This story has been rattling around in my head for a while and Peter seemed to want me to write it. As a "yank" I am poor at recreating British English. Anyone who has constructive suggestions on the subject would be welcomed to share them.
The story, characters, and situation are totally fictional. Any relationship between this and anyone is purely coincidental. I wrote it with a wink and a nod to one of my favorites on Literotica--GaryAPB. In no way is this trying to suggest that I am any replacement for the master! Just a poor disciple offering his first full-length story. As one who hates waiting for the nexxt installment, I offer all three parts at once so you don't have to wait. Enjoy!
- The Cobbler
*****
"Hey Peter, got a moment," Todd said, sticking his head into my office. Until Todd Brooks dropped by my office, my week had been nearly perfect.
"I've got to run down to the Quillum Building to meet with the folks at Wagner and McGee," he began. "Could you do me a favor?"
"Sure. What is it?"
"Look this over." He waved a thin manila folder. "It's something that I need to talk to you about."
"No problem. When do you want to go over it?"
"Meet me at Doyle's Irish Pub across the corner from the Quillum at 5:00. I'm buying. Everything in the folder should be should be self-explanatory." He handed me the file and rushed from the office.
And with that, my streak of good luck ended.
Until that moment, this had been the best week I'd had at work in months. My long project was coming to a very successful end. Better yet, it didn't look like I would have to make that extra trip to London as I had been warning my wife Sara. All the dots could be checked and every "T" crossed without needing to cross the pond. I knew that Sara, my sweet wife of 7 years, would be thrilled by that news.
My recent string of overseas trips came at bad times. The last one had resulted in an argument. Sara was badly hurt that I would miss a gallery opening I had promised to attend. Since Sara is the person responsible for arranging major events for the Museum of Art, these gala events were a big deal for her. I managed to convince her that I had not planned the trip for the sole purpose of avoiding the task of escorting her to the event.
* * *
I didn't give Todd's folder much thought, setting it aside to be read when all else was finished. With my project coming to an end I would I had begun making arrangements to take a few days off. Perhaps Sara and I could spend a long weekend at that little Bed and Breakfast up by the lake.
At four o'clock, I was totally caught up. My desk was clear and I decided to leave for the day. I grabbed a legal pad and Todd's folder and headed off to Doyle's to meet Todd. I figured I could read the information over and jot down some comments while I waited.
Since I was at Doyle's, it seemed appropriate to order Guinness. After taking a long sip of the tangy stout, I opened the file for the first time. What I found was a thin dog-eared sheaf of papers with a note from Todd paper clipped to the top.
Peter,
I found this floating around my department. You need to take a close look. After you read it, you may want to skip our meeting. Don't!!! Meet me at Doyle's at 5:00 so we can talk. I'll try to get there early.
Todd
That, of course, only served to build my curiosity to a peak. In hindsight, I wished that I had tossed the whole folder in the trash. I might have been better off. My life would have turned out differently and I could have avoided a great deal of pain.
What Todd had asked me to read was a story--a romance tale with explicit sexual content. There was nothing extraordinary about my first glance. It was entitled, "My Romance" by SAM33. So what was the deal here? Why was Todd anxious to read his favorite erotic find?
I'm not a prude, mind you, but I've never made it a habit of reading things like that. My sex life with Sara was exciting enough without fantasizing about someone else! I couldn't imagine why Todd thought it important that I read this one.
It didn't take me long to see why. Right there on the first page were all the clues I needed: the names Todd and Sara, and reference to a museum gala. Clearly, SAM33 was my sweet 33-year-old wife, Sara Ann Miller. Now that was a surprise! Never in my wildest dreams did I think Sara would be into writing--much less reading--erotic literature. This story was one I was anxious to read. Perhaps Sara and I could talk about it, or relive her fantasy later.
I didn't have to read far before I began to have concerns about this story. My name never appeared in the document, but since it was written in the first person, I heard myself discussed when the narrator--my wife--referred to "my husband", or talked about having sex "in my every day life at home".
The gist of the story was of an affair between Sara and a mysterious man only referred to as "my lover". The setting of the story was clearly at the most recent museum gala--the one that I had abruptly missed. What surprised me was that the rendezvous had been long planned. There was no doubt as to the author of the story--or its authenticity. A perfect description of the medium blue dress Sara had worn that night, together with events that took place in our living room when only she and I were present. I read the story over quickly, skipping most of the scene after the gala when her paramour took her to his hotel room and fucked her all night. I had no interest in knowing the details; the thought alone made me nauseous.
T.S. Eliot wrote "April is the cruelest month". For me, March definitely looked to be the demonic one. At least it started out that way. Sara--my Sara--had cheated on me! She was the absolute last woman I would ever have expected to have been unfaithful! Sara was so reserved, betraying a very conservative set of values. The reality of what I read hurt worse than any pain I had ever felt.
* * *
I had developed a crush on Sara in the third grade. I often caught her glancing in my direction, too. She was my version of Charlie Brown's "little red-haired girl." In Sara's case, it would have been Peter Miller's "little sandy-haired girl." Neither of us ever approached the other about personal feelings because we were both painfully shy in matters of the heart.
It wasn't until the homecoming game our freshman year of high school that I worked up the nerve to approach her. I took her to the game and the dance that followed our victory. I felt so awkward that I was certain that she would never--ever--want to go out with me again. I was shocked a few days later when she approached me in the lunch room and told me what a great time she had. By the smile on her face, I could tell she wasn't just being polite.
We dated through the rest of high school. I was sure we would break up when college came, but she insisted on choosing the same university I did. By our sophomore year, we were engaged. The wedding took place in the middle of the summer after graduation. Sara was lucky enough to get a job at the museum immediately while I worked on my MBA. I signed a contract with Parker Price International just before receiving my degree.
