Revenge can be an ugly thing, but sometimes, as they say 'revenge can be sweet'. My first wife really had been what Mrs. O'Meara called her, a shrike. For some reason I'll never understand Angela had decided she could never be faithful and she decided she needed an excuse. Her excuse had been her 'alleged' dissatisfaction with my manhood. She'd torn me up on that. She very nearly ruined if not ended my life. I remember for a long while how much I hated her. Why had she even married me? However, once Jeannie came into my life those concerns became moot. Angela had her demons. Maybe she was what Jeannie mentioned - a 'size queen'. Then again maybe she just couldn't 'get off' like other women? I realized those were her problems, not mine. I learned I had to move on.
Now I thank God every day for Jeannie. She showed me there'd never been anything wrong with me.
I looked it up on the Internet, and I know the Internet never lies. It said all men have some level of insecurity about their ability to perform. Men with small penises, I guess, are afraid they can't measure up. Most men worry at one time or other they might just be a little bit too small, and there's always a time or two, usually thanks to alcohol or tension when no matter how hard a guy tries the hydraulics just won't work. Then men with large penises are afraid they'll hurt 'the right girl' and lose her. And every man worries about the day when he just might not be able to 'get it up' at all.
Still I always felt like there was some unfinished business when it came to Angela. I knew that if the opportunity ever came I'd pay her back. The opportunity came in March, just a month before my marriage to Jeannie. It was totally unexpected.
I'd moved on. My marriage to Angela had become a memory. Sometimes I felt bad about how it came out. Usually I just tried to put the bad things aside and remember the good, and there had been a lot of good things once.
Then one night. I guess it was around 8:00 p.m. I remember it was a blustery March night; still winter and everyone was impatient for spring when our doorbell rang. Jeannie and I were still living in the townhouse, but we'd put in a contract on something we both liked. Jeannie was pregnant.
Jeannie went to the door and opened it. She called back, "Caden its Angela, and she doesn't look good."
"What," I said.
I heard Angela's voice. She sounded harsh, no she sounded upset, scared. Jeannie ushered her in. God what a mess. She looked awful! She wasn't wearing an overcoat, and her clothes were wet and soiled. Jeannie had to help her to a chair. She got her comfortably seated in one of the lazy boys; we had two.
I came in, "God Angela what happened. What are you doing here?"
Jeannie scolded, "Caden."
I ignored the scold, "Jesus, what happened to you?"
Angela started coughing. She looked feverish. She looked like somebody had slapped her around. Shit it looked like someone had beaten the crap out of her. I asked again, "What happened."
She said, "I met a man. I thought...well I let him move in...Big mistake."
What's his name? He did this to you," I asked?
Angela kept coughing, "Names Donovan Fischer. Oh Caden. I made a mistake. He's mean."
I said, "He beat you up like this?"
She coughed again and nodded, "He kicked me too. I think he broke something."
