Death By 1000 Cuts Pt 02 With A Hatchet

Ralph told his story in Death by 1000 Cuts, but there were a lot of questions that the readers asked. So, to answer them, Claire wants to tell her side:

"NO. THERE WILL BE NO DIVORCE!" I used my sternest voice. Ralph had to listen. He had to fall into line.

Sitting with his lawyer, across the table, my husband just shook his head. He had to listen to me. Because of him, I'd lost everything. I couldn't lose him as well. He and our son Ben; they were all I had left.

"Honey, I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I love you. I don't want a divorce. It didn't mean anything. It was just sex, just something to make me feel more equal." I brought out the tears, blinking my eyes to start them trailing down my cheeks. "You were always so strong, so smart. I always felt like you were leaving me behind and..."

"You thought you'd catch up by becoming a whore?" Ralph had kept his expression blank, not showing his anger or the love that I hoped he still had for me.

"I'm not a whore, please don't call me that. I've been seeing a therapist, and she's helping me see that I've been depressed and was just reaching out to find the love I felt was slipping away from us." I blinked a few more times, knowing the dropping tears would glisten on my face. My tears always moved my husband.

Not this time, apparently. "You're delusional. You need a psychiatrist, not a therapist." His placid mask slipped for a moment, then he recovered. "You couldn't seriously think fucking every Tom, Dick and Harry would somehow rekindle our love."

"I didn't sleep with every Tom..." I couldn't get Dick out before my husband cut me off.

"John, Pete, the Wife-Fuckers," he paused a moment to glare at me, "Will, James, the boys at Firehouse 78," he paused again and cleared his throat. My eyes blurred for real as I watched tears stream down his cheeks, and I realized anew how much I had hurt him. "Then there's Matt and let's not forget all those unnamed sex club gangbangers you and Sleasy serviced."

Before I could think of an objection or a counter to my husband, my lawyer, Steve Atyer, broke in. "Yes, Mr. Sutton, it's a long list, going back several years. Since you were aware of your wife's activities all those years and never objected, the court is going to assume your acceptance of the situation. Indeed, your very approval of your wife's promiscuity."

Greg Webb, who was the only one of Ralph's friends I had actually liked and who I had thought of as a friend, although I hadn't seen much of him in the last couple of years, was now my husband's lawyer. He'd always seemed to like me, but they'd known each other since grammar school. He was one of the acquaintances Ralph had accused me of alienating. I suppose I had, since he wasn't making any effort to hide the disgust with which he now regarded me. He spoke with open disdain for my lawyer, as well as for me.

"You've got that wrong. My client was unaware of his wife's 'promiscuity', as you put it." Greg began pulling a file out of his briefcase, mumbling something that sounded like 'wantonness'.

"Come on, how clueless could Mr. Sutton be, and how is he so completely informed about affairs that have been over for years?" My lawyer had told me that Ralph had to have been aware of everything long ago. He suggested that Ralph might have been excited by it all. I hadn't told him that Ralph hadn't touch me in the last year. We had still slept in the same bed, but he had kept to his side. If I cuddled next to him, he'd gently disengage. I don't think anything about me has excited Ralph for a while.

It would surely excite Steve, though. He'd had me describe every sex act I'd taken part in, down to the last detail. He was especially captivated by the gangbangs and threesomes Leesy had organized for us. He'd asked several times if she could join us in bed. I kept having to explain that Ralph had destroyed my relationship with my best friend by outing my affair with her husband, Matt. I'd lost all my friends, as well as my job. When I'd complained to Ralph that he hadn't needed to tell my coworkers about my dalliances with their husbands, he just told me that I shouldn't shit where I ate. My husband was surprising me with what an asshole he could be. He'd never been like this before. I mean, yeah, he could be a condescending asshole, that was what he was, but he was never a mean, vicious, unforgiving asshole until now. But yeah, he always was a perfect asshole. I just never realized it at first.

That was the whole goddamned problem, how perfect he had to be. He was just so fucking smart, so goddamn right all the time. He knew everything, won at everything, and just seemed to think it was his due. He corrected me all the time, in front of everyone, and his fucking friends always looked at me like I was a dumb bumpkin, especially if I ask any questions about whatever they were droning on about. They thought 'everybody knew' about whatever they knew. Fucking Mensa assholes.

Greg slapped a folder onto the table, bringing my focus back to the present. "As hard as it may be to believe, my client was clueless, Mr. Atyer, because he trusted his wife. If his son hadn't mentioned his mother going upstairs with her friends while he played video games, he'd probably still be the trusting, loving husband he used to be."

Opening the file, he pulled out a report from the Pickman Detective Agency. "After his son's comment, he started reviewing the home security tapes. As your client probably knows, the system only retains two weeks of recordings, before writing them over. But those two weeks showed several men coming and going from the house, including Matt Bowman, Louisa Bowman's husband."

"I'll have any tapes you have showing illicit acts between my client and guests thrown out of court. There's some expectation of privacy, after all, in a private home." Steve smiled and nodded at me like he'd just delivered a killer punch.

Greg looked at my husband and asked if he could believe this guy. Greg didn't have any respect for my lawyer, but Steve assured me that we had the upper hand here. Greg shook his head. "There's no expectation of privacy. First, your client was aware of the security system and..."

Steve jumped in, "But she wasn't aware of the internal cameras, and neither were her, eh, guests."

"Because," Greg pushed on, over the objections, "there are no internal cameras. Why would my client want cameras in his bedroom? No, all the cameras are external, where there's no expectation of privacy."

"Well, well," Steve was confused. "Well, then how do you know that anything illicit when on? You've got no proof of anything other than friends visiting."

"No, we have your client's statements that it was just sex, and now we have several of the 'guests' statements. And more importantly," Greg smiled as he pulled out a copy of a report and shoved it across the table. "We have the testimony of Louisa Bowman, who apparently found one of the Pickman operatives attractive." He glanced over the original of the report he had retained. "Apparently," he paused again to ask Ralph what he called Louisa, before continuing. "'Sleazy' likes pillow talk, and she was quite forthcoming about her friend Clary's wild parties and activities."

Ralph muttered, "I hope he used a condom with that diseased cunt."

Greg patted his arm and told him that he shouldn't insult their primary witness. My anger flared towards that bitch. I might have fucked her husband, but she didn't have to dump my whole history to my husband. I hope Matt decides to divorce her, because I plan to return the favor, in spades.

"No, Mr. Atyer, my client wasn't aware of his wife's 'promiscuity'," Greg chuckled and commented to Ralph that it made him laugh to think that my screwing half the town was just 'promiscuity'. I was beginning to remember why I stopped Ralph from getting together with his asshole friends.

"No, he wasn't aware of her 'promiscuity' until the week before he had your client served. He removed his son from that toxic environment as soon as he could. And we'll be petitioning the court for primary custody with supervised visitation only for the unfit mother." He glared at me as he began spreading pictures out on the table. I'd say that they were compromising, but that would be an understatement. In most of them I was airtight. Steve was practically drooling over the images. I slugged him in the arm. I wasn't paying $250 per hour for him to get his jollies off. Besides, that was his discounted rate. I got the 'friend's' discount by giving him the friends' benefits.

Speaking of friends, my husband looked at me and asked, "Did you know that Sleasy had filmed all your, what did she say you called them? Your adventures? And she was willing to share them all with us. I think the judge will find them interesting viewing." He signaled Greg and they both started getting up. "Just sign the divorce papers, Claire. You're just wasting money fighting it. And remember, your parents will be in court when we introduce the videos and pictures we now have."

He stopped at the door and smiled at me. That old happy smile from when we were newlyweds. Unbidden, hope sprang up. He would take me back, I thought. I wouldn't lose everything.

"You know, you accused me of not being able to find your clitoris without a road map. I think I should find you a map. One that would let you find a clue." He smiled again, happily, and left.

When I stopped crying, I signed the papers. I had lost everything. I was left with a lawyer who was greedily gathering up the pictures Greg had left behind. "For my files," claimed Steve. When we went back to his office, I saw the name plate on his door, "S. ATYR". Fitting fucking name for the lech.

[*]

It hadn't started like this. I loved Ralph and was so proud of him. He was athletic, good looking, and oh, so very smart. He'd wowed my parents with the depth and breadth of his knowledge. They thought he walked on water. My mother told me to grab him before someone else did. She said I'd never find another man who would treat me as well as Ralph did.

I knew she was right and threw myself. I was brought up to save it for marriage, so I had to keep him at arm's length, although we did everything except penetration. But I rubbed him and tugged him until he finally offered me that ring. Then the most wonderful time of my life began. We were just starting out, with very little money, but we lived in our own little cocoon of love. We spent every free second together. We even shopped together, although I knew Ralph hated shopping, but he would do anything to be near me, and I him. We played games, went for walks, or just sat together looking at the stars at night or the clouds during the day. We didn't even have to talk. We just needed to be near each other.

He always won the games. Almost always anyway. When I did win somehow, I'd dance around and tease him about it. He'd pretend to huff and puff and demand a rematch. It was fun, and I loved him so much.

Then Ralph got promoted and we transferred back to his hometown, and he introduced me to all his old friends and college buddies. We began to have a social life and the honeymoon was over.

It never bothered me during our first year when Ralph would comment on my grammar or correct something I said. That was just Ralph. "It's to whom, sweetie. Objective, not subjective." "It's just moose and deer, sweetie. There's no deers and mooses. They're both singular and plural nouns." "All the sprinklers won't go off if one does, sweetie. They're mechanical, with the valves held closed by a fusible metal link, that easily melts. But melting one doesn't affect any other one." "No, sweetie, that's a Queen Anne house, not Victorian."

It didn't bother me when it was just the two of us. I loved that he knew stuff and wanted to share it with me. But then, he did it constantly in front of his friends, who talked about all kinds of stuff I didn't know about. When I asked a question, Ralph would patiently explain it to me, but I could tell that he was irritated by the interruption, but was almost performing for his friends, showing how patient he was with his ignorant wife.

He was showing off for his friends and their wives, at my expense. Showing off, especially for that bitch, Alice, his best friend's wife. She was always finding a reason to lean against Ralph and rub his arm while she laughed at his lame jokes.

I got to the point where I hated hearing him say, "Sweetie". It just started to sound like "Stupid", as in, "No, Stupid, the Plantagenets were before the Tudors." Who the fuck cares? For my husband, it was just another chance to point out to his friends how smart he was and how stupid I am.

I began to realize that my function in our marriage was to be the ugly bridesmaid, who was there to make the bride look even prettier. My job was to be stupid and make my husband look brilliant, all the time. For him, people had to see how smart he was. He needed that. He'd steer conversations so he could pontificate on a subject or drop in some obscure fact. Or just make me look ignorant.

Finally, I'd had it. I started to strike back. I didn't think about it, it wasn't intentional. It was totally knee-jerk reactionary. I began teasing him in front of others about being a bad sport, a sore loser. Later, I started in on the spider story, or how clumsy he was at home (he'd dropped a dish. One fucking dish, but I made it sound like we were lucky to have any plates).

It didn't stop him from the constant corrections, though. I started making new friends, at work, at the gym, or around the neighborhood. When Ben was preschool, I met Lousia, and we became besties. She introduced me to a whole new group, and I was able to move our social life away from Ralph's pompous buddies. If I never heard about Nietzsche, Big Ass O (whatever that artist's name is that painted women like their boobs grew out of the side of their faces), or yellow clay in Iraq again, it'd be too soon.

No, my new friends thought Ralph was stupid for giving a damn about that stuff. They were interested in more real things, like sports. In fact, I asked the girls to have their husbands' conversations limited to sports and cars, around my husband. Ralph played sports in school, so he knew the games, but didn't give a damn about professional teams. He'd played sports to be admired. He didn't care about anyone else's talent, especially if it was greater than his.

Leesy and her friends made me realize that Ralphie (he hated that, but the group kept calling him by that nickname) wasn't all that perfect. Knowing a lot of stupid facts didn't make him smart; it just meant he had a good memory for shit no one gave a damn about. But ask him about sporting stats, movies or music, and he didn't know anything.

He tried. I caught him reading sports statistics books, arming himself with facts. But Leesy's husband, Matt, found the right counter. When Ralph threw out some fact or figure he thought would make him look smart, Matt would just say, "So?" Ralph never knew where to go from there. He knew the fact, but not the context. He'd just look befuddled, and slink into the background.

Suddenly, I was looking like the smart one in our marriage. And it felt good.

But it did affect our relationship. We started drifting apart, avoiding each other. At home, Ralph would play with Ben, and I'd stream some drama that the group was watching. I spent hours on the phone with Leesy, if we weren't out 'shopping' or 'doing charity work', talking about the programs we watched or the latest celebrity gossip. And of course, the sex we had had or would be having.

After a while, Ralph and I rarely had sex. And when we did, it was just sex. Bad sex at that. Somewhere along the line, we'd stop making love. I'd hardly noticed. Probably wouldn't have at all, if Leesy hadn't pointed it out to me. She noticed that my husband and I no longer held hands or even sat next to each other when the group gathered. I guess because we had more money now, and Ben, we no longer had to play games or go for walks. And silence was no longer comfortable; we now needed background music or the TV on to fill the void.

But Ralph would still correct me in front of people, and I would respond by taking every opportunity to point out what a poor loser my husband was.

[*]

I don't know exactly when I stopped respecting Ralph, but I know exactly when I became aware that I had stopped. It was when Leesy organized a spa weekend for her and me.

I was looking forward to a weekend of being pampered when Leesy picked me up at home that Friday night. We'd have two nights and two days at a spa resort, with comps Leesy had gotten from a supplier. I was excited until she told me there were no comps.

"What?" I asked. "How much is this weekend going to cost us? Ralph's going to kill me if it's too much."

"Relax, it's not going to cost us a cent." Leesy laughed easily. "We're not going to the spa. No, we're going to the Continental Hotel in Springfield, for a weekend of dance and romance!"

"Are the boys going to meet us there?" I was confused. Was this some kind of surprise weekend Ralph had planned?

"Oh, the boys are going to meet us there, you bet. And you're going to love them." Leesy laid out her plan for the weekend. The boys weren't to be Ralph and Matt. Her friends were a couple of guys she'd met at a convention, "And they're a bunch of fun. They're both great dancers and they've got the biggest penises I've ever seen." My friend extolled their virtues gleefully.

"Take me home. Now." I demanded. "I'm not going to cheat on Ralph."

"Clary, when was the last time you got laid? I mean, really fucked, not slam, bam, and roll over, asleep?"

"Ralph and I haven't really been..." I mumbled. "Lately, it's just..."

"EXACTLY!" my friend crowed, "You owe it to yourself to have fun. Look, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. The guys don't expect anything from you. If push comes to shove, I can handle both of them. I've done it before." I looked at her, in amazement. I had learned that she swung a little outside of her marriage, but taking on two guys? Well, that was something else.

I begged her to turn around, but she kept driving, final convincing me that I deserved a little wining, dining, and dancing with a handsome man, no strings attached. I thought about it, about how Ralph seemed to go out of his way to belittle me, and finally agreed. It had been a while since I really enjoyed myself.

Well, the wine, whiskey and marijuana gummies help me feel like I deserved a good rogering, and dancing around in the arms of a tall, gorgeous, firm bodied man seemed to make it all a natural step. Especially when he kept grinding his hardon against me. That first night I spent with one of her friends. The next day, we all ended up together and by the time we left on Sunday, both men had enjoyed Louisa and me in every way possible.

As we drove home, I told my friend about how guilty I was beginning to feel about cheating on my marriage. "I shouldn't have done this to Ralph."

"Oh, crap. Don't you believe it. Ralphie's probably screwing someone else if he's been avoiding you. You said he still sneaks out to visit his college friends, didn't you?" Leesy asked.

"He doesn't sneak. It just when nothing else is planned and we're off doing something, he'll go see them." I explained.

"And you really don't think he's hitting on that Alice you've bitched about. You don't think he's pounding her like a railroad spike?" Lousia's laughter seemed to make it all sound plausible. "You really think a man could go as long as he has without getting laid?"

I began to think that I did deserve it. Fuck Ralph. If he'd rather have Alice, Leesy promised to take me on some adventures. Some wild adventure.

And she did. Once you cross the line and find out how fun it can be, it's hard to go back. I'd only ever been with Ralph, who had told me what a great lover he was. I had believed him, until the first time a bigger dick filled me up.