You've Lost That Loving Feeling

"The only way I see this working is for you to be exclusive, but not me; you're the one who acted like I meant nothing to you. In my eyes, you don't love or respect me. Hell, you don't even find me physically attractive!"

It stung just to hear myself say that, but feelings aren't negotiable; this was how I felt. "If I hadn't caught you, you'd probably be with your best friend Lisa laughing about my dick or, worse yet, in Dwight's bed riding his right now!" If Andrea wasn't consumed by guilt by this point, then everything I'd accused her of would be true.

Then I laid out the conditions. "To convince me our marriage is still viable, the only one who should be exclusive is you. You really damaged me, Andrea, and I'm not willing to give you the chance to hurt me again without some insurance. To protect my own emotional interests, I'll date other women just in case."

To further discourage Andrea's hopes, I impulsively added, "Now that I think about it, I don't even want you touching me with the same filthy hands you touched Dwight with!" In retrospect, this was not well thought out, as it was doubly punitive. I had always enjoyed Andrea's hands on me, but I had to take that off the table if for nothing more than for my pride's sake. I wanted Andrea to deeply regret ever allowing Dwight into her heart again.

Andrea opened her tear-filled eyes and pleaded, "Daniel, that's not fair, I can't compete with younger women." That laughable statement got her absolutely nowhere with me.

"Don't even give me that shit," I scoffed, "When we met, despite our age difference I still fell hard for you. You were my everything for 5 years, suddenly you were discussing possibly swapping me out for Dwight! So don't fucking even talk about the fear of being replaced, because I do not want to hear it! If you don't like it, this discussion is over and there's the door. Now do you accept my conditions or not?"

Andrea sat very still, not making a sound as her tears flowed copiously down her cheeks. Finally, after five minutes that seemed like an hour, she whispered, "Yes."

~~~~~~~~~~

With Cherry and Shaun's help, I was able to find a three-bedroom place to rent in Bellevue, about a 40-minute commute to the Emerald City Horizons office in Seattle's financial district. Andrea went back to California to get her house ready to sell, listing it (at my request) with Rohan Meher at Sovereign Realty because fuck Gina Royce; there was no way she was going to make a single dollar off of me.

Gina and her personal trainer both had a hand in wrecking my life, so as far as I was concerned the two of them could eat shit and die. I even went so far as to call Roland and inform him that if a buyer being represented by Royce turned up, no matter how far over asking price the offer was, it was automatically rejected. Being no fan of Gina Royce, Rohan got a good laugh out of that.

With the house on the market, Andrea moved some of our possessions - mostly Chloe's toys and clothes -- into the new place, and the new phase of our lives began. I leased a minivan for Andrea and to drive Chloe around, while I leased a four-door sedan for commuting.

Uncle Shawn seemed quite pleased by the developments, most likely because he was acting in the role of my mother's ombudsman. Cherry, while not acting openly hostile to Andrea, maintained a cool distance and, as I'd requested, kept her opinions to herself.

For my daughter's part, Chloe was overjoyed. With our family together again and being able to play with her cousins Ezra and Vivienne regularly, she adjusted to the new situation quickly. At one point she did ask why Mommy was sleeping in a different room, but Andrea told her that it was because Daddy snored too loudly for Mommy to sleep. That fictional response was enough to satisfy her, for now anyway.

Andrea settled in to her new role as well as could be expected. She seldom smiled except when interacting with Chloe. I went out of my way to avoid physical contact with her, and if I did touch her, it was only to maintain a happy façade for Chloe's sake. Despite my coldness, Andrea did everything right, was attentive and loving, albeit only to the degree I allowed her to be.

As I'd warned her, sometimes I'd be hit by feelings of anger and resentment from her betrayal. At times like these I'd crudely berate her, telling her I wished she'd just leave me and put an end to things. Of course I did this in private, never within earshot of Chloe.

Professionally, I started my new PR job and liked it. I found Alan Chesterfield to be a good boss and mentor. Somehow, my experience in selling home electronics and in real estate had given me significant emotional IQ when it came to dealing with clients, and because if this I was able to bring in three new accounts during my first month. Internally I knew that, once again, my successes mostly stemmed from what Andrea taught me but there was no way I'd admit that to her. I had every intention of allowing the divorce to happen, and didn't want to say or do anything that would give her hope that our reconciliation experiment would work.

As for my personal life, the non-exclusivity and dating, I didn't have the time nor the inclination to actually pursue it. Instead, every now and then I'd tell Andrea I had a date and would be home late, then I'd go to dinner by myself. To imply that Cherry had followed through with her threat of fixing me up with someone in Chinatown, I usually ate in Chinese restaurants and brought home leftovers for Andrea to see in the refrigerator the next day.

To further enhance the illusion I'd been on a date, I kept a cheap bottle of perfume in the glovebox of my car and would dab a bit on my neck before coming home. It had the desired effect, I think. When I came home on from my pseudo dates, Andrea would get very sad and quiet, not speaking to me at all.

Despite my efforts maintaining my ruse, Andrea adamantly refused to admit defeat and walk out on me. With three and a half months to go until the divorce was finalized, she seemed determined to reconcile.

As for her cheating partner, the one bright bit of news was Dwight Wilson declaring bankruptcy. Because of the cheating scandal, his legal woes and him losing his high-paying job, Andrea's ex lost everything. His Ferrari, his motor yacht Lightning Strikes, his condominiums in Miami Beach and Beverly Hills, even a racehorse named Wide Receiver he'd kept stabled in Kentucky. All of it was liquidated to pay for his legal defense and child support, along with his collection of college and professional sports memorabilia.

The only thing that would have been more satisfying to me was drinking mead from Dwight's skull, but that was probably a little too medieval to hope for.

~~~~~~~~~~

My push to get Andrea to give up on us was derailed by my own weakness. It was a Friday just like any other, except in this case it was my birthday, not that anyone gave a shit.

My sister had called to wish me a happy birthday, but own mother didn't. Truth be told, I didn't expect her to. I still wasn't speaking to her after she'd deliberately kept me in the dark about Andrea's problems that led her to cheating with Dwight. True, Mom wasn't as nearly as bad as Lisa Miller, but in my eyes she was still complicit in it.

Uncle Shaun had suggested I try to forgive Mom, but given their past relationship I felt his opinion was compromised. He cared about me, sure, but given how when he was freshly widowed he'd come within a mouse's pubic hair of giving my mom the big D, I figured he might be just a little biased. While he was crazy in love with Cherry, the strong emotional connection he and Mom still remained.

What really hurt was Andrea not acknowledging my birthday. Our situation was not a comfortable one but if she was hoping for reconciliation, hurting my feelings wasn't the way to go about it. She stayed in her bedroom as I got dressed for work. I made myself some coffee and a couple of slices of toast, then went into Chloe's room and kissed her sleeping forehead goodbye; after this, I headed to the office.

I won't lie, driving into downtown Seattle on I-90 I felt lower than whale shit and was wallowing in self-pity. If you'd asked me about the chances of me cancelling the divorce, at this moment I would have given you 1,000 to 1 odds that it wasn't happening. Andrea hadn't thrown in the towel yet, but with her ignoring my birthday I was confident our marriage had finally reached the end of the line.

I'd had client meetings all day, ending at 4:30pm. After the last one, I was sitting in my office working on a presentation for the following week when I got a videocall on my cell. I answered, and it was Chloe's beaming face filling the screen, and I could partially see her holding a pink balloon that read, "Happy Birthday". That made me smile. Hell, anything Chloe did made me smile, she was my baby after all. As far as I was concerned, even when she was grown and married, she'd still be my baby.

"Happy birthday, Daddy!" she shouted, "Mommy remembered after you left!"

Andrea moved Chloe back a bit so she could fit into the picture. "Happy birthday, Daniel," she said, with a tinge of guilt in her voice, "I'm so embarrassed I didn't get up and make you breakfast. I haven't been sleeping well the last few weeks, but for some reason I overslept this morning. Then when Chloe woke me up and I realized it was your birthday, I felt horrible. I'm so sorry."

Since Chloe was listening, I didn't say "That makes two of us who felt horrible" like I wanted to. Instead I nonchalantly lied, "No big deal, it wasn't important. It's nice that you called."

Andrea knew me well enough to see I was bullshitting, and corrected me. "It was important, Daniel. you're important. Chloe and I will make it up to you tomorrow."

Chloe burst back into view. "Momma says we're gonna take you to the 'quarium tomorrow, then come home for cake so you can blow out candles! Will you like that, Daddy?"

Being with Chloe anywhere was enough to make me happy, and I told her truthfully, "I'm going to love it, sweetheart! I can't wait!" This was enough to blow away the cloud of sadness that had hung over me all day, and I suddenly felt much better.

There was a knock at my office door, so I told them I had to go, and disconnected. "Come in," I called out, trying to re-concentrate on my presentation.

The door burst open, and a dozen or so of my co-workers brought in a cake. After shouting "Surprise!" they began singing happy birthday. I rolled my eyes, finding it ironic that the woman I was agonizing over had forgotten my birthday, but my fellow employees of Emerald City Horizons, most of whom I knew next to nothing about, had not.

I cleared my desk and made room for the cake and paper serving plates. Apparently the office tradition was the birthday honoree had to cut the cake, so I thinly sliced it into about 20 slivers and handed everyone a piece. Our boss Alan Chesterfield himself walked in to wish me a happy birthday, gave me two bottles of 50-year-old single-malt Scotch, Glenfiddich Master's Edition.

I'm not sure whose idea it was to open the liquor, but somehow by 6pm the Emerald City Horizons team and I had managed to polish off both bottles. As the staff shuffled out, one woman lingered behind, under the guise of cleaning up. I could see she was faking it, she'd picked up the same 8 red plastic cups and put them down again in different places, only to repeat the motions.

Finally after the last of the staff had left she threw the plastic cups in the wastebasket, closed my office door, walked over to me, and plopped down in my inebriated lap. She smelled of expensive scotch and expensive perfume, and I will admit I found her ass pressed against my crotch rather...diverting.

She was short and slim, about 5'2", with a blonde pixie haircut, perky boobs that stretched her silk blouse to its limits, and a tight pencil skirt that really hugged her ass. Since I'd basically been a hermit and never really bothered to hang out with my coworkers outside of staff meetings, I had no fucking clue what her name even was but she certainly knew mine.

"Happy birthday, Daniel," she murmured, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me in for a kiss. I, however, did nothing, just sat with my hands at my sides.

Maybe it was the result of being thoroughly inebriated with very high-quality Scotch, but having this woman in my lap was a surreal experience, happening to someone who looked a lot like me. I felt a sensation of my consciousness disconnecting and leaving my body, like I was watching a TV show that I had little interest in.

A 20-something male would have laid her out on the desk and fucked her silly, but I felt... nothing. (Later I read there's a term for what I was experiencing: a dissociative episode.)

She whispered, "Don't you like me, Daniel? I heard you were going through a divorce and don't see a ring on your finger. I can make you very happy, you know. My ex told me I was so good at blowjobs I could suck a golf ball through a fifty-foot garden hose."

There were several phrases that ran through my mind to describe this wannabe Lolita, but 'desirable' definitely wasn't one of them. Gently easing her off my lap I tried to explain, "Look, I appreciate the thought, but I'm not mentally in a place where I could do this. Frankly, I'm an emotional train wreck right now."

She frowned, stuck out her lower lip, and pouted. "Don't you like me, Daniel?" I thought to myself, this woman has the morals of a wild jackrabbit and the maturity of a high-school mean girl.

"Look, I'm sorry if you got the wrong impression," I told her gently, "it's true my marriage is a little rocky at this point, but while I'm sure you're very attractive to most guys, I have a type. Nothing personal, but my ideal woman is about a foot taller and 25 years older than you. I hope you understand."

She never answered me, but my drunken brain was still able to deduce that she, in fact, did not understand, since she stormed off like she was offended. Ah well.

I struggled to my feet, and as I turned my computer off and staggered to the elevator I realized I was in no shape to drive home. Using my cell phone, I left my Volvo C70 convertible in the parking deck and ordered a ride service to take me home to Bellevue.

On the way, drunken logic dictated that I should drink more Scotch, so I ordered the driver to stop by a liquor store on the way home. I picked up some airline bottles which I proceeded to sip as we motored along. My breath probably smelled like a distillery, but when our eyes met in the rearview mirror I drunkenly explained, "Wiman birfday propelms." Scotland's finest gold liquid had me believing I was a real Roman orator by this point.

He nodded as if he understood, then warned me, "Just don't fucking puke in my car. Barf out the window, OK?" and we continued on our merry way. When he dropped me off, I gave him a 100 percent tip, because fuck it, it was my birthday! By some miracle I managed to get the door unlocked after about 7 tries; kicking off my wingtip shoes, I crept down the hall in my stocking feet to avoid making any noise.

It was about 1am or so, but I noticed there was light coming from underneath the door to Andrea's room. I went into my room and used the ensuite toilet to drain the ol' lizard, then fumbled some toilet paper off the roll to wipe up the splashes where I'd slightly missed the bowl. (I may have been drunk, but I was still tidy.)

I thought about Andrea's light being on so late, and decided it would be a good idea to go talk to her. My rationale was although the divorce was slowly coming to fruition, she was technically still my wife and a husband could talk to his wife, couldn't he? Fuckin'-A-right, I could!

Opening the door, I saw Andrea sitting up in bed with her reading glasses on and a book in her hand. I was immediately horny because seeing her wearing glasses like a naughty college professor always got me going, damn her! Her book was some romantic crowns-and-gowns historical novel, no doubt. My wife had always been a sucker for those kind of stories, and I used to love teasing her about it. She'd pretend to be mad, then we'd kiss and usually end up fucking. It was yet another thing I'd lost that I really missed.

Andrea's eyes went wide. Surprised at my entrance, she blurted out, "Daniel, what are you doing in here?"

I pointed at her accusingly and answered, "I'm fuckin' drunk, I had a shitty-ass birthday, and I felt like telling you about it," I slurred, "do you remember when we used to just fuckin' talk to each other? Back when we loved each other? Damn, I miss that shit." As I leaned against the wall my legs gave way, and I slumped down on the floor, my legs crossed in the lotus position.

A funny look crossed Andrea's face: she closed the book she was reading. "That's the first time in a long time you said you missed me," she said softly.

I nodded, agreeing with myself mostly. "Yeah, well, can you fuckin' blame me? I mean shit, Andrea, all that bullshit my mother was spewing about you being insecure, I just do not fuckin' get it." I shook my head, then confessed, "My coworkers threw a fuckin' birthday party for me after work, and some young woman sat on my lap and kissed me." I chuckled, shaking my head. "Can you fuckin' believe that shit?"

A look of pain crossed Andrea's face. She responded in a rather cold voice, "I can believe it, you're a very attractive man, Daniel. That must have been pleasurable for you."

"That's the thing, see," I blurted out, slapping the floor with one hand for emphasis. "I fuckin' HATED it! I didn't even know her name, I've only talked to her maybe two or three times in the break room, she's a total stranger. But you want to know what the kicker is?"

In a quiet voice, she answered, "No idea. What's the kicker?"

"She kissed me, but I didn't kiss her back. Instead, I pushed her off my lap, you know? Then she asked me if I wanted a blow job, and I told her I wasn't interested. I refused to fuck her, and I refused her fuckin' blow job, you wanna know why? WELL, DO YA?" I was full of questions tonight, apparently.

Andrea shook her head slightly, responding again in that quiet voice, "I don't have a clue why you would turn down an offer like that."

I pointed an intoxicated index finger at Andrea. "I turned her down because she wasn't you, that's why! She looked nothin' like you! She was too short, too young, her tits were too big, her fuckin' haircut sucked, I mean, compared to you she was a fuckin' OGRE! No other woman will ever be as perfect as you, you've fuckin' ruined me, damn you!" My drunken emotions welled up in me, and tears began running down my face.

My emotional outburst certainly took Andrea by surprise; she had the cliched 'deer in the headlights' look on her face. "Daniel, I had no idea," she began but I interrupted her by slapping the floor and pointed my unsteady finger at her again.

"See, Andrea, this is what I don't fuckin' get about you being depressed," I shouted, "have I ever, ever said shit like you're old, or fat, or ugly?"

Andrea looked at me now, tears forming in her eyes. In contrast to my shouting, her voice was so low I could barely hear her answer. "No, Daniel, you've never said anything like that to me."

I stood up unsteadily, now flush with victory, and declared, "A-HA! My point exactly, see? Ever since the day we met I thought you were hot and fuckable, and you still fucking ARE!"

Then, to drive my point home even more, I angrily ordered her, "Stand up and get out of bed. I'm gonna prove something to you."

I held out my hand and she took it. She swung those long legs from under the covers around to the side of the bed, and I pulled her to her feet. She was wearing a plain white nightgown and her long hair was tied back, but it may as well have been black lace lingerie, because I felt my dick getting hard.