The Duke of F'ing Austin
Follow up to "Talk at the Kitchen Table"
Thanks to everyone, who commented and rated "Kitchen Table". I'd recommend you read that story before this one, so you know what's going on. I feel like I didn't state something properly in that story's preface, so I wanted to clarify here. I stated that my real-life wife claims none of this shit can actually happen. Some read it for what it was. Some took it as something else. The point is, I don't agree with her, or anyone, really, who thinks the outrageous situations in the stories on Literotica don't actually happen. In fact, I'd bet big money they do. In my upcoming, "Reader's Block," I'll try to write a story to prove it.
Love is arbitrary and objective. For as many people there are in existence, there are that many ideas of what love is. Marriages, on the other hand, are fairly well spelled out, both in the beginning and the end.
I want to thank the editor, neuroparenthetical, for his amazing skills. He really does take my creativity and mold it into something readable, and in proper English.
Relax, it's just a story people...
Here I sit, in this dumpy burger joint parking lot, across the street from where my wife works. I'm here today because President Reagan told me to 'trust but verify.' So that's exactly what I'm doing. I curse at the pair of binoculars, angry at myself really, for not learning more about the finer points of focusing them. They were a Christmas gift about eight years ago, from my youngest daughter, and a gift I stuffed into a drawer in my office, never expecting to use them in this lifetime. Being totally honest, I'm angry at my wife, not this instrument of spying.
My wife had recently claimed to love me -with all her heart - I suppose, as we sat in our kitchen discussing her 'need' for more excitement. No, she wasn't asking me to purchase an all-day pass to our local amusement park. She didn't expect us to join a bowling league, or a bridge club. She wanted to go on dates. On dates with other men. Man, to be exact.
The man, the object of her excitement, is standing in the sights of my spy-glasses right now. He's almost close enough for me to see clearly without the aid of my binoculars. Dee has her pick-up truck parked out near the street, by the gas pumps that are part of the super-store she works at. She and The Duke are standing outside the truck's passenger door, talking. At least they aren't inside the vehicle. There's been no touching, kissing or hugging the entire twenty minutes I've been watching them. Just talking.
When my wife asked me how I might feel about her going out to dinner, dancing and maybe a movie with this asshole, and admitting that it could also involve sex, I wanted to strangle her right there in our kitchen. But that was temporary. Dee and I have known each other going back to our teens, and we're now on the precipice of sixty. We've both had two previous marriages. The similarities between them were astounding.
She'd been cheated on, I'd been cheated on, and once, when she'd left her first husband after he had gotten physically violent with her, we'd both cheated with each other. That was only a year after Dee and I had originally split, and my cheating with her was on a girlfriend, not a wife. So, her idea that we could somehow calmly have a summit together and perhaps reach a mutually beneficial agreement about her dating this asshole was outrageous and ridiculous to me.
Certainly, one of my weaknesses is my love for Dee, along with my commitment to our vows. I didn't want to lose her to The Duke - not because I considered it a competition, but rather, because I didn't want to live without her. I knew, even that night, that losing her could very well be in the cards. It all came down to her selfishness, and of course, how I ended up dealing with Mr. Austin. Still, my first reaction had been to invoke the 'better or worse' clause of our vows, and do my best to get her to come to her senses before everything was ruined irrevocably.
The knowledge that 'it' was already ruined to some degree hurt my heart, but I also knew that if Dee came around, we could get ourselves back on track, and perhaps even improve our relationship. That would depend on her, and my trust in Dee had taken enough of a hit that I'm sitting here spying on her.
She knew all too well the ramifications of cheating. That was why I wasn't the least bit surprised that she'd tried to throw me off balance that evening, hoping to explain her perspective and then gain some sort of acceptance. That had kept her conscience clean. When I had explained very concisely, how her actions would make me feel, and how they'd affect our marriage, Dee had seemed to come out of her haze. She'd claimed that she'd called The Fucking Duke, and had called off not only their date, but also, their entire relationship.
Yet, here we are. It was coming up on thirty-five minutes we'd all been here, and now I sit watching as The Duke climbs into the passenger side of my truck. Dee goes around and jumps in, then starts driving back up towards the store entrance. I toss the binoculars on top of the seat next to me, and fire up the car. If there's going to be a parting smooch, I won't be able to see from here.
It takes me over a minute to negotiate the oncoming traffic, and get into their parking lot. He's already walking towards the door in the garden department, while my wife heads towards the other entrance. If they did kiss, or anything else, I missed it.
Now I have some decisions to make. On the one hand, I didn't witness anything that wouldn't pass the spouse test. On the other, and a major setback, was the fact that they still took their lunch hour together. That meant she either actively lied, never intending to stop, or that that slick-talker Duke was still pushing, and she was trying to accommodate. In any case, Dee was complicit. That revelation saddened me. Still, there is some hope here. That's how my brain works. Often, over the years, I'd coached my kids and grandkids, when faced with a problem, to not only see the beginning and end of a situation, but try to visualize some of the steps between the beginning and the end. Those parts being the pieces needed to solve the situation. Now I needed to employ my own good advice.
Breaking up and divorce were an easy and final solution for me. I'd learned long ago that walking away with my pride was among the simplest things to pull off. Wife number one was too young. Hell, both of us were at the time we married. We had two kids together, and moved cross-country away from all her family and friends for a job opportunity. I was twenty-four and she merely twenty-two when I received the call. She'd hurt her back working as a deli manager in a grocery store chain. The call was from a Christian receptionist at the chiropractor's office. After verifying I was the husband, she told me of the good doctor's extracurricular activities in the office, confirming my wife was, I quote "was one of several the doctor was engaging in full sexual intercourse with." She was calling all the husbands that day, and quitting immediately afterward. That evening's conversation was a one and done: her telling me she didn't want to be married anymore, and me telling her to go straight to hell. Some of my work mates and I made sure the asshole himself needed chiropractic services the rest of his life.
The second wife, got a very large dose of the evidence of her infidelity during our weekly marriage counselor session, when I dropped a ream of paper containing the emails between her and her lovers on the small table beside the therapist, before storming out. When she arrived home later in the day, I was prepared with the audio version, thanks to a micro-recorder I'd placed under her driver's seat. That clever device saved me a shit ton of alimony. It also guaranteed an equitable custody arrangement, along with opening a dialogue about fairly splitting our accrued debt. No way she wanted her family to hear those recordings, or, God forbid her friends at our church.
Dee was going to have to atone. Of that, there was no doubt whatsoever. She'd broken trust. Even if they weren't screwing, they were still in a relationship, in my way of thinking anyway. I drove to see a few afternoon clients and sell some shit, but my heart wasn't really into it today.
The information I'd gathered earlier in the week told me enough about The Duke of Fucking Austin. He's a department manager at the store, has only been there for about six months, and his schedule is 8-5, while Dee's is 6-3. She would already be home when I got to have my little talk with numb nuts.
The plan was simple: meet him at his car in the parking lot. That would mean plenty of customers coming and going, so less chance of a physical confrontation. He looked to be in good condition, had about 2" on me, and a bigger upper body.
I already had put some thought into how this would go down, although you always have to allow for variables. I had been in plenty of fights in my life. Won a good amount of them too. However, living in the Pacific Northwest, you can easily go into a fist fight only to discover you're suddenly in a gun fight. I mean, it's an open carry state where I live. We're also home to the second-largest militia (organized True National Guard militia, not some rag tag group of hillbillies, or meth-cooking skin heads like the news media often portrays) compound in the USA. Further, I was never a Ranger, Seal, or Green Beret. I tried the Navy at 18, but the physical revealed a curvature of my spine that was just beyond acceptable. It did work out well though, as armed with that knowledge, medical braces solved that little issue over the years. I'm straight as an arrow now, thank goodness.
So we were going to talk. It certainly wouldn't be the last I would see of the creep either. In fact, Detective Colombo would be proud of my impending strategy.
Here I stand, waiting. He isn't looking up, just walking this way. I have my hunting knife sheathed on my belt, mostly for optics. The alarm chirps as he's reaching in his pocket, clicking his key fob. Now he's ten feet away and looks up. Seeing me leaning against the hood of his vehicle, his expression shows a combination of concern, and curiosity. That quickly changes to confidence and a little half smirk. She must have shown him my picture at some point.
"Hey Dick...I mean Duke. Got a minute?"
The smirk is full-blown now. What an arrogant prick he is. "Sure," he says, "you must be Dee's cuck...er, husband. What do you want?"
"Well, I was going to try for an adult man-to-man conversation, but I'll start with this. Next time I hear you call me that, it's gonna be the last time. Only warning. Now, what the fuck do you want from my wife?" I do my best to keep my expression neutral, not a poker face by any means, just level and in control.
The smirk softens somewhat. His resolve does not. "What do you mean, what do I want? I'm pretty sure Dee already told you that, in fact, I'm positive she did."
I'd expected the smug bastard to use language affirming his quasi-ownership of Dee and had prepared for that. He will learn quickly that he's not able to best me in a pissing match. To tell the truth, I am kinda hoping he will do something that allows me to pull the knife. I could screw him up pretty good, in self-defense, with all these shoppers around. Probably keep myself out of prison too. Of course, if he's packing, that could be another story.
"She did. She's also brought my trust of her into question, as of late. Now I'm asking you." I say.
He's taking his time. For the first time, I doubt my approach. It is not going how I'd imagined it, when I'd played it through in my head earlier. Nevertheless, I stand waiting for his response.
"I would have to back up Dee's explanation," he replies briskly. "She's a wonderful person, really easy to talk to. I'm sure you know. We've gotten...closer. Since we started going to lunch. She understands me, as I do her."
"And..." I leave it hanging.
Duke matter-of-factly lays forth his big reveal. "You already know. I want to take her out. Show her a good time. Something more than lunch, you know."
