing the conversation. Linda and I would suffer greatly, but why shouldn't we? Somehow, Linda had determined it was okay to fuck a complete stranger, albeit a famous one. Somehow I had given her the impression I would forgive her for doing it. Was she right? Could she shit all over me, humiliate me in such a horrible manner and then be forgiven? It seemed unlikely at the moment.

I decided to risk it all. Linda had no qualms about fucking the slick bastard and humiliating me, while seriously risking our marriage. Why was I being so timid? Hell, I was already pretty well fucked. In a divorce, she would get custody of the kids, alimony and child support, along with the house. I'd just get shit upon some more, but by the legal system this time.

There really was no reason I should worry about anything. My wife, her lawyer and the legal system would team up and become the perfect storm. I should consider anything short of winding up seriously injured, or dead, as a victory. I was well and truly fucked, so I tossed caution to the wind.

Basically, I had nothing left to protect, or to fight for. Linda had emasculated me in public. I was being called a fag cuck, so why not run with it? Let the chips, and the shit, fall where they may. I opened my page and began composing. It took me half an hour to list everything I wanted to say, but I felt I had pretty well covered things by the time I hit the 'enter' key.

It was Sunday and we always went to Linda's parents' for dinner. I was done showering and in the process of putting on clean clothes when Linda came into the bed room.

"Why didn't you wake me up? Now I have to rush or we'll be late for dinner," complained Linda as she began to undress.

"Since you fucked away most of last night while enjoying the best sex of your life, I thought you and your abused pussy could use the rest," I replied calmly. "Who gives a shit if we're late or not? Your mom loves you, so she'll forgive a slight transgression like being a few minutes late for dinner."

"I know she'll forgive me," retorted Linda. "The issue is why we should make her hold dinner for us if we don't have to. It's simply being considerate."

"Do you mean to tell me you think of yourself as considerate?" I snapped at Linda.

"I try to be. You're still upset about last night. You know I couldn't tell you I was leaving with Marc. You would have made a big scene and embarrassed yourself, along with me."

"So you sneaked out, leaving me to deal with the humiliation and embarrassment? You believe that was considerate?" I practically snarled.

"It was better than Marc laying a beating on you if you tried to stop me from leaving with him, so yes! It was considerate of me to not let you know my intentions. You'll get over it before long. It was just sex. You're the man I love. That's why I didn't want to see you get hurt," explained Linda with what I considered bizarre logic.

"Interesting," was my measured reply. "You think you saved me from being hurt when you went to his bed and fucked and sucked him all night? That was some sacrifice you made for me. I feel way better now."

"It wasn't a sacrifice and we both know it. It was something I had to do and you trying to stop me would have ruined that magic moment. I'll never see him again, but I'll always have great memories. It was a perfect night," concluded Linda.

I didn't speak to Linda on the ride to her parents' home. We picked up Emma and Tommie on the way. We were met with absolute silence when we entered Linda's parents' house.

"Mom? Is something wrong? Have you been crying?" asked Linda with concern as she hurried to her mother's side. "Is Dad okay?"

"I don't think he is," replied her mom. "I didn't expect you here tonight. I thought you would probably be going out with your boyfriend again."

"My boyfriend? What are you talking about?" demanded a suddenly irate Linda. "Did Jim talk to you about last night? He shouldn't have said anything."

"My friend, Brenda, told me about another friend's Facebook page where you were mentioned, quite often. It was all about you leaving Jim and spending the night with some basketball player," managed Linda's mom before breaking down completely.

"I don't know what anyone said, or wrote, but I never left Jim," asserted Linda. "We're still happily married, aren't we, Jim?"

"That might be a bit of an exaggeration," I admitted as Linda glared at me. "I would like to clarify that it was a football player, not a basketball player, and Linda was exceptionally happy this morning."

By this time our two kids were aware something was very wrong. Grandma was crying her eyes out and Mom was giving Dad the stink eye. Once Linda's stare left me and saw the sadness in the kids' faces, she went into Mom mode.

"We'll take the kids and go home, Mom. I'll call you during the week. Don't believe everything you hear, or read on Facebook. Jim and I are happily married and I certainly don't have any boyfriends. Let's go, kids."

It was a chilly ride home. Linda spent her time reassuring the kids that their parents were happy and everything was going well. By the time we got home, both Tommie and Emma seemed more relaxed.

Once she had heated up some leftovers, the kids had eaten and were finally in bed, Linda decided we needed to talk. She always believed the best defense was a good offense.

"Why did you tell Mom you weren't happy in our marriage? That just made her more anxious. What in hell did she read on Facebook? Who said I have a boyfriend?"

"I think she probably read Jane's Facebook page. The term several posters used was 'fuck buddy,' not boyfriend. Your mom was being polite."

"Jane posted about Marc and me making love? She'd never do that!" protested Linda.

"Technically, the post was about Marc fucking the shit out of you. The word 'love' never appeared."

"I turned my phone off last night and forgot to turn it back on," realized Linda. "I need to check my messages."

I knew the shit would be hitting the fan, so I found something to do in the kitchen as Linda turned her cell on. Over the next several minutes, I heard groans, curses and sobs from Linda as she caught up on her messages.

About ten minutes later, she slowly walked into the kitchen. Her eyes were red and puffy and her nose was running. She looked as miserable as I had ever seen her.

"I was surprised that Jane had posted about me leaving with Marc. I thought my friends respected me more than that. The thing that really hurts is the shit you posted on your page. How could you humiliate me like that? You have no idea how much that hurts."

"Actually, I do. You did the same thing to me about 24 hours ago."

"That wasn't intentional," protested Linda. "This is just your ego talking. I never wanted to embarrass you. That's why I sneaked out without making a scene."

"I'm sorry if my posts embarrassed or humiliated you. That certainly wasn't my intention. I was just caught up in the moment. You're the woman I love and want to spend my life with," I replied, but without sincerity.

"How could describing how great it was for you to have a wife who was fucked by Marc LaValliere not humiliate me, and you, for that matter?" demanded Linda.

"The cat was out of the bag, so I felt I needed to get ahead of the story. I didn't want to look like a man with a wife who would totally disrespect and humiliate him in public. I decided to play the willing cuckold rather than the betrayed husband. Cuckolds stay married, while betrayed husbands dump the cheating bitch wife as soon as possible," I explained.

"But describing how much I enjoyed Marc's bigger cock? How he wanted my ass? How I swallowed his cum, and how it was a little bitter?" shouted Linda. "Have you lost your mind? You made me look like a slut!"

"Why would you think that?" I asked. "How does that make you look like a slut?"

"You're shitting me, right?" demanded Linda angrily. "All those things are the definition of a slut, Asshole!"

"I'm a little confused. If those actions define a slut and you did them all, doesn't it follow that you must be a slut, especially since you did them with a man you had just met? What's the problem, exactly?"

"You really are a little man," snarled Linda. "Just leave me alone. You can sleep on the couch."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, I sprinted for the stairs. I took them two at a time and raced into our bedroom. By the time Linda made an appearance, I was snuggled into bed with my eyes closed.

"I said you need to sleep on the couch!" stated Linda firmly.

"Fuck you, slut. This is my bed. I'll sleep right here."

"I'm not going to sleep on the couch, and don't call me a slut," insisted Linda as I opened an eye slightly just to be certain she wasn't carrying a weapon.

"I have to admit I was much more concerned about your wishes before Marc LaValliere fucked the shit out of you," I stated calmly. "I'm staying in my bed. You can sleep where you want, like you did last night."

Linda huffed, sobbed and sniffled as she prepared for bed. I hadn't slept much the previous night, so I fell into a deep sleep while she was going through her suffering routine.

The next night wasn't much better. Linda was in a quiet rage when I walked in the door after work. "Everyone at my work was asking about my weekend. A couple people even asked about Marc. One woman wanted to know just how big his cock was. I hope you're happy."

"Happy? Fuck happy. I had a football sitting on my desk when I got to work today. When I returned from lunch, a LaValliere jersey was lying on my desk. Bob Jefferson, the dickhead, suggested I get a cuckoo clock. You've got your problems and I've got mine, so leave me the fuck alone," I replied angrily.

"So you're beginning to see the consequences of your actions?" responded Linda with a sneer. "Maybe you'll think a little before you post shit on Facebook."

"I humbly submit that this would not be a topic of discussion if you'd been able to keep your legs together. We're dealing with the fallout from you being a cheating slut wife, not from my attempt at blogging about it."

I went into our living room and played with the kids until dinner was ready. The kids jabbered throughout the meal, but Linda and I were not speaking to each other. We did try to chat with the kids.

Linda put the kids to bed shortly after we finished dinner. I heard her go into the bedroom and slam the door once the kids were asleep. I finished cleaning up in the kitchen before logging into my Facebook account.

Fifteen minutes later, Linda stomped down the stairs. "You wrote that I had to get tested for STDs and HIV? You're ruining my life. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for me? My own mother agreed that it was a good idea! Why are you being so childish, selfish and self destructive?"