An Apology

This is a work of fiction and does not relate to actual events. Any mention of a person, place or thing is coincidental and should not be taken as an accurate portrayal of that person, place or thing. No one under 18 engages in sex.

I try to put all episodes in the same category, but that isn't possible for this story.

The ringing of my phone woke me around ten a.m. on the last Sunday of November 2020. Still drained from helping herd 11 kids at Universal Studios the day before, I didn't pay much attention to the number displayed on the screen.

They will return to school tomorrow after Thanksgiving vacation. Four of them are grandchildren of my lovers and two are mine. I lived with my lovers most of the time, but didn't always sleep in the same bedroom. They certainly would be interested in this development.

"Cliff Robinson speaking," I answered after I managed to punch the correct icon on the screen. My vision takes a few seconds to clear after I wake up.

"Hello, dad. This is your daughter."

I shook my head; unsure I'd heard right. Our last short and bitter conversation occurred six years ago when she finished college.

"Please don't hang up. I need to speak with you," she said before I got my wits together enough to act.

"Hang on a second until I wake up more." I put the phone against my chest and considered how to respond. Common courtesy required me to at least listen. Curiosity sealed the deal.

"I'm back. What may I do for you?"

"I'm going to be in the Los Angeles area Wednesday through Friday attending a business meeting. I'd like to talk more in depth with you.

"Please don't turn me down. It's important we talk."

Words still evade me. "Go ahead."

"I owe you an apology. The situation is too complicated for the phone. I need to meet face to face."

Biting back the bitter words I wanted to say, I calmed my voice as much as I could. "Just you? No husband, no children, no mother?"

"No. Just me dad.

"Okay. Please give me at least 12 hours' notice before you want to meet. This is late November and early December. I have a contract negotiation this next week. I'll have a better idea of my schedule by then."

"Thank you, dad. It will be nice to see you again." I could tell by her voice she meant the words.

I put the phone on the nightstand and laid back on the bed, memories flooding over me. Most of the recollections were bitter, the kind that brings bile up into a person's throat. In the last 16 years, I have only seen her five times, all but one at a distance or on video.

A favorite trope in the Loving Wives section of Literotica is where the wife tells the husband she's going away with a man for a weekend or on a business trip. "I still love you and everything will be fine when I return" is the language she uses. That happened to me 17 years ago and torpedoed my life.

Kate and I started dating in high school. We married when we finished at Oregon State University. I always planned to take law school at Willamette University in Salem. She worked as an accountant to help me pay for school.

We waited until I finished law school and passed the Oregon Bar exam before we started a family. Her pregnancy turned out to be a living hell for both of us. Constant pain that kept me awake at night. Frequent bleeding that necessitated trips to urgent care. Extensive bed rest where she required constant attention.

After Melanie was born, the doctors told us we shouldn't try again. They recommended a complete hysterectomy because of damage to her uterus.

Hindsight is often 20-20. I can see all these years later that her behavior started to change once she went to work after Mel joined us. But it happened so slowly I didn't catch on.

The year I turned 30, I changed law firms and joined a seven-member firm that specialized in governmental law. My best friend from law school also worked for the firm and helped me get the job.

I took it without hesitation. I often participated in divorce cases, which I hated. I could specialize in one subject rather than work on whatever case came along. We had contracts with many special districts, cities and counties in the Northwest part of Oregon

We parceled out the evening meetings, so we never had more than one, occasionally two a week. That allowed me to spend more time with my daughter during the day.

Within ten years, the two senior partners planned to retire. Dan Crocker and I would take over. I figured I was set for life with a good job that I loved, a great wife and an adorable, smart daughter. Little did I know what brewed behind the scenes.

One quick note about my name. Cliff Robinson played basketball for the Portland Trailblazers for eight seasons.

He started in 1990 during the time when the Blazers had one of the best teams in the NBA. The Blazers sometimes offered special deals to college students, which included Kate and I during my second year in law school.

Before he left Portland, I met him several times. He always amazed me with his humility and good-naturedness. At six foot ten, he held the record for the tallest player to hit over 1,000 three-point shots for several years. Eventually, guys like Dirk Nowitzki and Rashard Lewis eclipsed him.

His constant use of marijuana frequently got him in trouble and earned him a suspension in 2001. He liked to frequent the sex clubs and strip joints too. He died of lymphoma in 2020.

Things went great until Kate earned a promotion as personal assistant to one of the division heads for an international shoe and sporting goods company based in Portland. I'll leave the name unwritten because I don't want any legal complications. Before you jump to conclusions, there is more than one such company with headquarters in Portland.

In June, after Kate and I turned 37, and Melanie turned 12, Kate gave the speech I mentioned earlier. This time a business trip to Chicago meant she would fly out Tuesday evening and back on Saturday morning.

I told Kate I couldn't stop her, but there would be consequences if she had sex with her boss. Too many signs existed to dismiss it as an impossibility. We left our daughter during the days with her sister-in-law while her mother was gone. My sister and parents lived too far away.

During Friday afternoon, our legal secretary rang me. "I have a process server here with papers specifically listing you. Only you can sign. Can you come out and do that."

"Sure. I'll be there in a few minutes. I need to finish up writing my notes on this research."

Ten minutes later, I sat at my desk and opened the large envelope. Inside, I found divorce papers and a restraining order cited physical and mental cruelty on my part.

Based on what I saw, lawyers for Kate filed the divorce documents and the order the day after she left. According to the order, I could not come within 500 feet of my house or either of them.

When I drove to my sister-in-law's house that night to check on my daughter, they weren't home. Susan left a copy of the restraining order taped to the screen door inside a plastic sheet.

The divorce process quickly turned acrimonious. Through her attorney, she kept insisting I had money squirreled away that I wasn't telling her about. My attorney recommended a forensic accountant to perform an audit, which delayed the divorce by four months. It turned out we had less money than I expected because Kate spent it.

As I told everyone else, "Once the trust is broken, sorry doesn't cut it. She had this planned, and she lied to me." We didn't reach a final settlement until eight months later. Overall, our divorce didn't become final until after a year passed.

Since she was already 12, nearly 13, Melanie was allowed to pick which parent she wanted to live with. She chose Kate, which broke my heart. Mel was always a daddy's girl.

Kate never allowed me to see Mel or talk with her. Even my attorney wasn't able to figure out why my wife hated me so much. We presented proof that I wasn't guilty of the claims she made, but the judge said he didn't want to risk my daughter getting hurt.

I needed to escape the Portland area. The constant quarrelling over the divorce, the lack of seeing my daughter, the unfairness of the situation. Life piled up on me.

Everywhere I went and everything I did reminded me of things Kate and I once did together. Or the three of us, as Mel grew older. The Zoo, Oregon Museum of Science and Industry, Powell's Book Store, the unique bridges over the Willamette River, hiking in Forest Park and skiing on Mt. Hood.

It all closed in on me. I was tired of fighting ludicrous charges. For my sanity, I needed a change of the environment. I decided to pursue a pre-marital dream that I let go.

From the time I could throw a ball well enough to play on a team, I dreamed of becoming a professional baseball player. I primarily performed as a shortstop, but was multi-talented enough I could play any position, if needed. The college coaches said I was good enough to enter the draft. But faced with the choice between Kate and baseball, I picked my wife.

During that fall, I got in touch with my college baseball buddy, Mark Keller. He played second base better than anywhere else which is why I moved to shortstop. I averaged over.500 in high school and in the high.400s in college.

As a spray hitter with a high average, I made a good third hitter in the lineup because I hit with enough power that pitchers needed to respect me. Mark hit primarily for power, but his average was decent too. We both constantly won awards for fielding.

He played two years in the minors, switched to third base and played six years in the majors before a series of injuries sidelined him. He became a Gold Glove third baseman who averaged 25 home runs, 91 RBI and a batting average of.277 in the majors.

The Halos regarded him highly enough to keep him as a scout at first and eventually on the executive staff. Friends of mine worked for other MLB teams too, but Mark and I were close. On his recommendation, they hired me as a coach for their Rancho Cucamonga, California team.

Since my parent's owned a fruit orchard and mint fields near Portland, I picked up Spanish from the many migrant workers. Classes in high school and college honed my skill. I became affluent in the language. Mark told me that was the advantage that tipped the scales.

Over 27 percent of major league players and over 42 percent of minor league players speak Spanish as their main language. Especially in places like Southern California, a large portion of the audience speaks Spanish too.

I took a one year leave from our law firm and joined the Quakes as a coach starting in January. Each time I tried to see Melanie; Kate told me our daughter didn't want to talk to me.

Through her lawyer, my ex-wife told me if I would give her full custody of our daughter, I didn't need to pay child support. I hated to do it, but it was clear to me that Kate had poisoned Melanie's mind.

I sent her letters each week and cards on special occasions once I left for California. After six months, I gave up because I kept getting them back as refused.

Part of the reason for moving involved knowing my daughter lived less than 15 minutes away, but her mother refused to let me see or talk to her. All of my relatives said Kate refused to talk with them or allow Mel to talk with them or see her.

I'd seen first-hand the damage that happens when parents fight over a child. I talked myself into believing this would be better for both of us. I regretted that decision each day.

With little else to do, I participated in many community events. As part of a community outreach program, the Quakes held workshops for high school players when the team played at home.

One of the most promising players was a 16-year-old boy named David Wolfe. His 14-year-old sister, Brianna, played softball like a college student. She threw a baseball farther than I could.

I didn't have a 16-year-old son, but my cousin, Samantha did. It didn't take long for Dave and me to bond. Like a sponge who wanted to soak up baseball acumen, he and I spent a lot of time together talking, practicing and sharing knowledge.

I could still throw a decent curve and fastball. They only traveled in the 80-mph range, but live pitching is always better than a batting cage.

Someone always dropped him off at first, but in late July his mother started to stay during the sessions. "Come on," he said to me. "Let me introduce you. She appreciates how much time you've spent with me."

Without Dave saying a word, I knew his father wasn't around. A person can tell.

This was 2005. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan still raged. I assumed his dad belonged to the military and was stationed overseas. I didn't press the issue.

The second I saw Emma Wolfe; I knew I was in trouble. Her eyes shone like sapphires in the sunlight of Southern California. Her smile made my mind go blank.

He introduced me as we shook hands. I felt the connection, the zing that only happens when two people have chemistry. I wasn't going to make a move on her, but a guy can dream, can't he?

"I wanted to personally thank you for spending so much time with Dave. He needs it right now." Her voice caused ripples in my stomach. Equal parts husky, sexy and reassuring.

"It's part of my job as a coach. It's always a pleasure to help budding ballplayers."

"That may be the case, but you've given more than any of the other staff. You didn't need to." I could not look into her eyes for long at a time without certain physical reactions. Or perhaps it was the lack of sex.

There are a few inherently sexy women in this world who either don't know it or know how to control it. Emma belonged in that group. I barely hung onto my self-control around her.

She paused for a few seconds with her eyes on the ground before she lifted them to look at me. Damn. Instant reaction in certain parts of my body.

"If you've got an evening free, I'd like to reward you with a meal. I will explain everything. You can tell me why you are a single man at your age."

I started to ask what she meant, but she kept on speaking. "The manager's wife and I are friends. I know you recently divorced, but I don't know the story. You captured my curiosity."

We worked out an afternoon and evening over the weekend when Dave and Bri didn't need to head for bed early. "You don't need to wear a suit or anything. I'll probably be wearing shorts and a blouse."

After spending years wearing little but suits, I seldom put them on. I tried several suits I brought with me. Looking in the mirror reminded me of a scarecrow because they hung loosely on my body. Exercising and sweating turned out to be good for me.

That evening renewed my faith in humanity. It felt natural being around Emma, like we belonged together. I could feel her eyes on me when I wasn't near.

I am a leg man. Her legs and ass were stellar. Her personality captured me. My eyes kept wandering back to her as we talked.

After we put together a barbeque on her back patio, the two kids and I threw the ball back and forth. Dave had a batting cage and all four of us took turns.

Some sort of magnetic force field existed around her. Without even thinking, we migrated to each other.

We laughed and kidded, even touched a few times. A few times I caught myself thinking of what might have been if my wife didn't turn out to be such a bitch.

While it would have been easy to get lost in that moment, I never forgot Emma was married. Each time I was tempted, I looked at her left hand and saw the ring.

As the kids went to their rooms, I prepared to leave. "Thanks for the evening. I haven't had this much fun in years."

Her hand touched my arm. Electricity flowed between us.

"Please don't leave yet Cliff. You didn't explain why you are single.

"I need adult conversation with a man. I have a sister and two brothers plus my parents. But they don't know what to say to me about Norman, my husband."

She poured a glass of wine for her and brought out a locally brewed IPA for me. We sat across from each other on chairs on her patio.

I grabbed a towel and kept it in my lap. Her bare legs crossed over each other made it hard to pay attention. She nervously bobbed her foot up and down which drew my eyes back.

Despite serious misgivings, I sat down and listened to her story while my soul and body warred with itself. My body screamed "Yes." My mind said, "Too fucking dangerous." My prick said "Oh, yeah, man. Go for it."

She probably told it to multiple people before, but from my own pain, I understood. She felt compelled to say it again. The therapist I consulted during the divorce worked with me on the steps of grief.

Isolation causes feelings of depression. A part of the process of recovery is to talk about your feelings with other people, my therapist said.

"My husband, Norman, worked for the State Department. I suspected he worked for the CIA, but of course, he never would tell me.

"On January 29, 2004, slightly over 19 months ago, a bomb blew up a bus in Jerusalem, Israel. Eleven people died and injuries exceeded 50 people. Norman and his driver were the only people in a car that the State Department determined was the next car behind the bus.

"The State Department assistant secretary who informed me of the bombing said there was no chance of survival. They did find a few traces of the two men's DNA on car body parts, but nothing else.

"That's why you helping David this summer is so important. Last summer was brutal for all of us but hardest for him. I have a brother who tried to help, but he doesn't live close enough to spend much time with Dave.

"When his father was home, they talked and played baseball all the time. Like you, he had a promising career, but he let it go when we got married."

"He's taken a shine to you. We've talked about how you might not be around much longer, and he understands. All I can say is, you came at the right time for David and for Bri too."

I barely controlled my body. I wanted with every fiber of my body to go to her, hold her and help her not feel alone. But I didn't.

If she wore her wedding ring, she belonged to Norm, not me. She couldn't keep back her tears.

After I could see she was herself again, I told her my story. "That's terrible. What can I do to help?"

What I wanted to say, I didn't, but I sure thought it. My cock threatened to take over. I hadn't been laid in a year.

"How can you help? I've already seen a therapist."

She laughed, a sound that altered the mood completely. "I don't usually say this because people think 'doctor, heal thyself.'

"Grief respects no one. I'm a licensed mental health therapist with a master's degree from Georgetown University and a doctorate from UCLA."

I prepared to leave (No, make that flee because I was on the edge of losing control), but she put her hand on my arm when I was at the door. "This night has been good for all of us. I'd like to do it again. Friends?"

"Friends," I said. I proverbially crossed my fingers. I wasn't sure we could be friends.

Of all the women I'd been around and all the women, I'd dated, I'd never felt this level of attraction. I wished every day we were both still in college, unmarried and not 37.

The Halos won their division in 2005. They lost in the league championship series to the White Sox. After the Single A season ended in late August, the general manager asked me to join the major league squad as another fielding instructor and an interpreter.

Teams that play in the World Series are not only champions, but survivors. If a person counts all the pre-season, regular season and post-season games, it's possible a player is on the field in a game situation around 200 times over a span of ten months. That's a lot of wear and tear on a player's body.