February Sucks Are You Better

Foreword: I know I did a Mark perspective. Now... it's time to flip this whole thing on its head. I didn't ask permission directly, using the blanket permission given.

Get ready for a fresh take that might suck grammatically.

Also, in my previous take, I changed the names purposefully. Most people trying to deal with fallout anonymously will do that. In this rendition? I'll keep them true to GA's base story. The couple are the Carlisle's, and Morrison's is the club, the Madison is the Hotel.

Enjoy

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Myself and Linda had just arrived at Morrisons, after checking into the Madison. We were to meet our crowd there, and have a night of dinner and dancing. Unfortunately, things wouldn't go as they were supposed to -- for either of us.

Sitting down at the table, we exchanged pleasantries. Then, we began talking about everything from work to football. As is standard practice in this situation, the men talked about Man things, the women talked about Woman things.

However, eventually, Phil interrupted the conversation we were having about football by asking rather loudly. "Isn't that Marc Lavalliere?"

Now, here are a few facts. I am little more than a salesperson that got through college on a GI Bill. I mean, who wouldn't at least attempt to sign up for that? 4 years of active duty for a full college ride? So, I got an AS in Business. I was looking at the long road, hoping to eventually become a CEO.

Because of this, through Continuing Education offered by my place of employment, I am now an MBA, and probably clean the clock of everyone at the table as far as earnings.

Second, there's the Blue Dress. Yes, capital B, capital D. My wife was dressed in one. Her cool complexion "popped" as the young kids said (half a decade ago), against it. In the lighting of the Morrison, somehow she stood out completely. She had this aura that every movie rendition of Joan of Arc had under the lighting. It was good enough that my 10 year married cock was standing at half attention.

Third? Lavalliere -- Mister Fabric Boy -- was headed our way. And it seems his sights were set on Linda.

"It is! It is!" Gushed Dee. Dee is Linda's undercover slut friend who thinks she cucks her husband Dave on a regular basis. What Dee doesn't realize is that Dave has been fucking her sister regularly for the past 5 years. Why haven't I said anything? Their business is their business, and I want no part of that drama.

Now. 2 things about Mister Fabric. He has a reputation -- at least publicly -- of being a good guy. He contributes to charities, and he signs autographs for kids for free. However, if you dig deep enough, you find the real dirt. Frankly? He enjoys cucking husbands.

Now, many of you might say that he is a despicable person -- even a villain. I disagree. It is not on him to preserve or even respect someone's marriage. It is on the two people within that marriage to preserve it. So, that being said?

He's looking at Linda as if she were a Japanese A5 Wagyu! Fuck! Now, I'm no manlet. I'm 6 foot tall... barely. However, my body shape tends more toward the nerdy spectrum. I have ropy muscles with no pump. When I'm not flexing, I have a bit of a dad bod. This dude is a fucking sculpted GOD. Capital G, Capital O, Capital G.

On top of that? He's conventionally attractive. I can admit that, even in the moment. Situational awareness and assessment is something that sticks with you through your whole life -- especially when you use it to keep from getting your ass from being Gumped.

So, he's on his way over, and he's targeting Linda. Linda, my loving wife. She's got this thing. She's passively religious and actively loving. However, at the end of the day? She's pretty fucking hot. I landed her in college. I was the older guy who was still military cut. I'd Seen shit. I'd Done shit. I might have a bit of PTSD, but that just makes me sexier.

So, this motherfucker has to be 6'4", and at least 250. All fucking muscle! Jesus fuck, performance enhancing supplements that allow you to pass a drug screen much? Yeah! That's Marc LaValliere. I can smell Linda's arousal as she looks up and locks eyes with him!

Double Fuck!

So, he approaches, and he's all "Can I have this dance?" To my wife. His voice is silky smooth. This shit is practiced. It's a routine. I know this, because I'm a Man. capital M.

I stand no chance in her brain. Her pussy has shorted her brain and body-jacked her!

Before I can say shit, The Bitch drops my hand, and she stands up. So, I assess the situation while Dave prattles on about having hurt feelings. I acknowledge without thought. Yes. Linda had just become The Bitch. Capital T, Capital B.

Now, here's the thing:

If Linda had, one night, shown up at the house with a 'Honey, We Need To Talk' moment? I'd have heard her out. I might have even agreed. While I'm a bit skinny, I've had an endless stream of women hit on me in my Sales Position.

If Linda were tipsy? Understandable... to a degree. She's drunk. Not in complete control of her faculties. Even if Drunk Actions and Speech are Sober Thoughts, then she'd have a bit of a pass.

But This Bitch? She decided she was going to get Wet for a Foozball Player. Fuck me, and Fuck Adam Sandler for Waterboy (though I love it).

So, looking around the room, I take in all the women. My mouth is on auto-pilot as everyone continues talking. I'm Processing. Capital P. My wife is turned on by a football player, and she's dancing with him. She's not stopping him from pawing her ass. She smelled like hot sex. Yeah. This shit is Toast. Capital T.

Then I spot her. She's Hot. She's Younger. She's sitting with her friends, and nursing a drink.

Now, for an aside. The reason I did the GI Bill shit? We grew up broke, my family. Our Hood, while not a Ghetto, was still rough. It taught me a few things. It let me understand life from a different viewpoint -- maybe Second or Third World. That's where Civilization starts falling away for Instinctual Survival.

In the time period I was growing up, I learned Game. I understood how Women worked. I even Exploited it. All the way through college, until I met Linda. And now? Linda was ready to be a Slut, Capital S. So, I had to ask myself:

"Am I Better With or Without Her?"

In a situation where Resources are limited, where Survival is key? You learn to Cut Your Losses. Quickly.

Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.

"Don't they look Great together? Come on Jim, let's join them." Dee was talking, and I looked her dead in the face.

"Thanks. But No." My delivery? It was dead. Dee looked a bit shocked. She had huge tits and a nice ass, but we all knew she was a Slut. Capital S.

I slid out of the booth and walked across the room. I let the anger and pain flow away -- compartmentalized -- and cocked the side of my lip up into a half grin as I approached the table of Single Women.

"I noticed yall were sittin here alone, and I thought to myself, 'Self, maybe you should take a chance and ask the beautiful girl sitting there stirring her drink for a dance'."

Now, we all know that Beautiful in a Public Setting means Sexy. The woman looked up from her drink, as I was looking directly at her, and gave a wan smile.

"I don't... I mean..." She stumbled. I saw her friend nudge her, and stare at her.

"Don't turn him down. He actually asked nicely." The friend was the Good Type. Trying to help her friend get over whatever problem she had going on. I offered my hand the same way Marc had offered his to my wife. The woman stared at it for a moment.

"I'm James. What's your name?" I said. There was the immediate intimacy of an introduction. It breaks the barriers of Strangeness. It shows you're a person who wants to Be Seen, and as such, Sees Others.

"Ellen." The woman responded. She still seemed a bit unsure, but had stopped stirring her drink as she looked at Me. She was Assessing Me.

"Could I have a dance or two with you Ellen?" I asked. Her friend nudged her, and she finally stood, taking my hand.

We moved out to the center of the floor, and mouths were hanging open -- at least, at my former table -- when I pulled her Close, but not Too Close.

See, there's a difference between Close, and Too Close. Close? Your tops are pressing. You can feel each others hearts beating through your clothes. However, you aren't grinding your Dick against her. That's Too Close.

As we danced, I ignored Linda. Linda, who a moment ago had been cuddled up tight to Mister Fabric, was now looking at me and this young woman. Red Hair. Perky Tits. Slender Body not modified with the carrying of two children and childbirth. I felt Ellen move in my arms. She most likely went to The Gym. I went to the Gym sometimes, though work kept me away. However, I was flexing for all I was worth in that way that makes you Solid.

After a few moments, the song switched from the R&B mid tempo, to a slow song. This is when LaValliere pulled my wife into him, and she lost sight of me. I followed the same strategy, pulling Ellen into me, and from the table I had previously occupied I heard the combined voices of its occupants speak out:

"No Fucking Way!"

The drone of the verses was melodic and hypnotic. It washed over you. I moved and she moved. There was no daylight between Ellen and Myself. Air didn't even get in. And as the song pressed on, her movements were more pronounced. It was Heaven. Capital H.

Linda, having heard those at Our Table? She was watching, distracted from her dance with the self-proclaimed Cucker. I cut my eyes to look at her, and her face was getting redder by the moment.

The band was halfway through its next song, Ellen and myself dancing, when Linda suddenly broke away from Mark.

"Asshole!"

I stopped, and turned toward Linda.

"Do What You Want To Do."

It was a single sentence, but Linda froze. She knew what I meant. She was at the point of having to make a choice. From her choice, I would make mine.

James Carlisle was No Chump. James Carlisle had turned down countless amounts of Vacant Pussy for the Dream of a Family, and now, Linda was Seeing That. She looked between Marc and Me. That was enough.

"Do It. I'm Doing Me."

It was all I said. It was a simple phrase. However, Linda knew what it meant. 'It' was Over. Capital O. I resumed dancing with Ellen, the young woman pressed against me in such a way that spoke about the fact that she had found her Harbor.

Many people in life find their Harbor. However, it is often temporary. Whether this was temporary or not? I had No Idea. All I knew was that I was reciprocating Ellen's bodily statement, taking her into me.

Linda Gasped. Dee got up and moved to Us -- Ellen and Myself. She then made the mistake of putting her hands on me to turn me toward her. Without missing a beat, I backhanded her with enough to cause her to collapse to the floor. I looked down to her, and then over to Dave, who was standing up, and spoke a single sentence.

"Don't Do It."

He stopped, and after pausing, he sighed and sat down. I then reached down and offered my hand to Dee. Still sniffling, she took it and stood up.

"Don't ever touch me again. Linda chose this. Let it Play Out." I then released my grip from her hand, and turned back to Ellen.

"Sorry."

"I don't know if I want this Drama." Capital D.

"I understand. If you want to go back to your friends, I will Understand."

She seemed to think for a moment, and then melted back into me. Dee had returned to the table at this point.

"Why'd you decide to stay?" I asked.

"Because," she said, her voice light as we moved into the third song, "I have the feeling that while you are Using Me to get back at the woman dancing with Marc, you are essentially a Good Person."

"I try to be." Was my immediate response to her. "It might look like I am trying to make her jealous. I'm not. I am merely changing my circumstances. You are a beautiful woman. I feel gifted to have your company."

We continued dancing. Linda wasn't enjoying her Partner as much as she initially had been, while I was enjoying mine immensely. When the song ended, she broke away from Marc, and came over to us. The music had stopped for an interlude.

"Can I cut in?" Linda asked.

"No." It was a simple statement, that shocked both Linda and Ellen. I held Ellen's hand while I spoke to Linda.

"You were going to make a choice, so I asked myself a question: Am I better With or Without You?"

The suspense was palpable in my pause.

"The answer is Without. As soon as you knew he was looking at you? Your pussy got wet. When he asked for a dance, you dropped my hand as if it were Radioactive." I paused a moment, looking to Ellen as I did so.

"I decided at that moment, there was no longer an Us, Linda. You were going to be his slut. Rather than being A Bitch? I decided I was going to get started on the Next Chapter of My Life."

I looked back to Linda, who was tearing up at this point.

"Go with him. Enjoy the night of debauchery. I've already moved on.

"I'm Better Without You."

I then led Ellen back to the table with her friends, and sat down, ignoring the histrionics of Linda, Dee, and my Former Friends.