Author's note
: Because I'm a romantic at heart I get a lot of static over the fact that the husbands and boyfriends in my stories tend to love their ladies enough to forgive them their peccadilloes. The most common comment is "Another damned wimpy husband story. Why can't you write a story about a 'real man' not some fucking wimp." All I can say is that the people who make those comments probably have never been deeply in love. Love can make a strong man stupid. Love can make a man forgive his lady of damned near anything, just as love can blind him as to what is going on where she is concerned.
But a really strong love can turn into a really strong hate under the right circumstances. When I caught my first wife in bed with my cousin I was confused, bewildered and upset. I wondered what I had done wrong to make her do it and wondered what I could do to make things right between us. It only took the time necessary for her to say nine little words to turn everything around and plant a hate in my heart so strong that even now, thirty years later, I would still kill the bitch if I thought I could get away with it. Over the years I've thought of a thousand things that I wished I could have done to her, but never had the courage to try. Just the very thought of her makes me think dark thoughts and it is hard not to think of her at certain times, like this last Father's Day when I received cards and phone calls from the kids that we had.
The three stories that make up The Dark Trilogy, written in the days following this last Father's Day, come from that dark place within me that she created and that her memory maintains. I haven't seen her in thirty years or spoken to her in twenty-eight, but the hate is still there and very much alive. These stories are dedicated to you Helen and may you rot in hell.
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It had been a very bad three weeks for me and I didn't think that it could get much worse, but I was wrong; very, very, wrong.
It all started when I went in for my yearly physical. I was poked and probed, x-rayed and EKGed and I gave what seemed like half the blood in my body and then went home secure in the knowledge that I wouldn't have to go through it again for at least another year.
Two days later the doctor's office called me and told me that the doctor wanted me to have an ultra sound and a CAT scan. I asked the girl what was wrong and she told me that she didn't know that anything was wrong, just that the doctor wanted the additional tests. To make a long story shorter it turned out that I had an inoperable cancer and the doctor told me that I had, at best, eighteen more months to live. I knew he had to be wrong of course; I was only forty-eight and had never had anything wrong with me. I had never smoked, drank only socially and lived a very healthy life style. He just had to be wrong so I went for a second opinion, and then a third and then a fourth before I was finally able to bring myself to accept the fact that I was going to die in eighteen months or less.
Once I had put denial behind me I had to face the task of telling Becky. My wife had been making my days and my nights for twenty-one years. In a lot of marriages of that length the passion wanes and the couple settles into a comfortable relationship, but that never happened to Becky and I. It seemed like every year my love for her grew stronger and the passion stayed alive. We were still making love three and four times a week at a time when a lot of our friends were only having sex twice a month.
I debated not telling Becky, at least until the pain got so bad that I couldn't hide it, but in the end I decided that she needed to know. She needed the time to emotionally prepare herself for what was coming so after several weeks of stalling I worked up the courage to face her. I didn't want the kids around when I broke the news to her so for the first time ever I took an unscheduled afternoon off from work and headed home.
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There was a strange car in the drive when I got home. I noticed the dealer plates on the car so I knew that my best friend Jerry was probably there and I wondered what he could possibly be doing at my house in the middle of the afternoon. I got the answer to that question as soon as I opened the front door.
"Oh god, oh sweet fucking Jesus" rang through the house. "Harder damn it, fuck me harder" Becky cried as I stood at the bottom of the staircase and looked up toward the second floor where our bedroom was. I stumbled up the stairs like a man with a headful of fog as I listened to my wife beg my best friend to push it in deeper, pound her harder and make her cum. When I reached the top of the stairs I couldn't make my feet move any farther and I sat down on the top step and listened to what came from my bedroom. The doctors had given me eighteen months, but I died that day as Becky's cries of pleasure resounded through the house. And then the loud cries and screams stopped.
"In all the years we have been fucking I don't believe I've ever seen you have as strong an orgasm."
"Your cock brings out the best in me lover. I love it and I can never get enough of it."
"Then why in the hell won't you leave Bob and come with me?"
"We've covered that ground Jerry. I love your cock and the way you make love to me, but I don't love you. I like you, but I don't love you."
"So what? You don't love Bob either."
"You're wrong Jerry, I happen to love my husband deeply."
"Bullshit baby. There is no way you could do to him what you do if you really loved him. No way on God's Green Earth you could let him eat your pussy with my cum still in it. No way you could keep giving him sloppy seconds and tell him to slurp up my cum and then tell him the wetness is just you being horny for him. No baby, you don't love him. If you truly loved him you couldn't do any of that. In fact, if you truly loved him you wouldn't have been fucking me for these last five years."
"You're wrong Jerry, I love Bob, but he just isn't sexually satisfying. As for what I do with him after I've been with you, all I can say is that it excites me and in turn I do my level best to fuck his eyes out."
"Still, I..."
"Leave it alone Jerry before you piss me off. Are you going to get hard for me again or not?"
"Use your mouth to get me up again baby and I'll fuck you until you make me leave."
As I quietly left the house I was hearing Becky's words, "I love Bob deeply" and I was thinking 'big fucking deal. To be loved deeply by an unfaithful whore doesn't do a whole hell of a lot for me.' I went back to my office, closed the door and locked it and then spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what the fuck I was going to do with the short time I had left.
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I still had no idea of what I was going to do when I went home that night, but I did know that I wasn't going to let Becky know that I knew what she had been doing behind my back. Even though Becky had been the light of my life my discovery of what she and Jerry had been doing had turned that light off. If I had another twenty-five or thirty years left to live I might have just turned my back and walked away from her. Unfortunately for Becky and Jerry the bitterness I felt from knowing that my time was short combined with the bitterness of finding out how the two of them had betrayed me had instilled in me a major desire for revenge and until I could take that revenge Becky had to keep thinking that things were fine between us.
