I had been married to Jessica for seven years now. I know I overachieved when I married her; she was vivacious, sultry and gorgeous, and I was quiet, short and chubby. I had always worried that she would cheat on me. I could see the way other men looked at her, and when my paranoia was at its worst, I felt a sickening feeling of anxiety all the time. However, after our son was born, I started to feel a little more secure in the fact that we would live "happily ever after."
The sad thing is, my nightmare was only just about to begin. Last summer Jessica joined a rec-league beach volleyball team. She suggested I join as well, but I don't like volleyball and I was too self-conscious. Once in a while I would go down to the beach to watch her play and give her a ride home. On her team, there was a younger guy named Simon. I instantly disliked him, because I saw the way he looked at my wife. He was a real alpha-male type; rich and good-looking with a tall, lean frame. How was I supposed to feel? Here I was, feeling forgotten with my gut and flabby chest as I watched my sexy wife and a chiseled athletic guy subtly flirt with each other. To make things worse, this guy was real condescending and arrogant to me the few times we talked. My insecurities came rushing back, although part of me tried to reason that I was overreacting and fearing over nothing.
Still, I couldn't shake the bad vibe. Reason went out the window when Simon blatantly hit on Jessica within earshot of me, saying to her "you're to hot to be a mother." I fumed inside, but didn't say anything. And that's when things got bad. I could sense Jessica becoming more and more distant. Then one night, she never came home. Her excuse was she had a few drinks and stayed at a friend's house, but I didn't believe it. The friend she mentioned never liked me anyways, so I knew asking her would be pointless.
A few weeks later, everything came to a head. Simon approached me before their volleyball match and in an unusually friendly manner, gave me two tickets to a baseball game that weekend. It was too suspicious. "I hate baseball," he said. "Take Cal (my son)." I accepted the tickets, but came up with a plan. On the day of the game, I left my house with my son, leading Jessica to believe we were going to the game together. Instead however, I had enlisted my older nephew to go. I dropped our son off with him, waited a while, swallowed my pride and drove back home.
My heart sank when I saw Simon's jeep parked down the street from our place. I parked my car behind it and started towards the house. I was angry and scared, but strangely curious as well. I was horrified at what I might see; it felt like every emotion in my body was going to burst out my skin. My hands were shaking, but I walked around the back and opened the sliding door I had left unlocked. And as soon as I poked my head inside, I heard Jessica.
She was moaning loudly, and any doubts it was Simon she was with evaporated when it was his name she began screaming. My stomach was in knots and my legs were weak, but I crept inside and crawled along the floor following their sounds. On the other side of the kitchen, I had a clear view into the living room, and that's where they were.
The devastation I felt was total and complete, and it felt as if all the air had been sucked out my body. The sight of them furiously making love burned my eyes, and I didn't know whether to cry or unleash a rage. I felt angry at everybody; both of them and especially myself, for trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.
However, that's when I realized that passion is a very strange thing. Despite my rage, beneath it all I was entranced, even somewhat turned on. All of a sudden I couldn't take my eyes off of them, and even though it was my house, I felt like a prowler, a Peeping Tom looking for a show.
