Revenge sometimes can be a double edge sword. Wielding it around carelessly can do the intended damage sought but can also hurt the person doing the wielding. In this case we both got permanently hurt.
No one won or got anything out of it other than the lawyers either time. Both of us ended up looking like assholes while alienating most of the people around us. If I had to do it over again, I wouldn't have done what I did, but I probably wouldn't have married Jean either. Nevertheless, it did happen and now we're going to have to live with what we both did. As I said, no one came out a winner.
I'm not even sure why I did it. That's what I told myself when it happened the second time. I guess facts be known, I just didn't have the common sense to stop it and never in a million years did I ever think I'd get caught, but I did. Something about a text message, that I never saw come in, that was inadvertently read by my wife. After that, I was screwed so to speak.
Rhonda was just so, hell, I don't even know what to say, other than there was something about Rhonda that drew me to her. Tall, lean, smart, with an incredible sensuality about her. Her skin was chocolate brown, and she wore her black hair cropped short. She wasn't what I'd call a true beauty but had an aura around her that hypnotically drew me in. She was the editor assigned to me by the publishing company Anderson and Davis who were printing my children's books. She was going to edit my book chapter by chapter as I finished them. Rhonda was picked because she conveniently lived in the same state and would touch base with me once a month to both pick up my new work and go over what she'd finished. You would think listening to me babble on that I had a shitty marriage and was unfulfilled sexually in my marriage, quite the contrary. I loved my wife Jean and had a beautiful daughter April, who I adored. How could I have been so stupid?
My wife and I had been married for just over four and a half years. She works for Connor and Edwards, a large accounting firm based out of Atlanta. She had started there the year she graduated from college and was coming up on five years with them. We met the same year we both graduated college at a Barnes and Noble bookstore of all places. She is an avid reader who always seemed to have a book in her hands. I had graduated with a degree in English Literature and was researching books on teaching. We were in the same long checkout line, started talking and that night had our first date. She was going out with a 'hunk' as she referred to Dennis, but didn't like the way he treated her or talked to her at times. It didn't take me long to win her over. I treated her like I would want to be treated by a girlfriend and soon Dennis was history.
If I were to describe Jean, I could probably sum it up by saying she was very pretty. She wasn't a knockout, not that I am anything to rave about either, but was easy on the eyes as they say. At about five foot five, she wore her dark brown hair short, had hazel eyes, and a nice figure. She was about a 34B and even though she had a slim waist she was what people would say a little hippy not that I cared. Jean was very smart and a wiz with numbers. She wasn't boring and dull like most of the accountants I'd known but was vibrant and full of life. Whatever in the world could have possessed me to cheat on her?
I'd like to say I romanced her and she fell head over heals in love with me but it didn't happen that way. We started to go out and she just kind of took over. She was the one to push the dates and after six months was the one to ask where we were going with our relationship. I thought it was a match made in heaven, we were so much alike or so I thought.
"Steve, I think we should get a place together," is how the conversation started one night. "I love you, you love me, and hell, we're spending almost every waking moment out side of work together. We could probably save a ton of money moving in together." She was right about that one.
"How about this? Why don't we get married?" To make a long story short, I proposed, she accepted.
She had a ton of friends and had three bridal showers and two bachelorette parties. Her new friends at work threw her a small bachelorette party but the people she grew up and went to school with threw her a huge bash at one of the local watering holes.
"Don't wait up for me because I know I'm going to be late," she said putting her outfit together.
"Maybe I should wait up, how about if you're too drunk to drive?"
"Ann is driving tonight because they told me that we're going to be partying until the sun comes up." And they did just that. I finally fell asleep at just after twelve and when I woke up at four o'clock she still wasn't home. I got up at seven to use the bathroom and found a semi-clad Jean in the bed next to me. She didn't move until sometime after two in the afternoon.
"You alive?" I asked when she finally got up.
"Not sure, I think I am," she moaned.
"You must have had a great time by the looks of you."
She raised her head slightly and told me not to talk so loud and then went racing towards the bathroom. I think I saw a lung and kidney in there before she flushed. Two days later she was almost her old self again.
We had a small ceremony three weeks later with about fifty people, mostly close friends and family.
Even though we'd done it before we got married, I think she tried to wear it out the first couple of weeks after our wedding and honeymoon. I wasn't at all surprised when she came up pregnant, though she sure was. I had found an empty box from a test kit in the trash the week of our wedding but no test stick. Condoms weren't a hundred percent foolproof, after all. Was I pissed? Hell no! I was glowing at the prospect of becoming a father.
Like any good expectant dad I did the Lamaze classes and was in the delivery room when April was born. She was the type of baby dreams are made of. She slept all night, hardly ever cried, and was almost never fussy. As I said, she was the kind of baby mothers dreamed about having.
I read to her every night from the first day we brought her home from the hospital. I didn't matter that she couldn't understand a word I was saying—it just brought me closer to her. Jean didn't mind either when I took over the night feedings or when I changed her dirty diapers but drew the line when I tried to help at breast-feeding. I found out playing with her other breast while she was feeding April was no help at all.
We had done it a couple of times a week almost all the way up until April's birth. Even though most of the time our sex was pretty vanilla, every once in a while Jean would let me get a little crazy especially after she had a few drinks. After two glasses of wine, a blindfold, or tying her hands to the headboard were okay with her and more than a few hot outfits kept our sex life fresh.
When I told her that I was considering writing a book for children she was totally supportive. Even though I was stuck behind the computer for hours for several months she continued to encourage me. Finally I finished my book after many months. Jean read it and said it sounded good to her. I, on the other hand, thought it should be considered for a Newberry. I found out soon enough I was no Hemmingway. Microsoft Word didn't catch even a third of my mistakes. Most were so flagrant that I felt like an idiot after submitting it to a publishing company and having them tell me to at least clean up the spelling and grammatical errors. I paid two of my smartest high school students fifty bucks each to go through it at least twice. I resubmitted it and to my surprise they said with work it was good enough to publish. What did they mean with work? That's when I was introduced to Rhonda.
Thank God it didn't cost me anything because Rhonda must have spent a month redoing this or that in my story. I thought it sounded good before, but after she was done with it, it sounded great. It was a short book and I didn't make a hell of a lot of money from it, but it was a start. They said I had potential and were willing to work with me on my next two books. They permanently assigned Rhonda to edit my material. So began my downfall.
"How's the story progressing?" my wife asked me one night at dinner.
"Okay, I guess, but it's coming a lot harder and slower than the last one. I just hope I didn't have just one book in me."
"You know, it wouldn't be the end of the world either, would it? You work hard all day at school and deserve some down time, don't you think?" My wife really was a gem. "Well, if you're not too tired, how about a little fun tonight. Maybe I can give you a few things to write about," she said, starting to unbutton her top.
"It's a kid's story, but then again maybe I'll write a story about a wife who seduces her husband and gives him a night of wild sex." I started chasing her around the kitchen table.
"Easy tiger," she said. "Right now I need to get April ready for bed. Why don't you pick a short book this evening to read to her. I have a feeling we're going to be doing a lot of research later for your next story."
We had a great night of lovemaking. After kissing April goodnight and turning off the light I found my wife lying on the bed. She was wearing something pink that covered basically nothing. Within five minutes it was on the floor and Jean was straddling my waist. I did my best to hold her upright as she rode me. For the first time in a long time we did it twice. The first time was raw passion and the second was gentle loving. When I asked if she was up to once more she just kissed me and said, "Not in your wildest dreams. You should be satisfied with what you have." I was, but figured it couldn't hurt to try for more.
When I was far enough along with my next story I made an appointment to meet with Rhonda at my house shortly after four o'clock in the afternoon. The kids were dismissed from school at three and I normally was home by four. I got my first three chapters ready and glanced over them once more to see if I could see any obvious mistakes. It seems my big problem was that when I read my own work I wasn't reading what was on the paper, more so what I thought I had written. So much for me being my own editor.
Rhonda was at least five foot nine. She didn't have to look up at my five foot eleven inch frame to look me right in the eye. We sat at the kitchen table, Rhonda glancing at the pages making notes. That's when I first started noticing or should I say studying her. She wasn't bony but didn't have extra ounce of fat on her bones. She had large brown eyes that were set quite far apart on her face. Taking a guess, I gauged her age to be about thirty but I could have been five years off one way or another. Then it hit me. It was the one thing that drove me nuts whenever we were together and eventually doomed my marriage—it was her scent.
