An Upper-Cut to the Jaw

An Upper-Cut to the Jaw

And a Kick to the Crotch

Jillian's Story:

"For the thousandth time, I want to apologize Tracy. I know we'll be having another shower for you in Connecticut, but I wish I could have traveled to Georgia for this one." I had missed my oldest daughter's first baby shower, as I was attending a mandatory quarterly meeting at the home office of the insurance company, my agency represented in Connecticut. My Dad had started our firm nearly forty years ago and I would be taking over the helm, when he officially retired in the next couple of years.

"And for the thousandth time, Mom, don't worry about it. The shower you are hosting in two weeks will come soon enough. I can't wait to get back to Connecticut to see all my old friends." Tracy was Zooming me from her home outside of Atlanta and my husband Chris was on the call from our home in Farmington, Connecticut. I was in my Marriott hotel room in Charlotte, North Carolina.

"We can't wait for you to get home, Tracy. How are the meetings coming along, Jilly?" Chris wanted to know.

"As always, there's a lot of great material and I've taken a few key points to implement over the next quarter, but I don't understand why American Insurance insists these meetings need to be in-person. The meetings can easily be held online. The cost savings for each agency would be substantial."

"Like most larger companies, they are stuck in their ways," was Tracy's response, while Chris added, "American Insurance has to justify the fifteen-million-dollar cost of the training and meeting center they built just before Covid."

"What are the boys doing this weekend and why aren't they on our weekly family call," I wanted to know.

"The boys are at the cabin in Vermont. I talked to them last night and they've got a small group of friends with them. They were planning to hike to the top of Mount Mansfield today," Chris explained.

"Being in Vermont certainly doesn't excuse them from our weekly calls. We installed internet service at the cabin over a decade ago. This is the third week in a row they've neglected their family obligations. If you won't talk to them, I will."

"Be my guest," was Chris' quick and surprisingly sarcastic sounding response.

Before I could comment, Tracy jumped in and asked, "Do you have anything exciting planned for tonight?"

"Not a thing," was my answer. "I ordered a room service dinner, just before our call. It should be here in the next few minutes. After dinner, I'm going to bed. Four days of meetings have me exhausted. Sweetheart, we'll be finishing at eleven tomorrow morning. Assuming my flight is on time, I'll be back in Hartford at three-forty and home before five."

"Your itinerary is hanging on the refrigerator. I know when you'll be home." Chris' response made me pause. That was two snarky comments in a row. I decided not to say anything, as Tracy was on the call, but I filed it away and would speak to Chris and set things straight after I got home.

"I need to get going. My dinner will be delivered soon. I love you both! Tracy, we'll talk during the week, and I'll pick you up at the airport in two weeks. Chris, I will see you tomorrow."

I heard "See you soon," from my daughter and "Good night," from Chris before both faces disappeared from my laptop screen. I'll admit being more than a little upset as a recalled the many "I love you" proclamations that ended every other call, in recent memory. "Perhaps," I said to myself, "They're as tired as I am."

After closing my computer, I got up and pulled the night shirt I'm wearing over my head and tossed it on the hotel room bed. I walked into the bathroom and spent a few minutes brushing on a minimal amount of makeup. At forty-nine with shoulder length blonde hair and blue eyes, most would consider me a very attractive woman. Chris constantly calls me a ten, but after twenty-seven years of marriage, he has to say that. I might have been a nine when we met at the University of Connecticut during my senior year of college and his third year of Law School, but age is creeping in, and I'd rate myself a solid eight and a sexy cougar.

While standing naked in front of the full-length mirror, I pull the band from my hair and let it cascade down my neck. After combing my fingers through my locks and shaking my head, my hair looks perfect.

I am planning on wearing a gorgeous little black dress. It hugs my 38D breasts and heart shaped ass. My curves look stunning as the dress falls over my gym-toned thighs and lands three inches above my knees. It's a given; I'll be panty-less. The only real decision is a bra. My date wants me to be au-natural, but the girls have started to sag. I think the black, sexy, transparent Victory Secret bra that I bought specifically for tonight, is in order.

I smile several minutes later, as I strut into the hotel's dining room and notice several heads turn in my direction. I spot Ted at a corner table and sitting by a window that looks from the eleventh floor of the hotel toward downtown Charlotte. Ted's smile turns to a beaming grin as I glide through the tables in his direction.

Ted Gleason is the son of the insurance agency owner that covers the Cincinnati, Ohio market. We met nine years earlier at this quarterly corporate meeting and became friends. Two years later, we slept together and since, we've been roommates and fuck buddies at each quarterly meeting.

Ted is married and has five children, all pre-teens. Like me, he is on track to take over his father's agency, when he retires. Ted isn't bigger, more handsome or smarter than my husband. He is twelve years younger, can recoup much quicker and bangs me, rather than makes love. After his youngest was born, he had a vasectomy which allows us to have sex without a condom. I've never had three loads of cum dripping out of me before and it's one of the most wickedly delicious feelings ever.

Ted stands as I approached the table, gives me a kiss on the cheek and holds my chair as I sit. "Is everything alright at home?" Ted wants to know.

"I'm a little upset that the boys weren't on our call and Chris was a bit snippy, but all-in-all, things are good. Tracy had a nice baby shower and will be coming home for the Harrington family and friends shower in two weeks. How was your family?"

Ted had left our room, to give me privacy and called his family from a quiet part of the lobby. "The kids are all good and excited I'll be home tomorrow. LeeAnn was in a pissy mood, but I expect she's exhausted from taking care of the kids." As Ted finished, he nodded toward the glass of red wine sitting in front of me, raised his glass and with a naughty grin said, "To another great conference," and as our glasses clinked together, a third chair was placed at our table immediately to my right.

Looking up, I was so surprised at who I saw, that words simply jumbled around in my brain. After seating herself, she said, "Hi slut. How was your room service dinner?"

"Tracy?" Yes, it was a question, even though I was looking into the face of my very pregnant daughter. "Tracy," I gasped again. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Her smile couldn't have been more condescending as she replied, "I didn't believe Dad when he told us you were a lying, cheating slut. I had to come and see for myself."

"Tracy...sweetheart...it's not what you think." I willed my heart to slow down and tried to concentrate on regaining my faculties.

"Well slut, let me tell you what I think. Let's see if I'm wrong. I think you did nothing but lie, during our thirty-eight-minute family call. I think you fuck this Shit-Stain," she indicated Ted, "at each of your quarterly conferences. I think you've crushed Dad. I think you've alienated your family. I think your parents will be ashamed to call you their daughter and I think the chances of you taking over the firm from Grandpa has been flushed down the toilet."

As the tornado in my head reached class 5 level, Ted quickly stood and announced, "This is a family matter. I'm going to excuse myself, so you can deal with this situation in private."

I didn't think things could get worse until Tracy smiled sweetly and said, "I would think a genius like you would want to sit down, shut up and find out how much of a shit-storm you're going to encounter when you get home to LeeAnn tomorrow."

All the color left Ted's face. He turned chalk white. I'm not sure if he sat down or collapsed into his chair. Tracy turned to me and said, "Is that what you like about Shit-Stain? He's a submissive little faggot that does whatever he's told?"

The color quickly came back to Ted's face, which turned tomato red from Tracy's insult. He half stood, gripped the table and looked as if he was going to launch himself at Tracy. Tracy simply laughed and said, "Go ahead, Shit-Stain. Lay a single finger on my seven-month pregnant body and go to jail."

Ted immediately calmed down and found his composure as Tracy continued, "Please order me a glass of wine, Shit-Stain, this is going to take a few minutes."

Tracy pivoted in her chair and faced me, crossed her right leg over her left, folded her hands and laid them in her lap before continuing, "I'd like to explain a few things to you Mom. The reason my brothers haven't been on the last few family calls is because they believed Dad and know you're a lying cheating slut. I don't know who cried harder, the night Dad Zoomed with us and told us what you've done. Jimmy, Jonny and Dad were balling at the end of the call. The only reason I wasn't crying is I was positive this was a huge mistake. The private investigators report didn't sway me. Dad wouldn't show the pictures and video, so I had to waste money I can't afford on plane tickets, a hotel room and other necessary expenses to come here and see for myself."

"Tracy...Baby...I don't know what your father thinks he knows, but..."

Tracy's hand shot up, like a police officer stopping traffic. "You don't get it, do you? Dad has proof. He has pictures and video from inside your hotel room. He has proof my mother is a liar. He has proof my mother is a cheater. He has proof my mother is another man's slut."

With much more confidence than I felt and equal amounts of false bravado, I hissed, "We will work as a family, and we will get through this unfortunate incident."

My daughter scoffed at me, rolled her eyes and put her hand over her head, snapping her finger. Our waiter immediately appeared. Tracy turned to the waiter and said, "I'm sorry for being so rude. I wasn't calling you. It was a signal to the Deputy." Tracy pointed to the tall and extremely well-built man who appeared behind the waiter.

The man stood over Ted and demanded, "Are you Mr. Theodore Gleason?"

In a shaky voice, Ted responded, "I am."

The deputy continued, "Mr. Gleason, you are served."

After dropping a large yellow envelop on the table, the deputy asked, "Are you Mrs. Jillian Harrington?"

With tears flowing down my cheek, I nodded. "Mrs. Harrington, you are served." An identical envelope was dropped in front of me.

With a maniacal laugh, Tracy looked at Ted and said to him, "You don't need to open it up." She was indicating the envelope. "I'll tell you all about the contents. LeeAnn is divorcing your worthless ass. She's asking for your continued support to run the house, until your youngest, three-year-old Petey leaves for college, continued private Catholic school tuition for each of your kids, child support and maintenance." Tracy looked around the fancy restaurant, before continuing, "If I were you, I'd savor every bite of tonight's dinner. I suspect you'll be eating Ramen Noodles for most of the next two decades."

Ted had misty eyes and hung his head in defeat, before Tracy said, "Oh Teddy Baby...there's much more. You see, my dad is a very smart lawyer. Other than freeing himself from your cum-dump," Tracy nodded in my direct, "his only other goal is to fuck up your life as completely as possible. He's found a way to do that. Dad studied the prenuptial agreement protecting your twenty-five percent ownership in your father's agency. Hats off to your lawyers. The prenup is iron-clad. LeeAnn can't touch it." After giving Ted an ear-to-ear smile, she dropped the bomb. "LeeAnn can't touch your business, but my dad can. Alienation of Affection lawsuits aren't recognized in Ohio, but they are recognized here in North Carolina. Since you alienated the slut's affection here in good old North Carolina, Dad filed suit in Charlotte and expects to win a fucking bundle. Maybe he'll let you continue working as the janitor."

Turning her attention back to me, Tracy smiled. "You won't be quit as poor as Shit-Stain. Dad is splitting everything down the middle with you. Per the prenup, Dad keeps his interest in his law firm and the Vermont lake house that he inherited from Grandpa and Grandma. You get to keep your forty percent interest in Grandpa's insurance agency. However, LeeAnn is suing you in North Carolina for Alienation of Affection. She is coming after you hard for destroying the lives of her five young children. Good luck. You're going to need it."

The tears that had started a few minutes earlier had increased with each cutting word from my daughter. The knot in my stomach threatened to erupt and cover the white linen covered table in vomit. How my life had turned from a fairytale to the darkest of nightmares in minutes was still lost to me.

Tracy reached out and took the glass of wine that had been ordered an eternity before. Ted and I watched silently as Tracy took a few sips over the next moments seemingly savoring every taste. When she placed the half-finished glass back on the table, a stream of tears had started. The tears were as heavy as mine and were falling down her cheek. "I won't be coming home for the baby shower you've planned. Please cancel it."

Those dozen words were a total shock to my system and amplified, by a factor of ten, everything that had happened over the last fifteen minutes. I could only stare with my mouth hanging open, as Tracy continued, "And I don't want you coming down to Atlanta, after my daughter is born. I promise to send you pictures and updates, but until you get your life together, I don't want you involved with my family."

As Tracy rose to her feet, a figure stepped up beside her. It was her husband and my son-in-law Brian. He wrapped his arm around her sobbing body, held her close and quietly asked, "Did you tell your mom the last part?"

Tracy shook her head. "Tracy," he said, in a loving, but firm voice.

"I can't," she answered. "Will you?"

Turning to me, Brian explained, "I might be wrong, but I don't believe there is a way back to Chris. Your affair has been going on for too long. There is a way back to your sons, Tracy, your granddaughter and me. It will take a lot of work, but we'll be here, when you become the woman, we need you to be." Brian leaned down and softly kissed my tear-stained cheek before guiding a still crying Tracy through the dining room.

I had the weirdest thought as I watched their retreat. I remembered the boxing highlight clips that Chris loved to watch and felt like I'd taken an upper cut to the jaw and was crumbling to the canvas in the center of a boxing ring.

Chris' Story:

How I was able to compartmentalize my emotions over the last day and a half was a mystery. I hadn't silenced my phone and the rings, dings and buzzes had been almost none stop, since Tracy had confronted her mother. Some of the communications had been work related, while other texts, emails and voicemails had come from family, friends and LeeAnn Gleason. All offering support. The vast majority had been from Jillian, and I had immediately deleted each message.

I had conflicting emotions about Tracy's confrontation with Jillian and Asswipe. From the start, when I told my children about their mother's treachery and years-long affair, Tracy was adamant that her mother couldn't possibly be "that" woman. As I refused to give the kids the full private investigators report and accompanying recorded evidence and instead sent each a short two-page synopsis, there seemed to be some doubts. At least for Tracy.

Tracy and my son-in-law Brian hired a Charlotte based investigator. He was able to get access to Jillian and Asswipe's room and provided Tracy with the necessary evidence.

Brian had called me and let me know that Jillian had phoned American Insurance, explained that she was sick and wouldn't be attending the last day of meetings. The Charlotte PI had confirmed that Jillian was able to get an earlier flight and would be arriving home around 1:00PM the following day.

I had prepared for Jillian's return. Our house was jointly owned, and I couldn't kick her out. It only took a few hours to bag all of Jillian's belongings from the master bedroom and bath and transfer them to a guest room. I'd hired a handyman to install double bolt-locks on the master bedroom door and my home office. It wasn't much, but my divorce attorney had advised me, I couldn't do more.

I'll admit upfront that I did do something extra. It was extremely childish, but grotesque, in the way Jillian's quarterly fuck-fests were grotesque to me. I desperately wanted to leave Jillian with a visual impression of my feelings. Each day, since Jillian left for Charlotte, I took my morning bowel movement in the bathroom connected to the guest bedroom and hadn't flushed. There were five piles of man-sized-turd filling the toilet and over the waterline. I'd closed off the bedroom door, but the smell still permeated the entire second floor. What made me laugh was, like my farts, the smell of my shit didn't bother me. In fact, as I'd half-jokingly told Jillian hundreds of times, my waste smelled like petunias to me.

Although I was prepared for the upcoming confrontation, I did cringe when I heard the garage door opening. I was sitting in a fenced off section of our backyard. We had built a small barbeque and dining area and further to the left was a large in-ground pool surrounded by a concrete deck.

Originally, I had tried to landscape the area. The result was far less than I imagined, so I hired a professional. Seven years later our private area, filled with blossoming flowers and lush greens could easily be part of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine article. Jillian and I were proud to host outdoor parties during the spring, summer and early fall.

I heard Jillian call out several times, from inside the house, before the slider opened and she walked out. She spotted me immediately, sitting at our outdoor dining table and as she approached, she asked, "Can I have a beer, too?"

"Of course," I answered. Unlike every other time she asked, I remained seated and didn't offer to pour her drink. With an almost silent huff, Jillian went to the outdoor refrigerator, found a craft beer and poured it into a chilled glass.

After returning, Jillian sat opposite me, took a sip of beer and said, "I'm sorry."

I studied her face for a few moments. I recognized that she had recently touched up her makeup, but it didn't hide her swollen eyes. She'd been crying a lot. "What are you sorry about?"

Jillian clenched her jaw in irritation, before saying, "I'm sorry I've hurt you and I'm devastated that I've damaged my relationship with our children."

"Liar."

Her nostrils flared as she leaned into the table and hissed, "How dare you call me a..."

My body shaking, as I chuckled, caused Jillian to stop short. "How was your room service diner last night? That's lie number one. How many more of the ten thousand or so lies, do you want me to recount?"

We silently appraised each other, and each took a sip of beer. "Nevertheless," she continued, "I am sorry."

There was more awkward silence, before I answered, "Okay. You're sorry." And after a few more moments, I continued with a shrug and said, "I don't care."