Adultery When We Were Married by DanielQSteele1

[Ramesh_Rocky]

He just looked at her and she couldn't tell if anything she said was sinking in.

"Anyway, thank you for letting the alimony drop," he said finally. "I know you don't want to feel dependent on me. But you know that if anything happened, I'd be there for you. And it wouldn't be charity. You're the mother of my children. We're not going to be -- so angry -- forever. We're still raising our kids and you need to financially able to take care of them. And we were married for most of our lives. I'll always be here for you."
She thought for a second and made a quick decision.
"Lew was very persuasive. I know now why you like him. He is a shark. When he -- explained things to me - I just realized I couldn't take the chance of losing my job right now. I might still go job hunting in the future, but not right now. Did he...tell you about our meeting?"
Bill just shrugged.
"Not in detail. He just said he convinced you it was smarter to drop the alimony. And everything else has been worked out. It's just a matter of getting the documents in the right order, and it's done."
Lew hadn't told him everything. It would be so easy to say a few words. Lew had been right. Bill wouldn't forgive him -- for awhile. It would pay them both back for being assholes about the alimony. But...
"It's history now, Bill. We can move on. Even if there are still some -- rough spots."
She stepped back from him and looked him up and down.
"The only thing I'm really pissed off about is that you finally went and started getting back into shape. After our marriage went into the trash. But, I guess, at least, the future Mrs. Maitland will reap the benefits."
"There won't be any more Mrs. Maitlands."
She tried to smile.
"You're going to make me feel even guiltier. I don't want to think that I put you off the idea of marital bliss forever. Just because we didn't make it, doesn't mean you won't find someone who will be in it for the long haul. Eighteen years ago we both thought we were going to be in it for life."
He shook his head and she got the feeling that he was dismissing her.
"I'd like to say it's all your fault. That you're just a cheating bitch. But I've had three months to think about what's happened. Right after -- you told me you wanted out -- I ran into a cop who cleared my mind. He made me see something I'd always known but hadn't wanted to admit. This prosecutor thing isn't just a job. It never has been. It's what I am.
"And because it is, it always came ahead of you and our children. I chose to put it ahead of you. I told myself you were being unreasonable, but you weren't. You only wanted what any wife wants -- to be number one in her husband's life. And you haven't been for ten years.
"I'm not going to do that again. Not going to put some other woman through that. I don't need any more children to ignore. I know what I am now and I'm content with that. I'll try to reconnect with the kids, but for the rest of it, I'm going to stick with what I do best. I guess some people just aren't meant to be married."
"We had a good run," she said.
"Better than many, Debbie. And we got two good kids out of the deal."
She stepped toward him, then stopped. Her eyes glistened.
"I feel like....I should say something."
He put his hand out and cupped her chin.
"Just say goodbye, babe."
After a moment.
"Goodbye."
He stepped back inside and closed the door. She watched him go back to the weight training machine and begin another set of reps. He never looked back at her.
She drove home. As she pulled into the garage and stepped inside she thought, "Things will never be the same again."
She went to her bedroom and ten minutes later Big John was vibrating wetly deep inside her and she was bouncing her ass up and down on the bed and moaning, and in her mind's eye she was sucking a sweetly hard 24-year-old cock in a UF dorm room and the next 18 years had never happened.
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Thursday July 7, 2005 -- 10:30 p.m.
I couldn't look back at her as I walked back to the Nautilus. Maybe she was telling the truth about not fucking Doug until after I smashed his face that Friday. And maybe she hadn't been fucking around on me when she was running around on me behind my back. But she had never taken back those fatal words -- I just don't love you any more. Nothing else mattered.
If you don't love somebody, what was the point of living with them, trying to make a life with them.
I stopped in mid-lift. She hadn't told me about Lew's ultimate threat. The one that broke her resistance. Lew had told me everything, of course. I'd been pissed, as he'd known I would be, but deep down I always knew he'd go to the wall to win. He never stopped until he got what he wanted. And what he wanted was usually the right thing. It's one of the things I've liked about him. He did what I couldn't do.
It would have been so easy for her to tell me, assuming it would wreck our friendship. Why hadn't she? Just another surprise from a woman who after 20 years of marriage and courtship could still surprise me. Of course, the big surprise had ruined my life.
Still, I had told her the truth. She had betrayed me by falling in love, or in lust, with another man. She had run around on me. But I had left her first. So now I was sweating alone in a gym while I was sure she was or soon would be bouncing under Doug's big cock in what had been our home.
But I found that thought didn't hurt me as much as it had three months before. Time does heal all wounds, or at least it helps you to scar up.
#

[Ramesh_Rocky]

My name is William Maitland. I'm an Assistant State Attorney in Jacksonville, Florida. Until three months ago I thought I was happily married to the gorgeous, big breasted and long-legged Debbie Bascomb who was helping me raise our teenage daughter and son.

Then one night she said four words that at the time I think she regretted but which in hind sight was probably the best thing that could have happened because at least it gave me a heads up on what was coming my way. She asked me for a divorce within three weeks, started having her 28-year-old lover started spending nights in my house, and things got nasty on both sides.
It looked like we were headed for a Twilight of the Gods epic court battle when a friend of mine showed her copies of emails between herself and her current lover, exchanged when she was lying through her teeth that there was no "there" there. It kind of knocked the wind out of her sails and she very meekly agreed to my conditions for a divorce.
We made our goodbyes while I was half naked and sweating it out at an Avondale gym where she had surprised me late that night in an attempt to apologize – I think – for falling out of love with me. She surprised me by showing up and I could see it in her eyes that I had surprised the hell out of her by transforming myself from a Pillsbury dough boy to a shaved-head, merely out-of-shape middle-aged guy.
I think there were other things she might have said, but it was too late. Entirely too late. So here I am the following Monday trying not to look backward but forward to the trial of a man who had murdered his wife, the love of his life. I'd murdered my marriage. He murdered his wife. And I had to decide his fate.
#########################
Monday - July 11, 2005 – 9 a.m.
As I walked into the office I heard the buzzing start. It grew louder with every step I took, every floor I rode up in the elevator, everyone who got on or off the elevator stared at me for a second, then tore their eyes away quickly. I got out of the fifth floor and walked to my office. The whispering, an occasional gasp, followed in my wake. I began to wonder if this was the way Great Whites felt as they glided past colleges of potential prey.
Cheryl just stared at me wordlessly as I walked into my office at 8:30 a.m., hours late for me, and opened up the Bingham file.
Charles Bingham was on trial today for killing his wife Mabel by injecting five times the amount of morphine she'd been receiving into her veins. It was enough to depress her breathing sufficiently to kill her. It was an open and shut case in a way. He had confessed.
But, unfortunately, I had devoted a bit more time to an open and shut case than a prosecutor usually does, because it was so open and shut. I'd found out things I didn't want to find out. And now I had to play God; Literally. I do a lot of that figuratively, but today it was for real.
I was lost in the notes when I heard Cheryl clear her throat. She was standing inside the door. I looked up at her. She almost jumped.
"What's going on here, Cheryl?"
"Bill – Mr. Maitland. Uh....."
"Is my zipper open?"
"Nooooo...Mr. M – do you....I mean...have you.......do you know..."
"What?"
She gestured vaguely in my direction.
"The...uh..."
"What are you talking about?"
She said, "Wait a minute," and came back a moment later with a large, hand-held mirror.
"Look."
I did.
"So what?"
"Mafia."
"Mafia? What in the hell?'..."
She took a deep breath.
"You look like you could have walked out of a 'Sopranos' casting call. The shaved head. You're dressed all in black. You're so damned pale you look white against that black. You look like a Mafia hit man. Or a damned vampire. You look scary."
"Close the door and sit down," I told her.
"You know I shaved my head last Thursday. You saw me Friday. I'm wearing black because – well I haven't really been keeping up with my laundry, since...Anyway, this was the cleanest outfit I had and it matches. Deb....used to....I'm not the world's best at matching my own clothes. It was just simpler to wear this outfit. If it looks a little spooky, so much the better. And I'm not much paler than I ever am. I just never get any sun anymore."
She looked at me again and just shook her head.
"I guess that all makes sense, but Jesus Christ, Bill, you're flat-assed spooky."
"Maybe it'll spook some defense attorneys to plead instead of fighting. That would be nice."
She just shook her head. And backed out. I started to look through the files in front of me. There was another knock at the door. I yelled at Cheryl, "Come in."
A man walked in. Not many people can do that, but Carl Cameron had been covering this beat as well as doing general assignment and feature writing almost as long as I'd been with the State Attorney's Office. Like any good reporter, he'd nurtured a relationship with me and he worked it. I wasn't in love with the guy, but he was a decent sort and sometimes you need the press on your side.
He took one look at me and did a double take.
"Gee, Cheryl was right. You are flat-assed spooky."
"Thank you, and why the hell did you turn down Jessica Stephens' offer to share a bed with you?"
The smile was wiped out.
"That's crossing the line. I've never done anything about your divorce, and I know more shit about that than you'd ever want getting out."
That stopped me. I'd known him to some extent for more than eight years, and I'd never gotten under his skin. He was always professional. You could never tell for sure if he was being friendly or working a source, and the few times I'd had to give him a professional bruising he was able to shake it off and we went back to where we'd been before. I'd never hit a nerve.
"I didn't....shit, you are in love with her, aren't you?"
He gave me a look that might have made some men shut up. Carl was a pencil pusher, but definitely not a pencil necked geek, to use the old expression. He was no taller than me but as wide as a door and probably outweighed me by 60 or 70 pounds, not much of which appeared to be fat. He was just solid up and down. He had dark black hair, a permanent 5 o'clock shadow like Richard Nixon on steroids, and he looked more like a college blocker than anything else. Right now he looked like a pissed-off blocker.
"I don't want to go there, Mr. Maitland. Let's get it back on track."
I nodded, but couldn't help adding, thinking of her seeming to become thinner and more ethereal every time I saw her, "You know she's head over heels in love with you? I'm not going to give anybody love advice, but you are one stupid fucker if you let her get away from you for the reason she told me."
"She told you?"
"I thought you knew everything, Carl. Couple of months ago we went out drinking. We almost wound up in bed."
I didn't have to be a mind reader to read his thoughts.
"We didn't, but if you don't stop being an idiot she'll be with somebody else. Not because she wants anybody else, but you're stupid to turn down sex with her for – what a stupid damned reason. If it happens, you only have yourself to blame."
He just stared at me and then said, "Like you said, Bill, you're the last damned person on earth to offer any advice on relationships. Not after you threw away the 2nd hottest piece of ass to ever walk these halls. Anyway, I just wanted to talk to you about the Bingham case."
"What? It's nothing all that big time. It's going to be interesting, but –"
"If it's not big time why is the number two guy in this office working it? There's got to be more to it than I can find out on the record."
"There is. Look, if I asked you to let this one slide, would you. Just give it a few paragraphs, page or two and bury it. You don't have to do a quote by quote treatment of the trial itself."
He sat down across from me. I knew his answer before he spoke. He was a reporter. As much as I was a prosecutor.
"Sorry. It's a criminal case and the more you talk, the more I realize this could be a hot one. You know me. I'll be fair, but I can't pass up a story. I'm getting vibes about this thing."
I sighed. I had tried. We had talked one time and he had told me about a girl he'd known when he was a young newspaper reporter down in Sarasota, Florida. Her father had been a reporter in his time and she had been an understanding girlfriend because she said her father had told her the definition of a true reporter was a guy that would get up from the best fuck he'd ever had to follow a siren.
Her father had been that kind of guy, which was why he had been married five times before he keeled over with a heart attack at the age of 49, and Carl was the same kind of guy. I had known he wasn't going to back off, but I had to try.
"There are some – elements – to it that are out of the ordinary, Carl. If you're going to cover this, try to be – as gentle as you can. Can I ask you that?"
He looked at me with a questioning look on his face.
"What the hell is going on, Bill? I've never known you to worry that much about the feelings of a criminal defendant, not in a murder case. Even one of these mercy killing cases."
"This is...this is a little different. I can't explain right now, but you'll see what I'm talking about."
He looked at me and I stared back at him for a few moments, but neither one of us broke the silence. Finally he got up and headed for the door. He stopped just before walking out and looked back at me with his hand on the doorknob.
"You're right, Bill. I do love her. But, it's never going to work. I'd cut off my left nut to make it work, but I can't."
After he left I just looked at the door. It should have made me feel better about myself, but I hated seeing someone more stupid than me.
A half hour later I was in court in Circuit Judge Dominic Dellaro's courtroom. There was no jury. Bingham had already pled guilty to first degree, premeditated murder, and the plea had been accepted. This was basically just a sentencing hearing to introduce information that judge could use in handing down a sentence. It could range anywhere from a visit to the death chamber or a slap on the wrist and warning not to do it again.
Jessica Stephens had made the opening statement for us, outlining the prosecution case. She smiled wanly at me and refused to look in Cameron's direction where he sat in the public section of the seats behind the defense attorney's table.
Dennis Leary, a wild, ash-blonde, florid-faced attorney with the Public Defender's Office had made the defense opening. He wasn't trying to deny – he couldn't with a plea entered and accepted - that his client had murdered his wife, but attempted to play on the judge's heartstrings as he described in detail his client's 52-year marriage and the hell his life had become as the cancer claimed his wife over the past several years.
Leary had a nose redder than the old-time comedian W.C. Fields, could and had drunk three other attorneys under the table in numerous drinking bouts, had fucked- I think – every willing single and/or married female staff member and attorney with the Public Defender's Office, and generally acted like a clown in and out of the courtroom. But he had skinned some of my best assistants alive. I'd tried to hire him away from the Public Defender's Office and Public Defender Johnny August on numerous occasions, but he always turned me down.
"I just plain fucking hate cops and prosecutors, yourself being the notable exception," he said with a grin and what sounded like the remains of a real Irish brogue that robbed the words of their sting. But I think he really did hate cops and prosecutors and he brought that passion to the courtroom. He was better than 90 percent of the defense attorneys making ten times his salary in the private arena.
He looked over at me and raised his eyebrows slightly. He wanted badly to make a joke about my appearance, but he couldn't. He was probably planning for his closing speech right now and enjoying the thrill of sticking it to the prosecution again with a suspended sentence, and probably anticipating it more because it was me he was going to be sticking it to.
He was going to get a nasty surprise today.
I stood up and smiled at Jessica, who was trying with everything in her not to look over at Cameron. Tears glistened in her eyes. Then I addressed Dellaro.
"Your honor, I'd like to call Mr. Bingham to the stand."
Bingham was tall, about six-four, bald, and thin with long arms and legs.. He reminded me of nothing so much as a human preying mantis. He walked slowly and painfully to the witness stand. I knew he had rheumatoid arthritis and it probably did hurt him to walk, but it seemed more than he had no strength, no energy. His wife's long dying had sapped his life force.
I looked at Dellaro. He was a handsome 56-year-old Italian American jurist with a head of black starting to turn silver hair and a proud Roman nose. He smiled at me. More than once while waiting for juries to come back, he and I and several other attorneys and bailiffs had played poker in his office. I usually managed to lose and throw a few dollars his way. It never hurts.
I walked up to stand within a foot of Bingham. He looked at me apathetically. A lot of times when you get a defendant up there they can't hide the fear, the tension. Their lives are on the line. But I didn't read that in Bingham. He really didn't care what happened.
"Mr. Bingham, I'm Assistant State Attorney William Maitland. We've met before. Do you remember me?"
He just nodded.
"You're an honest man, aren't you Mr. Bingham?"
That caught his attention. He opened his eyes wider and said, "I...try to be. I....think my daughters would say I was an honest man."
He glanced over at the public section of the seating and I saw them both. Tall, one dark haired and the other younger daughter sporting long brown hair. They were already wet-cheeked. They tried to smile at him as he looked at them. They had just lost their mother and knew they might lose their father. Even a one or two-year-sentence at his age and with his physical problems meant he might never walk out of prison a free man.
"You didn't attempt to lie when they found you with your wife. You admitted giving her the fatal dose of pain medicine."
He didn't answer. They weren't questions.
I walked back to my table and picked up two items. Returning to the witness stand I handed them to him and he took them with trembling hands. I pointed to the tall, dark haired woman in both pictures. She was in her early 20s in one, smiling with a tall, young dark haired man. The other taken a couple of decades later. She had been tall, but buxom. She had a good body.
"That is your wife, Mabel, isn't it?"
He just nodded and now tears rolled freely down his face.
"She was a really beautiful woman, Mr. Bingham. You were a lucky man."
He looked up at me and licked his dry lips.
"She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her when I met her," he said. "She was too good for me, and I always told her that. We had a wonderful life. And she gave me two of the best daughters a man could ask for."
I looked into his eyes and told him, "I can tell. You obviously loved her very much."
I leaned toward him and lowered my voice. But I knew I could be heard by the judge. Leary leaned forward in his seat trying to hear every word.
"Mr. Bingham, you had two daughters and it's obvious you and she loved each other very much. Would I be correct to assume that you were – happy – in every way?"
He looked at me with a puzzled expression.
"I don't mean to be indelicate, but this is important. You were – physically – compatible?"
Leary almost stood up but sat back, obviously not wanting to waste an objection until he got a better target.
I leaned in closer.
"Please don't take offense. We're both adults. Every one in this courtroom is an adult. You were married. It's a part of life. You had a good physical relationship?"
He looked as if he were retreating into some hidden part of his mind, and then his vision cleared and
he smiled.
He almost whispered, but again his words carried clearly.
"You don't want to talk about that in front of your children, even when they're grown, but yes, we were very physically compatible. To be honest, when we first married I couldn't keep my hands off her. And she- she was a passionate woman."
I nodded.
"You've had a hard life and I know that disease has caused you problems in your later years, but these photos show a young, strong, handsome man. I'll bet the ladies were after you before you married, weren't they?"
He rubbed his lips with his forefinger and looked back at the photos. I could see him almost physically return to a happier period of his life. He smiled and had what could only be a called a guilty expression on his face for a moment. I leaned forward and talked to him, one man to another.
"It's alright, Mr. Bingham. We were all young once. And a guy that looked like you wasn't going to be a saint. I'll bet anything that your daughters never knew about your....adventures...before you met their mother, did they?"
Leary was walking by me and standing in front of the judge, trying as hard as he could to keep his voice down so he couldn't be heard by the public spectators, but he was so loud it was a hard thing to do
"Your honor, I've held my tongue so hard it's starting to turn black and blue, but this is...I'm going to object on the grounds of general squeamishness. I don't know if Mr. Maitland woke up ...aroused...this morning and is trying to get his jollies, or if he really has some voyeuristic tendencies, but bringing us up to speed on my client's early sex life has absolutely nothing to do with this case. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing."
I just looked at Dellaro.
"You've seen me work before, your honor. I promise you this line of question has EVERYTHING to do with this case. Give me a little leeway."
The judge just nodded. On his way back to his table Leary stopped close to me and managed to whisper so no one but he and I and Bingham heard, "You're on thin ice, brother, and I'm going to push you under. Fair warning."
"Mr. Bingham? Do you remember the question?"
"Yes."
He stopped for a moment and stared at his daughters, then looked back at me.
"I wasn't always this burnt out husk of a man, Mr. Maitland. I was young and strong and – I had the normal urges. It wasn't like today. It was the 50s. But, yes, women liked me. And I liked them. I never kept any secrets from Mabel. She knew, but you don't tell your children about stuff like that."
"Thank you for being honest."
I spoke a little louder, so Dellaro could hear me better but Bingham wouldn't be spooked by the change in tone.
"The reason I asked you those questions is that I wanted to understand...your situation as your wife lay dying. You were a young, strong man with normal urges and you married a beautiful passionate woman. You had a good physical relationship. Now I'm going to ask you a difficult question. You were a good looking guy. Women liked you when you were single. Again, I'm not judging you, but people are human. Did you ever – slip? Did you ever go outside your marriage with another woman?"
Leary bounced up like a Jack in the Box, unable to control himself, almost shouting, "Oh shit! Sorry your honor, I apologize. But honestly.. Judge, you have to shut him down before he embarrasses himself and the State Attorney's Office."
Bingham's daughters were standing in their seats and glaring at me.
"Your honor, you've known me for awhile. I don't go on fishing trips without a reason. Give me a little more leeway."
He nodded and I glanced back at Leary. He just shook his head and muttered under his breath just loudly enough that I could hear him, "God, I hate prosecutors."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I looked back at Bingham. His eyes gleamed and the life seemed to be flowing back into him. Anger was a tonic.

"No. No, Mr. Maitland. I never cheated on my wife. And yes, I had opportunities. I was in corporate sales and training for IBM. I traveled all over the country, helping companies install computer systems, working out the bugs, trying to sell them every bell and whistle I could. I had lunches and late dinners and Saturday outings and we played golf to sell our systems. I met a lot of women."
His voice lowered and he glanced back at his children, but he continued, "And yes, some of them were interested....and attractive. And if....I was of a mind to...I could have cheated on Mabel. As you said, I'm human and....I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sometimes tempted. But...I never forgot I was married."
I stayed close to him, my voice low as if we were huddled in a bar somewhere on barstools talking about something intimate and personal.
"I'm sorry if I was a little too...personal in my questions, but I wanted to lay the groundwork for what I'm going to ask you next. You had a good physical relationship with your wife. You were a strong, healthy man. Her illnesses must have been particularly hard for that reason."
He just looked at me and I felt the anger ebb away and I knew that somehow he knew what was coming.
"You and your wife had a good sexual relationship – let's cut the euphemisms – and you were a strong healthy man. Then she became ill and there was the chemo and they had to cut her breasts off and she was sick, always sick. You loved your wife and you had to stand by her, but you were still a man. It must have been difficult. You're no spring chicken...none of us are...but you were still a man."
He just shook his head, then looked me in the eye.
"You've never lived with someone dying, or fighting to stay alive, have you, Mr. Maitland?"
"Fortunately, no. I can't imagine what it must have been like."
"It's like you're dying with them. They get to the point where they can't get out of bed and so your whole world shrinks down to that bedroom. They need to be cleaned up like a baby, and all the respect that's built over a lifetime dwindles and dies. It's not something you do consciously, but...you can't make yourself remember them as strong, independent adults. They're worse than babies. It's like they're newborn infants."
He looked down at the pictures of his wife and said, "They waste away to the point that even the thought- the thought of touching them sexually makes you....sick. They have no interest, even when they're conscious enough to know you're there. When they go back into their heads, it would be like...like..."
He searched for the word.
"Like necrophilia, is that the word you were looking for? It would be like having sex with a dead body, only in this case it would be the dead body of the woman who had shared your life for a half century. And you couldn't even make yourself think about that, could you?"
He nodded.
"But that doesn't answer the question, Mr. Bingham. What about you? Your wife was ill for years. I assume that meant there were no sexual relations for years. But you weren't dying or dead. Even at the end you were in your early70s. You had several problems, including severe rheumatoid arthritis, but did you stop being a man?"
Leary was almost in my face, talking to Dellaro.
"I've tried, honest to God your honor, I've tried. But I can't keep my mouth shut. I don't know what Mr. Maitland is doing, but it should be illegal. He's torturing a man who's already lost his wife, for no good reason that I can think of. Unless he's going to argue that Mr. Bingham killed his wife so he could have sex with somebody else."
He looked at me then and he knew. He looked over at Bingham and he was a good enough attorney that he saw it in the old man's eyes.
"Oh shit," Leary said softly. "Bill, have you lost any shred of decency. I hate every fucking prosecutor that ever walked the face of the earth, but I was going to give you a pass. This is low....lower than low. You can't be that desperate for a mother-fucking murder conviction."
Then he looked at Dellaro, said, "I'm sorry, your honor, I'll expect a fine or a contempt of court for that outburst after this trial, but I need to get away from this son of a bitch before I do something that will really get me in trouble."
Dellaro just looked at him as he walked away. Dellaro would have fined or locked up most attorneys that took that attitude, but like me, he liked the wild Irishman.
He turned his gaze back to me, still a little disbelieving what he'd heard.
"Is that where you're going, Mr. Maitland?"
"I'm afraid so, your honor."
I walked back to my table and pulled a piece of paper and a photograph off it and returned to the table.
I handed the photo to Bingham first. It was a picture of two couples, Bingham standing beside his wife who was in a wheelchair, and a pretty, older red-headed woman standing next to a short, round, bald headed guy who held her hand in his.
"Can you tell me who the couple is standing next to you and your wife?"
He answered without looking at me.
"He's Murray Benjamin, and that's his wife, Rachel. They were our next door neighbors. We've known them for 30 years."
"They live in that two-bedroom house next door to you? The red brick? Mr. Benjamin is deceased, right?
"Five years ago, He was only 58. Just dropped dead one day. Rachel stayed in the house after he was gone. She was a good friend to Mabel and myself."
"Maybe a little better friend to you than Mabel?"
One of his daughters gasped, the younger one I think. The older one just stared at me with a gaze that should have turned me to stone.
"I – I don't know how to answer that."
"Maybe this will help."
I gave him the second item I'd taken, just a handwritten note on stationery.
"Can you read that to the judge?"
He just shook his head.
"Okay. It reads: I'm an old fool, but I can't stop thinking about the other night. You were wonderful."
One of his daughters, the one that had gasped, started crying loudly. Her sister grabbed her and cradled her head against her chest.
"Mrs. Benjamin gave that note to our investigator the other day. We didn't have to push her too hard. I think she felt...guilty...about what was going on. Actually, she said she felt guilty. Were you...seeing Mrs. Benjamin?"
Bingham just stared at his hands for a long time. Then he lifted his head with what seemed like great weariness and looked into my eyes.
"How old are you, Mr. Maitland?"
"Forty one, although there are days I feel a lot older."
"You won't understand, but I'll tell you anyway. When you get into your 60s and 70s...women look at you...different. They don't see a man. They see an old....sexless...thing. They don't smile at you the same way. They don't really see you.
" To my daughters, I'm just dad. Children never think about their parents having sex. They don't understand...that you still need the physical part of life. If Mabel had been healthy, there is no question. We would have...been with each other. People in their 80s in nursing homes still have sex.
"But she wasn't there anymore. Not really. Not the Mabel I loved. She hadn't been for years. And...I did what you'd...expect a man to do. But...it's cold...and it's lonely. You'd think....that masturbation....that fantasy....would satisfy you more easily when you get older. But it doesn't. I was used to having a woman in my bed. A warm, loving woman."
"I think I do understand, Mr. Bingham. You were lonely. And Rachel Benjamin was lonely, wasn't she. Her husband had died years before. Had she...met anyone?"
"She'd gone out. She told me she'd been to bed with guys. But...she said she was lonelier after having sex with them than before. She didn't really know them, and they didn't really care about her...except for the sex. But we had been friends for a long, long time. The first time, it just happened. The girls stayed with their mother to let me go out for dinner. They didn't think anything about my going with Rachel because we had gone out as couples so often. Besides, they never even thought about my having sex with another woman than their mother. I was just dad."
"And you continued to see her?"
"Yes. It started just as...relief...for both of us. But over the months, it turned into something else. I guess it's common. We had known each other for so long. We liked each other before...the sex. I started looking forward to seeing her and then we started thinking and talking about what would happen...after. We both knew Mabel couldn't last much longer. And she didn't even know. She wasn't even there anymore. She was just a body."
At that his youngest daughter burst into loud sobbing and her older sister walked her out of the courtroom.
"But Mabel wouldn't die, would she?"
He didn't respond.
"And when she hung on and hung on, the guilt began to get to Rachel, didn't it. She felt like she was betraying her oldest friend. She told you she would die if your daughters ever learned what you two were doing. She wanted to stop. Maybe even move away. And you wouldn't have that, would you?"
Silence.
"And you told her that something would happen over that weekend. And you two would be free to be together. That's what she told our investigator. Was she lying?"
Silence. You could have actually heard a pin drop. I could hear spectators in the public section shifting their weight as they leaned forward to hear every syllable. I thought I could actually hear the scratching of Cameron's pen as he made notes on the reporter's notebook he carried everywhere.
"How could you know that Mabel was going to regain consciousness and ask you to release her from her pain – that weekend?"
He wouldn't look me in the eye.
"Did she regain consciousness, Mr. Bingham? Or did you simply decide that you had suffered with her long enough and that you deserved a life after taking care of her for so long? Was it fair that she drag you down into the grave with her? It wasn't like you hadn't gone above and beyond any duty a loving husband had to his wife. I don't know many men – or women – that would have done what you did in taking care of a dying spouse for so long.
"And it wasn't as if she would suffer. You said it yourself. She wasn't even there anymore."
He finally looked up at me. Tears began streaming down his face.
"It wasn't until after she was gone that it hit me...what I had done. She was so white...so cold...but I looked at her and I saw her smiling at me the way she had on our first date. She was so damned beautiful. And I had sworn to her I'd love her forever and be there for her always. And I...I"
He fell forward and I was barely able to catch and hold him upright. A moment later bailiffs were there to help him to the floor and a doctor in the spectator section came forward and after checking him assured everyone including his oldest daughter who had rushed back in that he was fine. He had just fainted. The doctor brought him around in a moment.
After Bingham had been helped back to the defense table and his daughter came to his side, Dellaro said he was continuing the penalty phase of the trial until the next morning at 10 a.m. After about 30 minutes Bingham was pronounced well enough to walk and two bailiffs standing on either side of him helped him for the courtroom. His daughter was going to drive him to his house but she stopped before she left the courtroom and walked up to me.
She was almost six feet tall and looked down on me.
"I hope you're proud of yourself, you son of a bitch. My sister is leaving town right now. She said she never wants to see him again. He lost his wife and you cost him his daughter. And for what? My mother died a long time ago. He just let her go. And you might have sent him to prison for the rest of his life. So I've lost my mother, and probably my father and maybe my sister. I hope to God you get cancer and die just the way my mother did."
Jessica said after she left, "You did what you thought was right, Bill. She's just hurting..hurting bad right now."
Leary was standing in front of the prosecution table.
"I've always been curious. How does it feel to play God? You just destroyed a man's life and his family."
"You know he killed her, Dennis. And not to release her from her pain. So he could go fuck his long time friend. That's okay with you? Killing unconscious family members when their presence gets to be too much of a burden?"
"You don't know that. You are just playing God, you're not the real thing. You will never know exactly what was going through his mind when he injected her."
"We got facts: written notes, testimony from his lady friend. We know enough."
"How do you live with yourself, Bill. You just destroyed a man. How are you going to sleep tonight?"
"I haven't destroyed anything. Just use those same arguments when you go up before Dellaro tomorrow. He might agree that there's no way for sure anybody will ever know exactly what was going through his mind. Bingham was a pretty sympathetic figure on the stand. He might slide by with a suspended sentence or parole yet."
"Did I ever tell you that I fucking hate prosecutors?"
"Numerous times."
"You guys – none of you – have any pity in you. People make mistakes because they're people. And you operate the machinery of the law to grind them up and spit their bones out afterwards. Somebody said it already, but the Law is an ass."
Then he looked at me and there was a little crooked grin on his face.
"I should do like you do and turn you in to the bar for ethics violations. No pity, remember."
"Ethics violations?"
"You have an obligation to let me know ahead of time what you found out about the girlfriend. You caught me completely off guard."
"Well, Dennis, I could argue that this isn't a real trial but actually just a sentencing hearing, and those rules DON'T apply in that setting. Or, I could simply say that you do and I will litter the court system with complaints about your activities, the least serious of which would be sleeping with multiple witnesses on both sides of cases we've argued. How about coercing favorable testimony through sexual blackmail? Or hiding witnesses you knew we needed for our cases when you got to them first? But, I don't need to do that.
"All I need to do is whisper about your sack time activities with a few married ladies in the PD office, especially the blonde married to that crazy-ass DEA agent, and you would vanish never to be seen again."
He grinned again.
"In that case, I guess I won't be filing any papers on you. Tell me again, Bill, why the hell do I like you?'
"The same reason I like you. You love what you do and you bust your ass to do it. Life is more interesting when you're around. The system needs us. I do what I do pretty well and you're the best at what you do. I'd miss you if you went corporate or were representing insurance companies."
He shrugged.
"Never happen. I like contact sports too much"
"You know you're a cliché, don't you? The drunken, rowdy Irish bum ."
He did a pretty good Clint Eastwood imitation and in clipped tones said, "A man's got to know his limitations. I AM a drunken, rowdy Irish bum."
Then the grin vanished from his face and he was serious.
"I never had the chance to talk to you about this, but I'm sorry about you and Debbie."
"Shit happens."
"Seriously. You want me to meet her boyfriend somewhere outside of work and rearrange his features? You can't do that because you're an upstanding officer of the court, but me..."
The touching thing was, I knew he'd do it – or at least try.
"No, but thanks for the offer. I'm trying to let that part of my life go. By the way, give your notice to August and come to work for me and I'll bump your salary with him up $20,000. You'd be number three under me, even though I'd probably have to kill a few SAs to make the decision stick and everybody would hate your guts, but that shouldn't bother you."
He just shook his head.
"No."
"The funny thing is, I'm almost glad you said that."
"We wouldn't have the same relationship if I had to kiss your ass, although if the offer was being tendered by the luscious Ms. Stephens over there..."
He grinned that rakehell grin that had tumbled so many level headed ladies into his bed over the years, but Jessica just blushed and dropped her eyes.
"Oh well, it was worth a try," he said. "See you later, brother."
Jessica stood up with a bundle of papers in her hand.
"I'm going back to the office. I have some work I can get done. See you here tomorrow morning."
She cast a last quick look in Cameron's direction and walked away. When she had left Cameron came over and said, "Jesus Christ, you weren't kidding, were you. This is a great story."
I just looked at him and remembered his definition of a great reporter.
"I think you're more cold blooded than I am, Carl. You just saw a man's life end. Even if he draws a suspended, his family is destroyed. People will always believe he killed his wife in cold blood. His girlfriend won't ever see him again. His friends are going to desert him and if things go the way they usually do, he won't last another six months. Long married couples where spouses lose the other one usually go quickly. And I don't think he's going to want to live too much. And all it is to you is a great story?"
"Lawyers live for terrible cases, surgeons live for the ugliest, most dangerous tumors they can find to cut out, and reporters live for stories like this. It's what I do."
I knew exactly what he meant. I let him walk me out of the courtroom to a nearby hallway for an in-depth interview. He had a photographer waiting. I almost balked. I've had my picture taken dozens of times, but...
"C'mon, Bill. That Halloween garb is going to make a great shot. The Vampire of the Old Bailey, say? Or The Avenger in the Courtroom. Actually, I'm thinking about titling this one, "Tisiphone, Avenger of Murder, In the Courtroom – or Furies Unleashed." Some of our readers with more than an eighth grade reading level will get it and we'll explain it for the rest of them.
"You remember your college Greek mythology, don't you. The Furies were the implacable avengers, the Goddesses – in your case it would be the God – who punished evil-doers. Criminals could never escape the snake-head God of Justice, or Vengeance, depending on your perspective. Of course, you'd be the great Bald-headed God of Vengeance."
"You know I like you, Carl, right? But you're full of shit, and you can quote me on that."
I was finally alone as I rode the elevator up to the fifth floor. I still wasn't sure if I had done the right thing. Bingham might get a suspended. Anything else would be a death sentence. Dellaro would have to weigh the dangers of letting a wife-killer off with a suspended sentence against the bad taste he'd leave in the mouths of voters by in effecting sending a man to prison for the rest of his life for doing what most people would have done in his situation.
I thought about the pictures I'd seen of Mabel Bingham as a young, and then middle-aged woman. She had been a hottie. If she was like most victims, someday I'd see her in my dreams. I wondered if she would smile at me for exposing her husband's betrayal, or stare at me with hate in her eyes for destroying the man she had loved all her life.
And then I thought about my father. And as usual my eyes misted.
###################
Monday - July 11, 2005 – 7 p.m.
"Ohhhhhhh....uhhhhhhh....uhhh...Doug....whoaaa...please..."
She pressed her face into the sweaty pillow case and tried to catch her breath. Her heart raced. She could feel him inside her, filling her up, filling every inch with his hard meat. He felt so good, but she had to catch her breath. It felt like she had fallen off a mountain side and was rushing toward the ground. Her head was whirling. It felt like an atom bomb had gone off between her legs.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"You like that baby? I thought that damned pussy was going to snap shut there for a moment. Boy, when you cum you cum."

He pulled out and she almost whimpered but he grabbed her by the hips and rolled her over onto her back and slammed it in so hard her head hit the bed board. He hammered it home once, then drew back until only the big fat head was inside her. He reached down, grabbed both her breasts and pulled them up. It was painful but it was as if all the nerve endings had gone off at once. He stuffed one inside his mouth, bit the nipple and bit again harder until she gasped. It felt like he was going to bite it off, but she couldn't stop wanting it.
"God, I wish you still had milk in these. I'd love to milk you. Drink you."
As he was biting he began to hammer his cock home, so hard she literally bounced up and down on the bed under him. Her head kept hitting the backboard and she knew if she didn't move down he'd probably give her a concussion, but she couldn't get her thoughts together enough to beg him to let her slide down. She forgot to breath. The only thing in the world was his hands and mouth on her tits and that wonderful cock inside her.
Then she felt that explosive release inside her and he kept hammering. God knows how long it would take him to get off.
"You love that, don't you, baby. Poor little Bill never got that deep, did he? Bastard. Could you even feel him inside you? This is what you need. Was this what you were thinking about that last night he was with you."
Only the fact that she had just climaxed, her fourth in an hour since Doug had started eating and finger fucking and then plain old fucking her, allowed her to grab his shoulders and shove him back as hard as she could. He fell back, his dick popping out of her.
He thought she was playing as she pushed him back until she was able to get a foot up and planted it squarely in his chest and shoved. He fell backwards and unable to keep his balance, went completely off the back of the bed.
His head appeared over the edge of the bed as he said, "What the fuck...What are you doing, Deb?"
"Stay there," she warned him. She didn't realize she had picked up the small alarm clock on the stand beside her bed until his glance made her realize what she was holding in a throwing position.
"Goddamn, are you crazy? You could have hurt me."
He stood, his rampant cock standing up red and ready.
"You could have broken something irreplaceable, babe."
"I'd have hated that. But..."
She drew herself up on the bed. It made her breasts hang down like swollen fruit while he could see her pussy, swollen and wet from their fucking.
"Look at me. You like this?"
"You know I do."
"Have you been with anybody else since we got together? I know there are dozens of women who'd grab you in an instant."
"No, you know better than that. That was our deal. I gave you those medical reports and I haven't been inside another woman because I know you'd drop me if you ever thought I might pass anything on to you. Not that it's been easy, but I love feeling your pussy around my dick too much to screw it up by going out on you."
"I think I believe you. You know I could fuck around on you with no trouble. There are a dozen guys on the staff alone that would love to have this, even if they had to wear condoms. And they would. But I haven't been with anybody else."
"Yeah, I know."
Then listen to this, Doug. You talk too fucking much. You are a great lover. You have a wonderful cock. And then you ruin it all by insulting my husband. Why? Are you so insecure you can't keep it up without insulting Bill?"
"I don't understand. Why is Bill-"
"Because, I dumped him, you dummy, I ended the marriage. I cheated on him. It...was the right thing to do, for me, but I feel guilty. It's stupid, but I feel guilty. I don't want to think about Bill. I don't want you reminding me of him, especially when we're fucking. Is that so hard to understand?"
"No, but...it's hard sometimes. This is his house. His wife. His kids. His mementoes. His goddamned pictures on the wall, pictures of you and him. Why the hell haven't you taken those down? Or why don't you ever come to my place. It would be as easy for you as for me to come here."
"Because that Sodom and Gomorrah you call an apartment complex is crawling with 20-somethings who love rubbing themselves all over you when I'm around, or telling me stories about how great your dick was when they had you six months ago or three months ago. And if they're not doing that, they're talking about music and shows I've never heard of, and looking at me like I'm 90, not 39. It just makes me uncomfortable."
"The same way I'm uncomfortable here."
"You don't have to keep coming around here if it's too much trouble."
"What the hell happened to you, Deb? When you called me, it seemed like you wanted me back. Was I mistaken?"
"Didn't it seem like I wanted you back? I think screaming how good you are would give you an idea that I was glad you were back."
She wasn't going to tell him about the e-mails. He'd just worry. She trusted Bill not to release them once he'd won on the maintenance, but still...she didn't expect Doug to trust Bill the way she did. And the damned things had shaken her.
She looked down at his cock. It was still so hard it was throbbing.
"Come here," she said, sliding off the bed and heading for the bathroom. After a moment he followed her. She knelt down beside the toilet. She held her hand out to him. He walked toward her, that hard cock bouncing like a metronome.
"What, why in here? What are you-?"
She grabbed his cock and pulled him until he was standing over the open toilet bowl.
"I'm not mean enough to send you home with that bad a case of blue balls."
"Shit, but a blowjob in here? Why not the –"
"No blow job. I'll jerk you off, but that's it. Remember this the next time the urge to insult Bill pops into your head. And the next time, there won't even be a hand job. You can just take care of the problem yourself."
He glared at her for a moment, then shook his head and closed his eyes as she began stroking him.
"Come on, Doug. Come on baby. Give it to me. You know I love it when you squirt inside me so hard. Let me see if this time. Come on. I can feel it building up. Like Old Faithful. Come on, baby, give me a show."
Finally he exploded, one rope of filmy white squirting out after another. Most hit the water but some hit the side of the toilet. It was like directing a high pressure water hose. She was so damned tempted to cap the well, so to speak, with her mouth, but she stopped herself. She wanted him to remember the lesson.
He slumped forward and held the side of the toilet bowl to keep his balance.
"My God, even that was great."
"Yeah, but remember, nothing the next time."
She cleaned him off with toilet paper and cleaned up the toilet after he left. When she came out he was sitting on the bed. She pointed to his slacks hung over a nearby chair.
"Get dressed."
"You're throwing me out?"
"Exactly."
"Shit, that's cold."
She sat down on the bed beside him and grabbed one hand.
"Doug, you remember the last time we talked. I said you were my friend. And you are. I care for you. But it's friendship. It was never anything else. Well, a lot of lust, but friendship. We're great in bed. I love having sex with you,. But-"
"Why isn't it me giving you this speech?"
"I don't know. It never occurred to me that you would..."
"Why not? We're compatible as hell in bed. We're both professionals. I've got a little edge on you in publications and I get more attention because I'm younger, but you have been noticed. Your work on management theory and corporate organization has been talked about. I've had people in the business world say that you would have no problem getting on with any number of firms in this town in an executive position, if you were looking...
"We could make a life for ourselves...if you were willing to even think about it."
"Doug, Doug. You're dreaming and those kinds of dreams could mess up what we do have. In the first place, you're not going to be able to stay in Jacksonville. You were right before. The smart move is to get out before you're fired. Bill screwed us both royally.
"Even though there's nothing in writing, too many people know what happened with Bill. They know the university turned thumbs down on us for embarrassing the institution. Any college or academic institution you go to within a hundred miles will find some legally acceptable reason not to hire you, but the main reason will be that they think you're a stud professor who thinks more about screwing than his job and doesn't mind giving anyplace he works a black eye to score some pussy.
"So, you can't stay, and I'm not going to move, if I can help it. I've got two kids. They go to college here. Their friends are here. Their father is here. He might not have been the best father in the world, but he's their father. And even if they were willing to move, I think Bill would move heaven and earth to stop me, and you've already figured out that he can pretty much get anything he wants in the legal system."
She looked at him and almost felt sorry for him. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
"Besides, baby, look at us. I'm 39, almost 40. You're 28. When you're 40 I'll be 52 and probably hitting menopause. You're probably going to want kids. I have two and I'm not having any more. I don't want to be going to PTA meetings while I'm having hot flashes. Your friends are not my friends. We don't like the same music."
She reached over and hugged him.
"It's not fair, Doug, but you can't compete with Bill on that. We had our babies together. He was my first great love. Even though it's over, Bill and I have that history together. History we'll never have."
He pushed her away, got up and got dressed. Both kids were out but they'd be back so she slipped on shorts and a thin blouse. She walked Doug to the front door. Before he could open it, she spun him around and leaned up to give him a long kiss.
"I love our time together, Doug. Just don't ask for more than I can give."
He stepped away from her and licked his lips as if to taste her kiss.
"Your trouble, Deb, is that you're too damned picky. You threw away one husband because he got too old and out of shape, and you're throwing away a guy that cares for you because I'm too young and I'm not Bill. I hope to God you find what you're looking for, because otherwise you're going to wind up old and alone, or old and a barfly sitting somewhere trying to pick up college kids."
He opened the door.
"I just wish I'd met you first."
She grabbed his shoulder.
"You are coming back?"
He turned and smiled, then reached out to cup one breast.
"Do I look like an idiot? I'll take what I can get. I'll call you tomorrow."
When he had left she locked the door. Both kids had keys. Then she went to the liquor cabinet and opened it with a key. She pulled the bottle of Goldschlager out. Bill hadn't gotten it when he came back to pick up his things and she had always liked it as well as he did. She poured a shot glass full and went back into their bedroom. Turning on the television, she ignored a pile of papers to be graded. She could afford to goof off one night.
She clicked on the DirecTV TiVo unit and found a re-run she'd missed of the new medical show, "House." She liked the show, even though she hardly ever got to watch the shows as they aired, because it was quality television.
She also liked it, because while she could never pin it down, the lead character invariably reminded her of Bill. Which was stupid. Actor Hugh Laurie was tall, slender, with a full head of hair. Maybe, she thought, it was because House was an asshole with no personal life obsessed by his job. And he was the best at it. That must be it.
#####################
Monday - July 11, 2005 – 10 p.m.
She jerked awake. Her face was lying on a wet pillow. She had drooled in her sleep. The empty shot glass of Goldschlager sat on the nightstand. She glanced blearily at the big screen television in front of the bed, There was a blank blue screen. She woozily tried to remember if she'd seen the end of "House." She had. But for the life of her she couldn't remember what had come on next.
She shook herself and then unsteadily sat up and rolled her feet off the side of the bed.
Something had woke her up, but in the mists of first wakening, she couldn't pinpoint it. Had it been a noise? Had one of the kids come in?
She strained to hear, but there was nothing. Normally she'd hear the air conditioning humming in the 90 degree night, but she couldn't even hear that. It was as if she had cotton stuck in her ears. She got to her feet and made sure she was steady, then walked to the bedroom door and looked out. The lights were on. But no sounds. She made her way to Kelly's room and then Bill Jr. Both were empty.
She turned around and went downstairs.
"Bill, Kelly, are you here? Is anyone here?"
Nothing. Now a sense of unease swept over here. They had kept a Glock in the upstairs safe hidden behind a painting over the desktop. She looked around jumpily. She could make it upstairs if there was an intruder.
"There's no one here. You're all alone."
The voice came out of nowhere. And worse it was familiar. But she couldn't place it.
"Who...what?"
"The children are gone and they're not coming back. They have their own lives now. They don't need you."
She stared around her. She had to be dreaming. That was it. Right now she was upstairs asleep on her bed. This was only a dream and it couldn't hurt her.
"Bill is gone. You think you dumped him, but he dumped you. He was always cheating on you, just like I warned you. But you wouldn't listen. You really think he spent all those nights at the office pouring over court documents. You idiot. He was probably fucking that cow the whole time. Or any of the other women that spread their legs for him.
"You really are so stupid that you think he stopped fucking you and throwing you down because he lost the desire? He was getting everything he needed at the office. And you really believed he just stopped wanting sex with you because he couldn't get it up. He couldn't get it up because younger women than you were getting all his best moves.
"I told you. Life isn't fair. Guys that look like Bill and have money or power still get all the pussy they want. It's only women that get old. And guys think with their dicks so they don't care how intelligent or accomplished or loving you are. As long as some young slut will fuck them, they don't want you any more."
"No!"
She screamed it out. She hadn't accepted it then, and she wouldn't now.
"He was so damned soft. No woman was going to try to grab him. He was mine, dammit. He loved me."
Soft laughter echoed off the walls.
"Oh, Debbie, you never learned anything I tried to teach you. You don't own a man, you never do. At best you rent them for a few years until they find something younger and softer and with better tits. They aren't loyal. They don't love the way women do. They're dogs. Cunt sniffing dogs every one of them.
"And, Doug, your young stud. You know he was fucking one of those pool bunnies five minutes after he got back to his place. Don't you? And why wouldn't he? Look at yourself.
Without transition, she was standing in front of the upstairs full length bathroom mirror. She was naked. She stared at the image in front of her. When had her breasts turned into flabby sacks of tissue? The tops were lined with wrinkles. When had her waist gotten so loose, so blobby? And her ass and hips. Larded with cellulite. She started to cry. Even knowing it was only a dream, she felt like something was breaking inside her.
"I am more than this. I am a mother and a professional woman. I am a professor at a major university."
"No, Debbie, you're not. You never have been. You're just a beautiful face and a great body. You were always prettier than I ever was, prettier than any woman around you. You always had guys running to do anything for you. Teachers gave you good grades, professors let you slide on hard assignments. Guys gave you jewelry and took you on trips. Because you were intelligent? Shit. They wanted to fuck you and a lot of them did.
"Even Bill. Your beloved white knight, Bill. You think he came to your rescue that day because he was a wonderful human being? He wanted to fuck you too. And he got you. That's all you have ever been to anyone, a beautiful face and a big pair of tits. But at least you had that. But don't cry now because it's all going away. I told you it would."
She sank to her knees and then sprawled out on the green grass that had in the logic of dreams become her bedroom floor.
A pair of familiar arms enfolded her and she laid her head on a familiar shoulder.
"Poor baby. I wanted you to have better luck than me. You saw what happened with Frank and me. The way he treated me, the way men treated me. I love you, and I just wanted to spare you what they did to me. But you wouldn't listen."
Familiar hands brushed her hair back and wiped her tears away.
"They're all going to leave you, baby. Everyone but me. I will never leave you."
She pressed her face against familiar blonde hair, until she felt herself sliding downwards as the grass opened up to reveal the mound of burial dirt that she sank into like muddy water. She started to struggle to rise, to climb out of the liquid dirt, only to feel strong hands grab hers and hold her with unyielding strength
As the dirt rose to her breasts and her shoulders and her chin, she started to scream, while the hands held her down firmly and that familiar voice told her, "We will be together forever now."
She was sitting up on the bed, coughing and gasping for air. For a moment it almost felt like her throat was obstructed with wet dirt, but as the remnants of nightmare dissipated, she was able to catch her breath and relaxed as she realized there was nothing in her throat. She lay back on the pillow and breathed deeply.
What a nightmare! It had been a couple of months since she'd had one like that. She realized she was drenched in sweat, She went into the bathroom, took a quick shower, and dried off and put on clean pajamas. For just a moment she let herself remember the dream and then she started to cry. She made herself stop. What had happened had happened. She had tried to save her, but that was beyond anybody's power.
She found herself crying again. You don't stop loving someone just because they're put under the ground.
But while the woman buried in a plot at a small private cemetery only five miles away was gone, Debbie told herself SHE was still here. And her two kids were here. Even if Bill would never let her into his life again, if Doug walked away, there were other men. There would always be other men. She got up and stripped off in front of the real life full length bathroom mirror.
She inspected herself critically. Her breasts sagged, but so what. They weren't bags of suet yet. They might sag, but they still kept their shape. The nipples were still hard and firm. She let her breath out. She might be a hair over a 28 in the waist, but not much.
She tried to turn so she could see her ass. It was still tight enough that men stared in anything fairly close fitting. She didn't even have to twitch it. As one member of the faculty had said during an unsuccessful seduction campaign, her ass just naturally twitched. She didn't have to work at it.
She wasn't a 19-year-old, but men weren't about to kick her out of bed, either.
She started to go back to the bed, but stopped, There was a time when Bill would have been there to hold her after a nightmare like that. But he was gone now. Doug was gone, and in any case, he wasn't Bill. She just didn't want to sleep there alone tonight.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

She walked by Bill Jr.'s room and saw him inside on his computer, naturally. She just glanced at him and he got the message. By 11 p.m. he had to be in bed. Kelly's bedroom was the furthest away. Unexpectedly, she was an outline under the bedspread.

"Kelly. You awake."
"Um. Yeah. Just barely."''
"Why so early in bed?"
"I've been staying up till 2 or 3 a.m. the last few nights. Emailing and texting. I'm bushed."
Debbie approached the bed. With the lights off, her daughter's face was a black outline.
"You mind if I curl up here, baby?"
"uh – no. What-?"
"I just had a bad dream and I don't want to be –"
"It's lonely in there without dad, isn't it? Where's Doug?"
"In his own bed."
"You ever think-?"
"No. Sometimes things happen, or you do things, and there's no way back."
She slid into bed and her daughter spooned with her, the way they hadn't since she was a pre-teen.
She sniffed her daughter's hair and put her arms around her and hugged her tightly.
"You know I love you and your brother more than anything else on earth, don't you?"
Kelly didn't answer and it felt like she was drifting off again.
Debbie lay there and thought about the woman in the grave nearby. Why didn't anyone ever get to live happily ever after?
################################
Monday - July 11, 2005 – 11:30 p.m.
It had been awhile since I'd been to the "The Last Call" bar on State Road 13 in Mandarin. I could have gone to O'Brien's, but I didn't really want to be around anyone I knew too well tonight.
It was still all dark wood and mirrors, chairs set at small tables, a long bar, greenery in the corner. Nobody was at the slightly raised piano bar so the music was canned. I felt like sitting at the long bar and pulled up a stool.
The Latin-looking guy with the big head of jet black hair I'd met before introduced himself as the owner, Armando Guzman, and asked me what I was drinking. I told him to hit me with double Bloody Mary's, heavy on the tabasco, pepper and vodka, along with about three fat green olives and a couple of limes.
I'd already put in two hours sweating at Hurly's and I had a hard time raising my arms high enough to lift the drinks to my lips, but I'd manage somehow.
He brought them to me and said, "You going to need a security officer escort tonight, Mr. Maitland?"
"No. I'm going to sip these and then drive very carefully home. I'm not really interested in drinking myself into oblivion tonight. Got some things to think about."
"Heavy? It's quiet and I'm a good listener, if you're in the mood to talk."
"You ever kill a man, Armando?"
He looked at me funny and said, "Even if I had and wanted to talk about it, I think you're the wrong man to discuss it with."
I sipped the red concoction that according to the song takes away our cares and swallowed an olive, saying, "That's a very politic answer. You're not interested in a political career, are you? Anyway, I did it today. Not the first time. Either. A friend asked me how I could sleep tonight. Maybe I can sleep too easily after destroying people. Maybe I've been doing it too long. It should hurt more than it does."
"Did he deserve it?"
"A good question. That's the rub. I think so, but I could be wrong. I've been wrong before. The trouble is, if I don't decide, who does? The buck stops with me."
"I don't think I'd like your job."
"Not many people would. And anybody that would actually want the job, I don't think I'd like them having it."
"In that case, Mr. Maitland, why did you take it? You like playing God?"
"No, although some people have said that. Actually, I took it for my father. So he'd be proud of me, I guess. Long story."
A customer came up to the other end of the bar and he went to wait on them. While he did I pondered the question of why the Bingham case had hit me as hard as it had. What was different about this one?
He wandered back to my stool.
"Figure anything out?"
"Only that 'In Vino Veritas' is a crock. Actually, I'm just a little confused tonight. Too many things running through my head."
"Like?"
"You ever been with a woman who was too good for you?"
He laughed.
"They all thought so."
"No, I mean a woman who was just – out of your league. Out of your class. Who had no reason to be with you."
A glint of something I could almost read shone in his eyes.
"Yeah, Mr. Maitland. I was with a woman like that once."
"Still with you?"
He shook his head and busied himself polishing and cleaning a shot glass that was already gleaming.
"Women like that never stay with you. I think she's married to some...industrialist or techie owns his own company in Mexico City. Has two kids now."
"You ever think about her anymore?"
"Only every day."
"It could be worse."
"How?"
"You could have won her. Married her. Lived with her for 18 years and every day know that you'd never be able to hold onto her. The day would come when she'd walk. And that day would finally come. Because you weren't meant to be together. Because you'd only won her through a fluke, an accident."
"You're being hard on yourself. You're a powerful man, an influential man."
"Women don't marry positions or power. They marry flesh and blood men. Beautiful women don't marry plain men and stay with them. First rule of nature. They may use unattractive men for financial security or as stepping stones, but they don't marry them because they love them. You don't see mules yoked with thoroughbreds. Like mates with like."
##########
I made it home with no trouble, even though I don't remember much about the trip. But I finally figured out why the Bingham case bothered me so much. We had both been set up by God, a prick of the first order. We'd both been foolish enough to believe there could be happy endings in this life.
Bingham had found a beautiful woman, had a great sex life, had two kids he doted on, and was foolish enough to believe in that "happily ever after crap." He had done everything right, and then God had tortured and tortured him until he broke, and he lost everything.
I had met the most beautiful woman I'd ever known in this life in a way that should never have happened. We had never moved in the same orbits, knew the same people, lived the same life. We were complete strangers who were thrown together by one incident.
I knew I wasn't the kind of man she had been with, the kind of man she had obviously wanted. I was the frog to her princess, and I had been fool enough to believe that a kiss from the princess would transform me. But that only works in children's fairy tales.
I was happy. But why not? Except that I realized now that I had spent my life waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to wake up from the spell that had snared her and realize that she didn't love me and never really had. It was just gratitude and hero worship and affection.
Which was why, I guess, months after the shock of the breakup, I had realized a sort of relief. It was like going to the dentist, having a tooth extracted with great pain and suffering, and realizing only later that the dull throbbing pain you'd lived with was gone. I wasn't happy, but the suspense was over.
The cynics are right. There are no happy endings and the unhappiest of all is when you truly love another.
##################
Tuesday - July 12, 2005 – 9:30 a.m.
I walked out of the elevator on the fifth floor dressed all in black. I'd mixed and matched to come under with an outfit similar to the one I'd worn Monday. I kind of liked the look now. I was getting some strange looks, but I was expecting them.
I passed by Cheryl's desk on my way to my office and she motioned to me. I was turning to see what was going on when someone slapped me in the face. It didn't lay me out like it might have before Carlos, but it grabbed my attention. I caught the next one in mid-air with newly improved reflexes and pulled the woman behind the slap toward me.
"Whoa."
She swung at me with her other fist. I deflected the slap. Now I could see her. It was Bingham's older daughter. She was taller, but I was stronger and she couldn't break my grip or get at me with her hands or fingernails. So naturally she spit in my face.
It was only spit and let the spittle drip down the side of my cheek, but I kept my hold on her. She jerked and then she tried for my balls with her foot, but I was expecting that and I blocked her with a knee.
"Ms. – whatever your name is – I don't want to have you arrested and dragged out of here. Please stop. It won't do your father any good to know that his daughter –"
"My father is dead, you bastard."
I looked over at Cheryl. She glanced downward as she said, "I'm sorry, Bill. I just found out. I was going to tell you but she got to you first."
"Dead?"
"I found him in bed this morning when I woke up. I couldn't wake him. And then I found the empty bottle of his pain pills on his bed. He was already cold."
I just stared at her. I couldn't tell you what I was thinking.
She blinked away tears and I saw that the hard exterior was getting ready to crack.
"I don't even know why I was surprised. He had mom and my sister and me. And he lost mom, and you drove my sister away, and you were going to put him in prison so he'd lose me. He didn't have anything left to lose."
She was still fighting the tears, but she looked at me with what seemed like real curiosity.
"Who appointed you the Angel of Death, Mr. Maitland? When did God come down and tap you on the shoulder and tell you that you got to decide who lives and who dies, who is worthy of life or deserves death?"
She took a deep breath and relaxed.
"You can let me go now. I won't do anything."
I let her go and she started to walk by security. Then she stopped.
"I know I told you I hoped you got cancer like my mother and died. But I've changed my mind. I hope you live a long, long time, Mr. Maitland. And I hope my father haunts your dreams every night for the rest of your life. If you have a heart, which I doubt, I hope someone breaks it just like you broke my father's. And mine."
I ignored the stares of everyone in the office. I told Cheryl, "I'll be in my office for the rest of the day. But no one comes in. No calls go through. That includes the Big Man. Understand."
She nodded, then asked, 'But what about –"
"There are two other top assistants in this office, and dozens of attorneys. Let someone else trying running this place for a day."
I locked the door behind me. And tried my level best to forget there was a world out there.
No happy endings.
#
Author's note: I made a vow to try to stay out of this story with author's asides, because as HDK informed me, stories are for readers to have fun picking over. The more I explain, the more I take away from the people reading it. And I think a lot of people have been having fun with this, judging from the comments. So, for the most part, I'm going to keep my nose out of it. I apologize to the readers who have sent me serious questions from their viewpoint. I'm going to let you have the fun of deciding what everything means and what the mysteries and future developments are going to be. I will try to do a better job of responding to emails. I have been piss poor about it so far, and I do feel bad about that. I'll try to do a better job, but I have a humongous backload. That said, I did want to make two comments. Several readers have asked about the connections between this story and "Moment of Clarity" and "the last goodbye." It should be no big secret to anybody who's read these stories or my comments about them, that all my stories pretty much take place in the same universe. It's Northeast Florida, near past. I've always enjoyed anthologies and series that have characters popping in and out of stories. In my mind it makes the stories and characters more real in my mind. And because "Clarity" was the first story published, it is sort of the template. If you read that story, you'll see the action takes place in late 2009. Lew's plane crash in "The Last Goodbye" takes place in late 2009. "Married" takes place or starts in 2005 and will go forward from there. I did not think to place a time guide in "Dream Wife," but a future story will reveal that the action in that story takes place sometime in 2007. More than that I'm not going to give away. I think you'll see more revealed as new stories appear. If you're the kind of person that likes to put these kind of puzzles together and connect things, have fun. If you're not, ignore all these clues and (I hope) just enjoy the stories. And last, but not least. To the young lady who informed me that my stories were 'not all that' and used that great zinger that laid Dan Quayle low – i.e. – "you're no (John Kennedy) GaryAPB." I have to admit, that hurt!

[Ramesh_Rocky]

My name is William Maitland. I'm an Assistant State Attorney in Jacksonville, Florida. Until three months ago I had a job I loved and a wife I loved who I thought loved me. Since then, I've learned that she stopped loving me, and I may have stopped loving my job.

To do my job, I've had to have the faith that it is a job worth doing because there is an innate justice in the world. And if there isn't justice, it's the job of people to make it exist.
Which is probably why the last case I prosecuted, yesterday, has shaken my faith in that concept of justice. A 74-year-old man had murdered his dying wife by giving her an overdose of morphine. He admitted what he had done, but hadn't mentioned that he'd been carrying on an affair with a neighbor as his wife died.
Did he overdose his wife to be free of her and have his girlfriend? I was sure he had. But if he had committed murder in cold blood, all he had done was kill a woman so far gone to all intents and purposes she wasn't really alive anymore. I had brought out the affair and an almost-confession that was as good as the real thing. He might have been sent to prison. At the least, his life was ruined. One daughter had turned away from him; his girlfriend would never be with him again after their affair was exposed.
And for what? He was no threat to society. He wouldn't be out banging and pillaging at the ripe old age of 74, suffering from severe rheumatoid arthritis. A friend, who happened to be a fighter on the other side of the bar, had told me I was playing God and I could not put myself in the husband's mind as he made the decision to kill his wife.
And he was right. But if I ignored what he had done, and what I had learned, it meant that I had let pity over ride the demands of justice. Would I start looking the other way when friends got in trouble and the ultimate decision of what to do with them came in front of me? It was too hard as it was not to bend the law to my personal needs. I'd known and heard of other chief prosecutors who let themselves be swayed by those human feelings.
Sometimes they got away with it. Sometimes they put a gun in their mouth. Sometimes they wound up behind bars rubbing elbows with people they had put away – for a little while. They usually didn't last too long.
On the other hand, if I had let what I knew remain hidden in a few documents that no one would ever look at, an old man who had suffered for years to do what was right of his wife would alive now. He would probably be going home to his two daughters. And in time, probably be loving a woman he had known for 30 years that he was now free to openly be with. His two daughters could have grieved their mother, loved their father, wished him happiness in his new relationship, and remained sisters.
But, I had done what I thought was right, the old man had killed himself, the two daughters had ripped apart their relationship and might never be sisters again, and the daughter who had stayed at his side spit in my face and hoped that somebody would break my heart too.
And so I sit in my office today, the door locked, taking no calls. The daughter didn't know that my loving wife had already done what she wished for. So I have lost my wife and my children and my family.
And because I had let the old man's tragedy get to me, shake my faith in the rightness of what I am, shake my faith that justice is more than a word, I sit here alone and wonder if I want to do this job anymore.
If I can't believe in my job, and I have been a miserable failure as a husband and father, obviously, what do I have left?
###########################
Tuesday, July 12, 2005 – NOON
Debbie opened the door and knew immediately that something was wrong. She heard the television in the den going and she knew she had turned it off before she left. She turned to walk back away quickly and call the security officer, but realized there was a more likely possibility than burglars.
"Kelly? BJ? Are you here? Answer me."
After a minute there was a 'Hey, mom. What are you doing home?"
Bill Jr. stepped into sight with a sheepish grin on his face. He was dressed in shorts and a muscle shirt. And he was not at Peterson Academies of Technology on Jacksonville's Westside taking a summer college prep English enrichment class she had paid good money to get him into, English being far from his best subject.
"Now it's not enough to skip regular college, you're skipping summer college as well?"
"Mom, that class is boring. I'm just skipping one day. Have a heart. The day's already half over, anyway. Tommy and Reese are going to be coming over in a couple of hours and we're going to see the Fantastic Four 8 o'clock showing. It's got that Jessica Alba in it. God, what a fox!"
She thought about chewing him out, but-
"Hey, what are you doing home, anyway? Don't you have classes?"
She tried to cover, saying with a smile, "You're not the only one that likes to play hooky once in a while"
"Doug's going to be coming over, isn't he?"
"Why –?"
A look of disgust crossed his face.
"Why don't you guys just get a room?"
"We've got one. It's upstairs. In MY house."
"Yours and Dad's."
"For now. Why don't you do something to try not to make this day a complete waste, educationally."
"yeah, sure. Hey, did you hear about dad? They're reaming him out a new one."
"What? Your dad? What's going on."
Bill Jr. turned and walked into the den and she followed him. It would probably be an hour before Doug got there. She wondered idly why she was so hot for him after four crashing climaxes the day before.
"Maybe I am turning into a slut," she thought. But if she was, she might as well enjoy it because she it was the best sex she'd had in years and Doug wasn't going to last much longer and who knows who or what might come along later.
"...the guy is a prick. Sorry, that's probably one of those things the FCC will go after me for, so everyone keep quiet, okay? But honestly, the old guy has been taking care of his wife for years, he's finally getting some on the side, and this pr- this A-hole takes it upon himself to play God and drives him to kill himself. And that's our tax dollars are works, folks. Honestly, I wonder how that A-hole, Maitland I think his name is, sleeps at night.
"I tell you, I just wish I'd run into him in a bar some night. Any guy that would abuse a sick old man has got to be a chickenshit coward. I'd like to see how he does against somebody closer to his age, somebody who doesn't have one foot in the grave. I see the phone lines are lighting up. People are slobbering to tell me what they think of Mr. A-Hole Maitland. Or the Angel of Death as they've started calling him. Shit. He's no angel."
"You're on line one."
"The guy killed his wife, you dumbass. You think he should have walked away from that.?"
"How do you kill someone who's been a vegetable for years, according to the stories I've seen. The old guy didn't do anything any of us wouldn't have done. His wife probably would have kissed him for letting her go. Except for you, right. You're the same kind of chickenshit this Angel of Death is. You'd probably back him up in a bar fight. Oh, except like him, you'd be crapping in your pants. Another chickenshit."
"you-"
"Sorry chickenshit, on to the next line. You're on, and you've got some sense. You think the Angel of Death is the Angel of Shit."
"Yeah, that guy is the reason people hate lawyers. The old guy should have been left alone, not pushed into offing himself."
BJ looked at Debbie and said, "I've had guys call me already. They think Dad is a real asshole."
She found herself grabbing the remote from him and clicking off the television which had been turned to one of the local radio stations on the access channel.
"I'm not going to listen to any more of that crap, and you can tell your little asshole friends that none of them, or their fathers, are half the man your father is."
BJ looked at her funny.
"C'mon, mom, dad is ...okay. But he does do a lot of bad things, like driving that old guy to kill himself. And he's not exactly an action figure, you got to admit."
She found herself imaging what Bill was feeling this morning. She had seen the newspaper story Carl Cameron had written about the trial in this morning's paper. And that "Angel of Death" crap. She shouldn't have been interested, but she still read anything that had his name in it. And you couldn't be married to a man for 17 years and not know when he would be hurting. She knew he had to be. He wasn't the hard man that most people saw him as professionally.
But he wasn't her husband anymore, or at least he wouldn't be for long. His pain was no longer her problem. But-
"You don't know anything about your father, BJ."
He looked at her curiously.
"You don't even know the true story of how we met. You should, but you don't."
"I've heard that story before. You were crossing a street at UF and Dad pushed you out of the way and got smashed. Wound up in the hospital and you got to know him while he was recovering."
She walked over and sat at the coffee table. She looked away from him because even though he was almost grown, this was still going to be embarrassing.
"No, not exactly like that. I – uh – you're old enough to hear this. I..was kind of wild when I was your sister's age. I wasn't the kind of woman I'd want her to be, or you to have anything to do with. I was a freshman at UF and I joined a sorority. I was – I looked pretty much like I do now, except better and the Frat guys loved me.
"Anyway, there was a party there one night and there was a guy – he was on the football team and I thought I was crazy about him. He invited me and there was a lot of alcohol and pot and some cocaine. Anyway, I was stoned and out of it and we started making out. I didn't know too much about what was going on except that I liked it. Then I heard some loud noises, people yelling.
"Somebody pulled Brad, my boyfriend, off of me and I would have yelled at them for disturbing us but I couldn't make much noise by then I couldn't talk....because...my mouth was full...."
She kept looking down at the coffee table because she couldn't look her son in the eye.
"Someone pulled...the guy...on me away...and I heard thuds and people yelling and then there wasn't' anybody near me and I opened my eyes. It was dark in the room but I was on a cot...and I was naked. I didn't know what was going on except....they'd been having me...everywhere...I was sore and starting to hurt. There was a light coming from outside. I was in some small room. And I could see...a shape...a figure standing in the light. And he was swinging...I thought I was in a movie and he was swinging a sword, back and forth..."
"Then the shape was gone and there were a lot of people in the room and shouting and I was screaming....because they were on me....and in me...again...and this time it hurt."
"It seemed to go on forever....but sometime there were other people in the room and more shouting and the guys on me were being pulled off and there were a lot of bright lights and then they had a blanket around me. They wrapped me up and the next thing I knew I was in a hospital emergency room and doctors and nurses were treating and examining me.
"At some point, my mom and dad were there and they wouldn't let them take me home because....because I'd been torn...anally and bruised...inside....in my vagina. I fell asleep confused and hurting...not so much the physical pain as the realization that a guy I really liked had lined me up for and was taking part in gangbanging me. He's obviously set it up for this frat brothers, using me like a party favor."
She finally looked up and met her son's eyes. He looked more embarrassed than she was.
"I was a stupid young girl. I had let myself get into a situation where I'd gotten physically hurt. That was when the AIDS crisis was just beginning to be realized, but I could have gotten any number of venereal diseases. I could have been torn up so badly that I could have lost the ability to have children. I might have lost you and your sister forever.
"Except that your father was working at the frat house that night. He'd never pledged and he was a poor kid on an academic scholarship. The frat guys wanted to be free to concentrate on drinks and drugs and...women....so they hired a few nerds to do house cleaning, keep the drinks coming, keep drunks from setting the house on fire, that kind of thing.
"I didn't know any of this at the time, but I learned it afterward. Your father was working when he saw them take me into a storage room toward the back of the house. He knew there was nothing but a cot and some cases of beer back there. He stepped inside and saw what was going on...and...He tried to get them to stop but they were jocks. They just threw him out.
"He came back in with a fireplace poker. They do have fireplaces in Gainesville. It's so far inland it gets cold as hell and the frat guys liked having a fire in the winter. He broke my boyfriend's jaw. Busted another' guy's arm and messed up another guy's shoulder. He cleaned out the room and what I saw was him standing in the doorway swinging that thing to keep their friends outside."
She closed her eyes
"Of course, he couldn't keep them out, couldn't stand up to all of them. They got him down and some of them started beating him while some of the guys who hadn't been busted up started in on me again. There was so much screaming and guys coming out with broken arms that neighbors called the security officer. When they got there I was still being...bangd. They arrested a couple dozen fraternity members that night.
"One of the guys they arrested told the cops later they would have probably stopped working over your father except...he kept getting back up. He said, 'The son of a bitch wouldn't stay down'."
"I found out all of this afterwards. The guys your father busted up even tried to sue him, or their families did, but when I testified and there was the medical evidence and other witnesses they were gang banging me, they decided they didn't want to sue him anymore. But, the bastards put him in Shands – that's the best hospital in the city, the best in that part of the state – in a coma with his brain swelling."
She looked back up. Her son was staring at her like she was an alien from another planet.
"I went in to see him. His mother, Grandma Maitland, was in the room when I walked in. She wasn't happy to see me. To put it mildly. His father had died years before and your father was the only thing she had left. She said some terrible things – things I probably deserved – and threw me out. I came back later when she was gone and stared at him. He was just some stranger, some kid I'd never have noticed if I'd ever seen him around UF. His eyes were closed and he was blanketed in tubes and monitors.
"And he had risked his life to save some girl he'd never seen before. It was like something out of a book, a movie, a fairytale. I knew no matter how much shit guys had given me all my life about how wonderful I was, I wasn't worth dying for."
She stared into her son's eyes, eyes that reminded her of his father.
"That's the kind of man your father is. He might not have been the world's best father, he damn sure wasn't the best husband, but he was and is a good man."
She was crying. Bill started toward her and she put her hand out to stop him.
"It's okay. I'm alright. I just hadn't...thought of that for a long time."
She got up and went to their bedroom. And called Doug.
"Don't come here today, Doug."
"What? Why? Deb, I got somebody to cover my classes. You know how hard it is to get someone to come in during the summer to cover a class? I called in favors, because I wanted to be with you."
She took a deep breath, and wiped her eyes.
"Sorry. I just...lost the mood."
"That son of a bitch, Bill. What did he do now?"
She hung up on him.
###################
Tuesday, July 12, 2005 – NOON
His secretary came back out of his office with Dr. Ernst Teller right on her heels. He was a tall, angular, brown haired man with the hair cut in an old fashioned almost-buzz cut. Combined with the hawk nose, the piercing gaze and the ram-rod straight posture, he could have posed for a World War I German Aircraft Ace Poster. The only thing missing was a monocle and a cigarette held loosely in his lips with a cigarette holder.
"Mr. Maitland," in that dry but friendly tone completely at odds with his appearance. "Or should I say, The Angel of Death. It's only been a day, but you're already becoming a legend. To what do I owe the honor?"
Teller was in his late 50s, maybe older but he was one of those men that could be any age from 45 to 65 and you'd have to guess on which end of the spectrum he belonged. He'd been the prime court-appointed psychiatrist for the entire 10 years I'd been with the State Attorney's Office. We called him in when we wanted to know just how badly screwed up a suspect was, if there were legitimate reasons for considering an insanity, defense or if the defendant was just playing crazy.
Teller was great at seeing through the bullshit. He had no problems saying a defendant was sane and play acting crazy. On the other hand, he had investigated some really horrible people when the public was clamoring for their blood and had no hesitancy in saying they couldn't be held legally liable for their actions, no matter how unpopular that made him with cops, prosecutors or the general public. He was as honest a man as I had ever met.
Of course, the fact that he had his own private psychiatric practice, with a lot of well-heeled patients and apparently although no one could ever prove it, came from money, probably enabled him to be a little more able to say what he felt and let the chips fall wherever they chose to.
"Could I have 15 to 30 minutes of your time, doc?"
"A legal matter?"
"Personal."
He gave me one of those looks that seemed to go straight to your soul. It worked wonders with defendants and most defense and/or prosecution attorneys. Personally, I considered it another one of those shrink tricks they teach you at Shrink U. But he was good.
He thought about it and then told his reception/nurse, "Abby, hold my calls and give Mr. – Smith – a call and tell him I'll have to reschedule for next week. Just tell him not to call his mother and stay away from sharp knives."
Abby grinned at him and he told me over his shoulder, "That's just psychiatric humor, Mr. Maitland. Follow me."
His office was fairly small, intimate would be the word. He had an overstuffed chair that bore the imprint of his body after God knows how many shrink sessions. He had a desk behind him and a low coffee table sat between his chair and a low couch. The coffee table had an inlaid Rorschach black and white ink spot design and there was a large abstract painting on the wall with the same design.
I wondered if he'd run the "what do you see" in the ink spots routine on me. But he was straight.
He gestured to the couch and I sat on it. Damned if I'd lay down. He picked up a pipe, lit it and began puffing contentedly.
"It's your dime, Mr. Maitland. You've never come to me for anything other than my professional advice on cases so I'll admit to being curious as to why you're here. Odds are that it has something to do with the Bingham case, that Angel of Death business. Still, I would have thought you were made of sterner stuff. They don't call you the Iceman for nothing around the office."
When I gave him a questioning look he shrugged and said, "Psychiatrists know and hear everything."
"That must be why psychiatrists have among the highest suicide and divorce rates around."
"Touché. Now, what would you like to talk about? I should tell you that Mr. Edwards already called me and said he might need my services regarding you. Something about your locking yourself in your office, refusing to take calls and acting in a completely un-Iceman-like manner."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"I guess it has something to do with the Bingham case. It's just that –"

I stopped and he just sat there silently. Just like prosecutors and reporters, he obviously had mastered the tactic of silence. It broke more people than any other tactic.
"Not the Bingham case per se. It's just that it made me look – at other things. At my life."
"So this is about your impending divorce and your wife's affair?"
I just looked at him.
"I told you, psychiatrists hear and know everything."
"In this case, so does everybody in the courthouse and a dozen adjoining blocks. It's not exactly a National Security secret."
"Granted. So, talk."
"I need to give you some background first so you'll have the context. I met Debbie at the University of Florida. She was a freshman, I was a junior. She was – hotter than she is now. She'd won some beauty contests, was in communications thinking about becoming a broadcaster. I doubt there was a guy on campus that wouldn't have had her. But the only guys that had a shot were jocks, BMOCs, guys that could afford a Maserati or Lexus because their daddies had more money than God
"Me, I was some guy raised by a single mom with no money. I was there on a scholarship because I'd worked my ass off in college and applied for every loan and scholarship anybody ever heard of. I got some money as the son of a deceased coal miner.
"I'd seen her around campus, but she couldn't have picked me out of a lineup. I was nothing special. She was. And then one night I was earning some extra cash by working at a frat party. Mostly scut work so the brothers could concentrate on more important things – booze and pussy. I saw her when she came in with some guy on the football team. She was drinking and having a good time. But I kind of got the feeling that the guy she was with was deliberately – getting her drunker. Those were the days before date bang drugs but, hell, you really never needed anything more than enough alcohol or cocaine to get most girls to spread their legs.
"You say, so what? She was nothing to me and for all I knew she'd been banging the whole fraternity on her own before that. So I didn't do anything. But I happened to notice her asshole boyfriend and a couple of other guys moving her toward the back of the frat house and I knew from working there that night that there was nothing there except for a few storage rooms.
"I guess it was curiousity, or maybe I had it in the back of my head that I was going to play hero somehow but I wandered back there and I could hear noises coming one room. The door was closed but not locked. I opened it and looked inside. There was a lamp on a table and there was enough light to see her on the bed with three guys on her. One was underneath her, one was in her mouth and the other guy was ramming it in her ass.
"I was kind of innocent and naïve in those days, although I wasn't a virgin, and I didn't know anything about anal sex, but it sure looked as though she was hurting, because the guy putting it to her was hitting her hard and each time he went in she kind of shuddered and whimpered. If I'd known more about sex at the time I might have just figured he had her going and she was enjoying it. But it looked like he was hurting her. And afterwards I found out they had all been rough as hell. They really hurt her, front and back."
I looked up at Teller but his eyes betrayed no emotion. I was pretty sure he had heard things that made the story I was telling him sound like a children's story from "Mother Goose," but the dark pools of his eyes were unreadable.
"Needless to say, Doc, nothing of this ever leaves this room. No notes. No talking about it with your receptionist. No case studies ten years from now. Right?"
"You wound me. I'm a medical doctor, as well as a psychiatrist. Nothing anyone ever says to me goes outside these walls and since this is completely unofficial, there won't be any written records as well. Does that suffice?"
"Okay. Just wanted to get the ground rules straight. Anyway, I looked at her and I made a decision. I know that part of it is that she was who she was. I like to think if she's been some ugly, little shapeless sorority pledge, I would have done the same thing, but honestly, who knows? So I went in there and grabbed the guy with his dick in her mouth and pulled him away and told them all I was calling the cops and reporting a gang bang if they didn't get out.
"We tussled for a minute or two and they were calling out and then there were two or three guys who were bigger than mountains – or that's the way it seemed – and they just pulled me off the guy I was wrestling with and threw me outside the room. The biggest guy just stood over me and told me if I kept on being a shit they were going to put me in the hospital. They told me to mind my own business.
"There wasn't much I could do at that point. It would have been suicide to go up against those guys but I couldn't leave it alone. I looked around until I found an equalizer in another storage room – a fireplace poker. And then I went back in the room."
"Three guys went to the hospital and the rest of their friends put me in a coma. I was in it for nearly a week. I probably would have come out of it anyway, but a guy named Henry Clark heard about what had happened and came to my rescue. He owned a PR agency in Jacksonville and he had a few bucks. My mom didn't have much health insurance and being a student I had none. He paid out of his own pocket, and called in a favor to a West Coast neurosurgeon who flew in to Gainesville and took over my case.
"I came out of it a week later, with no apparent long term damage that anyone could ever tell. I got hold of Clark a few weeks later and asked him why. I didn't know him from Adam. He told me he'd gone through UF nearly a decade before me and met his wife during a frat riot. Something about gorgeous women and frat boys.
"Anyway, after I got out of the hospital Debbie called me one day. She wanted to talk, to thank me for what I'd done. I should have said no. It was just opening up a can of worms, but I didn't have the balls to say no. We met and then we went out for dinner and it was plain as hell that she had some hero fantasy going about me. And I should have nipped that in the bud. But she was so damned gorgeous and I was 21.
"Long story short, I tried to play it cool and we didn't do anything for awhile, but it happened and we were together. And after awhile we got married. And the whole time we were together guys have always drooled over her. I couldn't take her to dances without guys trying to keep her out on the floor. They practically dry humped on the dance floor. I would have been in fights every time we went out if I'd let it get to me, but I could see that she could handle herself.
"And she said she loved me and the funny thing is, I always believed her. But I knew, guys would always be on the hunt. Guys who were bigger, better looking, richer, funnier. And if I hadn't been working at the frat house that night, I knew I'd never have known her socially and one of those guys would have married her and she'd have had their children."
I stopped. I had never told another living being what had happened and how I had felt about what had happened for the last 18 years. Teller just stared at me and puffed on that damned pipe.
Finally he said, "And..."
"You know the story. I think everybody in the courthouse does. She met a big, good looking younger professor at UNF. She either was fucking him or would have been if I hadn't found out about the affair – either emotional or sexual. Doesn't matter either way. And she's filed for divorce. The thing that's been in the back of my mind for 18 years finally happened."
"I repeat, and....?"
I leaned forward and asked, "The thing that's killing me, the question that I can't stand, is if I caused this to happen."
"I'm not sure I understand, Mr. Maitland."
"I've heard that people can – sometimes create what they most fear. When I first joined the State Attorney's Office one of the first cases I prosecuted was a Navy officer who had shot his wife and her lover. He'd come back from a deployment overseas, heard rumors about an affair, and managed to catch them together. It was pretty open and shut. But when I was working the case I had a chance to talk to him.
"He told me he'd loved his wife and was sure she loved him until one day when he heard a couple of friends joking about his wife and another officer. He confronted them and they told him it was just a bad joke because they'd known he was listening. And he accepted that.
"But it got under his skin and he started thinking about it. And he couldn't get it out of his mind. He started questioning his wife about what she did when he was away and who she saw. And he started watching her. Every time she came home later, every time she went out with her friends, he saw her with other men in his mind. And naturally, the more suspicious he got and the closer he tried to hold her, the more he drove her crazy and angrier with him.
"Eventually she wound up going to bed with another guy. It was inevitable. I was sitting with him in a cell when he told me that. He looked at me and said, 'I made her cheat, Mr. Maitland. I know that now. I've talked to her friends since...this happened. She had never cheated on me. She loved me. She was a good woman. And I turned her into a cheating whore. I made her what she was. Why would I do that? I never have been able to figure that out'."
"He was in Raiford until 2003. He upset somebody and they stuck a ice pick in his ear.
But I still remember what he said and the expression on his face when he said it.
"I've read enough psychology books to know that there's a name for this – a self fulfilling prophesy. It's where you create the situation you fear. I've read that it's an expression of the death wish, the negative side of the life force. I don't know if I believe any of that crap. But I do know that since I joined this office I've been retreating from my wife and family. There were too many nights when I wasn't home. Too many days I skipped holidays and college functions.
"I'm not blind. I saw Debbie working hard to keep herself hot. And I couldn't make myself go to a gym to try to sweat off a few pounds. I saw myself getting fatter and flabby. And I'm not stupid either. I saw the look in her eyes which turned into her not liking to look at me and then not wanting me to paw her in bed unless it was a night set aside for sex and her insisting that we shower and I brush my teeth.
"Not that there's anything wrong with that, but when you're 20 you don't think about shit like that. And the net effect was that any hint of spontaneity, or our just fucking for the hell of it when we felt like it, went away. It became...programmed...is the best way I can describe it."
I stared at the Rorschach patterns on the table in front of me and wondered why all I saw were shifting patterns of light and dark.
"She thought she was hiding her nights out with her friends from me. I...learned...that she had started going out dancing with women and men friends, her current lover among them. I...learned later...she told someone she wasn't cheating on me, that she just plain didn't like being around me anymore. She was making a shadow life for herself, one that didn't include me."
I don't know why, but I couldn't even tell Teller in the sanctity of a psychiatrists' office about the emails. God, I wished I had never found them. Even if she had caught me off guard with the divorce, even if it cost me alimony, I wish that I didn't know what I knew about her and Doug.
"I didn't try to discover it. It's just that she never went to a lot of trouble to hide it. Things were said, people reported things and I knew. I didn't know she'd given up on us, but I knew she had a social life that didn't include me. Anybody else, any other husband, would have done something..,,would have known instinctively that even if it was innocent, it couldn't be innocent. When your wife just doesn't want to be around you, that's a wakeup call.
"But I let it go. I never had it out with her. I never tried to join that life. I had never liked the social life, dancing and partying the way she had. But more, there would always be late night crises, people needing me, and it was easier just to pretend it wasn't happening. Because, what if I confronted her and she told me that I either had to join her life, or I had to get out of it altogether? I couldn't make that choice."
I stared into Teller's dark eyes.
"Did I destroy my marriage, Doc? Did I create the situation that drove my wife into another man's arms? It would be bad enough if my wife had fallen out of love with me just because...and I had to live without her. But I don't know if I can wake up every morning knowing that it wasn't her...it was me. How can I live with that? Because I loved her...love her."
"Talk to me, doc. Dammit. Talk."
He puffed on the pipe a couple more times and tamped it down a little the way pipe smokers do. Damned if I ever could figure out why. I think pipe smoking is a ritual more than a habit. But anyway, he finally took another puff, breathed it deeply and let it out. I think he was purposefully torturing me.
"Mr. Maitland, did you ever hear the old psychiatrist's joke about the cigar?"
I shook my head.
"After Freud became world famous and transformed the practice of psychiatry, many younger practitioners took his word as gospel. I'm sure you're aware of the view that everything has deeper meanings in the unconscious. One of the most famous examples is the phallic symbol. Anything long, straight and hard can be a subconscious representation of the penis – a sword, a knife, a cigar...you fill in the blank and thus there are sexual connotations to all types of apparently innocent objects.
"Well, it seems in his old age that a colleague brought a case study to the old man and started going on about the symbolic meanings of objects in his patient's life. And Freud looked at him and said, 'Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."
"The meaning of the joke, of course, is that since Freud popularized the idea of the unconscious, everyone – and particularly laymen – tend to overanalyze everything. There can be, often are, deeper layers of meaning to things around us, to what we do and what we say. On the other hand, sometimes things are simply what they are. Thus, a cigar can be just a cigar."
He stopped and rubbed his chin.
"You realize, Mr. Maitland, that you are not my patient. Right?"
"Yes."
"When I see a patient, I generally spend months, sometimes years, working with them to understand and resolve the problems they have come to me seeking help to address. This can involve psychoanalysis, hypnosis, drugs, sometimes behavioral therapy. There are a number of different approaches. The one thing common to all of this is that there are no quick fixes. You don't discover the depths of your soul and transform who and what you are in a few sessions.
He focused his gaze on me so firmly that I had to stare back at him.
"We've spent a half hour, tops, talking about your life. We've talked about some of the deepest fears and concerns in your life. I think we have probably talked about things that you've never unburdened yourself to with another human being. It may be the first time you've ever put some of these thoughts and fears into words yourself.
"I don't know that God himself could in that short a time see into a man's soul and answer a question like that, a question that is intertwined with your history, your deepest beliefs and hopes and fears. And I'm not God. That may come as a shock to you, but I'm not."
He allowed a faint trace of a smile to flicker on his lips for a second. Then it vanished.
"That's the long way around telling that I can't answer your question. I would need at the very least months to answer that kind of question. And even then, I wouldn't be able to answer the question. At best I might help you find your way to an answer that you can live with. I can tell you this, however.
"The phenomenon that you discuss is real. So real that it has become a popular cliché: the person who creates the fear that haunts them. And I am sure there are cases, like the Navy officer you mentioned, where it does play out exactly like that. But there is no way I could even guess if that scenario occurred in your life. Because, you see, there are other alternate options to consider.
"You might have concentrated your attention and time and passion on your work as a means of escaping your marriage, as a means of driving your wife away. It is entirely possible.
"On the other hand, it's equally possible that as you became more and more involved in your duties, you became more aware of the impact they had on others' lives and perhaps – for whatever reason, you became less and less able to look at what you did as a 9-5 job.
"If you were a surgeon and people's lives directly depended on your time and energy and passion, the wife and family left behind is a cliché. And most people, even if they didn't agree, would understand that level of obsession. Doctors' wives know, or should know, what they're signing up for. It is quite possible that you changed from the man your wife fell in love with, the man she married. And it is quite possible that she did not sign up for the marriage that resulted.
"In that sense, it might be that you indeed precipitated the changes that resulted in your wife's growing away from you, in finding another lover.
"But what you have to ask yourself is whether that was entirely a bad thing. If you had known the ultimate result, would you or should you have done anything differently?'
I looked at him as if he had lost his mind and for a moment I wondered if I could have heard him correctly. Would I have done things differently if I'd known they would have cost me my wife and marriage?
He read my expression.
"I know that may sound strange, but let me explain myself, please."
He took another puff, then said, "You probably don't know this, but I'm Catholic, Mr. Maitland. Or at least I was raised Catholic. I've gotten away from the church, but I am still a religious man. There are things I've seen, things I've done, that have convinced me there is a higher power. And one thing I firmly believe is that most people, even religious people, have our relationship with God, or a higher power, completely turned around.
"You see, we ask ourselves why God allows bad things to happen to us, why he doesn't give us our wishes, why he would let your marriage rot away from inside and leave you alone in middle age?
"But there are many people who would say it's not important what God does for us, but what we do for him. In the scheme of things, none of us matter at all. We are here but a moment and we're gone. What we should be thinking bout is what we do for him, for our fellow man, for the greater good of the most people.
"If we look at it that way, you have spent ten years serving the greater good. You have attempted to secure justice for the victims of terrible crimes and given solace to families of the lost. You have extended mercy to those who deserve it and protected society by putting away the predators who would prey on others."
"In the process of doing that, you've become estranged from your wife and children, possibly lost your marriage and your family. That's a personal tragedy. But how many families are intact because you kept dangerous men and women who would have shattered those families incarcerated? How many shattered families have been able to mend because you gave them the closure they needed, the ability to bury their dead and move on.
"I know you don't want to hear this now, but there have been many men and many women who sacrificed their chances to have love in their lives, women and children to cherish, because they answered a call to duty. Everyone doesn't do that, most people can't, but the ones who can and do are special. I think you're one of those people, Mr. Maitland.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"I hope you're able to re-establish your marriage, your relationship with your wife and children. I know for you personally, that is the best thing. But there are bigger, and more important things, than any one person's individual happiness."

He stopped, took a puff on his shrink pipe and tamped it down the way pipe smokers do. The aroma was nice. I wonder if he ever worried about cancer of the throat or lips.
"I know that's not what you expected to hear from me, Mr. Maitland, but since this isn't an official visit and you're not an official patient, I can be candid with my thoughts."
I hunched forward on the couch and stared at the floor.
"Do you know anything about my background, doc?"
He rubbed his chin. That's something else I think they teach them in shrink college.
"No, I'm certain we have never discussed that."
"I grew up in West Virginia. My dad was a coal miner. Big man. Strong. He went down into the mines every day. Came back black at the end of the day. Worked six days a week. We still did things. On Sundays. Went to church, to a lake where we swam.
"He had just bought me a rifle. Cheap .22, but he had promised me he was going to teach me how to use it. And then one day we'd go hunting. There were still deer around, wild turkeys. He'd even bring home rabbits sometimes and my mom would cook them after he'd skin and prepare them.
"And then one day, I'll never forget it, he'd just come home. It was about 7 p.m. It was winter and cold as hell and dark by that time. He had cleaned off, as much as he could. His skin was always grimy, no matter how much he washed. Some men came to the door. My dad talked to them and then he talked to my mother. She started crying and he hugged her.
"He put on his heavy coat and started to leave with the men. Then he turned around and came down and sat down beside me on the couch in front of our television. I was eight years old.
"There's been an explosion and cave-in at the mine, Billy," he said. "You're old enough to understand what that means."
"I just nodded my head because I had heard other kids in college talk about disasters, about fathers and uncles and brothers that went down and never came back up.
"There are 15 men trapped down there. I am going to try to get them out."
"Don't go, daddy. Don't go."
"He grabbed me and hugged me and said, 'There are little boys and girls, some of them you know, whose daddies are down there. If it was me, you'd want someone to go down and get me out, wouldn't you'?
"When I didn't answer, he rubbed my hair with one big hand and then kissed me on top of my head.
" 'I have to go, Billy. I know you don't understand now, but someday you will. Sometimes you have to do things, hard things, just because they're the right thing to do'."
"He got up from the couch and told me, 'I love you, Billy. Take care of your momma until I get back'." He hugged Momma for what seemed like a long time and then he walked out the door with those men. It was the last time I ever saw him.
"They almost got down to the trapped men and then there was another cave-in. All told, 28 men died in the mine that day. They couldn't even get the bodies out. There were two subsequent cave-ins and the company finally closed the shaft because it was way too dangerous and expensive to keep it open. We had a service, but there was no body to bury.
"The next year Momma moved to Jacksonville. She said it was for a job, but I always thought she just couldn't stand living around the mines anymore."
I looked up at Teller. I was crying, but I didn't care. It was as if I was back in our living room for just those few moments. And I could still feel my father's arms around me.
"So you tell me, doc. Why do some people have to do the right thing, no matter what it costs them? It cost my dad his life. It cost me my marriage, my kids, the only woman I've ever loved. It's cost me my life too, in a way."
Teller leaned back and let out a plume of aromatic smoke.
"Mr. Maitland, I wish I had the answer to questions like that, but as the saying goes, that is above my pay grade."
#########################
Tuesday, July 12, 2005 – 2 p.m.
"Hello, Debbie."
"Hi mom. Why are you calling me at the house at this time?"
"I called the college but they told me you'd taken a half day off. Is something wrong? Are the kids okay?"
"Yes, they're fine. Of course, Bill Jr. is skipping summer college enrichment classes. I caught him, but I'm letting him slide this time."
"Well, why are you home at this time of day?"
"I – uh...."
"You took the day off, left your classes, to be with that man."
"He has a name, Mom. It's Doug. And yes, although it's none of your business, I did take time off to see him."
"Is he there now?"
She sniffled and said, "No, mom. He is not here. If it makes you happy, he's not going to be here today."
"You're crying. What did he do?"
"Jesus, Mom, he didn't do anything. And how did you know I was crying. Mystic Mama Knows
All, Sees All?"
"I've known you for nearly 40 years, baby. I know when you're upset. I can hear it in your voice. Is it ...Doug. Or is it Bill? Have you heard the terrible things they're saying about him. And that article in the TU? Trash journalism."
"Mom....it's just a lot of things. I must be getting ready to start my period. You know how crazy I get sometimes."
"Are you happy now?"
"What?"
"You threw your husband of nearly 20 years out. You're ending your marriage. You've turned your back on a man that risked his life for you, would have walked through fire for you. For a young good looking guy just like a thousand others that have chased you over the years. Was it worth it, Debbie?"
"Oh, shit. Mom are you my mother or his? Do you ever take my side? Have you taken my side in one thing since all this started? You're supposed to be behind me. It's hard enough...the kids...people at work looking at me...but you're my MOTHER. You're the last person that's supposed to be criticizing me now.
And still...why the hell don't you adopt him?"
"I'm always going to be on your side, Baby. I am now. I just don't think what you're doing is right – for you, for the kids and definitely not for Bill. He is such a good man.."
"Yeah, and so is the Pope. I don't want to be married to the Pope either. Saints aren't easy to live with Mom, in case you didn't know. You don't live in this house, you don't go to bed – or not go to bed – with him so you don't know what you're talking about.
"As far as being a good person, what am I? Chopped liver? I've been a good mother and a good wife. I took care of my kids and my husband for nearly 20 years. I kept them happy. But what about me, mom? Don't I deserve to be happy? With a man who wants me, a man who makes me feel good about myself. A man – I know this will shock you – but a man who's good in bed with me. Makes me remember that I am a woman.
" I know you've had a good marriage with Daddy and I've heard enough over the years to know that's never been a problem with you two. But it's been a damned big problem in my marriage."
"You should have talked to Bill more."
"Yeah, I should have held him down and forced him to listen to me. I should have made him pay attention to the way people looked at the two of us when we went somewhere together. I should have rubbed his nose in the way guys were always rubbing themselves all over me so he'd know he had a hot wife.
"You...everyone else...you keep saying I should have done this and I should have done that...well what about Bill. What about that sorry bastard, that miserable excuse for a human being, a guy I never should have married. That miserable, fat bald piece of shit. If I had known 20 years ago what I know now..."
There was a long silence and she forced herself to calm down. Where had that come from? For a minute there she'd hated Bill. Visceral hatred. And that was something she had never felt before.
"There's something wrong with you, Debbie. Where did that anger come from? You dumped him. He should be the one that's angry. It almost sounded like....Clarice."
"I had a dream about her. I do sometimes. "
"I know, baby. I think about her sometimes too. But you were always closer to her than anyone else. It's natural you remember her. But...those words...it almost sounded like Clarice talking about Frank."
"I don't know Mom. There are times when I get so angry at Bill. I know I have good reason, but..."
"Debbie, Bill is not Frank. Don't ever forget that. I know Clarice spouted a lot of poison about men. I heard some of it. And I know you got most of it, but Clarice made a lot of her own problems. Frank isn't the only guy that ever dumped his wife for a younger woman. But most women make a new life for themselves. Clarice just couldn't let go. She was a sick, troubled woman.
"I know she did her best to infect you with her twisted hatred of men. She almost took your father down into the grave with her when she killed herself. I never told you or your sister, but when I heard what had happened I drove to the store and I found him leaving. I grabbed hold of the door to his car and told him he could drag me, or let me in. He had the .38 he kept in his office for security on the seat beside him.
"He didn't say a word, but I knew he was going to kill Frank. I could see it in his eyes. Clarice was your father's baby sister. He helped raise her. He was the one that insisted that we name your sister after her. It nearly killed him when he heard she was gone.
" But I told him that she was gone. He had lost her. If he went and shot Frank, he'd lose me and both you girls. Frank was a jerk, a piece of shit, but he didn't do anything a lot of other men have done. Clarice didn't have to throw her life away for him. We all tried to help her, but some people you can't help."
"I know, but sometimes I remember her the way she was...before..."
"I do too, baby. You forget, I knew her a lot longer than you did. But, when I heard you just then, I felt a chill. I could have been listening to Clarice. Are you sure that-"
"No, Mom. I know that Bill isn't Frank. He wasn't running around on me. I had my problems with him, but not that. I don't know why I got so pissed at him just then, but I don't need a psychiatrist. We're just going through a hard time right now. I'm doing something that scares me and Doug is just a friend, no matter what you or anybody else thinks. And I'd like to talk to Bill. He's been the one person I could always talk to for nearly 20 years. But he insults me and hangs up on me when I try to talk to him."
"Do you blame him?"
"...No...I guess not. But we're going to have to talk someday. We're going to be good divorced parents. I know we will. I just wish I could talk to him now. So many things have happened...I said and did things that I...shouldn't have...but I'd like to make him understand why"
"Well, it's a shame you two aren't talking. I have a feeling that today is one of those days he could really use a friend."
"I know mom. Maybe...look, let me go. I'll talk to you later. I love you.
She dialed Cheryl.
"How is he, Cheryl?"
"As bad as I've ever seen him. He looked himself in his office and wasn't taking any calls – from anybody. About noon he went out, wouldn't tell anyone where he was going, and came back an hour or two ago. I've never seen him like this."
"Thanks, Cheryl."
#####################
Tuesday, July 12, 2005 – 3 p.m.
The knocking started and I ignored it. Only a couple of people had dared to knock so far. I wondered who was trying their luck this time until I heard a familiar voice.
"Bill, open up. Come on. If I have to, I'll bring somebody in to take the door off."
He would probably do it, too. Oh well, time to face the music. I got up, unlocked the door and went back to my desk. I leaned back and waited.
"Why didn't you just go home? You'd have gotten away from this place and not caused such a stir. I've had to seal this place up like a mutant virus got loose to avoid news stories about 'top State Attorney Having Break-Down.' And that's not just for your benefit. I'd hate to have you prosecuting cases and have every single defense attorney trying to have you tossed off the case because of your mental problems."
"Mental problems?"
"For you, these are mental problems. The Iceman doesn't lock himself in his office and close off the world."
"I'm just having a bad day, Boss. Everybody's entitled to one of those every decade or so. And as to why I didn't go home. You forget. I don't have one of those anymore. This is as close as anything comes."
He leaned back against the doorway. Sometimes I forget just how big he is. He nearly filled the doorway. He'd been lean and mean in his basketball days. Today, nearly 40 years later, he was just big.
"I wanted to talk to you about that. I called Teller earlier. I heard you went to see him on your own. Did it have anything to do with this?"
Shit. I had trusted Teller.
After that many years he could read my mind.
"He didn't say anything. But you forget, there are eyes everywhere."
"No. It was personal. Mostly."
"I want you to come upstairs before you leave. Myra will have some paperwork and documents for you. She'll explain everything."
"About what?"
"You'll be shipping out of here Friday morning. On the 'Bonne Chance.' It's a cruise ship that's primarily staffed by the French and it has a fair number of French guests, but like all of them, they have everybody from around the world on it. Holds about 1800 guests. So it's fairly small, but it's top of the line, very expensive. They docked here yesterday and will sail out Friday. They only get by here every few years."
"A cruise? Friday? Look, you must really think I'm cracking up to be spending that kind of money on me, but-"
"No buts. The booking has been made. I'm spending a hell of a lot of money on you for one week. I'm hiding the expenses so I can explain to state auditors that I'm not lavishing luxury on an import staff member who's going through a bad divorce to keep him from cracking up. But that's the deal. Just go and enjoy."
I shook my head. The whole idea was crazier than Edwards thought I was. I hadn't been on a cruise in nearly ten years. There never seemed to be the time and there was always a case.
"No, Boss. Thank you. But the whole idea's crazy. Trials don't stop just because I'm having problems. And what kind of damned cruise would I have by myself – worried about the job and not being able to get – get my personal life off my mind."
"It wasn't a request and it wasn't optional. I've booked the cruise, you are going, and that's it."
I looked at him in disbelief.
"You know I like you, but I'm not going on any damned cruise just because you get it in your head that I need one."
He just looked at me and a little of the nice guy persona of the career politician slipped and there was a hard glint in his eyes.
"Bill, you are as good a man and as good a prosecutor as I've ever known. And I've been doing this for a long time. You're a critical cog in the working of this office. You're tough minded and you're dedicated. But you're not made out of iron. I don't know what, but something about the Bingham case got to you. It got through that armor of yours. It was probably a Perfect Storm of your personal life and the Bingham case.
"Regardless, it's damaged you, thrown you off. I'm not sure you're going to be able to get back. You won't seek professional help. I know you were only with Teller for a few minutes and that's not long enough to do anything. So I'm just trying to get you away from all the crap in your life for a little while. Give yourself a little space."
"I appreciate this, Boss, I really do, but just going away for a week-"
"It's not a request. It's an order. Much as I appreciate you, if you're not on that ship when it sails on Friday don't bother coming back to work Monday. I'm going to miss the hell out of you, but you're a disaster waiting to happen if you don't get your head back on straight. Not only will I fire you, but I'll do my best to make sure you don't land a job like this anywhere else. I've been in this life a long time and I know people all over. "
"You'd do that to me. After five years?"
"Trust me. When you get ready to board the ship I'm going to have an Assistant waiting and they're going to check your luggage to make sure you're not carrying any documents relating to any cases with you. You'll have email and Internet capability on the ship and you can take your laptop with you, but you'll be barred from any access to or communication with anybody in this office.
"I don't want you doing anything related to this office. I don't want you thinking about cases. I don't want you talking to anybody about cases. If we have a crisis come up, we'll just have to handle it without you."
"You're really serious about this?"
"Yes. Bill, I don't care what you do on this cruise. Eat some good French food. Drink some good booze and get drunk. Walk the decks and look at the stars. Pick up a lady or two and get laid. Think about things and get things sorted out. Just forget about this office."
He turned to leave.
"You know, Dallas, I do appreciate this. I know you mean well. But it's not going to do any good. The problems I've got – a week at sea isn't going to solve them."
He looked back at me and smiled.
"Who knows? It won't hurt to cut loose for once. You've been so dedicated to this office, to other people's problems, for so long, you've turned into an old man. I think in your head, you're 70. Just...have some fun. And let yourself be surprised."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

BONNE CHANCE

Tuesday, July 12, 2005 – 4 p.m.
My name is William Maitland. I'm an Assistant State Attorney in Jacksonville, Florida. Until three months ago I had a job I loved and a wife I loved who I thought loved me. Now, the marriage is on track to end up in the trash that 50 percent of American marriages eventually inhabit and I am desperately trying to keep at least my professional life on track. I hit a bump yesterday when I to all intents and purposes drove an old man who had killed his wife to suicide.
For a lot of reasons it hit me hard. I had a breakdown, of sorts. Call it a mini-breakdown. It was a one-day meltdown. But that's all the time life would allow me so I had to enjoy what I could get. But now, before my day for my breakdown was officially over, I was back on the job.
I was reviewing cases coming up over the next few weeks. The Big Man had left me the rest of the day and Wednesday to wrap up preparation. Thursday I was supposed to come in for a few hours and then make myself scarce for the rest of the day getting ready for an involuntary sea cruise.
I had been thinking about dropping the whole prosecution thing that had been my life for 10 years, but when it was suddenly yanked away from me, I found that I didn't want to let go that abruptly.
I know, I know, I was one of nearly 20 attorneys in the office and some of them had a lot more experience than I did, but the habits of the last five years didn't die easy. I still felt responsible for handling those cases right.
There were too many people whose lives would be affected if I screwed up, or the attorneys handling the cases screwed up. I couldn't be here for the next week or so, I but I could leave things in good order.
I sensed, rather than heard the door to my office swing open. Ever since my boss had threatened to have it taken off the hinges, I'd left it unlocked. But there were only a handful of people who would enter without knocking. I looked up and I think my heart literally skipped a beat.
We had a staring contest for a few seconds.
"You should have called."
"You would just have refused to take my call or taken it for the pleasure of hanging up on me."
"If you know that, then why are you here?"
"We've been together for nearly 20 years. I know what happened hurt you. Cheryl told me you've barricaded yourself in this office. And that's not you."
"So what are you going to do, kiss it and make it well?"
She looked at my desk instead of me and almost blushed. There was a day when she'd know exactly what to kiss to raise me out of whatever dumps I was in. But those days were history.
"I thought...you might want to talk. There was a time-"
"That time is past, Debbie. What makes you think you can just walk in here and play the dutiful wife like nothing's happened these last months. You destroy my life and then you just prance in here and want to make nice. We talked when there was an 'US'. There is no 'US' anymore."
I took in her face and figure. She was wearing a nice green blouse and matching skirt that showed a fair amount of leg. As always those fantastic tits thrust themselves out against any garments that tried to restrain them.
I had thought I was getting over her. But I was stupid. The only way I'd ever get over her was just to get as far away from her as I could, and stay away.
"Take a look around the office, Debbie. Tell me what you see, and what you don't see."
She glanced at my desk, the bookshelf behind me, the coffee table, and the walls in washed oak. There were letters of commendation and pictures of myself taken with President Bush when he had passed through and Bill Clinton, another one with Hillary. On my desk I kept four 12-inch high photos of Bill Jr. and Kelly, matching sets taken when they were two years old respectively and a year or so ago.
I had a picture I'd had blown up from one of the few I'd found of my mother and father that must have been taken when I was about four. He was a big, dark-haired, Black Irish type and Mom was a peaches and cream Brit whose parents wound up in the same small town where my dad's family had lived for decades.
It took her a moment. Then it sank in.
"What's happened...Bill, it doesn't change what we had."
"Of course it does. The picture of you and me is gone. I meant to save it but somehow it got smashed and wound up going out with the trash."
I read her eyes with professional skill and I like to think that hurt.
"If you go into my condo, you won't find any pictures of you and me. Or you. And if you bothered to check our photo albums, I didn't take anything. You check my wallet and I have snapshots of the kids. You're not there anymore."
She blinked and I hope she was preparing to tear up.
"Getting rid of my picture doesn't destroy the memories of our life. It was real. It happened."
"You remember that Clint Eastwood movie we saw, about the retired gunfighter that takes the job of killing those cowboys. The one with Morgan Freeman? There's a great line in there where he says that when you kill a man, you steal everything he has, and everything he ever will have.
"Well, you pissed all over everything we ever had together. You ruined it.
"I didn't take any pictures with me because I can't remember those days without seeing those fucking emails...without seeing you kissing him...without seeing you in my head sucking on his big dick and probably squealing while he's shoving it up inside you.
"I can't remember any of the good times we ever had, because those pictures keep getting in the way. You stole my whole life, you ruined the last 20 years of my life. You did a real job on me."
She shook her head.
"Those miserable emails."
She looked at me and said, "Why did you have to save them and why did you have to read them? If you hadn't seen them you wouldn't have come to UNF and in a few days I'd have told you our marriage just wasn't working. You wouldn't known about Doug and you wouldn't be hurt like this. You could have gone on with your life and we would have had our past. You wouldn't hate me."
"I don't hate you, Debbie. I can't stand looking at you. I can't stand remembering our life. But I don't hate you. I wish I did. The problem is I still love you. Maybe I always will.
"But maybe I won't. I know it doesn't hurt as bad anymore. And it's only been three months. I think in time I'll get to the point that I won't feel anything for you at all."
Why the hell she looked hurt I couldn't understand. She was the one who had dumped me.
"Now you begin the life you should have had all along, Deb. Before you made the mistake of letting hero worship blind you. If it wasn't for BJ and Kelly, I would rather have never met you and you would have had the life you wanted. Money and power and big dicks and not being saddled with a short fat loser."
She looked at me as if I were speaking in a foreign language.
"If it makes you feel any better, helps with the guilt, I've been waiting for this for 20 years, I wasn't surprised by Doug. I'm even relieved in a way. Now you won't have to go on pretending you ever loved me."
She moved faster than I'd ever seen her move. Obviously, those trips to the gym had kept her limber. Unfortunately, my trips to Carlos' gym had speeded up my reflexes. I caught her hand on the way to delivering a slap that probably would have rattled my teeth.
"Don't do that Debbie. You don't know how close I've come to hurting you, hurting you physically. Don't' give me an excuse."
Her eyes literally flared and those damned titties rose up and down like bellows.
"Our marriage is shot. You killed it and I buried it. But don't you tell me that I never loved you. Don't tell me those first few years were a lie. Because I know damn well what I felt back then. I did love you.
"I know you weren't a stud. I could have married dozens of well hung, gorgeous guys , but I loved you. You were kind and loving and you care for me more than anyone else ever had and I felt safe with you.
"Love isn't all about sex. It's part of it, but I never had any complaints about the way you made love to me. You satisfied me. Until you decided you loved this damned job more than you loved me."
I remembered what Teller had said. I could try to explain why I had done what I'd done, but at rock bottom, wasn't she right? And she hadn't signed up for a marriage in which she was doomed to play second fiddle until the day I decided to move on to a less demanding job. I could try to explain why I had let my marriage go.
I could tell her it was like the frog that's dropped into a cooking pot full of lukewarm water, which is gradually heated. The frog is boiled before he ever realizes the danger he's in.
There was never a moment I could remember when I had consciously decided that my job was more important than my wife. There was never a moment when I knowingly decided if I had to choose between my job and her, that my job came first. But knowingly or not, that was the way I had lived for too long.
I had walked out onto a long limb trying to balance the demands of the job against the demands of my marriage. And finally the limb had given way.
And no matter what her feelings for me had been once, now she was fucking another man and if I knew her, enjoying every minute of the fucking. She had sent those goddamned emails and I could never scrub them out of my brain.
What I'd said was truer than I knew. I loved her but I couldn't stand looking at her at the same time. It wasn't quite as bad now as it had been three months ago. If I could just stay the hell away from her long enough, I might stop being so crazy.
I'd been holding her wrist in my hand. I let her go and backed away.
"Consider me consoled, Debbie. You've done your almost-over-with marital duty and ran to my side. Thank you. Now you need to leave."
"Bill..."
"There are no words, Debbie.. You can't ever make it better. Let it go. I'm okay now.
"So you won't worry, and Cheryl doesn't need to tattle to you, I'll tell you that I'm leaving town Friday. Edwards ordered me to take a week's vacation, a cruise. I'm not going to jump overboard or do anything stupid. I'm probably just going to watch the stars and get drunk a lot.
"Tell Kelly and BJ that I probably won't call them from sea, but I'll call them when I get back into town."
She just looked at me for a long time and I wondered what was going on behind those eyes.
"You lose weight, you start looking really good, and you go on vacation. After our marriage goes to hell. Why did you have to wait until now?"
There really wasn't an answer and she turned and left without another word.
#########################
Tuesday, July 12, 2005 – 4:30 p.m.

I came out of the elevator and approached Myra's desk in front of the big oak doors that led to the Big Man's domain. I often wondered if she had been fucked on every single piece of furniture in that big office. It was hard to believe he hadn't had her everywhere humanly possible.
They might get together outside the office, but Edward's wife of nearly 40 years was reputed to be jealous as hell and she HAD been an alternate on the U.S. Olympic shooting team back in 1976.
Rumor had it she still went to the gun range to show young and not-so-young cops how good she still was. Everyone always wondered how the Big Man had survived this long bracketed by the world's hottest and biggest tittied secretary on one side and one of the world's most jealous and most accurate shooting wives on the other.
The guess was that he must have at least 12 inches to keep the wife happy with the state of affairs, and he was also VERY, VERY careful not to play with Myra anywhere his wife might catch them.
No one would probably ever know, until the day the cops got called to check out his bullet riddled corpse, but it made for some interesting office speculation.
Myra snapped her fingers and I came back to reality from my daydreaming.
"Earth to Bill. Where were you?"
I looked into her eyes, a dazzling shade of green that looked like emeralds gleaming, then down at the vast expanse of chest that looked like nothing so much as twin volleyballs somehow crammed into a blouse that had buttons quivering dangerously from the pressure being exerted on them, back up to those emeralds again.
"Sorry, my mind wandered. Doing that a lot lately. You have something for me?"
"Exactly how do you mean that?"
I could not prevent my traitor eyes from dropping to those quivering buttons on the front of her blouse but with superhuman discipline raised my gaze back to her eyes and avoided either blushing or smiling. I think I managed to avoid drooling, mostly.
"I believe you have some tickets and other documents for me."
"Oh. Yes."
She twisted to pick up an manila envelope on her desk and my body reacted before I even realized what I was doing. Carlos' training showed me again why three pro boxers had come out of his gyms or training colleges. I grabbed the flying missile before I even consciously saw it. She looked up at me and I opened my palm to show the round object.
She opened her mouth in surprise as she recognized the button. She looked down to see top button of her blouse missing. The blouse gaped open, revealing cleavage that went on forever.
"Damned cheap material. This keeps happening."
I couldn't' resist.
"It did its best, Myra. Some things aren't meant to be contained."
"Aren't you sweet," she said with a sly smile. "For a married man. Anyway, I never thought you noticed them."
"Is there any male anywhere that's not noticed them?"
"You've done a pretty good imitation for five years. I really thought you were so hung up on that wife of yours that you never noticed."
"I noticed. But...it's like the moon. There's no point in even thinking about going there. And they're...you're...further away than the moon."
I had my hand on her desk and she placed one slim hand palm down on mine. It had to be my imagination, but her touch burnt.
"You've been out of touch. You know that men have conquered the moon, don't you?"
There was absolutely no response I could make to that. My mind was as barren as the Sahara desert.
"Is...that envelope for me?"
She took her hand off mine and handed me the manila envelop with her other hand.
"There are tickets, confirmation papers, some brochures of what to expect on the Bonne Chance. Everything you need to take with you, except a few changes of clothing. I hope you have a good time."
I took the manila envelope and thought about the last time I'd gone on a cruise, ten years before to Hawaii, just before taking this job with the State Attorney's Office.
"I don't know. It's going to be...different."
"Because you'll be going alone."
The smiled faded.
"I haven't said anything because...we don't see each other and it's not my place...but your wife is an idiot. I know you don't want to hear that now, but you're going to be fine. You were always a good guy, but now..."
"Now?"
"You're getting hot."
I probably did blush at that.
"I'm bald, pudgy and middle aged. Unless they've changed the definition of hot..."
"Bald looks good on you, you haven't looked in a mirror lately if you think you're pudgy, and middle aged...You look dangerous is what you look....you've got that bad boy thing going."
"Are you hitting on me?"
"No," and she laid that burning palm on the back of my hand again. "I don't mess with married men. Except for...But when your divorce is final....Anyway, about the cruise. You know the name of the ship translates roughly to 'Good Luck', right? Well, you just might get lucky. Stranger things have happened."
"That would be pretty strange, alright. Thanks for the compliments, though, Myra, even if you're lying through your teeth. See you in a week and a half or so."
I waited for the elevator. Before the doors opened, she said, "Oh, by the way, Bill, Mr. Edwards doesn't want you thinking about cases or the business this office does. That doesn't mean you can't think about the people here. Or anybody in particular."
She had a way of saying things that shut me up. I stepped into the elevator without looking back. I could still see that enormous expanse of cleavage in my mind's eye.
############################
Friday, July 15, 2005 – 5 p.m.
I rested my elbows on the railing and looked down to the docking area where people the size of ants, or large bugs, thronged waving and shouting up to the passengers who stood beside and around me at the rail. The ship's horn blasted again and there was only a gentle swaying motion as it began to slide slowly through the water away from the Blount Island berth that the Bonne Chance had occupied for four days.
Even the summer heat of a Jacksonville July gave way to ocean breezes gusting and tossing hats and papers around. There was the smell of mud flats and rain in the air and dark clouds massed above the horizon.
It was going to rain, probably storm tonight because the weatherman had said the weather system getting ready to inundate Jacksonville was more than the typical summer thunderstorms that hit on a regular basis after 95-plus searing days.
There were couples and groups of women without men, but few groups of men without women, and mothers with infants and more than a few knots of teenagers or younger kids wandering or prowling the crowd looking for teens of the opposite sex or, with pre-teens, of the same sex, to hook up with.
Whoever coined the phrase, lonely in a crowd, knew what he or she was talking about. I looked around at the families, at the couples holding or hugging or kissing, the knots of single women who were eyeing the males in the crowd. What the hell was I doing here?
"I always love this part of the trip. Leaving is...I don't know, it's exciting. I've done this three times in my life and I never get used to it."
I looked over at the man and woman standing beside me at the railing. He was about six foot, dark brown hair, open, smiling face. I pegged him for a businessman of some type. The woman standing beside him was about four or five inches shorter but she was wearing sensible heels. Slender with long blonde hair, apple cheeks. A Barbie brought to life.
From the way she was holding onto him, I figured they were on their honeymoon, or second honeymoon because he was no kid.
I looked toward the clouds.
"Looks like it might rain. If it does, it'll be bumpy tonight. You need to hold your bride tight when you're getting around. It's easy to slip and fall."
He grinned.
"We're that easy to spot? I guess so. It is our honeymoon. I just made an honest woman out of this young lady."
He reached over to shake my hand.
"You look familiar. Have I seen you before?"
"No. I just have one of those faces."
"I hope we'll run into each other again. My name is Dan Jenkins. I have an insurance agency in Jax, and this is Caroline. My blushing bride. By the way, how are you set for homeowner's insurance?"
He saw the look on my face and laughed.
"Sorry, I couldn't resist. Everybody gets that look on their face when I tell them I'm in insurance. But I'm off the clock for the next week. Going to be too busy to sell anything."
As he said he grinned and then bent down to kiss his new bride. We must have been about the same age, but I felt immeasurably older than him.
"I'm Bill Maitland. Glad to meet you and your wife. Well, good luck," I said, moving away as if I had somewhere I had to be. I just didn't want to be around happy honeymooners right now. Happy anybody, actually.
I wandered down the railing, moving in and out of the couples and families and groups of women, trying to make myself as invisible as possible. Most people had loved ones or friends waving to them. There was no one down there for me. My choice.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Kelly had actually called and asked if I wanted her and her brother at the pier to see me off. I don't know if she did it on her own or her mother put her up to it, but I thanked her and said it would be a long boring process waiting for the ship to leave. I knew she, they both, had things they'd rather be doing with their friends on a Friday afternoon.

I didn't ask about her mother, because I knew what she was going to be up to with that prick Doug. Just thinking about it was enough to sour any good feelings I might have had.
I don't know if I believe in ESP, but sometimes you can tell when someone is watching you. I had that prickling feeling in the back of my neck and I spun around, scanning the deck behind me. There were people all over, passengers and crew scurrying around or moving purposely for whatever reason, but I didn't spot anyone looking at me.
The feeling didn't go away but damned if I could figure where it was coming from. Something made me look up. There were staff members in blue and gold, somehow Gallic in look, standing at the next deck railing, looking down at the passengers, talking animatedly and probably discussing among themselves how to insult any passengers rude enough not to be able to speak French perfectly.
A pair of eyes caught my gaze. She had been looking straight at me, not talking with her fellow cruise staff. I made out black hair, a slender figure in blue and gold. It was hard to tell from this distance, but she appeared pretty. I looked around quickly. If our eyes had just accidentally met I didn't want to be staring at her. When I looked back she'd be looking elsewhere.
Except she wasn't. She was still staring at me. It's hard to tell if someone is smiling from that distance, but she didn't appear to be. I began to wonder if a seagull had crapped on my head or something equally bizarre had happened to fascinate her so totally.
It's one of those things that happens sometime when someone is staring at you believing you're not aware, and they suddenly realize you're looking back at them. It was if something had clicked and we were both aware of what the other was doing.
I can't explain what happened next. I never would be able to, because it defies rational explanation. But the hairs on the back of my neck started rising.
The only thing I could compare it to is when I was a kid, nine or ten years old in Jacksonville, I'd ridden a bike to a friend's house on the Westside. As I got off the bike, I suddenly saw the biggest damned dog I'd ever seen in my life. He looked like one of those St. Bernards as big as horses that rescue people trapped in the Alps.
This one wasn't a rescue dog. Just a huge mutt, who was baring very large canines and growling in a low tone as he moved slowly toward me. That day, the hairs had risen on the back of my neck as I watched death on four paws stalking toward me.
That day I had been scared shitless. Today, I was...what? Not afraid? Of what? Just a dark-haired female cruise ship staff member. Who happened to be staring at me intently. I thought I had never seen her before, but at that distance, who could be sure. Maybe she was looking at someone near me.
Even as I tried to float that trial balloon I shot it down. She was looking into my eyes with an unfathomable expression.
Whatever, there was no point in holding a staring contest with a stranger. I looked around and tried to make it appear that I was deeply interested in the antics of a little boy and girl whose parents were trying to corral them before they jumped ship. But I couldn't stop myself from looking back at the next deck up.
She wasn't there. There were still cruise ship staff talking and gesturing among themselves, but the space where she had stood was empty. I just stared for a few moments. What had just happened?
I wondered if I could have imagined it. She had just been inspecting the cattle, make that passengers, and her gaze had happened to lock on me for a moment. Nothing more than that and my overheated imagination.
Except that I knew what I had seen and sensed. She was staring at me. It suddenly occurred to me that the Big Man might have asked the ship's management to give me a babysitter for the cruise to make sure I didn't do anything stupid. I wouldn't put it past him. But it would be embarrassing, at the least, to ask if they had been directed to provide a handler for me to keep me from jumping ship or doing something equally stupid. Based on what had already happened since I got to the ship, I could see it.
I had gotten to the ship at 11 a.m. as was suggested. I carried two suitcases. One with clothing that I had thrown together in a night. I wasn't too fussy about what I wore. I threw in one suit for dining if I made it to the formal dining room, shorts, slacks and a bathing suit although I doubted I'd hit any pools. The other had my laptop, some documents about coming cases and a couple of paperback novels.
I had just checked into my suite, one of the top rooms on the ship only slightly smaller than your typical million-dollar Miami beach house, when I heard a knock at the door. I wondered who it was and when I opened it I said, "God damn. He's really going to do it, isn't he?"
Jessica Stephens smiled and nodded.
"He told me to come back with whatever court documents you've got squirreled away or not to bother to come back."
The son of a bitch. He knew I wasn't to let Jessica screw up her career to take some papers onto the ship. I pointed to the case containing the laptop.
"Unzip and search it. You can look through the other although there shouldn't be anything but clothes in there. You can pat me down if you want to."
She almost blushed, but just shook her head.
"Now, if you'd said that that night at O'Brien's...."
"Can the smart comments and get what you need. And then get out, unless you want to spend a week at sea with me."
"That's not fair, Bill. You know how long it's been...?"
"Go talk to Cameron."
"The bastard won't bend. Sometimes I almost hate him."
"Take the situation in hand, so to speak."
She just blushed and started searching my suitcases. When she finished she had the paperwork on a dozen pending cases.
"Have a good trip, Bill."
I gave her a sisterly kiss on the cheek.
"Remember what I said about taking things in hand..."
She gave me a little wave as she walked out the door.
So the Big Man was serious about my taking time off. He might be just as serious about having me watched to make sure that I didn't jump overboard. I walked into the interior of the ship, found an elevator and made my way to Deck Trois or Le Fleur and the purser's office. After going through three junior officers I found myself talking to Alejandro Torres, Chief Purser.
I asked him if we could speak in private.
"Mr. – ah?"
"Maitland, William Maitland."
"Mr. Maitland, I assure you we can discuss any questions in front of my staff."
"Señor Torres, I have been an attorney for nearly 20 years. I would like to discuss a matter of some sensitivity that may involve legal issues. Are you sure we can't talk privately?"
He just stared at me for a moment and said, "Everybody out. Out front. Mr. Maitland come back to my office."
We walked through a door into a small office and he seated himself behind a narrow desk.
"Now what is this about, Mr. Maitland?"
I sat down across from him.
"You acted like you didn't know who I was. Let me ask simply, and I trust you to tell me the truth. Have you received any instructions to have me watched, monitored or otherwise have someone baby-sit me?"
He just stared at me for a moment, then said, "Do you have any idea how paranoid that statement sounds, Mr. Maitland?"
Then, "Let me put it simply for you, Mr. Maitland. I honestly have no idea who you are, other than an American with an obviously over-inflated opinion of your importance."
I would have bet he was telling the truth.
"Well, if I've made a mistake, I apologize. It's just that...do you know any reason why one of your female staff officers would be monitoring or observing me?"
He shook his head.
"You're here because you thought one of the female staff was staring at you?"
"Well, actually, there's more to it than that, but basically, yes."
"We are going to get up and leave now, Mr. Maitland. I hope you will have a pleasant trip, but all I can say to you about this matter is, as you Americans say, get over yourself. A female staff officer looked at you and you spun that into a conspiracy to have you watched on this cruise?
"You realize how many reasons there might conceivably be for a female staffer to stare at you? Perhaps she wanted your body? Perhaps you reminded her of somebody. Let's be reasonable. Go watch us set sail, enjoy the food and have a good time."
He stood up in dismissal, adding, "And if you should happen to see this young lady again, why not simply ask her why she was staring at you?"
If it was possible to feel any more stupid, I don't how it would be possible. But as I walked out of the office, I still knew that she had been staring at me. There had to be a reason. It would probably eat at me for the rest of the cruise until I found out why.
I wasn't really that curious about seeing the ship sail out so I prowled the ship for a few hours, checked out the casino, the pools on Deck Quatre, the theaters for live and canned entertainment on the next floor up, the restaurants on the fourth, fifth and sixth decks and the gym on the seventh deck.
Then I went back to my room on the eighth and highest deck and checked out the bar, which had several bottles of Cognac, that probably retailed for several hundred dollars easy and a Napoleon Brandy that I knew sold in specialty stores for $500.
What the hell. If the Big Man was so intent on getting me away from my old life, I might as well go whole hog. I opened up the Brandy, poured two fingers into a crystal goblet and sniffed it for a little while before letting it slide down my throat. I generally prefer Bloody Marys, Goldschlager, Vodka or Tequila if I'm feeling adventurous, but I have tried Brandy before. For the sheer sensual pleasure of a liquor sliding down your throat, to my mind no other liquor comes close.
I guess I drank another couple of fingers, then another and just had to try the round crimson bed under a circular ceiling mirror that was just slightly smaller than some Delaware counties. When I opened my eyes again it was 9 p.m. by my watch and the ship was swaying enough for the pitch and sway to be noticeable. The meteorologists had been correct about the heavy weather we were heading into.
I was wearing slacks and a light short sleeve shirt but with the weather I figured it would be cool outside so slipped the shirt off and put on a black turtleneck. I think that made me look a little more French. I made my way to Le Champagne on Deck Cinque where a sign in ornate letters told me Le Champagne was located.
On most cruise ships it would be a pizza gallery, but here they had platters of thick cut ham, chilled oysters, and cheeses ranging from simple goat cheeses to Beaufort, Abondance, Reblochon, and Vacherin.
I ate one slab of ham, a half dozen oysters and sampled a small amount of four or five cheeses. I knew I was going to have to work out at least an hour at the gym, but it was worth it. Nothing I'd tasted was less than fantastic, which I should have expected. The French might be opinionated assholes in most areas of life, but they know how to eat.
As I was popping an oyster into my mouth doused with hot sauce, I saw a slim brunette figure passing the door into Le Champagne. I was up and out before I realized what I was doing but by the time I got there, she was gone. There were at least three routes she could have taken, and it might not have been my mystery woman.
I made my way to the gym and despite the hour – it was nearly10 p.m. - it was still attended by one male staffer. I received a thick, plush towel and put it aside to work for an hour on machines that were close to the ones I was familiar with. After three and a half months of virtually non-stop workouts, it felt good to lift and pull, to thrust and maneuver weights until my muscles ached. I realized I really did miss it now when I didn't have a chance to work out every day. I took a shower and dressed and walked up to the top deck.
I opened the door to the outside railing. Wind driven rain stung my face and eyes. It was cold and hard. I pushed the door open and stepped outside.
The wind was strong enough to push me back but I made my way to the railing. I held tight and looked down nearly a hundred feet into the dark surface of the ocean. White caps raced by underneath me as the ship rose and fell.
There was no moon and stars because of the storm, but the white foam carried by the waves was clearly visible and there seemed to be a faint phosphorescence on the water itself.
I should have gone back inside because I was now almost completely soaked through to the skin, my face and bald scalp almost sore from the battering they were receiving. But I couldn't make myself move. I wondered if I had in my entire lifetime seen anything so beautiful.
I noticed that there was a tower-like structure toward the front of the ship. I had been there earlier. It was only accessible by the sixth deck, but there was a relatively small lounge there that a crew member had told me was generally off limits to all but special guests.
It opened to a railing almost directly across from me. It took me a little while to make out the figure in the darkness leaning against the railing and looking across the expanse of a hundred feet toward me.
Even in the darkness, I could tell that it was a slender figure. When the door opened behind it for a moment and someone stuck their head out to address the figure, I saw it limned in the escaping light. There was enough light for a moment to make out her features and that blue and gold uniform covered by a transparent raincoat.
In that moment her eyes gleamed in the light and I knew it was my mystery woman. She stared at me across the expanse. It was probably my imagination, but before the door was closed leaving her blanketed in darkness again on the railing, I thought she smiled.
We stood on our separate decks, rising and falling with the tides, and it seemed time had simply stopped. I don't know how long I stood there, but it felt like I had left behind everything I had known in my world. My father, my job, my wife, my children. There was only the sea and that dark figure standing across the way from me.
Then she turned away from the railing, opened the door showing me her dark hair cut short at the base of her neck, and the door closed, the light vanished and she was gone.
I went back to my palatial room and was unconscious before my head hit the goosedown-stuffed pillow.
##################
Saturday, July 16, 2005 – 10 a.m.
The next day I slept till 10 a.m. and thus missed the formal breakfast and our arriving at Key West. I headed by Le Champagne and grabbed a slice of gooseliver pate spread on a water cracker which probably contained about three million calories
I had less than no desire to see Key West again, which I'd been to with Debbie and the kids twice over the years so I stayed on the ship. I went to the casino and managed to lose $500 in less time than it takes to say that.
In order, I next visited one of the entertainment centers and watched three newlywed couples humiliated by sexually explicit, allegedly funny questions from a panel of recreation staff members, watched a new release Bollywood movie with dubbed dialogue, worked out for an hour in the gym and finally wound up at my first formal supper seating. By that time the ship was readying to sail toward Nassau.
I was seated next to a single lady, a redhead with small breasts that still managed to almost fall out of the nearly non-existent top to a brilliant blue dress. She wore a sapphire necklace with a single burning blue gem centered between her breasts inevitably forcing your eyes to settle on those breasts. She smiled at me a lot and I tried to smile back.
There was a couple in their 70s celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary on a voyage paid for by all of their seven children, and 35 grown grandchildren. And a pretty young blonde with a nice body dressed in a relatively demure yellow blouse and skirt with her husband, a tall sandy-haired kid who was drooling over the redhead's exposed breasts and didn't make much attempt to hide it.
She kept staring at me and finally halfway through the second course said, "You're Mr. Maitland, aren't you?"
I shrugged and said, "Yes, ma'am. You must have seen the newspaper story."
She looked puzzled and said, "My husband, Andy and I just came back from a business trip to Chicago before my daddy paid for us to go on this cruise. I'm afraid I didn't see the story. But I know you. I've seen you around the courthouse and I've even seen a few trials you argued. I saw the one about those slimeballs that shot that little boy.
"Sorry, I'm forgetting my manners. I'm Cyndi Mathews and this is my husband Andy. My brother-in-law, Lyle, does some volunteer victim advocate work around the courthouse and pointed you out to me one time. You are a very good lawyer."
She poked her husband in the side and said, "Say hello, Andy," and he reluctantly tore his eyes away from the redhead's breasts, giving her a little wink before he did so. The redhead blushed, the blush extending all the way to her nipples.
"You have seen Mr. Maitland in action, then, Ms. Mathews?"
I looked up and saw my mystery woman standing behind me. I turned in my chair so I could look at her directly. She wore the blue and gold again with a small fleur-de-lis emblem centered over her left breast, which gave me an excuse to inspect her. Sitting it was hard to tell, but I thought she was five six or maybe five seven. Her breasts weren't large, but they were definitely there filling out her uniform.
She had a broad forehead, a strong nose, wide-set eyes and lips that were full and red. Classic features. Her hair was so black it had a blue sheen to it. I looked at her eyes for a moment and couldn't quite figure out their color. All in all, she was a beautiful woman, so why the hell had she been staring at me and stalking me?
"Pardonnez-moi....Pardon me for eavesdropping. I have an...interest...in the law and when I heard your comments I couldn't resist intruding. You said Mr. Maitland is a barrister in Jacksonville? Does he practice in the tribunal de grande instance or cour d'assises? I'm sorry. Mr. Maitland, are you a civil lawyer or prosecutor?"
Her English was more crisp and precise than my own, but there was an indefinable French accent.
"Cour d'assises, Miss. I handle mostly capital cases, although I've done bang, robbery, almost every kind of terrible thing that people do to each other."
She gave me a funny look.
I answered her unspoken question.
"I've been to France a couple of times for legal conferences and Interpol cases that intertwined between France and the U.S. I know a little bit about your system of justice."
Answering her earlier question, Cyndi said, "Oh, yes, he is very good. He is forceful and clear in his arguments and he makes juries think about the victims in these crimes. A lot of times prosecutors and everybody else seems to forget about the victims. Mr. Maitland never does.
"Although," she said with a small frown, "I didn't recognize you right away with your head shaved. And, you just don't look the same. It's hard to pin down, but you look like another person almost entirely."
"Yes," my mystery woman said, "Mr. Maitland is certainly a striking man."
"You have the advantage of me, Miss. You know me, obviously, but I don't know your name or anything about you. That hardly seems fair, does it?"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

She held a slim hand out to me. I took it and shook it.

"I am Aline des-Jardins, Mr. Maitland. I am one of three Assistant Cruise Directors. I tend to spend my time ensuring that passengers with special needs have those needs met."
"Sounds like an interesting job."
"All you'd have to do is show up at my cabin and you'd meet my needs," Andy said, laughing. Cyndi Mathews stared at her husband with a gaze that should have stripped the flesh from his bones but he just ignored her.
I noticed he was on his fifth or sixth mug of some heavy brown German beer. He continued to stare at Aline in a way that made the old expression about stripping somebody with your eyes a reality.
Aline looked at him the way some women would look at a roach crawling across the floor and said, "I would imagine your pretty wife should be able to meet those needs."
Andy was about to say something but this time he caught his wife's glare and thought better of it.
She turned those eyes on me and said, "I have to go, but I hope we will meet again during this cruise, Mr. Maitland. Feel free to call on me if I can be of any service to you."
I hadn't let go of her hand and I held it as she started to turn. She looked at me with an expression I couldn't read. I noticed that a diamond shone in a ring on her left hand, on the wedding finger.
"Have we met before, Ms. des-Jardins?"
She shook her head, saying, "No."
"I just thought, from the way that you...looked at me this afternoon when we were leaving that you might have recognized me from somewhere."
She gave me what could only been described as a cool look and said, "I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about. I was inside preparing for the ship's departure as we left. I never came out. You must have mistaken someone else for me."
I let her hand go.
"I'm sorry. I must have made a mistake. Yes, I hope we'll see each other again."
"It's not that big a ship, Mr. Maitland. Goodbye."
I ate the rest of my meal without really tasting it. I know there was conversation around me and I must have responded to it, but I can't remember what was said. At some point the older couple excused themselves, the redhead finally gave up after exchanging some meaningful glances with Andy and then Cindy smiled at me and told me she and Andy were going to go up on deck. The rain had stopped and it was a beautiful night.
I sat alone at the table and drank coffee for another half hour. The thing that kept running through my head was, Jesus, you are a stupid fuck. A very beautiful, married woman is not going to be staring at a middle aged, bald man being dumped by another beautiful woman.
It's not going to happen and even if anything could happen, she's married. Unless she wears the ring to scare off guys from hitting on her.
But she had lied. I had been in the business of reading people for too long. She had been cool, but lying. I wondered again if Edwards had possibly worked out a private deal with a staff member, like her, to just keep an eye on me without her superiors knowing about it. I wouldn't put it past him. But since I couldn't subpoena and put her under oath, I didn't know how I'd ever find out for sure.
On the other hand, the more I thought about it, what did it matter. Let her watch. It would probably be as exciting as watching paint dry.
I eventually went up to Deck Sept. It was about 9 p.m. but there were still plenty of people out and about. I walked forward to the bow where a few other people leaned against the railing as the ship gently rose and fell, cutting through the waves at a fairly good clip
I looked into the darkness. We had passed beyond the lights of the Florida coast and there were only the lights cast by the ship on the sea and the stars above. I realized I could spend the entire cruise doing nothing but standing here and it would be worth the trip. I thought about everything and nothing.
"There is nothing else like it in the world."
I didn't have to turn my head to sense her standing at my side, hands on the rail, looking along with me into the rushing darkness.
"Are you following me, Ms. des-Jardins?"
I looked at that beautiful face which held no expression I could read. I couldn't help wondering what it would look like smiling.
"I told you that this is not that big a ship. We will encounter each other from time to time. I see you are like me. If I did not have to work, I would be here every night, like this."
"My life is words, but I couldn't put this into words. I was ordered to take this cruise, but now I'm glad I was."
"The only thing more beautiful, I think, is the sea when it is angry. A storm at sea is such a wondrous beast, deadly and beautiful beyond belief."
"That was you at the other lounge last night, across from this deck."
She looked back from the view ahead of us and stared into my eyes. There was only a faint curl to those luscious lips.
"Yes. I was in the lounge with guests and invited staff, but the smoke got rather heavy. I stepped outside for air, but I really wanted to stand in the rain and watch the waves. I noticed you a long time before you noticed me. You were really quite....extraordinary."
I shook my head. Edwards wasn't paying her enough to be dishing out this much bullshit.
"You are a romantic. I am a very ordinary man."
There was almost a smile on those lips.
"You do not see yourself, Mr. Maitland. Not truly. I'm not sure why. I am not a poet. But standing there, in the rain and the darkness...it was as if you were carved out of the night. I'm sorry, my English is adequate but..."
"Your English is excellent, but you are dishing out bullshit, pardon my Anglo-Sexonism. Why are you lying?"
She didn't deny it. Didn't appear angry.
'You were staring at me when we were getting ready to depart. You recognized me for some reason. Did someone ask you to baby-sit me? Keep an eye on me?"
"No?"
"Then why?"
This time a faint smile bloomed on her face. It transformed her from merely beautiful to incredibly beautiful.
"A woman has to have some mystery, Mr. Maitland. It is part of our charm."
"Why would you want to charm a passenger?"
"Not merely a passenger, Mr. Maitland. You are a man. A very interesting man."
She looked back toward the darkness for a moment, then said, "I hope we meet again. But I must return to my duties. Good night." And left me there with more questions than I'd had before. And for the first time in months I felt a strong desire to jerk off.
I almost thought about going back to my room and that big bed, but the last few times I'd tried self stimulation hadn't worked too well. I was almost afraid to try again and fail again. I'd never in my life been unable to get a hardon by jerking off until....Debbie and Doug.
Besides, I was letting fantasy run away with me. She was a beautiful woman, but that stuff about 'carved out of the night' could have come out of some cheap romance novel.
Even when I'd been young and attracted a few women, I'd never been in this woman's league. And she wasn't going to fall into my bed out of gratitude for saving her from a gang bang. Besides, she had denied being set up to baby-sit me.
But, she could have been lying. She had told me her job was providing special needs. Would one of those needs be jollying up a depressed man whose boss was afraid he might toss himself over the side one dark night?
That was one whole hell of a lot more likely than a married woman that looked like that being seized by a sudden passion for my middle aged, overweight bald self.
But even if she was just doing her job, she had definitely lifted my spirits. And being out on this night was also raising them. I walked along the deck for an hour, finally went inside.
I grabbed a drink, going back to my regular Bloody Mary heavy on the Tabasco from a little jazz bar that looked inside like something transplanted from 1920s Paris and finally wound up back in the casino.
I wandered the tables until I heard someone call, "Hi, Mr. Maitland."
I looked over at one of the craps table and saw Dan Jenkins and his wife. He beckoned to me and I walked over.
"Mr. M," Jenkins said. "I am colder than ice and I'm down a thousand. The dealer said I could call someone in to roll for me. Any chance you could give it a try? Just looking for a familiar face."
I shook my head.
"Sorry, I'm colder than ice, too. Never have had much luck gambling."
"Give it a try," a soft voice said from behind me. She came up to stand beside me and we were almost eye to eye. She was closer to 5-foot 8 than I had thought. She held her hand out and Jenkins grinned at me as he dropped the dice in her cupped palms. She handed them to me, then cupped my hands in hers and leaned forward and pursed her lips as if whistling. Her soft breath which smelled of mint caressed my hands.
She held my hands in hers for a moment.
"Sometimes a new woman can change your luck, or so I've heard."
I put the dice in my right hand, stepped up to the table and threw them. A moment later Caroline gasped and Jenkins shouted. He pounded me on the back.
"That almost got me all my money back. Roll for me again."
I looked at her but she shook her head and let my hands go.
"I'm sorry, I must go. Pleasure running into you again, Mr. Maitland."
I looked at Jenkins and shook my head also,
"Sorry, my luck just walked away."
He gave her swaying rear view a quick glance and said, "I think you might get lucky yet, Mr. Maitland."
Then his wife nudged him in the side with his elbow and he laughed and gave her a quick kiss.
I smiled back and said, "No, I think I just ran my luck out. If I was you, I wouldn't push mine."
His wife grabbed his elbow and said, "He won't. Besides, we have unfinished business, right honey?"
I was in my room in 30 minutes and again I barely had time to toss my clothes off and I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. Something about the sea air. When I woke up the next morning, I couldn't remember what I had dreamed about, but they were good dreams.
###################
Sunday, July 17, 2005
We were in Nassau in the morning and I considered staying on the ship, but I walked off the ship on the concrete pier that led in a short distance to the remains of what had been the world famous Straw market near Bay Street and George Street. It had been destroyed by a fire a few years earlier and now it was housed in a large tent, but it still had tons of things nobody but a tourist could ever love or buy.
I bought tee-shirts for the kids which was the only thing I thought they would really appreciate and was heading back when a cab pulled up beside me and I looked inside to see Aline and another female staffer sitting in back.
"Mr. Maitland, Suzanne and I were headed for a quick lunch before going back to the ship. Would you care to join us?"
I gestured to the interior. Bahamanian cabs are not the largest in the world.
'I don't think I'd fit."
"Squeeze in," and I did, feeling her soft form pressed against almost every inch of me. I could literally feel her breathe and her rising and falling breasts caressed my shoulder. Suzanne just giggled a lot. Lunch was nice but I ate lightly. I had to remember that life would go on when I returned to the real world.
"Is that all you're eating?" Suzanne said.
"He has to watch his figure," Aline said with a small smile, sitting in a booth across from me.
"No," I said and couldn't keep myself from adding, even knowing I was making a fool of myself, "that's not the figure I have to watch."
Suzanne giggled and Aline just blushed and lowered her eyes.
Back on the ship, which was largely deserted, I read part of a novel, went down and swam in one of the deserted pools which was nicely heated by the sunlight and took a nap.
I walked the decks and ran into a pod of four 30-ish blondes who turned out to be teachers from Atlanta "celebrating" three divorces from dirty rat bastards and one inheritance. They were attractive, fairly well built for the most part, fairly personable, and quite unmistakably horny as hell.
One of them made that clear by brushing her hip insistently against me and when I turned to talk to her clearly rubbing her hip against my groin.
The others giggled as she gave me a disappointed look.
"Bill," she said because we'd exchanged first names at their insistence, "I just shed a miserable rat bastard and my confidence in my charms is waning. Now I'm rubbing up against a man and nothing. Please tell me you're gay and it's not me. Not with that wedding ring on your hand. And where is the missus?"
"She's probably in my house, the one I worked nearly ten years to pay for. Having hot sex with the young stud she's divorcing me to be with. And I'm not gay, Lee. It's just that my soon to be ex-wife is a blonde and right now I'm not too partial to blondes. No offense."
She put her hand on mine.
"No offense taken, Bill. My friends and I...kind of wondered. We've seen you around the ship and you're always alone, except a few times when we've seen you with that skinny French broad.
"And mostly people don't approach you. It's like there's a wall around you. I had to push them to agree to hunt you down today and see if you were approachable. But I understand where you're at. My divorce was final two months ago. And even though I hated the bastard, it wasn't pleasant."
I looked her up and down. She had a nice pair of breasts, maybe a "C" cup. Her features were fairly sharp, but not a bad looking woman. She was five-five and it was nice to look down at a woman.
"It must be the sea air, or else the pickings must be very slim. I have to ask, why in the world would you be interested enough to hunt me down?"
She gave me a puzzled look.
"I don't understand."
"I'm short, I'm bald, I'm not a Greek God. Why would an attractive woman like you even be interested enough to check me out?"
She looked at her friends with a helpless expression, then said, "Could I ask you how long you've been with your wife?"
"Nearly 18 years and we were together for two years before that."
"Don't be insulted, but did you – no, I bet you never played around on her, did you?"
"No."
"Well, I think you've been married too long. There's a vibe..something that married, married guys give off. Unless you're the kind of woman that's attracted to a challenge, or you just like married men, most women won't waste their time on a guy like that. Life is too short.
"I think you've been married so long that you automatically send off shut-down signals to keep women away, You might think that you don't attract women, but that was the married Bill."
"That's Bill, but thank you, Lee."
"You sure you wouldn't like to have lunch. Go get drinks. Go to my room?"
She grinned at the last.
"I know I'm being forward, but hey, this is a Celebrate Freedom cruise. It might do you some good too."
"I'm sorry, Lee, really sorry. But you're too blonde."
"Not all over."
"I'd see her every minute I was with you. I know this is a really shitty way to respond to a – very attractive offer – but I've been more than a little crazy for the last three months. I'm just getting my sanity back and a lot of that is not even thinking about, or being reminded of her. I'm sorry."
She reached over and gave me a peck on the cheek.
"It's okay. Give it time. You do get over it. You sure you don't want my number in Atlanta, just for future reference?"
"You ever hear the old joke about never getting involved with a woman who has more problems than you? Well, no matter how bad off you are, I have more problems. Bye."
I walked away from her wondering why the hell I hadn't taken her up on her offer. She seemed like a nice, maybe slightly desperate, lady. She wasn't in Debbie's league, but how many women would I ever meet that were.
I looked up to the next railing and saw Aline des-Jardins leaning over and looking at me and the pod of desperate divorcees. The one woman I'd met that was in Debbie's league, was still out of my league.
The rest of the day went by without dragging too badly. I made the supper seating again and the older couple and Cyndi Mathews was there. I noticed both her husband and the redhead were missing.
Not making anything of it, I just asked, "Your husband is missing. Did he go ashore? I understand we'll be pulling out and heading for Marsh Harbour in a half hour."
She was drinking straight Scotch on the rocks and this was the second one she'd downed since we sat down 20 minutes earlier. She rubbed her lips and I noticed her eyes were red.
"I wasn't feeling well this morning and I decided not to go into town. Andy wanted to go. I haven't heard from him since."
She just looked at the redhead's empty chair and that one glance told me volumes about where Andy was and who he was with and the state of this pretty blonde's marriage.
I wished I could say something to raise her spirits but I could see her taking this cruise in a couple of years for a Celebrate Divorce cruise. I just hoped the bastard wouldn't crush her spirit too badly before she kicked his ass out.
After awhile we had finished the typical multi-course French meal of gastronomic magnificence, the older couple had begged off, and she and I sat alone at the table, myself nursing an after-dinner coffee and she sipping a fifth Scotch. I didn't have the heart to let her go off alone.
"Well, since your husband is not back yet, would you mind keeping me company for a little while, Mrs. Mathews?"
"That's okay, but..."
"Please, I'd like to be able to tell people that I spent some time on this cruise with a really attractive young woman."
She turned her face toward me and I saw the teardrops beginning to leak around the edges of her eyes.
"You don't need me for that. That pretty French woman hasn't been able to keep her eyes off you and I've seen you two together. You...know she's married, right? And you're wearing a wedding ring."
I answered her unspoken question.
"I'm almost finished divorcing my wife, or being divorced. And I have no idea what Ms. des-Jardins' marital status is. Anyway, nothing's been going on, Cyndi. She's just being friendly."
"Un huh, okay. But you don't want a married lady messing up your chances of..."
"There are no chances of anything. I just want to have a drink or two, walk outside, maybe do a bit of dancing if you're up to it. And then I'll be on my way and Andy should be back looking for you."
We left together. I had to gently support her a couple of times when she swayed, but she was doing pretty good for all the alcohol she'd consumed. We walked the 7th floor deck, watching the ocean and talking about our lives.
She was the heir, with some brothers and sisters, to a fortune earned by her parents. And Andy was well aware of that fact. Just the classic poor little rich girl.
We made our way to the little Jazz bar and I ordered a Bloody Mary. She ordered another Scotch but I gently suggested she have a cup of coffee and after a minute she ordered one instead of the booze. We sat there for a few minutes and then she asked me if I danced.
We moved together gently rather than dancing, but that was what the three other couples on the small dance floor were doing. She felt nice and warm in my arms and she rested her head against my chest. I could feel her breasts rubbing against my chest.
I wondered how Andy could be so fucking, so criminally stupid, to take a chance on losing this for a quick or even an extended bout of sex with a stranger.
But then again, I'd always been happy to be a married man.
We finally made our way to her cabin on the seventh deck, one of the expensive rooms with balconies opening out to the sea. She found her room key and opened the door. We both looked inside. It was empty.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

We stood in the doorway while she looked at the empty room and I wished I knew her well enough to hug her.

"I know he married me for my money. Or rather, my mom and dad's money. I'm not stupid, although most people think I'm just a dumb blonde. I think he has feelings for me. Or he could. But, I love him. And I have to hope that one day he'll wake up and realize he loves me. Is that stupid?"
I gave her that hug and kissed her on the forehead. Now I felt ancient.
"Not stupid at all, Cyndi. Not stupid. Good night."
It wasn't fair. I had finally started to feel better about things. And now I felt like shit again. I didn't have to be a fortune teller to realize there would be no happy ending for this poor little rich girl. Assholes like Andy never changed.
I went up to the gym and found Andre, the attendant ready to close up. He looked fairly unhappy. I finally got him to admit there was a crew party starting in 10 minutes in one of the sections closed to passengers.
There was a Colombian sex bomb who worked in maintenance that he'd been working on for two months who was waiting on him. Andre was only 25. I took pity on him.
"I'm a prosecutor and a government official, Andre. Get everything ready so I can just clean up and lock the place behind me. I guarantee you, you won't get in any trouble. Get out of here and go see your lady."
After he had gone, I stripped down to a tee-shirt I had worn under my good suit and changed into a pair of shorts I'd been working out in and which were getting more than a little gamy. Tomorrow morning I'd have to have them washed and dried. I carried a pair of ratty white tennis shoes and athletic socks in a little gym bag I'd taken on the cruise.
I hopped on the treadmill and walked for 10 minutes, then ran for 20, then walked for ten and ran for 20 minutes. When I finished I sagged against the arms of the treadmill and gasped while I tried to catch my breath. My stomach and back hurt and my legs felt like they were able to fall off.
I had turned the air up to 80, to approximate the conditions in Hurly's gym at night.
Sweat poured off my body. My tee-shirt was plastered to my body. For a minute I was blinded by sweat running in my eyes. I tried to wipe the sweat out with my tee shirt, but it was so soaked it didn't help.
"Here," a soft voice said and someone placed a towel in my hands. I wiped my face and tried to catch my breath. She stepped back a pace and wrapped her arms around her chest under her breasts, forcing those delectable high riding mounds up and out. I would have sworn round bumps pushed out for the center of each of those mounds.
I caught my breath enough to say, "And....what brings...you here at midnight, Ms. des-Jardins?"
Without a smile she said, "I told you this was a small ship. People run into each other all the time."
"At midnight, in a closed gym?"
She shrugged. Even that was sexy.
"You run as if the devil was behind you. What are you running from, Mr. Maitland? What does the Angel of Death fear?"
"You know. Edwards did hire you to baby-sit me. Well, good job, Ms. des-Jardins. I almost thought there, for awhile...but no matter. You are a true professional. As one professional to another...you do your job very well."
"The captain gave me the option. Any of the three assistant directors could have taken the assignment. But, I read the stories about you in the local paper. You seemed like an interesting man."
I rubbed my face until it was dry and let out a puff of air. Why did I feel like I had been kicked in the stomach. I gave a soft chuckle. Is there anything funnier than the fantasies of a middle aged man about a beautiful woman?
"What is so funny?"
"Nothing. Private joke. Well, Ms. des-Jardins, you can go now. You've succeeded in lifting my spirits with your flirting. And this cruise itself has done wonders for my frame of mind. I'm just going to finish my workout, and then go straight to bed. The sea air seems to help me sleep very well. I'm not going to jump overboard or do anything stupid.
"Please, don't let me intrude on the rest of your night. Carry on with your plans for the evening."
She raised one slim finger to rub it against those ruby lips and said, "My plans include going to the Alpha Lounge, the one across the way. There is a two-man musical trio playing until at least 2 a.m., or whenever. There will be drinks and some hors d'oeuvres.
"It is a beautiful night out tonight. And I am free until tomorrow late morning. If you would like to come over as my guest, we could..talk...enjoy the night."
I already knew that God was a prick, but each time it was revealed just how big a prick, it hit me hard all over again. Why throw raw meat into a starving carnivore's cage only to pull it back before the beast could feed.
If I went, I would only be feeding a hopeless fantasy. And even if she fulfilled the promise of those lips and those breasts, what would it mean? I was just an assignment.
"You carry professionalism to heights I didn't know people were capable of. I'd already give you high marks for keeping me happy vertically. You don't have to go that far, unless you get a bonus for bedding special guests."
That was the first time I could say I'd seen a person's eyes really flash with anger. Her lips tightened and she glared at me.
"Tonight only goes to prove, I guess, that you can never really know another person, Mr. Maitland. I had let myself begin to entertain thoughts that a married woman should not entertain about anyone other than her husband.
"Until I realized just now that you are a very, very sad man. I don't know who has hurt you, only that you were going through a trying time. But, I see now that you cannot accept feelings from another human being.
"I have watched you walk these decks like a dark spirit. There is something about you that keeps people at bay. I saw you with those women this afternoon. Any normal man, any man of flesh and blood, would have been tempted, but not you. I thought at first the man you saw in the lounge was a friend. But he told me you were a stranger. Maybe that is why you could be decent toward him.
"Do you have any friends, Mr. Maitland?"
Her expression changed and I thought it was one of sadness, but that flickered and the anger returned.
"I was going to offer friendship to a man I found appealing and intriguing. But you took that friendship and threw it in my face. You think I'm a whore for this cruise ship, don't you? Because I accepted an assignment to see that you did not endanger yourself, you thought that I was a cheap tramp."
She shook her head, tossing that black mane.
"Well, you can remain the Angel of Death for the rest of the cruise and I will ask the Captain if he will assign someone else to shepherd you. And if he can't find anyone, so be it.
"For myself, I am going to go to the Alpha Lounge, drink and laugh and enjoy the company of good men and women. And watch the sea.
"You, as you Americans would say, can go fuck yourself."
She turned and walked out without another word.
I stared at that ass and at the moment hated Debbie more than I believed was humanly possible. I had loved being married. I lived with a woman I loved and who loved me.
I might be tempted by other women, was tempted by other women, but there was nobody – with maybe one longstanding exception – I'd ever wondered seriously about cheating with.
When women hit on me I didn't have to think about what to do. I stepped back from the edge and went home and fucked my luscious wife senseless.
And if I came inside her thinking of another woman, or another woman's ass, or another woman's breasts or luscious lips, it was allowed in the Husband's Code of Conduct. As long as you didn't touch, you could lust.
Now I was single, sort of. And it was worse than being back in Junior High. Did I continue my workout, forget about the luscious Ms. des-Jardins, go back to my room and get some sleep, then continue the rest of the cruise staying as far away from her as possible and go back to my lonely, sexless existence?
She had no feelings for me. It was just a job. And now she was royally pissed and terribly offended. If I dared to show my face at the Alpha Lounge, she would probably spit in my face and enjoy it.
On the other hand, her actions over the past three days and her words tonight indicated there might be more than the job involved, despite how unlikely that seemed, and if there was any chance that I might get to know her better, I'd be insane not to go to the Alpha Lounge.
On the other hand, she had said she was married. Nothing was going to happen with a beautiful married woman. Guys that looked like me didn't seduce women that looked like Aline.
On the other hand, if some miracle occurred and I wound up in bed with Aline, and I couldn't get it up, I was going to jump overboard. No ifs, ands or buts. That would be the 'coup de grâce', to coin a little French.
On the other hand...there was no other hand.
I was going to the Alpha Lounge.
#
+++++++++
Author's Note: AS always, I appreciate readers' comments. It's obvious that reader interest has waned, which was probably inevitable considering how high interest was at the beginning. Unfortunately, I have an entire story in mind and there's a ways to go. Readers can see a new strand of the story beginning with this chapter. I am grateful for readers who've suggested I might halt the series to take time and finish it before submitting it in its entirety. But other readers want to see it released in serial form and while it's tiring, the deadline pressure of coming up with a new chapter at regular intervals is actually a welcome goad to my writing. I might at some future time take a little vacation to get some other projects done but I will have chapters out on a regular basis. As a few readers have noted, it will only be after the story is completed that you can look at it and decide if it was a worthwhile project. I hope many readers will agree it was.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

FOOLS RUSH IN

My name is William Maitland. I'm an Assistant State Attorney in Jacksonville, Florida. I'm the poster child for workaholics, having thrown away one of the hottest women in Jacksonville and my two children and a 20 year relationship because I couldn't maintain a life apart from my job as the top working prosecutor in Jacksonville
Three months ago I had a wife. In another month or so I won't. I haven't taken the break-up well, although it has done my physical conditioning a world of good. It also led me to a mini-breakdown which in turn led my boss, the real top prosecutor, to exile me from my job and troubles for a week-long cruise on the French operated cruise ship, Bonne Chance.
The cruise has done me a world of good. I have met a poor little rich girl who really does have more problems than I have, which at least showed me that I didn't have the shittiest life on the planet. And I have also met the luscious and lovely Aline des-Jardins, one of three cruise directors on the ship who has been flirting with me, raising my ego and libido for the past three days.
Unfortunately, when my suspicions that her attentions were based on her being assigned to watch me to make sure I didn't do anything stupid like jumping overboard as a result of depression were confirmed, I didn't take that news well either. Which led the lovely Ms. des-Jardins to tell me forcefully to go fuck myself, instead of possibly getting the chance to plumb her depths.
And that is why at 12:30 a.m., after royally pissing off the first woman other than my wife that I have seriously considered going to bed with in 18 years, I have showered and I'm my way over to the Alpha Lounge at the bow of the ship where I expect Ms. des-Jardins to be having a good time without me. I will probably be insulted and crushed in a way that hasn't happened since Junior High when Missy Cartwright laughed loudly at me when I asked her to dance at the first formal dance I'd ever attended.
But no matter what happens, I will at least be doing SOMETHING as my life circles the Big Toilet Bowl of fate. I may go down, but I will go down fighting.
#######################
Monday, July 18, 2005 -- 12:35 a.m.
I walked out of the elevator which ran from the sixth to seventh decks of the Bonne Chance and saw down the corridor a knot of five men and women drinking and smoking and generally fooling around. Three of them were female passengers I vaguely recognized. Two of them were younger male staff officers.
The doorway behind them was open and I saw smoke and lights and heard music. I didn't need the sign overhead that said "Alpha Lounge" to let me know that my moment of truth was about on me.
I had faced a mob of horny frat boys with a fire poker and millionaires who had threatened my family and serial killers who had very sincerely told me they would escape prison and flay the skin from my body while I was still alive, and I don't think I was ever more frightened than I was walking down that corridor.
This woman, and the power she had to crush what lingering remnants of a male ego I still possessed, would have given even the Angel of Death pause....but as the old saying goes, fools rush in.....
They looked at me curiously as I approached them. I had dressed in black slacks and a black turtleneck that I'd had cleaned on board. One of the taller male officers stepped forward to intercept me as I drew near the doorway.
"I'm sorry, M'sieu," he said, interposing his body between me and the doorway without being too obvious about blocking me. "The Alpha Lounge is restricted to invited guests. There are many other lounges and bars open at this hour elsewhere on the ship."
"I've been invited. Ms. des-Jardins invited me. Would you check with her and let her know I'm here. My name is William Maitland."
He looked at me and then at the other male officer. A look passed between them and I knew what he was going to say.
"I'm sorry sir, but Ms. des-Jardins informed us that you might be coming and told us to tell you that you were not welcome here."
Now that I was here, being crushed wasn't all that terrible.
"Women can change their minds. Often do. Tell her that Mr. Maitland would like to apologize. You can do that, can't you?"
He tried to stare me down but men a lot tougher than him had failed and he finally shrugged and said something in French to the other officer that probably translated to "keep the asshole out while I check," and walked into the lounge.
We just stared at each other while the three women stared at me and giggled and whispered among themselves. It didn't seem to be too long before the tall officer walked back out.
"I'm sorry sir. She said she hasn't changed her mind and won't. She said you should seriously consider her last suggestion."
Well, that was clear enough. She was pissed. All those romantic fantasies I had spun in my mind were crashing to the hard cold earth. But, the odd thing was, I didn't feel too badly. I had tried. There was probably less than no chance that anything could have ever happened between a woman like her and a man like me. But at least I would have no regrets about what could have been.
I looked back to the elevator and then changed my mind. She might be able to keep me out of the lounge, but she couldn't keep me from looking down at the ocean from this side of the ship. The railing ran around three-quarters of the section.
'How do you get to the deck railing from here?"
"You can take the elevator back down to the sixth and get out to the deck from there."
"I want to go out on this deck's railing."
"I'm afraid..."
"Yeah, as the punch line goes, be very, very afraid. You can keep me out of the lounge with no problem. I doubt very seriously you can keep a paying guest from walking on the outside railing anywhere in this ship. And if you try I am going to raise so much hell that your company will be very sorry they ever sold my boss a ticket for this cruise."
He looked at his fellow officer and they frowned, undoubtedly thinking so hard I expected smoke to start billowing out of their ears. The tall one finally said, "follow me," and led me down the corridor beyond the entrance to the lounge and to a closed door. He pushed on the metal bar across the door and it opened with a creak, revealing the outside railing that ran around most of this section.
"It locks from this side," he said, grabbed a metal rod wedged into a metal stanchion near a glass-encased fire extinguisher, and propped it in the doorway. The door couldn't close and couldn't lock.
"You won't be locked out. When you come in, please remove the bar and replace it where it was, if you would. Oh, and.."
"I'm not going to try to crash your intimate little orgy," I said, looking back at the three female passengers who were stroking the other male officer in a fairly obvious manner. "I just want to get some fresh air and a fresh perspective and then I'll be out of your, and Ms. des-Jardins', hair. If you would, tell her I hope she has better luck with her next assignment."
I walked out without waiting for a reply. I walked to the railing, taking one look back at the lounge. I could hear strains of something like a romantic ballad French style being sung inside, but no words. Then I looked back down and out at the waves. The view was the opposite side of the ship.
From the other deck I had watched the ship cutting through the Caribbean. From this deck I watched the waves fall away behind us as the ship moved forward. It was cool but pleasant as the winds whipped along the deck. It could have been raining or it might have been sea foam, but drops would hit my face from time to time. The ship was obviously not moving as fast as it had been on other nights.
Marsh Harbour in Abaco wasn't that far away so they were obviously taking their time getting there to make it in six or seven hours.
I lost track of time and when I glanced at my watch next, it showed that it was 1:30 a.m. Where had the time gone?
"You are not only a very unpleasant man, but stupid as well. Most men would have taken the hint they were not wanted and simply have slunk off with their tails between their legs."
"Probably too stupid to know when I'm not wanted. Anyway, I hoped you'd be aggravated enough to come out to talk to me."
She had changed out of her standard blue and gold uniform and was wearing a light blue low-necked blouse that showed she did have breasts and a pair of blue slacks. She stared at me with her characteristic stone-faced expression, or lack of one.
"Why? I think I made my feelings about you clear, and you made your feelings about me crystal clear, Mr. Maitland. What do we have to talk about?"
I turned my body to her and reached out to take her hand. She stiffened, but did not pull away.
"I just wanted to apologize, Aline. Then I'll leave and I'll do my best to make we don't run into each other again. I am sorry. Sorry that I misjudged you. Sorry that I insulted you, when you were just trying to do a job. I..uh...I reacted badly because I have to admit I was spinning some pleasant fantasies about you. You are a beautiful woman and I'm sure I'm not the only man that's ever been...smitten with you. I was hurt. But I know I had no cause to insult you the way I did."
"No, you didn't. It hurt more because I did...like you. You seemed like a different kind of man. When you....said what you did....you caught me off guard. "
"I know this won't make a difference in how you feel, but the only excuse I can give you is that I'm in strange territory here."
She looked at me quizzically.
"I've been married for 18 years and in a committed relationship for almost two years before that. I've forgotten how to do the man-woman thing."
She stepped closer.
"The captain said your superior told him you were in the middle of a very bad divorce. That you were hurt very badly by your wife's actions."
"It all started when my wife said four words to me that ended our marriage..."
And so I told her everything. I told her about the emails, which I could almost recite word for word. I watched her face as I told her my story, leaving nothing out. I told her about how Debbie and I had met. And how I had never truly believed she loved me, but that instead it was a marriage built of gratitude and hero worship.
Why I felt free to tell her, a stranger, of all the people in the world, about the emails and what they revealed about my marriage, I could never say for sure.
"And that's why I'm on the cruise. That's why I am probably more of an asshole than I have been. Why I put people off. I didn't want this life. I don't want it. I want what I had, but I can never have it again. I still love her, even while I hate her. I don't know that I'll ever stop loving her, but I pray every night that that day comes.
"And that's why what you said hurt so bad. I was married to and loved a beautiful woman who I don't think ever loved me the same way and is fucking a younger man in our bed tonight, I'm sure. And then I met you and I started thinking for the first time since all this shit started happening that life might not be so terrible. And then you tell me that I was just a job. Nothing more."
She hadn't said a word, but she hadn't pulled away. I dropped her hand from mine.
"And that's the story. And my apology. I'm sorry I kept you away from your friends and your party. I'll head back now. And I really will try to stay out of your way for the rest of the trip. It's only a few days."
"You weren't just a job, Mr. Maitland," she said. She stepped into me and before I knew it she was searching for my tonsils with her tongue. I returned the favor
Somebody, I think it was the science fiction writer Robert Heinlein in one of his books for younger readers, once wrote that 'girls don't have bones,' because it feels that way when you're kissing one. Guys are all sharp angles, hard surfaces. Girls are soft and round and where they're the softest and roundest is where they're the most fun. I had read that when I discovered his books in the 7th grade and I'd never forgotten that description.
That's the way the woman in my arms felt in this moment. I remembered watching her across the way the other night in that moment of the storm and feeling that I had stepped out of my old life. I felt the same way now. This was not Debbie. I had to keep reminding myself. She felt, and smelled and tasted different. And she was in my arms and she was playing tonsil hockey. This could not be happening.
She broke the kiss and stepped back from me, then reached out with one finger to rub her lipstick from my lips. I tasted mint. Debbie had never tasted of mint.
"I accept your apology, Mr. Maitland, William."
"William is my name, but my friends call me Bill."
"I accept your apology, Bill. If I had known, I would not have acted like such a bitch. I know what it is like to love someone like that, and I cannot imagine what it would feel like if he were to betray me in such a fashion."
I touched my lips.
"Then why...how?"
"Friends don't kiss in your country?"
"Not like that."
She smiled in the darkness and I felt something cold and hard deep within myself begin to crack and I told myself, "You will not fall for this married woman."
"But I am French, and you are standing on a piece of French soil, We do things differently here."
Then, "the party continues. Come inside and have something to eat and drink. We can talk."
She held her hand out to me and, knowing this was going to lead to disaster, I took her hand and followed her into the Alpha Lounge.
#########################
Monday, July 18, 2005 -- 12:45 a.m.
Debbie rolled to her back and gasped for air.
"My God....."
Doug placed one large hand on her breast and squeezed it rhythmically.
"My God is right. You have got to be the hottest woman in the Western World. It's been more than three months and every time I get inside you it feels like the first time all over. That's never happened with any woman I've been with.
She couldn't help smiling a little.
"Doug, you've already got me. You don't have to keep seducing me."
"It's the truth."
He squeezed her breast again and said, "You want to..."
She shook her head.
"Jesus Christ, Doug, it's going to fall off if you keep using it. I'd forgotten what it was like to be with a young man. But...I...I'm tired. I've got to go in for that early morning department meeting at 8. You can stay here tonight. Kelly and BJ shouldn't be back here until late afternoon, but I want you out of here before they get here."
"I should be up and out by 9 at the latest. I'll try to avoid Little Miss Hot Pants..."
"Doug...."
"I was just teasing. I don't want to have her catch me alone here either, Deb."
"Make sure she doesn't. She and Bill Jr. are both spending the night out so there shouldn't be any chance of your crossing paths with either of them."
"You sure you...."
"No, Doug. It was great, but I have got to get some sleep. Anyway..."
"Don't tell me, now you're worried about Bill again. Or guilty. Or both."
"It's stupid, but...I'm here with you and Bill hasn't been with anybody that I know of. And now he's alone on that cruise ship with a bunch of honeymooners and people are probably getting laid all around him and I can't see Bill getting into that. Or him having any luck getting somebody into bed."
"Deb, people change. Just because the two of you lost it, doesn't mean there isn't ANYBODY that would fuck him. Shit, I've been on those cruises. Must be something about the sea air. A hunchback dwarf could get laid. Trust me, I'll bet he's banging some horny broad right now. You'll see. He'll come back relaxed and a lot more human. That's probably a lot of what's been wrong with him. He just hasn't gotten any ass in a long time. That will make anybody grumpy."
"Probably."
Which should have been reassuring, but as she turned in the bed to spoon against Doug's lean, muscular frame, she wondered why the thought of Bill fucking another woman was more than a little disturbing. It wasn't jealousy. But...
########################
Monday, July 18, 2005 -- 2 a.m.
The Alpha Lounge was smoky as hell. The French would never give up their cigarettes and while they might comply with U.S. health laws in public sections, any purely French bastion was going to be awash in carcinogens. It seemed like every crewmember, except Aline, was puffing away and half the invited guests were as well.
I thought about dropping to the floor to get a gasp of fresh air, but Aline hadn't let go of my hand since we had entered the Lounge. I felt like a high college kid trooping along behind his girlfriend, which was at the same time embarrassing and a source of pride. I saw the way most of the male staffers and a few of the male guests stared at her, and then at me, and I realized there wasn't a one of them that didn't want to be the one holding her hand.
A male and female were on piano and guitar and playing everything from 60s American oldies to some things that sounded like they might have been sung by Édith Piaf in the 50s and maybe Billie Holiday in the late 30s. I thought I recognized "La Vie en Rose." I'd always liked that.
They had a bartender and a fully stocked bar as well as a table groaning with what looked like caviar, lobster tails, what was probably Duck a l'Orange in a thick sauce and, if I didn't know any better, trays of what had to be escargot.
I'd been introduced to escargot on my first trip to Paris and oddly enough for a Florida boy who came from a small West Virginia mining community, I loved them.
Aline led me first to the food table where I grabbed a few escargot to her amazement, spooned up some caviar.
"Are you sure you're not French?"
She dragged me around to introduce me to staff and guests, making sure she held my hand. We were greeted with knowing glances. One male staffer was sitting in a chair near the side of the lounge and doing everything but fucking a half-naked woman about 20 years his senior in the chair. Aline slipped up next to him and kicked him in the calf. He tore his mouth away from the woman's neck which he'd been nuzzling.
"René, get a room."
He started to say something, then sheepishly pulled the older woman to her feet and took her out of the lounge.
She looked at me with an embarrassed expression.
"This is not a private orgy for staff and guests. Some...romancing... takes place on every trip, but staff and especially male staff are warned to be discreet. He was being a pig. He's fortunate the captain or one of the upper echelon officers didn't pop in."
As we walked I finished the Hors d'œuvre I'd grabbed and Aline pulled me toward the open area in front of the musical duo. They were playing something vaguely Spanish and thrilling, but it was okay for slow dancing.
"Dance with me," she said and molded her body next to mine. She was as tall as me and rested her chin and neck on the side of my face. I had never been any great shakes as a dancer, but I was able to move her and myself around the floor without stepping on her toes. I could feel what I knew were nipples popping up and rubbing in circular patterns against my chest.
For the first time in months I felt stirrings and my pants began to get tight in an area that wasn't usually affected. I felt again like a 7th grader getting a hard-on at a college dance, terrified to step away from the girl I held because my condition would be obvious, but also petrified that my condition was so obvious I'd rub it all over my partner and she'd slap my face or run screaming.
She whispered into my ear, "It's alright. I'd be a little insulted if I had no effect on you."
I kept my mouth shut and concentrated on abstruse mathematical problems.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

After awhile, when my condition had abated, she took my hand and led me to the bar, where I ordered a Bloody Mary, what else, and she a white wine.

As we stood there drinking and talking, a tall redheaded woman in a dress with what looked like hundreds of thousands of dollars of real diamonds and gemstones embroidered into the fabric walked up to Aline and, glancing at me, asked, "Aline, darling, who is your friend? Your very close friend, it appears. Do you realize you haven't let go of him since you two walked in here?"
"Ms. Stein, let me introduce you to Mr. William Maitland. He is a barrister."
She looked at me with only a little disdain and asked, "An attorney? Mergers and acquisitions, stocks, international affairs? Entertainment? Are you located in New York or Los Angeles. Who do you represent? Anyone I'd have heard of?"
"Criminal law," I answered before Aline could say anything. "And I represent clients who've been murdered, bangd, robbed or maimed."
She looked at me and her jaw almost literally dropped.
"Criminal law? Murder and bang and robbery?"
"Fraid so. Not as exciting as corporate or entertainment, but somebody has to do it."
Aline fought to hide her smile.
Mrs. Stein, whose big breasts and nice behind had obviously been poured into her dazzling dress, took a deep breath and purred, "A prosecutor. You know...I think...you are The Angel of Death. Aren't you? I saw your story on a web news site. "
She stepped between Aline and myself and grabbed my free hand, placing it squarely over a heaving mound of soft breast flesh.
"That is so exciting. When I saw your picture, all in black, you looked...hard...and powerful. Are you that hard...and powerful...in all areas of your life, Mr. Maitland?"
Without being too obvious, Aline pulled me toward her and at the same time interposed her body between myself and Mrs. Stein. With a sweet smile, she said, 'I'm afraid that is all media hyperbole, Ms. Stein. Mr. Maitland is a very sweet man in all ways. Oh, Bill, didn't you say you had an early appointment tomorrow? I'm so sorry, Ms. Stein, but I'd better get Bill out of here."
With that she whisked me away before the diamond lady could spell out an objection. We approached the outside rail and I just raised my eyebrows. Aline laughed and said, "I'm sorry, but in another moment she would have been unzipping you."
I felt like I was 18 again and couldn't help asking, "And that would be a bad thing -- why?"
The smile flickered.
"You would have wanted that fat old cow touching you?"
"Not her."
I stared into her eyes and she dropped her gaze. I would have sworn she blushed.
I didn't know where the dialogue was coming from. I should be tongue tied and awkward, but I was able to spar with this gorgeous woman in the eternal joust that was male/female relationships. I began to wonder if the 20 year-old I had once been had just been sleeping for the past 20 something years and had decided to come back to life. Or if it was simply being around this woman.
I turned back to look at the waves dropping away in our wake/ The stars were brilliant points in a jet-black sky. There were no clouds. A fat, gibbous, almost completely full moon hung seemingly over the stern of the ship, looking big enough and close enough to touch.
The moonlight washed across her face. It made her flesh look more than living stone than human flesh.
"She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright, Meets in her aspect and her eyes,,,"
"You remember your Byron. Do you use that line often with impressionable young ladies?"
"I might have, once, 20 years or so ago. I don't know why I said that. It just came out.. Something about the way you look tonight brought it out."
I put my hand on the side of her face and she leaned into me.
"Don't do this, don't do this, don't do this," the better angels of my nature screamed at me as I leaned forward and captured her lips.
This wasn't a frantic, tongue twisting against tongue kiss like the first one we had shared. This was soft and yielding and there was only a little tongue.
I thought back to Debbie and I wondered when was the last time we had shared a sweet, loving kiss. Not a husband/wife kiss, but one like this. Where had those kisses gone?
"Go away Debbie," I said in my mind, casting out the ghost of really good and really bad times. She was my past and she had no right to keep dragging me back to a life she had shattered.
I finally got the willpower to push Aline away gently. I tasted mint on my lips. What in the hell was I doing?
"I'm sorry, Aline. I shouldn't have done that."
"Sorry for what? It was just a kiss."
"I'm still a married man, for awhile longer. And you apparently are happily married."
"Most men learn when they're in their teens...if a woman doesn't tell you to stop, she probably wants you to keep going."
She resumed the kiss and this time it was a harder, more insistent kiss. She pressed herself against me and again I started to get hard. Just my luck. I'd been limp for more than three months and the one time I start to get hard, it's with a woman that I can't use it on. Or, at least, I shouldn't.
As the kiss continued she moved so that she was pressed against me and I know she was deliberately rubbing her groin against me. They say a stiff dick has no conscience. Mine did, but not enough willpower. I pushed back against her and she moaned in her throat.
I had to stop this....but she had said, she was French. And we were on French soil. And they did things differently here.
Where in the world is it okay to bed a married woman when her husband is far away? No country I was aware of.
I finally summoned up the strength from God knows where to push her back. We became unattached and we both tried to catch our breath.
"Before we retire, would you like to walk the ship, Bill? It is a different world in the early, early morning. Almost all the passengers are in their beds soundly sleeping and the staff is either sleeping or working below decks preparing for the coming day. It is as if we have the ship to ourselves. As if we are in our own little world."
Walking was better than remaining here because if we stayed here, I was afraid that my dick would not only lose any shred of willpower it still had, but my conscience was also going to retire for the night.
And that would mean one of two things: the first that I would further insult and possibly lose the chance to spend time with this woman, because it was possible this was just the way married French women flirted with male friends and she didn't really want my middle-aged body in bed with her.
Or worse, we would wind up in bed, and if that happened, how was I any different from Doug?
We went back in through the door that had been propped open and replaced the metal bar. As we walked past the Lounge entrance, I heard music and what sounded like loud female moaning.
She gave me a small smile.
"When it gets very late, I'm afraid things sometimes get a bit...wild."
"Well, Heaven knows, we don't want to be in there right now. It might be...catching."
She just poked me in the ribs with her elbow and said, "Are you sure you're just an old married man? Or is that a ploy you use to throw suspicious women off their guard around you?"
"I was...more married than you can imagine. 'Was' being the operative word."
We went down the elevator to the sixth deck and walked out to the bow of the ship. Now I could imagine we could see lights in the far distance, many miles away. Then I realized it was light, but not the constant light of buildings or the winking light of buoys.
This was a faint flickering of light that seemed to grow from the horizon into the dark sky, and then snaked back, casting a pale aura in all directions. Since we were heading for Marsh Harbour I figured the lights were coming from that direction.
"It is storming over Abaco," she said. "That is lightning. It should be ending by the time we get close."
"Is there anything that happens out here that isn't flat out beautiful?"
Despite the distance, I felt the first few drops of rain begin to pelt us. I didn't consciously think out what I did, but I held my arm up and she moved into it. We stood together watching the lightning without words as the breeze picked up.
"Why did you accept the babysitting assignment, Aline, really? If you hadn't, there is no way we'd be here right now, like this? I know you wouldn't have given me a second glance."
"Why do you do that?"
She placed her hand over mine.
"I know women have approached you, despite the pall you cast about you. And you turn every one down. You assumed I was interested in you simply because I had taken on the assignment of watching you. Why do you automatically believe no woman could be attracted to you, for yourself?"
"Because I'm not blind and I can look in a mirror. Because I'm not tall, and I'm not hung and I'm not a hunk. I faced that fact a long time ago. In my world, if a woman approaches me, I know it's because I can do something for her in my official capacity or in some other way. I do not turn women on.
"And the one woman I ever really thought or hoped might love me, told her lover that she couldn't stand being around me anymore. She had to build a life away from me. That kind of shakes your confidence."
She turned into me and with her hand on my chin made me look into her eyes.
"You want me to tell you that looks don't make a difference in how women respond to men? I won't insult your intelligence. Of course an attractive, well-built man with confidence attracts women. But it's only among men that looks tell almost the entire story.
"Where women are concerned, we respond to strength, to power, to confidence, sometimes to arrogance. A woman sometimes wants to feel controlled by a man, no matter what women liberation types will tell you. We also respond to caring, to courage.
" I think you're probably right that your wife loved you for what you did that night. You might call it hero worship, but it is deep within all women to respond to that kind of male courage. It didn't last with her, but Bill, she is not all women. She is ONE woman, and there are a whole world full of women who would be interested in you."
She leaned into me and brushed my lips. It wasn't even a full kiss, but my cock twitched.
"I had your picture when you first came on the Bonne Chance. I was looking for you. I watched you. And...this will sound strange, but there is something about the way you move. I can't put it quite into words, but you move...with grace...and balance. Even walking among other passengers I noticed it.
"And...if I say that you made me think of a tiger, a great cat, you will laugh. But, it's true. You moved as if you saw everything around you at one time. When you looked at people, it was as if you were looking through them.
"You are not a bad man, Bill, I can say that from knowing you only a few days, but I would not want to be around you if you were a bad man. There is something inside you..."
"Now I know you're imagining things," I said, knowing that part of what she was talking about had to be the training Carlos had imposed on me. There is a grace and balance to boxers that you don't realize if all you ever concentrate on is muscular men pounding on each other.
"And the other thing, which I also think you never realize, is the air of command about you. You remind me of the Captain. He does not have to raise his voice. He expects people will do what he tells them to do, and they do. I think in your professional life that is the way you act. That kind of strength and power is very attractive to some women. Maybe if you had brought that strength to your home..."
We stood there in silence watching the approaching storm until I said, "When I saw you for the first time that afternoon, the hairs on the back of my neck rose. Usually that only happens when you sense a threat, some terrible danger approaching. Are you a terrible threat?"
She turned her back and nestled against me.
"When you looked back at me and I realized you knew I was watching you it was as if an electric shock ran through my body. There is only one other time I have experienced that sensation....It was the first time I saw Philippe, my husband, at a party in Paris. We looked at each other across a friend's apartment. He was gorgeous and I knew without any doubt we would be leaving together.
"The reaction I had to you frightened me. I couldn't understand it. You were a stranger. I'm still not sure I understand it. Except that meeting someone who will be important in your life....is a frightening thing."
I thought about her words. Could I see myself as a tawny beast of prey moving through the human herds, making women wet with my aura of power? Even putting it into words made me want to laugh.
But, why would she say it? I realized that if she was doing all this just to get me into bed and get a bonus from Edwards, that made her nothing but a whore. And if I had any instincts at all after 10 years as a prosecutor, I didn't sense that.
Maybe the boxing and the loss of weight and the new fitness and the bald head and a sense of authority I carried over from my job might make women look at me differently, but that much differently? From dud to stud? Except, as divorcee Lee had told me, I had been married and off the market for nearly 20 years. Now I wasn't.
I nestled my face in her dark mane and breathed in an unfamiliar fragrance. If this was friendship between a man and a woman French style, I could live with this.
"You never did answer my question. Why did you really accept the babysitting assignment?"
She moved in my arms to face me, her ass rubbing my cock as she did so and this time it jerked against her. She grinned and said, "Down, boy."
Then:
"I told you the truth the other night...just not the entire truth. I did see the story about "The Angel of Death." Your reporter, Mr. Cameron I think the byline said, did a great job of painting you as a little more than human. I was intrigued, but I had a more personal reason for being interested in you. I told you I had an interest in legal matters.
"My husband, Philippe, is a prosecutor in Paris, one of what is called the avocats généraux -- deputy prosecutors - in the office of the Procureur de la République, the Chief Prosecutor. We have been married for near 10 years and through him I have come to know a great deal about prosecutors and the courts."
I felt as if the deck of the ship had suddenly evaporated under my feet and I was floating in the air.
"Would that be Philippe des-Jardins, in the Paris office?"
"No, des-Jardins is my maiden name. I have kept it because I was employed by the cruise line before we married."
"Could it be....Philippe Archambault?"
She gave me a surprised look.
"How did you know?"
God, please make this be a nightmare.
"I met him about three years ago, in Paris, Aline. It was on my first trip to France. We were working a human smuggling ring transporting young '. girls from poorer sections of France, primarily around Paris, for prostitution in Florida and the U.S. Philippe was my liaison. We worked together for a week."
The big, good-looking, friendly Frenchman had taken me out drinking and to some local dives after hours. He had introduced me to Escargot and other delicacies and some interesting sections of Parisian low-life. I had asked about his wife one time and he had simply said she was away on business.
He had been very friendly, too friendly, to a secretary and a junior female barrister in his office, as well as an attractive lady cop and a female bartender at one of the dives frequented by cops, crooks and prosecutors. I figured he was banging them all, but it was none of my business and he seemed like a good guy. Definitely a hard as nails prosecutor and we worked well together.
It was still none of my business, but holding his wife in my arms wasn't something that made me feel good about myself. He might be a cheating asshole, but...
I had released my hold on her and I stepped back away from her.
"What's the matter, Bill. You know my husband? So what? We haven't done anything terribly wrong. A little flirting, a little dancing. Is that so terrible?"
"Maybe not in your world, but in mine....that's how my life fell apart."
She stepped up to me and lacing her fingers behind my neck she literally forced my lips to meet hers. I could have stopped her, but I didn't. I didn't want to.
She let me go and said, "We have not gone to bed, Bill. And I know that Philippe, if he isn't in bed with another woman, will be tomorrow or the next day. Don't waste any of the precious little time we have left worrying about endangering my virtue. You know very little about me, or my marriage. Can you just enjoy the next few days? Don't think. Just be with me."
I remembered the Big Man's admonition, "let yourself be surprised." I was sure as hell surprised. And had been since the Bonne Chance had left its Jacksonville berth.
In my wildest dreams, I never could have imagined myself holding a woman like this in my arms; a married woman, a married woman whose husband had befriended me, a cheating husband who was screwing around on this beautiful woman while I seriously considered sleeping with her.
No, not sleeping. I might as well be honest with myself. I was thinking about and a large part of me was hoping I'd be fucking her at some time in the near future.
"I'll try."
When we reached my suite she kissed me after I'd opened the door and then backed away.
"No, I'm sorry, Bill. It's not that I don't want to, but..."
"Goodnight, Aline. Thank you for this night. And for the last few days. You don't have anything to apologize for."
As I laid myself down on the that huge circular bed a part of me was disappointed that she wasn't with me, and another part was glad she had walked away. Damned if I could figure out which part of me I really agreed with.
###################################################
.
Monday, July 18, 2005 -- 8:30 a.m.
"Oh shit!"
She sat upright in bed as she realized what had disturbed her subconscious. Light was shining in through the bedroom window. It was too light for 6 a.m., which she'd set the alarm for. She looked over at the alarm clock. It was flashing. It had stormed during the night and knocked the power off just long enough to turn the alarm off.
Damn, she couldn't afford to be late for this meeting. She had the feeling they were just waiting for cause to take action against her, and missing a critical planning session would be one of those causes. Doug raised his head and stared at her sleepy-eyed.
"I overslept. You can sleep a little longer, but I need you out of here within the hour, okay?"
He grunted and fell back to sleep. She had an outfit ready and had showered the night before. But it still took time to get dressed, brush her teeth, get her hair ready and grab a mini-bagel on the way out the door.
She was twenty minutes down the road before she realized she had rushed out without a folder on the bedroom dresser. Even if it made her late, she needed the papers in the folder or she really would look like the dumb blonde she had always thought some of the senior male professors regarded her as. Shit, shit, shit.
She had the motor off and the driver's side door open even before her 2004 Nissan 350Z had come to a complete halt. She was inside the front door and headed up the stairs to her bedroom and had her hand on the doorknob when she froze.
"mmmmm...ohhhhh.....god baby...that feels so good...damn suck it...."
For a moment she wanted to back away and then when she wanted to open the door it was as if she were paralyzed. She just stood there with her hands on the doorknob.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"You like that, dougie...oh yeah...I see you do. God you're so huge...."

There were more sounds of licking and slurping and then....
"JESUS CHRIST! Kelly? What the- what the fuck are you doing?"
"What does it look like, dougie......just what your big fat beautiful cock needs....you can squirt..."
She could hear sheets and blankets moving and....
"Oh, you meanie...give it back...I want to play with it."
"God damn it, Kelly. Get away."
'It's okay, baby. She's gone. I heard her driving out. We've got plenty of time. Come here..."
"No. What the hell are you doing in here anyway?"
"What does it look like. I'm going to suck your big beautiful dick dry and then you're going to fuck me."
"Go back to your room, right now Kelly. I've got to get dressed and get out of here before your mother gets back. She'll never believe we weren't doing something."
"Doug, you know you want me. I'm not a kid. I've seen the way you look at me when you don't think she's looking and in the pool that day...."
"Look. I look at you when your mom doesn't notice because I'm a guy. You are gorgeous. But that's all it is. And that day in the pool...that was a mistake..I just...it was a mistake. Now please, put some clothes on and get out of here."
"That's so stupid. She's too old for you. Don't you think I'm prettier?"
"Oh fuck. Listen to me Kelly. Please. If anyone finds out what you were just doing, if they thought I was having sex with you, I'll go to prison. You are jailbait, a minor under the age of 18. You are a heart stopper and you will be something else in a few years, but you're not worth going to prison for."
"I'll never tell anyone, Doug. I promise. I really do like you."
"That's not the only reason. I really do care about your mother."
"Oh please, she's old. Her boobs are starting to sag."
"She's not you, but she's not old. And I -- if she'd move with me I'd make it permanent."
"Gag me. Yuck. That's disgusting."
"Put some clothes on."
Both of them jumped as Debbie spoke. Kelly sat nude with her legs folded under her on the edge of the bed. Doug was obviously nude but keeping a bed sheet on him.
"You heard me, Kelly. Get your clothes on and get out of here."
"But-"
"Do it. I'll be in to talk to you in a minute."
They engaged in a staring contest for a minute and then Kelly got off the bed, picked up her pajamas off the floor and glanced at Doug, then flounced naked out of the room.
Doug waited until she left, then got up nude and started walking toward Debbie.
"Baby, listen, it's not what you think. I swear to God, nothing happened."
"I know. There's a Glock in the wall safe. The fact that you didn't do anything is the only reason I'm not getting it out right now and blowing your brains out."
He reached out to her and she stepped back abruptly.
"No, don't touch me. Get your clothes on."
"But-"
"Get dressed Doug. Now."
"How long were you out there? Did you hear? I swear to God, I didn't know it wasn't you at first. She got to me while I was asleep. As soon as I woke up I pushed her off."
"I heard enough, Doug. Now put some clothes on. I still need to get to that meeting."
He pulled his pants on and then slipped loafers on and went to grab his shirt out of the bathroom.
"Debbie -"
"Leave, Doug. No, on second thought, look around and grab anything of yours you might have stowed here. I don't want you to have to come back."
He looked at her as if stunned.
"Not coming back? What -- If you heard..."
"We're through Doug. We'll have to work together, but...I hope you'll go ahead and find another job somewhere else."
"I don't believe this. Why are you doing this?"
He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to him. She let him kiss her and let herself enjoy it for a moment. It didn't matter anymore. She felt his cock start to get hard and herself start to get wet. It was just that easy and quick. She pushed him away and despite his strength when she wouldn't stop he backed off.
"Why Debbie? You can't be serious. Why are you doing this?"
"I know you didn't plan this. You had no way of knowing I'd be coming back. If you were going to mess around with her this would be the perfect opportunity. That's the reason why I'm not going to tell Bill about this."
She backed away and tried to hold back tears. She had to be iron. She couldn't give him the slightest hint of encouragement that she might change her mind.
"I'm not going to tell him because I think he might kill you, and I don't want to see his life destroyed. And I don't want you murdered. Bill could do it. He doesn't think I know anything about his life, but he has people that would see that you vanish.
"But I don't want that either. You can't help being who you are. You can't help flirting. You can't help attracting women. I blame you for starting things with Kelly. You didn't have to do that, but expecting you to be any different would be like expecting a pig to fly. It's not in your nature. But we can't keep seeing each other."
He shook his head.
"I'll get out of here. I won't come back and we can see each other at my place. Or we can go on regular dates. Hell, I'll meet you places. As far as Kelly, I won't take her calls and I'll treat her like cancer. No contact. I haven't lied to you. Ever, except not letting you know I planned to get you into bed. And you knew that all along anyway."
He pulled her to him again.
"This is crazy. We have a good thing going. I hate it that this happened, but don't do this."
She pushed him away.
"I'm not going to change my mind, Doug. It's not you. It's me. I shouldn't have started this, not till I was completely through with Bill. Remember, I told you I wanted to wait until we were through. But I didn't. I went to bed with you before I even told him I was divorcing him. I brought you into our -- Bill's bed. I told myself the kids were old enough to accept it. But you can see how well that went. BJ spends less time here than he ever did and Kelly is trying to get you into bed."
She reached out to touch his cheek and she felt more than ever the real gulf between their ages.
"I told you this wasn't going to last, Doug. It just would never have worked out. I've loved our time together, but I can't take the chance of something happening with Kelly. I was 17 once, and a lot wilder than she has ever dreamed of being. She won't stop. She's enamored with you. She probably thinks she loves you. And I'm her mother and I've got you. That's an irresistible challenge to any 17-year-old."
"This just isn't fucking fair, Deb. And you know it."
"I wasn't fair to Bill when I went to bed with you while I was still married to him. I wasn't fair to him when I shaved my pussy for you and lied to him about it. I haven't been fair about a lot of things. Fair doesn't matter. I can't have you in my life anymore, Doug."
"How can you be so fucking cold, Deb? I know you said you didn't love me, but you don't have any feeling for me at all?"
"Because I let myself forget I'm a mother. I was selfish and I was only thinking about that wonderful dick of yours. I put my kids second to you. But, you were never going to be around forever. My kids will be here when you're gone. They'll be here when Bill is out of my life permanently. No matter who I meet in the future, they're what counts."
He looked like he wanted to say something, then just stopped and walked toward the bedroom.
"Have a good life, Deb. If you change your mind, call me."
When she heard him walk out she went to Kelly's room. She had put on short shorts and a low cut blouse. She was pretending to look at something on her laptop.
"I'm not going to give you a lecture because I was 17 once. But, he's almost twice your age. Even if he had sex with you, you're just a kid. You think he's going to be interested in you for anything but sex?"
"That seemed to be more than enough for you, Mother. Or were you going to marry him and let him make an honest woman out of you?"
"I'm not you. I'm a grown woman."
She flung the laptop down on her bed.
"You're an old woman. Old. Your beasts are sagging. You're getting wrinkles. You know that? And you walk around in those damn tight blouses pushing your tits into every man's face that will look at you? You flirt with my boyfriends. Do you know that, you damned bitch? They all call you their favorite MILF. You know what that is? All my girlfriends laugh at you behind your back."
"I can't help the way I look, Kelly. Guys look at my tits. They have since I was younger than you. What am I supposed to do, wear a Burqa or a potato sack? You're going to be the same way. Guys will never look you in the eye. And they're going to be try to grab a feel anytime you turn around. Your teachers and professors in college will be offering you all kind of opportunities for easy grades. You just have to be a little friendly, that's all. I've been there. I don't have to flirt with guys, they do enough of that."
"You make me sick. You do it deliberately. You've been flirting with guys behind Dad's back since I was old enough to realize what you were doing. I'm glad he's left you. You don't deserve him. Yeah, he's stuffy and a wet blanket about a lot of things, but he's never messed around on you. And I don't know how many fathers of my girlfriends that I could say that about."
Debbie stepped back. No matter what, she was going to be late to her meeting. Doug was gone. It was going to be a bad day all around. But this shit still stuck in her craw.
"Stick up for Saint Bill. Why don't you go live with him if you're that crazy about him? Oh, I forgot, he didn't want you, did he? Plenty of time for other people's kids, but never for you and your brother. How many college events has he been to? How many has he missed? I know you love him, Kelly, even if he doesn't. But that's blinded you to the truth about him. If you were in my shoes you would have left him a long time ago."
"He's got a busy life, Mom. But maybe I'll go move in with Doug?"
She smiled.
"I'm going to be 18 in three weeks, Mom. I'll be legal. You can't keep me here. And when I show up at Doug's apartment with something real low cut, showing off my tits -- that don't sag -- you think he's going to throw me out? I don't think so. I'm going to suck that big fat dick that I've heard you moaning about at night. You know you guys have sex so much at times the whole house stinks of it?
"I'm closer to his age than you are. I'd be a much better match for him. I might even go to UNF for a four-year program. I could cut expenses by living with him. I think he'd like that. I think I've got a shot mom. He's young, hot, he's got a great job and he makes decent money. I think he'd be a good dad."
She stepped off the bed, those proud young breasts pointing out ahead of her, the way Debbie remembered hers doing once upon a time. She was almost Debbie's height and so she was staring eye to eye as she said, "I think I can grab him. And if I do give him a baby, I'll be Mrs. Doug Baker and you'll be his mother-in-law. Wouldn't that be sweet?"
She was lashing out before she could stop herself, drawing her stinging right hand back as Kelly almost fell back to the bed. There was a bright red outline of a palm against her cheek.
"You stupid little bitch...."
Kelly rubbed her cheek, and fought back tears.
"Good shot mom. You really are a jealous bitch, aren't you. Did that feel good? Too bad Dad didn't bat you around years ago. You might have stayed married."
She sat back on the bed.
"Why don't you go on to your meeting, Mom. I won't be here when you get back."
"Kelly, don't be stupid. I don't want to have to call the cops.."
"Oh yeah, right, you want the cops coming in to this. I'll just take a picture of this hand mark on my face so Children and Family Services will come in and remove me and BJ. I know that will do your job situation a world of good: UNF Professor investigated for child abuse. I can see the story now. Of course, dad will have to recuse himself if they file charges. Couldn't have him prosecuting his ex-wife.
"Don't talk shit. I'll let you know where I'll be. I'll probably go stay with Grandma and Granddad Bascomb until after I turn 18 and then I'll look for a roommate. I think Dad will probably pay for me to get an apartment. Especially when I tell him that I can't stand living with your slutty ass another minute."
Debbie just stared at her daughter for a long moment. It was amazing how much she sounded like Debbie at 17. Of course, the old saying like mother like daughter had a lot of truth to it. Unfortunately, she did remember what it was like to be 17, stacked and horny. Shit.
As she walked past BJ's bedroom she didn't notice the door open a fraction of an inch and then close.
She drove to UNF, knowing she was late and would be reamed out by her department head, knowing that she'd have to face Doug almost every day, knowing that Kelly would probably be gone when she got home and that Bill would probably know about it as soon as he got back and if he deemed to talk to her at all, would rub it in her face that Kelly couldn't stand living with the Mother of the Year.
She was too old to cry and it would wipe out her makeup, but she felt like it. It didn't help that Bill, that self-righteous prick, was probably enjoying the sea air and fucking some desperate divorcee's brains out. Doug was right. Sometimes life just wasn't fair.
Monday, July 18, 2005 -- 11:30 a.m.
I didn't wake up until 10:30 a.m. when the day was well underway for most passengers. But I hadn't gotten to bed till well after 3:30 a.m. which was way out of my normal routine. I woke up alone in that huge round bed and for a second I couldn't remember where I was. Then I tried to figure out where Debbie had gone to. Had she already left for work? But, we were on a cruise, so she wouldn't be leaving for work.
She's probably gone down to get an early breakfast and let me sleep in. I stretched and felt the muscles in my back and shoulders tense and relax. Damn, that felt good. I tried to remember why I felt so good. (It had been years, a lot of years, since I'd felt my body so intensely, felt the muscles flex and stiffen, then relax.
I closed my eyes and I saw Debbie coming back in in shorts and a tee shirt, which was her usual garb on our cruises. Those immense tits bulged out and bounced despite the bras and I knew a lot of male passengers and staff had gotten whiplash swinging their heads around to watch them as she bounced along on the decks and the restaurant.
Even with a bra, her nipples would be poking out insistently and she'd grin at me as she slipped into the room.
"Teasing the hungry animals?" I'd ask as she came in and deliberately jiggled when she knew I was looking at her.
"Always, baby, but I brought the goodies home to you," she'd say as she slipped the tee shirt and bra off and bounced into bed with me. I'd suck her right breast and then left, milking her as I did and felt the vibrations run through her and I'd know if I slipped a finger down into that pussy that was already creaming I'd feel her wetness running out. More than any other woman I'd ever been with, Debbie's tits were the gateway to her pussy. Suck them and in a minute she'd be ready for action.
"Why are you so wet? Have you been a good girl?" I'd tease her and she would rub those soft tits all over my face, pulling them out of my mouth and dropping to encircle my already stiff cock and begin to rub them up and down.
"Yes. It was exciting, watching all those hot hunky men staring at my titties and my ass. And it got me wet, real real wet, but it just made me want THIS more," she said, dropping down to swallow my cock in one motion and take it down to my balls.
I lay back and let her make love to my dick with her mouth and those incredible breasts. It didn't make any difference if a lot of the heat and the wetness of her pussy came from the excitement of bouncing around in front of strange men.
She'd always been this way. She loved exciting men, and as far as I knew it was the excitement of exhibiting herself that made her wet, not the thought of fucking other men. But she always brought it back home to me and I knew I'd need at least one viagra, if not two, before the day was over because once her motor started running, it was a challenge to keep up with her.
But it was a hell of a fun challenge.
I stretched again and then like a photo coming into focus, the memories fell away and I remembered that had been 1995 -- our last cruise to Hawaii. I rubbed my eyes to get the sleep and the tears out.
What the hell had happened to the sexy, loving woman who couldn't get enough of my cock?
Ten years and the State Attorney's Office and life had happened. As I put away those memories, the memories of what had happened last night rushed in to take their place.
Aline des-Jardins. I still couldn't figure her out. We'd only known each other for little more than a weekend. And our association had started only because it was part of her job. Still, there were those kisses, and the flirting. If there was not a kernel of real feeling there, she was the best damned actress I'd ever seen or heard of.
And she was Philippe Archambault's wife, for God's sake. What were the odds of running into Philippe's wife and getting involved with her. As I lay there I remembered the big Frenchman. It was like the way it had been with Lew Walters, only not as strong. I just liked the guy. He was easy to like. Despite having movie-star good looks and holding a powerful position that probably far outranked me because he was really a cross between a federal and a state prosecutor, he was just a good guy.
He got along with other attorneys, French cops, crooks, barmaids and heiresses. He didn't put on airs. If I hadn't known just how powerful he was, I'd have thought he was just another prosecutor.
And like me, it was the job that counted, the people we fought for that mattered. He had been as doggedly determined to track down the scum that were snatching '. girls out of the slums of Paris to force them into prostitution as he was prosecuting kidnappers that had stolen and murdered the nine-month old male heir to one of the world's largest shipping empires headquartered in Marseilles.
I suddenly remembered one of the organized crime thugs that we'd talked to in a Parisian dive trying to get a lead on the '. slave trafficking ring. As Philippe had walked to the bar to buy a round for three criminals and three prosecutors and cops, the old man with an impossibly bizarre wig and two gold front teeth and two fingers missing on his left hand leaned over and in broken English said, something about pitying the poor fools who had "le Diable" on their tail.
The Parisian cop who was with us leaned over and laughing, said, "He means, 'The Devil' as you Anglais would put it. Most of the low lives around here do their best to stay in good with Philippe because he didn't get that nickname lightly. The few who disrespected him are serving life sentences or feeding the fish somewhere. He is a hard man, but one who I like having on our side."
There was no doubt that he was a good man professionally. Personally I was sure he was screwing around on this dream of a wife. How could you be a good man and a scumbag at one and the same time?
Probably the same way I could be a good prosecutor and a scumbag that would consider, seriously consider, bedding a friend's wife at the same time.
And yet, and yet, and yet, she'd told me that I knew nothing about her marriage. She wanted to be with me, regardless of whether it was for the job or any other reason. Maybe nothing would happen. Maybe nothing should happen.
But, I looked inside myself and tried to remember the man who had set foot on the Bonne Chance on Friday afternoon. I didn't feel like the same man. When I thought about Debbie, it still hurt. It hurt like hell. But I didn't feel like a walking pile of shit anymore. I felt like a live, breathing, 41 , almost 42-year-old man, and I knew now that 42 wasn't over the hill. I had felt over the hill, and my marriage was over the hill, but I wasn't.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Amazing what a couple of days of sea air, a flirting, gorgeous woman, and a few stolen kisses could do to a man's head. I made up my mind that when I got back the first thing I was going to do was walk into the Big Man's office and plant a wet one on his lips. Just to see the look on his face. And because I owed him big time for forcing me on this cruise, however it ended up.

I rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth, took a shower and headed for one of the nine distinct restaurants the ship boasted. I found myself at Le Abbec, the cleverly titled sushi bar on Deck Quatre. It was open 20 hours a day and I treated myself to a dozen mini sushi combinations.
I liked every kind of sushi except the ones that were basically slabs on raw fish on rice. That was a little much even for me, but for the rest, anything that had the name sushi I generally liked. I'd order it sometimes in a restaurant just to see Debbie, Kelly and BJ wrinkle their noses in disgust. I'd tried to educate them for years but finally gave it up as a lost cause.
When I finished I walked around for a bit trying to decide what I wanted to do. What I WANTED to do was find Aline and pick up unfinished business. But that was probably coming on too strong. I got to thinking about her and myself and decided to take one of the cruise excursion boats into Marsh Harbour.
Abaco is a beautiful small island, the closest in the Bahamian archipelago to the U.S., and relatively unspoiled. There are a few hotels and some nice beaches, but it was nothing like the tourist trap that was Nassau. Still it had specialty shops and that was what I was looking for. I got in there about noon, looked around until I found the right shop and went in.
I told the owner what I was looking for and they started presenting their wares. I couldn't find exactly what I was looking for, but I knew what it was and in three hours they had created it for me. I took the excursion ship back with me to the Bonne Chance, placed my purchase in my room, and went out to look around.
The casinos were closed because we were still in Bahamian territorial waters, as were the shops on the ship. They wouldn't open until we sailed out in about three hours. So there wasn't a whole lot to do. I could have gone looking for Aline, but I just felt uneasy about that. Despite the fact that she wasn't making any big secret of her time with me, I felt like there had to be something vaguely unprofessional about making it too obvious.
I wandered the ship, looked at the smaller ships and sailing vessels approaching the Marsh Harbour docks. We were anchored about a half mile off. I was standing there watching a yacht that looked to be about 35 or forty feet pass below us with a bevy of sunbathing beauties waving the tops of their bikinis at us when I heard her say, "Obviously, there is some part of you that isn't serious all the time. Or are you admiring the lines of that sailing vessel?"
I couldn't help grinning back at her. As usual, her face was serious and if it weren't for the tone of her voice I wouldn't be sure she was teasing.
"I was admiring the lines all right, just not the lines of the vessel."
She half-heartedly slapped me on the shoulder.
"Merde. As my mother once told me, all men are pigs. Even the good ones."
"You count me as one of the good ones?"
"What do you think."
I almost reached out to pull her to me to kiss her, but I stopped myself. She was dressed in her ship's garb again, passengers were walking around us, and she wasn't obviously flirting.
"I hope so."
She gave a slight smile which as always transformed her face.
"Would you like to be the Captain's guest at his table tonight? It's a signal honor to be invited to eat with him and selected guests, and he asked me to pass on the invitation."
"You had nothing to do with it?"
"No. He is ...aware...of your background, who you are. He likes to have an eclectic mix of guests for dinner."
"Sure. What time?"
"7 p.m. Wear a suit."
And then she was gone. The woman who had rubbed me the right way the night before was missing in action. But it was still nice to talk to her.
I managed to kill time until close to 7, then shaved and dressed in the only good suit I'd brought. I took the elevator to Deck Quatre and entered the main dining room at about 7:10 a.m. I hoped they believed in the precept of being fashionably late. I told the waiter I had an invitation to the Captain's table and he led the back to a door at the back of the room. It opened to a room containing one large round table with seats for twelve.
There were three officers in formal blue and gold uniforms and Aline. They were seated together and there was an empty seat beside Aline. She looked up at me and gave me a small smile, gesturing to me to sit beside her. I did so and looked around the table. Ms. Stein was sitting almost directly across from me. The dress she wore tonight was black and cut to the nether regions in all directions, revealing more flesh than you'd see in the typical Jacksonville strip joint.
There was a lanky, blonde guy dressed way too casual for a night at the captain's table, but he didn't seem to mind and he did seem to enjoy the way Ms. Stein was flashing those breasts at him. His name was Gil something and he was another Jacksonville resident I'd never heard of. In the introductions I learned he was "just a guy that used to work in research for Bell Labs. I got a few patents on a few little things in the electronics communications field and I decided to spend the rest of my life taking it easy,."
There was a young couple who turned out to have won a lottery in New Jersey putting them on this cruise, a billionaire who had made his money in cell phones and his wife who weighed 300 pounds if an ounce and looked at the food set before us with a lust that most men would have envied. There was a priest, a short, ruddy cheeked, thin redhead, Father Dunleavy, who I learned had won the Nobel Peace Prize for his work in trying to stop the genocide of the Hutu by the Tutsi in 1994 during the Clinton years.
I shook his hand, telling him, "I'm honored to meet you, Father. I've read about your work. You're a brave man and there aren't many people who can say they personally saved hundreds and possibly thousands of innocent lives."
"I was merely doing what the Lord led me to do, Mr. Maitland. As I understand you have done as well."
"The Lord has little to do with it, Father. I'm not really sure a lot of times if there is a Lord out there in the clouds somewhere."
"The Lord guides our actions, whether we know it or not," he said. "I have to admit that from a professional standpoint, I have to say it's interesting for a man in my line of work to finally meet the Angel of Death."
There were a couple of blank stares so everyone on the entire planet hadn't seen Cameron's story and its offshoots. I shrugged and said, "My reputation has been greatly exaggerated, Father. I know that in your line of work you've had a much more intimate acquaintance with the Angel of Death. Mine is just a title. You've seen the real thing."
Dunleavy looked at the young couple who were looking at me as if I'd grown horns and smiled at them, saying, "I was just teasing our friend here. He is a prosecutor in the District Attorney's Office in Jacksonville. That appellation came from a mercy killing case he prosecuted this past week."
Naturally they wanted to know all about it so I sketched the background of the case, what I'd learned, what I'd done and the outcome.
The young wife looked at me in horror and said, "That poor man."
The billionaire looked at his wife as if he wished she were the late Ms. Bingham and said, "Poor man, bullshit. He killed her to be with his girlfriend."
Which started a wide ranging debate until the Captain, a barrel-chested man named Charles Morel with a white beard despite the fact that he didn't look any older than his late 50s, tapped his knife on his water glass and said, "Ladies, gentlemen, this is a fascinating debate. And I think this will be an interesting evening, but for now, let's enjoy the work of our chefs and we can resume the discussion later."
We ate and indulged in cross table discussions for the next hour. I looked at Aline during one lull and said, "You look very fresh today."
Stein looked at us both and said, "It's youth, sweetie. Aline hasn't hit her 40s and can party all night like she did until the wee hours and still look fresh. Of course, a woman...in love...always has that blush about her. Any secrets we'd like to discuss, Aline."
She blushed and then directed a look like a dagger at Stein and said, "Ms. Stein, I'm afraid most of the people at this table haven't spent much time around you and aren't familiar with your...humor. They won't appreciate the joke. And...it is somewhat indelicate. You know that I am a married woman."
Stein just grinned at her and said, "Married women can't fall in love? News to me. I used to do it all the time when I was married to my third, actually my third and fourth, husbands. It's the best tonic in the world. Better than vitamins. Actually, there are a lot of vitamins and minerals in it...if you do it right."
She glanced over at the housewife lottery winner and said, "I bet you've fallen in love while you were married, right, sweetie?"
The housewife just blushed, glanced over at her husband's piercing stare, blushed again, and then occupied herself staring at the food on her plate.
The billionaire's wife looked up from her plate and said, "There should be a no-sluts allowed policy on family cruises, which I thought this was."
Stein just stared at her and said, "Make that a no-pigs allowed policy and I'll agree with you."
The cruise director, a tall youngish man with neatly trimmed bangs, headed off trouble by saying, "I've read some web stories based on this case and I believe it must have been a difficult case for you to prosecute, Mr. Maitland. Did you have any second thoughts about your course of action?"
"Of course I did. A lot of cases, no. They're open and shut. But then there are the hard ones, and this was one of the hardest. I still think I did the right thing, but...to be honest I've had doubts since then."
"I wouldn't have your job," Gil said, the first words he'd spoken during the meal.
"A lot of people wouldn't. But, as I've told other people, somebody has to do it."
"The law is bullshit," the billionaire said around a mouthful of choice French braised beef. "People that can afford it can do anything and little people get shit on. It's the way of life, and the law doesn't change anything. It just lets the morons think that there is some fairness in life."
"I think you would probably differ with that opinion," Dunleavy said mildly to me.
I looked at the billionaire and said, "The son of a man with almost as much money as you is sitting in a cell in Raiford today because he thought money would let him do anything he wanted. His daddy thought so too, but he found out the hard way that there are some things money can't buy. As for the little people..."
I grabbed an escargot and popped it in my mouth and washed it down with hot bitter coffee before telling them the story of Lilly Mae Longstreet, the victim in the first case I ever argued as an Assistant SA.
"Her killer walked free. Stayed free for about two years until he tried to shortchange someone in a crack deal. They found parts of him around the Westside for months after that. The ME -- Medical Examiner - said there were strong indications he was still alive when they started dissecting him. Somehow, I think Lilly Mae is smiling somewhere about that.
"She left two sons, age 7 and 9. That was ten years ago. The older boy was shot dead in an abortive 7-11 robbery a year ago. The younger boy is in a wheelchair and in minimum security prison in the Panhandle because he made the mistake of insulting a gang boss in the middle of a drug deal. He won't ever walk again, but someday he'll be a free man. I know that he's in a high college diploma program in the facility so he might make something of himself."
"Why does something tell me that you had a part in getting him into that program, Mr. Maitland?" Dunleavy said with a slight smile.
"A friend of his said that he never forgets about victims in his cases," Aline said. "How many prosecutors would have followed a victim's family for ten years? I don't think many."
"Her husband remarried the next year. His wife left him in a couple of years and he remarried again. He started drinking heavily after Lilly Mae's murder and never stopped. They found him in bed a couple of years ago. The medical examiner said a heart attack. He was 45. Lilly Mae herself never completed high college. I don't think anyone in her family ever got a diploma. She was just a hard working lower class woman who loved her husband and kids."
I stared at the billionaire.
"Just Southern white trash as some people would say. No great loss to society. But she was a human being. She lived and had a right to a better end than taking a couple of .38 slugs to the head delivered by a fucking crack addict. That's what the law is all about; making everybody's life count. Even little people."
There was a long silence around the table and finally Dunleavy said, "I understand now why you are the prosecutor that you are, Mr. Maitland."
I ate the last escargot on my plate and washed it down with the last of my coffee. God, the French and food and drink are made for each other.
"I'm nothing special, Father. I put on a suit and go to work every day. I've never faced down a mob of machete-wielding bloodthirsty savages armed only with a Bible and faith. There are a lot of people like me, not many like you."
"There are not many like you, Mr. Maitland," Aline said softly. Under the table she grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
"Actually, I envy both of you," said Captain Morel. The attention of the table turned to him.
"I love what I do, and I pride myself that I am proficient at what I do. I hold the lives of thousands in my care and I feel that responsibility. And yet..."
He studied a goblet of red wine on front of him.
"My parents wished me to study medicine. My father dreamed of my becoming a physician, as his uncle was. But, from an early age the only thing I wanted to do was go to sea. Which I did. I have never regretted the life I've led, despite the sacrifices it has required."
He sipped the red wine as he had throughout the meal. Then he sighed and looked first at Dunleavy and then at myself.
"It is only when I meet men such as yourself that I have any reservations about the path I have followed. You, Father Dunleavy, have ministered to souls and saved the lives of innocents.
"You, Mr. Maitland, have fought to achieve justice for any who have come before you. Both of you have touched and changed lives, made the world a better place. I have simply conveyed shiploads of tourists from one vacation spot to another. I love what I do, but, it seems so trivial sometimes."
The table was silent again for a moment.
"Captain, my father died when I was eight years old. I don't remember a lot about him. I was too young. But I remember walking in the woods with him. I remember him putting a rifle in my hands for the first time and starting to teach me how to shoot. Only a few memories, but I would take nothing in the world for those memories.
"Since I've been on this cruise I've seen children running around, swimming in the pools with parents. I can tell you that for some of those children, the days they've spent here on your ship will be the highlight of their lives. They'll lose parents to divorce or death, and when they look back years from now, it'll be this cruise they remember.
"I've seen honeymooners on the ship, enjoying the ship and each other.
"I know...you know the reason why I'm on this cruise, Captain. This morning I suddenly flashed back on the last cruise I took, a trip to Hawaii that my wife and I took ten years ago. We were off Maui one evening getting ready to sail back when my wife called me to the rail. The whales were swimming off the ship, not more than a few hundred yards. They were beautiful. I held my wife while we watched them. We were young. We were in love. We had two children at home and nothing bad was ever going to happen to us."
I had to stop and take a deep breath.
"So don't ever say that you don't do anything important, Captain. You feed people's souls. You give them memories they'll take down into the grave."
I had to get up. As I walked away I said to the people staring at me, "Sorry. Need to step away for just a moment. Be right back."
When I came back there were a few curious stares and the sympathetic looks I'd dreaded from the female contingent. Aline looked up at me briefly with a look I couldn't read. As if that were anything unusual. The sphinx was a chatter box compared to her.
The Captain just nodded and said, "Thank you, Mr. Maitland. I forget sometimes, that we all have tasks in this life. I appreciate your reminding me of the role myself and my staff play in the lives of people we see for a few days and then will never see again. Now, the chef has prepared some of the most caloric deserts known in the Western World. Please take a look at the desert menus."
The conversation continued for about a half hour before people began to make their good-byes. Ms. Stein gave the laconic Gil a questioning look and he just nodded, then got up and guiding her by the elbow took her away with a grin. I wondered if anybody would see them for the rest of the cruise.
Most of the staff left, including the Captain with one last handshake for Dunleavy and myself. The lottery winning couple hadn't said a dozen words to each other since Stein's question to the wife and I could see storm clouds over their heads. He couldn't stop staring at her and she wouldn't meet his eyes. Finally she got up and all but fled without saying anything to her husband and with a curt nod he followed her out.
The billionaire and his wife left with just nods to us and then it was just Dunleavy, myself and Aline.
He looked into my eyes and said, "The captain told us, very briefly, about your situation, Mr. Maitland. I can tell from just our time together that you are a passionate man; passionate about what you do, passionate about the people you fight for. And I'm sure, passionate about the woman and marriage you are losing. I will pray that God works things out for the best for both you and your wife, whatever that is."
He stood up and after shaking my hand, looked over at Aline who had been quiet and said, "I will also pray for you, Ms. des-Jardins. You said you were Catholic, so you must know that God is slow to judge human beings and he is forgiving of our human frailties."
Then we were alone.
I didn't have to ask.
"I knew he was a passenger and would be at our table. I met with him to discuss...some questions I have. He is a wise man."
We had been left alone in the closed room. The cleaning crew hadn't even come in to start taking the glasses and dishes away. I could hear the chatter of conversation among the last seating and the clatter of the serving staff taking away the last dishes and bringing coffee and desert to the late comers.
We just stared at each for awhile. Finally, she said, "I feel....awkward....Bill. I think...perhaps...you must have a very bad opinion of me."
"Why?"
"I think you....are.....expecting....something..."
At this rate the conversation would take a month to complete.
"You don't need to spell it out, Aline. I'll accept that last night was mostly you, and not the Assistant Cruise Director. It was late, you'd been drinking and were ready to party, I hit you with a real tearjerker of a sad story and you felt sorry for me. You let yourself go further than you now feel comfortable going. You're a married woman. I get it."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Bill -- I"

"I said I get it, Aline. I never really thought deep down anything would happen. I can't say I'm sorry. I can't say I didn't want it to happen, but I would have had mixed emotions anyway, doing something with Philippe Archambault's wife."
She dropped her eyes and avoided my gaze.
I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket and pulled out a small three-inch by three-inch purple case.
"What?"
I grabbed her hand and placed it palm up on the table, then placed the case in her hand.
"Don't talk. Let me finish this."
I tried to find the right words.
"When I walked onto this ship four days ago, deep down I thought that my life to all intents and purposes was over. I was going to keep going, because there was nothing else I could do. But I wasn't expecting to enjoy myself. I hadn't had an erection in four months. I hadn't kissed or been kissed by a woman that I cared about in nearly four months.
"The only thing that mattered to me was my job, and maybe, making a connection again with my kids. But the part of me that was a man, that part I shut down. I wanted to forget that it even existed. Because there was nothing there but pain and contempt for myself. I just wasn't man enough to keep my wife."
I reached out and ran one finger down the side of her face.
"And then I met you. You started changing me before I even knew who you were, or why you were staring at me. And then we met and we talked on the deck Saturday night. And then, there was last night. Even if it was all an act, and I don't think it was, it changed me. For the first time since...that night...I started thinking like a man again. It didn't matter whether I had any real chance with you...at least I started wanting to be with a woman again."
Her eyes glistened.
"That's why...it doesn't matter whether what you said and the way you acted was from you personally, or just you doing your job. Why you did it, doesn't matter. What matters is the way I feel. You changed my life, Aline. When I walk off this ship I won't be the same man I was when I walked on."
I reached over and gently lifted the top of the case off. The lights in the ceiling played on the gold fleur-de-lis pin inside. I reached inside and pulled it out. Her eyes grew larger. I took the case out of her hand laid the solid gold and diamond pin in her palm. The heart-shaped diamond in the center at the base of the pin twinkled under the lights.
She shook her head.
"No, Bill. No. This is impossible. I cannot-"
"You can. And you will. The Fleur-de-lis is something you can wear with your uniform or personal dress. The diamond in the center is a symbol of our friendship. It's as close to being eternal as any substance on earth."
"It is completely inappropriate. I could not accept something so expensive. And...how could I ever..."
"Show it to Philippe. Tell him it was a symbol of friendship from Bill Maitland. I hope he'll remember me. Tell him you met me when I was at a low point in my life, and my life changed in a week. Tell him he's a lucky bastard to have you in his life permanently. And that I envy him."
She looked down at it and ran her fingers over the heavy gold.
"How much...."
"Seven thousand American. The diamond is not great quality and they gave me a deal on it."
"Too much."
"I'm not a wealthy man, but I'm not poor either, Aline. And what do I need with money? I make enough to support my kids, and I've never cared that much for money."
I stood and pulled her to her feet to stand beside me.
"The bottom line, Aline, is that you have changed my life and I will never forget you. I doubt we'll ever cross paths again. It would make me feel good to know that -- a piece of me -- will be close to you. And that maybe, one day, you'll be holding it and think of me. That's all."
I leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. It had been a nice dream, but I really had never expected anything to happen.
I was on deck as we sailed later that night. From what I'd read the Bonne Chance would slowly sail back, stopping for a full day Wednesday at a small private island in the middle of nowhere and then chug back into Jacksonville Thursday morning. It would sail out of Jacksonville for the next month and then move on further south to a port in South America which would be its home port for the next three months. It was the ultimate gypsy life.
I went into a bar, grabbed a Bloody Mary and walked slowly to the bow. It was 11 p.m. I hadn't seen or heard from Aline and wouldn't. I watched passengers pass me, walking the decks, most of them couples holding hands or kissing. It should have depressed me, but somehow it didn't.
As I moved along the deck I saw a familiar figure leaning over the rail. I tried to remember his name.
"First time I've seen you without your better half," I told him. "I thought you were joined at the hip."
Dan Jenkins turned slowly to look at me. He looked different without the ever present smile on his face.
"We were both out late last night and turned in early tonight. She's sleeping now. I had....nightmares. Couldn't sleep."
"Been there, done that."
"Have you ever loved somebody so much it felt like they were part of your own body and had them ripped out of your life....felt like somebody had taken your heart out with a rusty spoon?"
"Yeah."
"The worst part is...the part I can't get my head around...is I don't know why. I thought we had it good. And then one day she waltzes in and tells me she's fallen in love with somebody else and wants me out...of our house...of our life. And she's never told me why."
I thought about what he'd said. I didn't think there was any way things could have been worse between Debbie and me, but that would have been worse. Poor bastard.
"This is your second?" I gestured vaguely back to the cabins.
"Yeah. Uh..I hope I'm not getting too personal, but I haven't noticed you with that French lady. You were inseparable the last few days. I hope..."
"We were just friends. She's married and I'm still married, at least for another month."
"Do you mind if I get personal for a moment?'
"Why not?"
"I'm a salesman. I know people. I read them. You have to be able to do that to convince people to buy something they're damned determined they're not going to buy. And the way she was looking at you wasn't the way you look at a friend. The same for the way you were looking at her. I'd be the last man on earth to encourage anybody to break up a marriage...but..."
He looked back out to sea.
"After my first wife, Holly, left me, my life turned to shit. I drank too much, chased the wrong kind of women, and really didn't much care if I lived or died. And then one day, I had to go into this office for business. Just business. And Caroline was sitting at a desk. She looked up and our eyes met. I know...a bad cliché. But something happened.
"Looking back I know I could have walked away, told myself it was just my imagination, that no damned woman was worth taking a chance on. But I didn't. I felt like I was going to fall off the side of a mountain if I didn't walk over and talk to her. So I did and here we are. She told me she felt it too. So no matter what the cynics say, it does happen."
He turned back toward me.
"What I'm saying is that we never know how many chances we're going to get in this life. I thought I'd be married to Holly for the rest of my life. And when that crashed and burned I thought I wouldn't get a second chance. If I hadn't taken the opportunity to talk to Caroline, who knows if another chance would ever come along?
"The French woman seems to be married and I can look at you and tell that your ex really torched you. But, there's still that connection with the French woman. You walk away from it and maybe you'll get another chance. Maybe you won't. But there are no guarantees."
He waved his hand in the air.
"Free advice. Probably worth as much as it costs. But you might want to think about it."
"I have. But I think it's a moot point right now. I think our relationship such as it was, is in the past. But I thank you for telling me about yourself. I wish you luck with...Caroline. And it's good to know there are second acts. Now, I don't want to seem like an elder father figure or something, but why in the hell are you out here talking to me when you could be in your room curling up next to something that looks like that? Keep your priorities straight, man."
He looked out to sea once more and then shook his head.
"I probably won't get much more sleep tonight. I usually don't when I get those...dreams. But maybe I will wake her up to let her know just how lucky a guy I think I am."
He left me alone on the deck with my thoughts. We take vows for life, but how many of us actually make it to the finish line. Like they say, marrying for life probably worked when most people didn't make it beyond their 40s or 50s and most of that time they were working their asses off just to stay alive. Not enough time to get bored with each other.
I didn't feel like prowling the ship tonight and before midnight I was in my room. I slipped off my shoes, then the suit went and I finally pulled on some shorts. I decided I should make it back to the exercise room or at least see it was still open. I was getting ready to put my tennis shoes back on when I heard a knock at the door.
I wondered who the hell would be knocking this late at night. The thought crossed my mind that the only reason anybody would be contacting me would be if there was some kind of emergency message from the mainland. And that meant Debbie or the kids.
I opened the door and Aline stood there in her bright blue and gold uniform. The gold and diamond Fleur-de-lis pin sat over her left breast. She was crying. I wondered who I wanted to kill.
"You bastard," she said, stepping into the room. While I was trying to figure out what was happening, she was in my arms and trying to tickle my tonsils again. She was pushing me back as I returned her kiss and the next thing I know she was pushing me over on that big red bed.
"What-"
"Son of a bitch," she moaned as she kissed me so hard my lips burned.
She slid down me and the next thing I know she had my cock which was hardening at the speed of light in both her small hands and was jerking at the same time she dived down to suck and lick it. I should have asked her what was going on, but I couldn't get my thoughts clear enough to form words.
She pulled and squeezed and rubbed and I felt my excitement rising. She licked up one side and down the other. I saw that beautiful face and those full red lips full of my cock, which was harder than I'd ever imagined it being. Then she sucked it in and began slurping like it was a straw in a milkshake.
And she was still crying, tears running down over my dick and mixing with her saliva.
"Why?" I croaked.
"Bastard...bastard...bastard....why did you have to be so fucking sweet...."
I knew I didn't have so long. The sap was rising and I didn't want to waste what was likely to be a nuclear explosion in her mouth.
I pulled her mouth off me and basically threw her onto the bed. I yanked the skirt down and then she only had brief black panties on. She was so wet the panties were soaked through.
I licked her through her panties and she gasped, then tried to push my lips through the fabric. I ripped them off. The fabric shredded under my fingers but I really didn't care.
Then I buried my face between those luscious thighs and proceeded to feast on her French pussy. I held her fantastic ass in my two hands and opened her up to my tongue, I licked until I found a little nub and she started to scream. I took it in my teeth and nipped and she lost her breath in the middle of a scream. I felt like I was drowning.
She tried to scissor me between what turned out to be really strong thighs which probably would have strangled me but I held her legs apart with my arms and continued to lick and nip and bite as she bounced up and down on the bed.
"Aline," I said, making myself draw my drenched face away from her thighs.
"Shut the fuck up," she screamed. "Shut up, shut up, dammit shut up. Just fuck me."
I leaned over her and didn't move. She blinked and with one free hand wiped away the tears that streamed down her face.
"Please, Bill. Don't talk. Just fuck me. Fuck me hard. I want you so bad I'm hurting. I'm hurting."
I had only a moment to think. This was a married woman. A woman married to a man I had considered a friend. A woman who obviously had severe doubts about what she was doing before she apparently got a monumental case of the hots for me. I had never cheated on my wife in 18 years even after she'd cheated on me. And now I was going to do to another man what Doug had done to me.
And, deep inside above and beyond everything else, there was the fear that no matter how hard I felt, when the moment of truth came I'd wilt. I would not be able to stay hard long enough to satisfy her.
She answered with an argument I could not counter.
Grabbing my cock she positioned it over the gorgeous slit between her legs, what some wag described as the most valuable 6 or 7 centimeters of human real estate in the world. Then she pulled me down and I gladly let her. I slid inside her -- about a half inch and came to a halt. She was so wet she was squirting fluid around my dick, but I had come to a screeching halt.
"Don't stop....don't stop," she said, grabbing me by the shoulders to pull me in deeper.
"I wouldn't have thought that Philippe would be that small.."
"He isn't. I haven't been with a man in six months. Go on. I don't care if you hurt me. I want you inside me."
I pushed and slowly I slid further inside her. I don't know what was better, the feeling of her around me or the look in her eyes as I filled her. God, I hadn't realized how much I missed that look in a woman's eyes. And there didn't seem to be any wilting where it counted.
She gave me a soft "unnggh" as I came to a halt as far in as I could go, then I held it there and then withdrew slowly. She gasped as I came almost out, but stopped and then slid forward again. She whimpered, and she even whimpered with a French accent.
I lifted her legs over my shoulders which opened her up even wider and slid my cock in and out. I reached down and cupped her breasts in my hands and ran my fingers over her nipples, which plumped up. I ran my hands further to cup her face as I leaned over her.
She was a married woman and belonged to another man. But here, and now, she belonged to me. There's a reason we talk about making a conquest. In that moment, with her thighs opened to me, my cock buried deep inside her, her eyes locked on mine, she was mine.
This was the way Debbie must look when Doug had his big cock buried to the hilt inside her. This was the look she must give him. I felt something twist and break inside me and looking down into the beautiful eyes of the woman under me, I knew I'd never forgive my soon-to-be ex-wife, the miserable bitch who had looked at me that way once.
I could still stop. Even now. I could let her jerk me off. Or even suck me off. And it wouldn't be the same as fucking her, coming inside her. What the hell was wrong with me that I couldn't just fuck a willing woman and let it be just a nice fuck. With this woman it would be more.
And it wasn't just me. How could she ever look at her husband the same way after looking at me this way. She was going to give herself to me, and how could she ever go back to being the woman she'd been before tonight.
Shit. Why did I do this? I hadn't bangd her, hadn't dragged her into my room, hadn't stuck my cock into her mouth.
I knew what the right thing to do was. I knew. But with my father's example to guide me, I had done the right thing over, and over and over. God, I was so fucking sick of always doing the right thing.
If I burned in hell tomorrow, I was going to have this woman tonight. I thrust forward and began fucking her hard and fast.
#

[Ramesh_Rocky]

THO' HELL BAR THE DOOR

Author's note: And apology. I've made a few mistakes in this story, despite trying to keep an involved story straight. First and most grievous is that I put the wrong age in for Bill and Debbie's daughter, Kelly. She was 17, not 16, at the start of the story. If and when I re-post I'll correct that. She's 17 and Bill and Debbie have been married for 17 years. It's possible. I've tried to keep away from glitches like that because I want the story to work and I don't want readers constantly wondering if what they've been told is correct. I think that's the major glitch. Another glitch is that Debbie is an Associate, not Assistant Professor at UNF. There are two levels, but Associate is the highest and closest to regular professor, and Associates do have job protections that Assistants usually don't. Finally, most embarrassing, is that murder trials do indeed require 12 jurors, not six as I mentioned in the second chapter. I have no excuse for that one. I've covered murder trials and I should have thought about that. I hope eagle-eyed readers will keep me honest and I'll do my best to keep the story consistent.
DQS1
Tuesday, July 19, 2005 – 12:10 a.m.
My name is William Maitland and until 10 minutes ago the only pussy that I'd had intimate knowledge of in the last 20 years belonged to a blonde goddess named Debbie. She had been and was but would not much longer be my wife.
Currently I was up to my balls in the delicious brunette vagina of a French dream named Aline, plunging in as rhythmically as one of those wells you see in stock shots of the California oil fields.
My mouth was full of soft French titty capped with a thick, eraser nipple that I was also rhythmically sucking on while the earlier mentioned Aline was doing her best to both tear my ears off while the aforementioned pussy was clutching at my cock with muscle control that was, quite frankly, amazing and unbelievable.
We were in my suite in the French cruise ship Bonne Chance, and never has any vessel been more aptly named because my luck had indeed changed since I set foot on its deck.
I would feel completely on top of the world if I were not fucking the wife of a man who I would consider a friend and colleague except that if I spent any time thinking about that fact I'd go back to feeling shitty and guilt-ridden and I just didn't want to go back there right at that point.
She pulled on my ears harder and gasped, "fuck me harder..."
"I'm doing my best," I managed to gasp. "...I'm out of practice...
"You couldn't tell it by me, chéri....oh.... Mon Dieuuuuuuuuuuuu."
"Aline.....Aline...I'm going to...to...you want me to pull out?"
She rose up to seize my lower lip in her teeth and bit so hard she drew blood.
"You pull out and I will kill you, I swear to God...."
At that point I began to spurt, again and again and again. It had been a long, long, long time....
Her pussy tightened and relaxed and tightened. It felt exactly like she was milking me. And I started coming again. I didn't even know that was possible. I finally stopped. I think I'd passed my kidneys. My cock was so hard it hurt.
I held myself up above her and watched her face. She had shut her eyes tight as if in pain but now her face relaxed and the grip she had on my hips with her legs relaxed and they finally slid down to the bed. She opened her eyes and smiled up at me.
"How long..."
"How long what?"
"How long did you say it had been...since you had sex?"
"I didn't say, but four months more or less."
"No wonder...you know you....inundated me....we need to change these sheets. I'm lying in a puddle...."
"Sorry...."
She pulled me down for another deep kiss and ended it by licking the blood off my lower lip.
"Don't be, cheri...my God, that felt so good."
"Did you...should we have...are you..."
"I am safe...and so are you....no worries, Bill....."
I fell to lie beside her, my cock slipping out of the warm center of her as I did so. God she had felt good.
She reached out and touched my rampant dick. A look of wonder appeared on her face. She pressed her fingers around it and squeezed. Somehow I was still hard as a rock.
"Are you sure you're not really 18?"
"I don't understand it either."
"I do, cheri. You just want to fuck me very very much, don't you."
"Who wouldn't."
She slid her face down my belly. I still had a slight paunch but not much of one. And for the first time in years, I wasn't embarrassed to have a woman see me naked. She held it in both hands and licked the tip, still dripping and covered with both our juices.
"You don't have to do that Aline, Let me clean up."
She took it in her mouth and deep throated the entire length. Despite Debbie's psychological warfare on me, I knew I wasn't that small, just not in Doug's league. And still Aline swallowed me without the least hint of trouble. I wondered just how big Philippe was.
"You do that very well, I must say. I thought you said...."
She took it out of her mouth with a long, messy slurp and looked at me grinning, "It has been six months..but it's like...as you say...riding a bicycle..you never forget how..."
Then she went to work with a vengeance. It took her another 10 minutes but eventually I just jammed her head down with both hands and jerked my hips as I erupted again. She didn't resist but just swallowed and swallowed and then licked me clean again.
I lay back feeling like I really was a hundred. She rested her head on my chest.
"You want to....you know...use the bathroom?"
She looked up into my eyes and I realized for the first time the color of her eyes...they were the color of the sea, a deep blue green.
I had to tell myself again..."you will not fall for this married woman."
She licked her lips.
"Why...I love the way you taste, Bill."
How was I NOT going to fall in love with her.
And while I was thinking about that, or something else, we fell asleep in that big red bed, entangled in each other's arms. We never changed the sheets and it was the best sleep I'd had in four months. Maybe a lot longer...
######################################
Tuesday, July 19, 2005 – 8 a.m.
"Hi, Debbie. You got a few minutes before you have to leave for work?"
"Yeah, mom."
"I just wanted to talk to you for a minute."
"Okay. How is Kelly?"
"She's a 17-year-old almost 18-year-old.. You remember what that was like?"
"Unfortunately. Has – she talked about why she bailed?"
"Just that her mother – I quote – is a miserable jealous bitch who couldn't keep her own husband and now wants to grab all the hot guys for herself. I gather you two had a falling out?"
"We had a difference of opinion. She thinks she's 25 and I think she's an 17-year-old with the maturity of a nine-year-old.'
"That's all you want to say about it? She won't tell me what happened."
"Someday when you're 85 and in a nursing home, I might. Not till then."
"Does it have anything to do with Doug?"
"No."
"You wouldn't lie to your mother?"
"Have I ever?"
"Oh, please!"
"I know, silly of me. I forgot you knew me when. I'm not going to tell you, but you'll be happy to know that Doug and I are through."
"No. Are you serious?"
"Yes, mother. I know this will make your day. We are officially through. I told him to pick up any of his things he had here, he's not coming back and I'm not seeing him."
"Well at least that proves that prayer works."
"Very funny. Doug wasn't a bad guy...it's just that things...weren't going to work out. But he was a good friend."
"With benefits."
"He was a friend."
"That's your story and you're sticking to it. At least this clears the way for you to start working on things between you and Bill."
"Mom, when are you going to get it through your head. We are going to be divorced in a month. There is no ' working on things.' Things are over."
"He still loves you."
"Sure, that's why he won't talk to me. I've tried and all he does is hang up on me or tell me to get out of his office. If that's loving me, I wouldn't want to see what hating was like."
"That doesn't mean he doesn't love you. Just that he's angry with you. You hurt him, baby, God you hurt him bad."
"I know. But it's not just him not wanting to get back. I don't want it mother."
"You're lying."
"Where have you been the last 10 years, Mom. You know what it's been like."
"You've got problems. Who doesn't. The reason you couldn't get back together with him is that there was something in the way – Doug. Doug's gone."
"It's not that simple, or easy. In the first place, I don't want that marriage back the way it was. I don't – I don't....love him. Not like I used to."
"You forget I've known you for nearly 40 years. You can lie to anyone else, but I know you better."
"Anyway, Mom, it isn't going to happen."
"Why not? I'm not saying it would be easy. But couples have come back from worse breaks. If you want your marriage back."
"It can't, mom. Just let it go. Bill won't ever consider us back together again."
"How-"
"I just know. In a month we'll be divorced."
#########################
Tuesday, July 19, 2005 – 8 a.m.
Is there any better way in this world to awake than with an inhumanly beautiful brunette impaled on your cock and riding it like a cowgirl on a bucking bronc. I decided after about two seconds that, no, there wasn't. Maybe, despite my sins and failures as a man, somebody up there – if there was somebody up there- liked me.
She bounced up and down and then did a hula hoop motion, rotating around and around on my cock. I was entranced and amazed. How in the hell was I doing this. I must have said it out loud.
She stopped bouncing and squeezed me again with that amazing pussy. God. Words could not do that justice.
She bent forward to kiss me and I tasted mint on her breath and on the lipstick she had reapplied. She had obviously gotten up in the middle of the night and tended to matters. I hated to think what my breath smelled like. She didn't seem to mind.
"You said....it was four months....you could not get hard...."
"Not even a little bit...."
She leaned forward and I held her hips in my hands to steady her as she kissed me lightly.
"You watched pornography?"
"un huh..."
"Well, Bill, did anything you see feel better than my hot, tight pussy squeezing your big, haaaaardd cock....well?"
I felt a twitch and she did something that stopped the explosion that was about to erupt.
I just shook my head and she smiled as she said, "You just needed a real woman in your bed...."
"Yeah," I said, thrusting up.
She laughed.
"Buck as hard as you want, my stallion, you're not throwing me."
"Is that a challenge?"
I answered with actions and not words and damned if she wasn't able to ride me until I squirted three hard times while that unbelievable pussy did its best to squeeze my dick off and she screamed until I jammed my tongue down her throat.
Laying beside me I asked her, "Did you climax?"
"What do you think, Stallion? If this room wasn't soundproofed, we'd have security in here right now ."
After awhile I rolled over and said, "I'm going to brush my teeth and take a quick shower."
The water was running when she slipped in behind me and dropped to her knees. Looking up at me as the water ran down her face, she grabbed my limp cock and started sucking again. With the water pasting her thick black hair to her face, if it was humanly possible I would have gotten hard again and fucked her face but the flesh just wasn't willing. I didn't think I had a milliliter of precious bodily fluids left in me.
After a few minutes she reluctantly let it go with one last lick and stood up beside me.
"He doesn't want to play. You are a meanie."
"I'm going to need transfusions if he comes out again any time soon."
She grinned and opened her legs, running two fingers inside her and coming out with an oily liquid that ran off with the shower water.
"I'd be glad to help you....you have made me so, so wet....."
I hadn't done it that often, but regardless of the fact that I had just come inside her I went to my knees and started nuzzling and then groping inside her with my tongue. If I thought about it, it would be fairly disgusting. I'd eaten myself out of a Debbie a few times, but I never liked it. But there was no way in hell I wasn't going to eat this vision's pussy until she came all over my face. You can do anything if you don't think about what you're doing.
She came so hard I thought she was going to strangle under the shower and then she slid down on her butt to lay beside me under the pounding water.
I licked the water off the side of that face and said, "I still think I'm going to wake up alone in my bed any minute. This can't be real."
She rolled to bury her face in my shoulder. Thank God that most cruise ships seem to have unlimited hot water. Otherwise we'd be freezing by now.
"You know I wanted you to come after me, don't you?"
"What was the secret sign I was supposed to pick up on? I missed it. I almost didn't come, except I couldn't help myself. You've placed a spell on me."
She ran one long red fingernail down my chest, almost hard enough to leave a line behind it.
"A woman wants a man to pursue her, to win her. She wants to know that a man wants her enough to challenge any obstacle. When they told me you were at the Lounge I acted angry, but inside I started to get wet. And when they told me you wouldn't leave...I knew I was right."
"About what?"
'You are the kind of man who cannot be stopped when he knows what he wants. And you wanted me, whether you were willing to admit it or not. I really wasn't surprised. There's an old expression....it means, roughly translated, a man who cannot be stopped."
I just gave her a curious look.
She leaned over to nibble on my ear and whispered, "You are the kind of man who would come for me, 'tho' Hell bar the door.' Hell itself could not frighten you off. "
"But what if I hadn't shown?"
"I would have been devastated."
She gave me a long lingering kiss before pushing herself to her feet.
Looking down at me and extending her hand down to me, she said, "I see what your wife must have seen so many years ago. I can see why she fell in love with you."
As I reached out to turn off the water I couldn't help asking her, "You're not doing that, are you?"
"Does that frighten you so much? A man who would stand against a mob, frightened of one woman?"
"You're married, Aline. And you told me you loved Philippe. Was that the truth?"
She hugged me and I thought it might be so I couldn't read her eyes.
"I told you, Bill, you don't know anything me...or my marriage. I know it bothers you....because you're the kind of man you are. But I'll answer your questions. In a little bit."
We dried each other off, which led to more playing and eventually we wound up back on the bed, after changing the sheets. I hadn't this much sex, this much continuous sex, since...probably the last cruise Debbie and I had took to Hawaii ten years before. As I thought about her and Doug I still felt the anger rising and the pain, but somehow it wasn't as bad.
Was life ever anything but high college replayed over and over. She had a new boyfriend and I had had nobody. Now I had this beautiful woman in my bed. I had my own girlfriend and I wasn't such a loser anymore. So damned high college.
She lay back in a pose reminiscent of a famous French picture I can't remember the name of. She lay on her side with her back to me, the womanly curves in full view as well as exposing the luscious slit between those long legs.
"You like? I have been told that my ass is my most attractive feature?"
"You've got a fantastic ass, Aline. No doubt about it. But..."
I rolled her over and lay down beside her, sucking on one luscious nipple.
"You've also got fantastic breasts and a mouth that should be in the Louvre."
She pushed my head away.
"But my breasts are so small, compared to..."
"Your tits are fantastic."
"Hers are so much bigger than mine. I googled her after I learned about you and found a picture of her. She is huge. Am I a disappointment?"
"She has big tits, but size isn't everything. Yours are perfect for your size. They're soft and suckable and your nipples are much bigger than hers. They are truly 'Grand Tetons.' If I had any juice left, you'd know how much I like them."
I went back to suckling and she ran her hands over the stubble that had begun to sprout on my skull.
"I would know you were a lawyer even if I didn't know it, you silver-tongued devil. Philippe once said that not all liars are lawyers, but all lawyers are liars."
I raised my head from those luscious breasts and leaned back on one elbow.
"Tell me about you and Philippe. I want to know, Aline, no matter what."
"I met Philippe at a party in Paris, as I told you. It was as you Americans say, love at first sight. He is a gorgeous man and I knew he had many women when we married. I believe he gave up that life when we first married. But...I had already started my career when I met Philippe. I was 27 when I met him. That was ten years ago. Three years after we married I had our son, André."
"You have a son? Where is he?"
"He attends college in Paris. He lives with Philippe."
"How long..."
"Three months, sometimes four months a year. I miss him always. I try to be with him while he is out of college as much as I can. When I am with him, he is my life. We do everything. And I try to make up with Philippe for the time we are apart..."
She pushed me away and rolled to her side, her back to me.
"I wish you had waited to ask me. I don't even need to see your face to know what you are thinking. What kind of mother can leave her husband and son for most of the year to wait on strangers on what is nothing more than a floating hotel? Do you see a monster when you look at me now, Bill? Do you want me to get my clothes and leave?"
I put my hand on her bare shoulder. I could feel her shiver.
"Another man would simply fuck me and not even think of this. But I already know enough about you to know you can't do that. Do I disgust you?"
I rolled her back toward me. Tears glistened in those beautiful blue-green eyes.
"No. I just don't understand."
"When I met Philippe I had already worked five years on the Bonne Chance. I had a career. I had a life. After we...knew...that we could not leave each other...we talked about this. I checked other cruise lines, other travel lines. I even received a leave of absence for three months and worked another cruise line. But..."
She looked at me as if willing me to understand.
"I know many people would not understand my decision. But you have stood with me at night on the decks, watched the sea during a storm, watched lighting roll in the sky, seen the waves roll by on a calm night. Every night is different. I thought about leaving this life when Philippe and I married. But....I love it. I love the sea, I love my job, I love the people I meet, I love the fact that we roam the world. No other ship is like this. We have the entire world.
"How can I leave this?
"We talked after six months and we decided....Philippe could not leave his work. His is an important job and the day will come when he is an important man in the French government. He loves his work, but it is a step on the path to real power. I could not ask him to give that up. And I made him understand that while my job will never bring those benefits...it is equally important to me.
"So, we would live apart for part of the year, sometimes six months, sometimes nine, but we loved each other to much to say goodbye to each other. Couples do manage to maintain a marriage while living apart, even in your country.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"And then.... André came along."

She buried her face in my naked chest and kissed both nipples.
"I took a year off. The cruise line liked me and said they would save my job that long. With leave and the year, I was with André until he was almost a year old. I thought I would die, but I left him with Philippe and a governess. I knew I couldn't take him with me.
"There were a hundred times when I almost went to the captain and told him that I had to quit. But I didn't. And with each day that went by, I was able to live with my decision more easily. Not easily, Bill, just more easily. There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of him.
"He is nearly seven now. And I am mama who flies in with presents and kisses three months a year. I know I love him. I know he loves me. I hope he will love me when he grows to be a man and realizes that I missed most of his young life. But Philippe is a wonderful father. He is raising him to be a good man."
"I don't hate you, Aline. I just..."
"I know I should quit, but..."
"The way I should have quit long ago and maybe kept my wife and family....but I couldn't. I understand, Aline. Believe me, if there's anybody on this earth that knows what you're talking about, it's me."
She held me tightly.
"Do you believe in kindred souls, Bill? I still cannot believe that in a matter of days I have...these feelings for you. First you intrigued me, then you aroused me and then you broke my will with that damned Fleur-de-lis. You know, if I live to be 90, I will never part with it. And if we never see each other again, I will always think of you when I hold it."
"Then it was the best $7,000 American I ever spent. It would have been worth it for one night."
I laughed as I felt her tense. I knew she knew I was joking, but....
"You know that's why I was so angered with you that night. I am not a prostitute. Never have been. But so many rich and powerful men just automatically assume if you are attractive and on a cruise ship like this, you can be bought."
"You wouldn't be here now if you thought I was trying to buy you."
She bit my nipple gently and then a little harder.
"You couldn't afford me, William Maitland, if you were to try to buy me."
I teased her, "so how expensive would a night with you be?"
She bit the nipple harder, then kissed it to make it feel better.
"I have been offered $20,000 cash, condominiums, diamond necklaces worth at least 20,000 euros. One man, a very old and wealthy Arab, offered to buy me my own island. A small one, mind you, less than an acre in the Caribbean, but he said it had running water, a small power station and a port where yachts could dock. All he wanted was my body for a month."
"Do you have a private island?"
She nipped me so hard I yelped. Then she started licking it until the pain went away.
"You bastard. You'd better be joking. No, I did not accept his offer."
I pulled her lips to me and we made out for awhile. If I could have gotten hard I would have been inside her again. Had I been this horny when I was 18? Finally we stopped for awhile to resume breathing. I closed my eyes and when I opened them again Aline was sitting beside me on the bed. She was dressed and again wore the Fleur-de-lis pin over her breast.
"I have to go now, for a few hours, Bill. I have someone covering for me, but I am still a working member of the crew."
"Okay. But first...why are you here? With me. In my bed?"
"Because I am very stupid."
"Why?"
"Not the sex. When we realized we would be apart so much, we made the decision – we never talked about it but we both knew – that I would never ask him about his life in Paris and he would never ask me about mine on Bonne Chance. I know he has women. He tries to be discrete, and he is careful, but he is a man of....large appetites."
I held her face in my hands and asked a question that I didn't want to ask. I didn't have the right to ask it. But I had to know.
"And....your appetites?"
She looked me straight in the eye.
"I have been with three men, other than my husband, in the last five years. Geraldo was a 26-year-old Spaniard whose families owns mines in Spain and South America. He cruised with us for three straight months, wooing me with wine and gifts and laughter. He made me laugh. He was like a puppy, eager to please, so pathetically transparent that he wanted my body. Finally, I could not say no any longer."
She looked me straight in the eye and said, "He was a wonderful lover. Handsome and – large – and he concentrated on my pleasure before his own. I enjoyed our time together, but I never felt guilty because it was purely sex with him. I gave him nothing that I had promised to Philippe. Finally his family made him come home. He has contacted me a few times since then, but he knew we would not be together again.
"The second was Niccolo. He was a 63-year-old Italian furrier from Rome. He sailed with us three years ago. Twice. He was an intelligent, charming and handsome older man. His wife had died of cancer a year before and he just...looked so lost. I did not plan to...be with him, but he touched my heart. When he came back the second time, I went to him the first night on board.
"And you are the third."
She looked away and said carefully, "Do you think I am a slut?"
"No, not under those circumstances. I know...I can see where Philippe would have women and anyone can become lonely separated from their husband for months, or years. But why did you say that being with me was stupid?"
She reached out to cup my face in one small hand.
"Because Geraldo was a boy who wanted sex and Niccolo was a sad older man who needed healing for a broken heart. I never felt anything – serious – for either one. Nothing could ever have happened with either one. They would never be a threat to Philippe – or what we had.
"You...are dangerous. I told you I felt a spark the first moment I looked at you and you looked back. I have been....unsteady...I have lost my footing since that moment. I love my husband...and you obviously still love your wife...but when I am with you....This cannot be happening. We have only known each other a little more than four days. You cannot...feel...these kinds of emotions in such a short time..."
"And you were going to stop anything from happening last night. Until I made that grand romantic gesture. Do you wish I hadn't gone into Marsh Harbour?"
She kissed me hard before releasing me.
"No. I will never regret last night. Someday this life will be over and Philippe and I will be a normal married couple with a grown son and hopefully grandchildren. Probably in Paris. Philippe will be a powerful man rising in the government and I will attend events and parties with him. And people will look at us and say we are the model of a happy couple.
"And I will love and honor my husband. But I will never forget you, or the hours we have spent together. And I will wear your Fleur-de-lis pin. If anyone asks, I will tell them it was a gift from a dear friend. And Philippe will never ask me exactly how you came to give it to me."
####################
Tuesday, July 19, 2005 – 11 a.m.
The Price of Betrayal
The last class of the morning was trooping out grumbling about their reading assignments and project homework as usual when Miriam Bender showed up at the door to her classroom The secretary to President Myers was standing in the doorway. As usual she appeared to be looking down her nose at Debbie without actually doing so. She was just another flat-chested bitch.
"President Myers would like to see you, now, if you don't mind."
Debbie just stared at her for a moment. He had to know she didn't have another class until 2 p.m. because of the summer schedule. So this was something planned and not spur of the moment. She had a sinking feeling she knew what it was.
Bender knocked on the ornate decorated wooden door to his office, opened it and stuck her head inside. A moment later she motioned to Debbie to enter.
Myers was standing behind his desk, his back to her, finishing a conversation on the telephone. He hung the phone up and motioned to her to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk, which probably cost more than she made in a year. The chairs were low enough that she was looking up at him.
Negotiating 101. Always put your opponent at a lower level forcing him or her to look up. It was a little thing, but in negotiating, little things made a difference.
"Thank you for coming by, Professor Maitland."
"It's never a problem coming to see you, President Myers."
He was an old man, but she said it with just enough of an intonation and intimation and she took a deep breath that she knew he got the message. Vibes the kids called it. He was an old man and she wasn't being blatant, but the man/woman sexual chemistry was always working. If he could play the power hand, she could play the sex/big titty hand she had been dealt.
You used what you had, as she'd always taught her students. She had worked for the powerful local Hunt Bank in Jacksonville before she had decided to go for her professorship. It put her behind most other professors in terms of age and advancement. She would always be older than anyone she was going up against for promotions or advancement. But....
She knew how the real world worked. Many, if not most, of the professors came straight out of academia. They had never worked a day in their life in the real world. And the stuff they taught the bright eyed, ignorant, completely clueless 18 or20 or even 25-year-olds also came straight out of books.
They didn't teach how to deal with managers who made "friendliness" a factor in evaluations, how to deal with managers that stole your ideas and passed them off as their own. They had no idea of how to play up your appearance if you were male or the size of your tits if you were female to get extra attention without being labeled a slut or boy toy. They had no idea how to flirt without looking like you were flirting.
They had no idea of the fine line between being business hot and slutty, of how important a mate's appearance and behavior was to your advancement. It wasn't fair, but those above you judged you on your better half as much as on your own capabilities. They had no idea how to work parties or weekend get-togethers with superiors.
She had always done what she could to work in some of the practical knowledge she had gained working for the Hunts to her students while giving them the academic side, doing her own research and writing, raising two children and trying to keep a marriage going single-handedly. She knew she'd fallen behind on the research and papers, and that just gave the assholes another club to use on her.
Myers did a quick once-over of her face and body. He was old, but he wasn't' dead.
"I appreciate that, Professor Maitland. I wish...this were to be a more...pleasant conversation."
Her heart did a flip-flop.
"I've talked to Department Head Rutledge about the staff meeting yesterday."
"I know I was late, but there was a personal crisis at home."
"It's not just that your tardiness caused problems in finishing and scheduling future classes, but Professor Rutledge says this fits a pattern of....sloppiness....on your part. It seems that your teaching activities have suffered because of...personal considerations."
"President Myers, I have been...my personal life has been somewhat in turmoil recently. You know why. But I've kept up my teaching assignments, my students have received their grades on time, I'm working on a paper right now that should be ready within a month's time."
He looked at her with an expression she couldn't read.
"I'm sorry, Professor, but there have been too many complaints and there are people within your department that feel strongly I should ask you to consider seeking employment elsewhere."
"I could fight that."
"You could. But why? If the decision is made that you should go, you have enough practical experience in the business world to know that it will happen. And while you might fight it, the damage done to your reputation would be so severe that it would ultimately be better for you to make a clean break."
She would not cry. But this on top of Kelly leaving, Doug gone, the divorce looming...why the hell did things always get worse. They had gotten worse since her decision to leave Bill. But it was the right decision.
"Why?"
He looked down at his desk for a moment and when he looked back at her she saw a combination of anger and pity.
"I should not tell you this, and if you say anything, I will say you are lying and if it's your word against mine, you know who people will believe. That will destroy your credibility in future job search efforts. So what I say stays in this office. But, I do want you to know why you are losing your position."
He stared at her breasts for a moment, then said, "I knew a woman like you once. Oh, not as beautiful as you, but she was beautiful. I married her and we had what I thought were five years of a good marriage. Until the day I walked in on her in bed with her tennis instructor. It is so much of a cliché that I still cringe when I talk about it. And she cried that she still loved me and it had been a mistake on her part because I was working much too hard to make a life for us that she had said she wanted.
"I was young and foolish and I loved her. I took her back. And I believe she was faithful to me. But it didn't matter. We were divorced in a year."
He stared into her eyes and she wondered if he even saw her when he looked at her. Or did he see somebody else?
"You see, when something is broken, something as fragile and intangible as trust and faith, it can't be made whole. We should have divorced when I first discovered her infidelity, I suppose. If we had made a clean break, taken time apart and met again, we could have forged a new marriage. A new relationship, I guess. But I didn't. And I could never regain the trust and faith I had in her once.
"After we divorced, I waited three years and remarried. Too soon probably. My second wife was also a beautiful woman. And I could never bring myself to trust her. My suspicion poisoned our marriage and that failure is my part.
"Five years later I met my current wife. We have been married for 29 years and we have a son who is now completing his post-doctoral work at Harvard. My wife has been a good wife to me. And I love her. And to this day, I do not trust her as I should."
He glared at her and she knew now he was seeing her and not ghosts of his past.
"My life has been poisoned by my first wife's betrayal. I have never been the man I was before I walked in on her that day. Such a simple thing, and yet it haunts me to this day. I still think of her sometimes. And I know that deep down, very deep down, I still love her. She is the woman I should have grown old with. But she threw it all away."
The glare turned to a cold smile.
"I have tried not to keep tabs on her, to want to know how her life has gone. But people talk, and I see things. She has been married four times. And three of those times her husbands have cheated on her. She has no children. She has had a drinking problem, although I believe she has it under control. She lives alone now.
"I wish I could say that I pity her, but in all honesty, her pain has brought me comfort. There is a price to betrayal. Judas Iscariot, the first great betrayer, hung himself. He had the decency to do the right thing in the end.
"You, Professor Maitland, betrayed a man who obviously loved you. I saw it in him that night. He will never be the same man he was. He may come back and build a new life, but something will have been lost.
"That is why, Professor Maitland, I will be terminating your relationship with this university."
There were many things she could have said, but nothing that would have mattered. She got up to leave.
"Professor Maitland. I know this has been a shock and life will be...difficult..for you with everything else that is going on. Let me suggest that you contact Johnny August, the Jacksonville Public Defender. I can only tell you that there is a great deal of turmoil in that office and I know that from contacts I have, someone with your experience and reputation in corporate organization and operations, might find some interest there. It's strictly up to you."
She walked out without looking back and started to think when her brain started functioning again what she would do. As she left Myers' office she realized she had never felt so alone in her life.
########################
Tuesday, July 19, 2005 – 11:30 a.m.
I sat on a deck chair on Deck Quatre and watched the excursion ships chugging back and forth through the somewhat choppy waves toward the small spit of land that had been developed into a cruise ship play ground with a snack hut, changing hut, surfboard rental and a few other tourist amenities in the middle of nowhere.
In only two days and nights we'd be back in Jacksonville. And already the thoughts of what were waiting for me were beginning to occupy my mind.
The "killer granny" trial transferred up from Orlando would probably come up in a month or two, which was tomorrow in Attorney Time. The last of the three child-killing drug-dealing thug brothers would be up in another few weeks.
A brutal and evil man who had beaten his wife to death with a tire iron would go to trial and probably walk away a free man unless I managed to pull legal rabbit out of a hat.
And the black cop who had shot to death the white husband of the cop's white girlfriend, as well as the husband's two white brothers, was the big thundercloud hanging over everything else. The white girlfriend hadn't bothered to divorce her husband before moving in with the cop.
In a perfect world, his race and the girlfriend's race and the race of the three dead men wouldn't matter. But the last time I'd looked, we didn't live in a perfect world.
I had slowly come to the conclusion of what I do would do about the cop, but the dead men were going to be just as dead if I put off the decision for a few more months. There is no statue of limitations on murder, fortunately. Because this one might really spell the end of my time at the State Attorney's Office. I just hadn't figured out a way to do what was right, without committing professional suicide.
I was thinking about these and other matters and sipping slowly on a snifter of Tequila Crude, pouring salt on the back of my hand, sliding a little of the Tequila down my throat and then biting into a wedge of lemon and enjoying the exquisitely sour rush.
"I see you are a man who knows how to drink Tequila."
I looked up. A tall brunette with large breasts, lips redder than rubies and eyes with ornately designed eyebrows stood at the rail looking down at me. I wondered if I might be putting out male pheromones.
"The product of a misspent youth, I'm afraid."
She sat in a chair beside me and offered me her hand. I took it and shook it. Sitting down she looked as good as she had standing.
"I am Danielle Vallée. I am one of the ship's Assistant Cruise Directors."
"Glad to meet you. I've already met one of your counterparts."
"I know, Aline. She had mentioned you and I've seen her with you."
"She is a very sweet lady and she has done an outstanding job of making the cruise an excellent one."
She smiled and said, "I'm sure. Screaming was reported from your room. Screaming which sounded suspiciously like Aline. And when she made her appearance today, she tried but could not keep the smile off her face."
"I'm sure she smiles frequently."
"No, she does not. And everyone knows why. That's why I wanted to thank you."
"For...?"
"For bringing a little happiness to a woman who deserves more. She is a good woman, a good crew mate, and a good friend."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

She stood up and walked away without another word.

I sat there and thought about ordering another one. I was still thinking about it when a slight redheaded man sat beside me as I finished the Tequila Crude. He was out of uniform so it took me a second to recognize him.
"Father Dunleavy. And a fine mornin' to ya," I said in my best fake Irish brogue.
He just smiled and said, "Keep your day job, Mr. Maitland. What is that splendid concoction you're finishing there?"
I told him and he flagged down a waiter and ordered one for himself and another for me.
"It's early to be drinking, Mr. Maitland, but in the words of that great American song, 'It's 5 o'clock somewhere'!"
We talked about generalities, world politics, the possibility of more tribal conflicts in Rwanda and whether Tequila Crudes or Bloody Mary's were the true uncrowned great drink of the western world.
"You can't talk about Russia, because they don't know anything but Vodka there, or Italy because it's wine this and wine that," he said smiling.
We drank for a while and then he said, "You know that she is greatly conflicted about the attraction she feels for you?"
"Is that what she talked about with you?"
"Among other things. I gave her what advice I could, but I couldn't give her any answers."
"I would think as a Catholic Priest the answer would be pretty obvious. She's married. She shouldn't be going to bed with anybody but her husband."
"Most people would say that, and probably 99 percent of the time that rule would be sufficient. But...do you know her situation, that of her and her husband?"
"Not only that, but I know her husband. I would have called him a friend until I went to bed with his wife. I assume you know that because everybody seems to know everything on this ship. Since I am cuckolding him, I'm not sure how I'd characterize our relationship."
"That is only a word."
"But words, as a famous American conservative political commentator says, mean something. I tend to agree. Call it anything you want, I pursued and bedded a married woman who I think loves her husband. I did the same thing to him that a son-of-a-bitch did to me when he destroyed my marriage. I can't say I regret what I did, but I'm not proud of it."
Dunleavy took a lick of salt, a bite of lemon and a splash of Tequila, then said, "It is a shame that God is not as wise as we are. You know the truth of the matter but I'm not sure that God is as sure as you are."
"What is there to be unsure of, father. I'm an attorney. I deal with facts, with laws, with standards. There is no doubt she's married, no doubt married people should be faithful to their spouses, and no doubt she wasn't. Where is the uncertainty?"
"There are no absolute equations to govern the human heart. There are no certainties. There are God's rules for us follow, but he knows and we know that we will not always follow them. Sometimes we can't.
"Aline told me that you said you pride yourself on being an upright man, on doing the right thing. From what I heard last night, I believe you are a good man. And I believe you try to do the right thing. But don't abuse yourself because you did something you think is wrong. No matter how good you are, only God ALWAYS does the right thing, and even he can be moved by pity and love."
"Are you sure you're a Catholic priest. I always thought clergymen would be more – certain –of the rules."
He set his empty glass down beside his deck chair and reached into his pants pocket to pull out a slim wallet. He pulled out two laminated photos. One showed a pretty redheaded young woman, in the dress of an earlier generation. She had curly hair, dimples and a sweet smile. A true Colleen. I felt certain my father would have recognized and been attracted to her by the Irish quality of her smile.
The second photo was of a slender young man, probably in his 30s, standing at a podium and receiving what looked like a plaque. He looked a lot like Father Dunleavy.
"I entered the priesthood a little later than most. I was 25. And engaged to be engaged. In Ireland even back in the 80s, things moved a little differently. This is a photo of Brianne O'Collins, the girl I had planned to marry since I was seven years old and she was six.
"But, in my 20s I began to feel the call. I fought it as long as I could, but in the end, I knew I had no choice. God wanted me in the priesthood and I could not bring a wife along.
"It broke her heart, as I knew it would. After I entered, she refused to talk to me, to receive me calls. My letters came back unanswered.
"Two years after I entered I went to her home and her father and three brothers, all big bruisers, convinced me with their fists that Brianne wanted no more of me and had, in fact, decided to marry another man.
"It wasn't until a year later that I learned that she had taken her own life earlier that summer. Pills. They buried her in our hometown. I visited her graveside. On her tombstone they had written, 'Returned to the Angels.'
"I collapsed at her side and the only reason I did not take my own life is because I knew it would be the ultimate sin. Sometimes I think I made the wrong decision. Our faith teaches us that suicide is the one unforgivable sin, and thus she must be in Hell now.
"It was only years later that I learned she had had a son seven months after I entered the priesthood. The family kept his existence secret but it got out.
"When I found out I called, sent letters, hired private investigators, used the resources of the Vatican, but her parents and brothers, the whole clan, kept the wall up. They are powerful and wealthy, and they did not fear even the Vatican. He grew up without my ever seeing him in the flesh.
"A friend saw this picture in an Irish paper when he received a plaque for some business achievement. He went into his family business and apparently was very successful. When I saw this picture, I sent him a letter telling him who I was and asking if I could meet him. I figured as an adult, I could reach him without his family getting in the way.
"Three weeks later I received a brief reply. 'I've lived 25 years without you in my life. You never saw fit to be part of my life. I see no reason to change that'."
He looked at both pictures for a moment, then returned them to his wallet.
"I thought about pursuing it, but then....He was right. He has lived his entire life without me in it. It was her family that kept us apart. But....I made the decision to abandon his mother. And I believe she must have loved me enough to be unwilling to use her pregnancy as a tool to stop me from going into the priesthood.
"I had given up any right to be a part of his life, and perhaps that is the way God willed it."
He looked up at me and perhaps it was the sea air that made his eyes gleam.
"So, you see, Mr. Maitland, I have no answers for you, or Aline. Or anyone else. I do God's will as I see it, but when it comes to matters of the heart..."
He got up.
"All I can tell you is that you seem to make her happy. Does she make you happy?"
I thought about his question. Are crack addicts happy when they are deep in a drug addled dream world? Are drug dealers happy when they've made a big score? Was Doug happy the night he took my wife and fucked her senseless, when she undoubtedly squealed out how much she loved his big cock?
Was happiness the only thing that mattered in this life?
Then she was standing beside me in the brilliant sunlight. Black hair, blue and gold uniform and a brilliant gold and diamond Fleur-de-lis pin catching the light and throwing it back.
She didn't look back at me as she said, "I have a few hours free, Mr. Maitland. Can you think of something we might do to pass the time?"
"I have a few ideas."
She started walking away, saying, "If we meet at your room, you'll have to fill me in – literally , of course."
As I watched that fantastic ass twitching away from me I knew I was lost. Sometimes I think free will is an illusion. I got up and walked in the direction she had taken.
############################
Tuesday, July 19, 2005 – 12:30 p.m.
She lifted her head up from the papers she was reading as she heard the knock on her office door and saw Mark Trenton poking his head in her office door. He smiled at her and said, "Hi, Deb. Could you head over to my office. Rutledge wanted you to take a look at an article in the Journal. Thought it might apply to some of our classes."
"Can I get a rain check, Mark, I'm really jammed. I've got a class coming in a half hour and I still have a little bit of prep to finish."
She didn't that her head wanted to spin like a top, she felt sick to her stomach and she wanted nothing more than to drive to her parents' house, put her head in her mother's lap and cry like a baby.
"C'mon, won't take but a few minutes. Look, I'll spring for coffee at Starbucks afterwards. You know you love their cinnamon Cappuccinos. My treat."
That didn't make her heart beat faster, but there was no point in being rude. He wasn't a bad guy, just married to a mousy little bitch that obviously didn't do anything for him in bed which led to his hanging around her like a horny puppydog too much of the time. But, shit, she needed all the friends she could find right now.
"OK, big guy, lead the way."
She followed him to his office and he gestured to a newspaper lying on his desk.
"Have a seat and read it. Shouldn't be but a few minutes."
She sat down and started reading and noticed he closed the door to his office. Secretaries gossiped and he definitely didn't want any reports getting back to her about the office sex symbol being in HIS office.
Besides, he was harmless. He was one of the men who would rub his dick up against her when he got her dancing at a university party, but he acted like he'd run like a scared rabbit if she ever reached down and grabbed it. Not that she ever would.
He was standing behind her as she kept reading and trying to figure what the hell he thought she might be able to get out of this article when she felt his hand circle her breast and squeeze. The first thought that entered her mind was that she had to try to stomp on his instep and kick him in the balls because he had obviously lost his mind.
He squeezed again and bent down to kiss her on the side of the face. Jesus Christ! He had just licked her face with his tongue. She pushed the chair back until he hit the bookcase behind his desk hard and yelped. She managed to twist the chair around to face him and realized she hand her hands out with the fingernails poised like claws to rip his face.
"What is the matter with you, Mark? Have you lost your mind? What are you doing?"
He hesitated and she saw that he was frightened, then something seemed to stiffen his spine and he reached out to grab her by the wrists.
He bent in to kiss her and forced her head back against the chair and did his best to force his tongue between her teeth?
She finally thought, fuck it, the day has been too bad so far to put up with this bullshit. She opened her teeth, let him dart his tongue in and then bit down as hard as she could. He would have screamed but she had his tongue in a firm grip. She tasted blood and debated biting his damned tongue off, but that would create more trouble than she could handle.
Finally she let him go and he fell backwards. She bent down beside him as he scrambled away and took his hand and put it on her breast and squeezed her hand down over his. She smiled at him and said, "If you wanted a feel, Mark, why didn't you just ask? Why act like an asshole? Do you want to feel my titty?"
His face was a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions but lust won out and he squeezed hard enough to make her yelp. He took her hand and placed it on his cock, which was growing harder by the second. She almost sneered. He was no jolly green giant. Bill was bigger. But she just rubbed and squeezed until he got as hard as she figured he was going to get. Then she stepped away and came down on it with her knee as hard as she could.
He would have screamed except she placed her hand over his mouth and when he tried to gasp for air, she knelt down again and put pressure on it with her knee.
"You say one fucking sound and I will turn that pathetic dick and balls to a paste, you fucker. You understand me?"
He tried to wriggle away but when she put her weight down he stopped and gasped again.
"Okay, okay, don't do anything stupid. I'm sorry."
"What is going on, Mark? You've never been this stupid before. You realize I could have you arrested for bang?"
"bang you?" He actually sneered. "Who'd believe you could be bangd by anybody?"
She wanted to scratch his eyes out but restrained herself.
"You know I am thinking seriously of ripping your tongue out and pulling your dick off with it, you piece of shit."
"Why? Because I made a pass at you? Shit, you've rubbed my dick before at dances, just like you have a dozen other guys I know. Everybody knows you're a slut just waiting for the right guy. I almost won the pool. I had you down for fucking Doug Baker three months after you met him. You held out longer than I expected."
"So I'm a slut because you assholes couldn't keep from rubbing your little weinies all over me in public places and I didn't want to raise a fuss?"
"Oh, give me a break, Debbie. Everybody knows what you are. You loved having guys rubbing their dicks on you and feeling up those big boobs. Any decent woman would have slapped my face when I practically fucked you on the dance floor, but not you. You enjoyed it. You know what you are? They had a name for it once. You're just a fucking cock tease."
Just for once she wished she were a man so she could beat the shit out of him.
"Alright, you're a delusional asshole. But why here, why today?"
"Because Doug has been dragging around looking like his best friend died for the last two days. We all figured something happened between you guys. Which means you're fair game. I figured, why the hell not. And why not? You're almost not married. If you're not with Doug, you gotta be getting action from somebody. Why not me?"
She backed away from him, not sure whether she wanted to laugh or kick him again.
"Why not you, Mark? Why wouldn't I fuck you? Well, lets total up the reasons, shall we? You're a slimy little toad for one. You've got a dinky little dick for another. That's two. You make me physically sick. That's number three. If I let you into my pussy, I have a feeling you're the kind of selfish asshole that would squirt before I came the first time. That's number four. Because to you I'm just a pair of tits and a pussy. You don't give a damn about me. That's number five.
She stood up and backed away from him carefully.
"I've seen that mousy little wife of yours and felt sorry for her because of the way she looked. Now I'm sorry for her because your sorry ass and that pitiful excuse for a dick is all she has to look forward to in the bedroom. Unless..she's smart enough to be getting some strange."
She made it to the door while he was trying to get to his feet and calling her a bitch.
She was turning and heading for her office when she bounced off somebody. She lost her balance and was going down when a strong male arm caught her arm first and then her waist and kept her from falling. Inadvertently, maybe, he wound up with one large breast cradled in one hand. He pulled away as if she were on fire.
A face with a broad forehead, dark brown eyes and full lips stared at her from a foot away and said, "I'm sorry, Miss. But at the speed you were going, I couldn't get out of your way."
He glanced at her face and then his eyes dropped down to her chest.
Everything came together. Doug and Kelly. Bill. Myers cutting her off at the knees. Kelly leaving her alone in the house. That asshole Trenton. The whole fucking male part of the human race.
"Asshole. You didn't get enough of a feel when you grabbed me just then. Why are all men such asshole bastards. Take a good look and get the hell away from me. Pervert!"
There were people walking around them and naturally everyone stopped to look at the two of them, The man flushed a deep red, acted as if he wanted to say something, then just shook his head and turned and walked away.
Two seconds later she realized she was the asshole, but he was gone and she still had to prepare for that class. To hell with it. To hell with men. To hell with sex. To hell with sex with men. Maybe she should just have been a lesbian. God knows, they couldn't be harder to live with than men.
######################################
Tuesday, July 19, 2005 – 4 p.m.
The last student of the last class of the day had finally slouched out. Because no one was around, she dropped her head to the lectern she had stood behind for most of the classes. The classes were large enough that the classes were basically lectures which she delivered standing behind the lectern.
If she had had a cot in her office she would have thought about just dropping onto it and trying to forget this day had ever happened. Make that this week. Make that the last four months. Make it the last five years.
But BJ would be coming home around 8 p.m. from a friend's house. It would only be the two of them. And she wanted to be there when he got home.
She knew she was being overemotional. Kelly would eventually come back. Teenage rebellions didn't last forever. Doug was gone, but she'd meet somebody else. Jesus Christ, of that she had no doubt. As long as it wasn't a slimeball like Trenton.
Bill was gone, but he'd been gone a long time. As she thought about him she felt a stab of regret and at the same time a moment of rage. If he had been in front of her...She rubbed her forehead. It almost felt like a migraine.
Granted he was an asshole. Granted he had thrown their marriage away. Granted he had done his best to ruin her career and her life because she wanted a life of her own.
But still...those flashes of rage and anger... they almost scared her. They had had too many years, he had given her too many orgasms, they had been happy for a long time. Why were there those flashes of rage, of hatred even. She shouldn't hate him, even now. And she knew she didn't, because there were other moments...
Oh hell. She'd have to call her gynecologist and have her hormones tested. There was too much crap in her life to be going crazy at the same time. Maybe she just needed some hormones, or tranquilizers.
As she was walked out she couldn't help hearing two secretaries in the common office section of the business department where six secretaries shared common quarters.
"...I know what you mean. I saw him over in the restaurant with the head of English. They're making a big deal out of him, but, damn, he is hot. That hair and those eyes....you could drown in them...
"yeah, he's hot...in a tweedy sort of way.."
"yeah, very cultured...but I wonder what he'd look like out of those tweeds. He's not super built, but it looks like what he has is nice..looks like he has a nice tight ass...for an older guy..."
"damn...girl you are a cradle robber....you're calling him older..he can't be much more than 40- 45"
"to you that's young..to me he's older...but I wouldn't kick him out of bed anyway...."
She walked over to the two secretaries who were unaware she'd been eavesdropping. She could almost read their minds. None of the women working here had any great love for her. That was partly her fault, but damn they were a bunch of envious bitches.
She smiled at them and tried to be just another woman working in the building.
"Hi, you wouldn't be talking to a guy about six foot tall, dark brown eyes? We nearly knocked each over near 1 o'clock outside Professor Trenton's office. I've never seen him around here? That sound like your guy? Who is he?"