Christmas Counseling And Cell Phones

I was just getting out of the shower when my cell-phone rang. Cursing, I wrapped a towel around myself and hustled into the bedroom to grab it from the top of the dresser. Darlene had already left for some last-minute Christmas shopping—we were going to meet later at the counselor's office.

Before I could even say "hello" a happy male voice said, "hey Darlene, any chance we could get together for a quick one today? I just can't wait for two more days to have your hot mouth around my cock."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I said angrily. There was a gasp, then two or three seconds of total silence, then the click of him hanging up.

Stunned, I looked at the phone—what the hell was THAT all about? After a minute, I realized it was Darlene's, not mine. They were the same model, but mine had a crack on the glass screen that was missing from the one I held in my hand. She must have picked up the wrong phone on her way out the door.

But who on earth had been calling her looking for a blowjob? Jesus Christ, was she fucking around on me? It sure seemed like it. Stunned, I put the phone down, went back into the bathroom and dried myself off, my mind racing. All I could think was "it can't be".

********

Darlene and I had been married for six years—no kids, by mutual agreement—and the last few months had been pretty rough. We still got along okay, and she certainly still seemed to love me, but her interest in sex had dropped off virtually to nothing. From two or three times a week—initiated at least some of the time by her—we'd gotten down to once or twice a month, and even then only when I insisted. And when we did have sex, she was passive and unenthusiastic, not the eager and enthusiastic partner she had been early in our marriage.

We'd talked about the problem over and over. Darlene kept telling me that it wasn't anything in particular, just that she was tired all the time, extra-busy at work, blah blah blah. Except that nothing had changed at her work, no big projects or terrible deadlines, no promotion.

Each time I brought it up Darlene said she'd do better—and sometimes we'd make love that night—but it quickly went back to where it had been: nowhere. Me asking, her making excuses.

By the end of September I'd had it, and I sat her down on the couch one evening after dinner.

"Darlene, I love you, but I'm not prepared to go on like this. I'm not willing to live the rest of my life without sex. You used to love having sex with me, and clearly you don't any more. Something has to change, or I'm going to get a divorce."

She looked at me, utterly stunned. "A divorce? Jesus, honey, isn't that a bit drastic?"

"Darlene, do you know how bad it's gotten? I started keeping track: in the past three months we've had three quickies, plus actually making love once. That's four times since July 1st—and during that time you've turned me down 18 times. I'm not going to live like this."

She looked down, obviously very uncomfortable. "Baby, I'm sorry. You know I love you. And I can do better—I will. I promise. It's just that I've been so tired..."

"Not good enough, Darlene. I want two promises from you, or I'm going to find a lawyer on Monday."

She watched me, warily, and I went on. "First, I want you to see Dr. Evans and have a complete check-up, to make sure that there's nothing wrong physically. And second, I want us to start seeing a marriage counselor."

"A marriage counselor? But there's nothing wrong with—"

"Yes there is. Are you listening to me, Darlene? We're living together practically like brother and sister! Whether you want to admit it or not, something has really gone wrong, and we're either going to try to fix it, or I'm leaving."

A long argument ensued, complete with tears from Darlene, but I was adamant, and eventually I got my way. She saw Dr. Evans, who gave her a clean bill of health; and we began meeting once a week with Eileen Archer, a counselor recommended to us by our friends Brad and Allison, who'd worked with her a couple of years earlier.

********

We'd been in counseling for about two months and it had been going all right, or at least I thought it had. We did an awful lot of talking about our relationship, about the work each of us did, about the families we grew up in and what our parents' marriages were like. Some of it seemed boring or irrelevant, but Eileen was confident that we were making progress, even though none of it had yet improved life in our bedroom.

So far we hadn't spent that much time talking about sex, more about the relationship and how we got along out of bed. Eileen's watchword to me was, "be patient"; and to both of us, "be honest—with yourself and your partner".

Now, standing in the bedroom, staring at Darlene's phone like a snake had just crawled out of it, I had to wonder. Had I just discovered the REAL reason she didn't have any interest in fucking me any more? Was it as simple as that—I'd been replaced? Someone else stepping in and filling the traditional husband's role?

Nothing had changed in Darlene's schedule, so far as I could see. She wasn't working late more, or going out on mysterious shopping trips or dates with "the girls"—and she wasn't coming home flushed or disheveled and running to the shower. But that didn't mean she wasn't fucking some asshole, only that she was being careful about it.

I picked up her phone and checked "Calls Received", and to my surprise only one call was listed—the one I'd just answered. The caller was identified as CM.

I pressed "Reply" and waited while the phone rang. Not surprisingly the guy didn't dare pick up, and it went to voicemail. "This is Chris Mason—leave me a message and I'll get back to you. Have a great day!" I hung up.

I recognized the name—he was another employee at the brokerage firm where Darlene worked, but in some other division. She'd mentioned him to me once or twice, but I'd never met him.

I checked Darlene's phone more thoroughly. Not only were all the previous received calls deleted, but the lists of calls missed and calls sent were also empty. Who goes to the trouble of deleting those? Darlene had obviously been covering her tracks.

I headed for the den, looking for the cell-phone and house phone statements for the past few months. Darlene paid the bills, so I never had any reason to look for them. In the desk I found all the bills for our house phone—but a search of them found no calls from Chris Mason, or at least not from his cell.

But the cell phone records for the past eight months were missing. I looked in the checkbook, and the cell phone bills had been paid—so Darlene must have hidden or thrown out the statements, no doubt because they showed calls to Chris Mason.

********

I got to Eileen's office about twenty minutes early. Darlene's car wasn't in the parking lot yet, so I sat and did some thinking.

If I was right—if Darlene was cheating on me with Chris Mason, or with anybody else—our marriage was over. She might love me, but that wasn't worth a damn if she was spreading her legs for someone else.

I guess she did love me, or why would she want to stay together? Why bother with counseling, above all when she seemed to be lying both to the counselor and me? But if she thought she could have her cake and eat it too, she was about to find out she was all wrong!

I considered confronting Darlene today in Eileen's office: sharing the contents of Chris's call and demanding an explanation. But I realized that that wasn't good enough for me. I wanted proof, and then I wanted to end our marriage in a spectacular way that would rub Darlene's face in it.

I was angry, and hurt, and she was going to pay for what she'd done to me. And I had a much better place in mind for our final confrontation than Eileen's office.

So I went inside, and after a little while Darlene showed up, gave me a kiss, and we went in for our appointment. Eileen got us talking about the usual bullshit, how we handled arguments in our relationship, and whether our different styles came from our experiences in seeing our parents argue, etc. etc. etc.

I played along, looked thoughtful and serious, tried to give plausible answers, and managed not to grind my teeth too obviously. That fucking bitch! I wanted to grab her by the throat and strangle her right in front of Eileen.

Near the end of the session Eileen gave me the chance to get one good lick in, even if it was only a subtle one. She said something like, "I know this is hard, for both of you. But we're learning about your marriage, about the expectations each of you brings to it, and your honesty is really contributing to an atmosphere in which we can bring the conversation around to a productive discussion of your sexual issues as well."

I broke in to say, "thanks for saying that, Eileen. It's been difficult for me sometimes, but I've been trying to be totally honest and forthright—it seems like the only way to get anywhere. Darlene, would you say that's true for you too?"

I watched her, as she flushed a little bit and avoided my eyes. She looked at Eileen instead, and nodded and said, "absolutely, Alan—I feel the same way."

I wondered if Eileen noticed Darlene's obvious discomfort; she didn't comment on it, but I thought she gave Darlene a considering look for a moment or two.

********

After the session we went across the street to a diner for a quick lunch. When she went to the Ladies' Room I quickly retrieved my cell phone from her purse and put it in my pocket. Then I walked outside to buy a newspaper from a vending machine, and while I was out there I turned off Darlene's phone, wrapped it in the newspaper, and stuffed it down into the bottom of a trash can.

I figured Chris Mason would be frantic to reach Darlene, to let her know what had happened, so I was going to make sure he never had a chance to get to her.

Darlene and I chatted about nothing in particular during our lunch—mostly about her shopping, and about what presents we still needed for the next day, when we were going to her parents' house for Christmas dinner. We made a list of what we needed and then went off to a series of crowded stores to pick up the last few things.

I was amazed at my ability to hold my tongue, to pretend to be pleasant, when all I wanted was to smack her. But whether I was a better actor than I thought or Darlene was too distracted, she never noticed that anything was out of the ordinary.

The phone at home rang three times during dinner, and I jumped to grab it each time. The first two were just hang-ups. The third time, about twenty minutes later, a woman's voice I'd never heard before said, "may I speak to Darlene, please?"

I wondered if Chris, out of desperation, had recruited some female friend to give Darlene a message for him. I said, "may I ask who's calling?"

The voice said, "uh, this is um, Iris—from work."

Smiling to myself, I said, "and what is this in reference to?"

She was stumped. There was a brief silence, and then she said, "oh, it's the, uh, well, there's an account we both work on, and I had a couple of questions about it."

On Christmas Eve? I said, "I'm afraid she can't come to the phone right now, but I'll be sure to give her the message. Have a nice evening!" And I hung up with a smile.

Darlene looked at me questioningly, and I said, "some lady doing a survey. Can you believe them, calling on Christmas Eve?"

I could tell Darlene was a little concerned. She waited a few minutes, then casually wandered into the other room, no doubt looking to check her cell phone. She came back holding her purse and looking worried.

"Honey, do you have any idea where my cell phone might be? I know I grabbed it off the dresser when I left this morning."

"Gee Darlene, I have no idea. It's not in your purse? Have you looked around your car? Or maybe you dropped it in the mall somewhere?"

She went and searched the car, to no avail, while I sat and smiled to myself. Eventually she gave up, and I promised to get her a new one as a New Year's Present. Don't count on it, honey, I thought to myself!

Her next step was sure to be trying to call Chris, if she could only get away from me for a few minutes. Several times during the evening I noticed Darlene watching me out of the corner of her eye. I wondered whether she was hoping for a chance to get to the phone. Once she said, "honey, I'm a little tired—I'm going to go upstairs and just watch TV for a while, okay?"

"Sure, Darlene," I replied. "Actually that sounds great—I'll just put the dishes in the sink and come up with you." She smiled at me, but I could see she was annoyed.

An hour later she asked me to make sure the trash cans were out at the curb. When I reminded her that the next day was Christmas and there was no pick-up, she turned her head away from me in obvious frustration. When we went to sleep, she hadn't had a chance to call anyone.

********

On Christmas morning I got myself up early, had some breakfast while Darlene slept, and made a few preparations. Then I came into the bedroom and gently woke her.

"Good morning, honey—Merry Christmas!" I gave her a fake smile. "There's coffee in the kitchen. I'm going out—I'll meet you later at your folks' house."

She sat up groggily. "It's only 8:30, Alan, where are you going?"

I smiled again. "Got a last-minute present to pick up for you, sweetheart. But don't worry—I'll see you over there at 2."

She started to protest—but weren't all the stores closed today? and couldn't I come home afterwards and pick her up? But I was already headed out the door, blowing her a kiss.

At 8:45 I was knocking on the door of Chris Mason's condo, having looked up his address in Darlene's office directory. I gambled that he'd be in town today, since he'd mentioned looking forward to seeing Darlene the next day.

When he opened the door he was wearing a bathrobe and looking sleepy—a tall guy, not bad-looking, about 25 or so. "Yeah, what do you—what the fuck?"

He stopped talking and backed up into his living room, while I stepped in and quickly closed the door behind me. I was holding a Hämmerli 208s target pistol aimed right at his chest. It wasn't all that deadly a weapon, just something I used for practice at a local target range, but Mason clearly didn't know that. He looked absolutely terrified.

"Let me introduce myself, Chris. I'm Alan Rohattan, husband of Darlene, your current fuck-buddy."

His eyes widened and he took another step back. "Hey man, stay calm, okay? I don't know what you're...."

"Save it, Chris. You called yesterday asking for a blow job—do you really think I couldn't figure out what's going on?

"Now, here's what's going to happen. We're going to sit here in your living room and have a nice, comfortable chat. If I don't get the answers I want, I'm going to shoot you once or twice in the balls and leave you to bleed to death.

"If you decide to be more cooperative, then after a while we'll go visit some people I know and have a talk with them—then I'll leave you to get on with your life. Got it?"

He looked at me, warily, shaking his head a little. "All I have to do is talk to you ..."

I nodded. "Yup. And I'll leave you alone. Beats the hell out of being shot, don't you think?"

********

Chris and I had a nice little talk, and he told me just what I wanted to know. Then I watched him as he got some clothes and took them into the bathroom to get showered and dressed.

After that, he made us sandwiches in his kitchen and we ate, me all the time holding the gun on him. There wasn't a lot of chit-chat, but that was fine with me.

At 1:45 we went out and got into my car. I gave Chris the address and told him to drive, while I sat in the back seat with the gun still in my hand.

When we got to Darlene's parents' house I had Chris park four houses down, so they wouldn't look out and see my car. I could see that Darlene's car was already there, along with the car belonging to her sister Barbara and her husband. But I wanted to make a dramatic entrance, so we sat and waited until 2:30 before I got Chris out of the car and walked him up their driveway.

"No games now, got it Chris?" I said. "You remember the arrangement. We go in, I make a few introductory remarks, you tell your story, and I leave. And you keep your testicles. My gun is going to be in my pocket, but it will be out in less than one second if you give me any shit."

He looked somewhere between uncomfortable and terrified. "Don't worry, man, I'm gonna play it just like you said."

When we rang the doorbell Darlene's mom, Sarah, answered it. Her welcoming smile turned into a look of perplexity when she saw Chris.

"Hi Alan, uh...who's this?"

"Hi Sarah, Merry Christmas!" I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek as we came into the foyer. "This is Chris, he'll just be staying for a few minutes."

Ignoring her confusion, I took Chris by the arm and marched him straight into the dining room, where the family was just getting ready to tuck in. About to start without me, from the look of it.

"Merry Christmas, everyone!" I said with a cheery smile, looking at the surprised faces. Darlene's father Tom was there, and her sister Barbara, with her husband Mark and their two boys, Teddy and Ben. And then there was Darlene. Everyone else's face had a confused but pleasant, even anticipatory expression—here was a nice surprise, they thought, an extra guest.

But Darlene looked pale as a ghost. Her mouth hung open a couple of inches, and I thought she might faint.

"Everybody, this is Chris. He's a co-worker of Darlene's and he's got a little story to tell us. Go ahead, Chris!"

Darlene struggled to her feet. "No Alan, this is not the..."

I interrupted her quickly. "It's all right, Darlene, I think everyone needs to hear this."

She took several quick steps towards the door, but I grabbed her by the arm and held her tight. "Okay, Chris."

Darlene tried to break free from me, saying, "no, no! Chris, don't!" I put my free hand over her mouth to silence her, while her parents looked on in utter amazement.

Unwillingly, Chris began to speak.

"Darlene and I have been...having an affair. It started in April, and it's continued since then."

Darlene's family gasped, then stared—at Chris, then at Darlene and me. After a long moment of silence Barbara got Teddy and Ben out of their chairs and hustled them into the living room, where she turned on the TV for them, then came back and shut the door behind her.

"Go on, Chris," I smiled.

"We've been getting together at work—there are some massage rooms in the fitness center with doors that you can lock. We've been doing it about twice a week, meeting at different times so no one will notice a pattern. We work on different floors of the office, so nobody has realized we're gone at the same time.

"There are showers there—that's where we clean up afterwards."

Darlene continued to struggle against me—she tried to bite my hand but I held her tight.

"And Chris," I said, "what exactly having you two been doing together? Please be specific."

He didn't meet my eyes. "We...fuck, mostly. Sometimes Darlene gives me a blow-job, to get started, and she loves it when I eat her pussy."

I enjoyed the look of utter horror on Darlene's mother's face. Darlene had given up struggling with me, and I took my hand from her mouth. She just stood, tears pouring down her face.

"And what is it like, fucking Darlene?" I asked pleasantly. I knew what his answer would be—I'd made him practice it a couple of times to get it down smooth.

"She's...she's very hot. Always really eager for it. She bucks her hips, pushes against me—especially when she's about to come. She says stuff like 'I need your dick', or 'I've got to get that thing inside me', or 'I've been thinking for three days about getting that cock into my mouth again'."