Chapter 5
The Conclusion: Despair is a Sickness unto Death
After Jean, had walked out, I lost contact with her. She just disappeared. The first couple of days, I tried not to worry. I told myself, she just needed some time to think things over. I was sure she'd be back in a couple of days. I plunged into work and waited for her to call. As the week passed, I thought about how furious she had been. Maybe it would take more than a few days. I tried not to think about Florida.
When Friday came, I got impatient and tried to call her at work. Her phone rang several times until it was answered by the receptionist. I said I was trying to reach my wife, Jean Williams. There was a pause, and then they said they would transfer me to HR. I repeated that I was trying to reach my wife. Again, there was a pause. I was puzzled. I had called my wife at work several times in the past with no trouble.
I was asked to verify my identity. I gave them our address and Jean's maiden name. The person was finally satisfied and apologized. Jean's company had strict rules on giving out personal information. They told me that Jean had not returned to work after her vacation and was taking sick leave. I could hear the suspicion in their voice as they relayed information a husband should already know. I asked if I could leave a message for her to call me when she returned to work.
Not being able to contact my wife left me to brood alone. I obsessed about what happened in Fort Walton Beach. The more I obsessed, the angrier I became. I knew I bore part of the blame for what happened. Certainly, I should have stood up to Brent and demanded that he return my wife's beach wrap he had taken while she was competing in the disco contest. I knew at the time that I was an asshole when I told her if she wanted the wrap back, she should dance with the big Alabama quarterback. I told her I didn't care that she was only wearing her bikini panties and high heel shoes. I blithely pointed out to her that most of the girls in The Club were dancing topless and were wearing far skimpier bottoms.
I enjoyed watching the muscular athlete take her in his arms and grind his body against her as they slow danced. I got a massive erection when I saw Brent shove his hand down the back of her panties and finger fuck her on the dance floor. I intended to protect my wife when I followed the quarterback and my wife outside. Instead of intervening, I watched him seduce her with his monstrous cock while I hid in the shadows. I even jacked off twice while I watched him work his massive cock into her tight pussy. I stayed concealed while he fucked her so well, she begged for more. I saw Brent pound his big cock into her so hard her ass slammed against the aluminum siding of The Club with an unceasing thumping that still resonates in my head.
We might have survived the evening if Brent had just honored my wife's plea that he not cum inside of her. OK, I know, my wife and I were both being stupid, really fucking stupid. I was recovering from a fertility operation so we could have the children my wife and I wanted so much. We had been trying for a couple of years, and we both hoped my little procedure would finally let us conceive. Our Florida vacation was timed to achieve our goal while my wife was at the peak of her cycle. Our charade turned into a nightmare when Brent didn't pull out. I had responded to my wife's scream too late to prevent the arrogant quarterback from flooding her womb with his potent seed. I tried to reassure my wife that everything would be all right, but she was devastated. Her disgust with herself soon turned to anger directed at me.
I was also angry at myself for not stopping Brent from fucking my wife. That's my responsibility as her loving husband. I'm not supposed to let other men even hit on my wife let alone fuck her senseless. Once I was back in California, and alone, I began beating myself up for being a colossal fool. I felt remorse every time I thought about that night. I felt terrible when night after night while thinking about Brent fucking my wife, I jacked off. What kind of a pervert was I?
At first, I tried hard not to think about how my wife had treated me after Brent fucked her brains out. I tried to take the blame, but she gave up on us after Brent shot his potent cum into her fertile womb. Immediately after fucking Brent, she told me our marriage was over and started treating me like scum. She stated her intention was to drive me away. The nicest thing she called me was an asshole. She reveled in fucking anyone who was available in front of me. I got treated to two more exhibitions of her fucking Brent while she yelled out to the world that he fucked her better than me. She even begged for him to flood her womb with his cum and give her his baby. My anger built as the pain and hurt consumed me. Once I allowed myself to question her actions, the floodgates opened.
I analyzed every moment of our beach charade, over and over. I couldn't decide if Jean knew that I was in the crowd that watched her fucking all comers in public on the beach. If she knew I was there, was her praise of Brent's cock intended to hurt me? I thought it might be even worse if she didn't know I was there. In that case, she was honest when she said Brent was the greatest fuck she had ever had. What was I to think about her begging Brent to give her his baby?
I kept coming back to my failure to intervene before Jean succumbed to Brent's seduction. I had always been slow to react to a crisis. It is an affliction common to scientist and engineers. We tend to over think everything. Sometimes being slow to react is a good thing. It had saved my life in Vietnam. Our strung-out column was ambushed by North Vietnam regulars. Mortars began landing all around us, and I caught some shrapnel in my left leg. My platoon was near the middle of the column. My Sargent yelled for us to follow him toward the front of the column, and half a dozen men charged after him into the tall grass. I struggled to get to my feet and shoulder my pack that held over sixty pounds of M60 ammo in addition to my own gear. Before I could follow, my platoon was met by a hail of enemy fire. Bullets whizzed around me, and I dropped to the ground.
I had been staying down for some time trying to decide what to do when I saw the heads of enemy soldiers above the grass. The bastards were calmly searching for wounded Americans and shooting everyone they found. I raised my M16 and drew a bead on the closest one. When I pulled the trigger, all I heard was a click. My weapon had jammed. No one heard me curse over the roar of battle.
I turned around and crawled toward the rear of the column. I evaded the enemy soldiers and soon came to the remnants of another platoon that had managed to set up a perimeter. A brief lull in the battle allowed me to identify myself, and I joined the battered troops. A lieutenant was overjoyed to learn I was carrying M60 ammo. I was assigned to feed the belts for a machine gunner. I barely got settled when all hell broke loose. We barely had ten or twelve yards of visibility, but at least we had interlocking fields of fire with M60s on our left and right. The damn North Vietnam regulars kept pouring out of the tall grass.
Occasionally, my teammate sprayed a tree about 20 yards away. More than once a body would drop from the tree. I guess he waited too long to clear the tree during an intense probe of our position. I heard the sickening sound of AK47 rounds impacting soft flesh. I heard a grunt from my companion, and he stopped firing. I rolled him over and yelled for a medic. A round went through my thigh, and another ricocheted off my helmet. I swung the machine gun up and sprayed the tree. A couple of bodies dropped. A medic bandaged me up while I continued operating the machine gun. Somehow, we held the perimeter with the aid of artillery and air support.
One never knows how they will react in combat. Some tough guys panic while some easygoing guys turn out to be heroes. I certainly wasn't a hero. I only survived the initial assault because I hesitated. Once I settled down, I did what I had been trained to do. I didn't deserve the Bronze Star I was awarded, but I certainly earned the Purple Heart.
The point is that I have a history of hesitating in a crisis. Hesitating had saved my life in Vietnam, but it had been a disaster in Florida. I had failed my wife when I hesitated and allowed the Alabama quarterback to seduce her. I failed her again when I didn't prevent my wife being gang banged in our hotel room as part of a sex slave fantasy. One of the last things she had said before she left me was that she had expected me to rescue her both times. Her anger and shame had driven her to the decision that she couldn't stand to face me for the rest of her life. Her actions the rest of the week in Florida were made with the intention of driving me away. Now that we had returned home, I was once again indecisive. I couldn't believe that five years of building our marriage had been a waste.
I couldn't stand being alone in our home and became a regular at the bar in the local VFW. Alcohol dulled my emotions but loosened my tongue. I told anyone who would listen that I had hidden in the dark and watched the big Alabama quarterback fuck my wife. I left out the events afterward. To a man, they all told me to divorce the cheating whore. I thought about putting a bullet in my head.
#
I was surprised that it took Lil over a week to question me about my depression. Our department secretary was well known for her irritating habit of prying into "her" engineers' private lives. She felt it was her personal responsibility to ensure the happiness of "her boys." Only the fact that she did this with humor and innocent flirting made it tolerable. OK, truth be told, every one of us nerds were in love with our secretary. I considered her one of my best friends. She had welcomed me into the department when I started my first job after college. Also, she had taken my wife under her wing and helped Jean settle into life in a strange, new city.
"Steve, I'm sorry I didn't find the time to talk to you sooner, but the boss had me buried with the annual performance appraisals. I thought you were just tired from a week sunbathing and bonking your lovely wife. You're acting like someone shot your dog. I want to know why my favorite engineer is so down."
"Lil, I'd rather not talk about it."
"OK, now I know you need to talk. You're going to take me to a late lunch in a cute French Bistro. We're not going to talk while we enjoy our lunches and drink a liter of wine. After you relax, you are going to tell me what is eating you. Don't think about saying you are too busy because I know for a fact you haven't done jack shit since you got back from Florida."
True to her word we had a quiet lunch. The restaurant was almost deserted. I drank two glasses of wine for everyone she did. I hadn't planned on telling Lil anything about my Florida disaster, but when I started, I couldn't stop. Lil didn't have to encourage me once.
I was holding my head in my hands and staring at the table when I said, "Jane said she wanted a divorce and walked out the door. I haven't seen her since."
Lil took my hands and held them until I looked up into her eyes. I expected her to tell me to never talk to her again.
"Steve, you're an asshole, a first-class asshole. The two of you played with fire and got burnt, but it may not be the end of the world. I can hear in your voice that you still love Jean. She's my friend too. I'm going to have a talk with her and see where she stands."
"Lil, she was pretty clear when she said she never wanted to see me again."
"Steve, this is San Francisco. A lot of swingers do things as crazy as you described. Of course, they normally have an agreement beforehand. I know neither of you is a swinger, but both of you love each other deeply. I think given time, you can get through this if you are both willing to try. Let me talk to Jean."
We had lunch again a couple of days later, and Lil said, "Jean asked me to tell you she was serious about the divorce. Underneath all the anger, I could sense she still loves you. She just doesn't realize it. I'm sorry, but you need to be patient. It's going to take some time."
"Great, so I'm supposed to be patient? What do I do when she serves me with divorce papers?"
Lil held my shaking hands, "Steve, you are such an asshole. You fucked up royally. You don't have any choice except to wait for Jean to change her mind. She may not ever come back, but confronting her will only make things worse."
#
I tried following Lil's advice to stay away from Jean. It was nearly two weeks before I lost patience and tried to call my wife again. I tried several times to reach her at work over the next several weeks. I was sure she was back at work because the phone would ring a couple of times and someone would answer it. I said, "Jean?" and they hung up without saying a word. Once when no one answered, the call was transferred to the receptionist at Crucial Biotech.
