I'm going to try my hand at writing a cheating wife story. I've read some fairly nice stories. But, in too many cheating wife stories I have read, the female characters seemed to either have a full blown narcissistic personality disorder, a histrionic personality disorder or they're so weak and spineless that I can only wonder how they could ever exist in the real world. They can't. They can only exist in the fantasies of testosterone overdosed, teenaged minds.
Cheating is not that uncommon. I do not even closely believe that 99% of people who cheat are so wacko, so abnormal. Where are those stories, stories about real people dealing and coping with real problems, in real ways?
I'm writing this story, putting emphasis on creating a couple where each is as emotionally strong as the other is. A real-life couple, who interact with each other along logical lines of subjective chance. Cheating and adultery is about passion, love, anger and hate. Cheating and adultery is about conflict, conflict between partners where one is pushing for change and the other not. Events must happen where change is inevitable, conclusive and consequential.
Since I do love tragedies and this is not real life, so no one has to pick up the broken pieces, don't expect any happy endings. Not in this story, for sure.
Oh! And btw, no sex scenes in my story, so nothing here for you pudding pounders.
- Why do life-changing events happen when we least expect them, when we feel comfortable, when we feel relaxed, and when we feel most secure? Why do our plans never workout, as they should? Maybe successfully, but never exactly as we planned. Why does that which does happen always happen differently, against our expectations? Have you ever noticed this?-
Jonathan Freemont had just got home from working his eight-hour shift plus an overtime of another four hours. Jonathan worked as a diesel mechanic for the Caterpillar dealership in town. Jonathan wasn't a foreman, but Jonathan was one of their top mechanics. Jonathan was happy not being a foreman. He didn't want to be a foreman. He wanted to be doing exactly the job he did.
Things had been running hot and heavy with fire crews out on 4 different and major forest fires, plus who knew how many smaller burns popping up all over the place. Equipment had been breaking down everywhere, and Jonathan was needed almost day and night.
Ever since mid-July Jonathan had been working overtime and it was now getting near time for the children to start back to school, also, the end of August. Jonathan was getting up early, and getting home late, been doing so the whole summer, weekdays, and weekends.
Not that Jonathan was complaining. Jonathan was happy with all the overtime he was receiving. Jonathan was always happy working overtime. Overtime meant money and Jonathan needed money because of the expensive four bedroom two and a half bath, two car garage ranch house, located in a very good neighborhood, and on a large plot, that Jonathan and Susan had bought two years ago. Cindy, Joey and Nancy weren't little any more. They needed their own rooms and their own space.
With all the fires burning out of control Jonathan was bringing home some very nice paychecks. Jonathan was tired, bone tired, but happy. The money was needed.
Jonathan was happy, no proud, about being able to buy the expensive house. Jonathan felt good knowing he was a good provider for his family. Jonathan loved his family and was proud of all of them. If anyone had asked, Jonathan would have told them, he had the best wife and best children that anyone could have.
Not that they didn't have their problems too. They had them. No different than other couples. Nothing serious though. Only little things like Susan carrying a little too much weight after having the three little ones, Jonathan getting too much of a beer gut on him, Susan complaining about Jonathan never wanting to go to those couple's parties friends and neighbors had planned, but rather stay at home or go fishing. Neither would have said that their sex life was great. Jonathan would have wanted more fucking, maybe a little wilder sex with less lovemaking. Susan would have said she wanted more lovemaking, foreplay and attention from Jonathan. Well, those kinds of problems, just little problems that got on one's nerves, but never were big enough to fight about. Jonathan was content, and so did Susan seem to be.
When Jonathan walked into the house everything seemed too quite. Normally Jonathan would have at least been greeted by the sound of three children playing. They shouldn't have been in bed yet, still too early. They couldn't be over at the neighbors playing, for that it was, even for summer, too late. Jonathan wondered for a moment if he had forgotten something. Had Susan told him they were going to be staying overnight with someone, like their grandparents? Obviously, they weren't in the house.
Susan was though. Susan was sitting off in the far corner of the dining room table, hands folded together on the table top staring at Jonathan with a pensive, nervous, sad and contemplative, studious look on her face. For a moment Jonathan thought she looked like she had been crying. Her eyes seemed red.
"Jonathan, there's something we have to talk about," were her first words as she dropped her gaze from Jonathan down to her hands.
Jonathan felt his stomach lurch and flutter. The look on Susan's face was one he had only seen but once before. Susan had sat there on that very same spot and said those very same words, the day she told him that his father had died suddenly of a heart attack.
Remembering, Jonathan felt his knees go weak. He pulled one of the oak chairs out and sat down across the table from Susan, not able to say anything. He could only look questioningly at Susan, but Susan's eyes were avoiding his. Susan was contemplating, thinking, a far away look in her eyes. Jonathan could feel Susan's desire not to say, not to speak. He could feel that Susan wanted to be anywhere but where she was. Susan wanted, but did not want, this conversation. Butterflies were battling in his stomach.
Studying her still folded hands, not looking at Jonathan, Susan spoke, her tone sad almost mournful, "Jonathan, you know I love you. You know I love you more than any man in the world. You know you mean the world to me, don't you? "
Jonathan swallowed hard, his mouth dry, too dry to speak, "Yes."
Susan raised her eyes to Jonathan, studying, searching his face for more of an answer than just that one simple word, "You need to believe that now more than ever before Jonathan. I need to tell you about some things that make this very important. You need to know how much I truly do love you. How important you are to me. How important we are for each other. You have to believe in us. You just have to, no matter how you feel afterwards. No matter how much you feel hurt. This is important now, more than ever before. I truly do love you." Susan's voice was quaking, those last words spoken, each as if they were single sentences.
Now Jonathan had cold sweat dripping down his back. His hands were beginning to shake; he could not believe his own thoughts. Anticipation and Susan words, mood and facial expression, the whole atmosphere had Jonathan's mind racing to a thousand different conclusions. He could not force the memories of his father's death out of his mind, out of his awareness and feelings. They pervaded his entire being. Intuitively, Jonathan knew that this was one of those moments that change everything. Whatever Susan wanted to tell him; life would never be the same, afterwards.
For moments, time standing still, Susan sat contemplating Jonathan, but still her eyes would not meet his questioning, puzzled stares. Only in thought did they stare blankly at Jonathan. Only the clock ticking on the wall broke the silence in the room. You could almost hear the house creaking in the quiet stillness.
Then like the snapping crack of bullets shot from a gun, breaking the silence. Her words rambling and rolling, some times soft and barely audible, some times hard, loud, almost violent with passion, her voice quaky, her lips quivering neither less. "I'm not only afraid of you hearing this from someone else and not understanding, I need to tell you this for myself. For my own peace of mind, I can't go on like this anymore. I've carried this with me too long. For over a year now I've wanted to tell you. I can't, I just can't hold it in any longer, keeping it from you. It's not right. It hurts hiding it, and is making it feel all wrong. It shouldn't be that way. This is too important, too precious a time for me. We've discussed this over and over now, too long. We've decided to tell you. There's no other way."
"If I don't tell you, and don't explain, there's no way that you would or could understand. If you would find out, hear this from someone else. You could only think badly. You would react foolishly and only hurt yourself and me, hurt us, you and I. I don't want you misunderstanding. You need to understand."
"We need to discuss this openly and honestly so that you can understand. I can only hope, no pray, that you will love me enough to be able to understand. If you don't I don't know. I just don't know. I guess I just need to trust and have faith in you and in your love for me. I have to be consequential. There is no other way." She sighed and her shoulders drop in resignation of whatever would come.
Yet, for moments only the ticking of the clock could be heard. Susan did not continue, but only stared contemplatively her hands. Her shoulders still bowed in resignation.
Once, twice, three times Susan raised her head, opening her mouth to speak, but then dropped her head and spoke no words.
