"Nigger." I heard the N-word loudly as I come in the front door of my condo from the gym where I'd been lifting weights after getting my daughter, 14, to bed. It was a Wednesday night and my girl from my first marriage had overnight visitation. We don't use the offensive N-word in my home. But it wasn't my daughter's voice. It was my wife's. As I walked up the carpeted stairs to make sure my daughter was soundly asleep, I heard my wife of seven years describe what she likes in a man. A flat belly. I looked at my own. Not bad for a man of 47. I weigh 190 lbs, but at 6'4" it isn't excessive. I run 10k races for fun. Belly fat would just slow me down.
My wife's boyfriend Ray is much heavier, at 250 lbs, but all muscle on his 6'5" frame. They had been dating for a few weeks. I work in the oil field services industry. I am based in Oklahoma but travel a lot. For the past six weeks I'd been in North Dakota. My wife has a "hall pass" to play when I'm away. She doesn't have kids and so the condo is all hers when I'm on the road. My lovely wife, Caroline, is 5'1" and 140 lbs. Her own belly, ironically, extends past her C-cup breasts when her bra is off. She doesn't run: she has a horse for that (a favorite joke). A soft, sweet woman of 45 with salt-and-pepper hair past her shoulders. Nice tan. Great smile. I love her looks.
Caroline "passes gas" for a living. That is, she is a nurse anesthetist at Northcrest, the big hospital in North Tulsa. Many of her patients are in emergency surgery for gunshot wounds. North Tulsa is home to competing drug gangs. She admires their fine young bodies and genuinely cries over the damage done to them by bullets. She met Ray as I was packing for North Dakota a couple months back. His friend had been shot by the police several times. It took amazing skill by the whole team to keep him alive. Ray stayed by his side, saying he was the "brother" and only family. Caroline suspected he was also there to protect the interests of the rest of the gang, but no matter. He was quite nice for a "gang banger." Soft spoken, polite and a fan of movies. He watched movies in the waiting room and had seen them all before. He knew the names of the actors and their careers. Ray taught Caroline about film, and they grew close during long nights in the step-down unit.
One night, Ray asked Caroline why she looked glum. She answered that her husband was about to leave for several weeks. Ray smiled and asked what he could do to help. Caroline smiled back and said, well, she had a "hall pass." Ray knew that movie and precisely what that phrase meant.
Ray was black, and so I knew just who my wife was calling by the N-word. After ensuring my daughter was asleep (or faking it well, a trick her mother must have taught her), I went into the master bedroom where my naked wife was on the phone with her boyfriend. "Shh! You're yelling!", I said. "Be quiet!"
"I can't," she answered, to me. "His new phone is crappy and I have to yell for him to hear me." Ray gets a new phone every couple of days. Goes with his line of work.
Caroline made her excuses to Ray and hung up, promising to talk to him in the morning. She looked mad that I had interrupted her chat. I said it was OK, she could talk to him, just not so loud as to wake my daughter. My wife's relationship with Ray has not been easy for me, but we both knew I had another long trip to North Dakota and she might as well keep Ray. Eventually his "brother" would be discharged to jail and I figured they would break up then. I just wanted my wife's time for myself while I was in town. Made sense to me, but to Caroline and Ray, I was controlling.
"Asshole," came from her pretty mouth.
"What?" I replied, confused.
"That's what we call you. Asshole."
My face must have shown my hurt, and she quickly said it wasn't just me. They called the police that, too: anyone who kept them apart. Don't take it personal. I guess I still looked hurt. She spread her legs and said, "Don't pout. I'll put out. Put that little dick in here."
What to do? I didn't know what to say, and so did as she demanded. I wasn't really in the mood for sex, and tired from lifting weights for an hour, but did my best to get her off, then faked my own orgasm. We both went to sleep, or at least pretended to.
In the morning, I kept busy getting my daughter ready for school. I wouldn't see her for a week and so gave her all my attention. Caroline seemed sheepish in the morning and didn't say much. She was also in a hurry. Big day at work, lots of surgeries scheduled. They might keep her overnight as they were short-staffed. It would be over-time, and we needed the money. I couldn't argue with that. The previous Thursday, she'd spent the night with Ray. I'd agreed, reluctantly. She promised not to do it again before my next trip. I wasn't sure if she was really going to work tonight or sleep with Ray. I decided to assume she was going to work, and not to check her payroll deposit. I didn't want to be one of those snooping husbands. That's no way to live, is it?
I didn't see my wife until Friday when I got home from the office. I had worked hard for ten hours; I finished a report and attended three meetings. I was busy enough that I didn't think about my daughter or wife all day. The only personal business was fending off flirtation by a co-worker who once worked in North Dakota for a competitor. I tried pumping her for information about the oil field but she kept bringing the conversation back to her and us. I should have been flattered but was too preoccupied to take advantage of the situation.
After dinner (grilled grouper!) at home, Caroline's phone rang. I cleaned the table while she talked to Ray about his brother. Her face was flushed with excitement from hearing his voice, and she talked flirtatiously to him. Did it better than my co-worker had to me. A few minutes into the conversation, she left the room and went into the garage. She stayed there while I finished the dishes. And stewed. Eventually, I opened the door to the garage and said, loudly enough for Ray to hear me (well, if his new phone worked), "You don't have to hide." As with Wednesday night, she concluded the call in a hurry and joined me in the kitchen.
Instead of calling me an "asshole" like she did Wednesday, she was sweet. My lovely wife thanked me for agreeing to spend Saturday with her and her horsey friends at a horse show. She knows I hate horse shows but she volunteers my labor for hauling saddles and the like for her friends who don't have husbands. And I knew she would work hard, too. When we got home, we'd probably read books on the sofa for a couple of hours and then go to bed early, exhausted. I was looking forward to it.
So I was unprepared when she announced, again sweetly, that she and Ray were going to a movie Saturday night. Don't wait up--she'd be home late. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I was stunned. I took a deep breath, and counted to ten. Then ten more. In as calm a voice as I could muster, and I did well, if I say so myself, I said, "Take the cat. You're not coming back."
I turned and left the room.
I don't watch much TV but went to look for the remote. Couldn't find it. It was right there but I didn't see it or anything else.
