His Heart at The Right Placebylikegoodwine©
By Likegoodwine copyrighted February 2013
Here's another short story for you. Enjoy! If you like long stories that explain everything from the when, where to the why and why not, don't read. It doesn't explain neither why nor what happened after the separation. It is not a fantasy, it is fiction and entertainment. If you look to spend a nice 15 minutes reading a story to alleviate the boredom of your day, be my guess.
Thank to Scalia for his patient editing.
Your votes and constructive comments are appreciated, as they will help me grow.
Chapter 1 - Heartbroken
Over the past 30 years, computers have revolutionized our lives. They affect all of us. Some for the worst, but mostly for the better! Almost a year ago, my laptop changed my life but for the worst. I was stuck in Salt Lake City for a weeklong meeting. It was the first evening away from home and I had made my usual phone call home. I was now feasting my eyes on a live sex show on my computer. Despite her advancing age, the woman on my small 14" screen had all the right curves at the right place, hips and breasts.
She was moving her hips slowly as she fucked her partner cowgirl style. I could see him playing with her slightly sagging C cup breasts. She bent a bit, their lips met, and they shared a long lustful kiss.
After the kiss, they disengaged and changed position. He was now on top of her in a missionary position.
I had enough. I quit the program and turned off my computer. I wasn't at all aroused by what I had just witnessed. As a matter of fact, the whole thing disgusted me. The woman on the screen, the one who had been in the throes of an intense fucking was none other than my lovely wife, Martha. And that intense fucking was taking place in our Sacramento home.
Martha is a beautiful 47-year old woman. After almost 25 years of marriage and two grown children, she is still a very sensuous woman with all the right curves.
Me, Bob McLeod, I am a 49-year old architect, a loving husband for 25 years and now a cuckold.
I had known for a while something was amiss between Martha and me. She was distant, often distracted when alone with me, barely listening to me, and our lovemaking was sporadic at best. And she didn't even watch Oprah...
I became suspicious of her new habit to work late at work and over the weekend. So, as my trip was approaching, it became clear that I had to find a way to monitor her while I was gone. It wasn't very difficult, only somewhat expensive. I had a few motion-activated video cameras installed all over the house under the guise of a new security system. I could monitor every camera from anywhere in the world.
In a way, I am glad that I discovered her cheating that evening. After a few minutes of self-pity, my anger took over. With no outlet to vent it, that anger simply raised my blood pressure to a new peak, and the first thing I knew, I keeled over. I knew something was wrong, very wrong. I had time to call 911, give them my room number at the Hilton, and I passed out.
I woke up later that night in the ICU. To make a long and painful story short, I learned a few days later, after many tests, that I was suffering of an advanced stage of endocarditis: most of my heart valves were badly damaged.
In a matter of just a few days I had learned twice that I was heartbroken. I was figuratively heartbroken when I discovered that my marriage of 25 years was over, and that my loving wife was nothing else than a cheating and lying slut. I was also literally heartbroken as I learned that without a heart transplant I had very few months to live, a year at the most.
Under any other circumstances, I am pretty sure that I would had taken the long and slow way out of my marriage with Martha. But now, I didn't have time to waste. All alone, bedridden in a strange city hospital, all I could do was to plan the next few months, my last few months. I would make them count.
Yes, I am a sore loser and it's true that I was mainly plotting my revenge on my wife and her lover. Well sue me! I sure won't be there if it goes to trial anyway. As a matter of fact, nothing I can do could really affect me for long. Only my revulsion of firearms kept me from flying home and shooting then in flagrante delicto. That and the fact that I couldn't fly but had to take a long ambulance ride all the way home.
It sure surprised my brother Steve when an ambulance showed up at his house in Elk Grove, CA.
There was no way I would be going home and I didn't want to impose on my kids. It left my twin brother Steve. We are not identical twin brothers mind you. We are fraternal twins. When a stranger or a mere acquaintance looks at us, they can't tell us apart. But everybody close to us can tell the difference. One of the big differences is that I have only one kidney, just like Steve. But I have a right kidney and he has a left kidney, my kidney. See, Steve travelled a lot in his early twenties. He didn't know he had a bad infection. He let it sap his health for months then when the doctors found out about it, he was close to death with kidney failure. A few tests and a surgery later, he was back on his feet with one of my kidney.
No wonder I turned to him in my hour of need.
I didn't have to ring the bell. While the medic was pushing me on a wheelchair toward the house (company policy as I can walk by myself), the front door opened and Steve came out.
"Bob, what the fuck is going on? What's all that? The ambulance and the wheelchair," asked Steve.
"Well, Steve, nice to see you too!" I said while stepping out of the wheelchair. I turned toward the medic to shake his hand. "Thanks buddy! Care for a coffee before heading back to Salt Lake City?"
"No thanks! My wives are waiting for me and I don't want to give them too much to complain about. One wife complaining is one thing, three of them is another," the medic said. "I'll be on my way. Take care now!"
Poor guy! I looked at him as he walked slowly toward the ambulance like if the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders.
I walked pass Steve and got in the house, my younger brother on my heels, like 49 years ago when he followed me about an hour later, making my Mom's ordeal a nightmare. You know now why my mom loved me best.
I went for the fridge, grabbed two beers and sat at the table, offering one to Steve.
He waited a little bit before asking me again what was up with me.
"Well," I said, "I'm fucked. There's no better way to say it I guess. First, my heart is like a Swiss cheese and hasn't many more miles left in it. I have less than a year to live the doctors said..."
On that statement my brother jumped from his chair, dumbfounded, a pained expression on his face.
"Oh Bob! It's awful. Can't they do like with me? A transplant?"
"Well, I was put on a recipient list but the doctor tells me I don't have much of a chance. Remember that we have a rare blood? Add to that my age and the fact that I am running on one kidney only, and I am not very high on the priority list."
"That sucks," said my brother, slumping back onto his chair.
"How's Martha reacting to the news?" asked Steve.
I didn't answer right away. I simply looked at him and it gave him time to connect the dots. He looked at me when he realized that Martha probably didn't know.
"Oh my God! She doesn't know, does she? You came here straight away from Salt Lake," concluded my brother. "What's going on Bob? Why didn't you go home?"
"Steve, I discovered my heart condition after I had a heart attack in Salt Lake City," I told him. "And I had a heart attack after I discovered that Martha was cheating on me. It almost killed me."
"And ... Well... How did you found out she was cheating on you?" asked Steve.
"It doesn't matter how," I answered him. "I have only a few more months to live and I don't want to be caught in more pain. The bitch is out on my life. I won't even divorce her."
"What will you do?" asked Steve.
"First, I will get my hands on as much cash as I can. I will really enjoy these next few months", I said. "Second, I will change my will and my life insurance. There's no way the bitch will get anything out of my death. Everything goes to the kids..."
A thought just crossed my mind. Were they my kids? How long had she cheated on me?
"What?" asked Steve, noticing my silence.
"Man... How fucked is that? I don't even know if my kids are mine. I will need to have some DNA tests done."
"Stop! Don't go there, brother," said Steve soothingly. "If you have only a few months to live, you don't need the heartbreak. In this case, let the sleeping dogs lie."
"You're right! Anyway, I am totally exhausted. I need to lay down... but not a word to Martha while I am asleep. I have only a few months to live and I need my brother," I said.
Steve came and hugged me.
Chapter 2 - Taking matters at heart
The next morning, Steve took the day off. He then became my chauffeur for the day.
First stop was the bank. I cleaned up as much as I could from our savings and I cashed in all our CD that we kept in our safe deposit box. The amount totaled close to $150,000.
Second, I went to my employer, gave him all the necessary papers from the doctor, and quit on the spot for medical reasons. I can swear I saw a tear appearing in the eyes of that hard-ass boss of mine. Within the hour, I had a check for all my cumulated vacation, my outstanding paycheck, and my 401K.
By lunchtime, I had over half a million dollars in cash and checks, and the checks would be cashed in as soon as I could.
I had an appointment with my attorney right after lunch. Steve was all over me to tell him what I was planning to do exactly. I asked him to trust me on everything and that he would know everything by the end of the day.
My attorney had everything ready when we got there. I signed a few papers leaving my kids everything I still possessed that I couldn't cash in, with Steve signing as a witness. That was the country cottage I inherited from my parents', my car, my boat, and a few other toys. Next I signed a power of attorney to Martha, leaving her the rights to the whole amount she could get from the sale of the family home. We had about $250,000 dollars in equity already, and that would become her share of our estate. I gave the attorney a letter to give to Martha when he would meet her the next day.
"Dear back-stabbing wife,
I would never have believed that the day would come that I would call you a fucking cheating bitch. Those are the only names I can think of since I learned that you betrayed me, that you stabbed me in the back, and that you were cheating on me.
I loved you and really thought that you loved me. Now I know better.
You will receive a power of attorney giving you the right to sell the house. I took everything else from our bank accounts. The house is your share of our life together. I am not a thief and it is split right down the middle. I won't even divorce you. I will just rejoice in the fact that I will never see you again. I will simply leave you and hope that you die soon and in pain.
Go to Hell!
cc. Jamie and Tom McLeod"
Steve was reading over my shoulder when I wrote the letter.
"Well, I see that you are mature enough not to let your pain dictate your actions, brother of mine," said Steve with a sparks in his eyes.
"Dad always said to never let your emotions rule your life," I answered tit for tat.
Next, I stopped by my insurance agent to amend the beneficiary of my life insurance. The benefits would be split between my two kids. I didn't tell the poor guy that the chances were great that his company would soon pay up on my policy.
By the end of the afternoon, I was exhausted again. Steve drove me back to his house, as I sorely needed to rest.
I woke up early the next day and I looked at my brother as he was leaving for work. He offered to ask for another day off, but I insisted not to change his behavior too much. As soon as he left, I went back to my room, packed my bags and called a cab. Within two hours, I was on a flight heading toward Acapulco.
I knew that Steve or the kids could never keep a secret very long from Martha. And I was determined to spend the next few months far away from that woman. I needed to enjoy life as much as possible and being away from my wife was a very good start. I rented a villa and hired a cook-slash-maid to help out. She would be of great help, and she was cute to boot. I also got in contact with a world-renowned Mexican heart specialist.
Two weeks later, I phoned my kids and my brother to inform them of my whereabouts. As to my brother, this was in addition to the note I left him explaining that I had to leave the country but would phone him soon.
"Shit Bob, why did you take off like this?" asked my brother. "And guess who your wife came to see for comfort. Shit!"
"It's alright Steve. I know you can act the part of the considerate fellow," I said. "Anyway, I am phoning to let you know that I am living in Mexico and I am really enjoying myself. Next week, the kids will come to visit me, but they promised to keep it from their mom. What about you? Can you come to visit me after that?"
"Deal," answered my brother. "I'll take some vacation. Where are you?"
"Just take a flight to Acapulco, let me know the flight number and somebody will be there to pick you up," I said.
"You don't trust me to keep a secret, brother? That sounds so cloak and dagger."
"I didn't even told it to the kids. I don't want to take a chance."
Chapter 3 -- His heart at the right place
I picked Steve up at the airport. We grabbed his bags and headed outside toward our waiting limo. Our destination was a good hour away from Acapulco, practically lost in the countryside.
As we approached Villa del Corazon, Steve was impressed.
"Holy shit Bob! Is that the villa you rented?"
"No, it's an annex to my physician's health care center. Sorry about that but I had an appointment here scheduled on the day of your arrival," I said. "Come with me, the limo driver will deliver your luggage to my place while we wait for the doctor to see me."
We went inside and a nurse led us to a waiting room. We were the only clients. Soon after she left, an orderly came in an offered us a drink. We both took a glass of fresh juice.
"Salud!" I said, lifting my glass toward my brother.
I downed my glass of juice in one swift movement and Steve followed suit.
"So what's up with this doctor?" asked my brother. "Does he have a miracle cure that nobody knows of in the US?"
"No, but he is a renowned heart transplant surgeon," I said.
"Oh, he is a very good surgeon I take it," my brother said.
"Well, I don't know if he is any good. I chose him because his sense of ethic is rather loose," I said.
Steve looked at me curiously.
"I don't get it. Loose ethic? What do you mean?" asked Steve.
"Well for the right price, he doesn't care where the organ comes from. And for an extra, he will get it himself," I said.
Steve looked at me, shocked.
"You can't be serious Bob," started to say. "You... I... I don't feel that great. I am dizzy..."
I got up and came close to my brother. I took his hand.
"Steve, you are my brother and I would have done everything for you," I said, hoping to tell him everything before he lost consciousness. "As a matter of fact, I already gave you one of my kidney. And how do you repay me? By sleeping with my wife. You betrayed the man that saved your life, your own brother. For that, I want my kidney back and while we are at it, I'll take your heart too. It's time to pay up brother. Our parent always said that we both have our heart at the right place. It will be true for you pretty soon."
I am not sure that he heard the last of my tirade. I rang the bell and the orderlies came back in the room to prep us.
After many weeks of post-surgery recovery, I left Mexico and returned to California. I was still too weak to work so I asked the kids to let me live at the cottage. Most of my money was gone but I had just enough left to live another few months without working. Because of my situation, I couldn't collect any unemployment benefits or medical insurance.
The disappearance of Steve didn't go unnoticed. As a matter of fact, it is my dear wife that did bring the fact to light. As soon as I arrived at the cottage, the kids informed me that everybody was looking for their uncle Steve and that their mother had contacted the police.
The next week, a police detective came to the cottage and asked me if I had information on Steve's whereabouts. I told him that the last time I saw him was in Mexico, that he was still alive and in good health, but I didn't received news from him after that. The inspector sure smelled a rat, but whatever happened was in another country and there was nothing he could do about it. He showed up a few times, just to see if I wasn't about to have a breakdown and confess but then his visits stopped.
I knew the day would come when I would have to face my wife. It was a warm summer afternoon and I was working around the cottage, topless, painting an old shed that had needed it for years. I didn't hear her coming.
"So this is where you've been hiding!" I heard from my wife.
"Nope! Not hiding," I said without even turning around, and still applying paint on the wall. "Everybody that counts in my life, that's my two kids, knows where to find me."
"And me? I don't count?" asked Martha.
"Not to me! Not anymore!" was my simple answer.
She stayed there in silence for a while.
"I never had the chance to tell you how really sorry I am, Bob," she said very timidly.
I realized that she would stick around if I didn't kick her out. I put my paintbrush back in the paint can and turned around.
Her eyes almost popped out of their sockets when she saw the still very red T shaped scar I had on my abdomen, last remnant of the story of the heart transplant
"Look!" I said. "If it will make you feel better, just say your bit and then get the fuck out of here. Gee! You should realize that I don't give a shit about you anymore, one way or another."
I saw that tears drenched her face. But I also noticed that it left me without any emotion, none, nada. Not even anger or pity. Absolutely fucking nothing!
"What's that?" she said while pointing a finger at my chest.
Now I had an emotion getting grip of me: annoyance.
"Just a scar!" I said. "I needed a heart transplant and I got one."
"Oh!" was all she said. "Did the police asked you about your brother?"
"And what did you told them?" she asked.
"The truth," I said. "That I didn't have a clue where he was but that a little bit of him would be forever with me, right here." And I tapped my sternum, where my new heart was.
I decided to put back my T-shirt. I turned around to grab it where I left it. That was a mistake, as it gave Martha a good view of the scar of the recently reopened access to my left kidney.
"And what happened to the scar of your kidney surgery?" she asked.
I was annoyed and made another mistake.
"Oh! And I got my old kidney back," I said.
It took a while for understanding to dawn on Martha. I saw her face lost all its color, and then she turned around and ran away without even a goodbye.
Bitch! Good thing I didn't offer her one of my last beers.
Shortly later, I received divorce papers, signed them, send them back, and I never saw her again. For those that wonder, the DNA shows that they are my kids.
Readers are invited to play "Let's recycle all of Steve's body parts". So far I used the following body parts in my story (in order of appearance): Eyes, hips, breasts, lips, heart, kidney, shoulders, heels, blood, hands, back, abdomen, face, chest, and sternum. And with a sentence like this one, "I couldn't stomach to see the face of that bitch without an urge to wrap my fingers around her throat or to shove my foot up her ass," I added stomach, fingers, throat, foot, and ass.