She Was a Ticing Bomb

Not long ago I wrote a story about two men, one trying to help the other who had learned his wife was unfaithful. I didn't anticipate writing a sequel to bring closure to the story, but a lot of the comments seemed to want it. It took me several days to figure out what really did happen to David. Did he take revenge? Did he put a baseball bat to the other guy's face, or a steel pipe to his knees? Did he throw his wife out on the curb? What was it George Herbert said about revenge? I hope you like my solution.

This story is partially inspired by a true story. I had an apartment mate years ago whose wife had left him. The unexpected solution to his grief came in the most delightful form.

Oh, and there is no sex in this story. If that's what you're looking for, you'd best keep looking.

*****

How did my life fall apart so fast? This morning I got up a happily married man, grateful for a loving and beautiful wife. Well, she's beautiful in my eyes, anyway. Tonight, I'm driving home to a wife who has betrayed me, and I don't know why, or how often, or even who he is. I've seen him, and I've seen them together, so I know she's cheated on me, but that's all I know.

Maybe I should explain. My name is David. When and where I met my wife, where we live, what I do for a living, none of that matters. I'm just a guy who loved his wife and knows now she isn't the woman he thought she was.

You're probably wondering how I got to this point? I got up this morning with the love of my life sleeping next to me. I took a quick shower, got dressed, and woke my bride of three years. It was a typical weekday morning. I usually grab a cup of yogurt and go into work about forty-five minutes ahead of my wife, so I was out the door as she was starting her shower. Normally, I pack my lunch and about once each week I grab something nearby my office. Today, I was going out. I had a good morning on the job, so no complaints so far. Around 11:20 in the morning I started jonesing for chicken fried steak. I get that way every month or two. I know it's junk food, but when I get the urge I go to Denny's and I get the chicken fried steak breakfast with hash browns, sourdough bread, orange juice and coffee. In other words, I get breakfast for lunch. Today was going to be one of those days.

It's a twenty-minute drive, but I got to Denny's ahead of the lunch crowd and sat by the window. I was halfway through my lunch, and I was people watching as I like to do when I'm alone, when I happened to glance across the street. That's when it happened. I saw my wife step out of her car, kiss a man I've never met, and walk hand-in-hand into a motel room. Life doesn't prepare you for that. The first thing that happens is the mind shuts down. I just sat there staring, not believing what I'd seen. Then the mind goes into overdrive. It jumps from one idea to another. Did I really see that? Was that really my wife? Could she be cheating? Is there any other credible reason for what I just saw? The next stage is denial. "No, that couldn't be her! There's a good reason for this. I'm jumping to conclusions."

I grabbed my phone and called her. She answered on the third ring. "Hi, dear! Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I was just wondering where you are?" That wasn't very subtle, was it?

She hesitated and then said, "I'm at my desk like always. We'll be working through lunch and I might be home late tonight."

She lied to me and she's never done that before. Has she? I went into full blown zombie mode, speaking but not thinking, almost mumbling. "Sorry to hear that. Well, I guess I'll go." And with that, I hung up. Thinking back, she must have thought it was odd, but she didn't call me back. Now I wasn't sure of anything, least of all what my own eyes had seen.

I sat there for a few more minutes, more in shock than anything else. It's funny how slowly the mind works at times like this. It must have taken my five minutes to get up off my ass and go see what's going on. A man who trusts his wife is slow to accuse and almost as slow to spy. I dropped $20 on the table and walked out of the restaurant. Looking back, I'm surprised that I had the presence of mind not to step into traffic, but I crossed the road successfully and walked onto the motel parking lot. I checked her car and it was hers. I copied his license plate. Then, looking at the room, I walked toward it like I was approaching a sleeping lion. I knew there was only death waiting for me there. I got to the window and like most motel rooms, the cheap curtains didn't quite close entirely. I looked inside, through the crack between the curtains, and saw my marriage dying.

My mind exploded with images of revenge. I wanted to break into the room and beat him to death. I wanted to drive her car through the door. I wanted to die. But here's the strange thing: where shock and uncertainty shuts down the brain, certainty brings about a clarity of thought the likes of which I have seldom experienced. My pain passed briefly and was replaced by clear-headed action. I wanted evidence. The woman in the room and the man she was with became abstract things and their actions were just problems I needed to document. I took my cell phone and I filmed them through the drapes. I photographed my wife's car alongside his with the door to their room clearly visible in the background. Then calmly, suppressing the pain and rage, I walked back to Denny's and ordered another cup of coffee. It was only then, sitting by the window and watching the motel door, that the reality of her actions flooded my consciousness and the pain returned. I finally broke down as I humiliated myself in front of a room full of strangers and cried like a baby. Waitresses tried to console me. The cooks came out to see if they could help. Total strangers reached out to me. I waved them all off and I spoke plainly, telling them that my wife was cheating on me and I had just found out. I don't think anyone had an enjoyable lunch that day, but it is remarkable how total strangers will reach out to share your pain while others ignore you completely.

I sat there until they left, both driving off in the same direction. I wondered if maybe they worked together and drove separately to avoid becoming fodder for office gossip? I was having strange moments of remarkable clarity intertwined with rage and pain. I grabbed my phone, checked that I had the video and photographs, and called my friend Steve. I did eventually return to my office and try to work, but I was just killing time. At the usual hour I left and went to meet my friend. Over a few beers he told me about the pain of his own wife's infidelity and how they mended their marriage. He told me that it was possible to heal a marriage, but it would take us both to do the hard work together, and that I would never know what was possible until I confronted her. He was right. My mind was still flooded with thoughts of revenge, thoughts of lawyers, and the desire to send the video to everyone I knew including her family, but I knew that first I needed answers to questions I was still trying to formulate.

I drove for home with conflicting thoughts. I wanted to strangle her, but I also wanted to beg her not to leave me. I would confront her with the evidence, but I would try to be patient and speak lovingly. I had to resolve my conflicting desires before I got home, so a block from our apartment I pulled over and tried to settle my mind and gather my thoughts. I made some simple decisions knowing full well that I could not control the confrontation. I could only know my own mind and my own mind said that I would not share, I would not be lied to again, and I would not be humiliated. The rest was beyond my ability to control. With my thoughts clear, I drove the last block to our place.

She greeted me with her usual warm and loving embrace and a kiss that almost made me gag.

"What's wrong, David? Did you have a bad day at work? Has something happened to Steve and Debbie?"

"No, not them. It's us. You know what I mean, Barb, just the three of us?"

"The three of us? What are you talking about, silly? I'm not pregnant yet."

"You better damn sight not be. I'm not talking about a baby, Barb. I mean you and your fuck buddy. I saw you today at the Starlight Motel. I filmed you through the window. I know, Barb, I know."

I've always heard that a person's face can turn pale when shocked, but I'd never seen it happen. She went white, passed out, and collapsed to the floor. I shamed myself at that point. I knew I had already let my temper get out of control, but now my wife was lying unconscious on the floor at my feet and I was just standing there looking at her. I was still her husband and I needed to start acting like it. I knelt down, picked her up in my arms, and gently set her on the sofa. A cool wet cloth to her forehead and she soon recovered.

She was defeated, sitting quietly on the sofa and staring at the floor. "How did you find out?"

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not. We thought we were being so careful."

"Cheaters always get caught eventually." Well, that was a lie and I knew it. Plenty of cheaters get away with it, but that knowledge didn't bring me any comfort. "Who is he?"

"I won't tell you."

I knew that was a bad omen. We weren't going to come out of this in one piece if she was going to keep secrets and control the flow of information. I took out my phone and started to play the video I'd made of her tryst earlier that day. "Tell me who he is, or there's no future for us."

She was broken and looked at me with pitiful eyes. "Is there any future for us now? I've cheated on you. Nobody forgives that."

I knew she was wrong about "nobody", but she may well be right about us.

I tried to gain control of my emotions. I was holding on by a fingernail and began to speak patiently and quietly. "I met with Steve today. He and Debbie went through this a year ago. We can fix this. We can put our marriage back together." That just made her cry harder. She wasn't denying any of it, so I braced myself to ask the big question. "Do you want to put us back together?"

She shrugged. Did that mean she didn't know, or that she didn't want to talk?

I just sat there staring at her. In time, we sat side-by-side, not speaking, not looking at each other, just sitting. I finally decided to repeat the question, "Do you want to put us back together, Barb?"

She just exploded in cries and tears, jumped off the couch, ran to our bedroom, and slammed the door. I saw no reason to follow her. I just sat there wallowing in self-pity.

A half hour later she came out pulling her suitcase behind her. She walked to the door without a word, then turned to look at me, and silently left our apartment. I guess I had my answer.

The next week was nothing less than hell. I went to the office and tried to bury my thoughts in work, but I wasn't very successful. I told my boss about my situation and filled in my coworkers. I made no attempt to hide anything. Some might say I should be ashamed somehow that my wife had turned to another man, but I had kept my vows. I wouldn't hide the betrayal. Dinner became a burger at the drive through and my nights were beer and a TV that I Iargely ignored. I wondered why she left so quickly. Was it always a part of her plan? Was she so ashamed that she had to flee? Did she love him? Had she ever loved me? That's the sort of thing betrayal does to a person.

My salvation came a week after my confrontation with Barb. By then I'd seen a lawyer and started the paperwork. I knew she was living with the asshole and I didn't need to know more. David was right. You can't repair a marriage single-handedly. I was sitting in my apartment contemplating infidelity. It's so strange, isn't it? You spend years with a person, working together to build a life, caring for one another, nursing them through illness and celebrating their successes. Then she lets some bozo stick his dick in her and it all comes crashing down. It's such a little thing in comparison to a life together, and yet it's everything. Then I finally saw it. It wasn't the sex alone. It wasn't the desire to experience another man. It wasn't even the orgasms. There comes a moment in every act of intercourse when a man wants to make his partner his own. He blows his seed into her and with all his being he wants to establish his manhood, prove his potency, and make her pregnant. For her part, she takes him in and in that final moment she craves his child. She longs to make him cum and to take his seed into her womb. That's the real act of betrayal. Each wants a part of the other. The lies and deceit are bad enough, but the real act of betrayal is that one moment when the animal self takes over craving unity with this other person. The feeling may pass, and it will often be denied later, but it lies beneath every act of infidelity. How can any husband accept that when her desire is someone else?

I was feeling sorry for myself when the doorbell rang. I hoped and I feared it might be Barb, and with trepidation I walked to the door and opened it. The view that greeted me put a smile on my face for the first time in a week. "Denise, what are you doing here?"

Denise and I had been friends since high school. She is a red headed beauty with fiery emotions. She had her moments of sudden anger and unrestrained humor, but through everything she was always my loyal friend. I considered asking her out on several occasions when I was single, but either she was involved, or I was dating someone else. She came to our wedding and she knew my wife well. She had always been a bright spot in my life. "Is that any way to greet a girl? I come all the way over here..." Her reprimand was exaggerated. She was smiling that warm smile of hers and all the trash talk was in good humor.

"Come in, please. I'd love to see a friendly face for a few minutes."

We sat on the sofa and before I could say anything of consequence she said, "I heard about Barb. I'm very sorry. If it's any consolation, I think she's an idiot."

"Actually, that helps a lot. I can't tell you the self-doubts I've been having. I go to work and just go through the motions. Then I sit around here and feel sorry for myself."

She was holding my hand and laying her head on my shoulder. We just sat there for an hour or more, talking and occasionally laughing, remembering the past and talking about possible futures. The evening seemed to pass quickly, and my spirit was lifted.

Denise finally stood up and said, "Mind if I use your bathroom?"

"Of course not. You know where it is."

With that, she walked toward the back of the apartment, past the bathroom on the hall, and into my bedroom. I was too slow to pick up on it. A few minutes later she called out, "Can you help me with this?"

Men can be so dense at times. I walked back to my bedroom, rounded the corner, and there she stood wearing one of my shirts and nothing else. I froze with my mouth open. When a married man meets an almost naked woman, his first thought is, "I must have done something wrong!"

She giggled. "Is that any way to greet a girl?" She walked slowly toward me, put her arms around my neck, and gave me a kiss that made my heart beat again. As we kissed, I took in her scent, I felt the form of her body under my shirt, I felt her squirm ever so slightly as she pushed herself against me, and I got my first erection in a week. "I come all the way over here..." She was giggling again, but there was much more in her voice than humor.

"Denise, I know I'm depressed, but you don't need to do this for me."

"I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for me. I've wanted you for a very long time and I was heartbroken when that bitch got her claws into you. I'm not going to stand back and let some other floozy claim you now. I'm the floozy that's claiming you this time." She laughed when she said that. "If you want me to leave in the morning, I will. Tonight, I just want to interview for the position of faithful girlfriend."

What can I say? Is there a man alive who can say no to that? If there is, tell him to get help. I knew my answer and I spent the rest of the night proving it to her. In the morning I fixed her breakfast and I had the biggest, goofiest grin on my face as we walked out of the apartment. I wasn't healed, but I was happy.

From that night on we became largely inseparable. My divorce went through without a lot of drama and Denise moved in four months after that first night. Moving in was really just a formality. It means she dropped the lease on her apartment. She never took anything for granted, but about two weeks after our first night together she asked if she could keep a few things at my place. I happily said yes. Each time she would bring a few more things over she asked ahead of time and I agreed. Sure, I knew what she was doing, and I welcomed it! Barb took some of our furniture which made room for Denise's things. I preferred it that way and encouraged Barb to take more. I think that hurt her feelings, but I didn't set out to hurt her deliberately. I wasn't past the pain of Barb's betrayal, but Denise was healing me and dealing with my moods and self-doubts. I had a new life to build now and I was building it with Denise.

It took me a long time to get over Barb's betrayal. I tried building my relationship with Denise as something apart from my failed marriage to Barb, but you carry your past with you into every new endeavor. The pivotal moment came at Denise's company Christmas party. We attended and I was on my best behavior. I wanted to reflect well on her and impress her coworkers in the best possible way. I met her friends, danced with a few, and I had a beer with their husbands. There was this one guy who kept taking her out on the dance floor. His name was Frank. It seemed that every time she came back from a dance and rejoined our table, Frank was there. She and I were dancing together, and he asked to cut in. It was becoming very annoying and I started to think I was seeing the slightest smirk on his face whenever he did it. Midway through the party I was having a beer with a few of the husbands. I turned in her direction just in time to see Frank run his hand across her bottom. Then, before I could do anything, there was a loud "Crack!" The sound echoed through the room. She had broken his hold and slapped him so hard that the entire room froze. The music stopped. Then my loving, and not so shy, girlfriend said in a loud voice for everyone to hear, "No, I will not sneak out with you and if you ever put your hand on my ass again, I'll..." I saw the flash in her eyes and before I could move to save his worthless balls, she took a step toward him and brought her right knee up with all the force she could muster. Frank screamed and collapsed to the floor grasping his jewels. Denise turned away from him, marched over to me, and said, "It's time to go."

To say our departure did not go unnoticed would be an understatement. We paid our respects to her boss and made our apologies. He asked to speak with us outside. I was ready for a dressing down when he said, "I saw what happened and I'm sorry. Frank is an ass and I think his days here are numbered. I'd rather not fire him outright, but I'm going to tell him that his future here isn't bright. I'll encourage him to find another job and I feel certain he'll be gone soon. If you have any further problems with him, come directly to me." I left there liking this guy, liking the coworkers I'd met except for Frank, and feeling very good about my relationship with Denise. I think that was the night when all my lingering concerns vanished, and I knew this woman was real wife material.

We married about a year and a half later. We took our time, turned our friendship into love, and built our marriage on trust and honesty.