February Sucs - Prelude

Seemingly like many other writers, George Anderson's "February Sucks" tale struck a nerve with me. It's a great story; one that raises emotions in the reader. But I always had trouble with the premise that a previously loving wife would spontaneously implode her life just because a hot celebrity approached her. I would even have trouble believing a previously loving husband would act in that manner, and most guys would fuck a knothole if they weren't afraid of splinters. I just couldn't see Linda running off with a guy she just met.

So, after resisting the urge to add to this mythos, the need for an explanation finally eroded my resistance. So, without further blather, here's my mercifully short take on what led up to that fateful night.

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"Hi, I'm Marc. Would you like to dance?" He was standing behind Linda's left shoulder, holding his hand out to her.

A rush of desire overwhelmed her as she automatically took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. She melted into his arms, relishing the feeling of strength and sexuality that rolled off his body. She felt his hard presences, and her loins melted.

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They'd met at the coffee shop, when, talking to Dee on the telephone, she had picked up her order for the office and turned too quickly without looking. All four hot ventis fell over, soaking the man who, admittedly, was standing too close behind her. He yelped as the hot coffee soaked through his shirt.

Linda rushed to get some napkins and began trying to sop up the coffee. The man was trying to pull his shirt away from his body as Linda pressed the napkins against it, unwittingly pushing the hot clothe against his skin. As she did this, she became aware that the body under the shirt felt as hard as stone. She was so used to the softness of Jim's body; she ended up pressing the napkins against his body even after the man told her it was fine. He finally grasped her wrists and gently moved her hands away from his body.

Suddenly aware of what she had been doing, Linda's face blushed a bright red. She stammered an apology, but the man insisted that it was all his fault, that he was standing way too close to her. He signaled the barista to refill her order and to put it on his tab, over Linda's objections.

"Well," she said, "At least let me pay to dry-clean your clothes." She looked up into his face. Looking up made her feel young and foolish, childlike even. So different than with Jim, with whom she was almost eye-to-eye in height. "God, this man looks like a god!" She felt a surge of desire.

"Let me think about it." He smiled at the beautiful woman. "Why don't we sit down while they fill your order, and you can give me your phone number."

That was the beginning of her affair with Marc LaValliere. They arranged to meet for lunch, ostensibly so she could pay for his dry cleaning (which she never did), but they both knew it was really a date. By the third lunch, they would kiss when meeting and when parting, and Linda's kisses became ever more passionate and promising.

For the fifth lunch, Marc invited her to his house, where he would make lunch. The lunch he had prepared went uneaten. He took her, but in truth she gave herself to him. She worshipped at his altar.

Over the next several weeks, they would get together two or even three times a week and ravish each other. She ceded control to Marc. Linda was his playground, and she reveled in it. Unlike Jim, who would lovingly accept Linda's control of their sexual activities (when and if they had sex and what acts were acceptable or not), Marc just took her, took her in any way he desired, anytime he desired, as his right. She might be Jim's wife, but she was Marc's woman. When he wanted fellatio and demanded she swallow, she smiled. Had Jim requested the same act, she would have refused his advances for a week. When Marc suggested that she use enemas and bring lube the next time, she complied. It hurt when he took her virgin ass, but she happily gave her lover his pleasure. Later, she learned to like it, too.

Marc was the god that she had imagined. Every time she saw him it filled her with attraction; every touch was stimulation; every act of sex orgasmic. Every session with Marc was an adventure. When he introduced her to threesomes and multiple penetrations, she demurred, but couldn't refuse him anything. She would leave her now lovers, totally sated and exhausted. She'd never imagined such wonderful and complete, well, fucking. No other word really described it. It was raw, animal fucking that Marc had introduced her too. Jim paled in comparison. Sex at home became rarer and irritatingly mundane.

Then came February. The weather cooled, the skies darkened, and snow kept falling. Jim's schedule became erratic, and schools would close suddenly and unexpectedly. Not knowing when Jim or the kids would be home made it impossible to meet with Marc. By the end of the month, Linda was crawling up the walls with pent up desires.

She tried to take the edge off with Jim, attacking him in bed one night. She even performed oral sex on Jim, but as soon as he was hard her pulled her up and made tender love to her. She humped back against him in frustration, trying to get him to pound her, as Marc and his teammates did, but Jim would caress her and try to soothe her, telling her to take it easy, that they had all the time in the world. Exasperated, she just laid back and let him finish. After that, most nights she pretended to be asleep when Jim got into bed, or just outright refused him. She told him that being cramped up with the kids and the weather had her depressed, and "not in the mood." Lovingly accepting, Jim would sigh and turn away to sleep.

When Dee called with the plan to celebrate the end of that horrible month, Linda felt guilty over her treatment of her husband and promised him a special night at the hotel. She thought that maybe she'd introduced Jim to anal, letting him take her "virgin" ass. Maybe by being a little more wanton, she could get Jim to be a little more aggressive. He'd never match Marc, but maybe he could at least beat her vibrator. She needed to be taken, and taken hard.

Jim was so excited, she even enjoyed dancing with him that night, promising to only dance with him. But then, Phil exclaimed, "Hey, isn't that Marc LaValliere?" Dee squealed that it was.

Dee should know. She was Linda's only confidant and knew all about her affair. In fact, when Marc started including his teammates in their trysts, Linda began bringing Dee along occasionally. She turned out to be insatiable, although Linda had made it clear to her (and to Marc) that Marc was off limits. Dee was perfectly happy to be stretched out of shape by the Jaguars' defensive line. Linda had thought Dee was a little too enthusiastic whenever Marc would degree that the two women put on a show for the men or compete to see who gave a better blowjob (Linda smiled at the memory of how superior she had proven to be over her friend).

At Morrison's that February night, Linda tried not to look in Marc's direction. Just the thought of him, of his rippling muscles, his steel hard penis, had her panties soaking. She knew if she looked at him, she'd be lost.

But then he crossed the room and asked Linda to dance, and she was lost. When he pulled her into his arms, she felt his need and gently humped against it. Linda never even noticed that several songs had played, and she hadn't left Marc's arms. When he demanded that she leave with him, she told him that Jim would try to stop them, and Linda couldn't have her husband hurt. Marc suggested that she slip out the back and she readily agreed. Their need was so great at that point, nothing mattered more. Not Jim, their marriage or even their children.

Dee helped the errant wife by suggesting Linda accompany her to the lady's room, and on the way whispered how she had plotted with Marc to get Linda there that night. "Isn't it exciting?"

Linda had a fleeting thought that her stupid bitch friend had probably destroyed her marriage with this excitement, but then Marc appeared at the back door and Linda flew into his arms. She had to restrain herself from ripping off his clothes as they swept out to his car and away into the night.

Nobody's life would ever be the same.