My Love Is Such That

MY LOVE IS SUCH

An alternative telling of Malraux's deeply searching THEN SURELY WE story, with Malraux's kind permission. Thank you, very much.

I very much enjoyed Malraux's story THEN SURELY WE. I was inspired by the extremely moving story of recovery from deep betrayal, and striving for closure when that seems impossible. Virtue does triumph over vice. If you have not read it, I highly recommend you read it now. If you read it in the past, I highly recommend you enjoy it again.

www.literotica.com/s/then-surely-we

But with my restless imagination, I wondered how it might turn out with one significant event inverted.

This is my attempt. Some characters have been 'tweaked' to comply with current Literotica rules.

If you didn't read the original, here is a capsule description of the characters

Major Jill Kinnison (31 at time of affair) - Kyle's wife. Logistics Officer of deployed Marine Regiment.

Kyle Franklin (33 at time of Jill's affair) - Jill's husband. Senior editor at literary firm.

Colonel Dwight Devereaux (Late 40s at time of affair) - Jill's commanding officer and affair partner (nickname 'Iron Ike').

Marge Devereaux (Mid-40s at time of affair) - Dwight Devereaux's wife.

Ayla Kinnison Gilstrap - Jill's sister.

Dr. Gilstrap - Ayla's husband. Mathematician.

Dr. Sharon Ackerman - Kyle's boss.

Dr. Maureen (Mo) Murray (30 at time of Jill's affair) - a colleague of Kyle's at the literary firm.

Mr. Daniel Kinnison - Jill's dad, former Marine.

Mrs. Penny Kinnison - Jill's mom.

Brigadier General Tom Marx (60s at time of Jill's affair) - Marine reservist. High-powered attorney.

It is in the LOVING WIVES category, since that was the category of the original story, and it does center on a cheating wife and the wide-ranging and severe fallout from that betrayal. There is no sex other than a few references to past sex acts. Readers are informed.

I strove to keep the characters in character as originally written, and tried to be as accurate as I could with military terminology and the military justice system, though I am personally involved with neither. So here is my attempted re-imagining...

MY LOVE IS SUCH

The C-17 GLOBEMASTER III rumbled through the sky. It was the second to last in a long string of airlifters trundling through the stratosphere at five minute intervals. The Sixth Regiment of the Second Marine Division was returning home from its Afghan deployment.

In the second to last plane the 154 personnel of the headquarters company sat in their seats. They had cheered in relief when the airplane commander announced they had left Afghan airspace. Then they had sagged into their seats in weariness as the tension faded. Some slumbered the miles away, the first untroubled sleep they had had in months. Some were restless with tired but relieved smiles, as they anticipated being welcomed home by family, but most especially by wives and girlfriends. All had cheered enthusiastically when the announcement had finally come that they had entered American airspace.

All except one.

Major Jill Kinnison sat in her seat, her cammies making her indistinguishable from all surrounding her, and stared at the bulkhead like a condemned criminal anticipating the long walk down the Green Mile to the electric chair.

She had NO idea what awaited her return. Her sister had returned not a single e-mail or call for the entire deployment. Neither had her brother-in-law, Dr. Gil Gilstrap. Neither her father nor her mother had responded to her attempts. And most especially her husband, Kyle. She had sent long, heartfelt... and increasingly desperate... e-mails, one every few weeks for the entire deployment. She got read receipts, but no responses. It was unnerving. It was profoundly disturbing. NO response. Not being cursed out. No curt broadside to never talk to them again.

Nothing.

When the Regiment landed, was paraded and dismissed, the majority would run to the welcome of their families. A few, inevitably, would be met by attorneys with divorce papers. She wondered if her family would relent, and welcome her home, however reluctantly... or if she would be met by divorce papers. Or by no one?

She and Kyle were childhood sweethearts and had been married for years. He was a well-respected member of an in-demand literary review and editorial service, doing the majority of his work on-line. He had known that she wanted to be in the Marines since she was a little girl, like her father and grandfather before her. She wanted to make brigadier general and make her family proud. She wasn't a line Marine. She was in support. She was the logistics officer for the regiment.

She was also an unfaithful, cheating wife.

And with her brash, arrogant commanding officer, yet.

She had reported for duty with the regiment, and appeared at his office. But he had been busy in a conference with the general in charge of the division. So she had gone to her office and begun to reorganize it to suit herself, with the commander's secretary noting that the colonel would summon her when he was free.

Instead, he had come down to her office at the end of the day.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut out the memory of the day she had become a cheating spouse; another man's slut.

And he had been upfront and very matter-of-fact about the fact that she was his mistress... really, his sex toy... and would never be anything more. He had the ambition of being Commandant of the Corps one day, the diamond pinnacle of his illustrious career. His wife was the daughter of a retired army Lieutenant General. He had impeccable connections. He was not about to jeopardize ANY of that by divorcing his wife and marrying a junior officer, a subordinate. No matter how carefully handled, the scandal would be uncontainable, and it would jeopardize his aspirations. He had made it perfectly clear that, however compliant and sexy her body was, it would not be worth sacrificing his goals for. He compared them to Eisenhower and Summersby.

And she had accepted it. ACCEPTED it! Her stomach knotted.

Looking back on it, which she had done every night on deployment to the point she needed sleeping pills, she couldn't believe she had let it get to this. Was profoundly humiliated that she had been so, so USED! Her conclusion was that a few hours of mind-blowing sex, here and there, was NOT worth the havoc it had wrought in her life and those around her. Her 'affair fog' had not cleared; it had been BLOWN away.

But... she had been thoroughly impressed by his imposing build and commanding bearing when he had confronted her in her office that first time. She had come around the desk to shake his hand, and had looked up at him...

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and movie star handsome. His black hair was regulation and matched his dark eyes. He moved like a warrior and he smelled MALE.

... and the next thing she knew, she had been sitting on the front edge of her desk with her skirt up, her panties ripped off, his massive cock pounding her pussy like it had never been pounded before, and his huge hands giving her breasts a rough mauling even through her bra and uniform blouse. It had been a true 'shock and awe' attack, and she had been literally stupefied for the first thirty seconds, unable to believe it was happening. And then he had penetrated her. And then she had spent the next thirty seconds protesting, feebly, for him to stop. But the assault on her most intimate senses was SO massive that her eyes had literally rolled back and she had just hung on for dear life. It had been AMAZING! The next five minutes had seemed like both an eternity but all too short. He had pumped her full of an UNBELIEVEABLE amount of cum. She had used up an entire Government Issue box of scratchy tissues cleaning up. He had kissed her. He was not a good kisser, he was a PHENOMENAL kisser. He took what he wanted and left her gasping for more. He had put himself back together as she swooned, draped across the front of her desk. Then he had apologized, complimented her that she was so beautiful and sexy that he had been unable to control himself, noted that it would be wonderful having her serve under him... which was said with a lustful smirk... and had left.

She had been stretched and sore and completely outraged; while at exactly the same time being overloaded, completely sated and dying for more. A primal curiosity that wondered if the all too brief feeling could be made to, maybe, possibly, last a little longer so she could experience it, savor it, rather than just left feeling like sexy roadkill.

And when she had gotten back to their on-base housing that night, and Kyle had asked her how the first day had gone...

She had given him a peck on the cheek, said it was exhausting, taken a shower, declined the dinner he had made, and climbed into bed, desperately hoping to have discouraged him from making love or even talking about the day.

Thus had begun her life of lies.

What she SHOULD have done, was contact the Marines Sexual Assault Prevention Hot Line. Called NCIS immediately. Gone to the infirmary and demand a rape kit.

Yes, she should have done that.

But she hadn't.

She had texted Devereaux the next day, her personal cell to his personal cell, which she looked up in the Regiment's Officer Contact Directory. She had tried to convey righteous indignation, though she had found herself typing: "As wonderful as that was, it can never happen again."

Her life had... fractured.

It was like she had split in half. Maybe developed a dual personality. She was certain she had read something about traumatic events causing deep psychological upsets. She was her same old self. Good old Jill. Around Kyle, around family, around colleagues.

Around the Colonel, she became a total slut. They had sex twice a week. Whenever they were alone, she literally got to her knees and, and, and WORSHIPPED his penis. She had gotten to the point where she could swallow his entire load without gagging or dribbling. And his glowing look of approval was what she had lived for. She had the secret ambition, that before they inevitably went their separate ways, that she would deep throat his massive organ. That way she would ensure that he would never forget her. She hadn't managed it by the time deployment had been announced, but she had had plans to practice INTENSELY during deployment, and maybe finish the deployment with a BANG, and return secretly preening over her success.

But that hadn't happened.

The entire regiment was on leave for the week prior to deployment. Kyle had driven her to her parents' house. Ayla, her sister, and Gil, Ayla's husband, and their kids had been there to greet her. She had taken her suitcase upstairs and come down to find...

... her world shattered.

Kyle had been staring at her, bereft, disbelieving. Ayla had been standing beside him, glaring at her with undisguised contempt.

And they had been holding her phone.

And looking at the message that Devereaux had just sent. About how last night was wonderful and he was missing her pussy already and hoped that she could get back early so they could spend some intimate time together before they had to be even more careful on deployment.

Kyle had left in a quiet, dignified fashion as she frantically scrambled to try and stop him. Her parents had been baffled at the sudden turn of events. Ayla had been mortified, enraged, as she handed her the phone and told her parents that she and Kyle had just gotten proof that Jill was having an affair with her commanding officer. Her mother was distraught and fled to her bedroom. Her father had been totally disgusted, told her EXACTLY what he thought of her betraying her wonderful husband, wounded her even more deeply by telling her he never wanted to hear her saying 'Semper Fi' again. And then he went to take care of his wife.

The rest of the week was beyond uncomfortable. Her mother and father communicated as little with her as possible. Ayla, when she was over, would zing a few cutting remarks, and then ignore her. Gil would just shake his head and look away.

She spent her time crying, staring glumly out of the window, and desperately trying to get in touch with Kyle. But all texts and e-mails went unanswered, and all phone calls went to voice mail. She suspected that Kyle had crashed at Ayla and Gil's house, but her nieces denied Uncle Kyle was staying with them, when she had asked. So he was probably in a hotel. He wasn't close to his parents, who were divorced and quite distant, both from him and from each other. He had few friends, and she didn't think he would impose on his boss and her husband.

Eventually she worried that Kyle had fled to his colleague, Dr. Maureen Murray, who answered to 'Mo'. She had only met Mo twice, and then briefly. She was exceptionally attractive and was only a year younger than Jill's 31. She was also brilliant and had a Ph.D. in literature. And she had confessed to being attracted to Kyle. Kyle had immediately informed her, and noted that he had made it clear that while they were friends, he was married and not open to anything more.

The memory of that conversation caused her to writhe in emotional agony. Kyle had declined temptation and been very open and transparent, while his wife had fallen and been secretive and less than honorable.

She had told herself that the affair was just a passing thing. A wonderful memory to be nostalgic about as she and Kyle grew old and grey together, surrounded by family. And no one would ever know. And she would read about Commandant of the Marine Corps, General Dwight Devereaux, and know in her heart that he had fancied her, if only for a little while.

When one of them got transferred, they would have a passionate leave-taking and then she would go back to being herself. No harm. No foul. Only memories.

Didn't happen.

She had kept strictly away from Devereaux during deployment. Never alone. Only at official functions. She knew that the only tiny fragment of hope for reconciliation, of avoiding a humiliating divorce, was to be squeaky clean for every second while she was away. If there was the faintest whiff of scandal, she was certain it would get back to Kyle somehow and whatever tiny fragment of hope there might be left, would be vaporized like a marshmallow under a thermonuclear explosion.

She took a deep, trembling breath.

Kyle had to forgive her. He HAD too. Her image of retiring as a brigadier general had NOT including having NO husband, NO children, and being estranged from her ENTIRE family.

She clung to the hope that the ONLY thing Kyle had was the text, what he could see of the text string in less than a minute, and all her e-mails from Afghanistan. She had not down-played the seriousness of her betrayal, but she had carefully down-played its extent. She shuddered so hard she had to wrap herself in her arms. If Kyle knew the details...! If he knew that she had promised her ass to only the colonel. If he knew that what she had portrayed as her miscarriage was really the abortion of the colonel's child...! If he knew that in a few short months she had given her commanding officers more oral sex than she had allowed for him in their entire marriage...! As she had lain in her bunk and tried very, VERY hard to cobble together a coherent story of a forgivable lapse, she had had to face some brutal facts about herself, and her self-deception.

In her mind she had treated Kyle no differently after the affair started, compared to before. But when she really thought about it, she was horrified at how thoroughly she had deluded herself. They had made love about twice a week before the affair started; on average, if work didn't get in the way. She had told herself that she made love to him no differently than before. She had told herself that her fling hadn't cost Kyle anything.

But it had.

Looking back at it, they had gone down to once every few weeks. And instead of being spontaneous, she realized that she had had to plan it very carefully. Devereaux was significantly larger than Kyle. She could only have intercourse with Kyle the day before her planned rendezvous with Devereaux. And she had to do lots of Kegels and other exercises. If Kyle had made love to her the day after an illicit tryst, or, God Forbid, the night of, he would trip instantly to how stretched out she was. She had become adept at lying to him and finding excuses NOT to be intimate. Mostly she chalked it up to anxiety over the coming deployment.

But she was aware, deep down, that this was entirely different for all of the other married couples in the Regiment. The closer to deployment it got, the more frantic the love-making became. After all, they would be apart for months. Their husbands may never come back at all. If that ever happened, a service wife wanted, had to desperately believe, that her husband's last conscious thought in this life, was of loving her. That it would ease his passage and her own survivor guilt. Granted they were men and she was a woman, but that didn't mean the Kyle didn't feel the same way.

She had looked back at how effortlessly she had deceived her husband. How shamelessly she had taken every advantage of his unfailing love and unquestioned trust. And she had been physically ill. She was only 32 and now a prime candidate for an ulcer.

She finally admitted to herself that she had started to treat him with... disdain. He wasn't the MAN her lover was. He was like an accommodating roommate, or even a servant.

She started to seriously shake and wrapped her arms more tightly about herself. She had come so, so close to death while on deployment. She had been ordered to leave the secure headquarters compound and go out and check on the logistics and admin of all of the outposts and checkpoints. It really wasn't necessary, but orders were orders. Corporal Thomas had been her driver in that miserable, stiflingly hot, HumVee, and they had been escorted by an armed and armored HumVee. None of the MRAPs - Mine Resistant Ambush Protected vehicles were available. When they were as about as far from headquarters as you could get, on a road little more than packed earth and stones, they had been attacked.

She hated the heat, and loathed sweating profusely in her body armor, and had the passenger window open. Corporal Thomas had argued with her, and finally he noted loudly that he was in charge of this vehicle and responsible for its security, and, senior officer or not, she would damn well raise the window shield and sweat. So she had heaved the heavy ballistic plastic slab over the window, blocking off the hot breeze. Less than three minutes later they had passed a dozen camels laboring along the side of the road. A handler, little more than a lad, had tossed a grenade at her HumVee after the escort HumVee had gotten to the front of the caravan. The grenade bounced off the window plastic and exploded, shredding the thrower into bloody fragments. She had screamed, the explosion thundering in her ears. Thomas had cursed, swung wide, and floored it. Several camel herders had pulled AK-47s at the sound of the explosion, but had scattered with their camels as the escort opened up with a 0.50-cal. She had been shell-shocked for the remainder of the trip to the next outpost, but had roused enough to thank Thomas for being a stickler.

Her hand had been shaking as she signed the After-Action Report, and she had been only partially listening to the Operations Officer when he briefed her on the drone findings and confessed to having lost track of the militants in a cluster of villages and narrow, rocky canyons.

"Major. Major. Are you okay?"

She shook herself and looked at Lieutenant Randy Flanders, the Command Adjutant. He was looking at her in concern, reading her body language. She forced herself to relax and gave him a grimace. "Sorry. Just had a flashback to the grenade attack on my HumVee. Like someone stepping on your grave."