FAITHFUL
by
Vandemonium1
As often happens, when reading KCFirst's fine tale, Faithful', an alternate ending sprang to mind which I thought was reasonably original. I sought KC's permission and generous soul that he is, he approved. You'll need to read his first, at least until near the end of page 1 when you see the paragraph below, my ending starts there. As usual, my thanks do, and yours should, go to the talented CreativityTakesCourage for editing this.
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LAST PARAGRAPH FROM KCFirst
Lying in bed, I kept wondering how Molly could think, that after this weekend, she and I could just magically resume our loving relationship. All I could assume is that their four-year emotional affair, without it being a sexual affair, has them thinking that the world owes them, and everyone will understand their needs.
VANDY FROM HERE
But then as I lay there the ceiling light seemed to penetrate my chest, accusing me and forcing my focus inward. I questioned my own behavior. Why, after all the emotional slaps in the face Molly had dished out, was I still here? I'd had my suspicions, four years' worth, confirmed. Physical or emotional, did it really matter what type of affair they'd been having?
I had the car keys. No one was standing between me and the exit. I realized that despite the years of doubt over her fidelity, I'd loved my wife for so long and so deeply that the process of falling out of love would take some time. My heart wasn't like a faucet; I couldn't turn it off and on at will.
Maybe nothing was happening. After all, I hadn't actually seen anything untoward apart from John and Molly holding hands. Could this be a test or a wind-up? Would I get up in the morning to a rousing, "April Fool", and smiles all round.
Even as the thought ran through my head, I realized I was emotionally grasping at straws. The enormity of what my wife was doing to me was just too hard to swallow, too terrible for my brain to accept. I was riding the rollercoaster between hope and despair.
At one of the low points, I cursed Gail. Why should she be able to blot this out as something happening miles away while I had it thrust in my face. Why should she get the comfort of familiar surroundings while I was in a strange bed a mere door or two away? She'd fucking enabled it, after all. Right then the idea of sharing the suffering seemed mighty attractive.
I leapt out of bed, and wearing just my boxer shorts, opened my bedroom door, taking no particular precautions. There were three bedrooms upstairs and I was in the first one, I noticed the door to the middle one was open. As I strode down the corridor, Larry stepped into the frame of the open door. As I drew nearer, I noticed the chair he'd been sitting in was positioned just inside his and Janet's room. He assessed me and what he saw made him step into the center of the corridor, arms folded on his chest, biceps bulging. He shook his head at me. Now words were spoken. None were necessary. I retreated to our room.
Our room. What a joke. Apart from entering it to dump one of her suitcases, freshen up in the bathroom, and relocate her main bag to her lover's room, Molly hadn't been in it.
The tenseness of the whole evening was getting to my bladder, so I went into the bathroom to unload. I glanced around. All good quality fittings, clean, with his and her vanities. I looked at the one where Molly had earlier laid out some of her stuff and noticed an unfamiliar small, black box, similar to the ones you get jewelry in. With a sinking heart, I finished urinating, re-buttoned my boxers, and eyed the box balefully while washing my hands. I both wanted to confirm its contents and remain blissfully unaware. In the end the need to know won and I reached for the box.
My rage was instant, like flame to fuel, when I saw what was inside. Molly's wedding and engagement rings. It was then that the scope of my ambush was made plain to me. This tryst, fiasco, shit, I didn't know what to call it, had been weeks in planning. Long enough for Molly to decide that when she cuckolded me it would be without her rings, and she'd need somewhere to store them.
I was so angry it was like a thunder and lightning storm was happening inside my head. But still, fifteen years of loving someone like I love Molly was a hard habit to kick. My fury slid off her and focused on the organizer of this weekend from hell, the enabler, the bitch, Gail. If she'd recognized the feelings between the lovebirds, why didn't she just sit her husband down and say, "No fucking way, stay away from the bitch." Why didn't she insist that John have Molly reassigned? Sacked? Or, if not that, why didn't she alert me? Sure, I had had suspicions but she, clearly, had had something far more concrete to work with.
To organize this weekend then remain away, emotionally sheltered was just out and out cowardice. With a focus for my rage, I finally started planning. I meant to rip through that isolationism and thrust Gail into my arena, the full flesh 3D experience of betrayal.
With Larry standing guard, the corridor approach to John and Molly's room was out. I strode to the huge window that looked out over the inner courtyard pool. It was already open, so I stuck my head out. A tiled awning stretched past my room to the end of the house, flat enough to be safe to walk on. Hell, the way I was feeling, I'd have been prepared to crawl. I picked up the shirt I'd thrown on the floor and stuck my cell phone in the pocket before climbing as quietly as I could out the window.
I paused at the edge of the window of Larry and Janet's room. The curtains were open. I peered carefully inside and the scene of domestic bliss only served to fuel my anger. Janet was sitting up in the bed, reading a book by the light of the bedside lamp. Larry was reading a magazine while sitting in a small but comfy looking armchair positioned just inside the open door. I wanted to scream at them both but that would only give me momentary release. Taking a slow, deep breath, I uncurled my fists and sidled silently past their room.
The next window, however, made what I'd felt looking in on Larry and Janet seem little more than a tantrum. The window of my destination ripped away any delusions I may have held. Tore them up, threw them on the floor, then spit and pissed on them.
It was a warm night and they'd left the window wide open. How convenient. Did they hope I'd hear them? John and Molly had also left the bedside lamp on. The whole scene was playing out a mere eight feet from the window. She was on her back with her legs spread. From my position, I could see the spider veins on her outer thighs that she was so self-conscious about. Not that John seemed to mind; he was between them with his buttocks languidly rising and falling.
John alternated between bending himself to tongue the nipple on one of her elfin-like, little B-cup breasts, then going higher for a full-on lip lock with my wife. Cynically, I wondered if she'd make an exception for her beloved John and ride him cowgirl style with the lights on because she certainly never would for me. Oh no, couldn't have me, her stupid husband, see her tiny breasts in an unflattering position. I somehow swallowed my rage, again transferring it to Gail, as I took out my phone and began recording.
I was easily close enough to hear every whisper and squelch. Slurp on left breast, tongue duel, slurp on right breast. Her whispering her love for him. Extended tongue lock as his buttocks sped up their pace. Her guttural groan of, "Come on, darling, I want to feel your seed splashing deep inside me." His grunting and her beatific smile as she didn't come but obviously loved the fact he did. I couldn't stand to watch any more. This was love I was witnessing and one of the participants was supposed to give me everything she had to give.
Stopping the recording, I walked carefully back to my window and climbed in. Before the rage consumed rational thought, I packaged up the video clip and soon it was winging its way to Gail. Misery loves company, don't they say?
That still didn't dent my anger enough and the idea of staying two doors from where my wife was making love to her other soulmate was an anathema. I quickly dressed, packed my suitcase, and pocketed the ring box I'd spied earlier and made for the stairs. Ever alert, Larry once again blocked the corridor between my room and John's, but he quickly relaxed when he saw where I was headed. As I reached the top of the stairs, I turned to look at him. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod, almost in salute, which spoke volumes. 'You're doing what I would do in impossible circumstances', that nod said.