On Tuesday Marc Zoumakis was doing what he usually did, pushing proposals and amendments and prospectuses around on his desk, checking figures on his computer, making calculations. It seemed boring to other people--and occasionally to him--but there was a side of the insurance business that meant dealing with people, sometimes helping them, and that appealed to Marc.
But when the phone rang at 11:10 and it was his daughter Allison on the other end, his face lit up in a big smile.
"Allie! This is a surprise--aren't you supposed to be in school?
She sounded upset. "Dad, it's--it's the car. Bren and Shelly and I were running an errand for the Athletics Council and it just died on us."
"You're okay, nobody hurt?"
"No no, nothing like that. The motor just quit, so I pulled off into a parking lot. We're on 561, like a couple of miles from the mall."
Marc was relieved. "Okay, as long as you're all right. Give me oh, 20 minutes and I'll be there. What on earth made you take 561?" It was a road filled with shoe outlets, strip malls full of dollar stores, car muffler places, and so on. And it wasn't the direct route to the mall, certainly not from the high school.
"Shelly said there was a new shoe place, we figured we could take a few minutes to check it out--but then the engine quit. Can you come right now?"
Allison sounded stressed but not too shaken. "Sure, honey, be right there," he said. "What's the address?"
*****
Marc had worked in an auto repair shop for his last two years of high school and most of the way through college, and it never even occurred to him to have Allison call AAA. He kept a close eye on all the family's cars, including Allie's 06 Corolla, and he was pretty sure it was nothing he couldn't take care of.
When he got out there, the car was in the parking lot of the Paloma Diner, and Allie and her friends were having hot chocolate inside. Marc went in, gave Allie a kiss and got the keys. Within about five minutes he had located and taken care of the problem--one of the battery cables had corrosion on it and was slipping off the battery post.
"Thanks a million, Daddy!" Allie beamed at her dad and gave him a big hug, while Brenda and Shelly said, "way to go, Mr. Z.!"
"Drive safely back to school, okay Al? I'll see you tonight."
Looking at his watch after the girls drove away, Marc figured he might as well have some lunch. He went back outside to get a copy of the Enquirer out of a coin-operated box; and as he stood back up he glanced across the street. There in the parking lot of the Hi-Ho Motel was Sheryl's black Nissan Altima.
It couldn't be, but it was. The plate read KOA-5682; it was hers. The car was parked right in front of one of the rooms, and next to it was a red Corvette with a plate that said "PRINS".
Marc felt sick. He stood frozen in place for what felt like hours, though it was probably no more than a minute. Then he went back into the diner with his paper, sat in a booth where he could watch his wife's car, and had a muffin and a cup of coffee. His mind was a whirling blizzard of thoughts, none of them pleasant.
Ignoring the waitress's polite attempts at chitchat, he focused grimly on the scene across the street, as though his uninterrupted vigilance could prevent the worst from coming true.
Just after 12:35 the door to the motel room in front of the Corvette opened and Sheryl stepped out, smiling and looking back. She was followed by a tall, open-faced guy who was just finishing tucking his shirt back into his pants, his coat held over one arm. They talked and laughed together for a minute; then he bent down in an attempt to kiss her and she laughingly pushed him away. Then they each climbed into their cars; Sheryl drove off immediately and the Corvette followed a moment later.
Marc sat, gazing out the window, seeing nothing. He suddenly stood up, pulled some bills out of his wallet and left them on the table, and headed back to his car. He drove south along the river, crossed it on I-275, and got off at the exit for Northern Kentucky University, where he'd been a student. There was a wooded area at the south end of campus that he'd always loved to walk in, and he parked in a nearby lot.
It was well below 20 degrees, but Marc barely noticed it as he walked. "Nineteen years!" was his only conscious thought. "Nineteen years I've been married to Sheryl--nineteen years I've loved and cherished her, raised our kids with her, been faithful and devoted to her.
"Nineteen fucking years!"
******************
Sheryl didn't know what she felt--embarrassed, a little, but satisfied and excited too. Anthony's cum oozed into her panties, despite the tissues she'd stuffed into them, and she was eager to get home and have a quick shower. Both kids would be at school, Marc was at the office, and the house would be empty.
She giggled to herself. A 42-year old woman, sneaking off to a sleazy motel for a tryst with a co-worker! And not just any co-worker, but a hot 31-year old co-worker; a handsome, single, younger guy who'd pursued her relentlessly for months, flirting and teasing, making easily-repelled but nonetheless flattering passes.
And then, finally, the bet. The silly, foolish, crazy bet she'd accepted, and lost. And there she was, on her back on a bed in the Hi-Ho Motel, taking a delicious pounding from the first and only man besides her husband she'd fucked in 20 years. (And not only on her back, she reflected; that had just been the first time. On top of him too, and then on her knees, with that hard cock driving remorselessly into her from behind.)
Sheryl liked sex. She always liked it with Marc, and not surprisingly she'd liked the hell out of it with Anthony, who was strong and forceful with her. Not too rough, but intense, very excited and eager, and that made it exciting for her too.
It took nearly 45 minutes to get home to their house in West Price Hill, on the far side of Cincinnati; and by the time she pulled into the driveway Sheryl was feeling far less good about herself. The tingling feeling, the afterglow from some lovely sex, was fading.
And growing in its place was a sense of regret and shame. What the HELL had she been doing? Sure, it was flattering to have Anthony Prins as an admirer, pursuing, flattering, teasing, telling her she was sexier than any of the women his own age she told him he ought to be chasing.
But she'd only accepted that bet to shut him down. She knew there was no way he could win--and when he lost she knew he would pay up, and she would have the great pleasure of taking his $1000 and treating herself and Marc to a romantic weekend in a fancy hotel.
That had been the best part, as Sheryl had thought about it. The idea that his money, the money of the guy who was so horny for her that he'd risk $1000, would pay for her to have a hot night of sex with her husband was simply too delicious to resist.
When she'd lost the bet Sheryl had been shocked, disbelieving. And for a few days she'd simply avoided Anthony, kept away from him. She couldn't sleep with another man, break her marriage vows, over a stupid BET!
But it had eaten away at her, the idea of it. No matter how silly it was, they'd both made the bet in good faith--how could she back out? And the fact that Anthony was tall and broad-shouldered and a full decade younger--Sheryl was too honest with herself to deny that the thought of sex with him was kind of exciting.
Anthony had been smart enough not to hound her, not to remind her that she owed him something. He just smiled whenever he saw her, and said "Good morning" or "can I get you some coffee?", and gave her a big grin that was full of unspoken meanings.
And finally, after nearly three weeks of thinking about it, she'd gone right up to him, when he was alone in the break room for a minute, and just stood there gazing at him, saying nothing.
Anthony's face had broken out into such a delighted smile that her nipples hardened; and he said, "how about Tuesday morning? There's a place called the Hi-Ho Motel on Route 561, way over on the other side of Cincinnati. I'll take the morning off and get a room; meet me there at 10."
He watched her, waiting. She couldn't even breathe. Finally she just nodded, once. And he'd leaned forward, very carefully, and given her a gentle kiss on the lips. It was electric--it terrified Sheryl how exciting it was--and then he was gone, leaving her alone there in the break room to wonder what on earth she had just agreed to. Or, rather, why on earth she had agreed to it.
*****
The hot shower felt good, but that afterglow was long gone. Sheryl felt stupid--stupid and guilty. She couldn't help wondering what would happen to her marriage--and then she stamped her foot.
"Get ahold of yourself!" she thought. This was ridiculous! She'd done something awful, made a horrendous mistake. It had felt great at the time, true, but it was an idiotic, selfish thing--fucking around behind Marc's back.
But he'd never know, no one would ever know, unless Sheryl lost her mind and told him. All she had to do was be herself, her normal self. Not guilty, not scared, not clingy--just a loving wife of 19 years, glad to see her man when he walked in the door.
And maybe a little amorous that night, surprise him by reaching for him in bed, offering a little Tuesday-night fun. The idea made her pussy tingle--before she could stop herself she was thinking "two men in one day!" She'd never done anything like that in her life, not even in college. She couldn't help it--it made her smile.
******************
Sheryl heard Marc's car pull into the garage and she felt a sudden quiver of nervousness. She listened for the door, making sure that she was busy with pots on the stove as Marc stepped into the room.
"Hi, honey," she called out brightly, her back to him momentarily, feeling a slight blush on her cheeks and cursing herself. "Calm down!" she said inside her head.
