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Profiles in Narcissism
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"Jim, I'm home. It's just same old me," Those were my opening words to my husband Jim, upon returning home from my night out of time. Had I had more time to prepare, or consider my words more carefully, I would have done it differently.
Unfortunately, I'd been on cloud nine until I got into Marc's Ferrari and finally started thinking about Jim and my marriage. That was a grand total of twenty minutes, from his door to mine. I'd completely forgotten about our hotel room from the night before - that's how gaga I was. I remember thinking that I hoped Jim had packed my things and brought them home. Especially the expensive bra and panty set I'd purchased. Then I wondered how Marc would have responded, had I been able to wear them for him. God, I couldn't shake that man - I was under his spell.
Marc kissed me, full tongue, before getting out and coming around to open my door. He was such a gentleman! I suspected he made a big deal out of it to pay my husband respect and appreciation for borrowing his wife. He gave me a friendly hug and said goodbye.
Jim was as angry as I'd ever seen him, angrier even. He called me unkind names and told me to go take a shower. That was hurtful. Of course, I'd spent the night with a celebrity that every woman wanted, but I wouldn't... couldn't possibly rub that in my husband's face. He was the man I loved, after all.
But the name-calling and the borderline rage had brought me out of my stupor. My fantasy was over, and now it was time to salve some hurt feelings. Jim was my husband, the man I wanted to grow old with. I knew what made him tick. As I scrubbed myself a lot harder than I had at Marc's earlier, I was already formulating a plan to love the anger right out of my man. I would try extra hard to prove my devotion until this passed, and we were back to normal.
But when I went back downstairs, trying to make him understand, he kept hurling insults at me and then at Marc. I tried my best to reassure him that I loved him, that my one night was over now, and that I'd do anything and everything to make it up to him. After I'd said that, I instantly regretted it. He could come up with a lot of things I wasn't willing to do.
Nothing I said made any difference. He had a counterpoint to everything I told him. He told me, not asking me to explain how it all started. My immediate idea was to quell any concerns he had about his masculinity. I told him how I'd only expected a dance or two, and some bragging rights over Dee, but how Marc's strong presence had overwhelmed me, leading up to him simply suggesting I make an excuse at the table and leave with him. It wasn't difficult to see by my husband's troubled face, that I'd made a huge mistake.
Jim informed me he was gathering the children and would return to spend time with them. He would then leave since he "couldn't stand to look at me," and he expected me to write down the entire evening from the time I got up to dance until Marc brought me home. I vehemently argued that would only hurt him, making things worse. He implied things couldn't get much worse, and that he wanted a written report, not my blubbering and stammering. He didn't say it exactly like that, but it's what he meant.
I implored him to stay at our home and panicked then. I used sex as a bargaining chip to keep him home, and he told me I'd need to get checked for STDs. That really pissed me off. Marc was a perfect specimen and he'd never be able to have that effect on women, while possibly giving them a little something to take home afterward. The idea was absurd and made our incredible night seem dirty, tawdry, and cheap.
Jim made sure to get my commitment to write down my fairy-tale evening in vivid detail.
By the time Jim left to pick up our children, I was the one with the hurt feelings. His final dig came when I told him I loved him, saying he had no idea what I meant by that. That was a cheap shot, turning the knife that had already been thrust into my heart. Still, in his eyes, I'd wronged him, so I needed to pick myself up by my bootstraps and be the remorseful wife. I hoped these feelings he was having wouldn't linger for long. My love for him wouldn't be able to take many more of these direct assaults and combined with how he felt about me at that moment, we'd surely be racing each other to divorce court.
When he came home, everything seemed okay, but after the kids went to bed, we were back at it. Jim reiterated he was leaving for the night. I didn't think arguing anymore that day would help, so I promised again to write what he'd asked me to and said goodbye.
After feeding the kids and fielding their questions about where their father went, I put them down with a story. I loved my kids, despite Jim's accusations. I'd do whatever was necessary to keep them happy. I certainly would never let Jim take them from me. I might even grovel and bow to him to prevent that.
Minutes after the kids were asleep, I was on the phone with Dee.
She was rapid-firing questions about my big night, but I needed her advice. "It was everything any woman could dream, Dee. He was the artist, and I was his muse. I was the instrument, and he was the master musician. But it's over now, and I needed your help. Jim went off the deep end. He's left but told me he'd be back. Tomorrow, he said, but maybe longer. I'm hoping for two days because he's angrier than I've ever seen him. I'm going to need that time to think and prepare."
"He's an idiot!" Dee jumped right on the 'loser Jim' bandwagon, as she always did. She'd never liked him - said he was a stuffed shirt. After her rant, she began asking me what he did and what he said. I gave her as much information as I could remember.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Linda?" she yelled. "Why in the hell would you promise to write it all down? He can use that against you in court, you get that, right?"
"I don't think he'd do th..." I began.
"You've lost your mind!" Dee screamed louder. "That's what Dave would do if he could get me to write it up. Frankly, if I were Jim, that's exactly what I'd be thinking. Try to do things the easy way, by getting a written, signed confession. He may be a strait-laced pussy, but even he isn't that stupid, girl. Don't - and I reiterate - do not write it down."
I have to," I cried out. "I already promised, and if I don't, he'll leave me for sure."
"Okay," she said more soothingly. "Let's try to do a cost-benefit analysis or risk assessment. I know it's been a hard day, but I'm your friend so hear me out. What's the worst that can happen if Jim leaves you, or you cut your losses now?"
"Dee," I said shocked, "that's not on the table! I need your help figuring out how I can get him to stay."
"I'm just talking worst-case," she plowed forward. "Say he comes home and says, in no uncertain terms, that you two are divorcing. Did you and Marc exchange numbers?"
"Yes, we did." I could see where she was going. "Dee, I'm not going to Marc. He's a player, and I was lucky enough to get played, and I'll have that memory for the rest of my life. How do I keep Jim?"
"We'll get there, honey," she was acting like the expert, a trait I'd come to dislike in her. "Now, if Jim decides to leave you, how will you react?"
"I don't know! There will be a custody battle, and I'll probably have to go back to work full time. I can't do that, Dee, I just can't! Not to mention, he'll tell everyone about what happened. I'd be the laughingstock."
"Okay," she said. "So again, think before you write. Now, let me say this because I can tell you aren't thinking about it. You have to maintain the advantage here, at all costs. If you'd have said, losing Jim was no big, then I'd proudly coach you on what I call "your time." This is your time, Linda. Don't forget that. Keep it in the back of your mind, in case the worst happens.
"You're young," she continued. "You're beautiful, but for us women, that has a shelf life. You hit forty - or God forbid, menopause - and it's over. You'll have trouble finding a decent man because most of them will be taken. For Jim, his time is later. Let's say he takes care of himself. Even at sixty, he'll have an age range of women to choose from - about thirty years - from 25-55."
"What are you talking about?" I asked, getting tired of this conversation.
"Geez, Linda," she was also getting frustrated, by what she thought I didn't know. "Don't you watch any porn? The big trend is these younger women, screwing older guys - calling them 'daddy' - and essentially getting everything paid for, without the worries of prostitution. And to be honest, they're pretty smart. Bypass the immature adolescence, and all the discovery - just start with a mature man who knows what he's doing in the sack. We don't have that luxury, so if you're planning to keep Jim, remember, he might not ever be able to forgive or forget. If that happens, you need an exit strategy before it's too late."
I was speechless.
"On the other hand," she went on. "Keeping him means you'd better make sure of a few things. You need to keep him off balance. Has he ever talked to you, or treated you like he did today?"
"No," I said honestly. "I didn't even know that side of him existed. He swore at me, said unkind things, and spat venom."
"Exactly," she said. "He's been eating out of your hand for ten years. If he gets even the slightest notion that maybe it should be the other way around from now on, or even what he might consider fairer, you're toast."
Regardless of Dee's incessant ranting, she'd made plenty of good points. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought Dee was trying to influence me into some sort of "Thelma and Louise" adventure. I always had the notion that she thought of Dave as a keeper, but I was starting to challenge that in my head.
So, I decided to write the letter of a lifetime to and for my husband. The first draft was laden with self-interest and gratification. Some of it though was worth keeping. So, I outlined where each part belonged in my letter. Mostly the layout was for me to create maximum confusion. I wanted to intersperse my love for Jim, with my joy at having Marc. That was the 'off balance' part Dee spoke of.
Of course, the sex part was the hardest to write. Dee had said that I should run with the musician and instrument concept, so I did. I wanted to go far enough, so Jim's manhood would be called into question, but just beneath the surface - almost left-handed.
There were things, of course, that I'd never admit to: like letting Marc have my ass. He'd been so gentle, preparing me with his large fingers, and rimming me for a bit. He even used a washcloth on himself before making me take him in my mouth right after. His asking me to return the rimming favor was another thing I'd take to my grave. I could deny Marc nothing. He'd taken me in the shower that next morning too, after already having cum in me more times than I could count. I could tell he realized I was being considerate to my husband, but he was hoping I wouldn't be able to get it all out, and Jim would get his sloppy seconds. Men are entirely too predictable.
I reread my letter several times over. It had to be perfect. It had to be honest - well as honest as I intended - meaning I had to stick with my most wonderful night and morning ever, all the while professing my undying love for Jim. I was darn proud of my finished product.
The next evening Jim came home. I was glad I'd finished my project. He played with Emma and Tommy and things seemed fairly normal. After the kids went to bed though, we went round again. I wasn't making any headway, but I told myself to be patient. This was probably going to be a long game. I gave him the letter, and some space by going to bed early.
I lay there thinking about what to say to him, afterward. When I asked if he'd read it all, and he told me twice, I said, "God help us," and rolled away from him sniffling. I was only half acting.
When we talked, Jim kept on about how we'd changed, our marriage, and both of us. I argued that point intentionally and vehemently. But my husband had a counter to everything I said. I wasn't scoring any points, and he already had the moral high ground, which could lead to what Dee warned me about. I made some concessions, hoping to slow his roll. I admitted that what he thought was our new reality, could be that, but I just didn't want to admit it. That only led to him pointing out that he couldn't trust anything about me that he thought he knew before my night with Marc.
I went in a new direction and compared my night with Marc to test-driving a Maserati. Jim had an answer to that too. I had to plead and beg that I never wanted anyone but him, even though my actions had told him otherwise. I hadn't changed, I told him over and over. He said if that was true then he'd never known me in the first place, or something like that.
We both went to bed, facing in opposite directions. I called Dee in the morning, before going to work my part-time shift. After filling her in, she was quiet for a long minute.
"You need to capture his attention, Linda," she began. "I've got an idea. Why not make him his favorite meal tonight, after you pick up the kids, and wear your blue party dress for him?"
"I don't think that's a good idea, Dee," I returned. "It might stir up memories that I want to help him forget. Maybe I should go buy a dress."
"No," she said with certainty. "That will send the wrong signal. If the blue dress was enough to get you noticed by Marc, and he and everyone else knows that, then you should play on his ego and pride. He'll want to reestablish his territory. He'll want to reassert himself over you as his wife. That's how men think - all that macho shit. Do it for dinner so he can't initially object in front of the kids."
Listening to Dee was a mistake. Jim almost lost it the second he saw me. He looked like he was going to throw up all over the kitchen floor. I immediately ran into his arms, apologizing. That worked at least for dinner. He was pretty adamant after the kids went to bed. I was trying to prove I hadn't changed - that we hadn't, but I was wrong. I had no words, so I asked the only logical question - what now?
The next several days were a nightmare. Jim would come home from work, eat the food I'd been slaving to make extraordinary, play with the children like I wasn't there, and then he'd leave to go to the Willing Mind, a little bar down the street. Often, he returned after I'd already gone to bed. The loneliness - no, the isolation - was killing me. Whatever emotion I needed to tap into, inside my husband's brain, I'd need to do it soon.
On Sunday night, I told him I wanted him to stay home so we could talk. Dee and I had talked, and she was beginning to run out of ideas. She told me that maybe Jim was too much of a Mr. Nice Guy, and I needed to start thinking about myself and the kids. She was back to Plan B. But a little later in the day, she texted me that the whole gang had decided to go out for St. Patrick's Day, and that was the perfect opportunity to put a little peer pressure on Jim.
That didn't work at all. Jim ensured I knew they were all my friends now, not his. I quickly agreed, well... told him my place was with him. Okay, sue me. I was getting desperate. But then Jim threw me a bone. He told me he'd spoken to an old family friend, L.W. Old he was, but for some reason, he'd immediately taken to me, and I'd had many a conversation with him at family get-togethers.
After Jim left the next morning, I called Dee and told her what had happened. She was pissed and promised to call Jim and 'straighten him out.' I told her to think about what she was doing and reminded her that she didn't seem to have a very good rapport with my husband and had failed miserably that night at Morrison's. Dee loved a challenge, so I knew she'd consider her words better before calling.
I called L.W. He almost seemed to be expecting my call.
"Hello, Linda," he answered jovially. "I'm sorry to hear about your... issue." The old curmudgeon just left it hanging there.
"Hi, friend," I began, sounding somewhere between playful and devastated. I expected a man of his age and stature would easily sort out those emotions. "I really fuc... screwed up. I don't want to cause trouble, but I'm hoping you could possibly tell me about your conversation with Jim. I find myself in a very difficult situation, and that's why I'm asking. I don't want to lose him, or my marriage."
L.W. was silent for a moment, then he began chuckling softly. "I can do even better," he answered. "But I have two questions for you first."
Fire away," I told him. "I'm happy to answer anything if you can help me."
"First," he said, "you do realize that you and Jim aren't compatible, don't you?"
Well, I wasn't expecting that. "Is that a question or a statement?" I exchanged a question of my own. Before he could respond, I added, "And I do not realize that. I love that man, and he loves me."
"That's what I thought you'd say," he was chuckling again. "Linda, we both know that if given the opportunity, you'll do this again. Before I help you, I need you to at least acknowledge that fact."
I thought about it for a bit. The silence was shrilling. "Okay, sure, if that's what you want," I said definitively.
"Good girl," he went on. "Now, I've been giving it some thought. I think I have a way to help you not only keep him but also force him to see what happened that night you went with Marc. It's going to cost a pretty penny, and I'll have to sort out the details if I can even pull it off. We're going to have to work in tandem."
"Whatever you need me to do," I said sincerely. "If it will help keep my family together."
"I'm glad to hear you say that," L.W. continued. "I'm going to need some sort of compensation, Linda."
"What are you suggesting?" I asked.
"Well, this is going to cost me at least five grand," he pointed out. "You don't have the money to help with that, and even if you did, it would be disastrous if Jim ever found that entry in your bank statement. It'll require something a little more... personal."
"You want sex from me?" I asked incredulously. "In return for your help?"
"That depends," he countered. "I'm seventy-seven. I doubt intercourse is on the menu. But, some other things, yes. That's what I'm suggesting."
I didn't even blink before answering. I had to get Jim back in the fold. If L.W. needed to feel young again, so be it. He told me that his plan might take some time to put together, and then he gave me some additional advice on how to handle Jim before we said our goodbyes.
My husband and I flailed along, not making any headway. He spent a lot of time at that bar. I finally couldn't take it anymore, so I went there in hopes of bending a fellow female's ear and getting some intel on what Jim was doing when there. To my relief, Jim was only drinking and thinking, I was told.
Jim had it in his head that he couldn't trust me not to do it all again if the chance presented itself. I tried everything I could think of to convince him, but he wasn't biting.
Then I received flowers from Marc.
I spent an hour on the phone with Dee, planning what I would do, but it was a conversation right afterward with Jane, that gave me an idea.
"It seems to me, Linda," she told me. "If Jim doesn't trust you anymore, and why would he, your actions need to speak for themselves. Get rid of those flowers, like you should have when they were delivered, and show him the card. Include him in your decision-making process. Ask for suggestions. Make him feel important."
She was right, of course. I took the beautifully expensive bouquet down to the back side of our local grocery and dumped them. That was hard to do. The attached card also made me think about my situation in a new light.
Jim was a spectacular husband. He complimented me - at least he did - before I betrayed him cruelly. We were each other's better halves, in a practical real-life way. Now he'd seen me at my worst.
I too, had seen a different side of Jim. I'd always thought male pride and ego were among the worst traits in men. Usually, it manifested itself in some smug asshole who thought he was God's gift to women. But pride could also be crushed, and ego bruised. That was equally unappealing to me. In my husband's case, he was acting like a little boy about my night with Marc.
A guy, married or not, could hit on a woman - married or not - in public or private with not a thought about it. They could secretly rendezvous with that woman, with no concern if she fucked her husband or boyfriend that morning. But, if a guy put a ring on it, she was somehow his property. Sex with another suddenly made her off limits. In Jim's case, a valid point about disease or infection, but I knew it was more ego than anything else. I could go to the supermarket any afternoon since my date with Marc, tell some guy who showed interest, that I'd screwed Marc Lavaliere, and be in a motel bed within a half-hour. Jim was making a statement, cutting me off, and sleeping in a different room.
Marc, though, was a different animal. While he truly was an animal in bed, he was also a kind and confident man. His confidence enhanced his kindness. He knew what he wanted, and he took it, without any reluctance or fear. He'd treated me with at least as much respect as Jim ever had. He considered my needs in bed, all the while making sure his needs were met. To him, I was special.
So the thought kept creeping in - should I risk another liaison with Marc? The way Dee talked about their St. Patrick's Day celebrations; Marc could even be missing me. The phone call and subsequent message confirmed it. He wanted another night together, but he also wanted to get to know me better.
Jim wasn't beside himself with worry. In fact, his calm calculating attitude scared me. He told me Marc could indeed want a relationship with me, and that it was up to me to decide what I wanted.
When I called Marc the next day, we spoke for nearly a half hour. Indeed, he was hoping for more sex but also wondering if we could get to know each other - maybe start dating. He confided that he was heading to the west coast after the upcoming season, and thought that by then, we'd both know if we were a good fit for one another. He wanted sex, yes, but he also wanted to meet my kids. That seemed a little surreal for a man like Marc, but he was the one soliciting.
In the end, I told him that because of what we'd already done, it wasn't just Jim who I had to be concerned about. We both had parents, family, friends, and neighbors who would look poorly on me if I kept on with him behind my husband's back and then simply left town with my kids in tow.
He fully understood - he told me. Marc extended the offer to San Francisco if things didn't work out with Jim. Then he offered me something. Well, two things actually - although I could see how he was thinking. One more afternoon with him at his home, when I could take time off work, and in return, he'd call me later in the day on my home line, so I could record the conversation. He did a quick role play with me; myself as the staunch loving wife, refusing him what we both wanted and he, playing the hurt Lothario. It was a kind and thoughtful thing to do.
When Jim listened to the recording, he began to soften. As I thought about getting him back in our bed, I realized that I'd completely forgotten about his stupid STD test. I went to a clinic instead of our family doctor and asked for the results to be rushed. I even paid extra. Jim would get a different story.
Truth be told, I was getting pretty sick of his righteous indignation. I'd gone with a famous athlete to have sex one time - well plenty of times, but all in one session. It was the best night of my life, by far. Better even than our honeymoon. Now, he seemed hell-bent on making me pay for it.
My problem was that I'd played the loving wife for so long, that I couldn't change my whole persona. The groveling was starting to piss me off. "I love only you... I chose you, always... Yes, I compare the two of you, but you win every time." Yeah, right. It wasn't even close.
There was a big part of me that wanted to go to Marc. To live that rags-to-riches life. To have things that would never be within reach married to Jim. To buy my children anything their hearts desired. They'd probably even forget their father over time. Who cares if Marc went out and got laid once in a while - as long as he came home to me? That's what I'd promised my husband - to always come home to him. Why couldn't he see that for what it was? A commitment.
Dee and I didn't talk much after St. Patrick's Day. For all her big talk, when Dave jumped her shit, she caved like a house of cards. I could see Dave being a lot like Jim. Always willing to linger his gaze over Jane and me a little longer than appropriate, but a real stickler when it came to his wife's fidelity.
But I was stuck now. I'd told Marc my intentions, and he'd left things open for us. I had to get Jim back on team Linda.
Five days after my fake phone conversation with Marc, I meekly handed Jim an envelope with my STD results. I picked them up from the clinic, right after my quick afternoon with Marc. To be honest, it wasn't as good as the first night. We were in a rush, and he only worried about his own pleasure.
Jim took the envelope. The first look on his face hurt my feelings, and possibly set the stage for the rest of our married life. The expression looked like he didn't care, but worse, he looked nervous, as if he now had to perform with me.
I tried to soften him up, like it seemed I had to do almost every day, now. "I think we both need this... to start healing," I said with my well-practiced little sad face. "Besides, if I get hit by a bus tomorrow, Marc will have been the last person I've been with. I couldn't take that."
It was enough. Jim took my hand, and we went to our bed. It was underwhelming, and to say I was extremely disappointed would have been an understatement. We tip-toed around his insecurities and made what he always referred to as 'slow, gentle love.' I was expecting mind-blowing. I was expecting him to be rough, and to take me, as Dee had described - reclaim me - I think was how she put it.
That didn't happen. My overly meek husband became even more so that night. It felt like when we'd done it the very first time. Jim's strong points had never included sex. Hell, I'd taught him most of what he knew in bed, and that required patience over the years.
In the middle of the night, I dragged myself out of bed and downstairs, to fulfill a promise I'd made, although I had no desire to do so. I wrote Jim another letter, doing everything in my power to boost him up. Boost that silly ego and pride. I couldn't help getting a few digs in for the lackluster sex we'd just had. I tempered it - I really did. After re-reading it, I almost started over. Letting him know that it wasn't only not the best sex we'd ever had, but how much better it was with Marc, might backfire on me. In the end, I couldn't throw it away. I couldn't burn it, with the temperamental fire alarms we had everywhere, so I just left it. I asked him to staple it over the confession letter, so we could start making new memories. At least I'd done something instead of nothing.
A few weeks later, I received a call from L.W. He may have been an old codger, but he was a wise one. He told me he had a plan and a solution, and he asked if I would meet him later in the week when the kids were in school. We settled on Thursday, my day off.
The hotel was twenty miles from our home and two towns over. At least L.W. made the effort to get a nice room at the Hilton. He had a key card ready for me at registration. When I walked in, he was already lounging on the bed.
"Hello, Linda," he said with a charming little smirk. "It's wonderful to see you again."
I smiled and sighed at the same time. "Plan first, or is it sex?" I asked.
"Relax," he admonished, but sweetly. "Have a glass of wine. Red is your favorite, isn't it?"
I saw two glasses already filled next to what looked to be an expensive Cabernet bottle. I'm ashamed to say I didn't sip it. Somehow, L.W. had quietly gotten off the bed, and was now behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I soon felt his hot breath on my neck and stifled a shiver.
"You don't have to romance me, L.W.," I told him. "We have a limited amount of time."
He wasn't offended in the slightest. That's what wisdom is made of.
"May I undress you?" he asked softly. I turned to face him, giving him my best smile. The blue dress that had been intended originally for my Husband, now a little worse for the wear, was unzipped, and gently slid down and off my body. I slid my shoes off and went for my bra.
L.W. held his hand out and up, much like Marc had that night at the Morrison. I gave him mine and he led me to the bed. L.W. had a debonaire quality to his attempted seduction, and I must admit that I was starting to get a little turned on. After he had me sit on the bed, he began to take his clothes off directly in front of me. I was bracing myself for the blowjob he clearly wanted.
But that wasn't what he wanted, for which I was very thankful. He lay naked on his back, propping up a pillow. While I just looked at him for some sort of direction, he seemed to revel in my confusion.
"What do you want?" I asked softly and seductively. "Tell me."
"Nothing traditional, my dear," he said with a slight chuckle. "I'm a seventy-seven-year-old man, with a few acquired tastes. Intercourse does nothing for me, so don't worry about that."
L.W. was a dirty bugger, I'll give him that. He had me sit facing him, between his outspread legs. After he asked me to remove my panties, of course. He asked me to use my hands to get him started, as he put it. After he was mostly hard, L.W. pointed at my foot.
"Let me have that," he said with a wicked smile.
I put my left foot in his hand, and he pulled it to him, stretching my leg fully. The old bastard licked my soles and sucked my toes, for nearly five minutes. He was giving me an expert foot massage all the while. It felt... heavenly, and I was getting turned on. Finally, he put my foot on his cock, and I started massaging him as best I could. He was responding too.
"Your other foot," he said exhaling. "Use them both, one on each side."
I did, although I was quite a novice. It was hard getting a rhythm. I was reminded, due to his thoroughly spread legs, of a time when I'd tickled Jim down below his balls. I moved my right foot over his sack massaging them with the ball of my foot, and then slightly lower, onto his perineum. That elicited a nice groan from him. Damn, I was getting over-heated. I rubbed my clit while watching him wiggle like a fish on a dock.
Eventually, and after two orgasms of my own, L.W. popped his nut. Yellowish semen dribbled out of his pee hole onto my foot. Thank goodness I'd already cum - that was not sexy. Ever the gentleman, he got up and returned from the bathroom with a warm wet towel, washing his goo from me. He kissed each little piggy, before getting up to get dressed. L.W. did all that without a word.
He poured himself a second glass of wine and turned to look at me. I hadn't moved or made any attempt to put my panties back on. That brought a smile and another slight chuckle.
"Is there something I can do for you, my dear?" he asked. "If it involves my cock, I'll warn you, my recovery time is... significant."
With a sigh, I gathered my undies and headed for the bathroom. The mood had been shattered, and it was time to get down to business.
"So, what's this miraculous plan?" I prodded, coming out of the restroom. He held my dress up to me.
"I'm not sure it's miraculous," he scowled. "I've found a way... an opportunity to possibly make Jim feel the same way as you did with your football star that night."
"Go on," I told him, zipping my dress.
"A woman," he said, "a stunning woman, a high-class escort, specifically. I've paid her to meet you in a bar - somewhere with music for dancing. I don't want to get into what we've rehearsed because I need you to have at least some semblance of shock. She'll steal him away from you in the very same way as you left Jim that night."
"What?" I almost shouted. "Why would I want that? I'm trying to get Jim back on my side, not have him go fuck some escort."
"Ah," he replied, "but he won't leave with her. She'll remind him, somewhere near the door, that he has a wife, and that he's left her without a thought. Jim will turn toward you, like a damned Hallmark movie, and you'll be there, bawling your eyes out, looking bruised and beaten."
"I don't know," I responded. "There's a lot that could go wrong with that plan. What if he tells her that he'd rather go with her? Or, what if this woman feels something for Jim?"
"Wow," L.W. just laughed at me, mockingly. "Listen to yourself, Linda. I'm trying to help you here - help the both of you, as luck would have it. I know Jim better than ever before with all the talking we do."
I was suddenly feeling a bit betrayed. "All the talking?"
"See, right there," he said accusingly. "That's what I'm talking about. Linda, you are one self-absorbed individual. I'm going to help Jim because he's like family to me, and by extension, so are you. If it was just you, probably not. You left Jim hanging, in a most cruel and humiliating way. You did it because you felt entitled to do so."
I did not!" I began, but he had me dead to rights. Instead, I hung my head.
"Jim and I talk at least weekly, sometimes more," he informed me. "He's still with you because of the children. If I can help him see why people do what you did then there's a slim chance for you two. If not, well I think you're already living your future. He'll spend all his time thinking how he can't compete with Marc because, in reality, he can't.
"He told me about Marc's calls and flowers," he continued. "Frankly, I was surprised his story didn't end in tragedy. I'm sure you thought long and hard about Marc's offer."
He had me again. I didn't answer his accusation. "Right," he added. "Many women think like you do, Linda. Find some comfort in that, but here's some free advice, from someone who's been knee-deep in my share of divorces, including my own, long before you and Jim ever met.
"Our society provides an unseen, subconscious sense of entitlement," he preached. "Without any regard for consequences, or for the future. Let's take the latter for now. Look what we just did. Up until a few years ago, I could still pleasure a woman, by any means. Age has finally caught up with me. I never remarried, after I left my money-grubbing wife. There was no need. I had my pick of the litter. Good looking, according to many of them, self-confident, and with plenty of money in the bank, to woo them."
"And the point?" I asked unctuously. He was on my last nerve, with his soapbox.
"The point is simple," he said with equal smugness. "Look in the mirror, Linda. Right now you're a beautiful woman. Curves in all the right places, and you exude sexuality. Think about all your female aunts, your mother, and maybe your grandmother. You hit fifty. No matter how much time you spend taking care of yourself, the back of your arms starts drooping. Your thighs and ass turn to cottage cheese in a short amount of time. You hit sixty, and you don't even recognize yourself in a mirror. Your neck, your stomach, and even those pretty feet - all on the serious decline, and I'm not even talking menopause. That wake-up call parallels your plight. You're no longer looking for a sexy husband, but rather a companion. Someone to keep you company, make you laugh, and fill your time.
"Jim will be a more distinguished, more experienced version of himself. If he takes care of his body, he'll still be having satisfying sex well into his sixties. You've got ten years invested in your marriage. I say marriage instead of husband because I know how much you think of him. Your actions proved that. If you remain as self-centered as you are now, I'd suggest forgetting about my plan and just leaving the guy. He'll get over it, believe me, and at your collective ages, plenty of time to start fresh."
I left flabbergasted. It was like L.W. could see right through me. Was I that transparent? I shuddered to think of it. He'd made a few good points, and I knew he had seen more than his fair share of divorces.
Still, I loved my husband - or maybe just the idea of him. He was a great father. He was helpful too and seemed to know when I needed it most. Besides, I'd already blown Marc off.
Later that week, I decided that my best option was to wait Jim out and take L.W. up on his plan. I needed an excuse to get Jim and me to a club. If I could get Jim past Marc always being metaphorically in our bed with us, I was sure we could move forward.
My birthday was rapidly approaching. Jim, bless his heart, always tried to come up with something special, but he'd get bogged down and overwhelmed when he started second-guessing himself.
Usually, I lobbed a few innocuous suggestions at him, but this year I made it clear that I wanted to go dancing somewhere. The look he gave told me what he was thinking.
"Not at the Morrison, Jim," I told him tenderly, with a disappointed undertone. "Just somewhere that has music, and I can dance with my husband."
Jim took the bait, but it took some detective work on my part to discover exactly which club we were going to. I called L.W. and the night was set.
I had to hand it to L.W., Ellen, if that was her real name, was stunning. I probably would have left with her, just like Marc, and I didn't even play for that team. She had my husband eating out of her palm before the second dance ended. Watching the two of them did cause some actual jealousy. I quickly snapped myself back to reality just in time to put on my Academy Award performance.
Jim came back to me, apologizing and trying to wipe away my tears. A couple of them were even legit. I gave him a tempered cold shoulder the rest of the evening and went to bed when we got home. Other than the jealousy, I'd surprisingly become turned on by the power Ellen exuded over my man. I'd have to wait to scratch that itch, but if this worked out as I expected, Jim would be raring to go the next night. And, I could only hope, all the other nights of our lives together.
I did make love to Jim the next night. Yes, I was the aggressor, which was out of character for me, and he knew it. But to me, it was necessary to prove I had no hard feelings about Ellen. I wouldn't say exactly that my plan backfired, but Jim was certainly confused. Perhaps I overdid it or sent some kind of mixed message.
Our family trudged along through the summer. It was particularly hot and muggy, as I recall. In the bedroom, things were still frosty. Frosty was the wrong word. Jim still fucked me, but that was different from making love to me. He'd once been so attentive. I couldn't understand what was wrong with him, still. Jane again, was the one who diagnosed my husband.
"I'm not sure what you expected," she admonished. "I can't say I've ever seen someone more broken or lost as Jim was that night."
"But I've done everything I can think of to make it up to him," I wailed into the phone, without meaning to. "And he did almost leave with that tramp on my birthday."
"That doesn't mean anything, Linda," she was more consoling now. "My sister's friend, Hallie, cheated on her husband with her boss. Somehow, she was able to convince him to stay and try to work it out. They had small children like you two do. They did counseling - the whole nine yards - but when I see her while visiting my sister, she claims that everything has changed. Mind you, it's eight years down the road. She's torn, trying to stay together and keep making things up to him, but she confesses that she often thinks about splitting. She says there was just too much damage. What you need, Linda is patience. Lots and lots of patience."
It wasn't fair. The thought of it taking Jim that long to get past his hurt, was horrifying. Meanwhile, I was fresh out of ideas. I decided to call L.W. for advice, and I did, shortly after speaking to Jane.
"It didn't work," I told him after our greeting. "Jim is still gloomy, and our sex life isn't much better. I can tell he makes the effort, but it's hollow at best. I need your help. You still talk to him regularly, don't you?"
"I do," he responded with a heavy sigh. "And you're wrong, Linda. It worked perfectly. Jim has admitted as much. Listen, my goal as I've stated from the beginning, was trying to keep the two of you together. That's been accomplished, hasn't it? Jim's internal feelings on the matter are something entirely different. Maybe he'll forgive and forget someday, and maybe he won't. I'm no magician."
"But that's what I want," I cried out desperately. "It's what I need. You've got to help me - help us, please? Can't you work on him? Try to explain how much better our lives will be if he can simply forget the entire thing. He took the bait, just like I did. Can't you use that to make him see?"
"Linda, let me ask you something, and answer honestly," he said. "How would you have felt if Jim had left with Ellen that night? Would you have stayed married?"
I knew the answer immediately but couldn't bring myself to say it. "That's what I thought," he told me sternly. "I told Ellen to use her judgment and discretion if Jim followed her like an orphaned puppy out that door. She must have pitied you, or she wasn't that much into Jim. The way Jim tells it because he'd forgotten you even existed as he followed her to the door, until she pointed him in your direction. I left it open on purpose. Jim is a family friend."
"Yeah, right," I spat into the phone. "Some much so, you blackmailed his wife to fuck you, in return for your help."
"Linda, let me be clear," he said stoically. "What I did, I did for Jim and the kids, and maybe a little for you. At our Labor Day barbeque, which you will attend, by the way, I'll be admitting that I set the two of you up with Ellen. He's still at home with his family. Maybe him knowing that not only do I know but instigated the entire thing, will help him. It could also hurt him worse."
"You going to admit about what we did?" I was still fuming. "What you did, how you coerced me?"
"I didn't fuck you, Linda," he was so calm. I suddenly felt over-matched. "If you'd been even the least diligent, you might have noticed my phone propped up against the fake bowl of fruit on the counter. That's called evidence, my dear. That recording shows a married woman, eager to masturbate an old man. The best advice I can give you is to act surprised at the barbeque, and let it go at that."
I decided to take the old guy's advice. He kind of had me over a barrel. During the rest of that summer, I played the remorseful wife, doing plenty of things I didn't want to do to get back in Jim's good graces. Some of it seemed to work, but things were still drastically different in our marriage. Jim stopped spending some much time at the Willing Mind and started giving the kids his full, undivided attention. He'd always been a great father, but now it was like he was trying to win Father-of-the-Year.
Jim seemed to take it well, at the party where L.W. made his big reveal. I don't know if Jim still went to see him after that, but he never mentioned the old codger's name again. By Christmas of that same year, Jim and I were having sex only about twice per month. The sex itself was mechanical, if I had to try and describe it. He made sure I was 'taken care of' but, there wasn't any of the caring romance that we'd once had.
Every time I attempted to bring it up, Jim kept saying the same thing. "It's gonna take time, Linda." Then he would shut down the conversation. I had no traction because I'd already used all the ammo in my bag. I'd made all the excuses, promises, loving innuendo, and justifications in my haste to get our lives back to normal. There was nothing left for me to say that wouldn't be redundant.
Life settled into that new normal for us. Additionally, Since Jim was no longer friends with our little group, he made plans for his own time elsewhere. He'd always spent at least a few hours at the gym each week, but now he would come home and talk about this person or that. Sometimes it would be a guy, and sometimes a woman. He joined a Saturday morning cycling club and even a Sunday afternoon horseshoe league. Those were replaced with a poker night when the cold winter settled in.
If I needed more sex, I'd have to initiate it. Jim was always accommodating, but the effort and outcome were almost always dissatisfying. I got off, but there was no attempt to reengage or even cuddle afterward. I bought myself a small but powerful vibrator as a Christmas present.
The following year, Jim enrolled the kids in youth sports programs that stretched our finances a bit. He told me he wasn't going to allow them to sit in the house all of the time, watching Disney movies. Jim coached Tommy in coach-pitch baseball, which was some sort of precursor to Little League. He also coached Emma's soccer team. I cheered on my family from the sidelines.
Jim also had a talk with me about going to work full-time, either where I already was employed or elsewhere. He said the kids were only going to get more expensive as they grew. That was his response to me floating the idea that we have another child. Nothing was working out as I had planned.
For the next six years, our family operated like a well-oiled corporation. I believe we were the envy of the other parents in our sphere of influence. The kids were happy and well-adjusted. It was the opposite in our bedroom.
I'm not ashamed to say that I had two dalliances, one with a single father from Emma's soccer team, and another with a salesman who sold office supplies to my company. In both cases, I made sure to be discreet, and that the men knew it was a one-off - no affair - and no further romancing. If Jim was doing the same, I never knew. He was always where he was supposed to be, at least to my knowledge.
It shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. Two days after Emma's sixteenth birthday party, Jim sat down with me and told me he was divorcing me. I cried, sobbed even, but I didn't lose it. The truth was, I'd been expecting it a lot sooner. Jim was firm but fair, and what hurt the most was his lack of emotion.
"This can stay amicable," he told me stoically. "We don't even need lawyers. I printed all these forms from a legal site online. All we have to do is agree."
I made the mistake of asking what if I didn't want a divorce and fought it?
"Then," he said, "I become a real asshole. I've had six years to consider all the options. I've also planned accordingly. Both kids have a college fund started that I've been paying into. I split the house payments into bi-monthly to reduce the interest. It will be paid off next year. We're going to have equal shared custody, and if you fight me on anything, I've got your confession letter and a long list of people who will receive it. Don't make me use it, because I promise I will."
He'd thought of everything, and he was being more than fair. Still, I felt compelled to try one more time.
"So, you couldn't find it in your heart to forgive me, is that it?" I asked bitterly.
"Maybe," he replied, then changed direction. "No, that's not accurate.
With a long sigh, he continued. "That night - you went with asshole - as I walked back to our hotel, I lost something crucial in my heart for you. The way you presented yourself when you came home the next day, made me lose even more. Suffocated in my hurt and rage, I didn't know it at the time. That came later. I can't say I lost love because if I didn't love you, I couldn't have been so humiliated and in such pain. Your sense of entitlement in what you did, was as real as my pain and humiliation.
"In my opinion, "he went on, "it was respect and trust that had been chipped away. It took some time to come to that realization. The way you talked out loud and, in your letter, - on the one hand saying I was the most important thing to you - and all the while, rubbing asshole's perfection in my face constantly, finally made me understand that you didn't respect me. Either you never did, or you'd lost it along the way. I'd never be able to trust a woman with my heart, who had that sense of entitlement, so the choices became clear.
"I wasn't going to let you steal our kids' chances for a happy life. So, I decided to forgive you - to a point - and focus on Tom and Em (Their teen names, now). I decided that six years in a so-so marriage was a small price to pay for their happiness. Now, it's time for both of us to get on with the next chapter of our lives."
And just like that, Jim and I were no more. I ended up telling my parents the truth, fearful that Jim might become vindictive at some point. Their disappointment lingered for a long time. True to his word, though, Jim never told our children any specifics, and never bad-mouthed me to them.
I stopped talking to Dee, finally, because she always talked about Jim negatively. She saw him as overly playing the victim, and far too old-fashioned in his approach to life. She and Dave were divorced by then, so I didn't see her as a subject matter expert.
What was my next step - my next great adventure? I tried to contact Marc. He'd left the door open, after all. I knew he'd retired and had opened a dance studio in Sausalito. When I PM'ed him, he didn't respond initially, but I was persistent. Finally, he replied:
"Do we know each other?"
So I explained to refresh his memory.
"Oh, yes. You were one of the ladies from the Morrison, right? I'm happily married now, so please don't contact me anymore."
One of his ladies. That's what he'd said, and I knew he meant it. That was when my depression started. I'd thrown away a chance at a long, wonderful life for one night of mind-blowing sex. Had I taken him up on his offer to leave Jim and be with him, it would never have worked.
I dated a lot in the beginning. I think it was partly because of how Jim had explained himself. It was time to move on to the next chapter. I wasn't in competition with my former husband, but I was eager to find the new man I could find that long-term companionship with. It wasn't easy and it never happened.
I saw Jim, ironically with his new wife Ellen - not the same Ellen - at Thomas' wedding. He'd gone into medicine and didn't finish school until he was twenty-eight. When he finally got married, he was thirty. I attended without a date. After the mother-father dance, I asked if we could chat a bit after the happy couple left the reception. As always, Jim was gracious in allowing me the time.
I apologized for all I'd done to him and us. I knew it was a long time coming to finally give a proper 'sorry.' Jim listened kindly, without interruption, bless his good nature.
As I watched him with his wife on the dance floor, the words of wisdom came back to me. I was fifty-two, and two dress sizes larger than when we divorced. In the mirror, my bare ass looked like an unstirred tub of yogurt. The lines on my face took far more time to conceal now. I could still attract attention in a skirt or dress, but thankfully, those men didn't get to see the extra veins in my legs unless we wound up naked.
At fifty-four, he was al the same man, with a sexy touch of grey that made him even more handsome. I didn't think that should be possible. He looked like the same old, plain old Jim, but wiser, and more debonaire.
That's when I started seeing a therapist. She helped me, over time, to understand my narcissistic tendencies. Jim had been everything I'd ever wanted or needed - and then some - even in separation. My 'wrong thinking' originated in my worldview about celebrities, and that they superseded normal societal rules. My therapist once asked if I'd been approached to dance by a fifty-something man, plainly dressed, ordinary in every way except my attraction to him while dancing, would I have left with him as I did Marc?
The answer was 'no.' The reason was simple - the other women - including my girlfriends, would not have been jealous. Beyond jealousy, the real envy would occur when Cinderella left the ball with her prince.
For a long time, I was angry and bewildered with Jim. Why couldn't he just let me have this one thing? Had become my mantra. My counselor helped me to understand the simplistic answer. Jim had his own mantra, based on his upbringing and our wedding vows. Had we discussed it beforehand, there may have been a compromise, or maybe not. He'd been right that very first day - I didn't love him the way he'd thought - and I had to become an old woman to realize it.
Like everything else in abundance, sex with random men became boring. I still saw my children and grandchildren regularly, but I knew they spent far more time with Jim and Ellen. He'd made sure of that in the years after Marc. I spent my later years, wiser yes, and volunteering my time with local charities. My roommate, a woman named Beth, kept me from being lonely. It was a strictly platonic relationship that I treasured.
Had I known what a truly narcissistic person I was, would it have changed that night? I've tried to answer that question, but it's difficult when you are who you are. Sometimes I still dream of my night with the famous and best lover of my life, which tells me, while smarter, I've still got a long way to go. Oh well!
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Posted on : Mar 29, 2025
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