For the ones tempted to roll their eyes and say, "Oh no, not another Febsux story!" good news: you're forewarned, and Literotica has several thousand other stories to read. Go, enjoy!
Thanks to bry1977 for editing help.
Tip of the hat to GeorgeAnderson for his February Sucks story (https://www.literotica.com/s/February-sucks) and blanket permission to add on to it. As most people know, this is probably the most "added to" story on the entire site, probably because of the provocative trigger - the blatant disrespect by the wife.
Several commenters on several of these Febsux add-ons scoff that no wife would do that, which made me go back to the original, and the author's explanation of what triggered it. His explanation bears reviewing:
"Many years ago, I was out of town at a conference. About 20 of us, half men and half women, almost all married, went out to a watering hole one evening to decompress. The local fauna were hitting pretty heavily on the women at our table. We guys were wincing at the crudity of the locals' attempts, while the women laughed and rejected them. One particularly bad approach drew the comment, "He's lucky I like this beer, otherwise he'd be wearing it."
"So what if it had been [famous football player: call him Jocko] saying that to you? Would he have scored?" another woman asked with a flirty little smirk in her voice.
"Hell, yes!" "Absolutely!" It was clearly unanimous.
"What if it meant, you know..."
"Especially if it meant that!" The women's laughter was genuine; the guys' was a little forced.
Understand, these women weren't dogs who couldn't get a date: they ranged from pretty to downright hot. They were in their late twenties and early thirties, and dressed for a night out.
"Um, what would you tell your husband?" one of the guys asked hesitantly.
"Um, why would I tell my husband?" The reply was instantaneous and greeted with laughter and head-nodding from the women.
"What if your husband was here?" the guy persisted. We could all hear the anxiety in his voice.
One of the women leaned forward with her elbows on the table and looked him dead in the eye. I remembered her from lunch; she'd been showing off pictures of her husband and their perfectly adorable five-year-old girl. "I would tell him that he knows how much I love him, and he knows I'll always come back to him, but I'm not going to pass up this opportunity, and I'll see him sometime tomorrow." She spoke calmly and kindly but with determination. None of us could doubt that she meant exactly what she said.
Several guys' jaws dropped considerably; I know mine was one.
"No, you wouldn't," the guy next to me muttered. The woman looked at him pityingly.
"Yes, I would, and I think every woman here would do the same."
"You might leave with him tonight, but if I was your husband, you sure as hell wouldn't see me tomorrow." He was as serious as she was.
Another woman tried to fix things. "Listen, I love my husband, I wouldn't trade him for anything. Jocko doesn't mean anything to me and never will, and he probably wouldn't even remember my name the next morning. But spending a night with him, just one night out of our whole marriage would be something I could remember for the rest of my life. An event, you know, with a capital E? It would have nothing to do with the way I feel about my husband. Afterward, I would go home to the man I love, and everything would be like it was before."
A tense silence fell on the table. "Well, that shows us married guys where we stand, doesn't it?" one guy muttered.
"Come on, guys, don't be that way. It's not that big a deal."
The party broke up pretty quickly after that, as people left by ones and twos to wander quietly back to the conference hotel. I have no idea whether the women at that table were typical. I meant to ask my wife about it when I got home but didn't get up the nerve. I still haven't. I'm not sure I want to know the answer, anyway."
His story then appears to be his stab at 'What would such a scenario look like, and how would it play out?' His original story ended up with the two reconciling. Just my guess, but it's the combination of the women's statements and his reconciled ending that sparked the by now more than a three-year-long stream of alternate endings. It certainly had me wondering when I'm at a stoplight or waiting in line somewhere, "Yeah, how SHOULD the damn story end?" Which is what prompted me to start writing here. Johnny come lately, I know, but hey, better late than never.
So, here's another way that provocative story could have played out. It inevitably will contain ideas from the myriad of other endings. A tip of the hat to those authors, too. But hopefully, the way they are combined makes for something original, and enjoyable.
The story starts when Jim leaves Morrison's.
Stunned at how someone's world can change in an hour, I gathered our stuff from the hotel and checked out. Driving home alone in the dark was almost an out-of-body experience. Devoid of all emotion, I sat at a light and had to tell myself, "The light has changed to green. That means driving through the intersection. Release the brake, and hit the gas gently."
Shaking my head as I drove, the thought dominating my consciousness was the unexpectedness and totality of Linda's change. One moment I was everything, and the next moment I didn't exist. Most of all, though, was how Linda had pulled off the surprise of my lifetime in cold blood. No angry outbursts, no tantrums at some slight, nothing.
A famous celebrity had picked her and she wasn't going to say no.
So she didn't.
Simple, really: tell a cowardly lie about going to the bathroom, and disappear. All worked out beforehand by her and her snake friend.
Snap of a finger. Gone. Fuck the husband (no, not that way) and fuck the kids. Entitlement in neon.
Clearly, she knew what she was doing, and clearly, she knew it was wrong. Obviously, it would hurt me, and yet, intentionally and deliberately, she walked out on me anyway. On our special night.
I could not wrap my mind around how anyone could do that to someone they loved and planned a special night with. If, like so many Loving Wives stories, it was preceded by weeks or months of withdrawal, dissatisfaction, or even hostility, I would understand Linda's cold-blooded betrayal--not like it, but understand it. But literally minutes after declaring to Dave that all her dances were going to be with me, while we were holding hands at the table, making goo-goo eyes at each other, so much the others joked we should get a room? How does that compute on any planet?
I considered picking up the kids early, but I didn't trust myself to take good enough care of them in this mental state. The question of what I should do floated across my mind like a banner pulled by a small plane in the distance. It was as if the cold-bloodedness of her betrayal cauterized any emotion a person ordinarily would feel. No anger, no hatred, no hurt, just (to misquote Pink Floyd) uncomfortably numb.
I first became aware of my world again when I woke up the following morning. At least I had hung up my suit, put on jammies, and turned out the light. I zombied through the shower and slid along the icy road to our friendly Denny's for breakfast.
"Where's Linda?" asked Marie, our usual waitress, as she poured my coffee.
"Do you know who Marc LaValliere is?"
"Is that a trick question? Everyone knows who he is."
Pointedly, I looked at my watch. "Well, at this very moment, he is fucking Linda in his bed in his mansion." I turned my face up and looked Marie in the eyes.
She slammed the coffee thermos down and both hands flew to cover her mouth. "What? No! For real?" My body language and tone of voice obviously dispelled any thought of this being a joke.
I nodded and dabbed at my eyes with another napkin. Holding it up, I said with a grimace, "Gonna need more of these."
"Oh, Jim." Ignoring all protocol, she bent down and gave me a hug across my shoulders. "I'm so sorry. I thought you were the lovebirds who inspired all of Hallmark's cards."
