Hi Folks, this one is a bit different. I've been reading a lot more DG and Hermit lately and Barney-R's influence is in there too. So in this one I wanted to concentrate more on the family aspects of the story than on revenge or action. The next one is probably going to be a bit sci fi, so for those of you who hate sci fi, here's your life preserver. I also took a break before this one. School and injuries kept me busy. The next one will be finished much more quickly. SS06
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I've always prided myself on the fact that I go out and run, four or five miles, five times a week. I consider myself to be in very good shape for a man of my age. And although I'll be hitting the big Four Oh on my next birthday, I don't feel over the hill.
I've never been a believer in the supernatural or any of that type of shit, but walking home that day, even though it was only a mile seemed to sap all of my strength. With every step I took, something inside of me just seemed to tell me to stop. It was almost as if the fates were trying to protect me. And truthfully, if I had done what my senses were screaming for me to do, I might never have found out.
Everything inside of me told me to call home and have my wife Brenda come and pick me up. For the first time in my life, my Mustang had failed me. Nope, it hadn't broken down. I had just run out of gas. It was all my fault. My car has a display that tells me now many miles I can go before the tank is empty. The problem is that I can usually go about five miles past that. So in my hurry to get home, I ignored the warning that the tank was empty.
It was supposed to be a very special day. You see, twelve years ago that day, I had done what most of my friends had considered the dumbest thing I'd ever done. At the age of twenty eight years old, I had married a divorced thirty five year old woman with three kids. I hadn't cared what anyone had said about her or her past. All I thought about was the way she made me feel. When Bren and I were together, I felt like I could fly.
Sure, there were some issues early on. Her kids were an early source of friction. At, fourteen, eleven, and nine years old, they were old enough to remember their biological father. It had taken years of crying, and screaming and yelling, mixed with, kindness, compassion, and just plain old letting things roll off of my back and refusing to let things get to me, but we made it work.
The first two years had been the worst. Then there had been a couple of years of resignation but after four years, I didn't realize when it had happened, but we were a family. We were a strong family.
The baby of the bunch, Shannon, had accepted me from the very first day. Even when Brenda and I were only dating, she would climb up into my lap and demand to be hugged. Then it was homework help and Daddy/Daughter dances. After the first one, while she was still only nine years old, she had told me that I was going to have to marry her mother so I really would be her daddy.
That had been years ago and plenty of water had run under that bridge since then, but I felt more like Shannon's father than her step-father. In fact, Shannon had begun calling me Daddy, before the wedding and had never stopped.
The other kids were slower about switching from Dale, to Dad, but I couldn't blame them. I think that most of us, want our parents to be together. I think most of us would resist someone who tried to step in and take the place of our mother or father, no matter what. It was only natural. But again, that had been years ago and I was excited about the present I had gotten Brenda for our twelfth anniversary.
We were going on a cruise. I wanted to knockBrenda's socks off. She had never really travelled much. Our Honeymoon had been the first and only time she had ever been on a plane. It was also the only time she's ever left the state of Michigan. She was going to love the cruise.
So as I trudged that mile in the hot summer sun, all I had on my mind was how much happiness my present was going to bring her. And how surprised she was going to be.
As I got to our block, the first thing I noticed was the busted ass Dodge pickup in my driveway. I'm a car guy. And although I do find the F150 an attractive vehicle, this, I repeat busted ass Dodge pickup was butt ugly. It was rusted out along the bottom and had several holes in the body work.
The bed of the truck also had several huge gaping holes in it. Another interesting feature was that the rear shocks were gone. The fenders in the back were practically rubbing the tops of the worn out tires.
The rear window of the cab was gone and replaced with a sheet of plastic wrap. The glass was also missing from the rearview mirrors on both sides. The hood was held down by wire. I could also see that the truck's exhaust pipe was also hung by pieces of wire. I laughed as I walked up onto my porch.
That was when the joke ceased to be funny. The entire house smelled like sex. And the tell-tale sound of bed springs left me no doubt as to what was going on. I climbed the stairs as silently as I could. The door to our bedroom wasn't even closed.
I guess with all of the kids out of the house, there was really no need to expect anyone to be home during the day. No one except for her stupid husband, that is. And he would be at work busting his ass for her until five p.m.
There was something visceral about the scene on the bed in front of me. It was something that porn, no matter how artfully shot could never match. No scene of perfectly built women being screwed by athletic men with huge dicks could ever come close to how nasty this was.
No matter how you slice it, porn always seems ... fake. It just seems like a movie. Brenda is not beautiful. She doesn't have huge tits. She doesn't have a pneumatic ass that pumps up and down at sixty or seventy cycles per minute. She doesn't have long, slender legs, or a tiny waist. Brenda is your typical, average, housewife who's forty seven years old and has born three kids.
Most of us, who've been married for a long time, know our mates. We know their quirks. We know their turn offs and their turn ons. We know what pisses them off and what makes them purr. And the woman on the bed was purring. Neither of them could see me. They had their backs to me. He was fucking her from behind and she was screaming like there was no tomorrow.
There is something about watching a middle aged woman get fucked. There's something incongruous about it. You know that you're watching someone's mother, spread her legs and thrust her well used pussy back at the guy who's fucking her with everything she has. It just seems wrong.
She had a light coating of sweat covering her body and she was wiggling her hips like a stripper. She pushed back against him meeting his every thrust and grunted with each movement. He slammed his pelvis against her as if he hated her and roared as his upper thighs flexed as he started to cum.
She was doing that same little mewling sound that she makes just before she cums. She was even saying the exact same corny ass lines she uses with me.
"Ooh baby, you're the best," she screamed. "You always were."
"Better than him?" he asked.
"Can't you just enjoy what you're getting and leave it at that?" she asked.
"Yeah, but from the looks of things back here, you've been letting him get more than you ever gave me," he said.
"He took his time getting into my ass," she said. "He made it feel really good. All you ever did was pounded away at me like some slut."
He was slowing down. Maybe it was because he was thinking about what she said. But from the looks of him, and what I knew from what I'd heard, he was an older guy. So maybe he was just running out of gas. I took out my iPhone and snapped off a few pictures. They were high def pictures so even if I didn't get her face in them, her tattoos would be enough to identify her.
"I was always so desperate to get inside of you," he said. "You were always the best fuck I ever had."
"Yeah, you always got in, got off, and then got away from me. And all with equal quickness," she spat.
"Okay, let's make a deal," he said. "Next time, I'll try to be romantic, and you let me take a crack at your ass."
"And next time maybe you could manage to ask about your kids," she said, leaving me no doubt if I'd had any about who he was.
"And next time, the two of you cando it someplace other than my fucking house," I said calmly, stepping into the room. Their eyes opened in shock.
"Dale, Honey, this isn't what you think," she said. Even he turned and looked at her stupidly.
"Oh, that's good," I said. "Because what I think, is that you're in our bed, fucking the asshole that abused you for years and ran out on you and your kids twelve years ago."
"Dale," he began. "This is no threat to what you guys have. I'm glad Brenda is happy with you. This was just ... I mean ... this doesn't mean anything. It's never hurt you before and..."
That told me even more about the situation. Not only had she fucked her ex husband, she'd done it before. She had probably screwed some other guys too. There was no saving us.
"Dale, I'm sorry," she said. "I love you. This was just..."
"I agree that you're sorry," I spat. "You must be about the sorriest woman I ever met. But you're not as sorry as you'll be in a few minutes orwhen this piece of shit gets bored and leaves you again. And I don't think I need what you consider love. If this is any indication of what love means to you, I can do without it."
"Hey, Dale, calm down," he said. "This didn't mean anything. I already told you..."
Before he could finish his thought, I reached into my dresser drawer and pulled out my gun. "Andrew if you say another fucking word, I'll blow your brains out," I said. "Just get the fuck out of my house. Don't stop to get dressed. Just run out of here before I cap your ass."
"But Dale, I'm too old to..." he began. the loud clicking sound as I cocked my gun started him moving towards the door. He hesitated as he got near me, but I just pointed the barrel of the pistol at the door and he took off.
"Wait a minute," I said. He froze in his tracks, expecting a bullet at any second.
"You're forgetting something," I said.
"You told me not to dress," he whined.
"I was talking about her," I said.
"But Dale," she whined. I cut her whining short by shooting just once into the ceiling. As a few bits of plaster rained down on us and they took off. I watched out the window as they ran naked to his truck and then realized they had no keys. They looked back at the house, debating whether or not to try to come in and ask me for the keys. Then they took off running away from the house.
As soon as they left, I collapsed. I gave in to the pain and despair that I had been keeping in check since the first moment I had seen them. I was angry, I was hurt, and I was emotionally drained. All I wanted to do was just lie down and go to sleep. I think that I was hoping that it was all a dream.
But I didn't. I went out to the shed and grabbed the gas can that we used to fill up the lawn mower. Then I looked around the house until I found Brenda's keys. I drove her car, a Dodge Dart to the gas station up the road. I got one of the boys who worked on the station to drive back to my Mustang with me.
Terry was a really nice kid. Brenda and I often socialized with his parents.
"Terry, are you still dating Mary Jenkins?" I asked.
"Yes sir," he smiled.
"Do you have a car yet?" I asked.
"No sir," he said. "That's why I'm working at the station. I need to save up money for a car and for spending money for when I go to college in the fall."
