Another Love - Rob Moves On

I am indebted to RichardGerald for allowing me to publish my version of an alternate ending to his famous work "Another Love". I also acknowledge the work of GeorgeAnderson and Pencarrow who have also published their Alternate Endings to the original.

I am no different from other writers who are enamored with an original storyline but found the ending unsatisfying. This is my first attempt at publishing. Have at it.

I urge the reader to read the original and the two "alternate endings". They are well worth the time.

My version begins roughly at the beginning of Part 2 of the original story. It is a Saturday in late September. Karen has arrived at LA airport for a visit to her son. The same day Avril, Karen's friend from Canada visits Rob, Karen's husband, to deliver a painting of Rob's nude wife painted by her lover of over 20 years. The lover is recently deceased and was Avril's husband, Philipe. Thinking that Rob knew of the affair, Avril reveals details of the relationship including Philipe living with Karen and Rob's sons while Rob was deployed in Iraq. Rob is dumbstruck. Avril is aghast when she realizes that he never knew, much less approved, of the affair. After the meeting Avril contacts Karen to inform her about Rob's discovery. Upon learning the disastrous news Karen attempts to contact Rob but he does not respond. Karen finally obtains a ticket on a Monday night red-eye flight arriving home Tuesday morning.

The story begins on Saturday afternoon after Avril's departure, as Rob, staring at the painting, tries to make sense out of what he has learned about his wife and life in the last few hours.

*****

Saturday - Rob

After Avril left, I sat staring at a painting of my nude wife standing in our bedroom painted by her lover of 20 years. My mind wandered aimlessly searching for a link between the reality I've just experienced and the apparent fantasy I've lived all these years. I couldn't find a starting point where I could somehow connect the two and integrate them into a cogent pattern. I must have fallen into a semi-conscientious state.

I was unable to think rationally. I was in what I can only describe as brain lock. Nothing computed. Lost in a shapeless gray fog, I was vaguely aware that my eyes were open but unable to focus. Time stopped. Maybe I died or was in a coma. No, more like a trance. I was aware that I should be thinking about something. Something very important, but I wasn't sure what it was. Maybe I was just having a bad dream but I knew I wasn't in bed.

Something seemed to be taking shape in front of me, a rather large rectangular shape. Flat, I thought. Yes, it's a picture, no a painting of some sort. The colors are muted as though it was late evening and darkness was near. There's an image, Ah, yes, a woman, she's naked, she's smiling a sensuous but innocent smile, she's beautiful. Somehow she seems familiar. I feel I know her. I do know her!

Oh, fuckin' jesus christ!

It's my wife!

That fuckin' cocksuckin' bitch! I'll kill her.

I'll beat her to death with a fuckin' club. That lyin', cheatin', back stabbing slut.

She's been whorin' behind my back for decades. God damn the bitch to hell!

I sobbed. I moaned. I cried. I wanted to run away and hide from the shear humiliation she had heaped on me.

I was finally awake. I'd fallen off my chair onto my knees, screaming cursing, hurling threats, expletives laced the foulest diatribe that ever issued from my mouth. Not even while deployed in Iraq had I ever used such profanity. I knew I was releasing the pent up pain, anger, humiliation and bitterness that was growing in me as Avril calmly recounted the decades long history of my wife's betrayal.

I was just told that the life I thought I'd lead for the last 20+ years didn't really happen. It was as though it was all a dream or I imagined it. In reality, my wife was a whore for some well connected painter in Canada named Philipe DuMonte. He had lived in my house, slept with my wife, ate my food, and also took my place as a surrogate father while I was deployed in Iraq.

Where had I been all these years? How could I have possibly not been aware of these events going on in my marriage and family right under by nose?

I was consumed by ugly, negative, evil thoughts. I should find a gun and just shoot the bitch. Or maybe beat her into an ugly mass of flesh. And that cocksucking prick in Canada, I swear I'll find him, cut his balls off and shove them up his ass. Such was the vehemence that swirled in my brain. Yeah, I knew he was dead but in my state of mind I didn't give a shit.

Finally, unable to bring clarity to my befuddled mind, I simply wept. I cursed god for allowing this to happen. The military for sending me to a shit hole called Iraq for eight months. I just wanted to disappear.

After a while I think my brain just got tired from the shit storm of neural activity that assaulted it for the last several hours. Almost unheard, a faint whisper deep inside called to me. It took a while but eventually I realized it was a memory of my long dead father. I smiled inwardly. I knew why his memory became a conscience thought. One of his little pearls of wisdom embedded long ago by this wise and gentle man was speaking to me. I could hear his voice as though he was standing next to me: "Son, anger, bitterness and hate are punishments we give ourselves because of the mistakes of others."

When he first uttered those words I didn't understand. Well no, I didn't want to understand. I was thirteen. I was angry because I didn't make the baseball team. I was whining and finding all kinds of excuses for the slight. I was hurting. But my Dad always had time to listen and usually was able to help me get through these traumatic childhood events. To summarize the conversation from so many years ago: let it go. You can't change the past. Learn from it. Assess your situation objectively. Forgive those who hurt you so you can shed the irrationality that always accompanies anger and bitterness. If necessary leave the perpetrators behind, your future is what is important. Focus on it.

My years in the military had taught me how to function under extreme stress. Now was the time to again put those skills to work. Look at the facts. Assess what you know. Define what if anything else is needed for you to determine your path forward. Then do it.

The picture was the first fact. It was real. It depicted my nude wife and was painted by her lover.

Although I has just met Avril it was clear that from her intimate knowledge of Karen, me, my children, my work, Karen's job, our friends, extended family, etc., etc., she was both a reliable source and an acknowledged active participant in the affair. While details may have been lost over time, her overall story was as real as the picture. She told me the affair started over 20 years ago and was active at the time of her husband's death. My children knew about it for almost their entire lives They had visited and been accepted as almost family in the my wife's lover's household, the DuMonte family. The number of times my wife lied, deceived, disrespected, cheated and humiliated me were too numerous to estimate. In fact, it was a continuous betrayal from the first day she met Philipe.

So this "new reality" was the starting point of my future. I accepted it. Now I needed to learn everything about it. I wanted detail. I knew this quest would bring a world of hurt to me. But having absorbed the initial shock I was steeled to define my "enemy", establish my way forward and make it happen.

My enemy? Whose my enemy? Karen, my loving wife of almost 25 years? The mother of my two sons?

Wait, are they my sons?

The military had taught me teamwork, dedication, and above all loyalty. Loyalty of my team, my brothers/sisters in arms. We would give our lives without hesitation for a team member. You NEVER betray a team member he/she has got your back, you've got their's.

I've always been shy around women avoiding confrontation at all costs. Karen made all the day to day decisions mainly because I usually wasn't interested in what's for dinner, what movie to see, etc. and because I dreaded confronting her.

Interestingly, I never had a problem giving orders to female military members. I didn't care where the bumps in their uniform were, if they wore a uniform they were part of the team. I gave orders and took them without hesitation.

As I thought about this anomaly I realized that I always thought of Karen as my ultimate teammate. We vowed before God and family honor, loyalty, faithfulness. I'd always had her back. When times were tough in our marriage, I never in my wildest dreams considered not supporting her, being there for her when she needed me. That's what teammates, married couples, are supposed to do, isn't it?

But she betrayed me. She wasn't my wife anymore. Hadn't been for decades. When you betray your teammate you become the Enemy. I'm not shy how I deal with my enemies. There's a few dead Arabs in Iraq that learned that lesson to their demise. I was no longer thinking of Karen as my wife. She lost that privilege 20 years ago. No, she was a traitor and traitors had to be confronted and dealt with. I would not shy away from what I must do.

Even though Avril and I had spent several hours together, the information she supplied could only skim the surface of a 20 year history of deception. I knew when I confronted Karen she would lie, distract, obscure, and use every bit of guile she possessed to deny, rationalize or minimize her actions. To deflect her defense I needed her to know that my knowledge of her affair was deep and detailed. I needed to meet Avril again. But this time I would not be the dazed cuckold of yesterday.

My ploy would be that I was so surprised my her revelations that I over reacted. I may have said some things without due consideration. Having had a chance to calmly reevaluate the situation I could see the merits of the relationship both for my marriage and Karen's need to nurture her love relationship with Philipe. Interestingly, having contrived this subterfuge, I was able to suppress my anger and actually look forward to meeting Avril again.

Sunday - Rob

I called Avril Sunday morning and invited her for brunch at a nearby family restaurant. I kept my demeanor low key and engaged in small talk as we ate. I inquired about her family background, how she met Philipe, her children, the DuMonte family but never mentioned Karen. She gradually seemed to relax and let her guard down. She complemented me about my open mindedness. Karen rarely discussed me but had left her with the impression that I was a no nonsense kind of guy. The typical unsophisticated American "petite bourgeoisie".

After eating we adjoined to my house. I had already concealed my smartphone in the living room and activated the recording feature after we arrived.

Over a glass of wine we discussed the painting of my nude wife. I complimented Philipe's talent commenting on his exquisite use of color and shadow and how he captured her smile so that it radiated sensuality and well as innocence.

Inwardly, I marveled at myself. I was enjoying this charade immensely. I didn't want it to end.

After a second glass of wine, Avril was less hesitant in describing my wife's secret life in excruciating detail. She went on and on how Karen saw Philipe as the romance of her life. They were soul mates destined to be together. Karen's devotion to Philipe could only be described as adoration which fed Philipe's insatiable ego.

She used an analogy of the symbiotic relationship between acolyte and high priest. Adoration and Access. She was his love slave. He provided access to the French Canadian Elites. She was his "Honored Mistress". In the traditional European Elitist Society she was said to have "standing" in the family. Philipe's Companion, respected and admired.

She, in turn, showered him with accolades about his sexual prowess, sophistication, artistic talent, and fathomless ability to love. They shared a Love Fantasy. Something akin to a plot in a romance novel.

Finally, around mid-afternoon, Avril guided the conversation to the topic of Karen and me. She pleaded with me to forgive Karen's "oversight" in not revealing her lover to me. Each iteration of her request became more flowery and verbose. With a third glass of wine in hand, she became animated at the prospect of the three of us being together and sharing our love for the rest of our lives.

I was stunned by her suggestion of a permanent, exclusive love triangle. I was certainly suspicious of her motives, but she candidly stated the the longer we conversed the more interested and excited she became at the thought of sharing our lives.

"Cheri, you must be aware that I have spent my adult life in the company of how shall I say it, the Creme de la Creme, of male French Canadian Elitists. Their faux sophistication bores me. They are all the same. So predictable. Ah, but you, no you are a unique man. You are both articulate and interesting. Not bound by rigid rules of status and relationship. A rare blend, opinionated, yes, yet open minded and inquisitive. You listen, absorb, evaluate, even respect another opinion even if you do not share it. A rare commodity indeed.

I have not met a man as charming and desirable since I met Philipe as a teenager! I assure you I do not impress easily."

She continued and seemed honestly interested in an intimate relationship but always emphasizing the absolute need for Karen to be part of our loving family. She explained: "Karen and I had often fantasied about a foursome. Lovers sharing lovers! But no matter how I tried she always had excuses for you not being able to join us and share our lifestyle. And now I understand her concern, for truly you are a possession worth protecting. She has been selfish with her "loving" sister. I shall be angry with her when next we meet".

I wasn't sure which of us was the better actor. Surely, her words were meant to impress but not be taken seriously. If I wasn't so filled with suppressed anger, I'd swear she was being truthful.

As gently as possible I suggested it was getting late. We've had a long day. I sincerely appreciated her taking me into her confidence and her candor in elaborating the history of the affair.

She seemed put off at my suggestion. "Cheri, have I not earned a little private time with my soon to be lover? Am I to be dismissed like a common house guest?"

"Avril, my dear, you have truly mesmerized me all these hours. My head spins and my heart swells in your presence. I fear if I monopolized more of your time you would soon find me a boring companion".

I surprised myself with the bullshit that came out of my mouth.

She smiled wickedly. "I would be curious to further explore the reasons why my loving sister has kept such a charming gentleman from my acquaintance."

As incredulous as it seemed, this petite, eurasian beauty clearly intended to seduce me! My first reaction was to demur. She was part of the enemy a willing collaborator in the destruction of my marriage.

"I cannot know or understand my wife's reasoning for keeping me ignorant all these years. I am angry that she kept such an exquisite beauty as you from me. Perhaps she feared your charms would sway my commitment to our marriage?"

Her response was direct and explicit: "Well we'll never have an answer to your speculation without exploring that possibility, will we?"

She approached me, sat on my lap and began lightly kissing my face. Her perfume was heady, her lips soft, her body molded easily against my chest. Her kisses explored my cheek, ear, neck, chin and finally our lips met in the briefest kiss. She looked directly into my eyes and whispered, softly: "I have not yearned for a man as much since Philipe seduced me. Do not deny what we both need. It will inevitably come to pass when we become three."

She continued looking directly into my eyes: "You have been deceived all these years! Your mind is unsettled and I sense a heaviness in your heart. This should never have been allowed to happen. Am I not destined to be your "loving" sister as I already am with your wife?"

"In her absence, it is both my duty and my pleasure to provide you with the comfort you need and relieve the pain in your heart. Let us begin our life together where I belong, in your bed sharing ourselves with each other".

That I was aroused was obvious. That I could gain a treasure trove of truly personal information if I bed this woman was even more incentive. That I would be cheating on my soon to be ex-wife with her lover was icing on the cake. I would do it with no regret.

I carried Avril to the bedroom then excused myself while I secured the house. Actually, I gathered the smartphone from the living room and while Avril was in the bathroom, concealed it in the bedroom and began undressing. As I was removing my shirt I heard her say; "No, no my love. That is what I wish to do. Please allow me the honor of revealing this new treasure."

I turned toward the voice and froze. The room was dim, lit only by the dying rays of the setting sun muted by shear curtains. She stood about 15 feet from me completely nude. She was stunning. No, she was spectacular. Actually, she was like no woman I had ever seen real, in photos or even in my imagination. If there is an ideal shape to a woman's body it would be modeled after Avril.

I knew she had two adult children, so she was at least in her early forties. I expected some sag in her breasts, some widening in the waist and thighs, a hint of cellulitis as well as some loss of muscle tone here and there.

The first thing I noticed was her flat tummy. Raising my eyes my gaze I was greeted by two absolutely perfectly shaped breasts. They stood as erect as an eighteen year olds. Although small, she is only 5 foot 1 inch tall, they were in perfect proportion to the rest of her body.

Her hips flared alluringly, her thighs blended smoothly into calves that tapered to thin ankles and petit perfectly formed feet. Her pubic area was neatly shaved with a hint of a dark landing strip.

She nonchalantly moved toward me exuding a grace of movement that would rival a prima ballerina assoluta.

She smiled as I stood in a hypnotic stare.

"I do hope you are not disappointed, my love. Are you angry with me? Do you not wish to speak to me?"

I knew she was chiding me. I broke into a huge smile. I held up my hand palm facing outward. She stopped. I could see a shadow of doubt and confusion cross her face. She started to speak again but I put my finger to my lips and sighed; "Shhhh."

I stared a few more moments, then looking into her eyes I spoke from my heart; "Your husband painted the wrong woman."

She put both hands over her mouth, I heard a whispered "Oh!" Tears welled up in her eyes. I thought I had insulted her.

Then, within a split second she closed the distance between us and threw herself at me.

My face, lips cheeks, ears, neck were covered with kisses. She was blubbering something that I couldn't understand. I knew it wasn't French and was trying to keep my balance and listen at the same time. It finally registered; "You are my man! Forever, you will be my man. I will be your woman. I want you, I need you, now, oh hurry, quickly, please inside me, claim me, make me yours."

Just as her rambling became understandable, I realized she was tearing my clothes from me. My belt was already open and the zipper down when she pushed me backwards into a sitting position on the bed. Off came my shoes. Reaching up to my belt, " Up!" she commanded.

I lifted my butt and off came the pants and shorts simultaneously. As soon as the tee shirt came off, she darted past me to the middle of the bed and up toward the head board. Grabbing a pillow, she rolled onto her back with the pillow under her buttocks and spread her legs.