Three Tuesdays

Part One: Finding Out

The whole thing started when I went somewhere I'd usually never go. I'd just dropped one of our more annoying clients off at the airport, having listened to an earful of his complaints all morning, and I was in no hurry to get back to the office. It was a dreary Tuesday, and hard to get excited about an afternoon of reviewing contracts.

So I stopped off in a drab-looking bar/restaurant about a mile from the airport, intending to have a leisurely lunch and a beer or two before heading back to the salt-mines.

I was sitting in a booth, enjoying my beer and wondering why it was so hard to get a decent burger in this world, when my attention was caught by a couple coming into the restaurant. I watched as they settled into a booth across the room from me, sitting side by side.

The woman was a shapely blonde, wearing a short skirt that showed off her attractive legs, and a tight pink short-sleeved top. Her companion looked like a thug wannabe who couldn't quite pull it off. He was wearing jeans and a black leather jacket, but he was too skinny for the outfit and he couldn't really manage the swagger he was attempting.

You will understand my high degree of interest in this happy couple when I add that the woman was Shelley, my sister-in-law, and the guy with her was definitely NOT her husband, my brother Dave.

Worse still, they were clearly not just casual acquaintances. They ordered drinks from the waitress and were immediately all over one another, necking unrestrainedly in the booth. As I watched in shock, the guy slid one hand up her thigh until it disappeared under the short skirt. Shelley broke their kiss and let her head fall back against the back of the booth, sighing. I could see her hips begin to rotate in response to his probing.

The question wasn't whether I was going to do something about this—that was a given. The question was, would I be able to restrain myself from beating the shit out of both of them right here in the restaurant?

I'd never liked Shelley. I didn't like her when my brother started dating her, and I was pessimistic when he fell head-over-heels in love with her and announced, after just four months, that they were getting married. Dave was just 23, and I was sure he had no idea what he was getting into, but there was simply no way of telling him that. Shelley was the moon and stars to him.

To me she was a pretty, cheerful, somewhat shallow and selfish girl, not nearly as smart or as interesting as Dave himself. She was bubbly and vivacious, which my fun-loving brother adored, and it seemed to me that they both had the same favorite person: Shelley herself. He would do anything for her, and that's how she liked it. To my pleasant surprise the first three years of their marriage seemed to have been very happy—but the scene playing out 30 feet from me suggested that the happy days were over.

The asshole she was with now had his other hand on Shelley's breast, and was kissing her neck as he worked her over. Her eyes were closed, so she didn't see me approach and was startled—to say the least—when I sat down across the table from them and said, "well hello, Shelley, what a nice surprise!"

It was comical, actually. Her eyes popped open, and her asshole boyfriend pulled his hands off her and spun around to look at me. Her face was momentarily startled, then stunned, then truly shocked—her jaw dropped and she froze, staring blankly at me. His face held the same startled look for a moment, then turned annoyed.

Before he could speak I went on, cordially, "how have you been? How is Dave?"

Then, turning to the asshole and extending my hand, I said, "my name is Will. I'm Shelley's brother-in-law, her husband's brother."

His eyes went wide; he sat frozen, ignoring my hand. Shelley began to recover herself a little, babbling, "Will! What . . . what a nice . . . surprise! This is Robby, he's a . . . he's a friend from . . . an old friend."

"You have your fingers all the way up in her pussy there, Robby?" I asked, still smiling in a friendly way. "It looks like you were really getting her going!"

At this Shelley gasped; apparently she'd been hoping I hadn't seen what they'd been up to. Robby suddenly jumped up, mumbled, "I gotta go," and without even a glance back at Shelley walked swiftly out of the restaurant.

"Seems like a nice guy," I said casually to Shelley. "Why'd he leave so suddenly?"

Inside I was absolutely icy with rage. My brother adored this woman, would do anything for her, and this was how she treated him? Fucking around with some lowlife with greasy hair and a bad Matt Dillon mustache?

Shelley looked terrified; her face was white. "Will, I . . . I think you must have gotten the wrong . . . idea. We were . . . we were just . . . ."

Her voice trailed off. She had no idea how to end that sentence. I watched her for a minute before I spoke.

"You lousy, cheating whore." I kept my voice down, but I'm sure my fury was very obvious. "Dave adores you, gives you everything you could ever ask for, but that's not enough for you, is it? You've got to go fucking around behind his back with sleazy jerks like this guy? How long has this been going on, huh? How many other guys are you screwing? What do you think Dave will think about all this?"

"No Will! Please!" she grabbed my hand and clutched it desperately. "Please, please, you can't tell him—please! I'll do anything!"

I just looked at her. Not tell him? Not tell my only brother that his wife was cheating on him? Shelley was either dumber than dirt, or too stunned to be thinking clearly. Dave was my best friend, and had been since we were kids. I'd do anything for him, and even Shelley had to realize that.

I pulled my hand free of hers. "Why shouldn't I tell him? Doesn't he deserve to know who he's really married to?"

Her eyes were wild, and I could see her thinking frantically. "Listen, Will, you can't tell him! He'll be so hurt! . . . Will, if you don't . . . if you promise you won't tell him . . ."

I sat back with a smile. This should be good! What was she going to offer in return? To fuck me too?

Shelley seemed to decide something, and her expression changed. "Will, if you promise not to tell Dave, I'll tell you the whole story about Anne. She's doing it too . . . she's been cheating on you."

I laughed out loud. "That's good, Shelley! I wondered what you'd come up with, but I never thought it would be anything as far-fetched as that. I'll give you credit for imagination."

Shelley just looked at me steadily. "I'm not kidding, Will. She's been . . . seeing this guy from the health club. For at least a couple of weeks now."

Her certainty rattled me a little; but I knew it was impossible. Anne and I had been together since our sophomore year at Kenyon College. We'd moved in together after graduation, and gotten married a year later. That made 7 happy years of marriage, and 10 years together all told.

Anne was devoted to me. She was sensible, kind, thoughtful, and the most honest person I knew. And she loved me. I was sure of it, as sure as I was of my own love for her.

Shelley leaned forward. She must have sensed my confusion. "I'm telling you the truth, Will. Anne told me about it last week. She said he . . . he was very large."

I watched her face, trying to pull my own thoughts together. Shelley had gotten over her own terror, at least for the moment. She looked calm and in control—like someone who knew what she was doing, rather than someone spinning a wild and desperate tale.

I still couldn't believe what she was saying. But suddenly I couldn't dismiss it, either. At first Anne had been pretty reluctant about joining the health club, and for a couple of years I'd used the exercise room much more than she had. But lately she had become a regular, working out three times a week. And there had been a couple of odd moments at home lately, moments when she seemed to avoid my eyes, or to be a little pre-occupied as we sat at the dinner table.

I looked back at Shelley, who seemed to be waiting for my next move. There was no way I would conceal her adultery from Dave, but she didn't have to know that. and I absolutely had to know the truth about Anne, one way or the other.

"All right, Shelley," I said slowly. "Maybe we can come to an agreement about this." I thought some more, then went on.

"I'm not about to let Anne run around on me. If you can help me get the goods on her, then I won't tell Dave what I've seen this afternoon. That is, if you fucking SWEAR you won't see that asshole Robby again—or any other man besides Dave."

Her face glowed with relief. "I swear, Will—you have my word on it." Like that was worth anything to me!

"What do you want me to do?" she asked me.

"I want to hear all about Anne's affair from Anne herself—in her own words. I'll give you a tape recorder to hide in your apartment. You invite Anne over, give her some wine, and make girl talk with her. Get her to tell you all about it. I want to know who the guy is, when and how it started, how often she's been with him, and why. WHY she thinks it's OK to be fucking some other guy behind my back."

As I spoke to Shelley I realized that I was already half-way believing her crazy story about Anne cheating. The idea infuriated me.

Shelley was nodding. "OK, Will, I can do that."

"You'll probably need to soften her up—make sure you tell her the details about your affair too, so it will feel like a real intimate conversation. By the way," I continued sarcastically, "is Robby the only one who's been getting into your pants, or are there others?"

"He's the only one!" she said quickly, flushing, and I didn't believe her for a minute.

*** *** *** ***

Twenty minutes later I was driving back to the office, thinking grim thoughts about the end of Dave's marriage and the possible end of mine. You might think my first call would have been to Dave, to tell him what I'd seen Shelley doing—but I knew I couldn't do it.

I had always been the steady older brother, and Dave the charming and outgoing younger one. He had lots of girlfriends in high school and college—though none of them lasted all that long—because he had no shyness and could talk to anybody. One of his college roommates said once that Dave "could talk the pants off a snake". It actually makes no sense, when you think about it, but we all knew what he meant!

But for some reason, when Dave met Shelley everything changed. Instead of being the charming, confident guy who had women pursuing him, he became the lovesick schoolboy. Within a month or two Shelley had Dave completely mesmerized; he was determined to marry her, and no one could even attempt to talk him out of it.

Dave absolutely worshipped Shelley—to him she could do no wrong. I'd once made the mistake of mildly criticizing her about a tactless remark she'd made to our mom; he blew up and wouldn't talk to me for a week. So I knew I couldn't speak to Dave until I had the tape. He simply wouldn't believe she was cheating unless he heard the words from her own lips.

I realized that I was hoping against hope that somehow Shelley was just lying or wrong—that Anne was faithful to me—but it seemed less and less likely. Shelley could have lied to me out of desperation, but then I would just have been even angrier when I learned it was all bullshit. When I got to my office I took out a pad and made some notes about what steps I'd have to take if the worst turned out to be true: credit cards, selling the house, title to the cars, etc. How I hoped I'd be able to throw that sheet of paper away in a few days!

When I got home at dinnertime, Anne was cheerfully humming in the kitchen as she put food on the table. She greeted me with a big hug and a kiss, and seemed the same loving wife I'd been happy to see at the end of the day for the past 7 years.

I knew I'd have to conceal my suspicions for a few days, play the innocent husband, but it wasn't easy. I loved her, but underneath the surface I was furious and hurt—and not sure whether I should be. We chatted amiably through dinner; but during dessert when she mentioned she'd worked out at the health club that day I couldn't resist a little probing.

"You've been so conscientious about your workouts lately, sweetheart," I said casually. "Are they giving out free ice-cream down at the club these days?"

She laughed, but I noticed a slight flush come to her face. "No, honey—I've just been enjoying how good it feels to have a good, sweaty workout, then shower and come home to my loving husband. Plus, a few weeks ago those black slacks you like were starting to be a bit too tight for me—now they fit perfectly!"

She beamed at me affectionately, and I was struck by how lovely she looked and how much I cared for her. God help her if she really was fucking around on me! And God help me too....

*** *** *** ***

Never mind what the court calendar officially said; my marriage actually ended exactly one week later, on another Tuesday.

Shelley and I had set it all up. I got a small tape recorder for her to hide in her living room, and she arranged for Anne to drop in for lunch on Tuesday afternoon (Anne had a day off from work, and Shelley doesn't have a job).

I sat all that afternoon in my office, pretending to work, thinking only about what the women were talking about and what it would mean for my life. At 4:30 Shelley called and said, "we're all done—Anne's just gone home."

"Did she talk to you about it?" I asked, still praying this was all a mistake.

"Oh, yes!" Shelley giggled. She was obviously a little drunk. "I told her about Robby, and she told me about Marion. ALL about Marion!" She giggled again. "It seems he is a REALLY big fella!"

I realized I was squeezing the phone so tight my fingers ached. "All right," I said. "I'll drop by in twenty minutes."

When I got to Shelley's she met me at the door with the tape recorder in her hand. "Now remember, Will, you promised . . ."

"Yes, Shelley—he won't hear a word from me."

"And you can't let Anne know that I taped her—ever! Or else she'll be furious, and she'll tell Dave." I just nodded, then turned and left.

That evening was one of the most painful of my life. I knew I couldn't listen to the tape until Anne was asleep; until then I had to keep pretending to be the loving husband. Anne was still a little tipsy—she told me she'd spent the afternoon with Shelley and had a lot of wine—and what's more, she was amorous. No, make that horny.

As soon as the dinner dishes were cleared she was dragging me towards the bedroom, saying "honey, have you got a little something for me tonight?" in a flirtatious tone.

Could I do this? Did I want to do this? It occurred to me that it might be the last time I'd ever have sex with Anne. and I was still hoping, hoping against all reason, that she might not have been unfaithful.

So I followed her into the bedroom and we fucked. It wasn't making love, at least not for me. My heart was too torn and my mind too worried. Anne seemed oblivious, though; she was eager and responsive. She began by sucking me, which she often resists, and when we got around to screwing she came more easily and quickly than usual.

For me it was bittersweet, pleasurable but incredibly sad. We rested for a while in one another's arms, then did it again. A few minutes later, Anne was fast asleep, snoring gently on her side next to me.

I sat in the guest room, the door closed behind me, and listened to the tape. The first few minutes of conversation between Shelley and Anne were breezy and casual. Shelley kept the wine flowing, and after a little while told Anne she had a "confession" to make. She went on to talk about her affair with the asshole (Robby).

It was quite clear that Anne knew about the affair already—Shelley was just giving her the juicy details to soften her up. In fact, Shelley did her job beautifully. She even confessed with a laugh that Robby was just the latest, not the best—that had been a guy named Ellis, but unfortunately he'd moved out of town. Anne giggled and pretended to be shocked, but she seemed to be enjoying the story.

Listening to the sleazy story didn't have much effect on me. I already knew what Shelley was, and the explicit details would just make it that much easier to convince Dave that she really had cheated on him. I waited anxiously for what I knew was coming, resisting the urge to fast-forward the tape. Finally Shelley turned the conversation to Anne:

"So, sweetie, let me hear YOUR story now!" She giggled. "All you've told me is that you met him at the health club—and that he's, ah, 'well-endowed'!"

My body froze at the sound of Anne's voice, as she laughed and said "oh yes, he's amazing. By far the biggest one I've ever seen—or felt!" She giggled and went on. "I didn't think it would even fit inside me at first. But oh my God, does it ever fit!"

At that, both women laughed hard. I stopped the tape and sat back in my chair. My marriage was over; did I even want to hear the rest? I could let my lawyer listen to it.

I thought for a while, then switched the machine back on. I might as well face it all now—get the whole story out, deal with all the anger and pain, and begin to figure out what the rest of my life was going to be like.

"How did it start?" Shelley was asking.

"Well, the first thing I've got to tell you is that I never meant to cheat on Will. I still can't believe I'm doing it, and I feel terrible about it. He and I are so happy together, and I know he'd go crazy if he knew about it. I guess I've just got a bad case of BCF!"

She laughed, and I heard Shelley say, "BCF? What's that?"

Anne laughed again, and said, "I'll explain—just give me some more of that wine.

"You know I've been going to the health club for a couple of years now. Working out really bores me, but I just didn't want to get saggy and have Will start to lose interest, you know what I mean? Anyway, a couple of months ago I started seeing this new trainer working there—very hot. Not that tall, but broad shoulders and amazing muscles. His name is Marion of all things, can you believe it?

"He flirts a lot with all the women, helping them set up the machines, racking weights for them, spotting while they lift, and so on. One day I saw him talking quietly with Patty McAllister, a woman I used to work with. She's a redhead, really stacked. Well, I watched them chatting, then he disappeared into his office at the back. A couple of minutes later I happened to glance around, and I saw Patty quietly go into the office.

"I smiled to myself, since it was clear what was going on. But I still didn't think much about it until later. I'd finished my workout and was starting to change in the locker room when Patty came in. Boy, did she ever look well-fucked! She had that dreamy-eyed look and a vague smile, all happy and exhausted at the same time.

"I said, 'Hi Patty, what's up? You look awful happy," and she grinned at me and said "OH yeah. I've got a bad case of BCF!"

"I said, 'BCF?' and she giggled, looked around to make sure no one could hear her, and answered, 'Big Cock Fever!'.

"Then she sat down and told me all about her and Marion—how he was a sensational fuck, had a nine-inch cock, really thick, and it drove her crazy. He'd been flirting with her, and then one day got her hot enough to talk her into his office. Since then they'd been screwing whenever she could get to the club. She said he was incredible, the most crazy sex she'd ever had.

"Needless to say, that got my attention—but I still didn't plan to do anything about it. Patty's divorced, she can play with whoever she likes. But I'm a happily married lady!

"Still, over the next couple of weeks I got more and more curious about Marion, responded with more interest when he flirted with me. He'd brush against me or touch my shoulder while 'helping me' on the machines, you know?