Please read the tags. You were warned.
Destination weddings are all the rage, but they are a pain in the ass. I guess it is all about the groom and bride, so it's a pain you tolerate for their sake.
Candace was my wife Leesa's best friend. Both being Filipinas, they naturally stuck together. Candace's fiancé, Mike and I got along well enough, but we weren't really going to be more than friendly enough to appease our ladies. We just had different interests. We ran in different circles.
The wedding was in Jamaica, at a resort. We were going for two weeks, with the wedding the second Saturday on the beach.
I had met Leesa in Singapore where she worked and where I had traveled for business. I am a supplier quality engineer for a company in Phoenix that makes semiconductors. It pays really well, but is very stressful at times.
We were married four years ago and have been enjoying the married life ever since. We are a typical early 30's couple. Work hard, play hard and have lots of bedroom fun. Leesa certainly isn't shy, and I am glad for that. We are a good team.
We arrived in Jamaica on a Tuesday afternoon. We were greeted by the wedding coordinator, Altiva and her assistant, Baron. They were both remarkable, friendly people who seemed natural to the work they did.
They had arranged activities all week as per the bride's preferences. That meant lots of beach time. They made sure to give all of us white people lots of sunscreen so we wouldn't get sunburned before the wedding.
The resort is super nice, with guests ranging the entire spectrum. European, Asian, African, American and even some Australians. That was the most interesting part to me - talking with people from all over.
Leesa mainly kept with Candace and they kept to the beach. I wasn't going to complain because Leesa is a sexy woman who looked even better in her bikini. Lots of visual stimulation for yours truly.
The bachelor and bachelorette parties were that first Saturday night in town, off the resort. The wedding party was 4 people each side, plus a few spouses, like me, who were only guests at the wedding. Leesa is the maid-of-honor.
While the guys started off at a bar, before going to a strip club, the women went to a different bar and then a dance club.
Look, I know what you will say, "I just can't hold my liquor. I'm a lightweight" and so on. I will swear, even to this day, that one of my drinks was spiked. I was drunk off my ass and shouldn't have been.
I was just partying with all the other guys, and every single one of us got a private dance with a Jamaican hottie at the strip club. Not against the agreement Leesa and I had discussed prior to the outing.
Deserae was medium height with a slim, sexy body. Her dark skin was really sexy against her white bikini. She talked me into a private dance, and when she was alone in the room with me, she told me about sex acts and how much they cost.
I was shit-faced, and I don't remember agreeing to anything but next thing I know she's giving me a blow job. My big head said to stop her, but my little head kicked my big head's ass and he didn't say anything while she gave me some really great head.
Baron had to practically carry me back to my hotel room at the end of the night. I couldn't even walk straight. Leesa had beaten me there by a bit - long enough to get showered and onto some lingerie. Anxious to work off the horniness she picked up from dancing with the locals.
Well, my big head woke up and decided that it was a good time to confess and beg forgiveness. Stupid me. Really stupid me. As I said, I wasn't in control of all my actions.
Needless to say, Leesa didn't sleep in our room that night. The entire next day, I got the "Tampo" from her - the Filipina silent treatment. She was beyond pissed. I resorted to texting her, but she ignored me all day as she sunned on the beach and I stayed in bed.
If anything, it got worse that night. I could literally see the steam coming from her ears. She again slept somewhere else. Yeah, I fucked up. I was in the dog house, and being fitted for a collar.
I tried again Monday morning when she came back to our room, and she just shouted and threw things at me. The women went back to the beach, and I decided it was best to let her cool off. Be patient, wait for my opportunity to eat shit and kiss her ass.
You know the saying, "when it rains, it pours"?
A hurricane opened up over me that afternoon and I was drowning in the flood. My supplier had a bad quality problem and the entire plant was down. Being in quality means you learn to apologize for things that isn't your fault, and when the plant manager and quality manager both call you while you are on vacation, you know your ass is on the line. Like it or not, we are always "on duty". Even on vacation.
Bottom line, I had to get my butt to Singapore ASAP. I repacked my suitcase, ran out to the beach and tried to explain to Leesa that my job depended on me being in Singapore as fast as possible.
It really creeped me out when she didn't get mad or anything.
"Ok." Was all she said.
I tried to explain, but she just said it was fine. That should have set off alarms in my head. I was in a catch-22. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. I could make it up to her if I stayed employed, but if I stay in Jamaica and lose my job, I'm royally fucked.
I apologized and took off to the airport. I got my ticket, and fired off a text to Leesa explaining it again and apologizing for leaving her alone at the wedding.
"I'm sure I can find someone to be my date for the wedding. Don't worry about it." Was her reply.
Ok, she was just being snarky. That's to be expected. I fucked up after all. I have to eat some crow and let her vent. She'll get it out of her system eventually. I got one plane and headed for Singapore.
It's a loooong journey to Singapore - over 24 hours of traveling. As I walked to immigration, my phone filled up with messages. I sorted through the work ones first, getting updated on the problem and corrective actions I needed to review on-site.
There was a message from Leesa. It simply said, "Now we're even." With some attachments.
I dreaded opening the photos, knowing it was going to be bad.
The first was a close-up of her, wearing the lingerie she had on the night of the bachelor party. The special lingerie meant for me. She had a dick in her mouth. I could tell it was her from the beauty mark on her upper lip. She was giving a local a blow job.
I felt the bile raise in my throat and my anger bubbled up. A childish taunt from her acting toxic. It would be unproductive towards our making up after my mistake.
The second photo was a close-up of that cock buried in her pussy. That bitch! Now I was definitely justified in being pissed. I hadn't fucked anyone.
The last photo was obviously after she finished having sex with him. Her normally tan pussy lips were reddish and swollen, with his seed clearly leaking out of her.
The first photo maaaaaay have been justified, I'm not sure. The second one was cruel, but this one was just plain evil. This was unhinged.
Another text from her said, "Check the time stamps. He fucked me for 2 hours! That's what you deserve. Hope you were as happy with your blow job."
I just stopped. If I let it consume me, I wouldn't get done what I was there to get done. I pushed it out of my mind and got into the plant and went to work.
That Friday, Mike text me, asking if Leesa was with me. Nobody had seen her since Monday. I simply told him "No." and ignored the replies that followed.
By Sunday, I had the trial run with the countermeasures completed and arranged for shipping the parts directly to the plant. I text Leesa that I'd meet her Monday morning at home.
I found her waiting for me after my flight in the living room of our house. As I had hoped, the fire in her attitude had vanished, replaced with contrition and apologies.
Even when I laid into her for apparently spending the whole week with the guy, she did not get angry. I guess in the light of day, she realized she overreacted big time.
But I wasn't just going to forgive her that quickly. Maybe not ever. I moved into the spare bedroom and the standoff began.
I spent days and weeks considering my options. From forgiveness to divorce and everything in-between. My moods flipped back and forth. One day, I was researching divorce attorneys and the next day I looked at marriage counselors.
We tried talking. And I mean really talking. Not the apologies and angry fights, but moving past that. I wanted to know what was going through her head when she went off the rails.
I demanded to know what actually happened. I wanted to know exactly what I was dealing with. She didn't want to tell me. I had to threaten to move out and file for divorce if she didn't come clean.
Naturally, she said she was hurt and angry. She left the resort Monday night, going back to the dance club she had visited on Saturday. I pointed out that it was premeditated. She knew she was going to cheat. She wore the lingerie under her dress just to taunt me, knowing she would have sex.
She said payback was her intention, but alcohol fueled her rage. She said her intention was to give a guy a blow job and just make us even. She felt justified up to that point. She admitted her anger got the better of her and what she did was overkill.
I set aside the argument that her giving a guy a blow job was justified for the time being. We had different opinions on it, and I wanted to get through all the facts first, before it devolved into chaos.
"Then how did he end up fucking you?" I pressed.
"I don't know. I was angry, drunk and horny. He never lost his election after the blow job, and it just kind of happened. Kind of like how you were drunk and a lap dance just kind of turned into a blow job."
"Why didn't you go back to the resort after." I pressed.
