Going Down Together

Author's Note:

This is for the "Pink Orchid" author's challenge to write stories of female characters having agency and making sense on her own terms. It's from the wife, Lori's POV when dealing with her cheating husband.

The prequel to this,

"His Vixen"

starts two years earlier about Lori's friend, Allison, with how she and her husband began their "Intermission" stag-vixen game. But this current story is stand-alone, and you don't need to read that other one first.

I extend a special thanks to the author "Omenainen" for hosting this fourth annual Pink Orchid author's challenge and for beta-reading my story to provide recommendations for improvements. But don't blame O for any flaws in this, as I stubbornly resist some of those suggestions.

*****

Prologue

The

'Italian Stallion'

!

Oh, my gawd, how did that ever pop into my head? It's a term I heard my mother use! I think she said that's what they called

'Rocky'

in the old movies. Rocky Balboa was

'the Italian Stallion'

, played by Sylvester Stallone in the 1970s. But this guy looks more like John Travolta in

Grease,

and he exudes the charisma of the songs of Frankie Valli. His words tonight were so seductive, as if singing to me '

You're just too good to be true...,'

making me feel so special, never taking his eyes off me all evening.

It's strange how we can think of the oddest things when triggered by the moment. And I was fully into this moment with him. I couldn't stop thinking

'Italian Stallion'

, as I looked into his lustful eyes. My fingers were interlaced at the sides of his head into his long black mane, feeling the silky texture of those locks. He propped himself over me, thoughtfully holding his own weight with those athletic arms at my sides. I could see between us looking to his hips as he bumped my butt, feeling him penetrating my depths with his tool! That's why he's my

'STALLION!'

That deliciously thick member made him my stud!

I looked into my lover's eyes, pulling his face down to mine as our lips met. The very subtle, tart smell of his aftershave lightly touched my nose as our tongues wrestled. I could still taste myself in his mouth from my first glorious orgasm minutes earlier, when he was down there. I knew my phone's camera was propped up on the nightstand, recording my legs in the air shaking as I screamed from his talented tongue,

"Oh, that's it!... Oh! OH! ... YES!"

And that camera was still recording the view of him poised over me as he slid in!

When I first saw his member as I undressed him, I knew my plan would work out exactly as I wanted. Now that he's finally in me, gently sliding it in and pulling back out, I almost forgot about the plan, and he wasn't in any rush. We're actually doing it! And it's as he said earlier, this is about pleasure as it should be! It's the build-up, to be slowly savored and enjoyed. Then in the final throws of passionate energy it will all come together ... for both of us, when I draw it from him, and he fills me with his seed!

I now realize I wanted my cellphone recording it all, so I would have it to treasure forever, to watch us together again and hear myself as I enjoy this.

... And not just for the revenge I had planned, when I send these videos to my husband tomorrow!

Intro

My husband, Allen and I (Lori) met when we were in high school. No, he wasn't the captain of the football team, and I wasn't a cheerleader. But he did play sports as a wide receiver on the football team for three years. He was the agile, rugged type, able to catch the ball, run, and take the abuse of the tackles slamming him into the ground. He reminded me of my father, tough and hard working.

My mother was the one who swooned over the "pretty boys," listening to the songs of Frankie Valli and watching movies with Frankie Avalon. But I'm not a cheerleader or Annette Funicello type of costar. I was just an average girl in high school who latched onto my guy, and I held onto him through all other challengers.

Allen's rugged and stoic nature is what drew me to him, focused on his goals and taking the punishment on the way. Growing through my teenage years as the girlfriend of a football player, I wasn't the demure Barbie-type when I met my guy hanging out with the team. I picked up an understanding of some of their macho ways.

We married right after we graduated from high school, and Allen was the "one and only" man who has ever had my body. I was soon pregnant with our first child. Being so young and with a newborn, times were tough, and he took a job as a truck driver to support me with our child. That job barely provided enough money for the three of us in those early years. But even through the usual fights and disagreements, almost always due to the shortage of money, we eventually made it through those spartan years for the long term, lasting thirty years as a "happily" married couple.

I was a stay-at-home mom for the most part early on, only getting some part time jobs between pregnancies. When we finally decided that three were enough children, and when the third one was old enough, I found a full-time job and things were easier.

For his part, Allen was a go-getter, always working hard to support us. And when the money situation allowed, he eventually invested in buying another truck and paying another driver. Trucking was the one thing he learned which could pay the bills. And over the last fifteen years, he's grown that initial investment into a thriving trucking and warehouse business.

Now, after almost thirty years of marriage, I asked Allen about turning the company over to our grown children so we could spend more time together and possibly start traveling. He's just reluctant to give up control, to relax and enjoy life. I guess it's that stoic nature of his, quietly taking the hits, shaking it off, and looking for the next play. So, I try to stay in shape and take care of him as best I can, because he has done so much for me and the kids. But his occasional suggestions that I need to watch my weight, work out a little more, and just shrugging at some of the dinners I prepare have me feeling lately that he still sees me as the barefoot and pregnant, naïve little woman of the house.

Book Club

A few of the neighborhood women were sipping tea and coffee this Saturday morning for our monthly Book Club meeting. It was Sandra's turn to host, and she had the usual coffee and an assortment of pastries for a continental breakfast. Sandra had selected the book at the last meeting a month ago, when she volunteered to host. I was just surprised with her book choice this time, knowing how judgmental she can be.

Two years ago, when she selected a book like this dealing with infidelity, Sandra took a hard stance against the protagonist who had a one-night fling. And when I tried to speak out in defense of the bored housewife, we almost got into a fight, when it became apparent Sandra was implying only a slut would defend the character. But my friend, Allison strategically intervened before Sandra actually said it. Since that memorable discussion, the book club hostesses have avoided selecting books on infidelity, making me wonder why she would pick another one this time.

We began the discussion of the latest book when Julie withdrew a piece of paper from the glass bowl Sandra held out, and she unfolded the paper to read the first question.

"Was the story unique or did it predictably follow the usual plot devices for the genre?"

Julie asked as she read from the slip of paper.

"It was like that other book we read a while back," Wendy observed. "Except this time, it was the husband who had the on-going affair and the wife who couldn't get over it. I just didn't find the sex scenes as exciting this time, or at least not as exciting as I did with that other one from her point of view."

"I'd kill Allen if he ever cheated on me like that," I angrily exclaimed.

"I thought you were in favor of sex outside of marriage, like needing to breathe," Sandra reminded me, and I remembered using breathing as an example of the wife doing what she needed to survive, ... but in that case it was to justify her sexual fling to relieve her almost suicidal despair. "What about his wife giving him permission for a night out? Was that a Vixen-Stag relationship you said which could be healthy if he learns new tricks?"

I just sighed at her reminder of my description of sharing couples I had read about in other books and articles about such things.

"It's 'Stag-Vixen,' and that's only for the wife to have sex!" I insisted. "When the husband secretly did it this time, he was cheating! I just thought the wife in this book was stupid for not knowing what her husband was doing for so long."

Julie looked at Allison sitting silently sipping her coffee, asking "What are you smirking about, Allison? Did Eric do that to you? Or did you cheat on him?"

"Oh, no," Allison replied, dismissing the question with a look of innocence. "My husband would never cheat on me, and I'd never cheat on him. We're still a happily married, loving couple having the best sex anyone could want! I'm quite sure I can't find anyone better than my husband."

"You sound awfully certain, Allison," I observed. "But what if a handsome guy came on to you at a bar? He might really rock your world in bed, with the best lovemaking ever!"

Allison just smiled, shaking her head as if not wanting to get into it and took another sip of her coffee. She looked so confident in her silence.

"I just think any extra-marital sex is inexcusable," Sandra exclaimed. "It doesn't matter whether it's the wife or the husband who does it. When we get married, it's for the rest of our life to be monogamous, having sex with just our spouse!"

"But what happens if one of you can't have sex anymore?" I asked. "I can see situations where it might not be fair to the spouse to be so restrictive. Maybe a husband is impotent, or the wife has painful cysts as she gets older. Is it fair to say,

'no sex ever again'

for their healthy partner?"

"Yes," Sandra argued. "You vowed

'through sickness and in health,'

so just because one becomes sick doesn't mean the other can cheat."

"But you said the vow includes

'and in health.'

So, why can't the sick one see it's not cheating, but helping their spouse by letting them get it elsewhere?"

"So, you think in this book it was okay for the husband to cheat on his wife," Sandra dared me to acknowledge.

"I already said 'NO!'," I exclaimed. "His wife wasn't sick, and there was no other reason for him to go elsewhere. He just cheated, and that was wrong."

"I think we need to move on to the next question," Wendy said as she reached into the bowl of question slips.

The Signs

When Allison was giving me a ride home from Sandra's house, I was rather quiet for the first few minutes, thinking about what we discussed.

"So, what's up, girlfriend? What was bothering you today?" Allison asked. "You seemed to get rather intense about some of those questions."

"Oh, it's just that book and the signs of cheating that it brought out," I admitted.

"Are you seeing some of those signs?" she asked, trying to sound innocent, but there was an ominous tone to the way she asked.

I hesitated before responding "... Allen's been working late for the past few months. And when I broached the idea of cutting back on his work so we might do some traveling, he just put me off saying he's not ready yet. He's worked so hard over the years, it's not like we need more money. He seems distant."

"I think we've all noticed that he's not at the neighborhood happy hours anymore," Allison admitted. "And you two missed the New Year's Day after party Eric and I hosted. That's not like you."

"Allen said he had to go into the office to sort out a missed delivery," I explained with a sigh. "I know. It's one of those 'signs', like they explained in the book.

'Working late, working more on weekends and holidays, and a lack of energy for sex at home.'

And it's not like he's old! Allen just turned forty-nine a few months ago! Even when I try dressing sexy and initiating it, it's tough to get him excited."

"Could it be a health problem he just doesn't want to discuss?" Allison offered.

"No. He told me the doctor said he was in perfect health after his last physical. He even bragged about it," I said. "Could it be that he has a mistress, and I've just been too blind to see it?"

"It's always possible," Allison said. "Have you tried asking him about it?"

"I know him, and that would just start a fight," I pointed out. "He'd accuse me of being suspicious or jealous and overcontrolling. That's just how he is whenever I bring something up out of the blue. He becomes defensive and turns it around to make it my fault. I'd need to have more than just a feeling to confront him with it."

"But when it comes to the book club discussions," Allison warned, "you should be careful when butting heads with Sandra. She's like the 'Queen Bee' of the gossipmongers around here. If you get on her wrong side, she can influence the others to stay away from you. Most of them will start avoiding you. I just find that old adage

'silence is golden'

to be some good advice."

"I didn't do or say anything wrong with the book discussions," I pointed out. "They're just my opinions."

The Weekend

When Allison dropped me off at home, we quickly made plans to do some shopping for an hour or two later. And I was in the kitchen chopping vegetables to prepare for an evening dinner with my husband.

It was about twelve-thirty when I heard the garage door open as Allen came home from his morning in the office. For the past two or three years he's worked almost every Saturday morning. So, we haven't been doing things as a couple on most weekends. Sunday mornings he always played golf. And after a few beers at the club on their "nineteenth hole" stop at the golf club bar, he was content to relax at home for the rest of the day, usually watching football games. We would sometimes go out to a winery or brewery on Saturday afternoons, maybe once per month. And we sometimes went to a show or out to dinner in the evenings. But for the most part, we were just an old married couple, set in our ways.

I appreciated how much time and effort he puts into his job and the business which made our life as comfortable as it is. So, I've tried my best to support him by overseeing the kids, family events, and other household maintenance. It might sound like he's "all business", but he does have his romantic moments, surprising me with flowers or spending an evening watching a "chick-flic" at least weekly.

Standing at the kitchen sink when he came in from the garage, I was washing potatoes and vegetables for our dinner later, as I turned and greeted him.

"Hi, dear. Did you sort out that problem which kept you working late last night?" I asked cheerfully, hoping his day was going better.

"Yeah, everything's back to normal," he said. "What's for dinner later?"

"I'm about to put a roast in the slow-cooker."

"Did you go to the gym this morning?" he asked as he opened the refrigerator door to grab a beer.

"No, this morning was book club," I replied. "By the way, are you coming to the neighborhood happy hour next Friday at five o'clock?"

"I have poker that evening with the guys from the warehouse and I need to leave here at six-thirty, so no thanks."

"You could still show up for an hour," I pointed out. "You haven't been to one for, what? A year?"

Allen rolled his eyes before adding "Most of them drink wine, and you know I don't like wine, or the dainty appetizers others bring to happy hours."

"That's why I take things like the pretzel knots and beer-cheese dip to share at those gatherings," I said. "I take something I know YOU like, so you know there's always something there for you to eat. And when we go, you could bring your own beer instead of drinking the wine I like. It'd just be nice if you could show up with me once or twice again."

"I'll think about it for next month," he conceded.

"By the way," I started, now wanting to confirm a rumor I heard that morning, "someone mentioned finding pictures of one of your truck drivers, Gary's wife online. Did you hear about that?"

"Yeah, the guys in the warehouse have been talking about it for weeks," Allen confirmed, "the cuckold's been posting them himself on some web site forum, bragging about his wife being fucked by another guy! That wimp won't be invited to poker night anymore."

"Why won't they want him at poker?" I asked.

"Come on, Lori! Really?" Allen exclaimed as if I should know. "The guy's got no balls if he's watching his wife being fucked by other men! We're all surprised he can even stand to look at himself in the mirror!"

"I've seen some of the web sites you browse," I pointed out. "You like those amateur porn videos too. So, who do you think makes them?"

"Wimps and cuckolds, like Gary!" Allen insisted. "But he'll need to start looking for another job soon. The guys at the warehouse are talking about slow-rolling his truck loading and unloading, so he'll probably start falling behind in his deliveries. Eventually, I'll have to let him go if he can't work with the other guys."

"That doesn't seem fair," I protested. "Those pictures have nothing to do with them."

"That's what it's like in the real world with real men," Allen insisted, as if it had to be that way. "They don't like working with a cuckold. It'd be different if he was taking pics of his wife with another woman or even making his own porn videos with him and her. But taking pics of another guy's dick in his slut wife? Even the customers I play golf with wouldn't want a wimp like that around them."

I just shook my head in amazement. "Well, I'll have the slow cooker filled and going soon, then I'm heading out for some shopping with Allison. Don't touch the roast until I get home! It might smell good, but it won't be done until later."

"No promises," he said with a chuckle, then he just kissed me on the cheek and walked toward the living room with his beer.

Humiliation

My social life outside of the house revolved around my regular meetings with others in our community. There were various ladies card games in the evenings, church activities with coffee and donuts after church, and kids' sporting events. Even after our kids were grown and moved out of the house, I continued to remain involved with some school plays and local kids' games. When the local high school hosts a football game on Friday or Saturday evenings, the parking lot at the stadium turns into a large tailgating block party before and after the game. These weren't merely activities to entertain the kids when they were growing up. In our small town, these were also social times for the parents to get together.

And the subtle signs at these events had been building for well over two months, when I realized other moms were ignoring me or talking over me at church group meetings. When I responded to the bi-weekly ladies card game hostess that I would be at the next game, she sent back "Sorry, Lori, I already have the twelve players," (even though I was on the list as one of the regular default players!) Then there was the Halloween Party invitation Glenda "forgot" to send to me.

But when Allison and I walked into the book club meeting, it was like a slap in the face that Sandra, Wendy, and Julie stopped talking, and turned remaining silent to look at us. And I could feel that they were looking at me.

"Okay, ladies, what's going on?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" Sandra asked, trying to sound innocent.

"I've been getting the

'cold shoulder'

with people dissing me lately," I pointed out. "And just now, you were talking about me, weren't you!? That only happens when there are rumors spreading. So, what is it that you're not telling me?"