The Luckiest Man In The World

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The lengths a man will go to for love.

A short (at least for me) tale of love and loss.

I agonized over what category to submit this story under. I chose Loving Wives. I hope by the end you understand why. I'll understand if you castigate me.

This is an entry in the 2013 Valentine's Day contest.

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Alan sat in the near-dark, alone in the large empty house. Sorry excuse for a fire struggling in the fireplace, providing the lone illumination. Half a bottle of Gentleman Jack in his right hand, the damning piece of paper in his left.

He wished he could burn it. Turn back time. Take a mulligan.

Life doesn't work like that.

He took a swig of the bourbon, brusquely rubbing his hand across his eyes.

Fifty years old. Married exactly half his life. Maybe that's the way these things were supposed to work. Twenty-five years of maturing, twenty-five years of wedded bliss, then whatever's left, a living hell.

Something had to balance the scales. He had been the luckiest man in the world. No way a man who'd had the life he'd had wouldn't roll snake eyes one day.

Twenty five years, silver anniversary. They'd worked for their future, planned carefully, never living beyond their means, raising the kids - thank God they were grown and out of the house before this - building for their retirement.

As if he had any kind of future now.

Alan looked at the clock and braced himself. He stood shakily and put away the booze. He took the piece of paper in his hand, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the fireplace.

Tuesdays and Thursdays. She'd be back soon. Worn out and trying to hide it. Disheveled, sweaty, exhausted, she'd greet him, hiding behind her mask. He'd have to wear his own. A little longer, until he'd decided what he was going to do.

* * *

Becca tried to maintain the pretense. She smiled as his arms wrapped around her clutching her. He stunk, stale sweat, cigarette smoke, garlic breath. Writhing sensually, as if she enjoyed his body pressed against hers.

It had been fun at first, a diversion, a way to kick up her heels after 25 years of being a Mom. Alan didn't know. Couldn't know. Her little secret.

She felt guilt. She had it all. The stay-at-home Mom, raising their three, beautiful, brilliant children. He worked hard to give them what they needed, while she provided the secure home environment, mother, housekeeper, chauffeur, lover. She understood some women chafed under the roles, but she thrived.

First David's graduation, then Carrie's, finally her baby Josh moving out almost 7 months ago. She found herself lonely, at loose ends, while her husband, her soul-mate buried himself in work. She understood, he was working for them. Their future. Still, she'd felt the first cracks in her perfect world in nearly twenty-five years. What do they say about 'idle hands'?

She looked up and smiled as Randy drew her close, hands, familiar with her body, sliding down her back. She reacted, her first genuine smile.

"God, Becca, if you weren't married..." he started, as he so often did.

"But I am, and I love my husband."

"But we're perfect together," he reminded her, taking control.

She sighed, allowing him, following his movement, for a brief moment enjoying what she was doing. His rigid hardness pressing into her, pressing back against it, feeling his desire for her.

He was right, for those few minutes they were perfect. But that was all. She had no desire for anything more from the handsome man. It was exciting to know he felt otherwise, but this was all he'd ever get.

She drove those thoughts from her mind, living in the moment.

* * *

He was himself again, when she got home. He asked her how Bridge night was. She smiled.

"The usual, gossip, husband trashing, too much wine."

He nodded. He returned his attention to his book, thinking about what he was going to do. He had the beginnings of a plan. A desperate plan, but these were desperate times.

She walked up the stairs, taking a second glance at him. Something wasn't right. She paused, her gaze lingering. He was in his usual chair, the book open in front of him, but she realized now he wasn't reading. He was staring at the page, eyes unmoving, attention elsewhere.

She continued to the bathroom, stripping off her clothes, climbing into the shower to wash the stink off.

Alan heard the water running. Thursday night. When it started she'd be excited after 'Bridge' night. They'd make love, and it was like it had been years before. She was still a striking woman, not classically beautiful, but with that tall slender body that aged so well, legs that could still make his heart beat fast. To Alan, she was beauty personified.

For the last couple of months, she'd clean up and retreat to the bed, exhausted, fending off any attempts to be amorous.

He sat in his chair, hardening his heart to what he had to do.

* * *

Becca wouldn't cry. She wouldn't. Not when he was near. She laid there, wondering how it had gotten to this point. Nearly a month since he'd taken her in his arms and made sweet love to her. Loved her like only he could.

Their love life had always been one of the strengths of their relationship. They seemed in perfect tune with each other. After their last child had left the nest, for several weeks they'd been like teenagers in love, desperate for each other, taking advantage of their freedom.

She could admit to herself she was partially to blame. For the first time in their marriage, he'd wanted more than her. She'd begged off a few times, especially after her nights out. A few times she'd gone along, but they both realized she was doing it for him, without the desire.

He'd started making excuses of his own. Upset stomach one night. A series of headaches. She'd spent more time away from the house, late afternoons and evenings, with the other empty-nesters. He'd worked late, putting in extra hours, travelling more.

She'd been hurt, devastated to learn that one of his 'business' trips was anything but. How did he really think he could hide it? Wives talked, and she was friends with many of his peers. There had been no 'business'. He had take personal time, and gone away for three days. He'd called daily, telling he what he was up to, the meetings he was attending. He told her how me missed her each night, and how much he loved her.

Lies. All lies.

He'd been upset when he returned, guilty no doubt. She didn't demand an explanation, call him on it. She let the doubt gnaw away, but she couldn't imagine a life without him. She knew he loved her, and she loved him. The hurt was devastating. When he turned to take her in his arms, in the bed, she turned away. How could he cheat on her? How could he?

* * *

Alan sat in his office staring at the phone. He couldn't put it off any longer. He'd made up his mind, as painful as the decision was. He knew it was the right thing to do. He'd gone over his options several times. He hated the solution, but he had no choice.

His life was over. Their life was over. Twenty-five years. His heart swelled as he thought back over those years. He'd lived a charmed life. He realized he'd had more joy than any man deserved.

He closed his eyes, remembering their honeymoon. Neither of them were virgins, but the amount of their experience was laughable. That week was the best of his life, with his new wife. They were open with each other about their fears and concerns. They took things slow to start, and learned together, from each other. By the end of the week, they almost never left their room except to eat. Alan couldn't get enough of her incredible body. To this day, he could remember the sound of her passion. He could get hard, just thinking about it.

He picked up the phone and called

her

. Dinner at the Hilton, and a room for afterward. His heart was pounding and his hands sweating as he hung up.

There. No turning back.

He wasn't a perfect man. He'd done things that he was ashamed of in the past, took liberties he shouldn't have. Never with the intention to hurt, and rarely with the same woman twice. This was different.

Alan knew she'd be out when he called home, avoiding talking to her directly. He left a message, telling her he'd be late, and had a dinner meeting with a client.

He told Sandra his assistant that he had a late meeting, and would be out of the office by 4:00 pm. She managed his calendar and knew there was nothing scheduled, but she accepted his word. Must be new business, or some old friend. Sandra had worked for him nearly nine years now. She knew him almost as well as his wife.

He waited in the lobby and saw her walk through the door. Stunning, much younger than himself, catching the eye of ever man as she walked through the doors. Her eyes were scanning the large open space, and stopped on him. A beautiful smile beamed at him, and she walked his way, hands outstretched.

"You're beautiful," he said softly.

"You're sweet. Dinner?"

"And drinks. Dancing if you'd like."

"You know we don't have to do this. I'd be just as happy going upstairs with you right now."

He slid his arm around her waist, heedless of any prying eyes. "No rush tonight. Dinner first."

"I'd love to."

In the hotel room, a couple of hours later, Alan was nervous. She was standing before him, making a show of disrobing. Her body was a thing of wonder. Large breasts he could see himself getting lost in. He never would say a word to his wife, he loved her small age-defying breasts, but he sometimes wished for more. Amber's tits were dreamlike. Large, full, natural, begging for his touch.

They didn't talk much, didn't need to. They both knew what this was about. He felt guilty about what he was doing, then buried those feelings. He was going to do this, and damned if he wasn't going to at least try to enjoy it.

Amber made sure he did. She made it as good for him as she could. Doing anything he desired, willingly, happily. She saw his hesitation and nervousness evaporate, and let herself go as he took her for the third time, powerfully, in control for the first time that evening.

He escorted her to the door when they were done. She gave him a kiss and told him to call her soon. He promised he would.

He closed the door and laid on the bed, mourning the end of his marriage.

She was nervous, but no more so than I. The lights were turned down low, and she was under the covers, the open side of the bed had the bedding turned down neatly.

My heart was beating so fast I could hear the sound of my pulse in my ears. She smiled at me, and patted the bed beside her. The new diamond glittered on her hand.

I slid my boxers down, hoping I wasn't embarrassing myself. I was hard as could be, and aching with need. I saw her eyes look down below my waist, and I could swear I saw desire there.

I climbed in the bed, and turned toward her. The prettiest girl I knew, tall slender, shiny long dark brown hair. I yearned to see her body, but I knew she was shy about that. Never dressed to tease, she showed very little of her curves in public.

"Say it again, Alan," she whispered, slipping into my arms, her lips grazing my collar bone.

"Mrs. Alan Hammonds."

"Are you sure? It seems so fast..."

"I was sure after our first date. I've never felt anything close to what I feel for you. I took this long to save enough for the ring. I love you, Becca."

Her body pressed against mine, and my fingers fluttered across the smooth expanse of her back.

"I love you too, Alan. More than I can believe. I'm gonna be the best wife in the world." She rolled onto her back, pulling me on top of her. "Make love to me, Alan. Tonight, and forever."

I was trembling with need. I moved between her legs, my knees between hers. Under the covers I tried to find her opening, rubbing against her.

I recalled my limited experience. Three girls before Becca. Relationships of 14 months, 5 months, and two weeks. I held myself up with one arm, my turgid shaft in my opposite hand, pressing against her.

"Lower," she said softly.

I tried again, and felt her hand come down to join mine, her soft fingers finding the crown and moving it slightly.

I groaned, and exploded tremendously all over her, unable to stop cumming for several seconds. I was devastated, humiliated.

"Oh God, I'm sorry, so sorry Becca. I couldn't help it..."

She giggled, pulling me down and kissing my lips firmly. "I think it's great that you can get that excited over me. I'm a stick, I know it, but you don't mind, do you?"

"Mind? You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"You really do believe that..."

"With all my heart and soul. Raving beauty, inside and out. I'm the luckiest man in the world to be here with you."

She kissed me again, her lips soft, tender, gentle tongue swiping across my lips. I opened my mouth tracing the edge of her teeth, rubbing against her tongue.

She pushed me off gently, and pushed the covers back. "Alright, Mr. Lucky, let me clean up, and we're gonna try this again. We'll keep trying until we get it right. I'm not going anywhere, are you?"

I shook my head, and caught my breath as I saw her naked for the first time. Firm small breasts protruding from her chest, small hard nipples begging to be tasted. Narrow waist, the line of her rib cage curving sensually around her abdomen. The swell of her hips, daring to be held. The small triangle of dark brown hair, a promise of pleasures beyond belief. Those long slender legs, which seemed to go on forever. I moaned softly, feeling my cock hardening.

She looked back at me, smiling. "Like what you see?"

"Love it. Love you. God, Becca I love you so much."

* * *

Becca was irritated. If he was going to work late, he could at least do it on the nights she was going to be out. She felt a little guilt at the thought. She left him alone two nights out of the week, yet when he did it, she felt bitter.

When he walked in, she knew something was wrong. He couldn't look at her. He apologized for being late. She got up to greet him, and he looked like he was going to avoid her.

"Alan," she said softly. "It's after 10:00."

"I'm sorry. The meeting ran over," was all he said.

She moved toward him, hugging him. "I hate those late meetings."

He responded stiffly, his arms lightly wrapped around her.

Becca felt the wrongness, and it hit her like a ton of bricks. He smelled of a woman. Perfume and...sex? Had he gone to a strip joint? It wouldn't have been the first time, but he'd always told her about it in the past.

"I'm really tired, dear. I just want to take a shower and hit the bed."

She pulled away slowly, her heart thumping like a sledgehammer. "Of course. I missed you, that's all."

He nodded. "I miss you sometimes too, you know."

She felt the dig for what it was. He never gave her a hard time for her late nights. Not until now. She made a decision. Tomorrow night would be her last. She hoped it wasn't too late.

* * *

It wasn't his last. The following week, he was out late with clients twice. Becca knew it was a lie. He didn't meet with clients after work more than a few times a year.

He didn't comment when she told him her Bridge club split up, but he was attentive when she stayed home, instead of going out. He took her to bed that night, loving her with an intensity that filled her with fear. She fell asleep in his arms, and almost died when she woke and felt his sobs, as he cried, holding onto her tightly.

She hadn't seen him cry in years. Not since his father died. Tears rolled down her own cheeks. She didn't respond. Didn't turn to hold him. He had too much pride for that. She pretended that nothing was happening, that she was asleep, praying that whatever he was going through was temporary. That their marriage wasn't in the trouble she feared it was. Had her little harmless deception driven them to this?

By the third week, Alan escalated things. He saw Amber three times, and stayed overnight, on a Thursday, not even coming home. He went straight to work from the hotel, wearing the same clothing as the day before.

Becca called Sandra after the latest 'meeting' call home.

"Who's this client he's going out with?" she asked.

"I...I don't know," Sandra admitted. She didn't want to get in the middle of things. She knew something was going on with her boss, and hated what she feared he was doing. It didn't make sense. He and Becca were the perfect couple. The ideal. Obviously in love, raising a beautiful family, never a hint or rumor of trouble in their marriage.

"Three times this week? What kind of client requires evening meetings three times in one week?" Becca snapped.

"He doesn't tell me anything, Becca," Sandra explained. "I swear I don't know anything. He leaves early, and tells me he's going to be at a meeting. That's all."

"Anyone else at these meetings? Any office floozies making lots of late night outcalls?"

"No. It's nobody from here. No way."

"I'm not going to put up with this. This has to stop," Becca practically screamed.

Sandra was almost in tears herself. "I don't know what to tell you, Becca. I hate it too. He's changed. He looks like he's miserable. In pain. I don't know what he's doing, but I could swear the guilt is eating him alive. He never smiles anymore, no jokes around the office. He's been a complete bear."

* * *

Alan was anguished. He'd expected a confrontation. Something. He couldn't afford for it go on much longer the way it was. He'd have to take things up a notch.

Becca took my hand, a mischievous grin on her face. She pulled me over to the chair, and gave a push against my chest. I sat back heavily, naked, fresh from the shower. She was wearing her hotel robe, and she undid the waist tie, and opened it up.

"I've got a surprise for you, husband mine," she teased.

"I love surprises, Mrs. Hammonds," I laughed.

"I'm sure you'll love this one." She leaned forward, pressed her soft lips against mine. She moved lower, kissed the middle of my chest and dropped to her knees in front of me.

The honeymoon so far had been crazy, passionate, wild. I had finally had a chance to adore that amazing body of hers. We had only been awake for an hour or so, and I still couldn't believe she was mine.

Her face moved down, and looking up at me, she held my soft cock in her hand, and took it in her mouth. All of it. I felt her gentle suction, and caught my breath.

She pulled away, stretching me out, then sucked me down again. By the fourth or fifth time, I was stiffening.

My new wife peered up at me shyly. "I...I've never done this. Tell me what to do."

I caressed her soft cheek. "You're doing wonderful. Do what you want. Seeing you doing that is the most exciting thing I could imagine."

She giggled, pursing her lips and kissing the crown of my cock. "You like this?"

"God, yes."

She sucked me again, bobbing her head up and down. I had already come for her once that morning, a lazy loving when we first woke. I couldn't believe how excited I was for her already.

Becca's hand joined her mouth, stroking my shaft, while her tongue teased the head of my cock. I groaned in orgiastic agony, my legs trembling.

She pulled away, smiling. "Damn. You really do like this, don't you?"

"Don't stop," I gasped. "Please!"

She laughed, and took me back in her mouth, her head bobbing up and down rapidly. I groaned, feeling the tension in my balls. "I...I'm gonna..."

She looked up at me, her head slowing, my cock still in her mouth, her hand moving faster.

"Becca," I gasped, and gave up trying to resist. I saw her eyes open in surprise, nose flaring, as I erupted in her mouth. She looked down, her hand moving slowly, milking me dry. I felt the suction of her swallowing, then again. She pulled off me slowly, wiping her mouth.