This is a derivative work and alternative ending to Just Once... If You Don't Mind? By Kalimaxos https://www.literotica.com/s/just-once-if-you-dont-mind The author created this story as open-ended, inviting other writers to provide their own conclusions. This is my offering.
From "Just Once... If You Don't Mind?":
When I finished reading it, I noticed Leslie was at the kitchen island filling her glass again.
"Are you OK?" she asked.
"I will be," I replied.
She nodded and came back with the bottle and her filled glass. Sitting next to me this time, she refilled my glass and turned to look at me with those doe-like eyes.
"So, Rick? What do we do?"
***
There are moments when time stands still.
Possible futures end. New ones bloom open. The perspectives you've had unfurl and snap taught against their lines like the sails of a ship. Some bedrock truths about your world collapse. Other pillars of your life grind and creak, bearing their loads under sudden new strains. You feel the blood pulsing in your veins, the breath white in your lungs, a thin sheen of sweat on your face, and you know that everything turns upon the next decision you make in this strange new kaleidoscopic reality.
Leslie saw it in my expression.
"Rick?"
"What do we do. Well. First, we are going to finish the wine in these glasses." I raised the moscato to my lips and took another careful sip, not looking at her.
"What we do NOT do,"
I told myself,
"is act precipitously."
I am far from perfect. I have plenty of flaws. I know this because I make it a point to always be grounded in reality. I'm in decent condition, and attractive enough, but I've never been the kind of guy that women launch themselves at. I'm certainly not 'fling' material. I'm more like 'relationship' material to a woman with the right kind of Daddy Issues. If 'a professionally secure man who's outwardly confident and authoritative but is also frequently absent and emotionally unavailable' is a woman's 'type,' then I'd be Prince Goddamn Charming. But to a gorgeous thirty-year old swinger looking for sexytimes while her weirdly kinky husband watches? Not so much. Even if she 'likes older men,' I'm a Normie. I shouldn't even show up on her radar.
She was still looking at me. My silence cracked her confidence, and she had to fill it.
"Rick, I just want to say... Listen, it's very important in a marriage to have clear communication. Particularly in an Open marriage. There's too much at stake for anything other than complete transparency, honesty, and trust. Like I said, this cheating, sneaking around... well, Marcy really should have talked to you about this before she left."
I held up my hand, still not looking straight at her.
"I'm thinking."
She retreated, lowering her gaze and looking up at me through her long eyelashes. Her posture was demure, as if she was in submission.
Trust me,
her body said.
I'm your friend. I'm here for you, in EVERY way. I'll give myself to you, then we can cuddle, you can cry, we can talk. I'm yours.
She was good. But this was some kind of trap. I was not going to fall for it.
What was ACTUALLY going on? What was Leslie doing, really? The only thing I was certain of was that I didn't know the whole story. I needed more information. I was in the middle of a chess match against an opponent I hadn't known I was playing. Yes. Chess. That's a useful way of looking at it. Much better than the chaotic flow of emotion and reaction I was falling into. Where are the pieces? What's been going on? What is my position?
The way to win the midgame is to think about the endgame. What does Marcy want? What does Cardosa want? How are Vincent and Leslie involved? Perhaps they're the bishops- each one offering a similar but parallel attack vector. One bishop alone is easy to avoid, unless you're boxed in, but working together, they can be devastating. She's trying to get me to fuck her. He wants to watch. Evidence? Evidence to be used against me? To what purpose? Divorce? Does Marcy want to nail down her suspicions of my infidelity into concrete proof? Or is she really just trying to assuage her guilt, like Leslie has suggested? What was the term... a 'conscience trade-off,' that was it. An exchange. A sacrifice. My fidelity for Marcy's, but she wins control of the center.
I shook my head. Too many questions. Not enough data. Right now, Marcy seems to have overextended herself. How well are her attacking pieces covered? How do I get out of it? Can I turn it around?
One of the parameters of a chess match is the Clock. Marcy made her move and switched the clock over to me. I still had more than five weeks. They'd already wasted three days already tripping over their own feet, despite planning all this out in advance. Leslie expected Marcy to have revealed her plans already, while Marcy expected the Nielsons to have made their pitch and given me that letter. Sloppy. Lack of coordination. Maybe I had an advantage after all... unless they were trying to piss me off and keep me off-balance.
God. That would never have worked. Does Marcy even KNOW me? I spent half my career in the Army with people trying to shoot my helicopter down, and the other half figuring out what everybody's up to. She shouldn't expect me to crack under pressure OR let myself get snookered. This entire plan of hers is nuts.
Unless... it's NOT her plan. Marcy knows me, but Cardosa doesn't. She could be following his lead. Given the power dynamic between them, she'd have to. Shit. If he's a typical wunderkind neurosurgeon, he's arrogant. He probably thinks I'm just a grunt. Another sucker he can boss around and look down his nose at.
Shit, maybe that's it. What if he's expecting his people to fall all over themselves following his directives, the way everybody around him usually does? He's overly reliant upon his support team WITHOUT providing real leadership or empowering their decisions. His operatives are paralyzed, caught in a classic narcissist's power-trip gridlock.
That would explain a lot. They knew enough to send Leslie over with a bottle of moscato and that goddamn letter, but hadn't figured out when, and didn't trust Leslie and Vincent to act on their own initiative. Trey launched her in desperation while I was STILL on the phone with Marcy. He was scrambling while she was stalling for time.
Yeah, that scenario fits. Still too many questions, though.
Their operative was still sitting here, on my sofa, wondering what the hell I'm thinking and still trying to seduce me. Is she a co-conspirator? Does she have her own agenda, or is she just following orders? How much does she know?
Time to stop feeding her information. This would all get back to Marcy, or Cardosa. Time to get to work. If their plans are already coming off the rails, I could hang them up even more.
"You should go."
"But, Rick, I thought... you know. You're lonely. I'm sure you must feel so hurt, so betrayed. So angry. Let me help you." She touched my thigh. I didn't move. "We really could help each other out. I know the situation isn't ideal, but we could make things so much better."
"You should go," I said again as I stood up. "I don't mean to be rude. There's a lot going on in my mind. I need to get things straight. I'll come by your house when it's time to talk. Give me a day or two to process."
"Oh, I mean... okay. If you're sure." She brought her hand to her neck and pulled her shirt open a little bit. Innocently, absently, as if she wasn't actually trying to give me a better look at her decolletage. "You, um, ARE sure, aren't you?" She rose and stood awkwardly close to me. I turned and headed towards the kitchen.
"I'm afraid so, Leslie. I need a day or two. I'll come by your house. Thank you for the wine, and for your generous offer." I made it clear that the conversation was over before I turned back towards her. "Leave that letter."
Her eyes got just a tiny bit wider. She knew I did not trust her. That was careless of me.
"Okay. Yes, yes of course. It's your letter. I... just, just call me, okay? Any time, day or night, for anything, all right? If you need or want anything, anything at all, call me. I'll be here for you. And I'll be waiting." She smiled a smile full of sunshine and promise. I'm sure that smile had gotten her an awful lot of what she's wanted over the years.
"Thank you. I will." I nodded. "You should go."
***
Let me be clear about one thing: utilizing Army resources or directing Army personnel against U.S. Nationals in an unsanctioned operation outside of the chain of command is a Felony. That kind of conspiracy leads to decades of imprisonment. So if you're thinking I'd violate every oath I'd ever taken as an Officer, as a Husband, and as an American Citizen, you're crazy. This is real life, not some unhinged spy fiction revenge fantasy. Besides, I'm retired. I still had military connections, sure, but I have even more in my current career as a security consultant. And I could do quite a lot while remaining perfectly legal and above board. I know how to run a simple investigation and a bunch of routine background checks.
Another cartoonish idea you might have is "The Bulletin Board," which in more recent times has become "The Whiteboard." That's the thing you see in all the police dramas with people's pictures, notes of times, dates, and question marks, and newspaper clippings tacked all over it, representing all the stuff that the detectives know about the case they're working on. Conspiracy buffs and internet meme artists like to enhance it with a web of Red String, showing connections between all the various elements. In reality, we use software for that kind of thing now. It wouldn't look like much on camera.
For this case, I scribbled on a couple of pieces of paper and put notes on my phone. It wasn't that complicated. The hard part was making the decision about how I wanted to play it out.
Three days later, I knocked on the back door of Vincent and Leslie Nielson's house, with a nice riesling. The only bit of counter-espionage gear I employed was a laser gadget pointed at a plate glass window in their den. A now-cheap miracle of 1980's technology, it turned the window into a pressure-zone microphone, hooked up to a recorder. I wanted to preserve this conversation, but more importantly, I was curious to hear what they had to say to each other after I left.
"Rick! So glad you finally came!" Leslie answered the door. She was wearing a tank top with no bra, a loose-fitting pair of summer shorts, and a powder-blue thong that she'd be careful to flash me several times during the conversation that was about to happen.
"Of course. I said I would." I offered her the chilled bottle. "I've had some time to get my head together, and I have a few questions for you and Vincent."
"Sure! Sure, anything you want to know." She kissed me lightly on the lips as she led me inside. "Do you want me to get him now? Or did you just want some time alone with me, first?" She had one eyebrow halfway cocked.
"Oh, I think it would be best if we did this all together. Do you mind if we take it in the den?"
"Sure, yes, I'll go get him, we'll meet you there. The glasses and corkscrew are in the cabinet." She handed me back the riesling and skipped happily off while I collected the glasses and poured the wine. I claimed one of the loungers because I wanted the two of them together on the couch.
Vincent and Leslie came in all smiles. Leslie slid into my lap on the lounger while Vinne took the one to my right. Damnit.
"I really want to thank you, Rick, for being open to this," said Vinnie. "It really means a lot to Leslie, and to me. I know it's not the usual kind of arrangement, but we've found it really works for us."
"I understand. Look, I've been all over the world. I've met thousands of people in dozens of cultures. I'm not some wide-eyed child. I know it takes all kinds, and I don't judge. Hell, I've probably done some things myself that you kids haven't even heard of."
"Ha!" Vincent seemed delighted. "Well, I'm sure that's true! When you spoke with Leslie the other day, we were worried, well, that you might not be as open-minded as we'd hoped. We're very happy to know that's not the case."
"VERY happy," Leslie cooed into my ear, playing with the buttons on my shirt.
"Glad to know. Still, I have a few questions before we cross any lines that can't be un-crossed."
"Of course! Ask us anything!"
"Do you guys rent, or own this house?"
Leslie stopped playing with my buttons.
"What does... I mean, uh, why do you ask?" She tried to lean back and lean forward at the same time, unsure what to do.
