February Sucs but March Swallows

I need to begin with an acknowledgement to GeorgeAnderson for graciously granting me permission to write my own, alternative version of his story. Since I'm not going to cut and paste from his story and his story has become a classic, I recommend that you read it

HERE

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I begin in the middle, but encourage readers to not presume that this story is predicated on everything that happened at the club and earlier being exactly the same. Some of the names have been adapted but the characters and events have been changed to falsely impugn the innocent.

I was perplexed by the blue bra and panty being left on the bed. GeorgeAnderson had one explanation. I offer an alternative explanation that affects the premise of the plot.

Warning! This story includes graphic depictions of extramarital and intramarrital sex!

If this subject offends you, don't read this story.

Warning! This story includes statistical calculations. If this subject offends you, don't read this story.

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Jim was almost amazed that he had dozed off again when he was awakened by the sensation of an intense, involuntary ejaculation. He was not just amazed but ashamed. It had been years since he'd had a wet dream. His humiliating circumstances and his lingering recollection of the details of his erotic dream made his nocturnal ejaculation all the more shameful.

The volume and duration of Jim's somnolent ejaculation was rather impressive, at least for him. It should be. He hadn't made love to his wife since Valentines weekend and he was getting to an age when he seldom masturbated anymore. Thanks to the demands of their careers and their children, not to mention the common marital complacency, they'd once again allowed the fact that Linda was still menstruating to become a pretext to neglect their customary, romantic interlude last weekend. There had been a time when they would have eagerly exploited the opportunity to make love with at least minimal risk and perhaps no reservations or restraint. While they didn't restrict themselves to their Saturday night or Sunday afternoon ritual, their often monotonous sexual routine was frequently all that disrupted the comfortable complacency that had in the not so distant past allowed them to become almost celibate. His testicles had been laboring for two weeks to produce the sperm that were now soaking uselessly into the sheets and the mattress pad.

Unfortunately; Jim was not amazed to find himself alone in the king size bed in their suite at the Madison Hotel. His wife had not yet returned to him. It was still dark outside. A glance at his cellphone on the nightstand confirmed that Linda hadn't phoned or texted him since that brief, cryptic message assuring him that the blizzard had not prevented her from finally arriving safely at her destination at almost one o'clock in the morning. He had been to angry and to determined to get drunk to respond. His phone informed him that it wasn't quite yet seven o'clock. For only a moment, Jim insanely rationalized that he couldn't reasonably expect her to return to him until noon. Bullshit! His wife never should have ventured off for her assignation.

The half empty pint of whiskey on the nightstand beckoned to Jim. He had bought the pint along with a six pack of cola at that little liquor store that he had noticed while he, his wife and their friends had been walking the one block from the Madison hotel to the dance club. He had returned to the liquor store seeking bottled solace after his attempted pursuit to confront his wayward wife and her paramour had culminated in a humiliating defeat. Jim wasn't much of a drinker, but he hadn't been stupid enough to buy from the bottom shelf. Frugality and practicality had dissuaded him from buying from the top shelf. The half dozen empty cola cans on the floor would have confirmed that he'd imbibed far to heavily from the middle shelf bottle even if he wasn't being tortured by a hang over.

Jim reached for the bottle and uncapped it. He took a swig without any mixer to dilute the whiskey. It burned, but he took another swig anyway. The hair of the dog that had bitten him eased his hangover, but the pain of betrayal remained. The liquor also failed to dull the lingering images of the erotic nightmare that had evoked his ejaculation.

As Jim set the liquor bottle back down on the nightstand, his attention was once again drawn to Linda's CycleBeads. Linda hadn't been here last night to perform her habitual ritual. The marker ring was still on the ninth bead rather than the tenth. The marker ring was on the second of the white beads on the string rather than the third. The obvious implications of Linda's CycleBeads provoked a painful writhing in Jim's guts and groin. He tried to rationalize that perhaps some vestige of fidelity might have motivated his wife to reserve that one, most critical, marital prerogative for her husband. Unfortunately; his forlorn hope that his cheating wife might have remembered such practicalities was overwhelmed by the absurdity of expecting her womanizing paramour to exercise restraint.

Jim took another swig of whiskey before glancing at his cellphone again. It was now a quarter to seven in the morning, Saturday, February Twenty-ninth. It was another Leap Day. It was also Jim's birthday. Jim could argue that technically, today was only his eighth birthday rather than his thirty-second. For a moment Jim was angry that his philandering wife hadn't at least texted him to wish him a happy birthday.

A frantic exploration of the bathroom and sitting room confirmed that there was no evidenced that Linda had returned to their suite then went somewhere else while he was asleep. His wife had not belatedly repented. In their outrageous attempts to rationalize Linda's adultery, Dee and Jane had assured him that it would be just one night. Their husbands Dave and Phil had endorsed the women's bizarre reasoning. Tom and Tammy as well as Jack and Jennifer had also been unsympathetic to his humiliating plight.

As his erection waned, Jim walked over to the window. He had purposely reserved a room on the top floor of the Madison hotel so that he and Linda could enjoy the spectacular view of the bucolic farms beyond the freeway from the floor to ceiling window without sacrificing their privacy. He had showered just a few hours ago as much as an effort to distract himself from his angst as to rinse away the evidence that he had vomited on himself. The prospect of a romantic weekend to celebrate his birthday as well as belatedly celebrate Valentines Day had dissuaded him from packing pajamas. He had slept in the nude, but without the erotic comfort of his spouse. He was completely naked, depending on distance and anonymity to protect his modesty. Of course the Madison hotel being the biggest hotel in a small town, was only five stories tall. Someone might recognize that he was naked and maybe even recognize him or deduce what room he was in. He no longer gave a shit about his modesty much less propriety.

The blizzard had reintensified during the night. While he had been busy drinking himself to sleep last night, a warm front had been moving through to temporarily transform the snow into sleet and freezing rain. A cold front had pushed back in to deposit perhaps another foot or so of snow on top of the glacis of ice that armored yesterday's foot of snow.

The whiteout conditions made it difficult to discern the headlights of the snowplows that were struggling valiantly to clear the snow and ice from the freeway less than fifty yards beyond the window. It was Valentines Day weekend sucks redux, but without the happy voices of his children much less the warm, loving embrace of his wife that had transformed that snowbound Valentines weekend into a now painful rather than precious memory.

A hump of ice encrusted snow under a lamp post seemed to be a monument to Jim's humiliating cuckolding. The renewed snowfall was blanketing his stranded four wheel drive. The shrubbery that he had gotten high centered on hadnt been a large shrubbery but it might have been a nice shrubbery. It was certain that the small shrubbery hadn't remained a nice shrubbery after being run over by Marc Lavalliere's Hummer. Having Jim's vehicle hung up on the small shrubbery all night had probably resulted in a dead shrubbery. It was shrubbericide.

The sound of a big diesel engine firing up drew Jim's attention to a snow covered, eighteen wheeler that was parked at the far end of the parking lot. The truck belched black smoke as the trucker allowed his rig to idle for a few minutes to warm up before he tried to move. The driver had to pop the clutch to free his drivers from the grip of the ice, then rock the rig to free the wheels of the trailer. Only a full set of chains on large diameter tires enabled the big rig to plow its way through the ice encrusted snow. The extra weight of the snow and ice piled on the anonymous cargo of the flat bed no doubt enhanced its traction.

Perhaps it was a guy thing, but Jim was fascinated by the truck as it plowed its way through the snow. The eighteen wheeler pulled up to the service entrance at the rear of the hotel. A woman dressed in a long coat climbed down from the passenger side door. Her heavy coat couldn't conceal the swell of an impressive pair of breasts. Glimpses of bare legs above her snow boots revealed that she was brave enough or crazy enough to wear a dress in this weather. Jim speculated that she must be a prostitute that had been servicing the truck driver. The way she stood to wave as the truck drove off suggested that the trucker must be a regular customer.

The truck driver must be an expert because he shifted through half a dozen gears of what must have been an eighteen speed transmission before he exited the parking lot at maybe ten miles an hour without ever breaking traction. The trucker used the momentum to carry his rig through a left turn at the intersection without yielding to the red light. The truck crossed the overpass then turned left again to take the on ramp. Jim glanced down to see that the crazy whore was still waving to her customer as he drove away on the Interstate.

Jim returned his attention to the empty bed. He was surprised that he was so dismayed that Linda's pious, Christian morality hadn't belatedly reasserted itself. Would it really have made any difference if some vestige of fidelity had motivated his wayward wife to return to her husband earlier than expected? Would it have been any less impossible for him to forgive his wanton spouse if she had indulged in only a few hours of extramarital carnality rather than an entire night?

Dee had not offered any details of the vague terms of the indulgence that Linda had so arrogantly and presumptuously asserted. Not just Dee and Jane but their husbands Dave and Phil had tried to calm Jim by arguing that a one night fling wasn't the end of his marriage much less the end of the world. Tom and Tammy as well as Jack and Jennifer had also urged him to calmly accept the cuckolding that he could no longer prevent.

Jim's alleged friends had repeatedly argued that it shouldn't be the end of his marriage because his loving wife would be surrendering herself to the famous football stud for only one night. All eight of their so called friends had counseled him to acquiesce to his cuckolding. Dee had not specified exactly when Linda would revert to her normal life as a loving wife and devoted mother rather than just another sexual plaything for the famous football player. All that she had told him was that Linda would return to him only after she had indulged in her one night tryst with Marc Lavalliere. When does one night end and the next day begin?

Linda's infidelity was all the more humiliating because of the public prelude. She had eagerly accepted Marc Lavaliere's invitation to dance in front of eight of their closest friends. Their slow dances had been no more intimate than the dancing that the couples often indulged in when dancing with each other's spouses. However; there had been no tacit expectation of monogamy to assuage his anxieties. He had been compelled by precedence and the encouragement of their friends to remain passive as his wife shamelessly allowed the famous footballer to hug her petite body against his massive frame. He had been dissuaded from objecting when Mark Lavalliere's enormous hands wandered first to her shapely butt then to her breasts. He had even been compelled to passively endure his shame as his wife shamelessly allowed another man to passionately kiss her!

Their eight friends along with the barmaid and everyone else in the club had witnessed Linda surrendering herself to the famous footballer. It had been obvious to everyone that while she might have imbibed a bit, she was far from inebriated. It could not be claimed that she was succumbing to temptation only because alcohol had compromised her judgement. About the only thing that his wife might have done to make his cuckolding more publicly humiliating would have been to allow her paramour to actually fuck her right on the dance floor while everyone watched and cheered them on.

Jim yielded to his bladder that was asserting itself. He appraised himself critically as he stood at the toilet to urinate, carefully holding his now flaccid penis between his thumb and only two fingers to insure that he didn't urinate on himself. He had never suffered from delusions. Only when his penis was swollen to its full, five inch glory could Jim console himself with the rationalization that he was almost average.

Holding his penis as he stood at the urinal evoked Jim's memories of that previous, fateful encounter with Marc Lavalliere. They had met about three weeks earlier in the men's locker room at the health club. A furtive glance had revealed that the famous footballer was holding his ebony, male member with a thumb and all four fingers, yet a few inches of the flaccid shaft as well as the foreskin covered glans remained exposed. He was among the lucky few who actually measured up to the reputation. Marc's penis had been bigger when flaccid than Jim was when fully erect!

Jim had felt a disturbingly ambivalent combination of awe and humiliation as he retreated to the privacy of the sauna. He had been only somewhat dismayed when the famous footballer joined him a few minutes later. Marc had not been at all mindful of his towel. He had casually folded up the terrycloth into a cushion to sit on. He had sat on the wooden bench with his thighs carelessly splayed wide while he casually discussed his role in the recent the Super bowl victory with Jim. Jim had become overwhelmed by a premonition that their encounter was an evil omen.

Linda had been mystified by the urgency of Jim's desire when he returned home from that encounter at the health club. There had been a primal aggressiveness to his lovemaking that had both frightened and excited her. As was his habit, he had been considerate enough to bring her to orgasm with his lips and tongue during foreplay. Although his wife had pointed at her CycleBeads to remind him that she was in the middle of her cycle, Jim had rejected her offer of a blow job. She had dutifully submitted. Linda had been irate when rather than withdraw as was his custom, Jim had with one final thrust plunged his penis as deeply as possible into her vagina as he inseminated her. Her indignation had abated somewhat during the following days as they discussed the possibility of having a third child. She had been bemused when he finally confessed that his urgent desire had been provoked by the anxieties that had been triggered by his encounter with Marc Lavalliere. She had not objected when Jim was less than careful during their snowbound, Valentines weekend. She had been confident that she was late enough in her cycle to be safe if she wasn't already pregnant. Linda had been somewhat ambivalent when she began menstruating just over a week ago.

In the wake of their previous encounter at the health club, it had been impossible for Jim to not notice the menacing bulge in Marc Lavalliere's slacks as he asked Linda to dance. It was understandable that his loving wife had obviously been staring at that menacing bulge that was barely a foot from her face as she nervously overcame her embarrassment. She had reluctantly reached out her hand to accept the invitation implied by that extended hand. The Superbowl rings that had adorned that dark hand had not distracted Jim's attention from that menacing bulge.

Jim had been reminded of the classic lines from the movie ANIMAL HOUSE. "Do you mind if we dance with your dates? Why sure. We were just leaving." However; Jim had been deterred from objecting to his wife dancing with the interloper more by that menacing bulge in his trousers than the impressive, heavily muscled physique that loomed over him. The guy was at least half a foot taller than he was and probably outweighed him by a hundred pounds, but it had been the guy's penis that truly terrified him. He had been cowed by that menacing bulge into acquiescing to his wife shamelessly pressing her belly against it as she was slow dancing with the intruder.

His lingering hangover combined with the realization that semen was clinging to his genitals, pubic hair and inner thighs motivated Jim to shower again. He bathed thoroughly, even washing his hair again. By the time he got out of the shower, he felt almost human again.

Jim returned to the bedroom. As he glanced obsessively at his smartphone once again in the forlorn hope of finding a message, he once again noticed Linda's CycleBeads where she had left them on the nightstand. She had the app downloaded onto her smartphone, of course. However; she habitually left the string of beads on her nightstand at home as a more visual, tactile and tangible reminder of when they should maybe remain abstinent or at least be extra careful. In spite of her somewhat straight laced demeanor, Linda had overcome her aversion to pleasuring him orally back when they were engaged. Perhaps some vestige of sanity had motivated her to placate her paramour's lust without going all of the way with him? Jim doubted that the famously womanizing footballer would have been content to not fully consummate his conquest of another man's wife.

Searching for distraction from his angst, Jim turned on the television. The pornographic movie that he had allowed himself last night was still on pause. Jim had rationalized that his circumstances entitled him to the indulgence. He had even reasoned that he had picked out this movie because the petite redhead reminded him so much of Linda when she was younger and slimmer. He had become aroused while watching the white boyfriend, who might have been a younger, more muscular, better endowed version of himself, making sweet love to the redhead. The boyfriend had lovingly pleasured the girl orally before plunging his penis into her. The boyfriend had been embarrassed by his failure to bring her to climax before he was compelled to withdraw to spill his seed safely on her belly. The redhead had piously assured him that she cherished his eagerness to pleasure her orally. Jim had been to horrified to turn the movie off when the white guy left for work which allowed the redhead to welcome a much brawnier, massively endowed, African-American into her bed. Although his erection had instantly wilted, morbid fascination had compelled Jim to watch as the big Black man mercilessly pounded the redhead's pussy. The guy finally withdrew his ebony penis to reveal the copious volume of semen that was overflowing from her distended labia to saturate her crimson pubic hair.

Jim quickly deleted the movie then turned to the news. He settled back into the bed, carefully avoiding the wet spot. Since they resided in the reviving rust belt, the reporters were not normally as obsessed with the latest blizzard as reporters in other cities might have been. However; the snow had transitioned to sleet and freezing rain for a few hours last night before another cold front moved in. Another, foot thick layer of snow had been deposited on the half inch glacis of ice that now coated the foot of snow that had fallen yesterday afternoon and evening. It was expected that yet another foot of snow would fall before nightfall. It was pandelerium! The news crews were constrained by the Governor's declaration of an emergency and selected road closures. Only the Interstate was open. Anyone other than road crews, emergency personnel and critical workers would be fined or perhaps even arrested for driving on the roads. February sucks in the upper mid West. Everyone understood that February sucks. This third, major snowstorm of the month only demonstrated why February sucks.