In hindsight, it was pretty obvious that something was going on, but then I'm a typical guy in that sometimes you've got to smack me on the back of the head with a two by four to get my attention. I don't worry about much. I wonder if my team is gonna make the playoffs. I worry about my two girls, who've moved out to live on their own. And sometimes I have to remember important things, like picking up my wife, Mar, after work, because her lemon of a car is in the shop again. I had to do that, and if I forgot, I'd be in deep shit. We went directly from her office to Sharon and Bob's, her parents.
Each year, in mid-January, my in-laws invite the whole family over for a big meal to celebrate their two daughters' birthdays. They're only a week apart, so it makes sense to throw one party to celebrate both Lee's, which falls on the 14th and Mar's which falls on the 21st. Mar is short for Marilyn, by the way, and her sister, my sister-in law is Lee.
This year was no different except that Paul, Lee and Claude's son, was absent. He'd finished his degree and had entered the workforce last summer and was now working as a junior engineer at a mine in Brazil. Obviously too far to travel for a birthday party. Our two girls, Michelle and Heather, as I mentioned had recently moved out of the house to be on their own, but still lived in the small city where our folks has settled in the fifties.
An evening at Mar's parents' place was always an enjoyable one. As was usually the case, we started off with a glass or two of Bob's excellent homemade wine. Bob isn't of Italian heritage, but had grown up in a big city neighborhood where Italian was the first language, and had learned how to make a killer red from a neighbor, who must've been a master of the art. After the first couple of glasses the conversation flowed easily and laughter was the order of the evening.
After a half hour of gabbing and giggling, Sharon indicated that it was time to get herself into the kitchen. Everyone volunteered to help, and while some went off to perform their assignments, others waited to do tasks that were to be done just before dinner.
Sharon gave me a short list of items to bring up from the basement pantry, while Lee and Michelle helped out in the kitchen. I had no trouble finding the first two items, but the bottle of cranberry juice proved to be elusive and I was just about to head upstairs without it when I clearly heard Mar's familiar chuckle from just over my head. I looked around, and there it was. An open heating grate in the ductwork overhead. I went over the house layout in my head, and decided that I was immediately below the bathroom.
I could hear the shuffling of feet and then Mar spoke, "...nice and hard...".
A male voice, obviously Claude's, said, "... thinking about your hot little pussy."
"No pussy for you tonight, stud. Let's see what else I can...
There was more shuffling of feet, then a groan. "Oh, Jesus Christ, that feels good. ...suck it..."
I was stunned. My wife was sucking her brother-in-law's cock right over my head, and what's worse, they done more, judging by what I'd just heard.
In a flash of insight, the odd signs of the past several weeks became clear. The hang-ups, several times a week, whenever I answered the phone. The wrong numbers, or so she claimed, whenever Mar answered it. The numerous trips to visit with Lee after work, or in the evening. They'd been fucking, and I hadn't a clue.
"Oh fuck, I'm gonna come... Oh shit,here it comes, baby!"
"Son of a bitch!" I thought. "I'm gonna kill the prick."
I got halfway up the stairs when I stopped. "No, hold on." I thought to myself, "That'll just make this messier than it already is. I've gotta think..."
I'd been a scrapper as a teenager, drinking and picking fights every weekend, and usually winning. I finally outgrew that destructive behavior when I figured out it wasn't getting me anywhere. My friends had grown up and stopped encouraging me, and some didn't bother with me anymore. My antisocial behavior was costing me, big time, so I just stopped doing it. Sure, I had to defend myself occasionally, but what really cinched it was meeting Mar. She knew about me and fighting and told me that if I ever got in another fight she'd dump me like a bag of week old doughnuts.
I slipped back down the stairs and picked up the two cans that I'd found in the pantry and went back upstairs with a heavy heart and a racing mind.
When I got to the kitchen, Sharon was lifting a huge baked ham out of the oven, and Lee was dressing a bowl of salad greens. I poked my head into the dining room, and there were Mar and Claude starting to set the table.
A few minutes later the whole group sat down for a wonderful feast, but I didn't taste it at all. From time to time I glanced at Mar and Claude to see if I could detect any interplay between them, but they kept it cool and barely looked at each other. At one point, I thought Claude looked at me with a bit of an "I'm banging your wife" smirk, but it was likely just my imagination. I gritted my teeth and put a smile on my face, but inside I was raging.
Claude and I had gotten along well, ever since Lee moved back to town from the west coast with a new husband in tow, over twenty years ago. He wasn't a bad guy at all, or at least I hadn't thought so until now. We shared a passion for sports, including golf, which we played together once a week through the season, and both considered working on old cars our number one hobby. He drove a restored '56 Chev ragtop pretty much all summer long, while my '52 Olds business coupe had been a work in progress for the last eight years and was still waiting for the big block I'd rebuilt to be dropped into place. We'd been good friends, but that was now done.
Everyone raved about the food, as always, and before too long, a very sated group of people sat around the table.
For the past several years it had fallen to me to start off the after-dinner festivities with a toast to the birthday girls, which was followed by one from Claude, to our mother-in law and her always excellent meal. The bottle was passed around and everyone topped off their glasses. They looked at me, waiting to raise their glasses.
I'm rarely impulsive, but tonight I knew I needed to get things out in the open, so I stood and raised my glass. "A special toast this year, to my loving wife, Mar, a woman who, and I'm sure Claude will back me up on this, gives a damn fine blow job."
The reactions were as you might expect. Mar's face, first lit by a smile, became beet red in an instant as her wineglass crashed to the table. Heather, upset at the indignity of the remark, but not comprehending the implication, simply shouted at me. "Dad!" Lee's smile turned to an angry scowl directed at Claude, and Claude had what's best described as an "Oh oh, I'm in deep shit" look on his face.
Two heartbeats after I spoke, Mar leaped to her feet and dashed to the kitchen, followed a few seconds later by her mother and Michelle. Claude slid his chair back as if to make a quick getaway, but was frozen on the spot by a terse "Don't you move, buster!" from Lee.
"Don", my father-in-law asked, "Son, just what the hell are you talking about?"
Before I could start, he turned to Heather, "Sweetheart, why don't you go see if your Mom and Granny could use some help. This might be be more of an adult's conversation."
Heather, insulted, replied. "Gramps, I'm twenty one years old. I know what a blow job is. But I don't understand..."
Heather stayed put and all eyes turned to me. I quickly related all of the odd events of the past three weeks, and then told them about the revelation through the ductwork. Heather's eyes were as big as saucers as she understood her mother's indiscretion.
