What Comes Around, Comes Again
Once burned husband, has a clearer path
There are plenty of stories with this theme and I've enjoyed most of them. In most, the wife either leaves her hubby without an explanation or so much as a word, while in others, the husband and wife agree on her going off with some band or celebrity, only to discover her infidelity later.
One of my favorites is
"My Wife and the Singer"
by Cagivagurl. I liked the outcome because in that one the man did what he had to do to keep and maintain his self-respect. The wife suffered plenty of humiliation, maybe even more than the husband, and they still ended up together in the end - at great cost to both.
I wondered how it might work if the loving wife told her husband beforehand. Would it have any impact on the couple's outcome? Of course, many of you die-hard LW readers already know the answer to that. Could it change how the husband dealt with the wife or not? Well, that's what we'll find out. No BTB here, but the cheater ends up worse off in a real-world way.
Relax! It's just a story, people.
One minute and thirteen seconds. That's how long it took to go from hero to zero. That's the length of time it took for my marriage to go from bliss to total shit. At least that's what the phone's screen said: 1:13.
I looked up at my friends, Brad and Julie Carmody. Julie's look showed guilt, remorse, and pity. Brad's showed utter shock. They talk about people's mouths hanging open and his lower jaw was doing just that. While he struggled to say something - anything, I made a decision.
"I've got to go," I said, turning away, suddenly embarrassed beyond words.
"Oh no, you don't," Julie shouted to my back. "You're not going anywhere without us. We won't leave you alone right now."
>>>>
Brad and Julie had been good friends for the last two years. Brad, longer than that. I knew of Brad in high school. He played football for his high school as did I. Then we ended up at Central Michigan together but playing basketball instead, as walk-ons.
I made it halfway through my sophomore year before running out of money. I discovered college wasn't for me anyway, so I dropped out and moved back to our small town. Then, I got a job at the Department of Public Works and decided to finish my associate degree at a local community college. Brad finished his two-year degree in almost three years. We stayed in touch after I left and he came to visit on holiday.
Kristy worked as a cocktail server for a friend of mine. Friend because he owned a bar in a Detroit suburb and I spent a fair amount of money there. Jimmy owned the Burning Barn, a great little feel-good bar, with a stage and live entertainment five nights per week.
Other than a lower tooth that was twisted a bit sideways, Kristy was a goddess in every way. And that smile only made the abnormality make her look even cuter. I called it a pouty smile and coupled with the cute little lines at the corners of her mouth, she was intoxicating. Despite her effect on me, I steered clear of her. I knew the owner, and all the other staff, and spent many of my nights sitting at the bar just bullshitting and getting to know them. Kristy was usually one of only two servers on duty and that's the way Jimmy liked it. Just enough service and slow enough to keep consumption levels down, reducing the chance of drunken skirmishes.
I wasn't there to find love. I'd had that - sort of - in high school. Stacy and I went steady for our last three years before graduation. Smooching and holding hands were all we did together, and she told me as much from our first date, but I always thought we had something special.
But after graduation, Stacy got a new car - a present from her parents - and a job for the summer before heading off to the University of Wisconsin. Both of us agreed to break things off so neither of us got hurt by the other but hopefully to remain friends.
No, I was at the bar to hunt. I had my own fun in college, too. I knew eventually I'd meet a girl I wanted to settle down with. So, it was now or never to sow all those wild oats.
There were plenty of oats. Occasionally, I'd home in on a pretty girl. Other times, I'd sit at the bar and wait for an unlucky girl to approach me. Plenty had 'struck out' during the evening and approached me. My success rate was over fifty percent so I guess I had a right to gloat.
A year after I started hanging out there, I stopped for fuel at an all-night gas station after the bar closed. As I was finishing Kristy pulled in. We chatted for a few minutes. I suppose I chatted, to be honest, because she was busy flirting. With the cold fall temperatures, we decided to pull over by the air and water and I jumped in her car. We talked for a short time then she seemed antsy.
"Why don't you ever come on to me?" she asked, straightforwardly.
"Well," I scrambled, "I guess it's because you work for Jimmy and I'm not there to cause problems."
Okay," she said, dragging the word out as if unsure about my response. "How about you take me to dinner on Friday night? Jimmy doesn't own my free time and I promise I don't bite."
There was that damned smile. I probably would have canceled a vacation to take her out. Sitting so close to her, even in the early morning darkness, I saw plenty of good reasons to ask her out.
Kristy was more petite than I'd realized. She was probably five-two and one hundred pounds dripping wet. She was well-proportioned too. Tiny little suck-able boobies, a perfect ass, a diamond-melting smile, and a snappy wit that was making me hard.
After dinner that first Friday, Kristy wanted to 'go somewhere.' She didn't mince words, although she didn't exactly say 'let's go fuck.' We went to my apartment and her clothes were off seconds after I closed the door. The thing was, I'd had my back to her, so when I turned around, I was shocked to see her standing there with a half-shy, half-evil grin.
"Come to Mama," she said seductively. I wasn't so sure. The entire event was happening way too fast for me. But I wasn't some prude and I was certainly aroused by her flawless body. I knew she was seven or eight years older as well, however, something about that comment didn't sit well.
No matter. I came into her embrace and, as I went to kiss her, I saw indecision in her eyes. She recovered quickly though and we went at it hard.
Hard may be the wrong word. After the rough kissing and her desperately undoing my pants and zipper, I found myself less than up to the task. Everything about Kristy was way too aggressive.
"What's wrong?" she asked incredulously as if her ministrations should guarantee an erection in all men.
"I don't know," I stalled. "Maybe we can just take it a little slower."
"You don't like me?" she asked, again with attitude. "Or are you intimidated?"
"Maybe the latter," I said, shyly.
"Oh." She said it so matter-of-factly, that I couldn't get a good read on what she was thinking. "Well, then, let's make out some more. I'm just horny as fuck."
That did the trick but the way we started was so - strange - I had trouble throughout the sex trying to square it all. I felt as though one little guy would appear on each of my shoulders any minute and start giving opposing advice.
Kristy had three orgasms before I finally had my first. She immediately went about the task of resurrecting me with her mouth. It took a while. Again, Kristy seemed put off but didn't say anything as she continued to blow me.
Our second sexual encounter happened four days later with the same aggression on her part and the same results for me. It became so awkward that Kristy started getting dressed and asked me to take her home. The drive was even more uncomfortable.
At the bar, the next three times I was there, instead of seeking me out, she did her best to avoid me. Finally, I cornered her coming out of the restroom.
"What the hell, Kristy?" I questioned her. "What did I do to make you treat me like shit?"
"Me?" she answered sanctimoniously. "I didn't think you liked me." She looked at my crotch instead of my eyes. "I can tell when I'm not wanted."
"Jesus," I looked at her like she was nuts. "It has nothing to do with that. I wanted to get to know you, not all the superficial shit we talk about at dinner, maybe ease into it, you know? Not this wam-bam-thank-you-mam thing. I feel like you're in some kind of hurry is all. Like I'm on the clock."
Kristy's look softened considerably but she looked guilty. She looked everywhere but at me, obviously trying to figure out what to say next.
"Yeah," she told me apologetically. "About that. Listen, I like you. You're handsome and funny. You know, a good sense of humor. You make me hot. The truth is, I have a little one at home. My son is two and my roommate watches him while I'm at work or out. So, we're both on the clock, as you put it."
The third time was a charm, but it almost didn't happen after our chat that night. I wasn't looking to become a stepdad and I was already leery of her. We took our time, did it right, and the sex was spectacular. After that, she started calling me, not just waiting for me to show up at her workplace.
Kristy and I went out three more times before the end of the month but, on my birthday, we went to a nice restaurant. When we got into my car after our meal, she looked at me with puppy-dog eyes and asked, "Can we go to the bar and dance for a while, before we go to your place?"
"Why do you want to do that?" I asked, surprised. "You're there five nights a week."
"I know," she said looking down. "But the Diversions are playing tonight. I love their music. You know I'm not allowed to dance while I'm working my shift. Just for a while, please?" It was all too weird. Not her question but the way she got into character. The aggressiveness turned to passivity with the snap of a finger. It didn't take much for me to capitulate, though.
We found a table, fortunately. It was only nine and since we'd gone to an early dinner, there were still a few tables open. The place was filling up fast. We ordered a drink and Kristy's co-worker ribbed her about not being able to stay away. A few minutes later, Kristy and I were on the dance floor. I knew the band well since they played at the Burning Barn about once every ninety days. They were good, too. The lead singer was a short dude with a shaggy haircut. He looked like an all-American boy, except for his creepy little mustache.
I got a bit antsy as he kept staring at Kristy. He was singing his ass off, the band killing it, on a fast rock song, and still, he never lost sight of her on the floor. She'd look at him, too, until it seemed to dawn on her she was dancing with me.
We danced to about six songs in a row, and I'd been hoping for a slow one when the band announced a fifteen-minute break. Kristy and I went back to our table, mostly to ensure we still had one, and then I went to the restroom. I'd been holding it for about three songs by then. When I returned, Kristy was nowhere to be seen. I sat down and Kristy's co-worker came walking by, stopping to ask if we were ready for another drink. I was overheated and ordered a beer and a glass of water, then told her to bring Kristy another of whatever was in her glass.
