Too Great a Temptation

Howard's story

It was deep in the night, but sleep was eluding me.

I just lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to absorb everything I had learned over the previous three days about my wife, and her incredible illicit sex life.

So many conflicting emotions were doing battle in my mind that fateful Monday night, as I thought about Shelley and what she had done to me, to us, for the past seven years.

I hated her for what she was doing behind my back with a number of people; I loved her because she was still my wife, my partner, the mother of my children and a doting grandmother. I wanted to throw her out of the house for her adultery; I wanted to hold her close and try to understand why she had done this. I wanted to divorce her and let her lovers have her; I wanted to reconcile and work to repair the damage to our marriage.

I had finished going through Shelley's logbooks earlier that evening, tracking her activities through the end of 2004. At the end, the person I saw on those pages was not the woman I had been married to for 31 years.

And, yet, I thought back to her call from Sunday, and the call I had gotten earlier that night, right before I went to bed. She had sounded a little more like herself, more upbeat, more energetic, than she had on Sunday.

But the mere fact that she had called again – making it two nights in a row that she had called me from a business trip – was highly unusual. It's like she sensed that something had profoundly changed in our relationship, and she was trying to desperately reassure me, and maybe herself, that she still loved me.

Whatever the motivation, the upshot was that she would be home the next day. That meant I had to decide how I wanted to treat my discovery.

Did I want to confront her with it immediately? Did I want to wait and gather more information? And the big question was how did I want to treat her physically?

I'm almost ashamed to admit that when I read earlier that Monday in her last logbook about taking on a parade of men at some pool party in California, my cock got hard as a board, and it was all I could do to keep from whipping it out of my pants and jacking off right then and there.

I rarely masturbate any more, but the idea that my Shelley had become nothing but a slut for these men drove me crazy – in every sense of the word.

But as I lay there in bed, I realized that while I had been undeniably aroused by what I'd read, it was only in the abstract. I knew in my gut that I didn't want to actually see it. That would be too painful.

Finally, I realized that I had to think logically, and decide what I was going to do. I got up, fished a beer out of the refrigerator, sat at the kitchen table and thought about the decisions I had to make.

The first thing I decided was to not tip my hand just yet. So I returned the logbooks back to where they had been, trying to put things back like they had been before I discovered them.

As I thought about what I'd read, my cock stiffened, and as I squeezed it, I decided that one of the first things I was going to do when Shelley got home was fuck the hell out of her. I was going to have at least one more time with my hot wife before I cast the fate of our marriage to the winds.

I wanted to try and prove to her that I could give her what she wanted, what she needed, if she'd just give me a chance.

I think that's what hurt as much as anything, the fact that she hadn't bothered to tell me she had a problem with our sex life. She'd just gone out and found other lovers without giving me an opportunity to fix whatever was wrong with me.

And that led to another line of thinking, my role in her adultery. I'm not absolving her of the blame here. She was the one who cheated, and she apparently did so quite willingly. She was the one with the overactive sex drive, which had seemingly driven her to the depths of debauchery.

But I realized that nothing happens in a vacuum. I acknowledged that I had let myself go physically, that I had let our sex life become boring, that I had allowed the passion between us to wane.

I understood that if we were going to rebuild our marriage that I had to make some changes in my life. I needed to learn from Shelley exactly what she wanted from me, and to take whatever steps were necessary to give her what she needed, to be the kind of man she wanted.

Once I got to that point, the rest of it fell into place. I think once I decided that I was going to make changes in my lifestyle, I had subconsciously made the decision that I was going to try to save our marriage.

But I wasn't going to give Shelley a pass. If we were going to stay married, it would be under my conditions.

For one, I wasn't going to continue sharing my wife. She was going to have to recommit herself to me and me only. I felt like I had earned that right through 31 years of being her husband. She was going to have to choose between me and her lovers. Period.

Second, she was probably going to have to quit her job, or at least find another position in the company that didn't involve travel. It had become screamingly obvious from her logbooks that Shelley couldn't say no to temptation. Maybe I was kidding myself, but I believed that if she wasn't alone on the road that she wouldn't be tempted and that she would more than likely remain faithful to me.

Finally – and actually this was the first thing she was going to have to do – she had to go with me for some serious marriage counseling. We both needed some answers from a professional as to the question of why she'd been compelled to cheat on me, plus her willingness to seek help would give me an early gauge as to how serious she was about saving our marriage.

After I got to that point, a real sense of serenity enveloped me, like I knew the important decisions that I needed to make had been made, and that one way or another things were going to come to a resolution. As I did, I thought about Shelley and how we had met.

Her family had moved into the neighborhood around 1968, I guess, when she was 12. Her older brother Richie was a year ahead of me in school, and I had seen her around the pool at the neighborhood club, but I really hadn't taken note of her. She just another skinny little kid.

Her mother and my mother had subsequently become friendly, and they had gotten into a bridge club together. So when my folks hosted a New Year's Eve party at the end of 1970, when I was 16, her parents were invited, and they brought Shelley with them for some reason I don't recall.

As it happened, we were the only teenagers at the party, and we felt terribly out of place. But it wouldn't have mattered. The moment I looked into her big blue eyes, I was hooked.

She had matured a lot from the last time I'd seen her, earlier in the summer. She was still a little gawky, like her body hadn't quite caught up with her height, but she had already developed her looks and personality, and we hit it off like gangbusters.

We spent most of the rest of the party in my room playing albums and talking. I had always been a little shy around the girls my own age, but with Shelley it just seemed like I was always at ease. We could talk about anything, and we always seemed to have common ground.

Apparently I said all the right things, because when I called a couple of days later to see if she wanted to go to the mall with me to see a movie, she accepted quite eagerly.

It's funny, when I think about it now, how we could talk and communicate so well when we were kids, but as adults, we couldn't talk about the one thing that matters more than anything else.

We've been a couple ever since that night, but as she got older and became the knockout she is today, I always felt a little inadequate, especially after I went off to college, while she was still in high school. I knew what some of the boys at our school were like, and I knew Shelley was going to attract attention.

And, of course, now that I had learned that she'd been cheating on me, all of those fears and worries came flooding back. I wondered whether I could ever measure up to her expectations, whether I truly was the man she wanted.

I wondered, too, whether I'd ever be able to trust her again.

I finally went to bed and got a fitful night's sleep, then as soon as I arrived at work that Tuesday morning, I looked in the phone book for a marriage counselor and made an appointment for the following Monday.

That would give us time to discuss any matters that needed discussing between us, and it would set the course for the rest of our lives...

Shelley's story

I have always believed that momentous events carry with them a certain aura that can be detected by those who pay attention.

I was that way when I got pregnant with David, not long after I graduated from high school. I just knew, almost from the moment it happened, that we'd made a mistake that night.

I should have been on birth control, but I was scared to ask my mom – and heaven forbid that my dad should have found out Howard and I were having sex.

So I'd been on the Catholic method, counting the days of my cycle, and I knew in my gut the night of my graduation party that I was pretty close to my fertile time. But I needed Howard to love me that night in the worst way possible, so I took the chance.

I also got a premonition about my promotion. I wasn't considered the top candidate for the job when it came open and I applied for it. But after my interview, I just had this sense that I'd done my homework and that I had the job.

And it was that way the weekend Howard discovered my logbooks, and learned what I'd been doing on business trips for the past seven years.

Truth is, that was one of the worst weekends of my life, for a lot of reasons. Not only did Howard stumble upon my secret life, but that was also the weekend I lost Jim and Sid's account.

Actually, I should be a little clearer about that. I didn't just lose their business; I threw it in the trashcan, poured gasoline on it and completely torched it – with ample justification.

Funny how events seem to always intersect at certain times. I had been rocking along still doing well in my job, still enjoying this unbelievable sex life with my lovers in other cities, still with Howard blissfully ignorant of what was happening.

Then, in the space of a couple of days, everything collapsed around me like a house of cards.

I had flown out to California on Friday to begin renegotiating their contract, which expired at the end of the year. I really didn't foresee any problems with it; we'd really done pretty good business out there with them, and I thought we'd simply roll over the terms.

I met with Jim that afternoon, but not Sid, and that's when I got my first glimmer of trouble. Looking over their contract proposal, I saw that they wanted some serious reductions in the prices, some major concessions from our end. I looked at Jim in a puzzled way and asked him what the deal was.

"I'm really not sure," Jim said, shrugging his shoulders. "That's the way Sid wants it. He thinks we need some significant alterations in the contract, is how he put it."

"Well, take this back to Sid and tell him it's unacceptable," I said. "I mean, we can work with you, but we can't afford this."

The next day, we met Sid and another man I'd never met for a Dodgers game, and Sid was quite rude. He had no comment about the contract, but he kept making these lewd remarks about me to this friend of his, and they all three seemed to find it all hilarious.

I guess I was feeling down or something, because I drank quite a bit more than I intended to, and they eventually talked their way into my room.

Then it went like it always did. They all three fucked me, Sid first, then his friend and Jim was last. I did have a couple of orgasms, but I just wasn't as into it as I normally was, and as soon as they were done, they simply dressed and left

After they were gone, I felt really, really used. I thought about how they'd just more or less coerced me into sex, how they'd fucked me with very little regard for my feelings and how they'd left without so much as a thank you. It was like they just expected me to roll over for them, and I had – like always.

And I thought about Howard, good old lovable Howard, sitting home alone faithfully minding the store. Howard, who still worshipped the ground I walked on, and always had. Howard, who I had betrayed.

I realized that I had a man at home that most women would kill for, a decent person who loved me, and here I was in a hotel room 3,000 miles away from that home, with the cum from three men I really didn't much like oozing from my well-fucked pussy.

I lost it then, and I cried bitterly, like I hadn't cried in years. I let my emotions run free in a way that I hadn't done in a long, long time.

Then, when I finally composed myself, I made a decision. I was through with Jim Pearson and, especially, Sid Huguet. They'd fucked me over for the last time, and they'd not get another chance. Surprisingly, I slept better than I had in days.

The next morning, I got a call from Sid. He said he was sending the limousine to come pick me up, that he was having a party that he wanted me to attend. I listened in stony silence, then I broke the news to him.

"Call him up and tell him to turn around," I said. "I'm not coming. I remember the last time you brought me out there. I was bruised for a week after you guys brought all of your friends around. No, Sid, I've been doing a lot of thinking, and last night was the final straw. I'm through being your little fuck toy. From now on, any contact we have will be strictly business."

Sid was momentarily stunned, but he recovered quickly – and venomously.

"You fucking whore," he hissed into the phone. "You flatter yourself. You're just like every other cunt that gets into business. You think just because you have a pussy that you can do anything you want. Well, here's the deal, bitch. You'd better get in that limo when it arrives or there will be hell to pay. Capiche?"

"Fuck you, Sid," I said icily, and hung up the phone.

Sure enough, the front desk called up a few minutes later to say my ride was there, and I told the clerk to send him back without me, that I wasn't going anywhere with him.

Later, I caught a cab out to Malibu and spent the afternoon just walking down the beach, sitting at the cafes and doing a lot of somber thinking.

I had an eerie feeling that this little blowup wasn't the only thing happening around me. That's what prompted me to call Howard, after I'd had dinner – alone.

Truth is, I missed him, and I just wanted to hear his voice. He's always been my port in every storm, my comforter, the one constant in my life that I can depend on. Amazing, isn't it, that I should do my dead level best to throw that away.

I was dressed early the next morning, because I had planned to go back to Jim's office and resume our talks. As I reached the lobby, I went to the front desk, as always, to ask about any messages. The concierge said a package had been delivered for me the previous night.

It was a manila envelope, and I felt sick to my stomach, because I had an inkling of what it contained.

Sure enough, I opened it, and there was a brief note from Sid resting atop a couple of dozen very clear, very explicit photographs of me in various stages of sexual conduct, with a variety of subjects.

I couldn't remember ever being photographed like that, but I must admit I got so out of control on most of those occasions that I wasn't aware of anything except what was happening with my body.

But they were very professionally taken, and I recalled several parties at Sid's where one of his buddies in the entertainment industry had been there. To my horror, I remembered that someone had mentioned porn in association with this guy.

Instead of being afraid, however, I was pissed – outraged is more like it – and I knew my decision to cut them off was the right one, even though it was woefully too late.

The accompanying note simply said that unless I wanted my superiors and my husband to see these, and others like them, that I should be at his house later that afternoon for a little "action," as he put it.

I intended to do no such thing. Instead, after I returned to my room with the envelope, I caught a cab to Jim's office, marched in – past his secretary's frantic objections – slammed the door violently and told Jim to tell Sid he could stuff his pictures up his ass.

I was going to turn right back around and walk out, but then I stopped, turned around and faced Jim Pearson, and if looks could kill, he'd have been dead on the floor.

"And Jim, you tell your asshole partner that if he even thinks about trying to blackmail me with those pictures that I'll have his balls for lunch," I said. "I'm very good friends with a U.S. Attorney, and we'll have a case against you two in a New York minute if you try to use them against me."

Then I walked out, got back in the cab and went back to my hotel. When I got back to my room, I called the office and told them negotiations were not going well. I told Bill that they were trying to lowball the contract, and that the personal relationship between Sid and me had deteriorated, without elaborating.

Bill said he understood, and for me to keep him posted. Like I've said, I've never gotten any indication that they've learned about what I did with my clients during down time on these trips, and I'm not sure if they care. I worked hard when it was time to work, and I played hard when I was off the clock.

So I didn't know how successful Sid would be if he even tried to blackmail me, but it didn't matter. The fact that he'd insinuated that he'd try to blackmail me was proof enough of his evil intentions, and there was no way he was going to get away with it. Their business wasn't worth it.

With the whole day on my hands, I decided to try to drum up some business, since we were going to have to find a new distributor in Southern California at the end of the year, if not sooner. I set to work calling around, and by the time I left the next day, I had about a half-dozen contacts with companies that were very interested in doing business with us.

In the midst of these calls, I got a call from the front desk. It was Jim, and he asked if he could come up and talk to me. I told him I'd meet him in the hotel bar instead.

It was really kind of pathetic, to watch this ex-jock try to cajole me back into line. As he gave me his spiel, I realized how weak this man really was, that Sid had him like a puppetmaster.

Gone was the hail-fellow, well-met guy who'd attracted me nearly five years earlier. Jim was sweating and nervous, and he went through about a half-dozen gin and tonics while I sat across the table from him calmly drinking a soda.

Finally, I told him how it was.

"Jim, we're through, OK?" I said. "We can tear up the contract now and go our separate ways, or we can continue like we have until the end of the year. Bottom line? Sid's a leech, a sponge, and I'm not dealing with him any more. If you ever get the balls to cut yourself free of him, give me a call. Otherwise, goodbye."

"Shelley, please, you don't know what he's like," Jim begged one final time.

"And I'm telling you this, as a friend," I said. "I don't care what he's like. Someday he's going to try this shit he tried on me with the wrong people, and you both are going to end up in the desert with a bullet behind your ear. I'm not fucking around. Blackmail across state lines is a federal offense, and if I hear any more about those photographs, the feds are going to come for your ass, pronto. Now, I have work to do. Goodbye, Jim. Have a nice life."

Then I got up and walked out, back to my room, and I didn't look back.