Flash 01 Out Of The Blue

Flash 01: Out Of The Blue

The following was inspired by an email from a reader. I have been working on this for a while now, having started over from scratch several times.

Many thanks to those who offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories, and many thanks to those who have inquired about my well-being. I know it's been a little while since I have submitted a story here, and I apologize for that. Sometimes, life happens and it's been a bit hectic in the Saddletramp universe lately. But not to worry, there's plenty more craziness in the works...

For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper...

Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...

...

I opened my eyes and tried to take in my surroundings. When my vision cleared, I could tell I was in a hospital bed and could see wires and tubes attached to my body. A blood pressure cuff was wrapped around one arm. Much of my body, including my head, was covered in bandages.

I saw a fairly attractive blonde nurse at the station next to my bed. She looked down at me when she finished typing on her keyboard and saw I was awake.

"Mr. Drake, can you hear me?" she asked. I tried to talk but couldn't since there was something in my throat. So I simply nodded my head. "Hang on, I'll go get the doctor."

Right, I thought as I watched her sway to the door. Like I'm actually going to go anywhere. I heard her call out.

"Dr. Simpson! Mr. Drake is waking up," she said. That's me, by the way -- Cameron Drake. "Cam" to my friends and family, including the treacherous slut, Ginger, my soon-to-be ex-wife. An older man in medical garb appeared at the door and looked at me before coming in.

"Ah, Mr. Drake, good to see you back with us," he said with a smile. "Don't try to talk, there's a tube in your throat. I'm Dr. Simpson, and I've been assigned to your case. Relax for a moment, okay? I'm just going to examine you for a bit, then we'll see about getting that tube out of you." He looked me over for a while and consulted my chart.

Then he unwrapped some of the bandages and examined the skin underneath. He smiled as he nodded his head.

"You seem to be recovering faster than I would have expected," he said. "Let's go ahead and get that tube out of your throat." He and the nurse worked for a while and pulled the long tube out of me. I was surprised when I saw how long the thing was. They also removed the catheter and the feeding tube. I felt tremendous relief when they were out and I tried to talk, but my mouth and throat were very dry.

The nurse, whose name tag read, "Lucy," gave me an ice chip to suck on and I eagerly accepted it. When it had melted I looked at her and she gave me another with a smile. Eventually, my throat had sufficiently moistened to the point that I could actually speak.

"How long?" I asked. "What happened?" Dr. Simpson took a seat next to my bed and consulted his chart before speaking.

"You're currently at Mercy General Hospital, Mr. Drake," he said. "You've been with us for the last four days."

"Four days?" I asked, shocked.

"Yes," he said. "According to witnesses, you were struck by some kind of lightning. Strange thing, though, since there wasn't a cloud in the sky. You were unconscious when the paramedics brought you in. You had severe burns over most of your body. We weren't sure you were going to make it. Frankly, I'd say your recovery to this point has far exceeded our expectations. If I were a religious man, I'd say it was almost miraculous."

"Does my wife know?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "She came by once, stayed for a few minutes. Just long enough for me to tell her your condition." Of course, I thought to myself. "She hasn't been back. But you've had lots of other visitors -- friends, co-workers, parents."

"How long will I be here?" I asked.

"That depends on you," he said. "If your recovery continues as it has been, I'd say a day, maybe two." I nodded my head. "Are you up for a real meal?"

"Yes," I told him.

"Alright, I'll have Lucy get you a menu and you can order something. In the meantime, relax and just take it easy. After you've had something to eat, Lucy will take you for a walk if you're up to it. Any questions?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. He turned to Lucy before speaking.

"Why don't you change his dressings and get him a menu," he said, standing up. "I'll check in on you later today, Mr. Drake," he said before he left.

"I'll be back in about 15 or 20 minutes," Lucy said. I nodded my head and watched her leave. While she was gone, my thoughts turned to my life and the state of my five-year marriage to Ginger.

Let me start by saying that I'm basically your average "Joe." I graduated from high school and went straight to college. I never played sports in school, never took martial arts and never spent a day in uniform. I'm one of those guys you can look at but not really see, if you know what I mean.

I met Ginger in college. I won't bore you with all the details of our courtship. We dated for a couple years, fell in love, then got married after we graduated. She got her business degree and went to work for a large financial services firm in town.

I got my degree in information technology -- read, computers and networks -- and went to work for Apex Tech Solutions, a large IT firm headquartered in my hometown. I started as a field service engineer and worked my way up the ladder. I now supervise other techs and oversee installations and upgrades. The money is good and the benefits are fantastic.

Ginger and I held off on having children, and I'm now glad we did. We currently live in a nice two-bedroom condo, and had talked about buying a larger place so we could start our family. That's about as far as it went, though.

I may be just your average guy, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid. Over the last few months, I've noticed some changes in Ginger. She's been spending more time at work, plus going out with "the girls" two or even three times a week, not getting home until midnight or later, reeking of booze, cigarette smoke and sometimes other things I didn't even want to contemplate at the time.

We normally have sex four or five times a week, but lately, that's dropped off. It seems she's been having a lot of "headaches" these days. And her attitude has changed a bit. She used to be bubbly, fun and playful, but lately, she's been more than just a bit short-tempered and snippy with me.

On top of that, she's been starting arguments over practically nothing. The end result is no sex. At least for me. Now, we're little more than room mates, and not even close ones at that.

I began to wonder if she was having an affair. I thought about confronting her, but the way she's been lately, I knew it would cause the mother of all fights. So I started watching her as close as I could. I knew I would need proof if I was to confront her, so I considered hiring a private investigator.

That was when I found out how much it would cost me. Sure, Ginger and I made fairly decent money, but you could have knocked me over with a feather when I learned how much a PI would cost. There was no way I could absorb that kind of money.

A co-worker suggested I use an audio recorder to get evidence. He had one he used when he caught his wife cheating on him, so he let me use it. It looks and functions just like a regular ball-point pen, but includes a sound-activated audio recorder. Just charge it up and put it in her purse, he told me. Then hook it up to a USB port and download the audio, Sounds simple, right?

It seemed simple, at least in theory, but Ginger's purse is something of a black hole. It seems she has a bad habit of cramming stuff in it, and whatever is there ends up getting lost somewhere in the bottom. That's what happened to the audio recorder.

When I retrieved it from her purse, I found it in the bottom, covered with a bunch of paper and tissue she had crammed in the bag. I could only hope there was nothing communicable on the tissues when I reached inside.

I plugged the recorder into a USB port and listened. There was a lot of background noise, but any actual communication was muffled so bad I couldn't understand what was being said or by whom. I charged the pen back up and placed it in her purse, hoping I could hear something the next time I listened.

But that didn't happen. I downloaded the audio every day, but got the same result. I could hear a lot of background noise, and I could tell when she was at a club with "the girls," but was unable to understand anything that was being said. After two weeks of this, I decided to bite the bullet and hire a PI. But I never got a chance to actually do it.

The next day I was at the intersection of Third and Main Streets in a company truck -- a Ford F250 4X4. I looked next to me and saw an extremely sporty car. I didn't what it was, but it looked foreign and very expensive. It had an open sunroof and I could see right into the car.

Sitting in the passenger seat was Ginger, her short dress hiked up to her waist, exposing her shaved pussy to whomever might want to look. In the driver's seat was a man I vaguely recognized as someone she worked with, his hand working furiously on her smooth mound.

They didn't see me, since I had the window up and it was tinted. Besides, she was far too engrossed in what he was doing to care who was next to her. I pulled out my cell phone and grabbed some video before the light turned green. The car sped off and turned left at the next intersection. I continued to my job site, knowing that our marriage was over.

When I got to the client's building, I called Ginger's office and spoke to Carla, the receptionist.

"I'm sorry, Cam, but she took some comp time this afternoon," Carla said. "Said she had some errands to run this afternoon."

"Okay, thanks, Carla," I said. "Could you please leave a note and tell her I called?"

"Sure, Cam," she said. I thanked her and ended the call. I tried calling Ginger's cell phone, but the call went straight to voicemail. I pulled up my browser and searched for divorce lawyers. I found one and called, making an appointment for the next afternoon. I had plenty of comp time coming, so I made a note to take the afternoon off.

I completed my work at the site and went back to the office, where I told Ryan, my supervisor, what was going on. He had been through a divorce himself, so he gave me the comp time I needed. I grabbed my keys, jumped in my truck and headed home.

Ginger came in about 6:30 and headed to the bedroom with little more than a wave of her hand. I noticed she was wearing a different dress than the one I saw her in earlier. I went into the bedroom and saw that she was changing into one of her club dresses.

"Going out again tonight?" I asked.

"Yeah, just a few of us girls blowing off some steam," she said. I'm sure that wasn't all she would be blowing.

"How was your day?" I asked.

"Pretty boring. Stuck in the office all day. You know how it is," she said. I couldn't believe the bitch just lied to me.

"Uh huh. I tried calling you earlier." She stopped for a moment and gave me a deer-in-the-headlights look. Busted! "Carla told me you took the afternoon off. Where were you?"

"I had a few errands to run," she said, recovering. "I didn't think I needed to consult you."

"So you weren't stuck in the office all day?"

"Alright, you caught me. I was out doing some shopping, okay? Mom's birthday is coming up and I was looking for a present," she said, irritation in her voice. Another lie. I knew her mother's birthday wasn't for another five months. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to finish getting ready. The girls are expecting me."

"You plan to be home at a decent hour?"

"I'll be home when I get home. Assuming I decide to come home at all," she said in a snippy tone of voice. "Who knows, I just might meet a guy and spend the night getting my brains fucked out," she added sarcastically.

"Well, if you do, don't bother coming back," I told her. "Just send me a text so I'll know where to have you served with divorce papers. I'll have your crap out in the front yard." That seemed to get her attention. She looked at me, her face red. After a few moments, she cooled off and tried to smooth-talk her way back into my good graces.

"I'm sorry, Cam, I shouldn't have said that," she told me. "I've just been under a lot of stress lately. I'll be home at a decent hour, promise. Now, no more talk about divorce, okay?" I said nothing, but nodded my head. She smiled and kissed me on the cheek. "Maybe this weekend we can go out and do something special, just the two of us. That would be fun, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, it would," I said. "It's been a while since we've had any fun together. I was beginning to think you were getting ready to trade me in for a newer, richer model."

"I would never do that," she said. "You mean too much to me. Besides, I'm just getting you broken in good." I chuckled at that, but still, I was seething inside after what I saw earlier. She finished dressing and headed out, giving me a kiss on the lips.

"Be careful out there," I told her.

"I will," she said. To my surprise, she did get home at a fairly decent hour. It was 10:15 when she came in the front door, about two hours earlier than normal. She gave me a hug and a kiss, and I could smell the cigarette smoke and the alcohol on her breath, but nothing else. Not even a hint of cologne. Maybe it was a boring night after all.

She showered, knowing how much I hate the smell of cigarettes, and came to bed. Naked, for a change. She spread her legs and ran a finger through her shaved slit while looking at me with lust in her eyes. I wasn't one to turn down sex with my wife, especially since it had been a while since we had done anything, but I wasn't stupid. Besides, after tonight, I didn't know if we would ever have sex again.

I undressed, my average-sized cock at full mast, and got between her legs. I kissed the inside of her thighs while checking out her wet pussy. I didn't see or smell anything that suggested she had been with another man, so I decided to take the plunge. Like I said, I may be "average," but I'm not stupid.

After giving her two orgasms with my tongue, I kissed my way up her body. I had always enjoyed tasting her soft, smooth skin and I wanted to give her a memorable experience. I suckled on her C-cup breasts, flicking her nipples with my tongue. That always got a positive reaction from her and tonight was no exception.

I finally kissed my way up her neck and was looking at her, face to face, my cock poised to penetrate her. She looked up at me with lust in her eyes.

"Fuck me," she moaned. "Please. No more teasing." I smiled as I worked my cock inside her and began fucking her, slowly at first. She was just as tight and wet as normal, so I continued as she moaned. I felt my own climax begin, so I picked up the pace, determined to give her the fucking of her life.

"Ahh, ahh, ahh," she moaned with each thrust. My pace quickened as I worked to fuck her through the mattress. Finally, I exploded inside her, and she screamed out as her orgasm hit. I felt her pussy clench around my cock as I shot my seed into her. After we calmed down, I laid in the bed next to her. She turned to me and put an arm over my chest.

"I'm sorry about what I said earlier," she told me quietly. "It was mean, cruel and uncalled for. Can you forgive me?" Her tone of voice indicated she was serious, but I still had a hard time reconciling her lies and her actions in her co-worker's car.

"I can," I told her.

"You do know I love you, right?" she asked.

"So you say. But I've begun to wonder about that lately," I said. Her eyes fell for a moment, but then she looked back up at me.

"I do love you," she said. "I know I've been a real bitch to you lately, and I'm sorry. Things have been real stressful at work."

"I understand that, but I wish you would've talked to me," I said. "I was beginning to think you'd maybe found someone else and was getting ready to trade up."

"No, of course not," she said. "And you're right, I should've talked to you. You do still love me, don't you?"

"Of course," I said. "If I didn't, I would've been gone a long time ago. Tell me, honestly, have you ever cheated on me?" She looked at me, shocked.

"No, never," she said.

"I hope not, because that's the one thing I won't stand for. Have you ever let another man touch you where he shouldn't?"

"I've danced with a few guys on the nights I go out with the girls, but that's it," she said. I couldn't believe she just lied to my face -- again. I thought about confronting her with the pictures on my phone, but decided not to, at least for now.

"I know. I've smelled their cologne on you when you got back," I said.

"Sorry," she said. "I sometimes forget how sensitive your nose is."

"That's alright," I said. I kissed her on the forehead and thought for a moment. I realized it wouldn't do any good to press further -- she would probably just lie to me. "Why don't we get some sleep," I told her. "I have a big day ahead of me tomorrow."

"Okay," she said. "I love you. Don't ever forget that."

"And I love you too," I said, keeping my anger in check. The next day I got hit with even more bad news.

"Basically, you're screwed no matter what you do," Drew Henson, the lawyer I had taken off work to see, told me. "This happens to be a no-fault state and the law precludes any mention of adultery."

"But what if I have proof?" I asked.

"Doesn't matter. She could screw the entire Third Marine Division on live television and the court would simply ignore it. The bottom line is that you would lose half of everything -- all your assets, retirement, savings, everything, would be split in two and she would get it. On top of that, she would get your condo while you get to keep making payments and you would get hit with paying alimony for at least the next two years, unless she remarries. The only thing in your favor is the fact that you have no children, so there's no child support," he said.

"What if I just leave?" I asked.

"After a year, she could file for divorce, say you abandoned her, and you'd still lose half of everything. Possibly more, since you left her," he explained.

"So, I'm royally screwed, aren't I?"

"Pretty much. That's why they say divorce is the screwing you get for the screwing you got," he added with a smile.

"Trying to be a comedian or something?" I asked. He chuckled at that. "So, what do I do?"

"You could just put up with it, at least for now," he said.

"You mean, be a willing cuckold?" I asked, shocked. "No way. I refuse to do that. I'd rather just leave her and take my chances."

"There is one alternative," he said.

"What's that?" I asked.

"We could put together a post-nuptial agreement that spells out what happens if one spouse cheats. If she agrees to it, then you'll have something you can use in case she strays again. Does that sound agreeable to you?"

"I suppose it's better than nothing," I said. "Go ahead and start putting it together."

"It'll take me a few days. I'll be in touch," he said. I thanked him, left a retainer and headed home, angrier than I was before. It pissed me off to think that she could screw around on me, then effectively rape me financially like that.

Ginger was still at work when I got home, and I really didn't feel like hanging around the house, so I changed clothes, grabbed my golf clubs and headed to the golf course to take my frustrations out on some golf balls.