Adultery When We Were Married by DanielQSteele1

[Ramesh_Rocky]

                                                                 When We Were Married                                                                                                                                         Written by :- DanielQSteele1



                                                          
© Daniel Quentin Steele – 2010

Author's note:" There is a real State Attorney's Office headquartered in Jacksonville. Facts about locations and elements of the office organization has been changed, because it makes for a better story. This time I'm taking a chance by submitting without Lady Pine Rose's input since she's tied up elsewhere so I hope readers will forgive any mistakes on my part. As always, I hope readers enjoy the story and I welcome your input."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

April , 2005

Four words wrecked my marriage and my life. And they're not the four words you're probably thinking about.
Not "we have to talk," or "baby, I've met somebody" or "our sex life sucks" or even "You're not giving me enough." Actually that last is five words, but hey, who's counting.
It was a lot stranger, and simpler than that. I had come into our bedroom on a Tuesday night after finishing a "law and order" re-run on cable and was getting ready to take a shower. I tend to watch a lot of cop and lawyer shows. Coals to Newcastle, really.
I should have gotten enough of that stuff in my day job as an Assistant State Attorney in the Duval County State Attorney's Office. To northerners, that's the same as the District Attorney's Office.. We are the people who prosecute bad guys and put them away when we can. Anyway, I like those kinds of cop shows. Even after 10 years on the job, I still like what I do.
Anyway, Debbie was in bed, lying back on a scrunched up pillow, looking through some travel magazine. She usually brings back a ton of student papers to grade from UNF where she's an associate professor in the College of Business. They generally take a couple to three hours to finish. But she's conscientious and it was 11 p.m. and she was relaxing.
I enjoyed the view. Even though we had been married 17 years, I still enjoyed looking at her. A tall blonde, hair cut fashionably movie star style with Jennifer Anniston bangs, she looked 10 years younger than her true age of 39. The robe she wore was as sexy as a potato sack, but I could still see the curve of her D-cup breasts underneath it. I could also envision her long legs.
I thought about trying to get a real look between them, but stopped myself. She insisted I take my evening shower and brush my teeth before I even tried and she was usually too tired on weeknights to even consider the idea. I looked down at myself. I was five foot nine, Debbie five-ten, and where she was still fairly svelte from working out at the gym, I'd already developed the class middle aged paunch of a guy whose only exercise was getting out on the links every few months. And I only did that when office politics absolutely demanded it.
I walked into the bathroom and stripped off my tee shirt and shorts that I generally wore around the house. We had a full length mirror and I took inspection. Hair thinning and a real bald spot was beginning to develop where I could barely see it at the rear of my scalp.
Then I look at my midsection. Jesus, pasty white and flabby. No wonder Debbie preferred on the increasingly infrequent times when we did have sex to keep the lights off. I looked like a fucking old lawyer. I looked like those old guys my friends and I used to laugh at when I'd started lawyering. I was only 41, not 61. I made up my mind at that point. I'd always told myself that I didn't have the time to join a gym and I had gently teased Debbie about being a little vain. To hell with that. If I was a woman, I sure as hell wouldn't be too eager to have sex with me.
I took my shower and came out freshly scrubbed, but I didn't wear my normal underwear and white tee-shirt. I came out with a towel around my middle and found a pajamas set in the drawer on my side of the bed. I thought Debbie glanced over at me and there might have been a little smile flickering on her face, but that might have been my imagination.
With my pot covered, I slid into bed next to her. I leaned over to kiss her. I tried for the lips but she moved her head slightly so I planted a kiss on the side of her face. She smiled absent mindedly at me.
"The kids asleep?"
Bill Jr. was 14 and Kelly was 16. Bill I'd left trolling on the computer for skateboarding or as he called it shredder sites, but I was pretty sure he was looking for porn. What the hell, he was 14 and had discovered that girls were delightfully different creatures. I had the computers set up with tracking programs. I trusted the kids, but I'd been prosecuting scum too long to be happy and ignorant about what they were up to.
Kelly was, I'm pretty sure from the way she'd lowered her voice and moved as far away from me as she could and still stay in the den, talking to one of her boyfriends. I know she had more than one, because she was a luscious junior edition of her mother.
"No, but they know the rules. I'm sure they'll be in bed in an hour or so. Hey, those were great pictures. Where was that beach, the one with the Tiki hut things near the water?"
"Oh."
She glanced over at me as if surprised that I'd noticed what she was reading. She held the magazine out to me. It was "Travel" with the pages turned to "The best beaches you've never heard of." The beach was on an island I'd never heard of and I couldn't even pronounce the name.
"Man, that is beautiful. What about it, would you like to go there this summer when the college is on break? I know you weren't planning on teaching this summer."
She looked at me as if surprised.
"That's – sweet, Bill...but...I had meant to talk to you. I was thinking about teaching this summer. Larry Carter usually teaches the summer session but his wife talked him into taking her to Hawaii and they need someone to fill in."
"When did this come up? I hadn't heard a word about it."
She looked into my eyes and then away with an expression I couldn't place.
"About a month ago. I'd meant to mention it, but I kept forgetting. Sorry. I didn't think we had any firm plans. You're always working on some case or other. And we haven't gone anywhere exotic in a long time."
"I know, but-"
She dropped the magazine to her hip, then rolled a little so one big luscious breast bulged out against her robe and said, "I'm sorry Bill, I pretty much already told them I'd take the summer session. But, look, we went to some wonderful places when we were married and next summer I promise I'll leave time so we can go somewhere nice."
No one at the office has ever accused me of being slow on the uptake, but it took me a minute after she finished patting me on the hand and then picked the magazine back up before it sunk in.
I said the words to myself silently and ran them over and over, jumbling them up and trying to figure out how I had misunderstood my loving, blonde and very sexy wife.
"...when we were married?"
She looked back at me from the magazine with a slightly puzzled expression on her face as if she'd only heard part of what I said, and asked, "What did you say?"
I didn't realize it then, but from the expression that slowly grew on her face I realized a storm cloud must have appeared on mine as I slowly, with great emphasis and the beginnings of real anger, said, "You said we went some nice places WHEN WE WERE MARRIED. Is there something going on I don't know about?"
An expression consisting of equal parts surprise, embarrassment and what appeared to be shock appeared on her face.
"What are you talking about Bill? You must have misunderstood what I said."
"No. You said it very clearly and distinctly. WHEN WE WERE MARRIED! I kind of thought we were married. That's why I asked if there was something I wasn't aware of."
She shook her head and tried to look me in the eyes.
"I couldn't have said that, Bill. That's crazy. "
"No, just weird. I know we're married, babe, so where did that come from?"
"I don't – oh. I must have meant we've been some nice places since we've been married. That's what I meant to say."
"Oh."
I rolled it around inside my head and I knew she was lying. 'Since we were married,' and "when we were married" aren't close enough to make that kind of mistake. And she hadn't been thinking when she said it. It had popped out without her thinking about it or apparently even realizing what she was saying.
In the office we call those Freudian give-aways. Most people call them Freudian slips. When people's mouths outrun the control of their minds, they can say things that wind up sending them to prison or the death chamber at Raiford.
Any prosecutor or cop knows that no matter how tightly controlled a person may be, the unconscious mind is always perking away down below. And when you're guilty about something, what the unconscious mind is doing is trying to confess something the conscious mind wants to keep hidden.
What was she thinking about, I thought, glancing at her beautiful face and realizing she was still focused in with a laser-like stare on my eyes. She was trying to read me the way I was reading her. Only I was better at it because I'd done it for a living for a long time.
And then I realized with an acidic burn in the pit of my stomach, I'd never looked at her in our 17 years of marriage and two years of dating before that this way: the way I'd stare at a suspect, a scum bag, a perp as our brethren cops dubbed them. I didn't like the feeling I had about her.
I made myself laugh, although it came out as a dry chuckle.
"You're right, babe. Anybody can garble their words. I even do it once in a while. I have to admit, you gave me a fright there. I was wondering if we'd ever been legally married. Was there a problem with our marriage license? Or did you secretly divorce me?"
I tried to make myself laugh again but all that came out was a dry cough.
She searched my eyes intently as if trying to see if I was telling the truth. But after ten years of working a courtroom, I've got that poker-stare down pat. She wouldn't get any hints from my face.
She reached over and did something that shocked and scared me a little. She took my hand and brought it to her lips and kissed it. Such a simple thing. But I couldn't remember the last time she had ever done it. Even when we were getting ready for sex it was kissing on the lips and her jerking my dick and my licking her luscious pussy until she was wet and ready.
But a simple gesture like kissing the back of my hand....it was something lovers did. And I realized we hadn't been lovers in forever.
If she had looked up then, I know she would have known and the game would have been over and our lives would have gone very differently. Because my eyes flooded with tears as I realized the shit that our marriage had become while I was too blind to see it happening in front of me. If she had looked me in the eye then she would have known something was terribly wrong and I would have told her the truth about what I was thinking and our marriage would have changed forever- one way or other.
But she didn't and I was able to squelch the emotions and quickly wipe my eyes with my free hand.
She kept her face tightly against the back of my hand and kissed it again. Without looking at me, she said, "I'm sorry for saying it that way, Bill. You know I love you. You're the only man in my life. I love you more now than when we married. You're the father of my children. This is crazy. It was just a slip of the tongue and it didn't mean anything."
But I couldn't take my prosecutor hat off. I wondered why she wouldn't look at me when she professed her undying love. And I found myself listening to and weighing her words, her tone. I'd listened to thousands of depositions and thousands of witnesses on witness stands. And I found the professional side of my mind, not the husband, weighing her words.
And over and over, my mind went back to the same question. It told me that when she said, "When we were married," she was talking in the past tense. That meant in the present tense, in the now, we weren't married. At least in her mind. Or was it that she simply didn't WANT to be married to me anymore. Or was she planning to make herself un-married in the near future? Was a divorce in the offing?
Which inevitably led to the question: was she simply tired of me and ready to toss me in the garbage and make a new life for herself with another man? Or had she already found my replacement? Was she fucking another guy right now? Was that why our sex life was infrequent, so boring, so bland, so..vanilla. Was that why we had been mom and dad a hundred times more than we'd been lovers, sex partners.
Of course, a part of me kept telling me this whole train of thought was stupid. She had just mixed up her words. Tomorrow morning things would be back to normal and in a day or two I'd laugh at my own paranoia. I had simply been a prosecutor too many years looking deep into the worst of humanity, and it colored the way I looked at everything, even my wife and my marriage.
I wanted to believe that, but everything felt...wrong. It was a simple mistake, but why had she reacted the way she had? If it was nothing she'd simply have laughed it off, went back to her reading and teased me about taking it the wrong way. But she hadn't. She had acted worried, disturbed and now she was acting in an unusually loving manner.
She let my hand go and put the magazine on the drawer by her side of our king sized water bed. She reached up and turned off the nightlight on her side and told me, "Turn the light off, honey." As I reached over to my right to turn off the light on my side I saw her stand up out of the corner of my eye and I held off turning off the light.
By the time I had rolled back to her the robe had dropped and she was stepping out of her panties. Her heavy breasts had fallen with age and gravity, but they were still incredibly swollen and juicy melons even with the nipples pointing down at a 45 degree angle. But I lost focus on my favorite part of her when my eyes drifted down to her pussy.
I couldn't understand what I was looking at first. I found myself looking for the golden fuzz that surrounded her vagina, but it was gone. It was as smooth as baby's bottom. Just the pink of her outer lips and a hint of the red interior. After a minute I realized she had shaved down there. Gotten rid of all her public hair. Why, and for whom, I wondered. I had never suggested it. I'd heard about it from friends, married and bachelor, and it might have been nice but it was never anything I would have brought up. Not in recent years, anyway.
She looked at me, read the expression on my face, and said with a timid smile, "Do you like it? A lot of the girls at the college, especially the younger and single ones, told me this is really hot and men love it."
I just looked at her for a moment, and then I couldn't stop myself from saying, "I bet they do. Have you gotten any compliments?"
She just stared at me until what I'd said sunk in. Now the tears appeared in her eyes.
"How can you say that, Bill. God, how can you say something that mean...when I did this for you?"
The anger that was percolating inside me was coming out and I couldn't stop it.
"And just when were you going to show me your new look, baby? After you finished your article? Or watched the late news. Or were you going to just strip and jump on me, the way you usually do. Oh, that's right, I forgot. You never do that. If I'm going to get any action, I have to give you notice, shower, shave and brush my teeth and get you in the mood first. When was the last time you just stripped and jumped me?"
I pretended to think.
"Oh, yeah. Never. So what's different about tonight. Oh and how long ago did you shave it?"
She climbed onto the bed on her hands and knees, her breasts dangling down like ripe fruit. She knew that almost made me hard as a rock. She reached out and closed her hand on my cock. It was already rigid and I couldn't help release a little groan of pleasure.
"I don't want to fight, Bill. I want you. Inside me. The way it used to be. I'm sorry I've let things slide. I've been so busy with the kids and work and friends that I let the main thing in my life go unattended to. And that's you. I shaved because I wanted to excite you. I wanted you to grab me and throw me down, spread my legs and fuck me the way you used to. We used to love it, remember?"
And I wanted to believe her. I wanted to remember those nights when we were first married and I couldn't get enough of her. I wanted to believe she had shaved herself for me. I wanted to believe that she had been planning to surprise me with incredibly hot sex out of the blue tonight.
Unfortunately, I couldn't. I grabbed her hand and pulled it off my rock hard cock. It was probably the hardest thing I'd ever had to do.
She looked at me as if I'd gone crazy, and she probably thought I had.
"Babe, I really don't know what's going through your mind right now. I don't even know if I know you anymore. One thing I do know. There was no way in hell you were planning on having hot sex with me tonight. You'd have gotten rid of the kids somehow. It's easy enough to farm them off on somebody. You wouldn't have let me waste the night in front of the tube. You wouldn't have been in bed with your –no touch- robe on. You'd have had me shaved and cleaned up a long time ago.
"No, this was just an average, every day kind of night. The kind of night a middle aged, long married couple spend most nights; reading, television, maybe a cuddle, then check on the kids and get enough sleep to get going tomorrow. That's been our life."
I looked at her curiously. She wasn't crying, just looked stunned.
"Everything changed a few minutes ago. When you said those four words....you started loving on me, stripped, showed me that new shaved pussy of yours I had no idea existed, and then you grabbed and started to jerk. I can't remember the last time you ever did that.
"I don't know what's going on, Debra, but something is. Are you going to tell me what it is?"
She put her hands together and cupped her fists as she tried to hold my gaze and then dropped her eyes.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Bill. I just wanted to ...to make love to my husband. You're acting so crazy over what's nothing."
"Are you fucking somebody else?"
At that she did cry. Then she wiped the tears from her eyes, got off the bed and slipped her robe back on. There was real anger on her face.
"You are an asshole. I try to make love to you, to bring us a little closer because God knows we've drifted so far apart, and you accuse me of cheating on you. Fucking another man, to use your words. That you could say that, that you could even think it, shows me our marriage is in really, really bad shape."
I didn't say anything, because she had said it all.
"I'm going downstairs to sleep on the couch in the den, you bastard. I don't think I could stand looking at you or touching you tonight. And tomorrow, try to get out of here without saying a word to me or even looking at me. You think you can do that?"
"I think so."
And she was out the door.
##############################

The next morning I got up early with the alarm set for 5. I'd already taken a shower. I grabbed a suit from our bedroom closet, slipped out the door without stopping for coffee and in other words, got out of Dodge while the getting was good. I didn't bother to turn on the light in the den but I could see a dark shade huddled under a blanket on the huge couch that is the main feature of our den. That along with the largest big screen television allowed under the law. As I walked past the door to the darkened room, I tried to remember the last time we'd made out on that couch. I couldn't remember.
When I got to work I quickly slipped into the usual routine. A wealthy Ponte Vedra trophy wife had apparently, according to her lover, faked her own kidnapping to extort 1.5 million from her elderly husband. I had to decide what charges to file.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

A 75-year-old husband had been tearfully arrested after a coroner found five times the lawful level of painkiller in his dead wife's cancer ridden body. He swore he hadn't fed her the extra drugs to speed her end. We had to make the decision on whether to charge or not to charge him with mercy killing. Which is basically homicide with a good chance of mercy from the judge after a guilty plea.

The Jacksonville Sheriff was bugging the hell out of our junior assistants and working his way up to me pleading for a little mercy in the case of respected patrol officer who had shot his girlfriend's husband and two brothers-in-law to death when they showed up at his house trying to take the girlfriend home where they said she belonged.
Of course there were three of them, and the cop was pleading fear for his life, but he had blown them away with his Glock and they, unfortunately for him, were unarmed when they were shot to death. Oh, and one brother-in-law had two bullet holes in his back. Kind of hard to argue fear for your life when you shot a man in the back as he was running away from you.
But, there's a symbiotic relationship between cops and prosecutors and the Big Man who signed my checks and wanted to be Governor of Florida someday did not want the cops getting pissy with our office and subtly sabotaging our cases because we'd screwed one of Jacksonville's finest.
As one of the three top assistants under the Big Man, the case got dumped in my hands and I had to make a Solomon-like decision.
And, of course, all the while these fairly routine matters were on my mind, in the back of my head the thoughts and fears aroused last night kept swirling and swirling. As usual I didn't have time to get out of my office so I had a Camel Rider sub with cheese and chopped up hamburger and onions delivered to my office about 1 p.m.
When Cheryl, my secretary for the last five years, brought the lunch in, I told her to call the front desk and tell them that unless God called in with an emergency over the next hour, all my calls were to be held.
She stepped back into the office and looked at me expectantly. I never held calls like that. I looked her over. Five foot six, red haired, dressed demurely in a light red dress that was short enough to be provocative but not enough to be slutty and out of place in a work environment. She wore glasses and her hair up in a bun, but I'd been around a few times when she let her hair down, figuratively and literally, and I knew there was a wild mane of red hair almost down to her ass that was almost hypnotically strokable.
"Do you need anything else Mr. Maitland?" she asked.
"Take off the secretary hat, Cheryl, and I'll take off my boss hat. I'd like to talk to you for a minute."
She looked at me oddly for a minute, then relaxed. We'd been to a few office parties and I'd seen her on her ass drunk and even taken her home once and she knew I'd never touched her when I probably could have touched her anywhere I wanted. She'd never said anything overt, but I got the impression she admired me for not messing with her when I could have.
"What's wrong, Bill?"
"Something has to be wrong for me to talk to one of my favorite secretaries," I said, trying to smile.
"You never hold your calls for an hour, I can't remember the last time you asked me in here for some private time, and anyone in here can take one look at you and tell something is bothering you."
That hurt my pride.
"I'm that transparent? And I was priding myself on my poker face."
"Usually you are pretty inscrutable. But when you walked in the door this morning, I knew something was up. And knowing you, it's personal. You are too cool when it comes to legal stuff. So it's either the kids or Debbie, and if I were a betting woman I'd say Debbie. You guys have a fight?"
I looked down at the Camel Rider and tried to make myself acquire an appetite. I needed some food inside me.
"I wish."
An alarmed expression flashed across her face and she quickly grabbed a chair and pulled it up to within a foot of my desk, close enough she could reach out and touch me.
"Oh, shit, Bill. Is it that bad?"
"I think it could be."
"Tell me."
I thought about it, but in the light of day I couldn't bring myself to give her the details. The more I thought about it, the whole fuss over a single word seemed even crazier than Debbie has said last night. If you weren't there, if you couldn't see her eyes, couldn't hear her voice, it did seem like I was very much exaggerating what had happened."
"We just had a – a – like a fight. Over something stupid. But..."
"What?"
"It doesn't matter. But, I want you to answer me honestly. I'm going to ask you a few questions. Can you do that. I won't get mad. Or upset. I need a woman to talk to, honestly."
She licked her red lips for a moment before answering.
"I hate this kind of thing, Bill. You say you won't get upset, but honesty always hurts."
"I need brutal honesty, Cheryl. I think I've been a good boss, and a good friend. And I think I proved to you that I like and respect you enough not to do anything – that would jeopardize our friendship. I'd like you to do the same."
She reached out and took one my hands in hers.
"You have been a good guy, Bill. Ask away."
"Have you ever thought – when you weren't drunk – about going to bed with me? Would you sleep with me if I really hit on you hard? And do I excite you – as a man – at all?"
She just stared at me for a moment.
"I swear to God I'm not hitting on you. But I need to know."
She looked down at the table, then faced me squarely.
"A few times. When I was between boyfriends or really, really horny. But honestly, I never thought about you seriously. You're not on my short list. You're male. But, you don't – shit this is hard – you really don't excite me. I admire you. I like you. But, I don't get – I don't want to be indelicate, but I don't get wet thinking about you. I guess the bottom line is I could see us in a situation where we might wind up in bed. Another office party might do it. But it would only be a one-time thing."
"So I don't really excite you? I'm not a hunk?"
This time she looked down at the desk a lot longer before raising her eyes to mine.
"You're not a hunk, Bill. Sorry. You're a little overweight, and flabby, and you're losing your hair and no matter what women say, that's important. Bald is not beautiful to most of us. You're a tiger in the courtroom, and professionally everybody looks up to you, but in the bedroom...I'd say you're just another out of shape middle aged guy."
She squeezed my hand and looked for a moment like she wanted to cry.
"That was probably too much honesty, right? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."
I was able to smile at her, even though it had hurt.
"What about Debbie. And I want you to be just as honest. Is she as hot as I think she is? And have you ever seen guys hitting on her at parties? How did she act when they did?"
This time she took a lot longer to answer.
"She's hot, Bill. What can I say. She's tall and blonde and she's got those big boobs and gorgeous legs. Every party I've ever been at where the two of you were there, guys hit on her all the time when you're not around."
"I'm not surprised she's popular. She is hot. Now for the $64,000 question. And this is where I need you to be honest. What does she do when they hit on her?"
She looked down again.
"I really don't want to answer this, Bill. Please don't make me."
"I need to know."
"Is this what it's all about. You think she's – with somebody?"
"I don't know, but I think she could be."
"I guess I've been at six or seven office parties where you guys have shown up, and there was that one year you invited me and my date to that Christmas party at UNF. Like I said, guys are always hitting on her, putting their arms around her, patting her ass, trying to sneak a kiss. Usually she just shrugs it off, puts their hands where they're supposed to be, gets them laughing and walks away. She's pretty good.
"A few times, very few, I've seen her in what seemed to a pretty good clinch in a corner or a hallway, but it's not a deep throat and the guys don't have their hands inside her clothes. I've seen a few of them petting her. But, Bill, to be honest, unless you want to walk about with a cattle prod most women have had that happen to them. That's why you wear stiletto heels. They're wonderful for cooling off guys who get too hot.
"And to answer what I think your real question is, I've never seen her jerkin off a guy or rubbing his dick. I've never seen her out of control to where it looked like some guy could talk her into leaving the party with him. I can't say for sure she hasn't done anything wrong, but I've never seen her do anything you'd divorce her over. And that's what we're talking about here, right?"
She reached out to grab my hand again and squeezed.
"She is a very beautiful woman, and very hot. Trust me when I say that she's like most hot women. She could have a different man every night without doing more than giving them the right kind of smile. And if she was doing that, I don't think there's any way you wouldn't have found out by now. Maybe she's cheating on you, but if she is, being very careful and selective, and I really don't think she is. Just an impression."
I leaned back in my chair and let out a deep breath. I couldn't eat a bite because I had no appetite.
"But what you're telling me is she is a very hot woman who has guys throw themselves at her every time I'm not around, and I'm a dull, sexually unattractive, old man who doesn't excite women. Something seem out of kilter about that picture?"
"People don't stay together just for sex. They stay together for love and companionship and their kids. You guys have built a life together. You think she'd throw that away just for sex?"
"Women do it every day, Cheryl So do men. It may be only sex, but it's the glue that holds marriages together. And we don't have it anymore."
She just looked at me sadly. I guess there's a limit to how encouraging you can be when you're facing a really shitty situation.
For the rest of the afternoon I waded through the common litany of treachery, stupidity, violence, lust, and lawbreaking that is the lot of any prosecutor and tried not to think about what I'd face when I got home. That was the part that was really beginning to hit me hard. My job is stressful. There's too much violence and filth and ruined lives to deal with every day. Home had always been my refuge, where I could be assured of the love of my wife and children and convince myself every night that the world I lived and worked in was not the real world. And now that refuge, that dream of love and loyalty had started to develop cracks.
I got home at 6:30, not real late for me. A lot of nights I'd be tied up until 8 or 9 and Debbie almost always left a dinner in the fridge or microwave for me when I got home. Sometimes she was home. Other times she'd be out at some meeting or other. There were always a lot of meetings, some business, some more social, but it's all part of the office political game you have to play in any institution. I'd accepted it and even when she came home at 12 or 1, sometimes 2 a.m., it hadn't bothered me. Drinking went on, but it had never bothered me.
I've handled enough cases of infidelity leading to murder or mayhem to know the signs. She had never been exceptionally secretive – taking quick showers or concealing her undergarments or trying to hide her body – or exceptionally sexy, wanting to fuck me when she walked in. I had never checked up on her, it had never occurred to me to, but had inadvertently found out many times from other people that she was where she had said she was supposed to be, and doing what she had said she was doing.
What hurt worse than anything else was the unbidden suspicion that now colored the way I thought about her. Where was she now, and who was she with, and how would I know she was telling the truth if she told me? I felt the anger in me growing again. The stupid bitch! All she had to do was laugh off the mis-statement of the last night, make a joke of it, and I would have forgotten about it. Even if she was cheating on me, I'd be fat, happy and ignorant.
Tonight she was out and both the kids were out as well. That was no surprise. I looked around. She usually left a note on the fridge or microwave letting me know where she was if she had to go out. There was nothing. I stood there and just listened. Nothing is as silent as an empty house that usually is filled with the noise of talk, laughter, television shows and radio broadcast songs.
I went to the liquor cabinet and brought out a bottle of Goldschlager. I had never heard of Goldschlager until a few years ago when a friend of Bill Jr.'s had smuggled one into a party for pre-teens. I found it, confiscated it, tried it and found that I loved it. So I always kept a bottle in the cabinet. Of course, it usually takes me three to six months to go through a bottle, but it's great for an occasional drink.
I sipped and walked through the house, making a detour by the two-car garage. Her 2004 Nissan 350Z was parked and cold to the touch. Wherever she was, somebody had come and picked her up.
Eventually I found myself in the big easy chair across from the couch and cattycornered from the Big Screen Television from Hell. I punched it on and settled back into my cocoon with cable news of all the terrible things happening around the world and tried my best to forget about Debbie and where she was and who she was with.
At 9:30 p.m. Bill Jr. blew in through the front door, alternatively talking and texting on his cell phone. I called his name a couple of times and when he continued upstairs toward his room I bellowed, "BJ, come here. Now."
He gave me a startled look as if he hadn't even known I was there. After a moment he said into his cellphone, "Gotta go. Old man wants me. Talk to you later." Then he texted a few words and clicked off. Then he looked at me, without moving away from the staircase.
"What?"
His tone irritated me, but he was a teenager.
"Just wanted to talk to you for a sec. You know where your mom is?"
He glanced at me for a second then shifted his gaze back to the staircase. It was obvious he had more important things to do.
"Haven't seen her. That's not unusual, though. She's out a lot."
He gave me a look with the arrogance and worldly wise contempt that only a 14-year-old can muster and said, "She's your wife. Why don't you know where she is?"
I could have done what my old man would have done at that point and popped him upside the head, but my old man had been a 6-2 inch, 240 pound coal miner from West Virginia and he had lived in a simpler time. Bill Jr. was almost as tall as me and sure as hell, if I left any marks Social Services would be out by the next day, I'd be arrested and my mug shot would be plastered on the front of the TU with a headline saying, "Top SA Assistant Arrested For Child Abuse."
So I just shrugged and said, "You got your homework done?"
He was going to turn around and ignore me when I said, "Walk up those stairs without answering that question and you're under house arrest for two weeks."
He stopped and turned in mid-step and looked at me as if I were some grotesque bug that had crawled out from under a rock.
"You're not going to-"
"Try me," I said, using the tone I wield when informing an opposing attorney that the deal I was offering was going to be off the table in 30 seconds.
"Mom won't-"
"What Mom says doesn't count for shit, and you can tell her I said that. You answer my question or forget about running with your friends for two weeks. And if I have to come home early for two weeks, I will."
He took a deep breath. "I got 20 pages to read in English and two pages of problems in Algebra."
"Alright, get upstairs and start on it."
He turned around but he said just loudly enough that I could hear but he could plausibly deny, "God, what a dick. No wonder Mom stays out so much."
He turned around to look at me slyly and I just grinned at him. I think that's what really pissed him off.
The next time I heard a car in the driveway I heaved myself out of my chair and glanced at the clock on the Wall. 11 p.m. I walked out to the front of the house and looked out through the window into the driveway. A sporty Audi model, a two seater, had pulled up into the circular drive. The car idled for a moment. I could make out two figures inside.
Then the one with long hair leaned over and it might have been, probably was, a kiss, brief but a kiss, and the passenger side door opened. As I expected, my blonde wife slid her long legs out and then got up. She bent over to wave goodbye to the driver and in that instant I saw a youngish dark haired guy at the wheel. I wasn't sure, but I thought he was another assistant professor in the business department.
As Debbie walked to the house I was pretty sure she hadn't gone to work teaching in that outfit. The blouse was low cut and tight, drawing attention to the globes of her breasts, and the dress itself was cut at above the knee. Not quite a mini-skirt, but it would ride high enough when sitting in a car. Not a teacher's outfit. So she had come home and changed, assuming she had gone to work, and then gone out for a long evening.
Doing what, I wondered, and with whom. But I decided I was going to try to be civil.
I went back into the den and sat down in front of the television with a few sips of liquor in my glass and switched between Fox and MSNBC to watch the arguing talking heads. I heard the front door open and then her steps came through the house. The steps stopped as she approached the door to the den. I knew without looking back that she had stopped and seen me sitting there.
I wondered if she was going to say anything. As I'd halfway expected, she didn't say a word, just continued up the stairs obviously heading for our bedroom. After awhile I heard the shower going. Then nothing.
At midnight Kelly came in, gave me a glance in the den and wandered upstairs as well. I sat watching nothing in particular until 12:30 when I realized I had to go to bed. I had been putting it off as long as possible. I turned off the TV and went up the stairs. When I got to the bedroom, all the lights were off. Only the light from the outside hallway showed me a shape on Debbie's side of the bed.
She didn't say anything as I walked in. I had planned to say something, but then thought the hell with it. Let her start the conversation if there was anything she had to say. She was the one who had told me she didn't want to see or hear anything from me that morning.
I took a quick shower, dressed in the walk-in closet, again with pajamas and walked silently to my side of the bed. I slipped under the covers and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. Beside me I heard Debbie breathing slowly and rhythmically. She was pretending to be asleep but I could tell she was awake. Her breathing was too slow and rhythmical. I wasn't going to look over at her to see if her eyes were open.
Finally I rolled on my side away from her and somehow I fell asleep. The next morning I was up early again, dressed and out of the house without saying a word to her. I grabbed a egg bacon biscuit at Hardy's on the way to work. I dived into my world of murder, deceit and mayhem and actually enjoyed the work, probably a little more than usual. I never heard from Debbie, cell phone, office phone, nothing. It was as if I didn't have a wife.
The only thing that brought her to my mind was when Cheryl stopped in my office for a moment and said, "How did things go, Bill?"
"They didn't."
"What did she say?"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Not a word."

"How-?"
"When I came home she was out. She rolled in about 11 o'clock in a car belonging to good looking young professor that works with her at UNF. I think she kissed him goodnight. Then she walked in, took a shower and went to bed. Not a word."
"God, Bill, I'm sorry. But why didn't you-"
"Didn't feel like it, I guess, Cheryl. I'm starting to think there's not much doubt about what's going on here. And she's the one who needs to start clearing the air."
Cheryl just gave me a look then said, "I know it's going to be hard, Bill, but you guys have to talk. Hell, you're an attorney. You know things have to be talked out."
"I'll take it under advisement."
I knew I should have gone home, but I couldn't make myself do it. I was looking around for a bar and on the way home to my Mandarin home I saw one that had just opened up a few weeks before. "The Last Call." It was a fairly big bar near a small strip mall. On an impulse I stopped and went in.
The inside was modernistic, all dark wood and mirrors, chairs set at small tables, a long bar, greenery in the corner. There was a slightly raised area at one side with a piano so there would obviously be entertainment at some times. Fortunately there was nobody there right now because I wasn't in the mood for music.
A medium height Hispanic guy with a big head of black hair came to my seat at the bar, introduced himself as the owner and offered me a free drink on the house as part of a first week celebration. I told him to bring me a beer. I could afford maybe two, and then I was heading home. I couldn't, as a high ranking SA, afford a DUI arrest.
I nursed the first beer as long as I could watching the customers come in. The place had gotten fairly full in the two hours between 6 and 8 p.m. Then I ordered that second beer and nursed it until nearly 10.
My cell phone hadn't rung the first time. Debbie was used to my running late, but usually by 8 she had checked in with me to find out when I'd be home. I wondered if she hadn't called because she was out of the house with her young professor.
I couldn't put it off any longer and got back on the road and was home in 20 minutes. The lights were on in the kitchen and in the den. I used my key to enter the house and checked in the kitchen first. There was a pork chop and some rice and vegetables on a plate in the microwave. As before, I didn't have an appetite. I was tempted to dump it in the trash but I put it back in the fridge. Maybe the kids might eat it tomorrow.
As I walked by the den I glanced in and saw her sitting in the chair in front of a large glass coffee table. It looked like she had papers out grading them. She had a glass filled with what looked like white wine and she had a favorite album compilation of Cranberries and Human League songs on the stereo. She didn't look back at me as I walked by and I didn't say anything to her.
I went upstairs, took a shower, and hit the bed. I don't know why, but I was suddenly exhausted. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. When I woke up in the morning, I was alone in bed and it didn't look like she'd been in it all night long. I looked in the den as I prepared to leave the house and saw she had curled up on the couch. She was still wearing a blouse and skirt combination that looked like what she'd worn to work. It was wrinkled as hell.
As I stood there, she suddenly raised her head, shook it a little and opened her eyes staring into mine. I think we were both equally surprised. After a moment I walked out with my briefcase and got into my Escalade and drove to work.
It was a Friday and we were just preparing for a round of trials that were going to kick off with jury selection the next Monday. There are always ten million little details that have to be ironed out on that kind of Friday so I worked my ass off and I didn't even turn the lights off in my office until 10:30 p.m.
It was 11:30 p.m. before I got home. As usual the house was dark and silent. I looked on the fridge and saw notes from Bill Jr. saying he was spending the night with a friend and one from Kelly saying she was going with friends to a concert and would be spending the night with a friend's parents. Both kids had left contact numbers and I quickly called both numbers. Their stories checked out and I knew both sets of parents so I rested easy about them.
Where was Debbie? Her Nissan was gone. I went by the den and up to the bedroom. She was nowhere to be seen. I began to wonder why that surprised me. And for the very first time, I started to wonder who I might contact to handle a divorce if that was the way it turned.
I shook my head as I realized what I was thinking. A divorce, a few days after one argument? What the hell had happened?
I almost reached for my cell phone to call her. And then stopped myself. I knew it was stupid, but I couldn't make myself dial her number. I hadn't done anything wrong. She was the one who sparked everything and then made it worse by her goddamn unbelievably suspicious reactions. Maybe I shouldn't have accused her of cheating, but dammit, you'd have to be a complete moron not to wonder what was going on after the way she had acted.
She was wrong. She had frozen me out. She was out with people I didn't know, riding home with strange young men, kissing them. She was being friendly and wonderful with everyone except the poor slob who had spent 17 years working his ass off to make a good life for her and the kids. It shouldn't be me making the first move.
Tonight I didn't even have to think about what to do. I barely had energy to get into the shower, wash off the grime and sweat (and yes, even attorneys get sweaty during a long day) and hit the bed. And again I was unconscious instantly.
I had one of those moments where you don't know quite where you are when you first wake up. A few seconds later I realized I was in my own bed. But something was strange. And then it hit me. I was alone in bed. I looked over at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was 10 a.m. I glanced over the bed. She had never been in it.
I rolled out of bed and headed downstairs. Maybe she had come in late and slept in the den. Maybe she had gotten up and was cooking breakfast. Not that she did that much anymore, but it was possible.
The house was bigger, and quieter, and emptier than seemed possible. Her Nissan was still gone. There was no sign she had ever come home the previous night. I toured the house three times, but it didn't change the facts. I tried to remember if anything like this had ever happened in our 17 years of marriage. I knew it hadn't.
One fight, four little words, and it seemed like our marriage was crashing down like a sand castle as the tide washed in. Was it possible to be so damned blind that I had completely missed all the signs for months, or years?
I could have started calling around. But, I was the prematurely old, sexually unattractive, clueless husband whose wife was spending the night out without any word on where or what she was doing. Fuck her.
I got dressed and headed for a nearby Waffle House. Al l their food items were cardiac health hazards, but I loved their fluffy omelets and right now I didn't give a damn about watching my waist line. It looked like it was too late for that anyway.
It was nearly noon and I was washing the last of the omelet and crisp bacon down with a fourth cup of coffee when my cell phone range. I automatically answered it, figuring it was one of the kids.
"Bill."
I swallowed the last of the coffee and answered, "Hello Roy."
Roy Bascomb was my father-in-law. We'd always gotten along pretty good. He owned a tire store on the Northside and had a few rental properties as well.
"Hi, Bill. I...uh...I tried to call you at your house, but I didn't get an answer."
"I'm not there."
"Yeah, I figured. Uh, Bill, I just wanted to call and let you know...Debbie is at our house right now."
"Debbie, that's interesting. I used to know a girl named Debbie. We talking the same person."
There was a pretty good silence and then, "She told us that you guys were....having some problems and that you might be....upset...when I called you. But I didn't want you to worry about where she was."
"Now why would I be worried, Roy? Just because she doesn't come home one night, all night, and doesn't leave me a word to let me know if she's dead or alive or fucking a dozen guys somewhere? You're acting like I actually have a wife, or something, instead of a woman who spends my paycheck and then goes off with other men."
"Bill, stop talking like that. You're talking about Debbie. Your wife. Our daughter. The mother of your children. You know she's not...running around on you."
"I do, Roy? How do I know? She's off a lot of nights and I only have her word about what she's doing. And night before last I see a young guy she works with drop her off at 11 p.m. and she kisses him goodnight. She tell you about that? By the way, what time did she get to your house last night?"
"God, I think I'm seeing what she's worried about. She said you guys had a fight about something stupid and you accused her of cheating and haven't been willing to say a word to her since then.
'And you're mistaken about seeing her kiss anybody. She told us about that meeting. It was a college meeting, and the guy who dropped her off was a friend. A lady she works with picked her up but had an emergency and had to leave early so the guy you saw volunteered to take her home. There was no kissing.
"As to when she came here, Bill, she came over straight from the college, at 5:30 p.m. and she was here all night. Unless you think we're lying for her. Is that how far around the bend you've gone?"
"Roy, she's your daughter and I know you're going to support her. Although, I would think after 19 years of knowing me and seeing that I've been a good husband and good father to your grandchildren, you might give me a little benefit of the doubt.
"And if she was going to see you, why didn't she leave a note. Or call. Or do any damn thing so I wouldn't wake up this morning and believe she spent the night out with somebody else, and start thinking seriously about how we're going to divide up our assets."
I felt the anger start to rise inside me, a black rising tide, and fought to keep my voice calm.
"And come to think of it, if she's so concerned, why the hell isn't she talking to me right now? Why does she have to get her father to call me?"
After a moment he said apologetically, "I know she was wrong not to let you know where she was, Bill. I told her she should have. And she's not on the phone because she doesn't want to talk to you.
"I have to tell you, I've known you guys since before you were married, and I've never her seen her like this before. She is so pissed with you. I think you really hurt her when you...accused her of being unfaithful. I don't know...I don't know if those are words you can take back."
I took a last swig of my coffee.
"Well let me see if I follow this. She said a few words that upset me, but I'm supposed to get over it, and I said a few words that upset her and she's acting like the marriage is over because I said them. Is that right?"
When he didn't answer, I said, "Well, if you would, pass on a message from me to your daughter. Tell her if that's the way she feels, I don't give a damn if she ever comes back. Oh, and be sure and tell her this, word for word: Fuck you!"
I clicked off before he could respond, although I doubted he would. I sat back and thought about the call. In one sense I was relieved. She hadn't been out screwing her UNF buddy last night. But hell, she could have done that at any time if she'd been inclined. And staying out all night and deliberately leaving me in the dark was not the kind of thing a loving wife was supposed to do.
I sat back for a moment and thought about what I'd do today and Sunday. Normally I'd hang around the house, watch some TV, maybe do a few honey-do list items, go out to eat or do a little shopping with Debbie. I could go back into the office, but...
Suddenly I knew what I wanted to do. And it had the added benefit of keeping me in the house if Bill or Kelly came back. I drove home and sat down at the big desktop computer I used in the little office adjacent to our bedroom. I started the slave spy program I'd installed on all the computers and laptops in the house. Since we were on DSL, any signals sent or received on any computer were copied onto the slave program.
I knew my passwords and those of Bill Jr. and Kelly, so I simply eliminated them and any left, even without knowing Debbie's passwords, were automatically hers.
I had all day so I dropped back six months and started scrolling through messages to and from her. Because she was a professor, there were tons from students, other professionals, the university, and a few from friends from our college days. But nothing too unusual.
I didn't notice them at first. I was routinely flipping through messages when it occurred to me that the name on a message to her sounded familiar. I looked at it a little more closely. LanceAlot4U. The one I was looking at was from three months ago and it simply talked about a meeting that had been cancelled for a Tuesday evening. Lancelot said he knew she had left early and the Chair had asked him to contact her so she wouldn't make a useless trip. Nothing personal.
But I started scrolling backwards and I found more, from him to her and from her to him.
Messages about lesson plans, meetings that were called or cancelled, office politics, just saying hello. Once in a while she teased him about a hot date he was going to be going on over the weekend and telling him to be careful if he couldn't be good. The closest I could get to anything personal was a quick quip on one from him to her that he wouldn't have to be careful if she'd go out with him because he knew she was a good, Christian homemaker. But in her very next response she wrote him back:
"Lance, don't even joke like that. That's how ugly rumors get started. Let someone in the office see that, or if someone at my house were to see it, and they wouldn't know that we're just good friends. You know that you can't tell a person's tone of voice from a computer screen. I know you're joking, but my husband wouldn't. I'd die, God, if he ever thought I was even flirting with you."
And in his next, he wrote, "Sorry, Deb. You know I would never do anything to cause you embarrassment. I wasn't thinking. You and I both know you're the hottest woman on this campus, but I don't mess with married woman and I know you love your husband from everything you've ever said to me. I won't tease like that any more."
I thought about what I'd read. It was perfectly innocent except for the initial flirtatious hint and she had shut him down immediately. I didn't know why, but I was sure this was the dark haired young man that had dropped her off at our house that night.
Btu while it was innocent on the surface, perhaps it was my dark prosecutor's heart digging for the dirt underneath innocent words, I sensed a friendship that went beyond normal colleagues, at least on Debbie's part. And Lance wouldn't be the first single guy to swear to a hot married woman that he would never mess with a married woman – until she fell into his bed.
So I continued reading forward.
Two months ago: Deb to Lance: "I can't thank you enough for helping me with that evaluation project. It would have taken me another month without your help. And you don't get anything from it except my thanks because it goes under my name. I feel bad about taking advantage of your good nature. You should be out dating and chasing young girls, not wasting hour after hour doing work I should be doing at home. But if I tried to do it all myself, I'd never see my kids at all."
Lance to Deb: "De nada. I'd probably be getting drunk and into trouble chasing women if I wasn't doing this to help you. Keeps me out of trouble. And I feel good about giving you more time with your kids, and with your husband of course."
Deb to Lance: "My kids. Bill is more interested in what's on TV than what I'm doing. He comes home and the first thing he does is plop down in front of what he calls our TV Big Screen From Hell. Sometimes I think he gets more excited by that than me. Oops...I didn't mean that. It's just that..."
Lance to Deb: "I understand. You guys have been married a long time. And he's what- 40 or 45? Guys slow down when they hit that age. I have a hard time imagining anyone preferring to watch television rather than spend time with you, but...I'm a kid. When I hit 30 I'll probably feel differently."
Deb to Lance: :) You child you. Somehow, when I see you walking around the campus I don't think of you as a child. :) Anyway (blushing) I can't see you ever letting yourself go the way Bill has. I tried to get him to join a gym with me but he keeps saying he doesn't have the time. He's gotten that middle aged spare tire. I never really believed you could bounce a quarter off a guy's abs, but what you did at that party last month blew my mind. I can't ever see you with a spare tire. And on that blushing note, I've got to go to bed."
Lance to Deb: "Sweet dreams, Deb."
Deb to Lance: "You forget I ever wrote this, but if I keep thinking about your abs I'll have some really sweet dreams. Night."
I sat there after reading that exchange and wondered if I wanted to keep reading. Short of saying she wanted to suck his dick, I couldn't imagine any way she would be more open about wanting him. And the son of a bitch knew what he was doing when he put me down as an over-the-hill lover. And my sweet loyal wife instead of defending me basically told him she wanted his abs over my middle aged middle.
I kept reading.
A month ago:
Deb to Lance: "Sorry I didn't have a chance to talk with you today. I was jammed. I've really enjoyed our lunches. To be honest, the day doesn't seem near as much fun when we can't meet for an hour or so. But, there's always tomorrow. Did you hear the latest bit of hot gossip?"
Lance to Deb: "I missed you too. Don't take this the wrong way, but you know you're eye-candy, right. That's what the kids call it. Even if we're only friends, I still like looking at you. I'm a pig. I plead guilty. And as to the gossip, I assume you're talking about Professor Amarilla and Coach Johansen?"
Deb to Lance: Yes, could you believe it. In his office, no less. They said that her husband burst in on them – in the middle of – you know - consummating things. I've met her. She's pretty, but old! She must be in her 50s and Johansen is only, what, 35 or 40? The story I've heard is that her husband threw her out and she's moved in with Johansen."
Lance to Deb: You mean fucking, don't you, Deb? I don't mean to shock you, but the story I heard is that Johansen is huge and was pounding her to a pulp and even after her husband barged in there she told him to get out until she was through! :) She must have really enjoyed what he was doing.
Deb to Lance: That's indelicate, Lance, you pig. :) But you're right. Consummating is like....what Bill and I do. Oh, God, I can't believe I wrote that. But...it's been so long since I've been really FUCKED that sometimes I forget what it was like. I think we used to have that, if I can remember that far back. But now...Bill was never huge to be honest, but the last few years I think he's shrunk. I'll kill you if you ever let a word of this slip. And he gets winded in five or six minutes.
"I feel guilty even telling you this, but I can't talk to him about it. And sometimes I think I'll scream if I can't tell somebody what's happening – or not happening – in my life. I don't know how I made it through the days before we met. I can be honest with you, because we're not married, or lovers. We're friends, and a friend is what I need now."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Lance to Deb: You know you can tell me anything, Deb. I wish I could help you. I mean, physically. I'll never push it any further than you say, but you're too beautiful a woman to have to play with yourself to achieve a climax. Does he know you use the vibrator when he's not around?"

Deb to Lance: "No, and he never will. How can I tell him he doesn't do it for me in bed anymore; hasn't for a long time. That I have to use a big vibrator and shove it in there way further than he ever gets to climax. I fake it with him, but sometimes I think he must be able to tell the difference."
Lance to Deb: "You think you'll be able to go on like this forever?"
Deb to Lance: "What choice do I have? We've been married for 17 years. We have two children. He's done everything he can to keep me happy. I know there nothing in this world I could ask him to do for me that he wouldn't do. The hell of it is, he's such a good man. And I should love him a lot more than I do. Don't misunderstand me, I do love him. Even though you and I flirt sometimes, and maybe I carry it further than a middle aged married woman should, I know you know that I love him. If it wasn't that I loved him, I'd –"
Lance to Deb: "Don't say it. Don't write it. I know what you're thinking. But, I know you love him. You love him, not me. And I'm not going to be the guy that breaks you two up."
Deb to Lance: "I know you could have...well, you know If you were an asshole like a lot of the younger guys around here are. But you've been a gentleman, a good man. That's why I like you so much. I'll just say that I hope you know just how special a friend you've become. And now I'll sign off."
I thought the screen had suddenly become blurry and then I realized my eyes were filled with tears. It was one of those moments when you wonder why you can't just have a heart attack and get it over with.
My wife was falling, had fallen, in love with another man. The beautiful blonde I'd cum inside of for so many years wanted another man's cock inside her. She all but admitted it. And he knew he could have her, and I knew and I knew she knew he was going to have her. She was just trying to gather the courage to fall into his bed. And once that happened, our marriage was over.
The fucker was 10 years younger than me, had rock hard abs and my wife drooling over him and admiring his restraint for not throwing her down and fucking her. Jesus, he had her every which way. And I was a fat, balding, middle-aged bore whose dick had shrunk to the point that I couldn't even get my wife off anymore. There wasn't even any suspense here.
I forced myself to keep reading. There weren't many incriminating messages after that last one. Then I found one from Deb to her Lancelot dated two weeks ago.
Deb: "I'm sorry I didn't come by for lunch today, Lance. I meant to call and give you some lie about being busy or something coming up at the last minute, but then I found I just couldn't lie to you like that. We've become TOO good friends. You deserve the truth.
"I've decided we need to cool it, back up a bit. I know that you consider me a friend, but I also know you're sexually attracted to me. That's flattering. You're a hunk, a beautiful young hunk, and you have no idea how much you've flattered my ego by flirting with me. But I always made it clear that I was a married woman – a faithful married woman.
"Notice I didn't say a happily married woman. You know me too well for me to say that. I've been a lot more honest with you about my marriage and the problems we're having than I should have been, than I would have been with anybody else.
"The worst of it is, I feel so much closer to you than I do to Bill. He's my husband, but he doesn't even know our marriage is dying slowly. He's clueless. Such a smart, smart man, so skillful in the courtroom, but in real life, in our marriage, he's a loser. He's lost my lust, and my respect and slowly he's losing my love.
"I feel like an animal caught in a trap. I've tried a thousand times to think of some way to start breathing life back into our relationship, our marriage. I've thought about trying to invigorate our sexual life. But...dammit, I'm not that good an actress. I fake orgasms all the time, but I can't fake excitement. And he doesn't excite me any more.
He's gone to pot and his dick doesn't feel or look as big and hard as it was. He doesn't get anywhere near as excited as I remember. He used to strip me and throw me down and fuck me hard. Now, he squeezes my breasts, licks me and then rolls on and pumps for a little while, gets off, and rolls over.
"It doesn't matter how smart he is, or how good an attorney, as a man, a male animal, he is not satisfying me anymore. And hasn't for a long long time. I wonder sometimes, if he even misses the hot sex we used to have. I think maybe he's content to be a father and a successful attorney and climb off and on me once or twice a month and get his rocks off.
"I always knew he was – sedate – dull I guess. He wasn't a party animal in college, and I used to love dancing and partying, the more the better. But it's gotten worse as he's gotten older. He has to be dragged to parties and he only goes when there's some political reason to be seen there. He doesn't dance, or doesn't like to.
"I've made a life without him. A lot of times when I tell him I'm at a faculty meeting, I'm out with some girls from college, or girls and guys like the times we've gone out dancing. I haven't done anything wrong, but I want to be someone other than a wife and mother for a few hours. I want to have men look at me and admire me. I wish to God I wanted him to be one of those men, but I really don't care anymore. I don't think of him that way.
"I can't fake being excited in bed and I can't tell him I've been going out and partying without him, even though I haven't done anything wrong with men, because what do I say when he asks me why I lied about where I was going? Do I tell him I'm happier when he's not around? It's the truth, but it would go over like a lead balloon.
"Anyway, Dear Friend, I didn't mean to write a novel here. I just wanted to let off some steam and let you know why we won't be having lunch or seeing each other much anymore. Somehow, somehow I feel like things are getting ready to explode, to change. I don't know how. I don't know what I might do. But I don't think I can go on much longer like this.
"And if – if the worst, or best, happens and I'm not married in a few months or more, I don't want you to be anywhere near the wreckage. I don't want anybody, Bill or my kids, or our friends, to suspect that our relationship, our friendship, had anything to do with my marriage ending.
"Because it didn't. You've been a gentleman and a friend when I needed a friend. You will always have a piece of my heart and if I – somehow – work things out with Bill, I will never forget you and I hope you go on to have a happy life. Your friend always, Debbie."
I must have sat there for hours because the next thing I knew, the quality of the light coming in from outside had changed. I glanced at the clock. It was 6 p.m. I don't even know what I'd been thinking about during those hours. I think I must have been envisioning the way my life was going to turn out.
I wondered what it would be like coming home to an empty house or apartment when Debbie was with another man. What it would be like to see my kids only occasionally and I wasn't even sure that would happen. What would it be like to lie in a bed and for the first time in half my life, lie there alone and not hear her breathing beside me? What would it be like not to be able to put a hand out and rest it on the soft skin of her arm or shoulder. How would I shop for groceries for just me?
Little things, but after 20 years, they were as important as the sex. She had been a part of my entire life, and losing her was going to be like having a part of my body torn out and ripped away.
Because I had no doubt now, there wasn't going to be an 'us' in the future. There wouldn't be a Maitland family living in a comfortable Mandarin home. That was history. And now I knew why in her mind our marriage was already a part of her past.
Somehow I made myself come alive again. I batch printed out copies of all emails to and from her for the last six months, including the pertinent emails to and from Lance. Not that I needed them for any legal reason.
Adultery isn't a factor in divorces today, at least not in Florida where no-fault divorces have been the law of the land for over a generation and she could even claim that she hadn't even been having an emotional affair with another man. I could argue it was an affair, but so what. She apparently hadn't slept with the guy, hadn't fucked him, maybe kissed him a few times. It didn't make any difference.
I knew I should confront her with the emails. Make her admit that she had fallen in love with the guy, or least had fallen out of love with me. But again, so what? If she admitted it, what difference would it make? I'd lost her.
Oh, I could fight to force us into counseling, try to slow things down enough to give me a chance to woo her again.
But who was I kidding? With what I knew now, counseling wouldn't make a difference. And I thought she'd just laugh if I tried to play the stud in bed. Every time I was with her I'd see that mental image of her lusting over Lance's flat abs and comparing them to my old man's belly. And if I could work up a decent erection, I'd lose it at that point.
By 8 p.m. neither Bill Jr. nor Kelly had shown. I called the homes where they were staying and was told their mother had picked them up. She'd obviously taken them to her parents to spend the weekend. Great. I'd have the place to myself.
I sat in front of the dark TV from Hell and tried to think of what I wanted to do. I felt like a turtle that little boys had picked up and placed on its back. I could spin around, but I couldn't move, couldn't advance and couldn't retreat.
When I did start moving, I amazed myself. I found myself going up to our bedroom, pulling two suitcases out of a closet and then systematically putting in enough pants, shirts, shoes, coats, and miscellaneous clothing items to go a couple of weeks without having to wear the same items twice.
I filled the back of the Escalade and then went back in and got miscellaneous court files and computer discs. I did a second mass print of all Debbie's emails to make sure I didn't miss any and to have a copy in case anything happened to the first set, then wiped them off with a scrubber program that left no copies that anybody would ever be able to recreate.
I thought about scrubbing Bill Jr.'s and Kelly's, but she would have expected me to be monitoring their computer use. I didn't think she'd ever expect me to be monitoring her, and if it hadn't been for the events of the last few days, I never would have looked at hers.
I would have been much happier if I'd never looked at them, of course, but I don't think anything would really have changed in the long run, except she probably would have completely blindsided me when she left and it would have hurt me even more.
The very last thing I did before leaving and locking up was to go into the bathroom. With the aid of Vaseline and a lot of torque that took the skin off underneath the ring, I managed to get my wedding band off. I had gained so much weight in the last nearly 20 years that the knuckle had swollen and the flesh of my finger almost encased the metal. But with only a little bloodshed, I managed to twist it off.
I grabbed a piece of blank copy paper out of the copier attached to the main desktop and scrawled a few words on it. Then I put my ring, and some of my blood, on it and closed the lights of our bedroom.
I locked the house behind me. I'd turned off all the lights and only a dark hulk of a building remained. I had lived there for almost 10 years with my wife and children and I really didn't think I'd be coming back. As I drove the dark night streets to downtown I tried to figure out what I was feeling. But I was just numb.
I made my way downtown, past the courthouse and legal complex on the St. Johns River, past the Sheriff's Office called the CopShop by everybody except the Sheriff and drove two blocks further down, then turned to the river side of the road. The very expensive Riverfront Condos were located here and our office kept one rented at all times in case an SA, witness, or anybody else needed to stay over. As one of the three head SAs, I kept a key to the condo on my key ring and let myself in.
I looked at the doorknob which I had opened with my left hand. Shit, there was blood all over it. I must have torn my ring finger up a lot more than I thought when I was getting it off. I went into the bathroom and washed the finger off, found a bottle of rubbing alcohol under the sink, and cursed for a few minutes after I liberally doused my abraded flesh.
Then I walked back out to the car, unloaded and lastly threw my body onto the bed. I had enough energy to get most of my clothes off and fell asleep watching one of the cable news shows on a little/big screen television in the corner dressed only in cotton underwear and a t-shirt. I listened to them describe the machinations of Cardinals in Rome as they maneuvered to take the post of the revered Jon Paul II who had died earlier in the month.
As my mind drifted away it was oddly comforting to realize that politics was still everywhere, even in God's holiest city, Arabs were still killing Jews, robbers were still hitting banks, teens were still doing incredibly stupid things, and the world continued to spin, even if my world had crashed and burned.
I came to instantly alert and wide awake the next morning. I knew where I was and what had led me to this unfamiliar room. I lay there for a few minutes because for one of the few times in my life, there was absolutely nothing I had to do. I didn't have to wake the kids, take anybody to church, run any errands, buy groceries.
I was absolutely free and I remembered that great old rock and roll line from the 70s, 'Me and Bobby McGee,' :"freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose." It was still a great line when I'd heard it in the 90s. Damn, Janis had nailed that one.
I knew the feeling. I was absolutely empty, absolutely alone for the first time in more than 20 years, and absolutely free. I wished that I wanted to go somewhere, or do anything. I thought about calling somebody.
But I realized I didn't have any friends. I had colleagues, guys I worked with, but nobody I went out drinking with. As Debbie had said, all I did was work, come home and watch TV and enjoy my family. Any friends we did have were Debbie's friends from the University. And I'd feel odd as hell about calling any of them.
There was my mother and stepfather. They lived a little further south in a suburb of Orlando in the center of the state. But damned if I wanted to hear the sympathy and pity in either of their voices when I told them I'd split from Debbie. Nor did I want to explain why I had.
Eventually I showered, shaved and went out and grabbed a breakfast sandwich meal from Burger King, rode around the downtown, sat on a Riverwalk bench watching Sunday boaters cruising along the St. Johns, and felt like the only person on earth. I thought about calling Cheryl, but I'd be imposing. I thought she had just met a new guy and I'd be a definite third wheel.
Somehow the clock wound slowly around until 9 p.m. I'd had a steak at a downtown steakhouse, called a couple of lower level SAs who were going to be leads on the cases the next morning to make sure they were ready for the openings, and then went back to the condo to watch – what else – cable news.
At 9:15 p..m. my cell rang. I always keep it charged and I always keep it with me. It's the first rule for cops or prosecutors. You always have to be available, 24/7.
I almost didn't take the call when I saw Debbie's ID pop up, but I did and said, "Hello."
"You son of a bitch."
"Well, hello. I love you too."
It sounded like she was gasping for air, fighting to find the right words to attack me with.
"You no good crazy bastard...goddamn it...how could you...how could you pull a stunt like that where Bill and Kelly would see...bad enough you show me how crazy you are but they're kids...what is wrong with you."
"Slow down and take a deep breath, honey. Don't have a stroke."
"You are one sick son of a bitch...what...don't you have any decency...what are the kids supposed to think?"
"I gather you're talking about my ring?"
"Yes, you go crazy because of a few words I said and call me a slut and then when I go see my parents for a few days, you leave me...you move your clothes and stuff out and leave your bloody wedding ring out where everybody can see it...how could you? I'm going to have you committed, Bill. You have lost your mind."
"Did you read the note?"
She almost lost it and screamed into the cell phone so shrilly I had to hold it away from my ear.
"You bastard...asshole...motherfucker... I don't even know who you are."
"That's okay. I don't know who you are either. But did you read the note?"
"You think that was funny? 'this should make it easier for you' As if I'm the one who wants out of this marriage and not you."
"I'm not the one who spent the night away from home without letting me know where she was. I'm not the one who picked up the kids to spend the weekend with your parents without giving me a heads up. I'm not the one who was kissing on a "friend" the other night when he drove you home, no matter what cock and bull story you fed your parents."
I didn't know why I didn't rub her nose in the damning e-mails I'd found. I knew she'd go crazy accusing me of spying on her and not trusting her if she knew I'd bugged her laptop. But more than that, I hadn't gotten what I'd thought was one honest word out of her lying mouth in nearly a week. I'd found out that the woman I thought I had known was some stranger. Let her hang herself with her lies, lies of omission if not flat out lies.
Maybe it was the prosecutor in me. There was nothing sweeter than catching a hostile witness or a defendant in a lie, when you'd let him or her run it out and tangle themselves in a web they could never talk themselves out of. How in the hell had it wound up with my trying to trap my own wife in her web of lies.
I almost hung up. It almost would be better to walk away, just forget the woman I'd loved for half my life than wind up proving to my own satisfaction that she was a lying, traitorous slut bitch; an unfaithful wife which was the worst name I could hang on any woman.
But dammit, she wouldn't stop lying.
"I shouldn't have stayed away without calling you. I'm sorry. I was so angry at you. But about that kiss.... Dad said you told him that story. It never happened, Bill. Douglas was nice enough to drive me home. I never touched him, never kissed him. It was all taking place in that sick mind of yours.
"What's happened to you? I've been angry enough to call you crazy, but you're scaring me now. First you go crazy because I twist some words, then you accuse me of cheating on you, then you imagine you saw me kissing a sweet young man who would never even think of touching me. That's not – that's not rational, Bill."
I almost called Douglas "Lance" but that would give away the game. I wondered if that was a pet name referring to his "lance" that he wanted to bury in her.
"So this guy, Doug, how close a friend is he?"
There was a long silence.
"Doug is an assistant prof in the business department. He came in about a year ago. I have to meet with him because they assigned me as his mentor. They partner all new staff with experienced professors. We've had a few lunches together. A few times I've danced with him at events, but I don't think you were at any of them. You know how you hate most parties and events like that. Even if you'd been there, I'd still have been dancing with him. You hate dancing and he's pretty good.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"He's a nice boy, but that's all. I'm more than 10 years older than him, for God's sake. And I have never kissed him."

"Is he a good friend?"
"Bill! He's a friend. We talk sometimes and we've worked on projects together. But he's no more of a friend than a half dozen other male and female professors on the staff. Are you going to start obsessing about Doug now?"
"No, not if you say he's a casual friend. But why did you wear that blouse that shows off your tits and a skirt so short he had to see your pubic hairs – sorry he could if you still had any – to the meeting that night? Not really professor type nightwear, is it?"
Another long silence.
"You – okay, it was a little revealing. But, Bill, I'm not 75. Only 39. I'm still a young woman. It's not – not that I want men to ogle me, but...dammit, I've got a great set of boobs and great legs, according to most guys, and once in a while I like to show them off. I don't flash guys. I don't have affairs. But I'm not dead."
"You've never worn that outfit to any event I attended."
"Oh, God, Bill, do we have to talk about this?"
"Why not, Debbie? Don't all the self help books say couples have to be honest with each other? That they should talk out their problems. If I'm paranoid and obsessively jealous with no reason in reality, why can't you answer a simple question? Why do you wear revealing clothes that show off that great body of yours – when I'm not around?"
"Can't we talk about this when you come home?"
"I'm not sure I will be coming home."
A very long silence.
"Why the hell am I bending over backwards trying to hold you when you obviously don't care if we continue as a marriage and a couple. You want to know the truth about why I dress up for other men and not for my loving husband? Because unless you're naked and rubbing my tits, I might as well be part of the furniture.
"You don't notice what I wear, or when I change my hair style, or get a new bra. You don't kiss me on the back of the neck when you come in from work and try to feel my tits. You don't grab me in the middle of the day when the kids are gone and try to seduce me. You haven't taken me out and got me drunk to get into my pants in ten years. You haven't worked to get a piece of ass from me since we were first married.
" I wear those clothes for other men because I want to remember what it was like to be desired by men, or any man. Is that honest enough for you?"
This time, for the first time in days, I thought she was being honest. And what did that say about me? Suddenly, I had nothing to say.
"I'm sorry, Deb. I'm sorry for everything. "
I know she didn't understand what I was saying because she didn't know I'd had a secret look into her heart and soul and the secrets she was keeping from me. She didn't know I was apologizing for letting myself get old before my time, for not retaining the passion of our early years, for letting myself become more involved in my work than my wife's life. I was apologizing for letting her love slip away until she now belonged more to another man than she belonged to me.
"So, are you coming home?"
Why wouldn't I? Because she was still more in love with another man than she was in love with me? Because I still had no chance in a competition with Lance to win her love, or sexual devotion?
"No, Deb. I'm not. I'm not – it's not that I'm angry with you. But, I just feel like, maybe, we need some time apart."
After a long time, she said, "Alright, Bill. But someday, someday, you are going to regret this. You will hate yourself for what you're doing right now."
"Maybe. Kiss the kids for me."
"They're a little too old for that, but you probably haven't noticed that. And it should be you."
She hung up.
I turned off the TV and lay back looking at the ceiling bathed in moonlight from a picture window on a balcony looking out over the St. Johns. She might never know it, but I already regretted the hell out of everything that had happened in the last week. But, I corrected myself. It hadn't been going on for a week. This shit, this rot in my life and our marriage had been going on for six months according to the emails I'd read, and if I was honest, the decay went back a lot further than that.
Monday came as it always did. There were no big cases. Just cases; murder, manslaughter; and a Navy guy from the Jax Navy base who had in a fit of rage at his wife taken their little eight month old daughter who wouldn't stop crying and shaken her until her brain hemorrhaged in her skull. But his parents were loaded and they had spent money to buy a cracker jack legal whiz kid from New York to teach the hicks down in North Florida a few new legal tricks.
There was a separated first-of-three trials of scum bag drug dealing brothers who had been trying to teach a competitor to stay off their turf by spraying his Northside home with bullets and managed to kill an eight-year-old boy who had thrown himself down on his two younger siblings to save them and gotten a bullet in the brain for his bravery.
That was almost a waste. They were all going to the gas chamber, sometimes called the death chamber because Florida had never had a real gas chamber. We used lethal injection after the old faithful electric chair was retired.
All three scumbags knew they were going to die in the death chamber; we knew it, their attorneys knew it, the little boy's family knew it, their own scumbag family knew it, but we had to go through the motions three times to make sure the little boy
got a small measure of justice.
Not really that unusual a week. But motions had to be made, jury selection had to begin, witnesses had to be coddled or have their spines stiffened. As usual, the days would be endless and the nights brief pit stops to get enough rest to keep going the next day. I didn't do a lot of courtroom theatrics. My job was to make sure everything ran smoothly.
Sometime during the day, between two crises of earth shattering importance which would be completely forgotten by the next day, Cheryl trapped me in my office.
"They tell me you're staying on the River? You moved out on Debbie? And your kids?"
"Shit happens."
She closed the door behind me.
"Bill, what is going on?"
"Too much to tell you about in the middle of a busy day, and there's a lot of stuff I couldn't tell you anyway. There's no separation. I just wanted – some time away. Give us both a chance to get a chance to breath."
"You know that a lot of times when you move out, you never move back?"
"I don't know if that will happen."
"You should have said, that will never happen to us."
When I didn't answer she just shook her head.
"God, I hate seeing another marriage go down the tubes. Don't do this, Bill. I don't know what you're thinking, but don't walk out on your marriage without fighting for it. Jesus, you're a fucking pit bull in the courtroom. I've never seen you give up on anything. Don't let her go, don't let them go, without a fight."
"You can't have a marriage without two people who want to stay married. And that's all, Cheryl. Open the door and get out of here."
We got into initial jury selections in all three trials. The New York whiz kid played enough tricks to please Mom and Dad paying the freight for their son's defense. I thought it was money wasted, but hey, he was their son. If I'd raised a scumbag like him, I'd probably fight just as hard.
It was just another Monday full of surprises and unexpected problems and unhappy witnesses and irritable judges who really did need to keep rolls of toilet paper, as Somerset Maugham once suggested, beside them to remind themselves that they weren't really little tin gods, only men and women who had a temporary powerful position.
At 7 p.m. I was getting ready to call it a day when my cell rang. I keep it on buzz during the day, but I've got a loud buzz so I always know when it's ringing.
"Bill, what in the ever loving hell is wrong with you?"
"I'm not sure I know how to answer that question, Roy. In what regard?"
"Debbie called this morning and said you've moved out of the house. And left your wedding ring behind. How can you see to walk around with your head stuck so far up your ass?"
I couldn't help laughing.
"That's a great mental image Roy. Thanks, I needed a laugh about now. If you're serious with your question, I haven't moved out. I just took some things so I could spend a few days away from Debbie. Things have been getting...too tense. I'm afraid I might say something I don't want to say to her. You know, the kind of thing you can't take back or get past. So I'm just giving us some breathing space."
He was quiet for a moment and then in a calmer tone, he said, "Bill, I've known you for 20 years. I'll admit, I haven't thought you were the best husband or father in the world. You've let yourself go physically, and when you're married to a woman that looks like Debbie, that's a stupid thing to do. I've thought plenty of times that you spend too much time in that damned office and too little time with Deb or the kids.
"A marriage isn't a house where you stop off from time to time to eat meals or get your clothes washed, or ....spend time in bed. You can't set a marriage on auto pilot and forget about it. I'm older than you, Bill, and I know what I'm talking about. You have to WORK to make a marriage last. That's the only real problem I have with you. I think you gave up on your marriage years ago."
Now it was my turn to be quiet. Finally I said, "I can't deny there's some truth to what you're saying. Part of it is my fault. I know that now. But, there's other stuff..."
"What, what the hell are you talking about? Something happened last week and its blown things up in your house? What was it?"
"I- I'm sorry. It's.... can't talk about it. It just – kind of brought things to a head. And made me realize I have to think about things."
"Alright, you don't want to talk about it. I love Debbie and the kids. I even like you, although I think you're being an asshole right now. I'm asking you as a personal favor, Bill, go home. Go home tonight. Living in two places can't make anything better. Can you do that for me? I can't remember ever asking you for any kind of favor."
I thought about it. I still had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that we had passed some point of no return and there was no going back. But I still found myself at 8:30 p.m. walking back into the home I'd left with no intention of ever returning.
I could hear Bill Jr.'s stereo blasting out of his room and as usual Kelly was probably still out. As I walked past the den Debbie came to the door. . She wore shorts and a light blouse over a bra. From the look on her face she wasn't expecting me. She took one look at the briefcase I held and another expression crossed her face.
"Is this just a pit stop? You're leaving everything at the River?"
"I wanted to come home for a night. Is that alright?"
"Why? Why do you want to spend the night with a slut who's cheating on you and showing herself off to other men? I didn't think you'd have any use for me or the kids anymore."
"This is my house as much as yours, but I'll ask you again. Is it all right if I spend the night here? In our bed?"
She turned and walked back into the den. Over her shoulder she said, "Like you said, it's your house too. You want to spend the night, knock yourself out. I don't know if I'll be in the bed, but you're welcome to it. Oh, and there's no food for you. I didn't expect you."
To her back I said, "I'll find something in the fridge. No big deal."
I put the briefcase up by our bed and found my wedding ring sitting on the table beside the bed. I tried to get it back on and had a hard time, even with Vaseline, getting it on but eventually I slid it over the knuckle. Then I went down and found a half package of kosher franks, fried them in a frying pan and put three of them between bread along with a lot of hot mustard. I ate in the kitchen.
I went back upstairs and instead of taking a short, utilitarian shower, luxuriated in a long, long hot shower. I leaned against the wall of the shower and rested my head on the tile as the hot water streamed down around me. In my mind I tried to see myself as I had been, a flat bellied 18-year-old with a full head of hair. I'd never been God's gift to women, but I hadn't been that bad.
"Are you going to leave me any hot water?"
I opened my eyes and looked at her standing just outside the sunken shower stall. I should have shrunk from the look on her face, seen myself as the flabby husband she saw. I should have been so hurt by her emotional betrayal that I couldn't stand to be naked in front of her.
But for some reason, I felt free. I didn't think she loved me any more, or as much as Lance, so what the hell did it matter to me what she thought about my naked body.
"We could share. Save some cash."
A look of surprise flashed across her face, followed by...what, disappointment, disdain. That should have hurt, but it didn't.
"That's okay, you fin-"
I grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the shower stall. She stumbled and I caught her under her ribs, my left hand rising to grip one of those huge soft titties so she didn't fall.
"What- Bill, what the hell, let me –"
I had to stand up a little on my tiptoes, but I shut her up with my mouth. She tried to push me away but I kept her under the shower's blast as her hair fell around her face and the blouse and shorts melded to her skin. She fought to keep my tongue out, but I caught hers and sucked on it until she gasped and sucked back. With my left hand I pushed and squeezed and milked the soft breast flesh until I felt the nipple harden under my fingers.
I had gotten hard and was pushing up against the wet fabric of her shorts at the groin. She managed to push me away. She talked as water ran into her mouth.
'No, you bastard. You think you can come in here – accuse me to cheating..and"
I kissed her again and as she pushed me away I saw the anger growing on her face and then she slapped me hard. For a second I thought she might have busted my lip. I grabbed her hand, pushed it back against the shower stall and planted my lips on hers again and wouldn't let her free.
I pushed her shorts down with the hand I had been milking her with. The wet shorts and panties slid right down and off. She wasn't helping me, but it didn't seem like she was fighting that hard either.
She broke free again.
"No, Bill stop it. This isn't funny, or romantic. Damn you."
I'd started milking one soft titty, but stopped and yanked on the blouse. A second yank sent buttons flying and another tug pulled it down one arm and onto the floor of the shower. The bra resisted for a moment and then snapped at the back and I threw it away.
She pushed at me and I fell back but caught myself by grabbing her arm. She was turning and I caught her, carrying her down to the tile shower floor. I grabbed her under her arms and although it was a struggle I managed to pull her to her feet and push her against the wall of the shower. I squeezed her breasts, found her nipples between my fingers and rolled them. I think I heard a sharp intake of breath as I did. My dick felt as hard I can remember in years
I rubbed in up into the crack of her ass and down until I almost had it positioned over her wet pussy. She twisted away from me and managed to get out of the shower. She was turning when I caught her in a modified football tackle that carried her onto the bed. Her legs hung over the side as I dived into her pussy with my tongue.
She bucked and humped and tried to pull my head out by grabbing my hair but I pushed her hands away and kept burrowing deeper into her. The wetness of shower water was quickly succeeded by a tangier moisture and she started humping up into my tongue as well as trying to bounce me off her.
Oh, God....stop...stop it...you baaasstard...don't.."
Then she was whimpering, "stop it, ohhhhh stop stop....bill, the kids....they could walk in....stop please...."
I lifted my face from her pussy, stuck three fingers in and started rubbing and pushing them in and out, saying, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a shit. I want your pussy and I'm going to have it"
I worked her pussy and then stuck first one and then a second wet finger up an inch or so up her ass and felt the electric shock that galvanized her body. As she trembled, I got up from the bed, opened my briefcase on the dresser and pulled out the large black object I'd bought on the way home.
She had her eyes closed when I slipped the head of the big black vibrator into her pussy, turning the power on at the same time. Her eyes snapped open and she stared at me in disbelief, eyes growing wider as I pushed it further in.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
A third inch and a fourth and then six full inches followed, opening her up as the vibrator's width, that of a large cucumber, stretched her pussy wider. As I pushed in, I rolled it around to increase the sensations and she responded, rolling her ass and hips in the same motion.
"Oh, Bill...you are such a bastard, but don't stop, don't stop..."
"I'm not, Deb, not till you've got a full foot of syntho-cock up your pussy and then I'm going to take your ass and you're going to love it."
She shook her head.
"Oh yes. We may not have a future, but I'm going to fuck your brains out tonight, and that's a promise."
By and bye I got the whole 12 inches inside her and I began to believe what she had emailed Lance. When I sunk it all the way in and started twisting and turning, she practically levitated. She grabbed my by the ears and tried to swallow my tongue, reached down and if she could have gotten a good grip would have either pulled my dick off or crushed it into paste. God, she had a grip.
As she screamed, and I thanked God that Bill Jr. loved his music very, very loud, I slid over and placed my dick in front of her mouth. As she screamed away I plugged it with my dick and she swallowed it down to my balls and began sucking and licking at the same time. I was surprised, but she gagged enough to make me believe this was something a little new to her. She was good, but I don't think she had been practicing on anybody else's large dick. Anyway, the gagging made her let me go a few times to catch her breath, but she gamely went right back to deep throating.
It was more the expression on her face, and the wildness in her eyes that I hadn't seen in so many years, more than the ungodly sensations of her mouth and tongue and that sucking action that sent me over the edge. I let go of the vibrator and left it humming and grabbed her head with both my hands and held her steady and firmly planted on my cock as I felt the first rushing of the tide and then the squirting deep into her throat. I wouldn't let her go but I didn't feel her fighting me. I did feel her swallowing as I unloaded into her.
My first reaction was to sink down beside her, but I remember why I'd started fucking her and I went back to the vibrator. Before she could come down, I started working it back in and around and around and within moments she was thrusting back against its length and making little orgasmic noises.
I didn't know if it was possible to have a closing act, but as she kept cumming I rolled her over onto her side, got up to lock the bedroom door, and grabbed some Vaseline off the bathroom counter. She was working the vibrator in and out with her own hands as I played with myself to see if I could get a second erection, and somehow thank God, I got it up.
Lubing her ass with two fingers, I got her thrusting back against my fingers and then forward against the vibrator. A moment later I was slipping my dick into the small opening to her ass. She gasped and moaned for a second, but she must have been as excited as hell because it didn't take more than a few seconds until I felt the head of my dick popping through the anal sphincter and I was inside her.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I wait for a second, then pulled her head back by her hair so I could ravage her mouth with my tongue while she kept pushing and pulling 12 inches of hard plastic in and out of her pussy and then I started pushing forward into her ass.

As I licked her lips, I halted my conquest of her ass again and said, "I may be guilty of ignoring you for my job, Debbie, but I never stopped loving you. And I never stopped being turned on by you."
As I continued speaking, I emphasized each word with a hard thrust deeper into her ass.
I...want....your.....ass....and./....your ....mouth...and....your...pussy. I ....want....yoouu.."
With the final "you," I made a last thrust and began squirting.
Not a whole lot, mind you, but she definitely knew I was in there and having a good time.
When I finally stopped I pulled out and rolled onto my back beside her. After awhile, she pulled the vibrator out and turned it off, than rolled to lie facing me.
"What the hell was that all about? And a vibrator? Why, how?"
"Look, Debbie, I've had time to think. I was wrong to accuse you of cheating on me. I believe you haven't been. It's just that....I can't help thinking that's you're not happy. I can't help believing you're thinking about us – you and me – in the past tense. And I know some of that is my fault. I have been too focused on my work. But you...two people have to try to save a marriage. One of them can't. And I'm not really sure you want to save our marriage."
She looked into my eyes and I know there was satisfaction and I think there was affection, but there was also sadness.
"Bill...I just never...expected that you would pick up on that one little thing I said. But you're right. There is a problem....a problem in our marriage. I – I can't...I wish I could talk about it...we need to talk...but I can't right now. And....the sex just now was great. It was like the old days. But one good – one great fuck – can't make up for years....years.."
I put my finger to her lips to stop her.
"I know it can't, Deb. No magic bullet, but I just wanted to let you know that I still want you...and I need you...Just remember that....okay. Oh, and I didn't know this was going to happen, but I saw some vibrators a few months ago when we were prosecuting that call girl ring case and I thought about getting one for us then. As I was coming home tonight, it just popped into my head that you might get a kick out of it too."
She gave me a little smile.
"I did. Thank you."
"My pleasure, really."
And then again, "Really, really."
She gave me a small smile. "I could tell. Twice in a few minutes. It's been a long time."
We talked a little more, but finally I rolled over to turn out the light on my side of the bed and after she walked out of the shower she slid into bed next to me. But if I'd expected her to move next to my body, to snuggle, I was wrong. She lay on her side of the bed, back turned to me and I watched her breath. From time to time there would be a deep breath and then a shuddering exhalation. There was no sound, but she could have been crying.
It was then that I knew Roy's advice was well intentioned, but dead wrong. We'd had a good roll in the hay, but as she said, nothing had changed. I hadn't conquered her body, left her a quivering mass of nerve endings and re-conquered her heart. All I'd done was given her some orgasms and a pretty big surprise. And from what I knew about the emails, tonight hadn't and couldn't make a difference. I didn't see how it was possible, but I felt more depressed lying next to my well-fucked wife.
The next day we made progress in seating juries in the three cases we had launched and I found myself as usual up to my eyeballs in crises, demands on my time and energy and I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about my home situation. It was easy to fall back into the normal groove of devoting 110 percent of myself to work.
I got home at 10 p.m. Monday night. Both the kids were upstairs in their rooms. When I walked in Debbie was at the computer console in the den. She looked up at me as I walked in and casually hit the button that took her out of the internet. Whatever had been on the screen was replaced by a page from a lesson plan.
I glanced in the room, walked over to her and leaned down to give her a casual peck on the side of her cheek. Her face seemed a little flushed, but she smiled at me. Tentative, but she was trying.
"Hi, sorry to be so late but as usual everybody in the world needed me today."
She turned to look up at me and the smile faded.
"I know, Bill. Everybody wants a piece of you and there's only so much to go around, isn't there?"
I went upstairs, read a few pages of depositions and then showered and went to bed. Debbie didn't come in until I was almost asleep. The spy program was on the big desktop in my office and there was no way I could get to it without arousing her suspicions so I couldn't find out what she'd been doing tonight. But I would.
On Tuesday despite everybody in the world pestering me, I took an hour and a half for personal time and drove home at noon. I knew everybody would be out. I logged on and read the last few emails she'd sent and received.
In one sent Monday afternoon she'd told Lance in great and graphic detail about our fuck session Sunday night.
Lance to Debbie: "Wow. You think somebody slipped some Viagra into his coffee at work? That doesn't sound like the husband you've been describing to me. At least, at least you must be a lot more relaxed today. : ) Funny thing is, you didn't seem that relaxed today. Didn't his doing that get you thinking about maybe staying with him? Sounds like he's really trying to change. I'm honestly, selfishly, a little sorry to hear that, but you got to give the guy credit for trying."
Debbie to Lance: " I know, Lance. I know. But-"
Lance to Debbie: "But what?"
Debbie: "Oh shit, Lance, I don't even know how to say this. Even to you. But, I think Sunday night convinced me....we're not going to make it."
Lance to Debbie: "But you said he was horny as hell and that's what's been missing. He may be late, but it looks like his heart is in the right place."
Debbie to Lance: "That says it all. His heart is in the right place. Mine isn't. He pushed all the right buttons and it was flattering to realize I still get him that excited. But...it was just sex. I realized afterwards that we had sex, but we didn't make love. The vibrator made me cum all over myself, not him. When he was inside me, it was okay, but...."
Lance to Debbie: "So have you decided what you're going to do? And are you going to tell him about the award ceremony at UNF Friday night?"
Debbie: "I haven't decided, exactly, but it won't be long. No, I'm not going to tell him about the awards dinner. I'll tell him it's just business and that spouses aren't encouraged to go. But I have to be there. I don't want you to get that award as one of the two best new young professors on faculty without your best friend being there."
Lance to Debbie: "You know I want you there. It wouldn't have been near as much fun this year without you as a friend and – mentor."
Debbie to Lance: "Don't use that word, mentor. It makes me sound so damned old. I don't think you think of me as being an old lady, do you?
Lance to Debbie: "No, definitely not. You're younger at heart than most of the female students around here. And you definitely don't LOOK like a mentor."
Debbie to Lance: "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me. Stop it. I'm having a hard enough time keeping my head straight right now. I need to – finish – things with Bill before we start talking like that."
Lance to Debbie: "I understand. I won't put any pressure on you until things get settled at home. But I have to tell you, I can't wait until Friday."
Debbie to Lance: "BE GOOD!!"
Lance to Debbie:" I will, but it's hard. God it's hard."
Debbie to Lance: : ) I know. You forget, I saw you trying to stand up that day in the restaurant. When I wore that low cut blouse. It is VERY VERY HARD. : ) Bye."
And that was it. The whole ball game. She had gone from being a friend to an almost and soon-to-be lover. She was going to lie to me to be with her boyfriend on his special day, and then she was going to leave me. I doubt she'd make it a day without going after his VERY VERY HARD dick.
I don't know why I was even surprised. I had known it was coming. But even knowing it was coming..I barely made it to the bathroom and still got some vomit on my pants leg. I changed, copied and then scrubbed her emails off the system.
When I left the house this time, I knew it was for the last time. No more doubts, no more hesitation. I hadn't bothered to take my ring off. My finger was still sore as hell and the symbolism really wasn't important anymore. There was no marriage to end. I felt like a 100-year-old man, like a walking dead man, but the sun was still shining as brightly outside, I could hear kids playing nearby, and the world went on.
That night about 10 p.m. I called and when no one picked up left a voice mail message saying I'd have to work insanely late and that I'd be staying at the River apartments for the next few days rather than try to commute. I never got any return calls so I guess it was alright with everybody.
Friday, as it usually is, was sort of anticlimactic. The only time Fridays are exciting is when a jury is bringing back a verdict. When we're in the middle of trial, judges usually try to wrap things up early. They want to go out to eat or clubbing, although in Jacksonville that's more of an expression than a reality, just like anybody else. And so do the jurors and witnesses and cops. So things usually started running down by mid-afternoon and by 5 p.m. the Courthouse is usually a ghost town.
I was home by 6:15 p.m. and I'd had to break a whole bunch of traffic laws to get home that early. As I walked in Bill Jr. was outside hopping into a friend's car and Kelly passed me going out the door. As she did so she gave me a small smile. It was almost embarrassed.
And that shouldn't have surprised me, I realized. She was old enough now to see what our marriage was like and I was sure she had picked up on the 'friendship' of her mom and a young UNF professor. I wondered why she hadn't tried to warn her old man. But when I saw the embarrassment on her face I knew it was me that embarrassed her, not a relationship between her mother and another man. So far I was batting 0 for 3 in terms of any love on the part of my family members.
As I walked in I saw Debbie coming down the stairs. She was gorgeous, and obviously a little startled. She had clearly been trying to get out of the house before I got home.
"Oh, Bill....I thought you'd be later getting home."
"You know, or I thought you knew, that I usually get off earlier on Fridays unless there's a verdict. Everything wrapped. Where are you headed dressed up so pretty?"
She wore a black dress cut low in the back and low enough in front to show just a hint of cleavage. Over it she wore a gauzy wrap that concealed and revealed at the same time. It was sexy and elegant and entirely too dressy for almost any kind of college event I was familiar with.
"Oh, there's a – an event tonight. It's kind of mandatory for college officials and staff. I – just felt like dressing up. But it's business. I don't think any spouses are coming. Look, you've been working so hard all week. I didn't think you'd want to waste an evening sitting through speeches and college administration stuff. Why don't you take it easy, order a pizza and we can make plans for this weekend when I get home. I'll try not to be late."
Just for the hell of it, I almost insisted that I wanted to come along, even if it was boring as hell, but I let it go.
"Alright, baby. You do look fabulous. Every guy there is going to be in for a treat. But look, you do what you have to do. Don't worry about trying to get back early. I know how those business things go on forever. Stay out as late as you want. I'll probably hit the bed early tonight. We'll do something tomorrow."
She smiled in relief and gave me a sisterly peck on the cheek. She started to say something, and I wondered if some little vestigial lingering guilt she felt about what she was going to do tonight was crossing her mind. But it wasn't enough. She turned and walked out the door.
She was already outside and couldn't hear me as I said, "Goodbye."
UNF has a huge campus. A curving drive leads you around the entire campus and it brought me to the UNF Arena, a huge structure where graduations and basketball games and a lot of other events were held. I showed a campus cop my ID and got to park in a secluded lot on the other side of the road.
For a purely business event, there were a lot of fancy dressed men and women entering the building. I didn't have an invite, but my ID and a comment that I was Professor Maitland's husband got me in. They had a dais at the far end and a lot of tables for four to six people set around the big hall. I noticed there was a cash bar on my side of the building.
There is stadium seating on both sides of the hall and I made my way to the bar but stepped into the seating area before I got to the bar and climbed nearly to the top. I was alone and I had a bird's eye view of the crowd.
I spent ten minutes carefully searching the crowd with a small pair of binoculars I had brought before I spotted her. She was seated at a table with five other people, three men and two women, only a few yards from the dais. Well, if Doug/Lance was in line for an award tonight, that made sense. Doug was tall, slender and dressed in a tux.
They were seated close together, his hand on her shoulder, his head turned whispering something into her ear. I glanced at the two couples with her. From the glances my wife and Doug were getting, they were an accepted couple. Now I understand the looks I'd gotten on the rare occasions in the last three months when I'd made an appearance at any university function at Debbie's side.
I watched from high up the stadium as they laughed and whispered to each other, made those little touches and gestures that are common to lovers everywhere. Their body language made it obvious. They even fed each other a couple of times with intertwined arms. Jesus Christ, talk about making it obvious. That pissed me off as much as anything else. If Debbie was going to cheat on me, at least she could be a little bit less blatant. I had to be an object of high amusement every time I showed up with her.
I seated myself on the top row of the stadium seating and watched as the people below ate and had a good time, then listened to the speeches and eventually saw them call Doug up to the dais to receive an award as one of the two outstanding new faculty members. He called out to Debbie and despite her protestations she allowed herself to be called up to the dais. She stood beside him blushing as he thanked her for her help during the year and complimented her for her "youth and vitality."
And then damned if he didn't tilt her head up toward his – did I mention he was about 6-3 so for a change she had to look up at a man instead of looking down at me –and kissed her on the lips in front of God and everybody. There was a roar of approval. It was like the moment in a romantic comedy when the hero finally sweeps in to grab his love and take her away with him.
She kissed him back for a moment and then broke away blushing. She sure as hell didn't look like a happily married mother of two teens.
The awards ceremony went on for another 45 minutes and then they announced there would drinks and dancing as long as anyone had the energy to stay on the dance floor where half the tables had just been removed. A band started playing 90s romantic tunes and some faster 2000 pieces.
They were a cute couple. And from the looks other couples gave them, I wasn't the only one who thought so. I wondered what people who knew she was married thought about what was happening. Had she told them we had an open marriage, or that I didn't mind, or that she was going to be free soon? Or maybe academics just didn't give a damn about outmoded concepts like marital fidelity.
I took a deep breath and stood up. Time to put an end to this crappy melodrama. I made my way to dance floor and through the dancers. I was dressed in a suit but no tie and so I stood out as I walked through the mostly tuxed men and women in evening dresses. I caught a whisper, murmurs as I made my way closer to my wife and her boyfriend and I knew I'd been noticed.
Then they were in front of me, so deeply absorbed into looking deeply into each other eyes they never noticed me until I said, "Congratulations Professor, on the award and on stealing my wife, all in the same night."
They stopped so fast that they almost lost their balance. Debbie stared at me, her eyes open wide in surprise. I almost laughed at her expression. Doug's mouth gaped open for a minute and he stared from Debbie to me and back to her as if not believing his eyes.
"Bi...Bill," Debbie finally said softly. "What – what – what are you doing?"
Then the shock started shading into anger as her mouth tightened and she said, "Why Bill? I told you spouses weren't coming tonight. Why didn't you listen to me, wait for me at home?"
At this point I couldn't help laughing.
"And miss all this, baby? Come on, I'd have paid admission to see this. How often does a husband get to see his wife kissing and loving on another man in full view of about a thousand other people? Can't accuse you of false modesty. You don't hide anything, except from your husband."
Doug stepped partially between us and raised a hand as if to push me back, saying, "Mr. Maitland, I'm sorry to meet you like this, but I hope you don't misunderstand. Debbie was just here because she's my mentor."
I grinned at him even as I felt any good feeling I had curdling into fast growing rage.
"Oh, I'm sure she's probably taught you lots of things, Doug. But I'm also sure you're a fast learner."
Debbie stepped closer to me and whispered under her breath, "Bill, don't do this. Not here. Not now. Not in front of people I work with and for."
"So it's okay for you to kiss him and rub yourself all over him and be his girlfriend in everything but name in front of people who know you're a married woman, but I'm an asshole for showing up to spoil your fun?"
"You talking crazy again, Bill. Nothing like that happened."
Now other people were close enough that I knew our conversation was being overhead and would be the subject of water cooler gossip for weeks if not longer.
I lost the smile and just stared at her like I'd stare at road kill that had been dead and spoiled for a few weeks as I told her, "You stupid bitch. I've been here all evening. I saw you being lovey-dovey. I saw you FEEDING him, you bitch. I have no doubt you probably were rubbing his dick under the table. I saw him kiss you, not like a mentor, and I saw you kiss him back. He probably got some tongue out of the deal."
Doug stepped in closer and I saw one hand close into a fist. I was attacking his girl and his reaction was obvious.
"Bill, I know you're angry but you have no right-"
"It's Mr. Maitland to you, sonny, and I have every right. In case you forgot, she's my wife. She might not be for much longer, but I'm the guy she's supposed to be kissing and loving on, at least until she tells me she wants out."
That stopped him for a moment and Debbie turned red as she realized a crowd was gathering around us.
"By the way, you're a business professor, right? You teach any business ethics? What are the ethics of moving in on a married woman, breaking up a marriage. Maybe not a real happy marriage, but it was a marriage.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I could tell he was losing it as his hands closed into fists but he was trying.

"Bill – Mr. Maitland, I know it may have looked bad, but we're just friends. We've gotten close over the last nine months, but I wouldn't mess with a married woman."
I gave both of them a contemptuous glance, because I really couldn't believe they were stupid enough to keep trying to carry on this act.
"Doug, give it up. I know my wife must have told you what I do for a living. I read people; body language, expressions. You're in love with, or at least you want to bang my wife, and she's hotter for you than you are for her."
I could say the devil made me do it, but in all honesty it was probably just two weeks of simmering rage that launched my right fist toward his face at that point, but it was as if I was moving in slow motion. He just leaned back casually and then his right hand balled into a fist caught me on the right side of the face and sent me stumbling backwards.
I ended up on my ass staring up at the horrified or amused faces of the people crowding around us. I looked up to see Debbie just staring at me. She seemed more angry than concerned about her dear husband.
I shook my head to clear it. I hadn't been in a fight in 25 years and I'd forgotten what a hard shot to the face felt like. As I tried to get to my feet I heard Doug saying, "I'm so sorry Deb. I didn't mean to hit him, but when he swung I just reacted automatically."
I got to my feet, swaying and pushed away someone who apparently was trying to help me up,.
"Alright, asshole, let's try that again..."
I ran at him swinging awkwardly. Like I said, it had been over a quarter century since I'd tried to hit someone for real and he just swatted the punch away and somehow pushed me so that I ended up on my face. The first laughs started.
He looked down at me and said, "We don't have to do this. Let's act like grownups."
I got back to my feet and stalked toward him slowly. Blood was dripping down my check. Debbie shook her head and said, "Please, Bill, don't do this. God, you've already embarrassed me badly. I've got to face these people. Please."
I swung again and when he blocked my right I managed to sink a left into his stomach. He just "whuffed", more out of surprise than anything else and smashed his fist into my nose. Blood was all over the place and I staggered to stay upright. For a moment I could hardly see for tears in my eyes. Jesus Christ, that hurt.
"Bill, get out of here," Debbie hissed. "You have managed to ruin everything. This was the biggest night of Doug's career, and you have to show up and make as ass out of yourself."
I ran a hand over my face and it came away bloody.
"I haven't started yet, my loyal and loving wife."
I could hear titters behind me and Debbie stared at me as if she couldn't believe my words, as if the mere thought that I might able to hurt her young stud astounded her. Her absolute confidence that I was harmless hurt more than anything else.
"Go away, Bill. Don't be stupid. He will kick your ass. He's younger and bigger and he can box. You've already humiliated yourself and me. Don't make yourself an absolute laughing stock."
"Your concern is touching. Go to hell."
I moved closer and swung again. An anvil or something equally heavy hit one eye, then something smashed into my mouth resulting in another spray of blood and something else slammed into my midsection, doubling me over. I couldn't help hurling as I went down."
I knelt on one knee and tried to bring my vision into focus, could sense the movement of people around me and nervous laughter and I knew Debbie was standing with Doug and probably gloating in his triumph. I tried to remember when she had ever loved me.
A hand grabbed my arm at the elbow and I heard Doug saying, "Come on, Bill, it's over. Let it go. Let me help you up, we'll get you cleaned up and out of here."
I didn't consciously plan anything. I just rammed forward with the top of my head as hard as I could and hit something relatively soft and heard Doug moan and fall forward. As he did I reared up again as hard as I could and bounced his face off the top of my head.
I was standing somehow and Doug and all his flat bellied glory was flat on his back holding his hands over blood spurting from his nose and mouth. If I could just stay upright for a few more seconds. I managed to make it to him before anyone got in the way and kicked him in the face as hard as I could.
Debbie's screaming behind me only made it sweeter.
"Oh, God, Doug..."
I was gang tackled by what felt like an entire posse and dragged to the ground. I could see Debbie standing there between us, looking from one bleeding prone figure to the other. Then she ran to Doug and knelt down beside him. She was crying. She had made her decision. God, I asked myself, could she be any more of a treacherous bitch.
As the old saying about bang goes, when it's inevitable...So I just lay back and let about four guys in tuxes hold me down. Debbie was using any kind of fabric she could lay her hands on to try to stop the blood gushing from Doug's face.
I heard someone saying, "Call the cops."
"Security is right here. Get this asshole out of here."
Someone else said maliciously, "Let's see how tough you are in a holding cell..."
There was a tall, distinguished looking, grayish elderly gent standing near Doug and he asked solicitously, "Professor Baker, are you alright? Should we call an ambulance."
Then he looked over at me.
"And you, sir, whoever you are, are going to rue the day you assaulted one of our staff."
I made an educated guess.
"You must be President Myers, right?"
He was getting ready to leave but something in my tone of voice stopped him.
"Yes, I'm the President of UNF. And you are?"
"William Maitland, Head Supervising Assistant State Attorney for the Third Circuit, and the husband of the blonde consoling your professor Baker over there."
His eyes widened a little as he looked from Debbie and Doug to me and back again. He might be an old fossil, but there was nothing wrong with the speed of his mental processing.
"In that case, Mr. Maitland, I would not like to be in your shoes. You're an officer of the court assaulting a man in plain view of hundreds. Not good. But, I think we might be willing to extend some forbearance here. -"
"I think, President Myers, that your ass, and that of your institution is about to become grass, and I am going to be the lawnmower."
His face tightened. He wasn't used to being addressed in that manner. I knew he came from old money and had social and business ties that extended from Atlanta to Miami. That's why they had tapped him as President.
"I don't understand-"
"Why don't we go somewhere and I'll explain it to you, before you and this institution step into a whole swampful of shit."
He didn't like that either, but he wasn't stupid and he was used to making snap decisions. A nod from him resulted in two of the men jerking me to my feet. We walked to a toward the rear where there were restroom signs. I noticed that Myers had Doug and Debbie practically frog marched along with us.
When we had gotten far enough to speak in relative privacy we stopped and he said, "Alright, Mr. Maitland , explain yourself."
Doug had pretty much staunched the bleeding, but he was still hurting. Debbie had her arm around him and if looks could kill, the glances she sent at me would have laid me in my grave.
"I don't know how closely you monitor things, but I don't think you're stupid. This is fairly simple. My wife has been 'very close' to Professor Baker for awhile, too close for my tastes. I know he took her home the other night and kissed her in my driveway while was wearing a very, provocative, outfit.
"I know she engaged in very loving, and intimate behavior with Professor Baker both on and off the dance floor tonight, and like you said, I have hundreds of witnesses. I know he gave her a very, un-collegial, kiss tonight in full view of many of your staff and I heard them cheering and whooping as he did so. I don't think I'd have any trouble convincing a jury when I sue UNF for being a party to the Alienation of my wife's affections, that her behavior was common knowledge."
I thought Debbie was going to launch herself across the space separating us. She could have started foaming at the mouth for a little bit.
"You bastard," she said loudly. "President Myers, my husband suffers from mental problems. Namely an obsession that I have been unfaithful to him. It's all in his head. There is absolutely nothing improper going on between myself and Professor Baker. Don't listen to anything he says. Please have him removed."
Myers glanced at her and said mildly, "I might be inclined to agree with you, Professor Maitland, but unfortunately for both you and Professor Baker, I was on the dais and I witnessed the display between the two of you, and particularly that kiss. I was under the impression that no woman in her right mind would have engaged in that kind of activity unless she had an 'understanding' with her husband, which you obviously didn't."
He looked at Doug and shook his head.
"As for you, Professor Baker, I'm disappointed. I had thought you a sharp and rising addition to our faculty. But whether there was anything improper going on between you and Professor Maitland, the fact remains that you should have had the good sense to avoid the appearance of impropriety, and you obviously did not. I will have to reevaluate your future role in our university."
I somehow managed to avoid laughing at the expressions that crossed both their faces.
Myers looked back at me.
"Regardless of our future internal activities, Mr. Maitland, the fact remains that you are in a much more tenuous and dangerous position. If we report this, I expect you'll lose your position with the State Attorney's Office. You might be disbarred. Why shouldn't I simply call the security officer?"
"You're right. I could be fired. And disbarred. But if that happens, I will sue the university for alienation of my wife's affections and actions that led to the destruction of my marriage. I might not win, probably won't. But I'm a well known prosecutor, my wife and Professor Baker are respected academics. And, more importantly and to the point of this discussion, my wife is a hot, big tittied blonde and Professor Baker is what I would call a hunk.
"When the word gets out of a sexual and romantic triangle, alleged adultery, hanky panky in academia, I think UNF is going to get a whole world full of unwanted press attention. Not the kind of attention you want; not the kind of attention that will do you a lot of good when it comes to attracting the kind of big money, old money, corporate donors that you need to keep an institution like this running smoothly."
I stopped and we all stared at each other for a moment or two. I noticed four or five university security cops huddling a little distance away.
Finally Myers sighed and said, "You really don't care if you win the suit, do you?"
Without giving me a chance to reply, he said, "What do you want? Professor Baker is new and doesn't have the academic protections that come with longevity. We could probably get rid of him. Your wife has more protections, but we could make it – advantageous – for her to seek employment elsewhere."
One of the chief regrets of my life is that I didn't have a camera to catch the expressions on the lovers' faces.
I shook my head.
"I just want to walk away from here and get some medical attention. I don't want you to take any retribution against either one of them."
Myers looked surprised.
"You are a surprising man, Mr. Maitland. Why did you come here and create so much havoc tonight if you didn't want revenge?"
I looked at Debbie. Surprise and an emotion I couldn't place played across her face. Doug just looked like his whole world had fallen apart around him. I had my doubts about his long term future with UNF regardless of what I said.
"My marriage is over. I know that. My wife isn't in love with me anymore. That hurts, but it happens every day. I don't want to destroy her. We have two children and I want her to keep her job for their sake.
"No, I came here tonight because I just wanted my wife to know I'm not a complete idiot, that she couldn't walk out dressed for a hot date and feed me a line of crap about going to a boring academic meeting that spouses weren't invited to.
"As to Professor Baker....I wanted – well, I don't blame Baker that much. He's an asshole for playing with a married woman, but I would go after my wife if I hadn't been married to her already. She's a beautiful woman. So I didn't want to ruin his life. I just wanted a little payback for stealing my wife."
He took a last look at me, said, "You're an interesting man, Mr. Maitland, please don't come back here again," and walked away.
The little crowd dispersed and Debbie started to walk away with Doug Baker, but stopped and came back to me. She had blood on her dress and wrap and the fire in her eyes had burned down to a wary sadness.
"Thank you, I guess, Bill. I've got a job, but I don't know how much of a career I've got left. All this crap, and for what? All of this is in your mind. I'm not having an affair, and despite what you saw, Doug is just a friend.
She took a deep breath, then caught my gaze in hers and said, "Don't come back to the house tonight, or any night, Bill. I'm going to get a protective order keeping you away from me and the kids. You've shown that you're a dangerous man prone to violence and I question your mental stability.
"I think we need a formal separation, for a while anyway. I don't know what will happen to our marriage, but we need some space and time before....we do something permanent. You can make arrangements with the Sheriff's Office to come by and pick up anything you need."
And with that, she went off with Doug and I went back to the River.
##########
A week had gone by and I hadn't heard from Debbie or the kids. Of course, I hadn't tried to call them, but they hadn't called me. So we were even. I had made a temporary home at the River condo, but I knew I'd have to look for more permanent digs.
It was near noon Friday and the case of the sailor who had shaken his daughter to death was drawing to a close. We'd probably have a verdict in time to let the Presiding judge, Herman Herring, get out in time to catch a new play opening at the Times-Union Theater for the Performing Arts.
A younger SA, Billy Parker, had made the first close and the defense attorney Bob Becker had made his passionate defense final argument. We were on break until we got our last shot at the jury.
I grabbed a sub I'd ordered from the sandwich shop downstairs in the courthouse during the break and tried to make a tactical decision. Parker had done a good job in the initial closing or final argument. He'd summed up the case and the evidence against the young sailor, Van Horn, clearly enough that the jury had a good sense of the case against him.
Because Becker, the hot shot from New York, had put Van Horn on the stand, we had one last bite of the apple. I could let Parker take the final argument, but I was thinking of grabbing this one for myself. I felt like cutting somebody's balls off in court...I needed something to cheer me up.
Cheryl stuck her head in my office and said quietly, "She's on the phone, Bill."
"Great timing. Okay."
I picked up the phone and punched in her call.
"Hi Debbie."
"Hello, Bill."
"To what do I owe this honor? You got another court order directed at me?"
"No, Bill. Remember, we talked about a separation until we could get things...straight between us."
"I remember."
"I'm filing for a divorce this afternoon."
"hmmm...well, thanks for the heads up."
"Bill....I don't see any way out. I haven't been happy in a long, long time...and if you're honest, once things settle down, I don't even think you'll miss me that much. You'll still have your job and your cases. That's what your life is all about, what it has been all about for so long."
"Very perceptive. Good to know you're thinking about me. How is Doug, by the way? Did he need surgery on his nose?"
"....No, Bill, he didn't. No thanks to you. And I know you're thinking it, because you have been ever since you went crazy, but I'm not doing this for Doug. I'm doing it for me. I just don't love you anymore, Bill. Not like that. I'm sorry."
"That was all you needed to say, Debbie. I'll get an attorney and I'll have my guy call your guy. Have a good life."
I hung up on her.
I sat there and tried to figure out what I was feeling. At least I wasn't vomiting. It was all so anticlimactic. Almost 20 years of my life drawn to a close with a single one minute conversation. It should have been raining under overcast black skies. But that was bullshit. It was just another day.
I buzzed Cheryl.
When she came in I told her, "Call Parker. I'm taking the close. Van Horn's got a date with the death chamber."
I grabbed a few bites of the sub but again I just wasn't that hungry. I threw the remainder in the trash, got up and grabbed my briefcase and headed for the door. Before I got there Cheryl was standing in front of me.
She just pointed to my face. I didn't understand.
"What? Do I have something in between my teeth?"
She held a makeup compact up to me and flipped it open to the mirror. I saw the tears rolling down my cheeks. I took out a handkerchief and wiped my face, eyes and then my nose.
"Make a note of the date and time, Cheryl. Those are the last tears I'll shed for that miserable bitch."
I headed for the elevator and I almost thought I could smile. For the first time, I felt sorry for that son-of-a-bitch Van Horn. He was going to take his last breaths strapped down to a hospital gurney in Raiford watching the lethal chemicals mix before entering his body. And at least a small part of the blame, or credit, for what awaited him was due to my loving, cheating, almost-ex-wife.
As the elevator doors closed behind me, I stepped into my new life.
END OF CHAPTER ONE
There's obviously going to be a Chapter Two and Possibly Three. I know some people don't like the longer stories, but that's the way this one played out.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Recap

My name is Bill Maitland. I'm one of three top State Attorney Assistants in Jacksonville, Florida. As I noted in a previous entry, I've been through a rough three weeks. Three weeks ago I was, at least in my own mind, happily married to a big tittied blonde goddess who I thought loved me. Little did I know.
For 17 years the former Debbie Bascomb had been my wife, lover, and best friend. We had two children, both navigating through the treacherous teen years and had been working our way up the career paths of our own choosing, myself in the law and Debbie in academia as an Assistant Professor at the University of North Florida.
I thought we'd had a good, solid, relatively boring middle class marriage. Of course I had the best of it. Debbie is a 5 foot 9 blonde wet dream, big titties, long gorgeous legs and an ass to die for. I, on the other hand, am a 5-foot-8, balding, pudgy 41-year-old lawyer, and as exciting as I sound.
We'd had a good marriage until I discovered we didn't. Four words ended it all, when in the middle of informing me she was planning on working teaching during the summer she happened to let it slip that we had had some good times "when we were married."
Of course, she had compounded the weirdness by acting in a loving manner that was nothing like the woman I'd been married to for the past few years and showed off a shaved pussy that I knew nothing about. I made the mistake of getting so royally pissed by the stranger she'd turned into that I asked her if she was fucking anybody, which was probably not the best way to try to get to the bottom of what was going on.
Things went into a death spiral from that point. We stopped talking, she started kissing a good looking young assistant professor (Doug/email name Lance) she worked with, she spent the weekend away from me and after I found a bunch of incriminating emails on her computer that made it brutally clear that if she wasn't fucking the young professor, she was on track to do so,......so I moved out of our house and left my wedding ring behind.
I made one last quixotic gesture to try to win her back, involving overpowering her in the shower and using a very big vibrator and the sex was the best we'd had in years. But when it was over, she had lain on her side of the bed and silently wept. That pretty much told me it was all over
Which led to me surprising her at a UNF event when she was acting very un-wifely, I got my face smashed in and got a few good licks in on her would-be boyfriend, and I wound up with a restraining order keeping me out of my house.
Then twenty minutes ago, while I was waiting to make final arguments in the case of a young sailor who'd shaken his eight eight-month-old daughter to death in a fit of rage against his ex-wife, Debbie had taken the opportunity to call me to tell me she didn't love me anymore and was filing for a divorce.
Which is why I found myself walking – make that striding forcefully – into Circuit Judge Herman Herring's courtroom as an almost free, and very, very angry man. Chris Van Horn, the young sailor who had killed his daughter in a moment of rage, was about to pay for my wife's treachery.
Everything was set to go. Herring was sitting at the bench. He was a buzz-cut, beak-nosed former Marine who feared nothing, loved tough cases and headlines mentioning his name in the Times-Union, and loved even more being God in his courtroom. Standing at his side was the man-mountain former ex-con now bodyguard and Bailiff Charlie Case who kept order during some pretty wild proceedings.
Billy Parker, the young Assistant SA who had prosecuted the case and gave the main closing, sat alone at the prosecution table. Arnold Becker, the New York defense hot shot, sat beside Van Horn who was dressed in a neat and conservative suit, but not too dressy.
As I walked into the courtroom I saw Van Horn's parents seated on the right behind their son in the public section and on the right I saw Van Horn's now ex-wife and her parents. Melody Van Horn's mother was crying. Becker saw me and gave me a smart-ass grin. I wondered if he'd be grinning in a few minutes.
"Mr. Maitland, this is an unexpected pleasure," Herring said. "To what do we owe this honor?"
"Just trying to keep my hand in," I said. 'Are we set to go, your honor?"
"Let's roll."
I looked over at the jury box. There was an elderly black man, two women in their 30s that I would have bet my life were Lesbians, a youngish guy with long hair who was about to fall asleep, a business type in his early 50s, and one soccer mom type; long blonde hair, tastefully dressed, just enough lipstick and enough boobs so the young guy kept sneaking glances at them, but all in all demure.
She and the old black guy were the only ones on the jury who had kids. He had four grown children, eight grandchildren and six great-grands. Of course, he wasn't crazy about any of his grown kids and had gotten tired of being dragged into babysitting. Not your ideal grandpa. That had been Becker's strategy and he had worked it pretty well.
I glanced over at Van Horn. He met my eyes for a moment and dropped them. He was fighting for his life, but for the life of me I couldn't understand how he could live another day with the memory of that small limp body in his hands.
I walked over to Parker and got the only prop I'd need. Herring addressed the jury, saying, "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Assistant State Attorney Maitland will deliver the closing arguments for the state. Once again I remind you that you can only consider the facts and testimony placed in evidence. The closing is simply an opportunity for the state to sum up what it considers the facts in this case that you should consider. Mr. Maitland."
I walked slowly toward the jury, finally stopping in front of the foreman, the businessman. I held the prop where they could not see it.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my name is William Maitland. I am an Assistant State Attorney. I have worked for the State Attorney' office for the past ten years. Before I joined this office I worked as a defense attorney for a few years I stand before you now to make a few final comments before you retire to deliberate."
I let their gazes wash over me, mostly curious, some already tired of this duty and ready to shuck it to return to their real lives.
"I won't go over our case again. I know that Mr. Becker did his best to muddy the waters by bringing in testimony that implied that Mrs. Van Horn, after their divorce, had brought another man in to live with her and that it was this other man that injured little Amber Van Horn.
"I trust that you listened to the testimony of witnesses, security officer, medical experts and others and can weigh their credibility against that of Mr. Van Horn. As good an attorney as Mr. Becker is, I don't really think he managed to crack the case we've built against his client.
"No, I won't rehash the case. I will keep my remarks short and I hope to the point."
I held up my prop, an eight by 12 photograph of a smiling seven-month old Amber Van Horn in her mother's arms.
Becker was bouncing out of his seat, shouting, "Your honor," but before he could finish I said, "This is simply a photo of the victim, your honor. Nothing inflammatory."
Herring shot a glance at Becker and even Becker was smart enough to shut up, as Herring said, "Sit down."
I walked down the jury box showing the picture slowly to the jurors.
I stopped in front of the young guy. He was trying not to stare at it, but he couldn't help himself. They hadn't seen a picture of the little girl since early in the trial. It had been all testimony and words and diagrams. Not a real person.
"I apologize for what I'm doing, ladies and gentlemen. Because what I am doing is haunting each of you. I'm doing it to remind you of what this trial is all about. Amber Van Horn was a living, breathing eight-month not too long ago. Now she is a decaying corpse in a graveyard in Jacksonville."
There was a gasp and then murmurs from the spectators. I could sense Becker shooting to his feet and dropping again with a glance from Herring.
"I apologize for using that language, but it's the truth. She is dead, and she has been buried. She was just a little girl. Plenty of little girls die even in this city every year from illness, accidents, murder. Only one little girl. But-"
I walked the line, staring each in the eye until they lowered their gazes.
"She's the reason we're here. She's the reason why the state and defense have spent probably a hundred thousand dollars when you take into consideration the man-hours, salaries, facilities and everything else devoted to this little girl's death. As I said, she was only one little girl. Why do we do this, why do we spend so much on one person?"
I held the photo up in front of them again.
"Because in our culture, every life is sacred. Amber Van Horn had written no novels, raised any children, did anything to make the world a better place...except exist. She was raw, unfinished and of no monetary value to anyone at all. But we hold this trial to confirm that her life had value, and the State is asking you to send her father, Chris Van Horn to the death chamber to confirm that life is sacred."
I turned my back on the jury and walked closer to Van Horn's table. I did not look back at the jury as I said, "I apologized earlier for haunting you and I'm sure most of you didn't understand what I was saying. Let me explain.
"I started working as a prosecutor 10 years ago. I thought it would just be a job.
"What I didn't understand at the time, is that it is much more than a job. I have prosecuted or helped prosecute hundreds of cases. I have seen pictures of, and got to know, the families of hundreds of murder or manslaughter victims. I thought when I finished a case, I'd be done with it."
I turned and walked back to the jury box.
"I was wrong. I can still see the face of the first victim in the first case I ever prosecuted. She was a clerk in a 7-11 who was shot in the face by a bandit who got away with $211...and 37 cents. She was married and the mother of two young boys. Her name was Lilly Mae Longstreet. I don't see her often, but sometimes when I'm falling to sleep or in my dreams, I see her.
"I lost that case. We couldn't build a strong enough case and so the accused walked. But I did the best I could and when I see Lilly Mae's face in my dreams, I can face her without regret.
"Now, I've planted Amber's face in your minds. And trust me, one day, somewhere, somehow, you will see her face again. For myself personally, it doesn't really matter what verdict you come back with. Murder one, manslaughter, whatever. I know that I – and my office – have given this case all we had. Even if Mr. Van Horn is acquitted, I can still face Amber in my dreams and not be ashamed of what I've done.
"It is you, the six of you, who will have to decide what you owe this little girl. When you see her again, and trust me you will, will you be able to say to yourself that you did what was right for her? I hope you can, because the alternative will be a lot of sleepless nights.
"Thank you for your time and consideration. Amber, and those who loved her, thank you as well."
Becker gave me a sickly half smile, as if he couldn't believe I'd tried to feed a modern jury that kind of pap. I just smiled back at him.
I smiled at him again at 6 pm. After they'd called us back to Herring's courtroom. The jury had been out a little more than four hours. The foreman stood and facing Van Horn told him they had found him guilty of murder in the second degree. That meant he was facing a sentence of 10 to 25 years. For a first offense, it would probably be ten years.
Becker was trying to smile for the parents. Undoubtedly he'd make the point that he'd saved their son from the death chamber. But I wondered what kind of person the kid would be when he left Raiford after ten years. He wouldn't be the same man.
Amber's mother, and then Amber's maternal grandmother came up and hugged me. I'm not much for touchie-feelie, but I hugged them back. They hadn't gotten everything they wanted, but I thought they could live with what they had gotten. They could go on with their lives now.
I was walking out when Becker approached me and tapped me on the shoulder. He had perfect hair, perfect teeth, was slim and trim and had a great smile. He reminded me of Debbie's boyfriend – Doug/Lance Baker. I wanted to slug him but I just gave him a shit-eating grin.
"Congratulations," he said. If he wasn't sincere, he could certainly fake it. "I never thought that bullshit would work, but I really was expecting manslaughter tops and maybe less. You got a minute to go out for coffee, a drink somewhere?"
I almost said no, but then realized I had nowhere to go and nothing to do tonight. So we wound up at Pelicans, a downtown bar that draws most of the night action unless you're going out toward the Beaches or one of the suburbs. He was buying and since he probably made ten times the amount of money I did, I let him.
I worked on a Bloody Mary, heavy on the Tabasco and pepper, while he drank some girly drink.
"You wondering why I invited you out for a drink?"
"Not really. I think you're after my body."
He smiled and said, "In a way..."
I shook my head.
"You're going to be sooooo disappointed."
He laughed and took a sip, then sat it down and stared at me. I wondered if I'd been right and he was going to hit on me.
"I do want you, but not physically, Bill. My law firm is always looking for new talent. We have branches in a dozen major cities across the U.S., close to a fifty partners and maybe 500 attorneys altogether. Would you ever consider crossing the aisle? I hear you were defense once."
"I'm flattered, but why?"
"I can't put my finger on it. I really can't, no BS. It's just...something I sensed or felt in there. I think you're a hell of a lot better than this place deserves. Jacksonville? Jesus Christ, you could be practicing in New York, or San Fran, or Chicago. Big cases, bigger money, much bigger paydays. And the ass...my God, man, you wouldn't believe the pussy that wanders through our offices. You don't even have to work hard for it. Our throw aways would knock the eyes out of guys around here."
He looked at my left hand and saw the ring on it.
"Looks like you're married, so we could arrange for employment for the spouse. And the great thing is that even the married guys get all the ass on the side they can handle. Does any of that sound interesting?"
I took a sip of my drink and thought about it.
"No, not really."
He looked genuinely puzzled.
"I like what I do. I think I need what I do. Representing rich SOBs or working divorces or corporate does nothing for me. I'm tempted, because it would be a challenge, but I guess I'm set in my ways. And I couldn't walk away because I've already paid too high a price to be here."
He lifted one eyebrow. I'd only seen people do that in movies.
I held my wedding band out. The skin around it was still pink, but mostly healed.
"My wife called me twenty minutes before I walked into court to tell me she didn't love me anymore and was filing for divorce. After nearly 18 years and two kids."
"Ouch. I – uh."
"It was the job, mostly. Some of the fault was just me personally, but I did what I did willingly so I can't bitch too much."
"But, doesn't' that leave you free...I mean, I don't want to be indelicate, but as wonderful as she may have been, you do know there's a whole world of women out there? You may not want to think about it now, but life goes on."
"Maybe. Look, right now I just want to hunker down and try to ride this out. Leave me your card. If I change my mind, I'll call you, but it won't be for awhile."
He looked around the bar. As usual there were dozens of younger and not so young attorneys, courthouse staff, secretaries, male and female, drinking, flirting, trying to line things up for later that night. I was younger than some of the guys and women there, but I felt like I was a hundred years old. This was going to be my world in the future? God help me.
Becker shook my hand and moved on after a tall redhead who worked in the Public Defender's Office. As I walked out he was saying something to her, standing so close they could have kissed without moving more than a millimeter in either direction and she was giggling. God, I already hated being divorced.
I made my way back to River condo and let myself in. I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, but I found a pack of cheese crackers and a lukewarm half-empty Pepsi on the desk by the bed and devoured both..
I lay back on the bed fully clothed and stared at the ceiling. I should be in our bedroom, lying next to Debbie, hearing the kids' music, watching television or talking with her about something inconsequential that had happened to one of us during the day. I shouldn't be lying in a strange bed, alone, in the quiet except for the infrequent sounds of cars in the night and faraway security officer sirens.
It was finally sinking in on me away from the courthouse and the cases and the people I worked with. I was alone, and I would be alone from now on.
As I lay there I felt a black anger rising inside me. I'd never denied I was at least partially responsible for what had happened between Debbie and me. I had let my care and concern for others invade my life and push her and the kids to one side. I had been stupid and foolish.
But I had never looked at another woman and seriously thought about cheating on my wife. I hadn't given the love that I had pledged to her to a stranger. And if I had had the kind of problem that Debbie had had, if it had been me that had kept in shape and her that had let herself get fat and flabby, I knew I would have gone to her and tried to make things work.
During her two pregnancies she had gotten huge and it had taken a while after each to re-gain her old body. But I can't remember ever looking at her and not seeing the woman I loved. It was her under that flab and those extra pounds. Why couldn't she have done that for me?
I sat bolt upright on the bed and wanted very badly to smash things. Fuck being the nice guy. I had made some mistakes, but I wasn't the person who had betrayed my partner; I hadn't pulled the plug on nearly 20 years together to go lust after some hard body.
I didn't have to read her emails to Lance. I could quote every word in my head. While I had been working and loving her and trying to keep a middle-aged marriage together, she had been flirting with and lusting after and finally falling in love with a guy who hadn't been with her through those pregnancies.
Lance hadn't held her during the nights when she had cried at career reverses and the time when we thought because of a hospital error that a three-day-old Bill Jr. might have Down 's syndrome. It had taken a week before we'd gotten the correct results. We had stood over his crib and I remember the tears we'd both shed trying to imagine what our life, what his life, would be like if he did have Downs.
Lance, that young son of a bitch, had come in with his hard cock and his flat abs and a ten-year-plus edge on me and she had forgotten all those nights, all those hours, the life I had devoted to her. She had thrown me and those years away.
I thought I had been angry before, but I realized what I felt then was nothing. Until she said the words, told me she didn't love me anymore, it hadn't been quite real. I'd had hope. Now that was all gone.
I had prosecuted cases where cuckolded husbands had killed their unfaithful wives while letting their lovers live. I had never understood that. Now I did. Lance was guilty of nothing but being a man guided by his dick, If I was his age and single I might have done the same thing. But Debbie had stabbed me in the back, cut off my balls, torn out my heart. I was glad that I was nowhere near her tonight. I wondered if it would be safe to even face her any time in the near future.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I couldn't lie down. I got up, took my Escalade and somehow wound up at The Last Call. Maybe because it was close to home, or what had been my home. I drank at a table by myself and watched young and old lovers flirt and kiss and dance and do everything but fuck on the dance floor. When I couldn't see straight enough to walk, the owner called the cops and after they consulted with a sergeant and realized who I was, took me back to the River Condo, put me inside on the bed and let me fall gratefully into unconsciousness. And that was how my first day of freedom ended.

I could have gone back to the house with a deputy but I couldn't make myself face Debbie or the kids, or my former home. I watched every channel I could find most of the day Saturday, went out and had Thai at a new restaurant near the beach and finally sat on a bench back at the Riverwalk letting the breeze whip around me as the sun sank below the horizon, the air got cooler and rain approached.
My cell rang and I pulled it out, intending to ignore it if it were from Debbie.
"Hi Roy."
When she spoke I realized it was Debbie's mom, Cathy. Roy was okay, but Cathy was as close as you could come to being a classic grandmother, even though she still had a fairly nice body at 65 and had retained the facial features that showed me where Debbie and her younger sister Clarice got their beauty from.
"Hello Bill. Are you okay?"
"Define okay."
"I'm so sorry, Bill. I want you to know, I tried to talk Debbie out of it when I heard what she was going to do. I told her she was an idiot. She's my daughter and I love her, but I can't believe what she's doing."
"I found it kind of hard to believe myself, Cathy, but sh-things happen. She did go ahead and filed Friday, didn't she?"
"Yes, I'm sorry, but she did. What are you going to do?"
"About what?"
"You're going to fight it, aren't you? You're an attorney, you've got to know people. Drag it out as long as you can."
"Why?"
"Why? Why fight for your wife? You love Debbie don't you? And the kids."
"Yeah, the kids. Debbie, probably. Not as much as I did three weeks ago."
There was a long silence, then she said, "You know she doesn't love this guy, don't you?"
I played ignorant.
"What guy?"
"Oh Bill, don't be an asshole. I'm on your side. Doug Baker, the guy from UNF."
"How do you know about him?"
"...He's come by her house since the blowup at UNF that Friday, and she had him over – as a friend – last night. They went out to dinner. As friends."
"Do you think she's fucked him?"
She didn't gasp or get irate or defend her daughter and so I had a pretty good idea what she thought.
"I don't know, Bill. Probably, honestly. You can look at her while she's talking about how good friends they are and know she's lying through her teeth. I just don't know if she's lying to herself as well as everybody else."
I took a deep breath and let it out. The first few hints of raindrops were hitting my face.
"Well then, Cathy, what's the point? Why fight when she's already replaced me?"
'Because she may think she loves him, but she doesn't. She built a life with you, and you two have the kids, and she did love you so much once. It's just that...time passed and you didn't keep yourself up physically and she was ripe for romance when Doug came along. Look, Bill, it happens to men too. It's that itch you get when you've been married a long time and you stop looking at your husband or wife as a lover.
"I guess what I'm saying is that this is a fling. I think she thinks she loves him, or she's flattered by the idea of a young attractive man wanting her when she's getting ready to turn 40. And she probably will have, if she already hasn't had, sex with him. I hate to hurt you, but it probably will happen."
"So what is the point of my trying to hang on to someone who thinks she loves a younger hot guy and is going to have sex with him and probably rub my nose in it?"
"Because flings don't last, Bill. It's not love. It's fantasy and lust, but those burn out. The day will come when she sees him and what she's doing in the light of day. She'll remember what you two had and what she's got with him won't be able to match that."
It had started to rain so I heaved myself off the bench and started toward my Escalade.
"Maybe, but I won't be around and available by that time."
There was a longer silence. As I approached the Escalade in the parking lot, she finally said, "You don't love her enough to hang on?"
"Cathy, what if it was Roy that came to you one day and said he'd met somebody and he wanted a divorce and he moved out and started having sex with her and you knew it was just a fling. Would you hang on?"
I got into the Escalade and watched the rain drops hit and run down the windshield. I realized she was crying.
"I'm gonna miss you, Bill. You have been a good man, and a good son-in-law and a good father, even if you could have spent more time with the kids. I'm crying for myself, and for Debbie. The day will come when she'll realize what she threw away, and then she'll be the one crying. Trust me on that."
"I'd have to be a better man than I am not to tell you that that thought makes me smile, I hope she hurts like hell, one day, because I sure as hell am hurting now."
"Don't forget us, Bill. Even if you drop out of Debbie's life, you've been a part of our life for 20 years. You're not divorcing us."
"I know. Bye."
I drove to the River and plugged in my laptop and started looking at rentals. Money wasn't really an issue, but I wanted to be somewhere closer to downtown. I had a feeling my job was going to be an even bigger part of my life than it had been and being downtown would be convenient.
After I'd made notes on some prospects, decided I didn't want to hear how the world was going to hell and it had become obvious that my wife and kids had left me for dead, I started looking up porn video sites. I found a couple of good ones with short to a few full length videos. I clicked on one featuring a big breasted blonde who apparently had run into a couple of very well endowed pool cleaners. Nothing. I couldn't get a hint of an erection.
I realized that was probably not the best idea on how to get some relief so I hunted until I found one about a wife cheating with her husband's two best friends, both guys in their 40s or 50s from appearances. She was brunette, short and slender. Still nothing. I looked down at my recalcitrant dick and couldn't help chiding it with a "you fucking traitor."
But it was obvious he wasn't going to come out to play and then I began to get a little more depressed. Not only had Debbie broken my heart, it looked like she had killed my sex drive as well.
I turned the lights off and stared at the ceiling while a kaleidoscope of memories and pictures from my past life swirled through my head. I know I must have slept sometime, but I honestly don't remember falling asleep or waking to the sunrise.
THE FOURTH DAY OF MY FREEDOM
When I came to work that morning it felt like everybody was staring at me, and trying to keep me from catching them doing it. Cheryl walked around me on eggshells. I finally had to tell her to get the hell over it and forget about what happened Friday. We had work to do.
I probably did a good job, although I could never remember exactly what I did that day. I called a few real estate agents and got commitments to see a few places. I was out of the office by 4:30 and had seen five places by 7:30 that night. When I stepped out of the fifth place, a two-bedroom condo two miles from the courthouse complex on Liberty Street, I told the agent "That's the place."
He looked surprised.
"You don't want to see any other sites? It's kind of small."
"It's big enough for me. I don't expect to be spending a lot of time here. The kitchen is small but I'll probably eat out, it has DSL and satellite connections, and the second bedroom is just for any times when I might have my kids. I can sleep on the couch those nights. I want to moved in by this weekend. Is that doable?"
"With enough money anything is doable."
The rest of the week and the following week went fast and glacially slow at the same time. I moved into the Liberty two bedroom. Work was work. The Thompson Brothers (the scum bag drug dealer murder case) that I'd thought would like down easier than an oyster at a beach party turned into a cluster fuck as it turned out that the brothers and their friends had planted a friend on the jury and were stupid enough to threaten another juror to see things the right way. What had been a simple legal execution turned into a dogfight. When it was over a case that should have taken three or four days tops took nearly three weeks to get close to final arguments.
I had finally made myself go by my former house with a deputy accompanying me. Debbie found a reason to be elsewhere so it was just Kelly there. As I separated the balance of my life from what had been my home Kelly hovered nearby. We said a few words.
As I got ready to walk out I went over to her and took her in my arms. She resisted for just a moment and then she hugged me back.
"I'm sorry baby."
"I'm sorry too, daddy."
I turned the Liberty two-bedroom condo into a storage unit with just enough room to turn around, eat in the kitchen, and go to bed. Every night I went out and as I had almost every night since my visit to The Last Call, I got shit faced at a bar.
As usual, the owners called the cops who deposited me in my bed. I knew they had to be getting pissed, but as long as I had a tight grasp on the balls of deputy sheriff who had killed his girlfriend's husband and two brothers, they were going to be very nice to me.
I spent Thursday putting the finishing touches on what should be the close for the Thompson kid-killing drug dealer case. At work people should have been getting used to my being a casualty in the divorce wars, but everybody still walked warily around me. I don't think two people had said anything to me about my personal life. Maybe they were being considerate, or maybe I just gave off vibes of "get the fuck away from me" so strongly that no one wanted to venture into dangerous waters.
After work, past 8 p.m., I grabbed Chinese on the way to Liberty Street, worked on case prep until nearly midnight without ever turning on the television, and finally checked my email at midnight. It was all trash except one from Debbie.
"Bill, I've retained Joyce Linder of Linder and Howe to handle the divorce. Have whoever you hire contact her."
There were no hearts or smiley faces on the e-mail, which didn't surprise me.
I could have waited until later the next day, but the message galvanized me. I looked up a cell number and punched it in.
"Yes, this better be very important to be calling me at midnight. Otherwise I'm jacking up the fee to double my normal."
I knew Lew Walters had caller ID and he knew my number, so that was for my benefit.
"I expect you to work for free or I'll be telling Mona in great detail about those two hostesses, you know the ones you were entertaining at that UF Law college meet and greet about six years ago.."
"Mutual Assured Destruction, Mr. Assistant State Attorney. You narc on me and I tell the beautiful Debbie about that District Attorney from, where was it, Oakland, that you were playing with at that conference two years ago in Chicago. You know, the one who could tie two cherry stems together with her tongue?"
It was obvious he was out of town and being as much of a jumping bean as he was, he hadn't been in town in a few weeks and hadn't heard the gossip. I wondered why his wife Mona hadn't told him, and then I realized I'd heard that she was in Africa on some "Save the Wildlife" crusade with a woman's group.
"Right now it wouldn't matter anymore, even if it was true, Lew."
"Oh, what's going on Bill?"
"She filed for divorce Friday a couple of weeks ago. She's hired Joyce Linder. I'd like you represent me."
There was a silence on the other end, which was unusual because Lew Walters could spew as many words as any attorney I'd ever met. I had liked him anyway ever since we'd met while I was a practicing attorney alum talking to law students at UF more than five years before. Lew didn't really do divorce cases, but he was a jack of all trades and he was my friend. I trusted him.
"You're serious. Goddamn, Bill, I'm sorry. How the hell did that happen? You been screwing around? And if you were, I probably ought to tell you I'm going to let her burn your ass. She is too hot, and good a woman, for you to treat that way."
"The other way around."
"No. My God. I never would have – Wait, please tell me that it wasn't Norman," he asked. Norman was his alley cat partner who had probably fucked half the women working in and around the courthouse over the past few years. "He didn't bed her?"
"No, it wasn't Norman. She met some hotshot kid professor at UNF and now she thinks she's in love with him."
"God, I'm glad to hear that. I mean, I hate it for you, but if it had been Norman, I would have had to kill him, or at least beat the shit out of him. He's got the morals of a damned goat. I wish to God I didn't like him as much as I do. Anyway, what's your call? You want me to gum up the works and drag it out? Give her a chance to get her head out of her ass?"
"No. It's done. When your wife tells you she doesn't love you anymore and she starts bringing the bastard around to meet your kids and her parents while our bed is still warm, it's too late. All I want you to do, and you have to do this, is arrange for reasonable child support. She makes good money but I'll do my part.
"What I WILL Not DO is give her one fucking penny of alimony. I'm not going to pay her to fuck that bastard. I'd quit the office and bail this town before I pay her one cent. We were married for 17 years, but she doesn't get anything for screwing around on me. Can you do that?"
"Can a bear crap in the woods? Now, how rough do you want me to get? I know adultery doesn't carry any legal weight, but I can find a judge who hates cheaters and we'll get in the dirt some way, enough to give you what you want. What do you have on her?"
"I can't tell you, Lew, and don't push it. I don't even know she's fucked the guy yet. I know she thinks she's in love with him and I know if she hasn't fucked him, it's going to happen any minute."
"You know you're tying my hands, but...I'll get it done for you. Bill....shit man, I am so sorry. Is there anything that Mona or I can do for you. I'm in Omaha this minute, but I'll be back in Jax in a few days."
"Just get this legal shit done, and kiss Mona for me when you see her. You're a lucky man. I never realized how lucky until a few days ago."
"Oh....yeah...and what about the kids? You want any particular visitation or custody? You want to fight her for custody?"
"No, she's a good mother, just a shitty wife. She's raised them. I've just been visiting. I want to have some contact with them that she can't screw around with, but she can have primary."
"Consider it done. But, man, don't let this screw you up with the kids. Even if things get weird, and they usually do in bitter divorces, they're still yours. No matter what happens between Debbie and you, don't let this mess things up between you and them. I'll call you when I get back to Jax, OK?"
I knew how desperately he and his wife Mona were trying to conceive. Neither one of them could quite conceal the envy and pain the sight of our two rambunctious teenagers brought to them on the few occasions they'd been to our home. But, everybody has problems. Right now I felt like I would have swapped mine for theirs.
I lay back, feeling better but worse at the same time. Lew was good. He'd handle the legal end of it. The "worse" came with the realization that now that it had gotten into the hands of the litigators, there was no going back.
The next morning I had to run the gauntlet of stares and whispers as I went into work and prepared for the close of the Thompson Brothers' first case. This one was Nigel. The actual trial – apart from the witness and jury tampering fireworks - was so damned open and shut that it was like shooting fish in a barrel or bagging a buck chained in the middle of a clearing. I didn't take any pride in it, but I took the case from Gordon Carlyle and Jessica Stephens because I needed it.
I made my closing, fried Thompson's ass and wasn't surprised an hour after the jury went away at mid-day that they came back with a guilty of first degree murder verdict.
I let Stephens sit at the prosecution table because she'd been a good sport about my Japping the case out from under her.
She was a tall frosted blonde. Not really built, but nice up and down. Not really pretty, but there was something about her. She was one of those women who looked plain when you looked at her from one angle, like a classic beauty if you looked at her from another angle. She'd worked at the State Attorney's Office before I came on and was a fixture. She was a good attorney. I was never quite sure why she'd been satisfied to remain at a lower level.
Right now, those shifting good looks were overshadowed by darkness. I didn't know what, and I didn't need to be an expert at reading people, to know that she was hurting. I knew that expression well.'''
Carlisle had not taken my grabbing the case well and although he tried to hide it, I knew he was pissed. It would have been a conviction in a high profile murder case and I knew it would have looked good on his resume, but he was young. He'd have plenty more chances.
As I walked out of the courtroom I could see Carlisle huddled with two other younger SAs. I walked slowly toward them.
"...son of a bitch...it was my case. Jessica was just window dressing. I did the heavy lifting and then he comes along and steals it. Jesus, if he'd just spent a little more time fucking that big tittied whore of his, he wouldn't be wandering around ruining everybody's life. Damned dickless wonder...."
The two SAs with him alerted him with their eyes as I walked up and he turned slowly, like something from a vaudeville routine.
He was silent, waiting for the axe to fall.
"First off, I'd suggest you apologize for calling my still-wife a whore."
He met my gaze and said, "I apologize. I didn't mean that. I just – I worked my ass off on that case. I got mad."
"Secondly, anybody stupid enough to badmouth someone as high over him as I am over you where he can be overheard, is probably too stupid to hope for promotions."
He didn't say anything so I added, "What do you know about my marriage and how many other people around here know about it."
He swallowed hard.
"They say your wife is divorcing you for some young guy from UNF. That she went for a stud. Everybody knows your wife. She's the hottest pi-woman I've ever seen. And - everybody knows about it. Attorneys, cops, the cleaning crew. Everybody."
I just shook my head.
"You're a stupid fuck, but fortunately being stupid isn't a capital offense. Now get the hell out of my sight."
I watched them walk away and wondered how many different stories were going the rounds about me and Debbie.
Someone cleared their throat behind me. I turned and saw Jessica Stephens looking at me.
"He's an asshole, Mr. Maitland. People aren't laughing at you. You got screwed. People know the kind of man you are. They're not laughing."
She was as tall, if not taller, than Debbie. I looked up into her eyes and shrugged.
"They're laughing, Jessica. I know that. But it doesn't matter."
I turned to walk away from her when she said, "Do you have anyplace you need to go after work?"
I stood looking at her. What the hell? Did getting dumped suddenly make you attractive to the opposite sex?

[Ramesh_Rocky]

After a long moment I said, "No, no plans and nowhere to go."

"I feel like shit and you feel like shit. I'd like to go out and have a few drinks with you before I go home? We can feel sorry for each other. You want to"
She came by my office just before I closed the doors at 6 p.m. Cheryl was there and gave me a funny look as she saw Jessica walk into my office.
"I live on the Westside, over near . You ever been to O'Brien's?"
I had. It was a big, old fashioned bar on the border between old downtown Avondale and the wild Westside.
"Yeah. That where you want to go?"
"I only live two blocks from there. I can park at home and walk to the bar and walk home. Don't need to worry about DUIs."
"Makes sense. I'll see you there."
It was near 7 p.m. when I pulled up in front of O'Brien's. It's a huge bar on a divided median roadway just off U.S. 17 that runs up and down the east coast of the U.S. and straight through the heart of Jacksonville.
I parked on the divided median and walked into O'Brien's. It had a huge horseshoe bar, a pretty big cleared dance floor, pool tables and an area with tables and chairs just off the bar. It was the classic neighborhood bar. It was, in other words, an American pub.
I walked over to one of the tables and sat down. A waitress came by in a moment and I ordered a Bloody Mary, heavy on the Vodka, Tabasco and pepper. I was about to pay when a guy about my height, dark haired and limping and with the classic cauliflower ear and battered nose of a fighter limped up and told the waitress, "Mr. Maitland's money is no good in here."
"Hi, O'Brien," I told him. "You still alive and kicking?"
"As hard as I can. What brings you here, Mr. M?"
"Just came by for a drink. Meeting somebody."
He gave me a look I couldn't place.
"Business or pleasure?"
"Just a friend."
"You're not out with the Missus?"
"No more, O'Brien. Never again."
"Oh, damn. How long?"
"Two weeks ago."
He shook his head and then said, "It'll get better, Mr. M. I've gone through it four times. Get plastered often and laid more often. You'll be alright."
"You have the soul of a philosopher my friend," I told the former prize fighter, now bar owner, whom I'd declined to prosecute nearly a decade before when a loud mouth thug made the mistake of swinging on a man who had put two boxers in the hospital and one man in the ground during his pro career.
We were sitting there chewing the fat when Jessica walked over. She was still in her office garb but she'd let her long blonde hair down to hang free around her shoulders. She looked younger.
She ordered a Jack Daniels straight which I thought showed character on her part while O'Brien looked on approvingly. We drank and looked at each other without words. There were tears in her eyes. I'd never seen her this way, and I'd seen her on and off for more than 10 years.
"Come on, Jess, what is your sad story. You know mine."
"It's just love, Mr. – Bill. Why does love always have to break your heart?"
"Hell, I'm the last person in the world you ought to be asking that."
She shook her head and said, "You were married for 17 years. You have two kids. I'm 44. I've never been married. I have no children. I never will. I've had men I cared for over the years, but nobody I ever loved the way you love your wife. And I never will Even if you lose your wife and kids, you've had a life. I never have."
I tried to think of something encouraging to say, but considering her words and my own thoughts the idea of slitting my waists or a bullet to the brain was beginning to seem downright appealing.
"Come on, Jessica. You are a very young 44. And I've never really gone out of my way to tell you this, but you're a beautiful woman. You could still find somebody."
She finished her drink and the tears started to flow for real.
"No, Mr. – Bill. There's only one man who's ever loved me and that I loved. He asked me to marry him and I turned him down. Now he's gone and he's never coming back. And I don't blame him."
"I don't understand."
"It's Carl – Carl Cameron. He's a reporter for the Times-Union.
"I know who Carl is. You and Carl – an item?"
"For nearly a year. We met last June when he was doing a story on that Mayoral corruption case we were handling. He's – he's."
Then the tears really started.
"He asked you to marry him. I got that much. And you turned him down? Why?"
She told me and I just looked at her dumbfounded.
"That's why you didn't marry him?"
"I couldn't. I know it sounds crazy to you, but ...I couldn't. I – we – we'd been...intimate. I told him I'd be his for the rest of my life, but I just couldn't marry him."
"So you offered no strings sex and he dumped you because you wouldn't marry him/"
She nodded and I shook my head, trying to fight back a smile.
"I didn't know there were two people like that left in the world. Seriously, I understand him. He wants the ring and the picket fence and the whole thing. You're both the age when guys started wanting that. But there's got to be a way – a compromise- that you could both live with."
She just shook her head and cried harder.
"I can't, and I don't want to live without him. What am I going to do?"
She had moved her chair next to mine and she was in my arms and wetting my shirt.
'I'm not the smartest guy in the world, but you know what you have to do. At least there's something you can do to keep him. I've lost the only woman I ever loved, and there's nothing I can do."
She raised her tear streaked face and kissed me before I could move away from her. Her lips were soft. I had never even thought of kissing her, but she fit well into my arms.
"I'm never going to have the man I love and your wife has found somebody else. Could we go to your place?"
"And-"
"I don't want to be alone tonight, Bill. I think I'd kill myself if I had to sleep in my bed alone tonight. No strings, no obligations. Just stay with me. Please."
I seriously thought about it for a moment. Even if my dick refused to do anything, at least there would be a warm female body next to me. I didn't know if I could stand another night alone thinking about Debbie and everything I'd lost – or that she had stolen from me.
Then I shook my head and gently pried her off me.
"No, it's a tempting offer...God you have no idea how tempting. But you know why you want to go to bed with me."
"Because I've always admired you, Bill. You're honest and decent and you fight for what you believe in and you're a good man. I'd rather go to bed with you than almost anyone I know."
"Except for one guy, and you're afraid to say yes to him. Come on, Jess, you don't have to be a shrink to see what you're doing. You're afraid to take the plunge with Carl, so you go to bed with me and you can feel guilty and slutty and tell yourself it would never work and so you never have to try to make it work with him. I become your excuse
for living alone the rest of your life. I wouldn't do that to you."
She just stared at me for a minute, then wiped her face free of tears.
"So you're not going to take me to bed."
"No, I'm going to stay here and get drunk."
She got up and started to walk away.
"You ought to tell him yes. If you really love him, don't throw him away. There's too much of that going around."
She didn't even turn around.
"I can't."
I watched her walk out of O'Brien's and thought that it should have been some small comfort to think there was somebody whose life was even more screwed up than mine, but it didn't make me feel any better.
Four Bloody Marys didn't make me feel any better, but I didn't feel much of anything by the time I finished my fifth. I was still conscious so I need a sixth.
I was prepared to remind O'Brien that he owed me big time to get number six when I saw a cop coming and then sitting down beside me. He was about six feet tall, a grizzled silvery brunette with an old fashioned handlebar mustache.
He held his hand out to me and I took it automatically.
"Bob Hastings, Mr. Maitland. Sergeant Hastings. I'm the beat sergeant for this zone. How you doing?"
"Fine. Working on getting unconscious. Mind giving me a lift home or getting me a cab when I collapse?"
"Sorry, Mr. Maitland. O'Brien called me when he thought you might get to be a handful. We need to talk."
"Bout what?"
"There won't be any more security officer babysitters taking you home and tucking you in. I know you're a big time prosecutor and the Sheriff has passed the word down to treat you with kid gloves, but you need to get your shit together."
"I don't-'
"My men have got better things to do with their time than take a guy whose wife fucked around on him home every time he wants to crawl into a bottle to hide from the truth about his life."
I laughed.
"Well, don't beat around the bush, Sergeant. Let me have it straight. Where'd you get your mari- marit – counseling license?"
He pulled his Glock pistol out of its holster and laid it on the table between us.
"No need to get violent, Sergeant."
"Just making a point. I know where you are, Mr. Maitland. You're living in some temporary apartment 'cause your wife threw you out. You're alone, for the first time in a long time. And you can't stand the silence there. You can't stand sleeping in a lonely bed. So you are going to keep going out and drinking yourself blind drunk to hide from the pain of facing the fact that you are alone now.
"I was there. I screwed around on my wife until she threw me out six months ago. I almost got lost in a bottle. But that (pointing to the Glock) saved me."
"Don't follow."
"I knew if I kept drinking I'd miss work, I'd make mistakes, I'd get myself thrown off the force. And if that happened, I'd go home and stick that Glock in my mouth and blow my brains out."
He stared at me.
"I know who you are. You're me. The only thing I really love is what I do. Being a cop. I can keep going as long as I have that. If I lose that, I wouldn't want to live. You're a prosecutor. It's not just what you do. It's who you are. You don't get out of the bottle and you'll be dead in three months."
He put the Glock back in its holster and stood up.
"I haven't run into you, but guys I trust tell me you're a good guy. We don't have enough of them. Find something to do at night. Join a gym, volunteer at a hospital, become a Big Brother, become a Safe Streets volunteer. Just stay out of the bars. Goodnight."
And he walked away. O'Brien came over and told me, "Your cab is waiting for you outside, Mr. M. I was you, I'd listen to Sergeant Hastings. Your life may seem pretty shitty right now, but give yourself a chance. Give yourself some time."
I woke up alone. I rolled over and picked up my cell and dialed a familiar number. If Debbie had answered I was going to hang up. Despite the fact that we had caller ID, Bill Jr. answered.
"Hi."
"Hey. I wake you?"
"Naw, I'm getting ready to go out. Jesse Hillman from college invited me to go with him and his dad on a camping trip to Salt Springs. Going to go down into the boils with masks and snorkels."
"That sounds like fun. I don't think you remember, but I took you down there when you were about four – five years old. You loved it."
"I – don't really remember that. But yeah, I think it will be fun."
"When you leaving?"
"In about an hour. Be back Sunday night."
"Oh, have a good time. Is your sister there?"
"No. She went on a two day trip to Atlanta with Melody Barnes and her mom and dad."
I just held the phone to my ear and listened to him breathing. I wondered why he didn't remember our trip to Salt Springs. It was clear as a bell to me.
"You want to talk to mom? I heard her and D-"
"Doug is there?"
"I – uh- mom doesn't want us talking to you about her and Doug."
I knew I shouldn't but I couldn't help asking, "He's staying there overnight now?"
" I can't....just...sometimes."
"It's okay, BJ. You never said anything to me. Don't even tell her I called. Just have a good time. And I..."
"I know." And he hung up.
#
That ends Chapter 2A. Chapter 2B should be along in a few days or maybe more. I wasn't going to submit this way, but this really is a serialized story. I've got a lot more to write, but I know where I'm going. I was going to hold off a little longer, but I feel bad that so many readers are vocal about wanting to see new copy. It puts stress on me, but it's a pleasant stress. I like knowing some people out there actually want to see new installments.
Unfortunately for some of you that don't like waiting, and don't like long stories, this is going to be long and it will take a while to finish. It should run well over 100,000 words or novel length, because it really is a novel. It's Bill and Debbie's story, not just Bill. And I'm working in characters that will re-appear in the next four to six stories that I post over the coming year. Bar owner and boxer O'Brien, and his bar, Sergeant Hastings and Jessica Stephens will all play major or supporting roles in coming stories.
Finally, and this is a plus with writing a serialized story, I want to thank readers who've posted comments and suggestions. I didn't think I would, but I've already decided to incorporate at least two suggestions into the story. They work and they make sense. So if anybody has any ideas about future developments, feel free to share them. I might not use them, but I might.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Author's note: As I mentioned in Chapter 2A, this is an unusual situation for me. My stories have previously been written before being submitted. Because of the length of "When We Were Married," I started submitting as I write. Which means I've got readers barraging me with requests to write faster. Unfortunately, I actually have a life outside of Literotica. Which means that I'll try to keep these coming on a fairly regular basis, but there may be some delays along the way. It's taking 4-5 days on average from when I submit to when stories are posted. But, writing in a serialized fashion is actually kind of fun. And reader reaction is really playing a part in shaping the story. I hope eventually I'll be able to go back and acknowledge the changes I've made based on reader suggestions. Because this is long, I only hope I don't turn off a lot of readers. I didn't really plan a novel, but once I got the idea it just grew. I know there have been a few glitches and will be more since I'm again venturing out without the aid of Lady Pine Rose's input. Hopefully when this crazy schedule comes to an end with the close of this story, I'll be able to receive her help on shorter pieces. Thanks for the outpouring of comments and hopefully some of the questions about the story will be answered before I finish it.

2nd thoughts – and first steps
My name is Bill Maitland. I'm an Assistant State Attorney in Jacksonville, Florida. Until about six weeks ago I thought I had a nearly perfect marriage to the former Debbie Bascomb, a big breasted and gorgeous blonde business professor at the University of North Florida. We had two teenagers, I had a job I loved, and life was good. Until Debbie hit me with four words that shattered my life, I accused her of something she was physically not guilty of, and our marriage started to dissolve.
Three weeks ago our marriage started to die and a week after throwing me out of our house she told me she didn't love me and was getting a divorce. I've managed to keep my head above water at work, but my personal life has taken a plunge into the toilet. I am a 41-year-old man who's supposed to be married. I like being married. I'm old for my age, flabby and out of shape and balding and just not equipped for the bar scene. Not to mention that I hadn't liked it all that much when I could compete.
It's another lonely weekend and I've just climbed out of a bottle and I managed to catch my 14-year old son Bill Junior at home and had one of the best conversations I've had with him for a long time. I wish I'd taped it to listen to again. Along the way, he let slip that Debbie's young stud professor, Doug Baker, has started spending nights over at OUR house. I am NOT happy!
#############################
I rolled out of bed, made myself a cup of coffee that just didn't taste the same although I'd bought the exact same blend we'd used for 10 years. And thought about Doug Baker's chiseled abs glistening with sweat he lay on top of Debbie's gorgeous body and rammed her with what was undoubtedly a big cock. Naturally, he'd have a big cock. Bastard couldn't be undersized, could he? Home wreckers never had small dicks. Some rule of nature, I guess.
I couldn't go assault him again, even if he was in my house. Debbie still had that protective court order keeping me away from her and it without a cop babysitter. I could waylay him somewhere else, but what was the point. At some point even being who I was wouldn't protect me from arrest and then I really would lose my job and the only reason I still had to get up in the morning.
And even if I could do it without fear of arrest, I knew he'd kick the shit out of me. Unless I hit him from behind. We had fought -if you could call it that – at a UNF function that Debbie had sneaked out to play his girlfriend while she was still married to me. A fight. Hell, it was a slaughter. I'm not a fighter. She had said something about him being a boxer and he'd handled me like a pro would handle a 9th grader.
Why the hell would a grown man be fist fighting anyway. You fight when you're in high college or college and your girl or someone who want to be your girl is watching. When you get married and you're a white collar professional, you're not supposed to have to fist fight for your wife's love and respect.
But it had made a difference. I saw it in her eyes the night I'd surprised her with him. She had contempt for me. In her eyes I was just a flabby, foolish little man who was going to be embarrassed by her stud boyfriend.
She had been horrified, had screamed when I made him pay for a gesture of good will as he tried to help me up and I caught him in the balls and then in the face with the top of my head, then did my best to kick his face off with my shoe as he lay in front of me bleeding.
But I saw it in her eyes. I had surprised her. I wasn't supposed to be the guy standing and her stud the guy bleeding all over the floor. She had looked at me differently for just a fraction of a second and I realized she was looking at me as a man, not just a husband.
If, as they say, every guy is just a grown up 13-year-old, I think every woman is just a grown up 15-year-old. They may say it doesn't' matter, but they get hot when a man fights for them, and wins. It's probably something in our genetic makeup. And she had completely eliminated me from the category of – male.
Of course by that night it was too late, but for just a moment I'd had her respect because I'd come and fought for her. Even if she'd never admit it in a million years.
It had felt good, I remembered. And even if I never had the opportunity to beat the crap out of him, even if they married or become permanent bed buddies, I wanted to know in my own mind that I could take him. It was childish and foolish and entirely unworthy of a 41-year-old professional, but I didn't give a crap.
I got to thinking and then I made a phone call. A Hispanic sounding voice answered the phone and I asked if Carlos Herrerra was there.
I had to repeat the name a couple of times and finally I heard someone yell, "Papa, ven acqi, telefono."
A few moments later a husky old man's voice said, "Si?"
"Hello, Carlos. You got any time to talk to old friends?"
There was a silence and then, "Billy, Billy, I thought you had died. Haven't heard from you in a long time."
"You know what they say, too mean to die. Carlos, you still have that old gym of yours open?
"Of course. You find a good welterweight prospect for me? Has that boy of yours decided he wants to become a fighter?"
"No, but are you open right now? Can I come by?"
"You have to ask? It would be open even if it were closed, for you. Come, my friend."
I knew that if the old man was still alive, his door would always be open to me. He had promised me that nearly four years before and as far as I knew, he had always kept his promises.
######################
Juan Herrerra had been 27 when he made the mistake of asking a pretty young blonde to dance with him at a Jax Beach nightclub on a Saturday night. Unfortunately she had caught the eye of Wilson LaMark. Wilson was a 24-year-old graduate student at Jacksonville University. He was more than a little drunk and he hadn't taken kindly to the good looking Hispanic man trying to cut in on his intended playmate.
When he'd made his feelings clear, Juan laid him out with one punch, having been tutored since he was a child by a doting father, Carlos Herrerra. Four of Wilson's friends had taken offense to Juan's actions and the fighting moved outside. Before it was over three of them were suffering broken noses, fractured cheekbones and a fourth a broken collarbone.
Which is where it might have ended, except that Wilson happened to be the son of Henry LaMark, a Texas oilman worth at time about 400 million dollars. He had paid three men to bodyguard his son and after Juan had batted a couple of them around, one of them had managed to clock Juan from behind. Then they dragged him to the patio and one of them put a .44 magnum to Juan's head and at a word from Wilson, blew his brains out.
Unfortunately, they hadn't counted on the presence of a newly installed monitoring camera positioned in just the right position to see Wilson nod and give the order to execute Juan.
Of course, a man worth $400 million could afford to produce witnesses that Juan had started everything, that Wilson was not even around when he was shot, and that the bodyguard had fired in self defense and fear after seeing Juan take out four feisty college students.
But I moved quickly enough to secure the camera videotape and was able to play the bodyguards off against each other so that one of them turned State's witness. Wilson went down for second degree murder only because it was obvious he was drunk, probably had a concussion from the shot that Juan had given him, and the bodyguards testified they were going to take Juan out whatever their client told them.
His father, who had sacrificed about $20 million in deals to attend his son's trial, didn't take the verdict well. As a broken Carlos and I had been talking outside he had walked up to us with all the arrogance that being worth $400 million in Texas gives you and said under his breath so no one else could hear, "I hope you enjoyed that. My son will be out in three months, the Spic will be dead in six and you, you cocksucker, should kiss your wife and kids tonight because they'll be gone within a year."
He was surrounded by a dozen bodyguards, lawyers, flunkies and PR guys but it only took five armed cops to separate him from his entourage and escort him up to my office. It was just Carlos, Henry and myself in my office. Everyone else had been encouraged to be elsewhere.
He stood there looking at me and shaking his head.
"You are so fucking stupid I can't believe someone hasn't killed you before this. In about five minutes my people are going to have everybody from the governor up to the president's office tearing your hide off. You're done. And the Spic, well I have to be careful of my words because I'm sure you have this place bugged, but I wouldn't make any long range plans if I were you."
I leaned back against my desk and motioned for Carlos to sit in a comfortable chair. He had no idea what was going on.
"Mr. LaMark, please strip."
"Go fuck yourself."
I walked around the desk and opened the top drawer. I pulled out the loaded Glock I always kept there. I pointed it at LaMark's head and asked, Carlos, "You did see Mr. LaMark pick up that poker (pointing at an ornamental poker upright near the fake fireplace in the corner) and try to attack me with it. You saw it."
He had no idea, but he went along, nodding his head and saying, "Si, yes. I saw him attack you."
I spoke quietly and conversationally to LaMark who looked like he was about to stroke out with rage.
"I suppose it was understandable. You were overcome with grief and rage and lost control. Unfortunately, with two bullets in your brain, you won't be able to deny my version of events. Your family and your people will probably try to cause me trouble, but I doubt that the Florida powers that be will be too upset about a Texas blowhard meeting his fate here. I might even get a raise out of this."
"You wouldn't dare."
"You threatened the lives of my wife and children. Forget about Carlos, who I like, you crossed the line. Unfortunately you're rich and powerful enough that you could get to them. But you're a lot less worrisome if you're dead."
"I-"
"Strip or die."
When he was naked I asked Carlos to hold the Glock and I inspected his clothing very carefully. Then I let him put his clothes back on.
"This is a very carefully engineered office. There's no way conversations can be taped here. Unless you brought in a bug, which now I'm sure you didn't. So now we can have a little conversation."
I unlocked a drawer that no one has a key to except myself and took out a packet of photos. I gave them to LaMark. He glanced through them and the color left his face.
"What is this?"
"When you're in this job you meet a lot of people. You have the opportunity to do favors, to go easy when mercy is justified, even to some bad people. And sometimes the people you take pity on have very powerful, and very cruel and very dangerous friends and family. I've done favors over the years for some of those people.
"Before we leave here today, I'm going to call one of those friends on a throw-away cell I keep in my office. Can't be traced. And if, in the next few years or even later, I fall down an elevator shaft, or Carlos has an unexplained car accident, or my wife vanishes and is never seen again, the word will go out.
"I know you have a pretty new bride and two four-year-old twins at home in Houston. Nothing will happen right away. But one day, no matter how many bodyguards you hire or where you run, they will find you. You'll come home one day and find your wife's headless body in bed, with evidence that she was bangd every way a woman can be bangd and tortured before her head was taken. You'll find pieces of your children.
"Now I wouldn't, couldn't, do that even if you harmed my family, but it's out of my hands once I make that phone call. And the people I call...well, they can do that kind of thing."
I put the Glock back in my drawer and gestured to the door.
"You can go now, Mr. LaMark. We're through."
He just stood there. You don't get that wealthy without being very smart.
"Don't make the call. Mr. Maitland, don't do it. I apologize. He's my son. You've got a boy. You have to know how hard it is to see him behind bars for the best part of his life. Whether you believe me or not, I wouldn't have hurt you or – Mr. Herrerra. I wanted to scare you, make you pay by wondering every day when the axe would fall. I'm a tough businessman, but I'm not a killer, even by proxy."
"Fair enough, Mr. LaMark. Now you can sweat every day for a long time wondering if I am going to make that phone call. I hope I never see you again."
When he walked out shakily, Herrerra came to me and put his hand on my shoulder.
"Would you have made that phone call?"
"He'll never know."
####################
Carlos still had the same old gym which was really a training site for would-be and never-will-be boxing hopefuls. It had weights and weight bags and a ring and posters of old time fighters. It still smelled like old gym socks. I think he probably could have had it smelling nice and fresh, but the image of the place would have suffered.
He hugged me and introduced me to a few guys who were all whipcord muscle and tattoos, in their early 20s.
"This is Mr. Maitland, the District Attorney I told you about. He got justice for my Juan. He is a good man."
After exchanging pleasantries, Carlos and I went off into his office. Any smaller and you'd have to call it a walk-in closet.
We talked and I explained why I'd come.
"I am sorry to hear of this," he said. "I lost my wife 20 years ago, but it was different. She had the cancer. But we loved each other until she drew her last breath. I cannot imagine how it would hurt – that kind of betrayal."
He took a sip of a steaming cup of coffee, the small cup filled with that black sludge that Cubans consider coffee which will dissolve metal spoons if you leave them in it long enough.
"But, Billy, wouldn't it be easier just to get a gun and shoot this bastard?"
I shook my head.
"He hasn't killed anybody. He just stole my wife. And he didn't really steal her because you can't steal people. She gave herself to him. I don't even know that I'll ever touch him. It's just – just that he humiliated me. In front of her. Not only is he sleeping with her, but when we meet we'll both know he could mop the floor with me. I want to know in my own mind that I'm his equal – physically."
He looked at me for a moment, rubbed his chin and then said, "Come with me."
I walked back into the gym area with him. He motioned to a bare chested young man with the typical rangy build of a boxer and the tattoo of a huge fierce eagle covering his entire chest, the wings spreading out to his shoulders.
"Ernesto, c'mere."
Ernesto ambled over, looking at me curiously. He was close to six feet tall and had arms that seemed three feet long.
"What, Papa?"
"Get on up into the ring. I want you to go a round with Billy – Mr. Maitland."
"A round?"
The look on his face said it all. He didn't think I'd last three seconds.
Carlos gave him a stern look.
"Billy is not a professional. Take it easy. Just a workout. I want to get an idea what kind of fighter Billy could become. If I took him on."
Ernesto shook his head.
"He's an old man."
In a move that was fast even for an old man, Carlos cuffed him on the right ear and said, "I'm older than he is, and I can kick your ass. Get in there."
Ernesto stepped into the ring. I stood on the apron.
"You sure this is a good idea?"
"Step in or walk away, Billy. It's like when you decide to chase a woman. You either go for it, or you don't. What do you want to do?"
I stepped inside the ring. Ernesto just stood there. There was a faint grin on his face.
"Try to hit him, Billy, and try to keep him away from you. Ernesto, don't hurt him, too badly."
I remembered the night with Doug. I felt just as foolish, but I raised my hands, then thought to call to Carlos as I turned back to look at him, "Do I need boxing g-"
A moment later I felt my cheek on the canvas and realized I was lying on my face. Blood was dripping from my lip. Somehow a tooth on the lower right of my mouth had carved a chunk out of the inside of my lip. I shook my head and got to one knee. I looked over at Carlos.
He shrugged apologetically and said, "No gloves. And you never turn your back on a man you're facing in the ring. Call it lesson one."
Ernesto also shrugged as I got to my feet but he didn't look guilty.
I raised my fists and swung, first the right, then the left. He deflected both punches without seeming to move his arms and suddenly there was blood spurting out of my nose and he was dancing away. As it had with Doug, being hit in the nose hurt like hell.
I rubbed the blood away.
"Fuck, that hurt."
"It's supposed to," Ernesto said, glancing over at his mentor. "It don't hurt, you don't learn to cover up."
I went at him again, and again, and again. I never laid a hand on anything but the outer sides of his forearms and once or twice I bopped him on a shoulder. He busted my lips three times and hit me in the nose twice more and the second time he made me scream. Damn, but it hurt.
"Work the body," Carlos called and suddenly Ernesto hit me twice, hard in the stomach. I was down on one knee gasping for air. I lurched to my feet gasping and he hit me again twice. This time I was down on the canvas rolling back and forth trying to catch a good breath. It felt like he'd busted ribs.
After awhile I was able to roll to my knees. I was getting ready to smash Ernesto in the balls if he was gentlemanly enough to try to help me up, but he just stood there. Carlos was kneeling down beside me.
"It's okay, Billy. This was just to see some things."
"Like what," I gasped.
"Your reflexes, speed, upper body strength. I got to tell you, we got some work to do. You got no reflexes, your speed is pathetic, and you really hit like a girl."
I managed to grin at him.
"Don't sugarcoat it, Carlos. Be straight."
He patted me on the shoulder.
"It's not so bad. You're a 40-year-old guy with no conditioning. You got no strength or speed and I don't think you're going to be contending for any titles soon, but we can turn you into a fighter. We'll put you on the heavy bag for strength, work on timing and rhythm, put you on the free weights. You need to start running. For endurance and conditioning."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

He helped me to my feet. I realized my face hurt like hell.

"What about my face?"
"Put some ice on it. Don't worry, Ernesto didn't do any damage."
"No damage?"
"Billy, it won't be long you won't even notice crap like that. It's like scratching your arm. It's nothing. That's part of learning to fight. But right now, we need to go somewhere."
I followed him out of the downtown to a gym in Avondale. It was a big two story affair, an older place. There were plenty of cars and lots of men and women inside. They were working on weights, Nautilus machines, stationary bikes and treadmills and there was a pool at the back end. He introduced me to Dan Hurly, the owner and told him he wanted to get me set up with a personal trainer, at least at first until I got to know the ropes.
"I want you to give Mr. Maitland a key, Dan. He works strange hours and I want him to be able to come in here any time he needs to. The cops won't hassle him because he's a prosecutor.
Hurly looked at me funny for a minute, then shrugged and said, "If Carlos vouches for you, okay. I'll get you a key. Wait here and I'll get you a trainer."
Carlos patted me on the shoulder.
"You start exercising and working out here. And come by the gym for the bags and a little sparring. It won't be quick, but you work at it and it won't be too long before you'll be kicking this guy's ass. And maybe getting some of your wife's? Right?"
I just shook my head but said, "Thank you, Carlos."
"De nada, my friend. I can never pay you back. Not in this lifetime. Good luck."
Hurly came back with a short muscular black guy who spent the next hour going over the weights and the Nautilus machines. I tried not to feel too self conscious, because there were 70 year old grannies and guys with pot guts three times bigger than mine on some of the machines.
Or course, there were also some middle aged matrons with spectacular butts and even better chests in outfits that ranged from the nearly obscene to relatively demure. And there were teeny boppers as young as Kelly and watching their hard young bodies really made me feel like a pervert.
After only an hour it was all I could do to drag myself to my Escalade and make it back to the Liberty Street condo. I was able to get to the bed where I intended to catch a few winks. That was at 4 p.m. When I opened my eyes again it was 1 a.m. and I just threw my clothes on the floor, crawled under the covers, and for a little while I was able to forget that I was alone.
#########################
"Aaaaaaaaaaghgghghghghgh."
"ohhhhh....my god...baby....baby, don't move...leave it in there."
She could feel his heart hammering in his chest, that gorgeous hairless, smooth hard chest and it was almost as if they shared the same heartbeat. She gasped and tried to draw oxygen in because it felt like she was going to pass out.
Inside her she could feel the hard rigidity of his maleness softening with each spurt, and each gush made her insides quiver. It was impossible for anything to feel this good. She tried to remember if it had ever been like that in college, even when she was stoned. She didn't think so.
She rubbed the sweat from her face and laughed. It was so crazy, discovering sex when you were about to turn 40. Her pussy was sore from the relentless pounding of his dick over the last 20 minutes, her breasts so heavy and swollen they hurt; he had sucked and pulled on them so roughly. But it was a good hurt!
She thought he had finally stopped cumming inside of her as he rolled to lay beside her.
"My God, Doug, how much cum do you have stored away in there. We're going to have to change the sheets to get some sleep."
She could feel him grinning in the darkness.
"A lot of that is you. You know you cum like a fountain?"
"Damn, that's your fault. I felt like I'd never stop. I couldn't count how many times you made me."
"I never came like that before."
"I bet you say that to all the girls."
He held her head in his hands and bruised her lips with his kiss.
"It's the truth and you know it, Debbie. You're special. We're special together. I thought I knew what great sex was, but now..."
She knew it was the truth. It was like that for her too. Then something started to enter her head, a thought, and she shook it as if to physically throw it out. To stop thinking she pushed herself away from him and rolled to the edge of the bed.
"I've got to go pee and clean myself up, baby. Change the sheets."
She turned the bedroom nightlight on and ate up the sight of his male body lying next to her. As she got up and headed for the bathroom she heard him say behind her, "Hey, where are the sheets."
She found herself starting to say, "You know where they are, dummy, in the closet over the-"
And then she realized who she was talking to. Of course, HE didn't know where the sheets were. He had only been in her bedroom the last few weeks. He didn't know where everything was. How could he? She bent over the bathroom sink and tried not to cry, and if she did, not to let him hear.
"Hey, I'm thirsty. You just absorbed all my bodily fluids. I'm going to get a coke out of the fridge. You want anything?"
She tried to make her voice steady as she said, "No, I'll get the sheets. You go get a coke."
He was gone a few minutes and she had changed the sheets when she heard a faint crash, the shattering sound of glass breaking. She almost ran into the kitchen where she saw the fragments of blue black glass and shards of white and a pool of colorless liquid.
He stood there looking helplessly at the mess on the kitchen floor.
"I'm sorry, Deb," he said, looking childishly guilty. "I just turned around and my arm hit it. I didn't know it was so close to the edge of the counter. What was it?"
"Just a knick knack. A souvenir. It was a Snow Globe we got up in Alaska years ago. No big deal. Let me get a mop and I'll clean it up. Won't take a second. You go back to bed, in case the kids get up. Okay?"
He came over and kissed her on the cheek, kneading one breast which normally would make butterflies crawl all over her body. Now it just...she casually pushed his hand away and tried to laugh.
"Not now, you horny bastard. Go back to bed. I'll be there in a minute."
When he had left the room, she sank to her knees and sat there on her haunches looking at the glass and white shards and colorless liquid mess. She remembered the way the glaciers had glistened in the sun as she and Bill had walked the deck of the cruise ship. She remembered the feel of his hand as he stroked her face and how it felt as he came inside her in their cabin at night, how hard his cock was.
She remembered his picking out the snow globe in the tourist shop and telling her that this would always remind them of their fifth anniversary.
And now it was just a broken mess on a kitchen floor. The memories were gone, the marriage was gone. The love was gone. How could she be panting under Doug and loving the feel of his hard cock squirting his hot cum deep inside her and still feel this way, about a knick knack?
It was like life. You plan for things to stay solid and be there forever. But they break and they wind up thrown in the trash. Just like her and Bill. But it wasn't her fault. She knew that. It was Bill, the sorry bastard. He had thrown their life away.
She cleaned up the mess, put it in the trash can, and walked back toward her bedroom. Her bedroom now. Not their bedroom anymore. It was just the way it was, now.
Suddenly she found herself wondering what HE was doing at this precise moment. Was he awake, staring up at a ceiling in the darkness, thinking of her? Was he hating her?
She lay down beside Doug and rolled toward him.
"Hold me Doug, just hold me. Don't talk."
And he did.
########################
The phone on my desk beeped. It had been a busy Monday. The trial of the second of the scumbag drug-dealing, kid-killing Thompson brothers – this one was named Devon – was scheduled to begin. I was going to help but let the younger SAs handle this one.
Carlisle had pissed me off, but he made me realize that I couldn't go around antagonizing all of our young foot soldiers by making them do the crap work and then stealing the glory because I was big enough to do it. You don't build loyalty or a team that way. I wouldn't have stuck around if I'd been treated that way.
As usual there were ten million calls but Cheryl's voice over the intercom warned me, "It's your – wife, sir. You want to take the call?"
"She tell you what it's about?"
"No."
"You ask?"
"No."
We hadn't talked in the nearly a month, since her call that Friday. Lew was still doing a dance with Deb's attorney and I wondered if it was something legal. If it was I'd tell her to go fuck herself, politely. I didn't want to talk to her, but it could be about the kids.
"Hello."
"Hi."
There was a silence.
"You called me."
"I – uh.."
"Is there something wrong with the kids?"
"No."
"Well, Deb, much as I'd love to chat, I am very busy right now. What do you want?"
"I....just wanted to call and talk for a minute."
"The meter is running."
"Shit! You have to be an asshole? We haven't talked in nearly two months and the first time-"
"We haven't talked because I don't want to talk to you. Thought you'd figure that out by now."
"Bill...I know you're angry."
"Duh, you think?"
"Please, can you be a human being for just a few minutes?"
"Define human being. Is that a guy whose wife can screw around on him, fall in love with somebody else, rub his nose in her cheating, and then expect him to be nice and polite? The answer is no. If that's all you got to say, Deb, then-"
"Dammit, Bill. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you the way I did. I'm sorry you found out the way you did. I'm sorry I don't love you anymore. I'm sorry our marriage failed. I'm sorry you're hurting. I'm sorry for all of it. But we were married for nearly 20 years. We have two kids. We'll have to be in each other's lives in some way for the rest of our lives. Can't we be – civilized? People do get divorces and manage to stay civil."
I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath. I tried to run through in my mind every moment of every endless long lonely night I'd laid in bed watching the hands of the clock creep around and praying morning would eventually come. I tried to remember the emotions I'd felt visualizing her writhing under his big dick while I couldn't even work up an erection with porn. That got me in the right mood.
"I guess you're right, Deb. Why should I be bitter? After all, you got the house and the kids and our friends. You got our life in other words. And a young stud to keep you warm on cold nights. I, on the other hand, got---let me think. Oh, yeah, I got it. I got shit. I got a tiny fucking condo where I can lay awake all night and watch porn trying to imagine a real live woman in my bed. Why would I be angry?"
There was a silence and if could have made myself believe it, I almost thought I heard crying. But that had to be my imagination.
"Someday, Bill, we're going to talk. We've both been too angry and hurt to talk to each other. Our emotions are too raw. But someday, we have to talk and end this hurt. I loved you for a long time, and I know you loved me. I know you wouldn't be like this if you didn't still love me."
"Never going to happen, Debbie. We already said everything we needed to say to each other. You said it all, actually. Remember. I just don't love you anymore."
"Bill-"
"Listen to me carefully. Unless one of the kids is hurt, don't call me again. I won't take your calls anymore. Anything we have to say goes through our attorneys. Goodbye."
######################################
That day I managed to leave by 7 p.m. Assistants Sandy Bell and Bruce Saku were handling the case well and I tried to make myself fairly invisible so they wouldn't feel like I was looking over their shoulders.
As I was getting ready to walk out, Cheryl said, "He wants to see you."
I didn't need to ask. It had been a long time since I'd talked to him. But as long as the office ran like a smoothly functioning motor, he spent his days meeting and greeting and pressing the flesh and wooing reporters and business types. The kind of things the top guy does instead of actually working at what the voters elected him to do.
I took an elevator to the top floor and just smiled at the golden vision behind the desk. She was the only woman I'd ever seen that made Debbie look plain. Movie star looks and at least a 44dd cup atop a wasp waist. She smiled at me and I smiled back.
There was a hint of a speculative glint in her eyes as I walked past her, probably because I was almost certainly the only guy in the world who didn't strip her with his eyes whenever I saw her. I could make myself look better and say it was because I was THAT married, but actually it was because I could never even in my erotic dreams make myself believe I'd ever touch that body.
And naturally, because I didn't visibly lust after her, Myra, the Big Man's main squeeze, always gave me the eye when I came up.
I walked into the office of the man who signed my checks. Austin Edwards.
He smiled up at me, only because he was sitting down. Standing he was 6 foot eight and solidly built. He'd been a University of Florida basketball star center a generation before and still moved like an athlete. He'd also been Mayor of the City before becoming State Attorney and before he died he was determined that he was going to sit in the Governor's Chair in T,.'assee and maybe even make a run at the Presidency.
"Hi, guy," he said with that easy grin that voters loved. "How are things?"
"Just peachy, boss. Everybody should have their wife take a lover and throw them out of their house and their life."
We had been friends and co-conspirators enough years that he just smiled at that.
"I know, Bill. I've gotten the lowdown. I never would have believed Debbie would do that. I heard you got Walters handling the divorce. Everything going smoothly?"
"Yeah, pretty much. I'm still married but I expect to get that remedied in a few months."
He sat up straight in his chair and said seriously, "Are you alright? I can give you some time off if you need it."
"No. What I need is more time in the office. I just need to keep my mind occupied."
"Okay. I won't ever fight your spending more time working here. Just don't burn yourself out."
The deal we had made a long time before was that I'd get him enough favorable publicity to fuel his run for Governor when the time was right, and in return I could basically do anything I wanted in terms of how I ran the office. It worked for me.
As I walked past Myra I could feel her eyes giving me the once over and I couldn't help looking at her and saying, "God, you make me feel like such a piece of meat. I want to be respected for my mind."
She snickered.
When I left work, at Carlos' suggestion, I grabbed a small salad and small broiled chicken breast at a downtown health store/restaurant called FreshNGood. It wasn't the best thing I'd ever put down my throat, but it wasn't bad. Whether it was psychological or not, I hadn't had a roaring appetite for anything since – actually since the trouble had begun with Debbie.
I drove to the Liberty Street condo, but it was just an address. I had to go somewhere so it was a tossup between a bar and Hurley's gym. I wound up at the gym. I used the same black personal trainer and an hour and a half later felt like someone had ripped all the muscles out of my arms and legs so that I hobbled around like a broken doll.
I had a late night coffee at a Starbucks and went back to Liberty Street. I was there 30 minutes and realized I couldn't stand it there. I drove back to Hurley's and this time there were only a couple of dozen people there. I couldn't really move my arms anymore so I slid onto one of the stationary bikes and very, very slowly cycled to nowhere.
By the time I virtually collapsed and almost fell off the bike, I realized there were only three people left in the gym, Hurly and the black trainer and a pretty blonde.
"Are you alright?" she asked with a worried expression.
"Just let me catch my breath."
Despite worried expressions on their faces, I got to my feet and walked out with them to my Escalade. I managed to get to the Liberty Street condo and again collapsed onto the bed. I woke up at 3 a.m., stripped and got under the covers. And once again I managed to escape dreams of Debbie. This gym thing wasn't going to be bad.
#

[Ramesh_Rocky]

There's a reason why Love is a four letter word


My name is William Maitland. I'm an Assistant State Attorney in Jacksonville, Florida. Actually I am The Assistant State Attorney but I'll explain that below. I've been married and happy for nearly 20 years with a beautiful wife and two typical teenage kids. Until the night my beautiful and loving wife Debbie made a slip of the tongue and before you could say "Divorce", we were on the way to one.
I found out that my wife was indeed loving, but she was loving another man. Or at least she was falling in love with a younger professor at UNF where she's an Assistant Professor of business. I did some things that I shouldn't have, and didn't do some things in hindsight that I should have done.
I did make a fool of myself fighting with her young boyfriend at a posh UNF faculty event, but it was one of those foolish things that a man has to do if he wants to be able to look at himself in the mirror. Unfortunately, I got the crap beaten out of me keeping my self respect.
Now I'm living in a condo I hate after my wife threw me out and started divorcing me, working as much as I can, exercising my flabby middle aged body when I'm not working, and trying to pick up enough boxing expertise to beat the crap out of the young man who embarrassed me and stole my wife if we ever go up against each other again.
I'm not talking to my wife even though she's tried to re-establish a dialogue because after, "I don't love you anymore," there's not a hell of a lot more to say from where I stand.
After a friend who's an old boxer and boxing coach set me up at a workout gym, I found myself over the next month at the gym after work almost every night. I went by a Westside bar called O'Brien's a couple of times, but I restricted myself to a couple of drinks and made sure I hit the Hurly's Gym in Avondale afterwards. Working on the machines at 9 or 10 p.m., with no one else around, was almost relaxing.
They left the lights on for me if I got in just before the last of the staff left. Cops cruising the neighborhood stopped in or three times before everybody got the word on who I was and why I was there. After that once or twice they'd stop, knock at the window and after I waved at them went on.
I got to where I'd put in 20 minutes on the stationary bike, 20 minutes on the treadmill and 20 or 30 minutes on the Nautilus machines. There wasn't that much that worked the gut particularly, but one of the staff showed me the machines that worked the abdomen. I lay on the sit-up bench where you hooked your feet around the upper bar and groaned and sweated to raise my back an inch off the bench. I actually felt a thrill of triumph the first time I lifted my back – actually my neck and head - two inches off the bench.
There were also upright bars that you could position yourself on and then try to raise your knees toward your chest while your feet were off the floor. I was lucky if I could raise my knees halfway toward my chest once, but at least I was doing something.
I had made it to Carlos' gym a half dozen times during the month. He put me on the heavy bag and for the first few days it barely budged as I pummeled it, but he kept the younger guys from laughing too hard and just quietly told me to keep at it. As I got strength from the gym workouts, he said I'd get better with the bag.
Bill Jr. came one weekend and Kelly the next, even though I wasn't scheduled to get either one of them until the next alternate weekend. I called Cathy or Roy to set up the pickups so I didn't have to talk to Debbie or see our house. I did the best I could to shove the picture and memories of the place that had been the center of my life into a deep, dark hole.
I'd like to say that the visits with the kids were good. But...Bill Jr. griped about the apartment until I finally agreed to let a friend's dad pick him up and that's the last I saw of him during my visit. He called me toward the end of my time Sunday afternoon to apologize. He had two friends had run into three "hardbodies" at the mall and gotten tied up all that day and evening. He was going to have a friend's mom run him back to his house.
Kelly lasted about four hours before she got an urgent call on her cell, followed by two more urgent calls and a flurry of conversations about some guy who was supposed to be her boyfriend but had been spotted at a theater in the company of "some whore" and naturally she and an entire female posse had to investigate. I didn't have the heart to put my foot down like your standard TV sitcom dad so she vanished, re-appeared late that night, got up early and was out the next morning. In all I spent about six hours of my weekend with her.
After that I didn't push too hard for visitation. I figured if they wanted to see me, I'd always be available. But, it appeared that while our relationship might not have died while I wasn't looking, it was fairly tenuous. As in, non-existent. But, as with Debbie and even moreso the kids, I couldn't blame them for a relationship that existed almost only on paper.
Debbie and I had started our marital suicide in mid-April. It was now early July and hotter and stickier than hell. Walking from my Escalade to the office less than a block left me sticky with sweat. Summer in Jacksonville, as any native will tell you and I had lived there since I was a kid, can be downright nasty. There are none of the romantic and tropical attractions of summer in South Florida, and none of the relatively cooling breezes you'll find a bit north in Georgia It is just hot as hell, day after day after day.
People's tempers get short. I hadn't seen much of the kids. I had stopped drinking every night. I hadn't gotten laid in more than three months. I found myself snapping at assistants and reduced Cheryl to tears one day. I had seen Jessica Stephens three times. Each time she looked sadder. I thought she was just drying up and shriveling away. I almost found myself asking her to go out for drinks one afternoon, but stopped myself.
I knew it would be a shitty thing to do, to basically destroy her life for a piece of ass when she didn't mean anything to me, but the real reason I didn't was because I had the nightmarish vision of her lying naked under me and my dick just laying there like a limp noodle. The pity on her face would have had me driving the Escalade into one of the support towers of the Fuller Warren Bridge.
On the brighter side, Dick Cheney told Larry King on Larry King live that the Insurrection in Iraq was nearing its end and that the war should be over by 2008. That made me feel much better about life in general.
On the home front, my life was getting up and having some protein like a piece of chicken or a portion of cottage cheese, driving to work, working all day until the late evening, taking work home and either collapsing at home or four or five nights a week getting to Hurley's gym or Carlos' place when most people were turning in. It wasn't much of a life, but such as it was, it was mine.
The only good thing was that since I had absolutely nothing to do but exercise and work, I was working my ass off and outperforming everybody in the office. I was generally in the office when the first secretaries arrived and I usually walked out while the night cleaning crews were doing their thing.
It had only been a few months since I'd had a life, and it was beginning to seem more and more like a vaguely remembered dream. There were whole days when I could go without remembering that I was still a married man, still a father.
So naturally, Debbie picked that time to screw with my head. I got a call from Lew one afternoon.
"Good news, I hope. Is everything set for the divorce to proceed?"
"No, sorry, Bill."
"Why? I promised her child support, I'm giving her the whole damned house, half of all our savings and stocks and bonds. What the hell else can she want?"
"She's being a real bitch about the alimony. She wants a 'generous' amount for alimony for at least the next 20 years and half of your retirement as well."
I sat back in my chair and tried to breathe slowly and rhythmically to keep my heart from bursting out of my chest.
"Alright, tell her no deal. We'll fight this out in court. You got the time for this? I'm not going to pay you the megabucks your paying customers would. You owe me too much."
"I've got the time, Bill. I wouldn't be where I was if it wasn't for you and even if we weren't friends I'd never forget your help. But, it doesn't make any difference. I've done research. She'll get some alimony. You guys were married for 17-plus years, you have two kids, she's been a loyal wife. And you make considerably more than she does.
"There's no way in hell she's NOT going to get alimony, and a share of your retirement. I'm good, but I'm not THAT good. Look, you make good money and you could do private off the table consulting work and make more. Why not let her have what she's asking for. It will get her out of your life that much quicker."
"Because, dammit, she's not going to get it. She – I-"
After a minute he said, "You know you're not supposed to keep secrets from your attorney, don't you? Of course you do. I've heard you give witnesses that lecture. I use it myself. There's something else."
"She's got him in our house, Lew. She's fucking him in our bedroom while the kids are sleeping a few rooms away. And knowing, Deb, or at least remembering when she still gave a damn about sex, she's probably loud enough that the kids know what's going on. We're not even close to being divorced. That's got to count for something."
"It would, if you were fighting for custody of the kids. Having a lover in the house, engaging in activities that might cause psychological harm to the children, especially if they were younger, would give you a leg up in seeking custody, although even that would be an uphill fight. But, alimony? Doesn't make any difference. She could be bringing them in in shifts of three, and she'd still have a claim for alimony based on her previous marriage history.
"Do you want to go for custody? If you could grab custody, that would knock out child support and balance off the alimony. Of course, alimony will go on long after child support is over, but it's something."
I scratched my head and wished Debbie would roast in some very hot hell.
"No. Look Lew, I know it sounds strange, but Debbie has been a good mother. I've been an absentee father. She went to their college events, took them to the emergency room, went to their games. She had obligations to her job too, but she always made time for them. They wouldn't want to live with me, and to be honest, I'm working harder than I ever have. I'm in that tiny damned condo. I can't take them."
"Okay, you don't want them. Moving on-"
"No, Lew, don't take that damned tone with me. She's their mother, and with the exception of letting her pussy do her thinking for her the last couple of months or so, she's always been a better parent than me. Maybe I'm being selfish, but I'm thinking of them too."
I heard him sigh on the other end.
"Alright Bill, I'm sorry to take that attitude. Look, the problem is, I'm a great attorney, but I'm not a magician. I can't magically make things work out the way you want them, unless...."
"Unless..."
"Look Bill, I know what you've told me about how things went down, how you found them at that awards ceremony, your suspicions. I don't like to say this, because you're a friend, but you're lying. You're not telling me everything, you're not telling me the most important thing. You've got dirt on her and you're holding back."
We were both quiet for a moment.
"Bill, look, level with me. I've been around divorces and I know you've handled cases where they didn't divorce but wound up killing somebody. The cheated on party hates the cheater, but they still love them. You don't stop loving somebody just because you divorce them, or kill them. Give me what you got and I might be able to give you what you want. You've got to trust me."
"Meet me at my condo tonight. 9 p.m."
When I hung up from him I dialed Debbie's office at UNF. She might be in there for her planning period. Unless she was somewhere off with Doug's cock inside her. Or she might even be doing it in her office. She had a lock on the door.
She picked up on the fourth ring.
"Professor Maitland."
"What the hell are you up to?"
"Hmmmm...that sounds very much like Assistant State Attorney William Maitland. But it can't be. That son of a bitch very forcefully told me a month ago that he was never going to talk to me again. And he's hung up on me at least four or five times that I can remember since then. So who are you?"
"Why are you being such a bitch about alimony? I'm giving you the house and most of our savings and liquid assets. I make more than you but not THAT much more. I'm going to fight you on this. It will just make it that much longer before you can carry on openly with your boy toy. Oh, sorry, I forgot you were doing that already. Including, you bitch, fucking him in our house while the kids are there. That bastard must have a foot-long cock for you to behave like such a tramp."
She laughed.
"Don't be silly, Bill. All he's got is a good, solid, very hard 8 inches. But that's long and hard enough."
"Alright, that's a point for you. You think I'm going to break down sobbing to learn you've been having sex with him. I knew that."
"Yes. You know that 14-year-olds can't keep secrets. BJ told me about your call the same day."
"You must be very proud of yourself, carrying on that way in front of our children."
"Don't lay that guilt trip on me, Bill. He didn't start staying over until our marriage was over. Maybe not on paper, but it was over.
"And our children are not five years old. They know about sex already, Bill. You may not know about it, you probably don't, but Kelly is on the pill. Has been since she was 15. That's when that fucker Ricky Thompson down the street got her drunk at a party. And before you say anything, she was 15 and he was 16. I had her tested. I wasn't going to drag her through court and humiliate her to have his wrist slapped. She begged me not to tell you and there was no reason to.
"And BJ already knows how to use a condom. That miserable slut college girl Wendy next door to us introduced him to the glories of sex when he was 13. He told me he had a hard time not laughing out loud when you gave him that damned birds and bees lecture. He had already practiced everything you were telling him about.
"You see what kind of fun stuff you missed by never coming home?
"So, anyway, the kids knew. I told them I'd never touched Doug, that there was no romance. We were just friends until you went crazy jealous and got so paranoid and suspicious. And then we were through.
"You forget, they live in the house. They're young, but they knew neither one of us was happy."
"I was."
"Unfortunately, that wasn't enough, because I wasn't. They were ...upset...Bill, but they understood. I think they didn't feel that bad about you because like BJ said, you already had a girlfriend. He was talking about your job. Your job always came first, ahead of me and them. They're not blind."
"Anyway, enough about me and what a rotten bastard and terrible father I am. The point is, I'll tie you up in court as long as I can, just on the off chance that you actually care for the kid and want to adopt him. Unless you give on the alimony."
"Not a chance in hell."
I forced myself not to scream at her.
"Why, Debbie. I don't mind paying for the kids, but I'm not going to pay you one penny in – what do you business types call it? – Fungible funds. Every penny I give you could be spent on little presents for boytoy, for condoms for his big dick, or something else that would turn my stomach if I knew about it.
"Lew probably didn't tell you, but as much as I love this job, you force the alimony issue and I swear to God I'll walk away and let you try to find me for the next few years. I've got enough savings and funds to vanish for a while."
"I don't believe you, Bill. You can walk away from me, and abandon your kids, but you'd never leave that miserable job. The worst thing I ever did was let you take a job at the State Attorney's Office. You weren't this way when you were in private practice."
"And I wasn't 41 years old and 50 pounds overweight with a spare tire. But that has nothing to do with my job. I just got older and you stayed too damned hot. Look, just be honest with me – for the first time in a long time. Why are you fighting for alimony so hard?"
"Alright. Because you screwed me over that night at the awards ceremony. I'm almost 40 and still a assistant professor. I've heard enough gossip to know that President Myers s going to make sure I don't get a favorable evaluation next time out. I can probably hold onto my job, by my fingertips, but no guarantees.
"If I lose this job, I'll be a 40-year-old assistant professor job hunting against 28-year-old assistants who are either guys and have an edge on me or girls with tits a lot perkier than mine. I'll wind up somewhere, but I don't know I'll ever have any real job security. The kids will out of the house in a few years and then it will be just me.
"If something bad happens, I get sick, wind up with a boss that insists on my doing him to keep my job, I won't have any backup. And I'm not going to crawl to you for scraps, even if you were willing to help me. I'd rather starve to death than see that smug smile on your face when I come begging for help."
"My heart bleeds, but if you'd been honest with me that night, or hadn't acted like a slut in front of a thousand people, there wouldn't have been a fight and your precious job wouldn't be in jeopardy."
"If..if...if.. the fact remains, Bill, that I've got you by the balls. Joyce is a very good attorney and she tells me there's no way I'm not going to get all the alimony I want, part of your retirement, and child support. Not even with your whiz kid Lew Walters doing his damnedest. And that's another thing. Why did you bring Lew in on this? Lew was a friend of ours. Lew and Mona. Why bring a friend in to go after me?"
"Lew isn't OUR friend, Debbie. He's my friend. And while he's a nice guy, in the courtroom he's a shark. I – please...don't fight me on this. You're going to get hurt."
"Why would you care, Bill? You told me we were through. I don't know what you think you have as your big gun, but I know there's no dirt you can use against me. But still, if you had something, why would you care if I got hurt? I'd think you would enjoy that."
I didn't say anything and finally she said, "You still there?"
"I'm sorry, Debbie. When...when this goes down, I want you to remember that you forced me to do it. You know what they say about rats. Even a rat will fight if you force it into a corner."
Instead of her making some smartass comment about rats, she said, "Bill, I mean this seriously. Go out and get a woman. That's probably going to be hard for you to do, but if you have to, pay for it. I don't want you to stay hung up on me. I'm moving on with my life. I hope you can too."
I could take anger a lot easier than pity and contempt. She probably didn't think I could get a woman without paying for her. As to moving on, I had already moved on to a life quite different from the one I'd known three months earlier.
There weren't any women because at this point I still wasn't sure if I could get it up, much less make a woman happy that I was having sex with her. And I wouldn't know that until zero hour. Which I wasn't in any real hurry to arrive at. Because, what if she had managed to effectively neuter me? I couldn't really see 30 or 40 years of eunuch-hood.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I was not real happy all day. My personal and professional lives intersected to make it a really shitty day all around.

It was Wednesday and I spent all day preparing a case I'd selected – or at least which had selected me – that was due to start Monday. Charles Bingham was 74 years old. His wife Mabel had developed lung cancer in 1992. It spread to her breasts or she developed breast cancer concurrently. The doctors didn't seem real sure on the sequence.
She had chemo and drugs and had her breasts cut off and she seemed to be one of the lucky ones that beat two types of incurable cancers.
Then in 2003 the doctors found spots on her lungs and she went the chemo/drug regimen again. Only this time there was no miracle. She dropped from 187 pounds on her 5-foot-4 frame to 85 pounds by early 2005. She was wracked with intolerable pain that the drugs couldn't knock down.
No matter what doctors tell you, there are some types of pain no narcotic will really work effectively again. I had a grandmother who developed ovarian cancer when I was 13 and they had to eventually dope her into unconsciousness because her 24-hour screaming from the pain was driving other patients and even medical staff crazy. A few days later she was dead. I always thought some merciful doctor or nurse gave her a little too much pain medicine.
Mabel Bingham was incontinent and although he had assistance, Charles was the one who usually had to clean her shitty diapers and change the bedsheets after she pissed through them again and again. He had to listen to her scream day and night They had two grown daughters, but he was her husband and it was his duty to care for his wife. So he did.
Until the day she stopped screaming and when a nurse's aide came in, she found Charles sitting beside a pale and colorless Mabel, holding one of her hands in both of his. It would have seemed a merciful end until a routine medical exam showed five times the level of pain killing narcotic in her body that could be explained by the action of the automated narcotic drip by her bed.
A quiet and unemotional Charles Bingham confessed that he manually gave Mabel the overdose when she momentarily came to a state of consciousness and begged him to release her.
"I had to," he said, and then began crying.
A trial on a charge of manslaughter was to begin Monday. Everyone knew he'd be found guilty and then it was up to Judge Anne Carroll to decide if he'd be given a five year suspended sentence or a one-year suspended sentence. Only in rare occasions did a husband or wife in that type of situation ever receive any kind of real sentence. Usually
there was too much public sympathy for the murderer to hit them with any real time.
Judges, of course, are apolitical creatures and don't follow the elections. Sure...and if you believe that I have the proverbial bridge for sale. No one was going to hit a grieving senior with real jail time and have that come back to bite them the next time they came up for election. And in Florida, circuit judges have to be re-elected.
Of course, no SA wanted the trial. There was no excitement, no points to be made and if by some chance you managed to get a conviction, who the hell could brag about sending a 70-something grieving criminal to prison? So nobody wanted the case and while I could have dumped it on somebody, I decided I'd take it. Maybe get a few points back among the staff for the points I'd lost by the way I'd treated Carlisle on the drug-dealer child murdering case.
Unfortunately, I'd had too much time on my hands and I'd actually done some digging. Some I did myself, some I had one of our office investigators handle, and I called in one of the detectives who had been assigned the case and gave him a few extra chores.
So I leaned back in my chair and examined a few documents on the desk in front of me. I didn't think anything could make me feel worse about life in general than what I'd gone through over the last three months, but somehow Charles Bingham had managed that stunt.
No matter what I did, I was going to feel like absolute crap at the end of the day next Monday. There are days of triumph as a prosecutor. Those are the days when you bring evil-doers to justice or strike a blow for some poor soul and ensure there is at least retroactive justice.
And then there are days like next Monday promised to be. I didn't know who I felt more pity for – poor Mabel Bingham, or poor Charles Bingham. And the worst of it all was, as happened so many times, the decision on which way to go rested in my hands.
Talk about where the buck stops. When prosecutors go bad, become drunks or suicides or use their position for sex or profit, I think it's that weight, the responsibility that eventually breaks them.
That's what most people don't understand. The people with real power in our system aren't cops. They just investigate and arrest. The people with real power aren't judges. They have a lot of power, but who they see and what charges they deliberate on don't come from them.
I decide that. In my hands is the power to decide who is arrested and who is released; who faces death or 25 years or who gets mercy. And there really is no oversight, nobody looking over my shoulder.
Cops can bitch, but my decisions are final. Judges can bitch and threaten to take action, but they never do. The only person with any real power over me is the Big Man, and he had given me the Keys to the Kingdom and he had never in five years countermanded any decision I'd made.
Most of the time it doesn't bother me. I've made mistakes, but it comes with the territory. Surgeons kill people. It's how they learn. I had sent people to prison who didn't deserve what they got and let people go free or out early and regretted my actions. But it was part of the job.
But Monday was going to bother me. For the first time in a long time I wasn't sure which way I should go, what I should do about a case. Having a great deal of power can be a good thing, except when you don't know what to do with it.
##################
Lew knocked on the door and I got up from the little kitchen/dinette table in the alcove that served as a kitchen/dining room and opened the door.
Lew was Lew. Tall, about six-foot, sandy colored hair, that same crooked grin as if he was into some private joke that you weren't aware of. But it was a good smile. He was one of those people you like from the first moment you see them, even though I couldn't have explained exactly why.
I read a book one time that said when you meet people like that, people you 'fit' with either in terms of friendship or romance, it's a case of people who known each other in a prior life meeting up again. I'm not sure I believe in reincarnation, but I know we'd been good friends almost from the first day we'd met at UF.
He looked at me oddly. I realized we'd done all our communicating by telephone since I'd asked him to handle my divorce. It had been, what, maybe five or six months since we'd laid eyes on each other.
"What? You look like I've grown horns or a second head."
He looked me up and down and then said, "Have you been in a third world country? Or imprisoned in a Mexican prison where they make you pay for your own food? God, I hope you haven't got cancer."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
He gestured with his hand, up and down.
"You look like you've lost 50 pounds. I can actually see the beginnings of cheekbones and, dammit, I think you're down to two chins. There used to be three of them. And where's the gut?"
"Very funny. I've lost a couple of pounds in the last few months."
He walked around me, inspecting me as if I were a model. I was wearing shorts and a tee-shirt.
"If I didn't know better, I'd swear I actually could see the beginnings of a rib cage under that fat."
"Alright, enough frat boy humor. I haven't had much of an appetite, I've been eating mostly protein, and I've started working out. I may have lost 20 pounds or so, but I'm still pretty much a Pillsbury doughboy."
He grinned and tried to kiss me. I bopped him on the forehead with an open palm.
"You're hot. Give me a kiss."
"Go fuck yourself. Now get serious."
"Don't get your panties into a wad, Bill. Just playing with you. But God, you really have lost weight. I've never seen you looking like this. Have the secretaries started hitting on you yet?"
"I have just lost my wife, nobody of the female persuasion is hitting on me or even acknowledging that I'm alive, and you have to start making jokes? What kind of friend are you?"
"Seriously? It's been nearly two months plus since she threw you out. How long since you've gotten laid?"
"Three, three and a half months."
"My God, I know you're an old man but you haven't laid any pipe in a quarter of a year. You know if you don't give it any exercise, it'll fall off."
"Funny. With your schedule, when's the last time you got any?"
"Last night. You know how Mona gets when I come back from one of those trips. I thought I was going to need transfusions. God, she is a hungry bitch."
"Go ahead. Rub it in. Be a friend."
He sat down a the table and gave me a serious look.
"I'm sorry, Bill. I know it must be a sore point. But Jesus Christ, she's balling this guy and getting her jollies every night. You don't owe her any loyalty or fidelity. You and I both know how easy it would be for you to grab a piece. You never did it before because you were married and in love with Debbie. The same reason I don't cheat on Mona, although God knows I'm tempted sometimes. There was this blonde back in Omaha... but that's another story.
"But the point is, she's one over on you. You oughta go fuck someone just so you will feel even."
"I appreciate the thought, Lew, but I'm not ready or even interested."
He shook his head.
"You poor bastard. You got it bad. Well, they tell me there's life after divorce and since 50 percent of marriages end, I tend to believe it, but...anyway, give me the dirt."
I looked at him for a few moments. I don't know why it was so hard to show the emails to anyone. Maybe because I felt ashamed of what it showed about me. Or, only God knows why, I hated for anyone else to know just what a miserable bitch she was. How screwed up was that?
I went over to the bed and pulled a drawer out and took a manila folder out that was bulging with printouts.
"The ones that are pertinent are starred and on top. The rest are trash, although I might have missed something."
I handed it to him and poured myself a cup of coffee. He started reading. He was close to a speed reader and smarter than any other two men I'd ever known. I asked him if he wanted anything to drink and he just shook his head and kept flipping through the printouts. A few times he stopped, apparently re-read, and shook his head.
Finally he closed the folder, laid it down on the table, stood up and tapped me on the chin with the back of his hand.
"You know I ought to kick your ass for sitting on these. We could have wrapped this case a month ago if I'd known about them."
"They make for heavy reading, Lew, but what are they? It's just the record of a flirtation. I don't think she was fucking him until after our marriage fell apart. And even if she was, as you well know, it wouldn't have made any difference in how the case went.
"Adultery, even sex outside of marriage, isn't a factor in who gets what or who gets the kids. I don't know that even if this had been a fault-state that a judge would have considered a chaste romance grounds for divorce or denying alimony."
He shook his head.
"You've been a prosecutor too long, my friend. This gives us all kinds of ammunition. You don't have to prove she had sex to prove she was cheating. Marriages have dissolved over on-line romances where the parties never even saw each other in the flesh."
"So what. If I wanted a divorce and she was fighting it they might be worth something, but she started things. She wants out."
"Well, true, Bill, but it still puts her in a bad light in the eyes of the judge, and judges are human, even though sometimes it's hard to tell for sure. But forget about that for a moment.
"You can go after the boyfriend for alienation of affections. We can go at it from a contract law approach. Even if they don't call it that, a marriage is a contract and boytoy interfered in your contract with your wife, deprived you of the normal marital rights you should be getting – like sex. You can put a dollar figure on the value of the sex you're not getting, and the marital support that has been withdrawn.
"I know you read about it a lot more than you actually see it in real life, but it does happen. The bastard seduced her, or maybe they seduced each other, but he destroyed your marriage before he ever got into bed with her. Anybody with an IQ above 5 would read those emails and see what he was doing."
"Proving it-"
"Isn't important. He's already on thin ice at UNF from what you said. You bring a court case against him and it gets coverage in the press, and it will because I know too many reporters who owe me favors, and he's toast. He'll be more trouble, much more trouble, than he's worth to them. If you never got a penny, you'll hurt him bad. And if you actually got a judgment against him, that's just gravy.
"Now it doesn't matter whether you actually want to go after him. If he means anything to her, other than a good fuck, you can use it as a club to make her back off with the threat of ruining him. Of course, if he is only a good fuck, then it won't matter and she threw her marriage away for some strange cock.
"You can also go after the university. I know you don't want to cause her to lose her job, but she doesn't have to know that. These emails prove she was seeing him, having intimate meetings, doing things a wife and a single guy shouldn't be doing, and people around them had to be aware of what was going on. You said it yourself, most people there seemed to already think of them as a couple.
"Even if the administration wasn't aware of what was going on, didn't encourage it, they're still ultimately responsible for the work environment they foster. They'll argue that adultery and romance is a personal issue and not their concern, but they're talking out of their asses.
"There have been too many cases where a business or company allowed sexual harassment or sexual behavior that led to marriage breakups and the company got dragged in. They can say all day long it's not their problem, but their human resources departments know better.
"And UNF knows this. Besides, they know me. I've sued them a couple of times on other issues. They see my name on the paperwork and they will crap, get rid of boyfriend and Debbie, and throw money at you to make ME go away."
Despite feeling like shit, I couldn't help smiling.
"You know, Lew, if you were only half as good as you think you are, you'd be a hell of a lawyer."
He smiled back.
"Never believed in false modesty. After all, I was –"
"Yeah I know, first in your class. Where have I heard that before? Oh, from you about five million times. You do realize modesty is an attractive quality, even if you have to fake it."
"Not my style, Bill, Anyway, those are all peripheral. What really makes these gold is nothing legal. We don't have to do anything, except make copies available. You really think Debbie wants her parents, your parents, your friends, to learn what she was up to when she was supposed to be a loving wife. And your kids, when they see-"
"NO. I'm not going that route. Use the other threats, but you don't threaten to release these. I'm not going to tell you twice, Lew. I know you. You're a fucking shark in the courtroom and you've got no limits. You'll do anything to win, and you're not going to do that to her. I've been your friend a long time, but we're through if you even threaten her with that."
"Even after she threw away 20 years of marriage and a relationship, threw you out of your house so you have to have a cop with you to go back in, started sleeping with a young guy while your kids are in the house, lied to your kids to make them think you were crazy when she knew you were right to be suspicious. Oh, and remember that shaved pussy?"
"Yeah, so?"
"How can you be that stupid? You said yourself, she wasn't shaving it for you. You never knew anything about it. Who was she shaving it for? That's right, the stud. And what does that tell us? I'll bet you any amount of money that he knew she'd shaved it. Probably because he asked her to. Remember, you only know what they put in their emails. They were meeting every day and who knows what was said and done at those little get-togethers.
"And even if he didn't touch her, she was sitting there having lunch with him knowing he knew she had shaved it, and he knew she'd shaved it for him. That's as close as you can come to having sex without actually having sex. Call it Flirting on Steroids or Flirting 2.1.
"That's the woman whose image and reputation you want to protect? God help me from ever being that stupid about any woman, even Mona."
He was right and I couldn't even answer to myself why I wasn't willing to destroy her. I just knew I couldn't.
"Just don't use it that way."
"If we introduce them into court for the divorce or sue the boyfriend or the college, it will still all come out."
"We won't do that. Just make her believe we will."
He was silent for a minute.
"And what if she won't bluff, Bill?"
I hadn't thought that far ahead.
"Then she'll win. She'll get her alimony. Even if it makes me want to rip my eyes out every time she gets one of those alimony checks. That's the way it will have to be."
"You are too fucking good for her, Bill. Way, way too good. And the sad part is, she will never know."
"We had 17 – maybe 16 – good years...ten really great years...maybe that's all we're entitled to in this life."
"And on that cheery note, I'm going to take you out. Get some 'picking up slut' clothes on and I'm buying the drinks. I might just get you laid tonight."
He didn't, but we had a great time getting buzzed at Pelicans and despite what Sergeant Hastings had said, we still had an honor guard of two cops bring us home, unload us on the bed and couch in the condo and we slept it off like two good friends who are totally bombed should do.
######################
She was thawing out a large Tombstone Pizza when she heard him coming into the house. Bill Jr. was out at a friend's house for the night and Kelly had gotten her things together to go over to a friend's house to "study." But she had known their parents since Kelly was in first grade with their daughter and they'd keep her in line. It would give her and Doug some alone time, even though she didn't really feel much like it right now.
Kelly came in and gave her a hug. As Doug walked in, throwing his briefcase on a chair at the kitchen table, Kelly turned to him and reached up to kiss his cheek. Doug looked at her with a bemused expression, then started grinning as she dropped her bag and began to tickle him.
He grabbed her wrists and held her out away from him.
"Whoa, cowgirl. That's no-go territory."
"That wasn't what you said when we were in the pool the other day."
He shook his head and said, "Truce. Stop the tickling. I've had a long hard day and tickling isn't on the agenda tonight."
Kelly made a face at him.
"Spoil sport."
Looking at the two of them, Debbie suddenly wondered when Kelly's breasts had gotten so damned big, or was it just that her blouse was extra tight tonight. Her heart sank a little when she realized her daughter's nipples were stiff and pushing out against the fabric. And Doug noticed. That bulge between his legs made it clear he noticed.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Doug looked at her and he knew she'd noticed. He rolled his eyes and shook his head but she couldn't hide her expression. Kelly looked back at her for a moment and damned if it didn't look like she had a little smirk on her face, but she just leaned back, gave her mother a peck on the cheek and grabbed the overnight bag.

"See you after college tomorrow, Mom. Byeee, Dougie."
As soon as she was out the kitchen door and they heard the front door slam, he came over and put his hands on her shoulders. He tried to kiss her on the lips but she turned her face away so he got her cheek.
"She's just a kid and she's just playing, babe. She's at that teasing age and I'm an older man. She'd run screaming for hills if I ever even looked like I was coming after her."
"Tell that to your dick."
He grabbed her chin and made her face him.
"So I got a hardon. Jesus Christ, Deb, your daughter is a fox. A stone statue would get a hardon around her. But she's your daughter and she's only 17. I would never touch her. And you ought to know that. I don't hit on the 19 and 20 year olds at college."
He tried to kiss her again and he did, but her lips were stiff and she didn't allow him to slip his tongue inside.
Pushing him away, she said, "There's a Tombstone in the oven. It'll be ready in 15 or 20 minutes. Get something to drink."
He got a two liter coke out of the fridge and poured a glass, then set it down on the kitchen table and came up behind here as she was getting down glasses and plates from the cupboard. He wrapped his strong arms around her and squeezed both breasts, fingering her nipples which popped up taut and hard.
"Don't do that. Let me finish setting the table."
He held her unmoving and nuzzled her neck.
"You can't be jealous of a 17-year-old. Your own daughter."
'It's inappropriate. You're running around with your dick hard and tickling her in the pool and her fucking nipples are popping up through her blouse. And you two are doing it in front of me. You're not her father, Doug. You can't be tickling and playing with her like that. It's how trouble starts."
"Ok, then I won't. I was trying to be friendly with her and Bill Jr. because I thought you wanted me to be friendly, to make them more comfortable with me being around here. But I'll leave her alone, stay away from her completely if it's freaking you out. She's not the reason I come around here, if you happened to forget. You are."
She leaned her head forward over the stove and took several deep breaths as she felt his hard cock rubbing her ass.
Any other time...
"I'm sorry, Doug. I – I'm just not in a real good mood."
He let go of her and she turned around to see him leaning back against the fridge, arms folded across his chest. For some reason he looked angry.
"What-"
"Let me guess. You must have talked to Bill today. Actually, I'm not guessing. Your secretary told me you were having a loud conversation with him in your office. I know you've tried to call him before, because every time you do you turn into a complete asshole and I get frostbite when I try to get near you."
"Doug-"
"It's the damned divorce, isn't it? Why do you get so damned wound up about it. Let your attorney handle that crap."
"That's none of your business, Doug. I like you and I care for you. I wouldn't be spending as much time in bed with you if I didn't. But how I handle the dissolution of my marriage is my business."
As she said it and wished she could take the words back and dull the anger her conversation with Bill still roused in her, she saw Doug's face change. In two steps he had her arms held fast to her side. His grip was so strong it hurt her and she realized anew that he was a very young and very strong man. And now he was a young, and strong, and angry man.
"None of my damned business? What you do with your marriage is none of my business, Deb?"
He pulled her out of the kitchen and almost dragged her up the steps to her bedroom. She couldn't believe what was happening. He had never acted this way before. It was like he was someone she didn't know anymore.
Then he threw her forward on her bed. She rolled over and stared at him in disbelief.
"So what you do in your marriage is YOUR business, right?"
She rubbed her arms where she knew she was going to bruise later.
"Doug, I – I didn't mean to hurt you. But what happens is between me and Bill. You aren't involved. I have to talk to him."
He just stared at her.
"Okay, I see that. He's your husband. You're his wife. I understand. What am I?"
"What?"
"It's a simple question, Deb. He's Bill, your loving husband for almost the past 18 years. You're his wife, mother of his kids. What am I?"
"You're...you're my friend, Doug. A good and kind and loving man that I need more than ever right now. This would have been a terrible time, a very lonely time, without you."
"Is that another way of saying 'fuck buddy'?"
"No! I love sex with you, but you were my friend before you ever touched me."
"You have lots of friends, Debbie. What makes me special?"
"I – how do I answer that. I love you as a friend. You've made me laugh when I wanted to cry, you made me feel like a desirable woman for the first time in years. You made me want to be me, and not just a wife and mother, for the first time in forever. And, God yes, you made me rediscover my body."
He put his hands to his chin and then rubbed the side of his face.
"So I'm a good friend you love to have sex with, right?"
"Doug, no –"
"Stop, Debbie. Listen to me for a minute. You know I was fucking Ellen Westen, the Dean's secretary, when I met you, right?"
"I – I had heard stories...:
"They're true. She could, as the old expression goes, suck the chrome off a trailer hitch. She had the hottest mouth I ever felt and she loved sucking me off. And I was only a few weeks away from banging Merri Smith, the woman that teaches history over in the Humanities Department. I'd gone to lunch with her the day before I was introduced to you as my mentor and she jerked me off in my car. And licked it off her hands. She was really pissed with me when I never called her back.
"And there have been a good 10 students with tits almost as nice as yours that have let me know I'd be welcome to suck them, and they'd suck whatever I suggested, if I was so inclined. Since I met you. Take a guess as to how many of them I've fucked or had suck me off?"
When she didn't answer, he said, "None. Not one. Any of my friends from college or the two colleges I taught at before I came here would never believe it. They'd say I'd lost my mind. All that juicy pussy just laid out for me, and I let it go by.
"Now, why do you suppose that is? Cat got your tongue, Debbie?
"Well, let me ask you something else. You know I'm on Myers' shit list. It's just a matter of time before they cut me loose. With a dismissal on my record, which I'll have to explain when I go looking for another position, I don't think I am going to be on anybody's top ten list of must-hires.
"What I should do, if I had any sense, was find another position right now, preferably a long way from here, where the stories of what happened might not get around for awhile. If I quit here – before they fire me - for personal reasons or just because I got wanderlust, I'd have a hell of a lot more employment options.
"You remember three months ago I was getting awards for being a wonderful young professor. Today my name is usually invoked in dirty jokes about MILFS and big-tittied cougars."
He walked over and sat down beside her. She looked at him in wonder and dismay because she knew what he was going to say.
"Why haven't I been banging all these goddamned pussies that are mine to bang? Why haven't I gotten out of here while I still have a chance at a career? Any guesses?"
He bent forward and kissed her gently.
"You are a stupid, stupid woman."
He cupped her face in his hands.
"You know, I wanted you from the first moment I saw you. I just wanted to fuck you. That face, that ass, those tits. I made up my mind I was going to have you. Ten minutes after you left that first time I had to go into a faculty bathroom and jerk off. I must have shot off five feet. What a mess.
"I knew you were married, and to an important man. A powerful man. I've got an uncle in Buffalo who's a District Attorney. I know what those guys can do and I knew I was putting my head in the lion's mouth if I made a play for you. But you were so fucking juicy. And you were looking. Even if you didn't know it, I knew you were ripe. If it wasn't me, somebody else would have moved in.
"I decided I was going to wage a campaign. I've done it plenty of times. Girls have always liked me. I've got a big dick and I know how to talk them into spreading their legs. So I went to work on you. Easy and slow. When I got to know you and realized you weren't some man hungry bimbo, that you were actually a pretty nice lady, I figured it would be worth it. And you met me halfway.
"And it worked. I seduced you and I fucked you and you were as incredible as I thought you'd be."
He shook his head.
"What I didn't know was that I was just being too damned smart. I outsmarted myself. If I was smart....I ought to get the hell away from you, but I can't. So I hang around a married woman who's still in love with her husband. You know, there's a reason why love is a four letter word."
"Doug – you – I didn't – I'm not in love with Bill."
"You wouldn't go into the depths of depression every time you talk to him, or don't talk to him, if you didn't have feelings for him, Deb. And you know the sad thing? You'll never get him back."
She felt as though she couldn't breathe.
"I saw him that night at UNF. When I was down and you came to me. I saw the look on his face as you turned your back on him. He won't ever forget or forgive you for that. I wouldn't if you were my wife."
He stood up.
"I asked you what I was to you, Deb. I know I'm a good shoulder to cry on and I make you feel good about yourself, and you love the way I fuck you. But, there are girlfriends that you could go to for support and a shoulder to cry on. You got a big black vibrator for your other needs. Why am I here?
"You ever think that I'm 28 and I graduated with honors from a prestigious college and I've already had more papers published than guys with ten years on me? You know that I boxed in Golden Gloves and I had a shot at making the U.S. Olympic boxing team? That I still get letters from the son of the first woman I ever had a serious relationship with back when I was 22? She was older. You think there's a pattern there? Her son was 8 when we met. But I liked the kid and I've there for him through about one ex husband and four boyfriends."
He looked at her and shook his head.
"I'm a good person, Deb. I'm a substantial person. But you don't see that. I'm a professional with what used to be a career to be proud of, one that was going somewhere. I'm 28, not eight years old, and there are a lot of women who have let me know that if I wanted to get serious, they'd be interested. But to you, am I anything more than a walking dick, a human vibrator?
She looked at him standing there, so damned gorgeous and she knew that hard dick was inside his pants just waiting to be unleashed and they could fuck the night away and she could forget about Bill and his damned demands and the memories he kept stirring up in her. But she couldn't open her mouth to say a word.
"I'm going back to my place. I think we ought to cool it for awhile. Give each other some space. You need to decide what, and who, you want in your life. When you do, if it's me, give me a call."
She sat on the bed unmoving after he left. It was only the smell of the pizza burning down below that roused her.
#
Author's note: I was going to put some stuff in here, but I get the feeling I'm breaking down the fourth wall by doing so. I know when I'm reading stories, you want to believe while you're reading that they're more than stories. By bringing readers in too close, I get the feeling I'm destroying that illusion. So I've decided that early on after each installment posts, I'll try to post a comment that will include some thoughts on previous comments, what's going on with the story, and stuff like that. Once again, and I hope you guys (and gals) don't get tired of hearing this, but posting on this site has been an amazing experience. Thank you. Oh, and since I'm writing and posting hot and heavy, I can't work out the logistics of running stuff by Lady Pine Rose, so I'm sure this chapter will have some glitches. More than when she was editing. Blame me for any mistakes.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Lew Unleashed...or The Other Side Now

(Author's note: I am still stunned by the response this story has gotten. And I apologize for the wait between installments but I'm grinding them out as fast as I can. I hope this chapter answers a lot of questions readers have had -or maybe sparks some more. If you're still interested, in some ways what I think is the best part of the story is still coming.
DQS1)
Thursday July 7, 2005
My name is William Maitland. I'm an Assistant State Attorney in Jacksonville, Florida, the Chief Assistant in fact although there are two other Assistants under State Attorney Austin Edwards who are level with me on the organizational chart.
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, when she made a four-word Freudian slip that wrecked our marriage. My suspicions roused, I used a spy program to go back and check on her emails for the past six months and learned that she was falling in love with a young stud assistant professor at UNF, where she was also employed as a Professor of Business.
She wound up falling into his bed, filing for divorce from me and tossing our lives together into the trash. Now I'm working longer and harder than I ever did, which was one of the main reasons she implied our marriage had gone on the rocks, exercising and working with a boxing coach friend to rehabilitate a flabby midsection and a prematurely middle-aged body. Why I don't know, because I can't even work up a respectable hard-on.
As I prepare for a particularly unpleasant court case, Debbie is driving me crazy with alimony (now sometimes they call it maintenance but it will always be alimony to me) demands and I have very nervously unleashed a pit-bull friend of mine named Lew Walters to wield the previously hidden e-mails in an attempt to blackmail her into giving me the kind of divorce I want.
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Thursday July 7, 2005 -- 12:30 p.m.
The phone rang as she was getting ready to leave her office to go to her next class. She had tried calling Doug twice but he wasn't answering. Since he had caller ID, it was pretty obvious he didn't want to take her calls. How in the hell had she wound up getting the cold shoulder from the man who was the father of her children, whom she was divorcing, and the man who had swept her off her feet and given her the best sex she'd had in years?
If there was one thing in this world she would have said would NEVER happen, it would be to get the cold shoulder from the two most important men in her life. Or any man, for that matter. She glanced down and took in the bulge of her breasts in her blouse and shook her head. She had never had trouble finding or getting men.
Even in the years when she'd been happily married, she'd always known if she crooked her little finger at a guy he'd be at her feet panting like a puppy. Men were so damned simple in a way. No matter how old or professional or respectable they were, they were all just walking penises. Unbutton a few buttons, show a little titty, and they all turned to mush.
She'd flirted at parties, let a few of them pet or grab her ass, but it was never serious. Bill had been what she wanted then and she just flirted to remember what it was like to have that kind of power over men. Of course that was before he got so damned flabby and MIDDLE-AGED.
She got angry all over again. The sorry bastard had the nerve to be angry at her when he'd all but shoved her into another man's bed. He'd never know about all the parties, the campus events, where tall, slim men danced with her and rubbed their hard cocks all over her pussy, felt her breasts and left her so wet she had to retreat into bathrooms to finger herself to quick, messy climaxes.
It would have been so damned easy to slip out to cars, or into the shadows, lower her panties and let them pound her into unending orgasms. But she hadn't. She'd been the good wife. She'd never tell her loving husband about the men she'd let get her hot and wet and then denied sex to.
How could she? She could control herself, but she couldn't control how men reacted to her. If she had complained to Bill every time a man touched her inappropriately, grabbed her ass, tickled her titty to feel her nipple harden suddenly, they would have had to stop going out, have no social life, and Bill would probably be in jail after killing somebody.
And she couldn't tell Bill that men touched and petted her because, while she could tell Bill she had never let another man have her, it wasn't the kind of thing you could brag about.
Of course, some of her friends would have been scandalized, but they were the homely, flat-chested women that men weren't going to pursue with flattery and presents and charm and insinuations of how big their dicks were. They could afford to be virtuous, because nobody but their husbands wanted them. She was the kind of woman men had always wanted, and she couldn't help that. She was made that way.
She had caller ID too and when she saw who was on the other end of the line, she picked up and said, "Hi, Lew. Has your client come to his senses and decided to avoid a nasty court fight and give me what I'm asking."
"Hi, Debbie. We do need to talk. Something has come up about the case. I think we can get these matters straightened out and move the divorce along. Could you meet me at Linder's office today at 5?"
"I have a class that doesn't end until 4 p.m. and I don't think I can make it in to Joyce's office by 5 p.m."
"This is fairly important. Couldn't you cancel one afternoon class or get someone to cover for you."
"It's that important?"
"Yeah, Debbie, I think so."
"And it will-"
"I think it will make things much easier for both you and Bill."
At five minutes past five she was pulling into the parking lot at Linder and Howe PA in downtown Jacksonville about a half mile from the courthouse complex. There were bunches of legal offices clustered in this neighborhood, far enough away from the courthouse to allow privacy and better parking and close enough to be there in a couple of minutes.
As she slid out of her 2010 Nissan 370Z, she smoothed her skirt down and took a deep breath. Her breasts swelled and just the contact with the fabric caused her nipples to pop up. Men loved them. They stood out an inch high from the three-inch wide pebbly areola, thick as pencil erasers. Men couldn't' resist sucking on them. She wondered sometimes if every man in America had been weaned from the tit too early. She had left her bra discretely folded n her glove compartment.
As she walked in Joyce was waiting for her. Joyce was a slender brunette, five-eight with a nice ass and relatively small breasts. Of course, Debbie thought with a tiny twinge of conceit, almost every woman had relatively small breasts when measured up against hers. But she had been nice, and supportive.
Joyce took one look at her and smiled.
"And what is the effect we were going for here, girlfriend?"
Debbie took a depth breath, pushing her chest out and making the nipples pop up noticeably.
"Lew is a nice guy, and married, but it never hurts to dazzle them a little bit, whether it's an academic meeting or a divorce hearing."
Joyce smiled again.
"You planning on trying for that at the divorce hearing before the judge?"
"We do have a male judge, right?"
"I feel sorry for your ex."
Joyce led her into a small conference room and as Debbie was sitting down asked if she wanted coffee or a soft drink?
"Just a bottle of water, please. Too much coffee keeps me awake at night and every damned ounce of non-diet soft drink adds about a pound to my ass. I have to spend about an hour at the gym for every regular soft drink I consume."
Joyce looked her over in a comfortably non-sexual way and said, "Well, it's obviously paid off. I'll get you that water and Lew just called and said he was about five minutes away."
While Joyce was out Debbie checked her cell phone, but no messages from Doug. Shit, why did he have to complicate things. It was just simple, great sex. His damned dick...but she stopped herself. She could feel herself begin to moisten up and she didn't want to be hot and bothered when she was meeting with Lew.
No, not with Lew. Why the hell hadn't Bill hired somebody else. Lew was young, tall, good looking but it was more than that. He was funny and smart and conceited, and that made him even more attractive. And worse of all, dammit, her tits and her body had never gotten to him.
It was stupid and it was high college, but when Mona was around, dark haired, small breasted (but weren't they all), swivel hipped Mona, there was no other woman in the room for Lew. Debbie had worn low cut blouses a few times when Lew and Mona had visited, and guys always, always, ALWAYS looked down into the valley and if they could, got hard. Lew never even glanced that way.
It was so stupid because she hadn't decided to leave Bill at that time and she wasn't interested in Lew that way. It was just....dammit, guys were supposed to stare and get erections. She wasn't used to being ignored. It wasn't natural.
Lew was standing at the door, sandy haired and with a slight smile on his face, a briefcase in his hand. He was dressed for the heat, in a lightweight, pale gray business suit and he was still sweating.
She took a deep breath to expand her rib cage, stood so her breasts would sway and jiggle gently with the motion, and smiled at him. She knew her nipples were sticking out like some whore looking for action. So much the better.
"Hi, Lew. This is the first time we've gotten together, in the flesh, in how long? A year? You're looking good."
He did a quick survey of her with eyes and, satisfyingly, his eyes lingered for a moment longer than was necessary on her nipples. She drew in a quick breath that made them dance on her rib cage but he just completed his once-over and then grinned.
Shit, he didn't even need to add the words to know what he was thinking, but he put his thoughts into words for her.
"I am flattered, Debbie. You took your bra off just for me? I thought you'd save the heavy artillery for the judge."
She couldn't help grinning back at him. He was a likeable guy.
"What can I say. If you got 'em, flaunt 'em."
Joyce stepped in behind them with a bottled water she handed to Debbie and a mug of something steaming.
"You take yours black with sugar, right Lew. Black and sweet I think you say."
"That mind of yours is an iron trap, Joyce. You're going to make some man a fine partner some day."
"I know," she said looking down at the floor for a second as she added, "I have a lot of fine qualities, not all of which are immediately visible."
Then she blushed and sat down beside Debbie without giving Lew a chance to respond. She had a folder lying on the table in front of her.
She coughed nervously and then tried to recover, saying, "You said you had something you needed to discuss, Lew. I think things are pretty clear cut, at this point. Has your client decided to see reason and accept our requests?"
Lew sat down at the table and after giving Joyce a speculative glance, said, "No, and that's why I'm here. We're spinning our wheels because Bill has already made an exceptionally generous offer to settle this matter. He's given more than most men would in a divorce before we even begin arguing. It's Debbie that has to do some hard thinking about what she wants."
"I want what's due me, Lew. I was married to the man for nearly 20 years. I gave him two children. I raised those kids, if not by myself at least doing most of the hard work. I kept a good home for him while I was building my career."
"Come on, Debbie, you're an established professional. Your major earning years are ahead of you and while you're not earning what he is, you're in the same ballpark. You're not some little homemaker who is going to be destitute if you don't get maintenance every month."
"Not pertinent, Lew," Joyce said. "He does make considerably more than she does and your client's actions have damaged her future earning potential and her career. The law is on our side in this one and you're smart enough to know that. The only reason for your client to even make an issue of maintenance is to continue to try to punish her for seeking a divorce."
"That's not the way he sees it. We could fight this out, draw things out, let it get very ugly."
"And you'd still lose, Lew," Joyce said briskly. "I bow to no one in my admiration for your legal skills, but you have a dog of a case here. You'll lose and all your client will do is spend more of his money fighting the inevitable."
Lew looked down at the table for a minute as if thinking, then raised his gaze to Debbie.
"Debbie, can we talk privately for a minute?"
"Why?" Debbie and Joyce said simultaneously.
"I'd rather not go into that, Debbie. It's personal. No offense Joyce, but I'm not sure and I believe that Debbie is not going to want you around for this discussion."
"Debbie, I'd advise you against-"
Debbie waved her hand and said, "It's okay Joyce. I'm not going to sign anything or commit to anything before I get your input. I'm not stupid. I am curious about all this cloak and dagger. Bill's already warned me he had some heavy artillery of his own and I'm curious to see what he thinks he's got. Give us some time, okay?"
When Joyce had left, the two of them stared at each other. Debbie took a deep breath and let it out, her breasts jiggling with the motion. She watched his eyes. He noticed. She had to fight to avoid looking down to see if she could spot his lap. Was he getting hard?
"It's a waste of time, Debbie. Even if I got hard, I can think with an erection. Or are you , or have you become, so much of a fucking slut that you automatically work on guys' dicks without a second thought?"
She smiled at him and made her titties jiggle some more. Was he sweating a little more heavily?
"Why don't you be honest about your feelings, Lew? You're mad at me for divorcing your friend?"
"I'm mad at you for breaking his heart and cutting his balls off. He's a good guy and he doesn't deserve what you've done to him."
"He's a good guy? He's a good guy? Oh, he's a saint. Defender of the oppressed and downtrodden, bringer of justice to the violated? You want me to sing a hymn? How about his role as a husband and father? How about being away from home more than he's been home in years. How about putting everybody's life ahead of the people he says he cares about the most."
"I spend a lot of time away from home, and Bill's got obligations and duties like nothing I could imagine. People's lives depend on what he does and what he decides."
"When you are home, Lew, you ever slip it to Mona? You ever come up behind her, pull her panties down and fuck her until she screams? Care to guess how long it's been since Bill did that to me? When Mona is underneath you and you're pounding your dick inside her, does she feel the roll of fat around your stomach rubbing on her. That's a real turn-on, you know."
"He got fat and out of shape, Debbie. It's not a crime. You were able to make time to keep yourself in shape. You couldn't have pushed him, or lured him, into a gym? I got a feeling, you could probably deliver a blow job that would convince any guy to do anything you wanted."
"Would you like to find out?"
She stared at him and she wondered if he could tell if she was serious?
"Lock the door and unzip and I'll let you judge for yourself."
He shook his head, but he did seem to be sweating more.
"Why do you do that, Debbie? You think I didn't notice you showing your tits off to me when I'd come over with Mona? I never did think you were serious, but why? You're a gorgeous woman, a walking wet dream. Why do you have to prove to yourself that every guy wants to fuck you? To answer your question, if Bill wasn't my friend and I wasn't married, I'd be in your mouth right now. But he is and I am. So can we stop the game playing?"
"You know that Mona doesn't know how lucky she is?"
"I hope she does."
"In answer to your question, I tried, Lew. I tried for years. I asked him to go with me. I made appointments for him with personal trainers. Fuck, I tried to get him jealous by flirting with young hunks on the rare occasions when I could get him to go with me. But there was always something that needed doing downtown, some case that had to be attended to, something more important to him than me.
"Finally I accepted the fact that his job was more important than I was. A woman I could compete with. Any woman. But how do you fight a job?"
She looked down at the floor for a minute then up at Lew sitting in his immaculately tailored suit.
"Stand up, Lew."
"Um why?"
"Just stand up."
After a moment, he did.
"Turn around."
"Why?"
"Please, just do it."
He did and then turned back to face her.
She got up and walked around the table toward him. He looked like he was going to back up but he held his ground. Finally she was standing in front of him and she reached out with her left hand. He looked like he was going to flinch but he stood still. She laid her palm flat on his abdomen, then ran it down his stomach but stopped well above the swell that was developing between his legs.
She pushed with her hand and he took the unspoken command and turned. With his back to her, she reached down and grabbed his ass. He almost jumped but stood still again.
"Turn around, Lew."
When he was facing her again, she said, "You've got a flat stomach. Maybe a little bulge but not much. And your ass, God it's tight and firm. Bill's told me you're out and on the road and away from home more than he's away. I know you're younger than him, but how do you managed to keep your stomach and ass that way?"
He shrugged.
"There are gyms anywhere. And aerobic exercises you can do anywhere. And like you said, Bill's got 10 years on me."
"Why do you do it? Why stay in shape? It's not for other women, I don't think. Bill says you're a one-woman man and the fact you could ignore my tits convinces me he's telling the truth."
"I do it for Mona, I guess. For myself but I want to keep her hot."
She backed away from him, continuing to look up into his eyes. She took her hands cupped her breasts held them up to him and pinched the nipples between her fingers. She hefted them, then ran her hands down her legs and cupped her groin and ran her fingers under her skirt and between her legs.
When she brought her hand her there was an oily sheen on her fingers.
"Just this little bit of talking nasty has got me wet, and to be honest I was thinking about Doug's big dick before you got here. Look at me, Lew. I'm what the kids at UNF call a MILF, a mother you'd love to fuck, and I am what my generation would call a prime piece of ass.
"This is what Bill had in his bed every night for years. He could have fucked me, up the ass or any other way he wanted it. He could have been stuffing my mouth every night, or at least a lot. There are some nights when no woman is going to be in the mood, of course, but there were a hell of a lot of nights this was available and willing and horny as hell and he was nowhere to be found.
"There are guys that would climb naked over barbed wire just to sniff my panties and HE COULDN'T GET UP THE ENERGY TO GO TO THE FUCKING GYM AND STAY IN SHAPE!"
She hadn't realized she was screaming the last until she heard steps and Joyce stuck her head in the door with a worried expression.
"Everything okay."
Debbie backed away from Lew and said, "Yeah, I'm sorry. I kinda of lost it for a minute."
When the door shut she walked back to her seat and said, "It wasn't my responsibility to get him hot enough to get off his ass and stay in shape. He should have done it for me. For himself."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"We could argue that, Debbie, but you got a sweet young stud, his house, his kids and the life he used to have. He's got his job and a place he sleeps. He came out with the short end of the stick. And he's not going to pay you alimony."

"That's where you're wrong, Lew. He is, whether he wants to or not."
Lew looked at her funny.
"It's not that cut and dried, Debbie."
"Oh, so you've got his secret weapon? Unfortunately for you, I never screwed around on him. There are no photos of me leaving Doug and our love nest. There are no love letters, no tape recordings of hot whispered nothings. He and you have shit."
"That's something I've wondered about Debbie. He told me about that 'when we were married' slip and about your kissing Doug that night coming back from UNF. And about the way you acted with Doug at UNF that night. You still swear up and down that you guys were just platonic friends?"
She took a sip of her bottled water and suddenly felt very tired.
"Once again, Bill has a screw loose. I made a simple slip. I don't know what I was thinking, but only Bill would have blown that up into an accusation that I was cheating on him. And I didn't kiss Doug that night, or at least I don't think I did. I might have reached over and given him a peck on the cheek, but I've given hotter kisses to neighbors at Christmas parties. It was nothing.
She looked down at the table, thinking about that Friday night at UNF.
"Looking back, I guess it did look pretty bad, that night at UNF. Doug was excited and happy and since I was his mentor, I was kind of basking in his glory. Bill had been acting like a shithead for weeks, we hadn't had sex in months, and a young handsome guy was treating me like his date for the prom. I plead guilty to acting like a stupid young girl. But it wasn't anything more than that."
"And that kiss?"
"That was a big mistake. That wasn't planned. They had called him up to receive his plaque and he wanted me beside me and all of a sudden he was kissing me. I shouldn't have done it. God knows I shouldn't have given him tongue, but I was so damned horny all of a sudden it's a wonder I didn't drag him down on the podium and have my way with him. If I'd been getting what I needed at home, if you were in my bed instead of Bill, I would have laughed that kiss off."
She stared at the briefcase he had pulled up onto the table and said, "Don't leave me in suspense, Lew. Hit me with your best shot."
He snapped the briefcase open and pulled out a manila folder. He flipped it open and she saw a thin stack of papers. He glanced through the pile and then pulled one out and put it on the table and shoved it in her direction. She picked it up and looked at it curiously.
What in the world could-
- Deb to Lance: That's indelicate, Lance, you pig. :) But you're right. Consummating is like....what Bill and I do. Oh, God, I can't believe I wrote that. But...it's been so long since I've been really FUCKED that sometimes I forget what it was like. I think we used to have that, if I can remember that far back. But now...Bill was never huge to be honest, but the last few years I think he's shrunk. I'll kill you if you ever let a word of this slip. And he gets winded in five or six minutes.-
She closed her eyes and tried to shake off a feeling of vertigo, as if the building were spinning around her. She had never fainted in her life, didn't even know what the feeling would be like, but it must be like this. After a moment she opened her eyes warily and looked down. The paper was still there. The words were still there. She grabbed her bottle of water and emptied it in gulps.
Her eyes skipped down the page until she found:
- Deb to Lance: "No, and he never will. How can I tell him he doesn't do it for me in bed anymore; hasn't for a long time. That I have to use a big vibrator and shove it in there way further than he ever gets to climax. I fake it with him, but sometimes I think he must be able to tell the difference." --
-
And...
- Deb to Lance: "I know you could have. You could have had me a month ago if you were an asshole like a lot of the younger guys around here are. But you've been a gentleman, a good man. That's why I like you so much. I'll just say that I hope you know just how special a friend you've become. And now I'll sign off."-
-
She felt like she was waking from a dream, or falling into a nightmare.
\ "How -- what -- where did you..."
She took a deep breath and tried to grab onto something, anything, to stem the rising feeling of panic inside her.
"Those were my private, my personal-"
"Oh yeah, very personal e-mails Debbie," Lew said flatly with no discernable emotion. He shoved another paper toward her.
-
-- "The worst of it is, I feel so much closer to you than I do to Bill. He's my husband, but he doesn't even know our marriage is dying slowly. He's clueless. Such a smart, smart man, so skillful in the courtroom, but in real life, in our marriage, he's a loser. He's lost my lust, and my respect and slowly he's losing my love.
"I feel like an animal caught in a trap. I've tried a thousand times to think of some way to start breathing life back into our relationship, our marriage. I've thought about trying to invigorate our sexual life. But...dammit, I'm not that good an actress. I fake orgasms all the time, but I can't fake excitement. And he doesn't excite me any more.—
-
She looked across the table, and for the first time she had a feeling for why Bill had called him a shark. There was a cold, hard expression on his face and he didn't' look like the man who had been smiling at her before.
"Those were my personal messages. I deleted them all. How could he-"
"I'm not going to give you the details, but he did. All of them. Going six months back until just before the Friday night blowout. You remember the message where you told Doug -- sorry that's 'Lance' - that you were getting ready to end your marriage but you would take time out to help him celebrate his big night?
"Well, I can understand that. What's a little thing like a nearly 20-year-marriage compared to a chance to go out and have a blowout with your new boyfriend?"
Her mind was spinning. Somehow the question that came out was, "How long...,"
"He trusted you, Debbie: shows you what an idiot he was. It was an automatic monitoring system. He'd never ever looked at your emails. Until that weekend you stayed out all night and he eventually found out you'd gone to your parents. He was alone all that weekend and he'd gotten suspicious and he started poking around. That's what investigators do."
There was an emotion in his eyes deeper than contempt and harder than anger.
"He were there all alone in that big house of yours while he learned what you really thought about him and his shrinking dick and read those messages talking about how hard lover boy's dick was and those fabulous abs of his. He was alone while he learned how you were going out dancing with friends and guys because you just didn't like being around him.
"He was in that house that he paid for and worked his ass off for surrounded by pictures of the life he used to have. That's why he left you that bloody ring. I'm glad he was able to get it off. I think he would have chopped it off if he had to. He didn't have much love left in his heart for you that night."
She didn't know what it was, maybe it was that image of him hunched over the big computer off their bedroom reading by the light of the computer screen in the dark house, but she lurched to her feet and mumbled something about being sick and raced out the door of the conference room and barely made it to the toilet in the closest bathroom. She was hunched over it heaving, but nothing coming out, when she heard the door open and Joyce say, "Debbie, what's the matter? What happened"
She tried to shake her head. Tears ran down her face and she gasped for air. Finally, she got out, "Sorry. Must have....been something...I ate. I'll be okay."
Joyce finally backed out and closed the door and Debbie took deep breaths until the queasiness passed and the tears stopped. She tried to get her head straight. He had known. All the time since that weekend. It was as if he had opened a hole into her heart and soul and knew what she was thinking while she was pretending to be someone other than who she really was.
Who she was, was a woman getting ready to walk out of a marriage where she felt trapped and unloved. She had thought she was wearing a mask around him, and in truth he had seen her as she really was.
Why hadn't he said anything? And then she understood his anger. For the first time. He really did think she had been fucking Doug all that time. She remembered the words she had read. If she'd intercepted emails from Bill to a woman with the same kind of language, she would never have believed he wasn't having sex with her.
They were the words of lovers, even though she would have sworn at the time that they were just friends.
She walked back in to see Lew swallowing the last of his coffee. He looked up at her with eyes that were neither friendly nor unfriendly.
"Could I see them? All of them?"
He passed her the folder. She opened it and began reading. It was like opening a door into the past. She had never read them as a whole. She had gotten them, read them and deleted them day by day. Now they told a story.
Finally, she put them in the folder and closed it.
"Can I have a copy?"
"Keep that one. I've made other copies."
She finally raised her eyes to meet his. She noticed, not for the first time, his were a peculiar gray green combination. They were attractive, now cold eyes.
"I understand now why he's been so angry. But, Lew, they weren't...it wasn't..."
"They are there in black and white. They are what they are."
"I never meant him to see any of those. I never thought -- that he would spy on me."
"Because you could go anywhere, party with your friends, come back drunk, and he never asked you questions. I'll bet my life he never checked your panties to see if you had any unusual deposits in them. He trusted you, even knowing what a hot piece of ass you are. I don't know how many men would be that trusting, or stupid."
"Whether you or he believe it, I was never with any other man, since we got married. I went out and I drank and I let men touch me, but I never touched them back. I never gave handjobs or blowjobs or went out to their cars."
"Well, aren't you the saint yourself, Debbie. Never gave any blowjobs but you did let men rub you and play with your tits. I know I'd be proud of you if you were my wife. Especially since you were doing it behind my back."
She made herself stare back at him although she felt like crawling under the table.
"I'm not a slut, no matter what you say or what these emails might make you think. You're away from home more than you're home and Mona basically lives alone most of the time, just like me. I know she travels all over. She dances with men. She has drinks with them. She goes out to dinner with them.
"And she may not be as hot as me, but she's pretty damn hot. You really think guys don't rub their dicks on her when they're slow dancing. You really think no one ever brushes or touches her breasts? You really believe she doesn't get wet when some young, good looking guy is hitting her with everything he's got? If you do, you're the idiot."
His expression didn't change.
"I know she goes out for drinks and dancing with men. I know they hit on her. I would if I were single. I wouldn't be surprised if guys get her hot. She's human. But I know this. She would never physically or emotionally cheat on me. And if she fell in love with somebody else, she'd have the decency to tell me we were through. She wouldn't let me find it out the way Bill did."
"I'm not in love with Doug and I didn't cheat. Not till the weekend of the UNF blowup."
She stopped. What he had said was true. They were what they were. The rest of it didn't matter. She forced herself to bring her mind back to the now, instead of going back six months.
"So. They're embarrassing. But what I said was true. I didn't cheat on Bill until our marriage
exploded and there's nothing in there you can use in court. Joyce has already told me that having
sex with Doug before we crossed the 't's and dotted the 'I's and made it legal is no big deal. Bill had already humiliated me and damaged my career. I didn't owe him fidelity."
"You're wrong."
And he proceeded to explain how.
"You can call Joyce in here, and she'll try to blow smoke, but in the end you'll see I'm right. Doug is history when I file the suit against him and you'll be right behind him when I file the workplace environment lawsuit against UNF. Doesn't matter what protections you have in place, if they want you gone, trust me, you'll be gone.
"And when that happens, you're going to need Bill's maintenance. Being a mentor is not an administrative position, not in the chain of command. But it does place you in a semi-supervisory position over a younger colleague.
"And you, an older and more experienced staff member, took advantage of your position to trade emails about how big and hard your mentee's cock was, to exchange intimate secrets about your married sex life and how frustrated you were with your husband, and basically told your mentee that he could fuck you if he just tried a little bit harder.
"That's not normally the type of behavior universities, or any organization, expect from their mentors. In fact, if you were male and Doug was female, you would be very much in line for a sexual harassment lawsuit. It doesn't matter if he was chasing or trying to seduce you. It was your duty to keep things from getting out of hand. Even if all UNF does is cut you loose, good luck finding a position similar to the one you have at any other teaching institution."
He smiled at her and she finally knew why Bill had said he was a shark. There was something very cold and cruel in that smile, almost as if he were enjoying the thought of what was awaiting her. Maybe the emotion wasn't real and he was just twisting the knife for effect, but it felt real.
"So when you get that maintenance check, you'd better kiss it and hold it tight, because while you're looking for a new job in a new field, you're going to find it hard to maintain the standard of life you became accustomed to before you started looking around for greener pastures."
She surprised herself.
"No."
He looked at her in surprise.
"No what?"
"No deal, you bastard. Tell Bill that for me. Let him do what he wants with those emails. Doug was planning on leaving anyway and this just means he'll bail sooner. He's young and talented and he'll find another job.
"And if I wind up washing dishes in a Sonny's barbecue joint, or handing out hamburgers at McDonalds, so be it. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of thinking he beat me down, forced me to let the alimony go. If he hates me that much, tell him I'm going to rub every single damned check he sends me all over my pussy before I cash it, and that's the closest he's ever going to come to getting inside me again."
Lew just stared at her for a moment, and then he smiled. And this time she did shiver.
"You're a pretty tough broad, Debbie. Tougher than I thought. So the last thing we're going to do with the emails won't bother you."
"What else could you do?"
"Copies will be posted on the Internet. There are cheating wives sites, and places like that. Plus copies will be anonymously emailed or hard copies will be sent to your parents, his parents, your friends, your colleagues at work. Pretty much anybody you've ever known."
"He couldn't hate me that much."
"Doesn't matter if he does or not. It will happen. You remember how you reacted. How do you think your parents will feel when they read how enamored you were with a colleague's abs and dick when you were still married to Bill? Your friends? Well, I don't know if any of them will drop you, but expect to have every married friend you know watch you very carefully anytime you're around a husband.
"Oh, and this shouldn't bother you at all, but expect every husband and boyfriend of every friend you've got to start calling and coming around when their significant other is otherwise occupied. Because they're all going to think you're just another very hot and very fuckable MILF. I imagine your son's friends- what are they, fourteen or fifteen - will start hitting on you too."
He stopped and looked down at his hands. He didn't look at her as he spoke.
"There won't be anything sent to your kids. But they'll find them. Friends will see that they do. And no matter how grown up kids act like they are, how do you think they're going to react to finding out what you really thought of their father, how you treated him, when you were still married to him?
"How do you think they'll feel when they find out that you were lying through your teeth about your feelings for Doug, that you were lying when you said their father was paranoid and crazy to be suspicious of you two. You lied through your teeth to your children and your parents."
Now he looked at her, and worse than the threat was the pity in his eyes.
"But, it really doesn't matter what they think now. They're going to grow up. Kelly will be a grown woman with a husband and kids, Bill Jr. will have found some woman he loves and wants to have children with. And someday they'll run across these e-mails again and they'll read them with grown-up eyes. They'll understand what you did, and how terribly you betrayed their father. Even if you didn't touch Doug, you still engaged in an emotional affair.
"You've lost Bill. And someday, you're going to lose your children. They may still be polite and still let you be around your grandchildren, but your relationship with them will never be the same."
They sat together in the small room in a curdled silence.
She wasn't even aware that she was crying until she felt tears run down her cheeks.
"He wouldn't do that to me. I can't believe that. Even hating me, I can't believe he would do that."
"No, he wouldn't."
She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, not believing what she had heard.
"He-"
"He wouldn't use the emails against you that way, Debbie. He wouldn't even let me threaten you with sending the emails to family and friends. The poor bastard loves you and he's willing to let you screw him yet again rather than hurt you that way."
"Then-"
"He loves you. I don't."
"I don't understand, Lew. You're his attorney."
"I was his friend before I was his attorney. I was his friend, I am his friend, and I will be his friend. I'm not going to let you rub salt into the wounds you've already inflicted on him."
"I still....how can you do what he ordered you not to do?"
"Easy, I just have to violate virtually every aspect of the duty an attorney owes to his client. I have to go against his wishes and take actions that will kill his soul. But, I'm going to do it anyway."
"Those are his emails."
"He gave them to me. I made copies."
"But he -- if he didn't want --"
"He'll be royally pissed at me, furious. He'll threaten to take legal action against me, bring me before a review board. Maybe try to get me disbarred. And all I'll do is tell him that if he does I'll fight it and it's such a juicy, sexy scandal that it will get tons of publicity -- I'll make sure it does because I know how to work the press - meaning even more people will know what a miserable cheating slut he was married to. In the end he'll back off. Because he loves you."
"But, I thought you were his friend."
"Oh, he won't want anything to do with me for awhile. Maybe a long time. But like I said, whether he's my friend or not, I'm his friend."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

He tapped his fingers on the table, saying, "But, all that said, the question is what are you going to do. I've told you what I'm going to do."

"You're blackmailing me."
"Of course."
She closed her eyes and tried to think. So many thoughts swirling through her head. Her whole world had been turned upside down in less than an hour. Everything had changed.
"I - I need some time, Lew. I can't make a decision like that so quickly."
"You've got until I get up and walk out that door. Five minutes after I'm gone they will be winging their way through the ether and the genie will be out of the bottle and none of us will ever be able to get him back in again."
She just sat there and stared at him and wondered how she could have ever thought he was a nice guy.
"How can you do that, Lew? We were friends. You're willing to destroy me. Take my kids away from me in a very real way. To stop me from getting alimony?"
He shrugged.
"When couples split the friends take sides. I happen to be on his side. As to hurting you, well, Bill said that I know no limits and I know no bounds when it comes to winning. I take no prisoners. I like winning. I won't take any pleasure out of hurting you, despite the fact that you're a stupid, cruel bitch, but I will if I have to."
He looked at her again and grabbed his suitcase and snapped it shut.
"The clock is running, Debbie. Make up your mind. I'm going to be leaving in a few minutes."
Joyce walked back in after Lew had stepped outside for a moment. She looked at Debbie with unease in her eyes.
"Lew said you wanted to draw up a stipulation that you've have given up all rights to maintenance, for all time? That you want it notarized? Is that right, Debbie?"
Debbie just nodded.
Joyce glanced from her reddened eyes to Lew, then said, "What the hell did you do, Lew? It can't be legal. Debbie, can't we talk about this?"
Debbie just shook her head.
"You're wasting time, Joyce," Lew said. "Just draw up the papers. I have an appointment across town in a couple of hours."
Joyce looked at her without words and then stepped out of the office.
Debbie took a handkerchief out of his purse and wiped at her eyes. The tears had wiped away
her mascara and looking at herself in the mirror she thought she resembled a blonde raccoon. She wiped
the smudges off and then looked up at Lew, standing near the doorway.
"I wish he were more like you. You just royally screwed me over, and I wish we were in a hotel
room somewhere and you were doing me. Isn't that crazy?"
He looked her over, his eyes lingering on his breasts, and somehow she knew he was visualizing them together in that room, and deep down he would have liked to have been there.
"The funny thing is, Debbie, that I wish I were more like him."
"Why? You're good looking and young, but it's more than that. You take what you want. If you weren't attached, weren't spoken for, you'd have me in that room and make me scream. You're not a
nice guy, not at all, but then, I never did like nice guys. Before I met Bill."
He came back to the table and sat down across from her.
"You don't know your husband at all, do you?"
"I know him a hell of a lot better than you. I've known him longer."
He shook his head.
"That's probably the reason why you guys are splitting. I think it happens that way sometimes. If I'd had any idea, I'd have talked to him, although I doubt he'd have taken any advice from me. You know what he does, but you have no idea what it's like to live in that world. I think he did it deliberately. Like a cop who never tells his wife what his daily life is like, or a soldier home from the war who can't
talk to his wife about what he went through. And so you have no idea who or what he is."
"He's a fucking lawyer, Lew. He wears a suit and stands up in front of juries, but he's done that for a long time. Don't fit him for a halo."
He stood up suddenly, shoving the chair back and came around the table in one fluid motion. He grabbed her hands in his and yanked her to his feet.
"Listen to me, you stupid bitch. Bill is the best man I know, the best man I've ever known, and he deserves better than a woman who'd throw him over for a flat belly and a big dick.
"You know what makes him special? You know why Edwards picked him to run the State Attorney's Office when he had a dozen lawyers older and more experienced than Bill who wanted the job? It's simple. He does the right thing. Always. No matter what.
"You can't scare him off. You can't buy him off. You can't fuck him off. If you had a gun to his head and he was going to die in the next minute, he'd do the right thing. He could be a millionaire today if he'd taken any of the offers coming his way from big name firms. He's had death threats, none of which I imagine you know anything about.
" The reason Edwards respects him is that he knows if he ordered Bill to do something wrong, Bill would tell him to fuck off and quit a job he loves."
He let go of her hands and she fell back into her chair.
"You are hotter than hell, Debbie, and that's the truth. But he could fuck around on you every day if that's what he wanted. I don't have that much power, and I have clients and the wives and daughters of clients offer me pussy -- maybe not every day -- but it's a slow week when I don't have it waived in my face.
"He holds people's lives in his hands, their fates. If he was a two-headed dwarf, he'd have women offering to blow him. It's not legal, but anybody will tell you desperate wives meet prosecutors before deals are made and grateful wives of clients make arrangements to see prosecutors after their husbands get a good deal. Nothing you can prove, but everybody knows it happens.
"You see him as a fat, soft guy and it's obvious you don't respect him. But the people in his world, the women in his world, see him as the man who runs that office. The Big Man is a politician who likes getting his picture in the papers. Bill is the guy who makes executive decisions, who decides who moves up and who doesn't. He's the spine of that place. Any smart woman knows you get him in bed and
you've got a straight shot to the top.
"Care to guess how many woman have climbed out of his bed to a higher position in the last five years? There's a reason why his nickname among women that work there is the Iceman."
She just shook her head. The vision of Bill, poor soft pudgy Bill, romping in bed with some younger woman, or even an older woman, wouldn't come into focus. She watched Doug flirt at the college and felt twinges of jealousy even if theirs was a strictly sexual relationship, but she had never worried about Bill at all. And maybe that was part of the problem.
Lew must have read her expression.
"I know he's hurting, but sometimes divorce can be a good thing. He's a good man with a great career, good earning potential. He could have kept sleepwalking through a life with you for another few decades but if you hadn't jumped into bed with Doug, you'd have been cheating on him with somebody."
Again he read her face and said, "I'm not accusing you of cheating, Debbie. In your mind you're probably not right now. I'm just saying he obviously doesn't meet your needs and you'd never have been able to stay straight. You're too hot and you obviously need more sex than you're getting. This is going to be painful for him, but he's already changing. He needed a good kick in the ass and you gave it to him. He's going to be better off without you."
Joyce came back in with the paperwork and a secretary. Lew read it, nodded at Joyce and passed it on to Debbie.
"Last chance, Debbie, "Joyce said, casting a hard glance at Lew. "Please don't sign it like this. Whatever Lew said, or whatever he used to make you do this, we could deal with it. You can always go back to a judge months or years from now and try to modify it. But, it's not like child support. Child support is like Play- Doh. It's very flexible. This isn't.
"You're making a statement, without any apparent coercion that you're voluntarily relinquishing any claim to maintenance --for the rest of your life, no matter how your circumstances or your needs change. It's to all intents and purposes, irrevocable. Unless you can prove that Lew here did something illegal or legally reprehensible or just plain unethical, a judge isn't likely to throw this away. Please think about it. At least give yourself a day to consider it."
Debbie glanced up at Lew. She didn't have any choices.
She took the paper and glanced over it, then signed. The secretary signed and notarized it with her personal Notary stamp. She left the room with it.
"We'll keep the copy and you'll have the original," Joyce said to Lew. She looked at him with an expression made up of equal parts of anger and admiration.
"You earned your fee today, Lew. I hope you can sleep with yourself tonight."
"Won't have to," he said with a slight smile. "Mona's home."
A glance between the two of them made Debbie smile. He might be a one-man woman, but he liked the vibes Joyce was sending out. As for her, if she hadn't been in the room, Debbie was sure Joyce would have been doing everything but rubbing his dick. At least she had good taste.
After another long, meaningful glance, Joyce sighed and said, "Well, if you see him, would you give that good looking partner of yours a hello from me?"
Lew nodded and said, "Sure. Just..."
He gestured to her and they walked together to the side of the conference room, but Debbie could hear them.
"I'll tell him hello, Joyce. He's dating a few girls right now but he might surprise you and call. It's just-"
"I'm a big girl, Lew. I'd rather it was you, but you're off the market. I'd just like to have a little fun."
"Joyce, I love the guy, but be careful. He's catnip, but...he chews women up and spits them out. He's not a long term guy, never has been. And you're a nice lady."
"Who's going to be home alone watching a Cinemax after dark sex movie that will just depress me, or going to a meat market, which will depress me even more. He is so...gorgeous. I wouldn't mind being treated like a sex object...once in a while."
He leaned over and gave her a brotherly peck on the cheek, saying, "I'll give him your number tomorrow. Just don't get your hopes up and...be careful."
He walked back over to Debbie and opened his briefcase, putting the signed statement inside.
"With this taken care of, there shouldn't be any reason why we couldn't get the divorce papers finalized and ready to go in the next month or so, right?
She nodded.
"And joint custody with you primary is okay?"
"He's their father, Lew. Even if we really hated each other I could never keep him away from them."
"I guess we're done then. I'll see you, Debbie."
Before he got out the door she said, "Lew."
He stopped and looked back at her.
"Two things. First, when you see him, tell him 'sometimes the rats win.' I shouldn't have underestimated him."
He looked at her with a puzzled expression.
"He'll understand. A private joke. And...just a little warning. You told Joyce to be careful. You be careful too."
"What?"
"You leave Mona alone too much. With Norman."
He stared at her.
"The guy is a machine. He moved in on me once, until I told him that if I told Bill there'd be an accident or an assault by unknown assailants and he'd lose his balls and be singing soprano. He's left me alone ever since. I think he's really afraid of Bill. But, he hits on everything. And from what I hear, he connects more than he misses. I'm probably cutting my own throat, because like Joyce, I'd kind of like you back on the market. But-"
"Thanks for the warning, Debbie. Really. I know the kind of guy Norm is. I wouldn't trust him around anyone else. But he's been my friend since 8th grade. We went to UF together. He's had my back in some bad situations and I've saved his ass from beatings and worse. I wasn't always an alter boy. We got into some bad things growing up. But I'd trust my life to him, and I trust him with my wife. He would never go behind my back, even if Mona was willing. And she never will be."
He walked out and Debbie shook her head. Amazing how men could be so smart about some things and so dumb about others. Norm was tall, dark and gorgeous and had a huge cock judging by the way he'd rubbed it all over her at a few events where dancing was on the agenda. She had been committed to Bill then, and it was still the hardest thing she'd ever done to push him away and finally drive him away with the threat of Bill's vengeance. How the hell could Mona be around him year in and year out and never give in?
She shook her head and got up and prepared to leave.
It wasn't her problem. And if it happened, then maybe...
"Shit, I'm not even divorced yet. Get control of yourself, girl."
################
Thursday July 7, 2005 -- 3:45 p.m.
I was waiting outside Ed White High college when the bell rang at 3:35 p.m. Summer college classes were held until the same time regular college let out. Kelly had done well enough not to need the credits, but by acting as a peer student guide and helping others, she was racking up credits for the next college year.
I knew what direction she'd be coming from and I kept my eyes out. I saw her finally with a knot of four girls and two boys walking out toward the parking lot. One of them looked like a tall basketball player named Gary Anderson who was her current heartthrob.
I slid out of my Escalade and stood up, waving at her. She noticed me and stopped. The rest of the group with her stared at me. Finally she said something to them and walked toward me. Two of her girlfriends walked with her.
"What are you doing here, dad?" she asked when she got close enough.
"I just want to talk for a minute. I'll drop you off the house. Tell your friends them they can pick you up there."
"We were going...Okay."
She called the two girls over. One of them looked at me and said, "You're Mr. Maitland?"
"That's me. You guys are peer guides with Kelly."
"Yes."
She looked at me strangely and I couldn't help asking, "Am I growing horns?"
She giggled, then said, "No, I just thought you were ...younger. I've seen Mrs. Maitland and I thought you guys were the same age."
"Brooke," Kelly said sharply. "Stop fooling around."
And then to me: "Forget her dad, she's an idiot."
I just smiled at the girls and said, "It's an easy mistake to make. I robbed the cradle when I married her mother."
Then I slid into the car and said goodbye to her friends. Then she slid into the passenger seat, put her books beside her and said, "Okay Dad, what's going on?"
I smiled and said, "I have to have a reason to pick my daughter up?
"Usually, yeah."
"Sadly, that's true. Look, Kelly, I meant to do this before, but...Your mother told me something recently."
She took one look and then dropped her eyes to the upholstery.
"No, no, tell me she didn't."
"She didn't mean to, she just let it slip."
"Look, it's no big deal. It was no big deal."
"Being bangd is no big deal? I know things have changed since your mother and I were in high college, but somehow I don't think they've changed that much."
"It's not...yeah. It was a big deal. But everything ended all right. I --didn't' come down with anything. Mom talked to.....the boy."
"He shouldn't have gotten away-"
"What were you going to do, dad? Send him to Raiford? He was a juvenile. We got drunk. He had sex with me. Nothing was going to happen to him."
"But-"
"It might have made you feel better, but all it would have done if you'd done anything to him is made sure everybody knew what happened. I've have to live with it the rest of my life. I'm sorry, but I made Mom promise not to tell you. You always make a big deal out of everything."
We were silent together.
"Has it been that rough, having me as a father?"
"No, no. It's just that, your job is always there. I can't get drunk, can't get stoned, can't do any of the stupid things other kids do, because I'm your daughter. It would be a big scandal. And everybody is afraid of you. I mean, they always feel like they have to be -- careful -- around you."
"Has it been that way for everybody?"
"I guess. BJ likes to go to other guys' houses because -- they're looser. And his friends are nervous around here too."
"I guess I never thought about it. But-"
'It's alright, dad. We know you have an important job. Mom always told us that. It's just that..."
"What?"
"I came in from a date one night -- I think it was when you were in the middle of that toddler kidnapping and torture case and you were downstairs doing something involving documents. I was going to my room when I passed your bedroom and I saw mom lying on the bed. She was crying. I thought you guys had been fighting. So I got on the bed with her. I asked her what was wrong.
"She just hugged me and told me there was nothing wrong. And then she said, 'even when he's here, he's not here.' And I knew what she meant. But, it's not your fault."
###############
Thursday July 7, 2005 -- 9 p.m.
Finally at 9 p.m. Doug hadn't called or returned her four calls. Bill hadn't called or returned her six calls. Bill Jr. as was usual was spending the night at a friend's house. Kelly was out on a date. She was pretty good about getting in by midnight on college nights and at least she made an effort to stay within the timetable Debbie had set for her. Not like some of her friends who had gone completely wild by the 10th grade. Kelly had just passed out of the 11th grade and she was a good girl.
At least she was a hell of a lot more of a good girl than her mother had been at her age. Thinking back, Debbie felt simultaneous embarrassment and a burning deep inside her pussy. She had been completely a woman physically at 17 and had the judgment and good sense of a middle-collegeer. It was only by the grace of God she hadn't wound up pregnant, hooked on serious drugs, or some Biker Mama in a hovel in the middle of nowhere. God, she had tested her parents. She couldn't complain about Kelly.
She tried to watch television. Tried to listen to music on her IPOD that Kelly had finally convinced her to buy. Tried to grade essays on "The Optimum Corporate Organization Chart for the Post-Internet Age."
Went back and read and re-read the folder of e-mails. Found her eyes misting every time she thought about Bill's finding and reading them the first time.
Even though there was no one around, she felt herself blushing. How stupid could she have been? And the answer was no woman ever born could have been that stupid. She had known deep down what Doug was after, which was why his confession hadn't shocked her.
It was like kissing and petting in the 7th and 8th grades. You started with closed lips and then you opened your mouth and played tonsil hockey and then you let a boy touch your breasts outside your blouse and let him squeeze your nipples and rub that hard, mysterious rod of male flesh over your confined pussy. And then if you really liked him and he'd been working for it, you let him slip his hand in and under your bra and for the first time you felt male fingers milking you and felt a mysterious wetness between your legs.
But back then, it had been innocent, relatively. Sure, there were books and older girls to explain exactly what was going on, but you didn't KNOW. Not of your own personal knowledge. But she hadn't been an innocent virgin when Doug started to flatter her and move his body closer to hers during their lunches and she started telling him secrets that she had never told her husband.
She hadn't been ignorant when they started talking about the sex habits of UNF students and had gotten around to talking about the trend to shaved pussies. And when Doug had made the first joking suggestions that the only way she could be hotter than she was now was to shave down there she hadn't been offended. No, she'd been excited by the thought. And the vision of his fingers stroking her down there, and his tongue delving deep inside her and that hard huge cock of his sliding in there.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

It had been a fantasy, but looking back she realized she'd already made the decision to leave Bill. She just hadn't been able to work up the courage to tell him the truth. She told herself there would be a better time to tell him they had to talk. To explain that their marriage hadn't been working in such a long time. To tell him they'd both be happier free to explore their radically different visions of what a good life was. She wouldn't tell him she'd already fallen in lust with a young, hung hunk.

She saw them talking at some future time when she had gathered up her courage and saw the pain in his eyes. It would be like clubbing a baby seal. Because she knew he loved her, had never stopped. But was that enough? Did the fact that somebody loved you entitle them to keep you in chains, to keep you locked into a marriage where you were dying. But, at least, he wouldn't know about Doug. He could keep his pride.
And then that fucking, fucking, fucking slip of the tongue. Only Bill, with that goddamned prosecutor's steel trap mind, would fasten on those four words and shake and tear and rip at her until their marriage started to collapse. And he'd found her emails. God, she couldn't understand why she'd never even thought of that. She knew he monitored the kids' emails, but she knew that was a good thing. There were too many dangerous people out in the world for teens to be completely on their own.
But somehow she never thought he'd do it to her. Why? Why hadn't she ever worried about that? She hadn't had sex with another man, but she was cheating on him. Looking back now, she couldn't deny it. Making a life separate from his, not telling him about the outings with friends, the dancing, it was cheating even if there was no sex involved. She knew it and had to admit it because she realized what she'd feel if she discovered that he had been doing the same thing.
But somehow, she never worried about him checking up on her. Why? It wasn't that he was stupid. Other than maybe Lew Walters, he was as smart as any man she'd ever known. Sitting there and reading the emails and seeing for the first time the way her affair with Doug -- and that's what it had been -- had progressed, she couldn't get her head around the feeling of invincibility she had enjoyed.
And that's when the real tears started. She had felt invincible because she had never doubted Bill's love for her. As she'd told Doug, he would have walked through fire for her. He had been her champion since that day so long ago when he'd swooped in like some comic-book hero to save her sorry, wildchild ass from being gangbanged to a pulp by a bunch of horny UF frat boys.
And she could come and go as she wanted because she knew he'd never check up on her, never check her panties to see if another man's cum was in them, never look for hickeys or bruises on her breasts and ass. And marks were there sometimes. Before she got rid of them, guys sometimes got too excited, pinched a nipple or her butt hard enough to leave marks.
Was it possible to love somebody too much? To trust them too much? Had she developed a contempt for him because he was too good to her? As she had told Lew, she had never really liked nice guys before she met Bill. It was the mean ones, the hard ones who took what they wanted, that got her wet, that got between her legs, that took what she had to offer without concern for her feelings.
She grabbed her cell phone. As usual Bill didn't answer. She'd known he wouldn't answer even if he had his cell phone with him. She scrolled down and found another number and prayed she would be by her phone. It rang five times before, "Hello. Is that you Debbie?"
"Yes. I'm sorry to call you after work, Cheryl, but I had a question I hope you can answer."
"um -- okay."
"Relax. I'm not going to ask you to be disloyal to Bill. I just -- I want to talk to him. Face to face. He won't take my phone calls. And I know he's in the office when you lie to me and tell me he's out."
"Uh, Debbie, I'm sorry, but-"
"I know, you have to do what he tells you to do. But this is important. We've finalized the divorce papers and before -- it's all over, I'd like to talk to him one last time. Can you help me. I've never been to his new place."
"I can give you the address of his condo, but I don't think he'd be there. It's what -- 9 p.m.? I know he doesn't spend much time there. He would probably be at the gym or that boxing place."
"Gym? Boxing place?"
"I don't know much about it. Bill's been pretty tight lipped about his personal life since...you know. But we do get emergency calls or calls from deputies who want to talk to him so I've learned those are the two places you're most likely to find him at night. Unless he's at a bar or..."
"Bill is going to bars? I had to practically blackmail him to get him to come out to a nightclub with me when...."
"I guess things change."
Debbie sat with the phone to her ear, head whirling. Bill was spending time at gyms and boxing places and going to bars. What the hell. Men were supposed to have their mid-life crisis BEFORE they got divorced, not afterward.
"I can give you the addresses of the gym and the boxing place. The gym is in Avondale. I can get the name. And I know the boxing gym or training place is run by an old friend of his named Carlos...something. If you go down there, be careful. It's in a really bad part of the downtown"
She waited while Cheryl went to get the information. When she came back, Debbie wrote it down and thanked Bill's secretary. Then:
"I don't have any right to ask this, and I don't really know why I am except I'm curious. Has -. Is -- he....seeing anybody? Socially?"
"......Uh, Debbie, like I said, he's been secret, private about his personal life. And nobody, I mean nobody, is trying to pry into his personal life. You remember that old comic strip character, the guy who went around with a storm cloud hanging over his head all the time. That's kind of the way it has been with Bill, since...He's been....a real asshole, to be honest...for months now and it's gotten worse.
"The only thing I know for sure is that just a month or so ago, maybe longer, he went out with Jessica Stephens. She's an SA-"
"I know who she is."
She had meet Stephens at a few State Attorney events. She was kind of plain, but...Bill was still a married man and he was hitting on women at his office or...
"Did he-"
"The story I heard was that she asked him out."
"And she knew he was a married man? She asked Bill out?"
"Debbie, I know Bill isn't -- or wasn't -- the most physically appealing guy. No eye candy for sure. But he was a really nice guy."
Something about that sentence caught her attention for a moment and she almost had it when Cheryl added, "Of course, there's that story about Myra Martinez. I'm sure it's a joke, because you know she must have a ton of guys fighting for her, but the way I heard it, she asked Helen in personnel to let her know when your divorce became final."
That drove the other almost-question out of her mind.
"Myra? The freak secretary of Edwards? The one that can barely stand up straight? She is interested in Bill?"
"Yeah, that Myra."
Jesus Christ. The bitch had breasts from hell. And she was Edwards' mistress, his private hunting preserve. Everybody knew that. Bill had told her stories many times about guys thinking about hitting on her only to drop back when they learned that Myra took care of ALL of Edwards' personal needs. Shit. Debbie jumped as the pencil she held in her right hand snapped in two. The bitch was the only woman Debbie had ever met that made her feel unattractive, even boyish.
She shook her head and laughed softly. There was no way in hell a woman who looked like that, who had to have any army of studs after her, would even think about Bill's pasty, flabby body. Even if Bill was as big a man as Lew had said in that office, Myra wouldn't have any interest in Bill. She couldn't. It was ridiculous.
"Thanks, Cheryl. I won't tell Bill where I got this information. I'll tell him the kids told me. Bye."
As she drove toward Avondale with the address punched into her Garmin GPS, she couldn't help laughing. That bitch probably wouldn't look at any man with less than 10 inches. And poor Bill probably couldn't even lift one of those udders. The bitch was a cow. Sure, she was pretty, kind of, but what man would be interested in teats that ought to be hanging under a Jersey. It was ridiculous.
She went by his condo first. It didn't look too bad. Small. She rang the doorbell. Knocked. Rang the doorbell again. It was dark inside and there was no sign that he was around. His Escalade wasn't there. So she went for the general purpose gym first. Even hearing that Bill was hanging around a boxing gym, she couldn't' see it. She'd save that for last.
The Garmin got her to a big warehouse looking building on the outskirts of Avondale. It was an older, wooded, 100 percent residential area except for a few streets leading into the area that boasted specialty shops for clothing, food, high-end restaurants. It was one of the more well-to-do sections of old Jacksonville.
The warehouse-looking building was topped by a large sign reading, "Hurly's". There was a large, empty and well-lit parking lot. There were no cars there. As she drove into the parking lot she swung through and saw two vehicles parked toward the bar in what looked like a loading area. One was an Escalade. The other some kind of SUV.
Even though this was a nice neighborhood, she was a little nervous. She pulled up directly in front of the front plate glass windows, looked around to make sure no one was in the lot or near the building and then got out, holding her cell phone in her left hand. She walked over to the window and peered inside. The interior was well lit, even though it was deserted. It didn't seem as if anybody was inside.
Then she spotted movement toward the left side of the building. There was a row of weight training machines in front of what must have been the changing rooms and bathrooms, On the far left were weights and beyond them what looked like a fairly good sized swimming pool. With the experienced eye of someone who had spent a lot time in places like this, she decided it looked like a fairly well equipped workout center.
Before she spotted a figure on the next to last weight machine further away from her a flash of anger ran through her. She had killed herself trying to get Bill to even come to places like this, and the fucking bastard started coming after she threw him out. What was the logic in that?
The man was naked to the waist. Bald as a billiard ball. The lights gleamed on his skull and glistened on the sweat pouring off his back and arms. She watched him for a moment. The muscles in his back flexed as he pushed up on the arms of the machine and hoisted the weights on the machine up with the muscles of his arms, shoulders and back. God, he was soaked through. There was something very sexy about sweat on a male body.
He was no muscleman. Slender. The muscles weren't terribly defined, she decided as she studied him with experienced eyes. Probably some young guy in his 20s or 30s just getting out of shape and his girlfriend or wife had pushed him to get into better shape. Looking closer she could see a bulge running from his back and as he hoisted the weights she could see him from the side. He definitely would have to work that pot but working out and sweating like that would probably take care of it.
She rapped on the window. Bill didn't appear to be anywhere in sight, although he might be in the pool. Or he was in the back showering. When the guy on the machine didn't respond, she rapped harder. She hoped he didn't have an Ipod stuck in his ears, which case she'd never be able to get his attention. It didn't look like it, but it looked like he had a T-shirt wrapped around his neck and it might cover up an IPOD cord.
He stopped in mid-thrust and let the weights down as he lowered his hands to his side. He must have heard because he started looking around. When he didn't see anyone around him he finally turned and looked back toward the front of the gym. He must have seen her because he stared at the front for a moment.
He got off the machine, stood up and stretched. God, Debbie thought watching him, she had to get hold of Doug. When you start getting heated up by young, out of shape, sweaty guys, it's a sure sign you're not getting enough. After a moment he started ambling toward the front. As he approached he took the tee-shirt and wiped his face and head. His chest and arms were still wet. Debbie took a deep breath. Either she was going to get hold of Doug or she was going to give Big John, her name for her 12-inch vibrator, an epic workout tonight.
He was almost to the front door and she realized there was something....something oddly familiar about his walk. She wondered if he was one of the young guys who hung out near her whenever she went to work out, ogling her butt and breasts. Sometimes they were brave enough to flirt, which was flattering, but more often than not they just watched.
He punched in a code on the alarm behind the front desk and then walked around and unlocked the door. He pushed it open and a rush of warm, almost hot air rushed out into slightly less warm night air. He was close enough for her to smell his sweat. Jesus, even that was....stimulating. He didn't say anything, just looked at her.
For a moment she felt self-conscious. She was wearing jeans and a top she had thrown on. It wasn't particularly tight and didn't have a low cut, but she bulged out of it. She bulged out of anything she bought that wasn't strictly for college work or professional engagements. And she was alone with a guy she didn't know from Adam, a complete stranger. If he was working in the gym and he had the security codes, he was probably safe, but...
She realized he hadn't said a word. He was staring at her with an odd expression on his face. His face...
"Bill?"
She stepped backward involuntarily.
She wondered what the psychiatrists would say, what name they'd attach to this condition. Seeing your middle-aged husband's face on strangers' sweating bodies? It couldn't be Bill, but the resemblance -- the eyes, the nose, the mouth -- was uncanny. This guy had a thinner face, a younger looking face, but other than that....
"Hello, Debbie. What are you doing here?"
She was speechless. She stared at the sweaty, half naked stranger in front of her. Bill?
"Lew already called me and told me what happened. Thank you for agreeing to my request. I -- I'm sorry it had to go down this way."
The more she stared at him the more he became Bill. A younger Bill. A Bill who looked more like the man she had married. The shaved head was strange. It didn't look anything like the Bill she knew, but somehow, it looked good. Why hadn't he done that before?
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
He looked at her strangely, then followed her gaze and looked down at his chest.
He gave her a reassuring smile.
"You haven't gone crazy. I forgot we haven't laid eyes on each other for about three months. I -- my appetite never really has come back. And a friend of mine arranged for me to starting working out here."
He gestured at his sweaty chest.
"They let me come in after hours and use the facilities. But they turn the air off when they shut the building down and I don't feel right using up their power. Besides, they tell me that sweating in this heat helps take the pounds off. So I usually work out in as little as possible. There's nobody around to offend. Of course, I have a long way to go. But it's helped."
She stared at rivulets of sweat running down his chest. The pectoral muscles were better defined than she remembered and he'd obviously built up his shoulders. The streams ran down past his nipples, his belly button and down beyond that to... For just a second she was 22 and he was standing over her in his dorm room. His cock was glistening with her spit, hard and strong and delicious. She leaned forward and took it in, inch after inch and tried to look at his face and drink in the expression.
She snapped back to the present. He was still talking.
"........know where I was. I didn't know the kids knew where the gym was, although I've talked to BJ and Kelly. But, why'd you come out here anyway?"
"I -- I...what in the hell did you do to your head?"
He ran his hand over his shaved head. It came off slick with sweat. He was still panting slightly.
"Well...you ever do anything just for the hell of it? I saw Kelly this afternoon when I picked her up after college. A couple of her friends made a comment about my looking older than you. They were surprised how old I was. Just another old guy with thinning hair. After I dropped her off I drove by a Great Cuts and had them shave it all off. Even polished it a little bit. I never knew they actually had cremes and oils for making naked heads gleam.
"It still looks a little bit weird when I actually look at it. I don't look like me anymore. But maybe that's not a bad thing. Anyway, my shampooing costs are going to go way down."
She still didn't say anything.
"Are you alright, Debbie? What's the matter?"
"I'm sorry, Bill. It's just that -- this is -- is a shock. Jesus Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack. It's like you're a....different person."
"And would that be a bad thing?"
She looked down at the sidewalk that run in front of the gym. It meant she wouldn't have to keep staring at that sweaty body.
"Bill, I...I keep saying I'm sorry. But I am. About -- the -- emails."
It was as if a curtain had descended over his eyes and the smile vanished.
"What are you sorry about, Debbie? That you wrote them? That you were going out behind my back and enjoying a life without me? That you shaved your damned pussy to get your boyfriend hot? That I found them? That I used them to spoil your alimony bid? Remember I'm an attorney. Be specific. Oh, and by the way, Lew told me that damned story about you guys not making it until after Friday night. I don't believe that and I never will."
She brought her eyes up until she was staring directly into his familiar, and yet strange eyes.
"I deserve that. I read the emails from beginning to end for the first time tonight. And if I were in your shoes I'd feel the same way. I probably won't ever be able to make you believe me, because I was cheating on you emotionally. I was making plans for how I'd leave you, how to break away, how to tell you I wanted a divorce. Maybe, probably, that was worse than actually having sex with Doug. So, if you don't want to believe me, that's okay. But I'm telling you the truth."
"Better late than never, right?"
"No. But, to answer your questions. I'm not sorry I wrote them. Those were my feelings. I'm sorry they hurt you but they were the truth. I'm sorry that I didn't the courage to ask for a divorce or a separation before I started going out on you and lying to you. And again, I can never prove to you that I wasn't having sex those times. But I wasn't.
"And about my shaved pussy. I was fantasizing about sex with Doug. I don't feel guilty for doing it. I feel so damned guilty for lying to you and trying to make you believe I did it for you. I never really felt like a lying tramp until that night.
"I hate that you found them, and more than that, I hate the way you found them. I don't know if Lew told you, but when he told me, I lost it. I got physically sick. I hated you for letting our marriage go, for not caring for me more than that damned job, but I know you've always loved me in your own way. I thought about what you must have felt, what must have gone through your mind when you read what I'd written about you. I never understood why you left your ring and that bloody note. Not until that moment when I was trying to puke my guts out."