Serie Noire 02

By Likegoodwinecopyrighted November 2011

Here's another short story for you. There is almost no sex to speak of in this short one. Sorry, I put no humor in this one. Enjoy!

Your votes and constructive comments are appreciated, as they will help me grow.

Thanks to Scalia for his patient editing

I was sitting at the kitchen table sipping a glass of Jack Daniels. The TV was airing an inane comedy filling the room with some noise. I was in no mood to laugh at its silly Christmas jokes . Once again, I was alone with no prospect of a visit by a friend or my kids; it was another shitty Christmas.

I finally got up and staggered toward the living room. I took a few minutes to look at the Christmas cards from my two youngest kids. While reading them again with their lame printed wishes followed by kisses and their scribbled signatures, I turned on my CD player to start again a Christmas songs album. For a few minutes, in front of the CD player, Christmas cards in my hands, the sounds from the TV and the song from the CD mixed together, it almost created an illusion of a full house with a lively chorus of voices and laughter.

The illusion didn't last very long as I turned around to look at my pitiful empty apartment. The hide-a-bed was still opened with the sheets and blankets in disarray. The dried out remnant of my last fuck was still visible on the sheet. It was my Christmas present from the landlord – a quick fuck before going to Church with his wife and kids. I didn't even showered, the same crusty stuff stuck inside my panties.

Shit! My glass was empty. I made my way back to the kitchen, still holding the cards, and poured myself another glass of my most faithful lover, Jack. All the other ones are fucking horny pigs, sniffing pussies and filling them up when possible. I lifted my glass and wished them all an awful Christmas. Fuck them all!

I am a lonely old woman with four kids; none of them lived with me. Like magnets with the same polarization, I seem to repulse my kids. Two of them still keep in touch with me, another one refuses all contact and the fourth one, well, I don't even know if she is still alive.

I can remember my last happy Christmas. It was 16 years ago. George, my husband, was still alive then. I was 40, and George was 42.We had four beautiful children: 15-year old Cassandra, 13-year old Tanya, 10-year old Mike and Michelle who was eight.

We had a huge pile of Christmas presents under the tree. The kids were stretching our patience to the limit that day. We decided to make this Christmas a good one for the kids and ourselves. They were unable to contain their excitement about the moment, after midnight mass, when we would open the presents. The latest sexy outfit for Cassandra, a make-up set for Tanya, a new video game for Mike, and the newest Barbie set for Michelle were sure to be winners. Of course, we had also plenty of little "practical" presents such as sweaters, dresses and pants.

I received a nice and valuable necklace and I gave George the keys to a brand new snowmobile. Little did I know that this gift would destroy our marriage and kill him! We were just trying to revive a bit our boring marriage, an illusion to try to regain the passion of our youth.

Why was I surprised that George would go snowmobiling with his friends every weekend in January and February? That he would feel so confident that he would also participate in snowmobile racing every weekend? It was the highlight of his week.

Well, that happened to me? I felt left out. Our marriage was a bit on the lame side that year. Four kids, twenty years of marriage, a sex life on hold, and nothing new happening! And now, George was out snowmobiling while I was stuck at home with the kids.

I needed something else, something new. I talked to George about it, but the only things he came up with was the same lame answers: buying me some flowers, taking me to a nice restaurant, phoning me regularly during the day to express his love.

I wasn't responding to that. I wanted more. I wanted something else.

Jack, our neighbor, was often there when George would be preparing his trailer with the snowmobile, helping him to strap it down on the trailer, and covering .

Jack was a handsome man, about 6 feet, long blond hair with a touch of gray, and wonderful blue eyes. I was a bit smitten with him despite the fact that he was close to 50. He was always there when George would leave for his races. How many times I heard "It's you and me only now, gorgeous!" with a salacious wink to go with it? Well it did have an effect on me after a while. Jack was divorced and didn't have custody of his children. Anyway, they were young adults living on their own.

One weekend in early February, after I took the kids to their activities, I came back to a disaster. The water heater had busted. Normally I would have called George so he could tell me what to do, but he was unreachable. I tried to find the tap to turn off the water but I found nothing. All I accomplished was getting . In desperation, I phoned Jack. He came straight away. It took him less than a minute to find the main valve and shut the water down.

"Here! That should settle the matter till we find what's wrong with..." said Jack. Turning around he looked at me and said: "Holy shit! You're gorgeous!"

I looked down and that's when I realized that my shirt was all wet. . He had a perfect view of my boob. Embarrassed, I tried to hide them with both my arms.

"Oh gosh! Sorry Jack!" I stammered.

"Don't be! I'm not!" he replied, which pleased me to no end, lessening my embarrassment.

Gently, he took my arms away. He seemed to be totally taken by the sight of my breasts as he kept staring at them.

I don't know how long it has been since a man had admired me that way, apart from George. Probably 15 years ago, when I was still in my 20's and had only given birth to two children. And he was the first man to look at my breasts, as visible as if I was naked, in over 22 years, since I first started to date George.

Suddenly I felt so good! I felt so flattered to see a man's eyes filled with so much desire. What I did next still amazed me and sealed my fate as a loving and faithful wife. I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and started to lift it up, leaving me topless. I did it slowly, deliberately, fully knowing where it would lead us.

Without a word, Jack began to caress and massage my breasts. He came closer and the next thing I knew, he was sucking on my nipples. I grabbed his head and kept it there.

We ended up in bed not too long after that, and that was the start of my affair with Jack.

We never had a chance to meet during the week, but as soon as George would leave town for one of his snowmobile races, we would find each other in bed. In my house if the kids were away from home, or in his house if I could escape for a while. We were not planning real far ahead, but we knew that it had to end soon as March was almost there and the snow would disappear.

I felt guilty for cheating on George. Almost nobody would believe that I still loved him with the way I acted. But that is a fact. I still loved George! I felt guilty about it, but I was so enraptured in the lust I had for Jack and his own lust for me, that my love for George came second. Nothing I shared at the moment with George could compare to the thrill I had to secretly meet and fuck with Jack.

Don't get me wrong! I didn't love Jack. It was lust and only lust. He was a nice enough man, easy to be around. He wasn't even that much better looking than George. But when he was around, I got wet almost immediately, wanting him. I lusted for him.

On the last February weekend, my world came to an abrupt end. George had an accident with his snowmobile.

All the kids had something to do that morning. As soon as I came back home from dropping them, Jack was there and we went straight up to the bedroom. After a while, I was on my back and Jack was plunging in me fiercely.

"Does it feel good baby?" asked Jack while banging me with long hard thrusts.

"Yeah! Don't stop! I'm almost there!" I answered, very close to an orgasm.

It's not that often that a couple can achieve an orgasm at the same time, but it did happened then. I was almost there when I felt Jack's shooting inside me, filling me and I started to have my own orgasm.

"Oh yes Jack! Yes, I'm coming, I'm coming!"

And I had a strong orgasm. After a while, I felt Jack getting limp inside me. He rolled off me.

The sight that greeted me was awful. George was in the doorframe of the bedroom, still wearing his coat, his full-face snowmobile helmet under his arm. Tears were rolling down his face.

Suddenly, he rushed. Jack didn't have time to duck.George caught him straight in the face with his helmet. Jack went down for the count, but George kept swinging. Naked, I had to throw myself at George before he killed Jack.

"George, stop! You will kill him," I yelled.

He stopped as soon as I touched him. He recoiled from me, his face a mix of anger and pain. He turned around and ran out of the house.

As fast as I could, I grabbed my robe and ran after him.

What have I done? I was just in time to see him drive away.

Frantic, I went back inside the house and tried to call his cell phone. He didn't pick up. Finally thinking about Jack, I went back upstairs and called an ambulance. Soon, the cops were also there, the assault having been reported by the paramedics.

I learned later that one of the tires on the snowmobile trailer had blown off, not far out of town. George lost control of the pick-up truck and he ended up in the ditch. There was extensive damage to the trailer so George had to call a tow truck to bring it to a garage. That done - his weekend finished before it even started - he drove back home... to a cheating wife.

That same evening, George went himself to the police station. He didn't know if he had killed Jack.

I pleaded with Jack to drop the charges, but he refused. His house was sold within a month and the last time I saw George was in court. He received a sentence of six months for assault, minus time served while waiting for trial. In all that time, he refused to speak to me and refused my visits. Once in a while he would phone the kids and speak with them.

My life couldn't be worse. I had lost my husband and my children were openly hostile to me. George wasn't faring better. Because of his conviction, he lost his job.

Finally, his last day of incarceration was upon us.

Should I go? I debated with myself over the pros and cons to be at the jail gate when he would be released. I talked to his brother, his only sibling still alive. He told me in blunt terms to keep away from George.

"It would be a very bad idea to be there. He is very depressed by what you did and the consequences, and I don't think you should be there. I warn you! If you show your cheating ass there, I can't guarantee that he won't decide to kick the shit out of you, turn around and go straight back to jail," he said.

His arguments were quite convincing but it was awful to be with the kids and being unable to tell them where their father was. I didn't even receive divorce papers. Not a sign of him.

Then, one evening, the brutal reality of what I had done came crashing around me. We were all in the living room watching TV when we heard a set of keys unlocked the front door and George appeared.

He looked haggard. Wearing many days of beard growth and disheveled hair, he just stayed in the doorway.

I got up and went toward him.

"George, you're back! I am so sorry! Don't stay there..." I started to say.

"Stay away from me bitch!" he said raising a hand.

I kept walking toward him. I needed to talk to him, to apologize, to say how sorry I was. But something stopped me in my tracks. George was aiming a revolver straight at me.

"I said stay the fuck away from me bitch," he said tonelessly.

As a reflex, I did something that I would never think was possible. I angled myself between George and our children. Not fast enough however. Slipping by me, unafraid of her father, Michelle rushed toward him and threw herself at him, her slender arms encircling his waist.

"Oh Daddy! I missed you so much," she said.

George stayed hesitant for a while then enclosed her in his arms, still holding his revolver. He kissed the top of her head. I was still totally terrified by the drama unfolding before my eyes, but my terror decreased a little bit. There was one thing I was absolutely sure about George: he would never hurt the kids. I wasn't so sure about myself!

"Kids, go to your room! I need to talk to your Mom," said George calmly, still holding Michelle.

Knowing well that it was not the time to argue, they all filed out, stopping for a hug before leaving the room. After they left, we stayed there, facing each other without uttering a word.

I was scared shitless about George' extreme behavior. I've known him for all my adult life, as a lover, as a husband, as a friend, and as a father. But the man standing in my living room was a stranger. A stranger that I let in my house and a stranger that I created with my selfish stupidity! I braced myself and broke the ice.

"George... I am sorry! So sorry!" I started to say.

"Shut up!" he yelled at me.

I recoiled at his eruption. Anger had him shaking, and that was not good as he was still pointing the revolver at me. He waived his revolver toward the couch.

"Go sit there!" he ordered me.

I went and sat. I had a quick look toward the kitchen. Our four kids were there, looking at the drama unfolding in front of them. Cassandra was holding Mike and Tanya had Michelle behind her. Her 8 years old little girl big eyes were staring at her dad.

George was pacing back and forth between the couch and the TV stand. For the first time I wondered if George would really harm us. The man standing in front of me had nothing to do with the loving husband I had betrayed. The frantic pace of his movements, the sudden stops, the murderous look, and the way he resumed pacing, muttering to himself, nothing was like George. There was nothing to remind me of my peaceful, calm, and loving husband.

Again, I grabbed the little courage still in me and broke the silence.

"George, you're scaring the children. Please, can you just put that gun away and speak with me?"

"No!" he yelled. "No, no, no! Nothing you can say is important. You messed up everything. You screwed around and screwed everything. You messed up our family, you messed up everything!"

"I don't want to hear your lying voice," he said, putting his hand over his ears.

He started anew to pace back and forth. Then he stopped and turned toward me.

"You fucked everything," he said, his voice calmer, almost devoid of feeling. "You fucked the neighbor. You fucked our family. You fucked my life."

I had an urge to go and rush toward him. I had an urge to take him in my arms. I had an urge to try and erase everything I did. But he still had that gun in his hand. I didn't move. I didn't speak. It was impossible to apologize, to help him in his confusion.

Tears were flowing freely from both him and me. With the sleeve of his arm holding the revolver, he swiped the tears rolling down his cheeks. He then looked at me, his eyes full of sadness.

"I lost my job. I lost my self-respect. I lost you," he said. "I lost everything that matters to me. I have nothing left. You took everything from me. See you in Hell."

His arm suddenly came up. I thought for sure that he was about to shoot me. But his arm kept moving, and then I understood. He put the barrel of the revolver in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

I can still see in my nightmares the splatters of blood and brain matter plastering the whole ceiling in front of the TV stand. I can still see his body suddenly falling to the floor, a limp mass of muscles and bones. I can still see all my kids rushing toward George. I can still see myself trying to stop them for going to their dad. I can still see Cassandra and Tanya trying to stop the bleeding from George' head.

As a result of George's death, my family slowly disintegrated. The first to go was Cassandra. She was George's baby girl. He dotted on her and, even if I might say so, he spoiled her. The next year was filled with a series of teenage crisis. From a sweet kid, she became an uncontrollable teenage girl. Then, at 16, she took off.

She came back home a few months later, after being caught in a juvenile prostitution dragnet. Only a few days later, when I asked her what she was doing all by herself out there, she told me "None of your fucking business! So shut the fuck up, bitch!" She took off again the very next day.

One year later, the police brought her back home again. I was shocked. She had been beat up, her arm in a sling, an eye totally shut, and bruises all over her body.

The only words she said to me were: "Mind your fucking own business bitch! I never want to speak to you again." And she didn't. I heard her talk and laugh with her brother and her sisters, but she never said another word to me. After a month, she took off again. I never heard of her since. It was 14years ago: 14 years of me dying a little bit with each passing year of silence.

A year later, I met a very nice man. Dave was attentive, funny and caring. Almost like George! He even liked to have the kids around. We started to date. I was a bit fearful at first, insecure about my background and my three kids still living with me. But after a few months of dating, he started spending the night.. Soon enough, he was spending more and more time at my home, sometimes a few days. It occurred so often that I made room for some of his clothing in my bedroom dresser.

At the same time, I was keeping a close watch on Tanya. I didn't want a repeat of Cassandra. Now 15-years old, she was also starting to be difficult. I got use to her constant challenge of my authority. Unlike my behavior with Cassandra, I mostly let everything slide, afraid that she might also take off on us.

The only upside of Cassandra's disappearance was that Michelle didn't have to sleep with me anymore. She was sharing the bedroom with Tanya. Mike was still sleeping on the couch in the living room. I knew the apartment I got after George death was too small for the five of us. But with no insurance and unemployed at the time, I wasn't able to pay for the mortgage on the house. I put it up for sale and got about $100,000 in equity.

That made it easier to have Dave at home. His apartment was way fancier than ours, but I couldn't take the chance to leave the kids by themselves.

But it did create a few problems to have a man again in my life. At 39 years old, Dave was three years younger than me. Despite his gentle disposition, none of the kids liked him. Tanya and Michelle were openly hostile with him and Mike was simply distant. Dave was nonplussed with their behavior. He was very understanding! That's why I got so mad when Tanya started to constantly criticize him, and creating an image of a monster for the other kids. That's one of the only time I got real harsh with her.

One day she came to me, when Dave wasn't around.

"Mom, you got to get rid of that creep!" she told me.

"Tanya! Don't talk about Dave like that. He is very fond of you guys, and very understanding about the tough time we went through. Give him a chance," I implored.

"Well, I don't like him! It gives me the creeps each time he looks at me," she yelled at me.

"Watch your language. He is a very decent man and I won't hear another criticism from you. Now you apologize or you go to your room," I snapped at her.

She went to her bedroom.

I should have listen to her. About two months later, Dave came to the apartment. We had a real good time, drank a bit too much and ended up fucking like crazy, till exhaustion. Later in the night, a full bladder woke me up. A bit groggy, I noticed that Dave was not in bed. I made my way to the bathroom and had a look in the girls' room on my way. Tanya was sleeping over at a friend. A nightmarish sight greeted me and woke me up instantly. Dave was in the room and I still have a hard time believing what I saw him doing. I grabbed a lamp by Michelle's bed and I hit him with all the force I could muster.