My wife Ashley and I had arrived at the Connor family estate at four PM. It was Friday and the Connor family reunion was scheduled for the long Memorial Day weekend. The family retreat was so big the freaking bedrooms were numbered. I had married into the wealthy Connor family. Ashley Connor had been one of the most sought female descendents of her grandparents, Timothy and Rose Connor, and I had won her hand!
Jeff Burton had been the first to arrive at the sprawling log cabin. Actually, it had been an inn fifty years prior. It featured a dozen bedrooms, fourteen bathrooms, two kitchens, a huge game room with all sorts of animal heads mounted on the walls, and five fireplaces. The care and upkeep kept a married couple that lived a mile down the road busy the year round.
Jeff had married Ashley's first cousin, Amber Connor. Amber was as dark as Ashley was blonde, equally beautiful, and nearly ten years younger than Ashley. She and Jeff had a 12 year old daughter, Amy, and a baby due in two months. Jeff was about five years younger than I, and two years younger than Ashley.
Bill and Agnes Winters arrived shortly after us. Agnes was another first cousin and Bill was her husband. It was the duty of the early arrivals to make certain all was ready for the influx of approximately 60 family members, friends, and guests that were expected to stream in all day Saturday. We really had very little to do since the caretakers had stocked the freezers, refrigerators, shelves, and whiskey cabinets in anticipation of the annual blowout.
Jeff had come alone. His wife, Amber, and daughter Amy, had spent several days visiting Ashley's mom in Nicholson, and would be driving with her to the retreat Saturday morning.
Almost from the time I walked through the door, Jeff had been thrusting a fresh beer into my hands. The first couple had been welcome, but I became suspicious by the third drink. I was notorious for falling into a very deep and prolonged sleep after I had more than four or five beers in a short period of time. Because of that fact, Jeff had become my best friend in the world. Over twenty years prior, he physically carried my unconscious form out of a burning house owned by a mutual friend.
I had about four beers over my limit at a party that night. I had crashed into an empty bed about midnight. Around three in the morning, Jeff, who was also staying over, awoke to the smell of smoke and alerted those sleeping in the house. He woke everyone except me, that is. As he told the story so many times afterward, he shook me, and then slapped me, but I would not even open an eye. As the smoke began to billow around us, Jeff wrapped my arms around his neck and dragged me out the front door. I never woke up until he dropped my boxer clad ass in the snow in the yard. After that, we were almost inseparable.
We had a lot planned tomorrow and I guessed Jeff's plan. He was going to see that I had enough beer to be worthless anytime before noon, and then razz me forever. By noon, our wives' parents would have arrived and notice my lack of participation. I began dumping beer down the drain when I went to the bathroom. I insisted I had to go out to the car for some forgotten items a couple times and spilled the contents of my bottle in the drive. I was determined to be sober and alert for the weekend festivities, as well as surprise Jeff with my new found recuperative abilities.
By a little after eleven, I was having difficulty staying awake. I knew it was the long drive to the retreat that caused my fatigue, but Jeff made a few quips about me not holding my beer when I excused myself and headed for bed. Ashley, Jeff, Agnes, and Bill were still telling stories downstairs when I nodded off to sleep.
I awoke to the sounds of Bill and Agnes laughing quietly as they made their way to their bedroom, which was adjacent to ours. I knew Ashley would soon be climbing into bed with me. I dozed off again.
The next time I woke, I immediately sat up and looked around. Something felt wrong. I felt Ashley's side of the bed. She was not there, nor had she been. My stomach started churning as I climbed out of bed and wandered down the hallway. I listened at Jeff's bedroom door and heard only soft breathing. I quickly, but methodically, searched the remaining empty bedrooms, as well as every other room I considered feasible. Coming up empty, I decided to check the occupied bedrooms.
I tried Jeff's door and it was locked. I went quickly back to my room and dug my pocket knife out of my jeans. I returned to Jeff's door and used the little screw driver blade to unlock the bedroom door. I quietly slid the door open and peeked inside.
I forced my stomach to relax. The moonlight was bright enough to illuminate Ashley lying on her side. She was naked. Jeff was spooned tight to her with her left tit in his hand and his flaccid cock at the entrance of her sex. Cum glistened on her thighs. I quickly closed the door and headed for the bathroom.
I never made it. Vomit spewed from me like a scene from "The Exorcist". I pretty much plastered the wall and a throw rug on the floor. Thinking I needed to quickly clean up the mess, I suddenly gave a grim chuckle. Puke on the floor was the least of my worries. I padded downstairs to the den. I removed a brick in the fireplace and pulled a key out. It easily opened the fireproof gun safe. I mulled over my options. Looking in a small container at the bottom of the safe, I saw some 12 gauge shotgun shells. My decision had been made for me.
I climbed the stairs as I loaded the Remington goose gun and considered the situation. I would blast Jeff's head completely off. I felt that was a no-brainer. Again, I managed a mirthless chuckle at my mental pun. Would the trauma of her sleeping lover's brains smeared all over the bedspread and headboard be worse for Ashley than actually being shot herself? If I allowed Ashley to live, would she suffer her entire life the way I wanted her to? Or would she have her pipes cleaned by some other bastard before I even went to trial?
Shit! I would be arrested and sent away for life. What would my two kids, Arlene and Jeffrey, think of me if I shot their mom? How about when I became a convict, sleeping with some big fucker named Bubba? That would not be something to cause my children to remember me fondly!
As I reached the top of the stairs, I realized I couldn't shoot Ashley. I would sooner give my life to save hers, than harm her in any way. Isn't that the way you should feel about someone you love? Could I kill Jeff? I had no doubt that he deserved it, but did his wife and family deserve the pain his death would create? Amber was a wonderful woman and I had always had a special place in my heart for her. She would surely hate me if I killed her husband, regardless how good my reasons.
I entered the room and held the barrel of the shotgun a few feet from Jeff's head. He was sleeping contently with Ashley's tit still in his hand and a smile on his lips. My hand shook as I pushed the gun's safety off. Beads of sweat formed on my brow. My breathing became ragged. I stepped back and lowered the gun. Jeff had saved my life years ago. If he had left me to die in that bed, I would never have met Ashley. I would never have had my two wonderful children.
Maybe the problem was me. I wasn't satisfying Ashley. Jeff apparently held me in contempt. Maybe everyone did. Why go on this way? I took the shotgun by the barrel and placed it in my mouth.
