Hey Folks, Happy Thanksgiving,
I wrote this one with the idea that it would be a nice long Holiday read. It's a bit different from my usual Turkey Day stories. Believe it or not this time the turkey surives. There is no flying food in this story. It is a long one, so those of you who just need a quick two page story should steer clear of it. This year as usual, I'm thankful to have all of you out there reading this and al of my other stories. I'm thankful for my wife and my family and Mustangs. I'm also thankful for Barney-R editing this story and all of the other ones, while writing great stories of his own. Those of you who haven't read his lates one, should look for it. Anyway, here we go. SS06.
The tingles started in my pussy and radiated outwards until they filled my entire body. I was lying on my side with him behind me. He lifted one of my thick legs over my head to give him access to my core. I slammed my big ass against him just as hard as he slammed his dick into me.
The wet squishy sounds of body hitting body filled the room. His grunts, and my moans were barely louder than the smacking sounds that we made every time we slammed into each other.
"Fuck me harder," I moaned. "Come on give it to me."
He was puffing away as if he was on the verge of exhaustion. "Come on yourself Sarah," he wheezed. "I've already fucked you three times. I'm dead."
"You're only twenty years old," I said. "Besides, the second time was in my ass. That doesn't count."
"How the hell does Mr. Miller keep up with you?" he gasped.
"My husband loves me," I said seriously. "He would push himself until he had a heart attack to please me if I needed him to. But I think he's just in better shape than you are. He runs a lot."
"Well maybe you should get home and wait for him to come home and finish you off," he wheezed. "I'm drained. And I do have a girlfriend that I occasionally screw."
"You already told me that she hardly ever gave you any," I said. "What are the chances that she'll be in the mood tonight?"
"We'll surely your iron man husband will be ready to go all night when he gets home," he said. "If he floats your boat so much, why do you need me?"
"Get over yourself," I snapped. My anger flashed so quickly that it surprised even me. "Dennis, makes love to me. What he gives me is romantic and emotional. He gets me off without thinking about it. I LOVE HIM ... like there's no tomorrow!"
"I'm sorry Sarah," he said. "I didn't mean anything by it."
"No Brad," I said. "You're right. This has gone on for far too long. You just reminded me of something that I guess I forgot."
"What are you talking about, Sarah?" he asked. "Don't take me seriously. I'm just exhausted. You're the best thing that ever happened to me."
"Brad, I love my husband. You were only a distraction. Sometimes I feel old and fat. Sometimes I need to just have some no-strings fun, or to try some wilder, weirder sex, you know? But I've been feeling kind of weird lately. It's time to stop," I told him.
An hour later, I was at home. I looked around at the house I loved, and I smiled. My life was awesome. I wondered why I wanted anything else. I showered and made myself fresh. I decided to give Dennis a very special night.
I needed to hurry though, he was due home in about an hour, and if I was freshly showered when he got home, he'd wonder why.
I showered and cleaned myself inside and out. Then I started on dinner. Almost like clockwork, I heard the sounds Dennis coming up our driveway. His Mustang's exhaust system was easy to pick out.
"Great job, Honey," I heard Dennis say. He was always complimenting me on something or other.
"Thank you, Daddy. Your car is so much fun to drive. It's almost like all I have to do is think about what I want it to do," said a voice I recognized as my sixteen-year old daughter Chelsea. "Can I drive your car when I take my test, next week?" she asked.
"Anything for you, Sweetheart," he said.
"Frankie is going to be sooooo jealous," said Chelsea. She bounced her way into the kitchen and grabbed a bag of chips and a soda.
"Chelsea, no snacks, dinner will be ready soon," I told her.
"Mom, I want to eat with Daddy. And he's going out to run, first," she said. Dennis went straight up the stairs without coming in to see me. That was unusual. A few minutes later, I heard him come down the stairs and go out the door. I knew that he was headed for the local park. There were running trails and a track there.
A little over an hour later, he came in and headed straight to the shower. He got something to eat and headed out to the garage. One of our neighbors came over, and they were doing something under the hood of the Mustang. I finished cleaning up the kitchen and went up to our room. I watched TV for a couple of hours while I waited for him to come to bed.
He poked his head in after taking a shower and told me that he'd be in later. He had something to do on the computer. I pulled the comforter off of me and showed him my tight and sexy new lingerie.
"That's a nice color," he said. I was very pissed off.
"You can stay down there on that fuckin' computer all night, Dennis," I hissed at him.
"Fine ... I will," he said. I have no idea what was going on with us. What had just happened was so unlike us that I was having trouble figuring it out?
For the rest of the week, we barely spoke to each other, and Dennis seemed to be fine with it. On Friday, I went to my doctor's office and got the shock of my life. I was pregnant. It couldn't be happening again. Our son was twenty years old and away in college. Our daughter, the Apple of her daddy's eye, is sixteen years old and will be going away in a year and a half. At thirty-nine years old, my child rearing days are behind me.
I was sure that the baby had been conceived when Dennis, and I went up to his parent's cabin in the mountains. There's something about that fresh mountain air that does it to me every time. Chelsea and her brother were both made in that Damned cabin.
I had him. My husband Dennis aka Super Dad would step up to the plate as soon as he discovered that "WE," were having another baby.
I waited triumphantly for his return, knowing that whatever funk he was going through would be trumped by my news. As I thought about it, I remembered several times in the past when we'd gone through things like this.
The last one was at the dream cruise a couple of years before. He'd gone to several of the vendors there and discovered that his motor was out of date. All of the newer Mustangs that had the 5.0 motors were running a 4 volt system. Even though he had more horsepower than most of them, he was running a 3 volt motor, and a lot of the new mods wouldn't work on his car.
He pouted like a baby for nearly a month before announcing to me that he had to buy another car for the sake of his fragile emotional state. I asked him how much he expected to get for the trade in on the old car, and he looked at me like I had pissed in his cornflakes.
Dennis had a plan in mind that there was no fucking way I would go along with. His plan was to rebuild our single-car garage or possibly add to it to turn it into a three-car garage. He would then buy another Mustang, keeping the old one and having the garage space for a third one sometime in the future. He was out of his God Damned mind, and I told him so.
"Dennis, we have two kids to put through college," I reminded him. "You are not Jay Fucking Leno. You have two choices here. Choice A is to trade your Mustang in and get a new one. Choice B is to put on your big boy pants and love the car you have. Stop being a follower and realize that you don't always have to have the latest greatest tech out there. You sit there and ooh and ahh over vintage Mustangs. Well ... Part of being vintage is having your car get older. As long as YOU love it, that's all that matters."
He sulked like a baby for another two weeks and finally decided that he loved his car too much to give it up. I was sure that the news of the baby would beat out whatever he was upset about.
When he came through the door preluded once again by the sound of his high-powered Mustang's exhaust system, I could hardly wait to spring the news on him. But once again, he'd stopped off and brought Chelsea home.
"Daddy, I could have beaten him," whined Chelsea. "It was a friggin Honda. And that greasy cowboy driving it was all hat and no cattle. That would have been..."
"That would have been your first and last ticket," said Dennis. "Neither of you noticed the cop car behind the Burger Queen. The Urban cowboy may have wanted another ticket, but you don't even have your license yet."
"Dad I want this car," said Chelsea. She had her serious face on. "You wanted a different car a while back. This is your chance to get it."
"Chelsea, I am not giving a five hundred horsepower Mustang to a sixteen-year old girl," he said. As I watched, Chelsea stuck out her bottom lip and her dad's face changed. I knew that my husband was about to start bargaining. He simply couldn't bear the thought of our daughter, or our son, for that matter, being unhappy. And Chelsea had been manipulating her dad since she was still wearing diapers.
"Chels, I really love my car," he began. "So I really don't need a new one. Maybe we could start a family tradition you know... ? Maybe we could get you your own Mustang?"
"The same color as yours," she asked. He grudgingly nodded.
"But you're getting a v6," he said as if he was being tough. She frowned and nodded her head as if she had just been forced to eat liver.
"Convertible," she threw in.
"Used," he said, holding out his hand.
"Certified used," she said shaking hands with him.
"We'll start looking online tomorrow," he said. "And do some test drives Friday afternoon."
"I love you daddy," she said hugging him. It was like watching her pat her puppy on the head because he'd learned a new trick. I had no doubt that my daughter was going to get exactly what she wanted. And I was proven right less than a second later.
"Chels, you can have a new car if you want it," he said. Her declaration of love for her dad had weakened him even further.
"Dad, we already made a deal," she said. "Besides the new ones are ugly," she threw over her shoulder as she skipped up the stairs.
It was all I could do not to laugh. My sixteen-year old daughter, who didn't even have a license yet had just talked her dad into buying her a Mustang. I had to get Chelsea on my side. But, I really didn't need her. The new baby would take care of that. For the next eight months or so I would be treated like a queen.
Besides, Dennis and Chelsea had always been extremely close. Getting her to side with someone other than her dad was like trying to stop the sun from shining.
While I'd been lost in my thoughts, Dennis went upstairs. He was probably getting ready for his run. Another hour wouldn't kill me or change the impact of my news.
Two hours later, Dennis had come back from his run and had taken a shower. I could hear Chelsea upstairs in her room, singing like no one could hear her. I was sure that, by the way, she argued a point; my daughter could be a great lawyer. She would, however, never be Taylor Swift.
Dennis was at the computer again, and as I looked over his shoulder, I noticed that he was looking at houses. I smiled.
"Honey, I know we said that now might be a good time to downsize. What with the kids both being in college soon, we simply don't need a house this big anymore," I told him. "But ... Things have changed, Daddy. I'm pregnant again." I expected him to be shocked. I expected him to jump up and hug me, or jump up and just stare at me. What I didn't expect was for him calmly to move on to the next house on his list as if I hadn't said a word.
"Dennis, don't you have anything to say?" I asked loudly.
"I was just trying to look at all the angles and possible permutations of the situation, to figure out my position," he said. "But there is one thing I'm wondering, because it's the key to everything."
"What are you wondering, Honey?" I asked. I thought he was joking with me. I thought that at any moment, he would scoop me into his arms and hug me.
He turned around and looked me in the eye. His face was flat. The man I had loved for most of my life was looking at me like a car part. He was evaluating whether or not to reuse me in his engine or to replace me. My husband looked at me like I was a spark plug. Then he spoke, and it was the worst thing I have ever heard in my life.
"I was just wondering whether the baby is mine or Brad's," he said. "Naturally, it makes a big difference."
"Huh?" I said. My brain was refusing to function. I had no coherent thoughts. "Who," I asked stupidly.
"Brad Johnson; you know the college boy that you've been fucking for the last five or six weeks. We live in a small town, Sarah. No matter how sneaky you are, sooner or later someone is going to see you," he said. All I could do was to stand there barely keeping my balance.
"When I found out, we were done. I started planning out the rest of my life without you. I moved some money around to make things easier for the kids and to lessen how much money we have. I did it for two reasons. The first is to make sure that our kids will come out of this financially stable. The second reason was to lessen how much money I would have to give you," he said.
I wanted to do so many things at that moment. I wanted to reach out to him and have him take me in his arms and tell me that everything was going to work out.
I wanted to say something, but my mouth refused to work. And even if it did, I had no idea what to say.
"Of course, course your baby probably isn't mine," he said with as much confidence as he had everything else. "For the past month or so our sex life has been dwindling down to nearly nothing. I've used every excuse and tactic I could not to touch you. And when I did, I never ejaculated in your vagina. I did what they say women have been doing for centuries ... I faked it. Apparently, you were lying when you swore you felt me cumming, because I never did."
"But ... But I..." I began.
"You probably remember me shooting sperm all over your face like you were a whore," he said. "It was better than putting it inside of you. In a way, it's really good that you've discovered this. It saves me the trouble of dealing with you for any longer than I have to."
"You don't understand," I whined. "This meant nothing. It was..."
"Don't care," he said. "I have no interest in why you did what you did. If you were bored with us, or wanted someone new, you had every opportunity to let me know. At least, you could have given me the chance to compete for you, but you never did. That indicates to me that you were simply tired of being with me."
"No, you've got it all wrong," I said.
"There are clearly two versions of whatever is going on here," he said. "You can believe whatever bullsnot that floats your boat. But I have to look for logical evidence."
"We've known each other for more than twenty years," he said. "You've always claimed to know me better than anyone else in the world, right?"
"I do," I said.
"So surely you must have known what would happen when I found out, right," he asked.
"I ... I ... Never thought that you'd find out," I said. "Dennis, I love you. I swear it. This was a mistake. We all make them. I'd do anything for you."
"Okay, drop dead," he said. "That would make things a lot cheaper and a lot easier."
"Anything except that," I said.
"Then just sign the divorce papers when they come tomorrow," he said.
"What divorce papers," I asked in shock. "Who said anything about a divorce? Dennis this isn't a reason for anything permanent," I said. "We can work this out. I'll never do it again."
"That's how I feel about sticking my dick in your hole," he said. "And since I will also not live the rest of my life without sex, the two of us need to find other partners. People around town seem to think that I'm a pretty good guy. So I'd kind of like to be in a relationship with whomever I'm screwing. And since nice women don't screw married guys..."
"We can fix this," I said. "In a few years, it'll be like it never happened."
"Nope, it won't be," he said. "I am older than Brad, but then so are you. Neither one of us is anywhere close to being old enough to think about Alzheimer's though. So I won't be forgetting this. And I could never trust you again. I think it's best we go our separate ways."
"No, I'll fight it," I told him.
"I'm going to let you continue to live in the house until Chelsea goes away to college," he said. "Unless, I end of with custody of her; if that happens, I'll move back in, and you'll have to find a place to stay. As soon as you get and sign the divorce papers, you'll get a check for half of our assets. It should be enough for you to live on until your boyfriend graduates.
I don't give a bubbly fart what the law says," he continued. "I am giving you half of everything we've accrued since we got together. You can keep your car, but you will have to make the payments. I refuse to pay you any type or form of support. After all, it was your cheating that destroyed our marriage. Morally, you should have to pay me, but the only thing I want from you is your absence.
I will of course continue to support my daughter and our son. I had them DNA tested, and they ARE my kids. I've set up accounts for both of them. Their college is paid for, and they have money in their personal accounts as well. You, on the other hand, have more than enough money to live on for a few years, but you need to get your ass in gear and come up with a career. Maybe you could become a sex therapist or a hooker or something.
If you do try to take me to court to get something else out of the divorce, it will prove to me that you didn't really love me, you were just after the money. So I'll disappear. With my degree and my experience, I can get a job anywhere in the world. Name changes are a lot cheaper than supporting fat women who cheat on their husbands. On my way out of town I'll put the videos I have of you rutting with Brad on the Internet and paint the web address on the side of the church. Come Sunday, your ass will be famous. You'll be the talk of the town.
On the other hand, take the money you're getting, live here in the house or get yourself an apartment and live your life. We can both be happy. We can both live here with our heads held high. We'll just tell everyone that things didn't work out. We just grew apart. If we run into each other, we'll just smile and keep on going ... Or maybe we won't smile."
"Come in and have a seat, Jaime," she said. I walked in and sat in the chair that she indicated. I had no idea why I'd been called to her office.
"Jaime, do you like it here?" she asked while still looking at a stack of papers.
"Yes Ma'am. I do," I said. "I've been working very hard to prove that."
"Yes Jaime, you have," she said. "You are very good at your job. It's your uhm ... Interpersonal skills that I called you in to speak to you about. Let me get to the point. Half of our employees think that you're a ray of sunshine. The other half thinks that you're covered in the stench of hell."
"No one appeals to everyone, Ma'am," I said. "Personality conflicts can..."
"Wow, I was hoping for a quick and tidy, "I'll do my best to win them over, Ma'am," she said. "But I can see now that this goes deeper. I don't want to pry, Jaime, but are you a lesbian?"
"No Ma'am," I said quickly and probably more emphatically than necessary.
"Jaime, there's nothing wrong with it if you are," she said. "It would certainly have absolutely no bearing on your work here. We could really care less."
"I'm not Ma'am," I said again.
"Were you raped?" she asked.
"No, not even ever close to it," I said.
"We're you involved in an abusive relationship?" she asked.
"No Ma'am," I said.
"Jaime," she said. Her voice got softer. "Why do you hate men?"
Two hours later, I was still bristling from the conversation. I liked my job. And truthfully I didn't hate men. I just didn't trust them. Men were messy, dirty, sniveling, deceitful beings that stole your heart and your trust and then left you beaten up and broken.
I had promised my boss that I would find something to calm my nerves and help me deal with my anger issues. I'd remembered how much I used to enjoy walking in the woods with my aunt when I was young.
I'd heard that walking was supposed to be great exercise. So I put on my tennis shoes and headed for the park near my house where there was a trail I could walk.
Something about being out in nature was so calming. The sun and the gentle fall breezes did a lot for my mood. By the time I'd gotten back to my car, I was feeling better. I'd even left my cell phone in the car, so I wouldn't be interrupted.
As soon as I got my ass on the seat it started to ring. Looking at the screen all the peace that I'd worked so hard that afternoon to gain, evaporated.
"Hi Mom," I said.
"Wow, it sounds like you're walking to your own execution," she said. "Do you hate talking to your family that much?"
I didn't bother to answer. I knew she'd keep talking.
"Are you coming home for your father's birthday party?" she asked.
From there the conversation went downhill. My mom threw in several statements on how close my Dad, and I used to be. She tried to use the guilt strategy on me when I explained to her that I REALLY did want to be there for Dad's party, but that I REALLY REALLY had to work. I told her how two REALLY's trumped one REALLY, so I wouldn't be attending the party; as much as I wanted to.
With my good mood shattered; I went home or at least back to my house. I'd lived there for six months, and it still didn't seem much like a home.
I'd never met any of the neighbors and to be honest; a lot of my stuff was still in boxes. I have no idea why I haven't unpacked yet. Maybe that's why the place just feels like a box to keep my stuff in, instead of a home.
Two weeks ago, I'd been ... Well I'd felt like I was the luckiest woman on the planet. It had nothing to do with my looks. I'm average at best. I mean I'm pretty but no one with the exception of my husband was going to go crazy over me. I do have juicy boobs and a big butt, but so do a lot of women. When I was younger, guys were into those super skinny model types. Nowadays, men like women with some curves.
I hit the jackpot twice. One way was in timing. I was thinner during my teens and twenties. But after having a couple of babies and looking towards forty, I simply never lost the extra weight from child birth. I'm not a cow. I weight a healthy one hundred and fifty pounds, with Double D boobs and a mouth-watering, jiggly rear end.
The second way that I hit the jackpot was when I picked the guy I married. Dennis is the sweetest man I have ever met. He loves me no matter how I look or what shape I'm in. For most of our marriage, he's always told me that all he wants is for me to be happy.
I guess that a big part of the human condition is that we always want more. I had everything I have ever wanted, but I still reached for more. Maybe it was a mid-life crisis. Maybe it was the onset of the change. Maybe it was simple vanity.
There comes a time in a woman's life when she hits her late teens or her early twenties and realizes that she can pretty much have anything she wants. She realizes that most men will do almost anything to get some of that little hole between her legs.
She realizes that all she has to do is put on some high tight shorts and a low-cut blouse, and every man in any place is going to look at her. It's a gyp though, because it really doesn't mean anything. You don't have to be especially pretty for it to work. You don't have to be well built either. Men are just hard-wired with pussy on the brain. And if there's the smallest chance that they'll get some, they'll make fools out of themselves.
Women get used to having that power and then one day ... It's gone. One day, a woman realizes that she is simply invisible ... Even to men. At first, it didn't matter. But I think I just hadn't realized it was gone. I would visit friends and notice that their sons barely noticed me. I started trying to tease them, but it didn't matter. I was no longer tempting or sexy.
My husband still couldn't get enough of me. I could tempt HIM if I was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. All I had to do was bend forward. It didn't matter if I was facing him or facing away from him. Dennis would go crazy.
But it didn't matter. He was supposed to. After all, he had married me, so he obviously found me attractive.
And then one day, it happened. I was working in the yard, and I heard the doorbell ring. I went to the door and there was a delivery guy there. It was Brad. I remember him because he was a year older than my son and had helped him learn the plays when he played high school football. As we greeted each other and reminisced while I signed for the package, I noticed that his eyes never left my boobs.
As he looked at them, my nipples rose like he was controlling them with his eyeballs.
"Brad, you ... You're staring," I said breaking the uncomfortable silence.
"God ... I wish my girlfriend had..." he mumbled. I don't think he realized that I could hear him. We were both out of our minds.
"Big titties..." I finished for him. He nodded.
"I was going to say a body like yours," he said. "When you bent over to put the box down I almost..."
"Almost what," I giggled.
"Ruined my shorts," he said.
"Well, you can go home tonight and work it all out on that girlfriend," I laughed. I was really happy. And I was kind of excited myself. My pussy was throbbing.
He just laughed at my words. "What's so funny?" I asked.
"What you just suggested," he said. "I'm lucky if I get any once a month. And even when I do, it has to be a fucking special occasion, and she just lies there like she's some precious diamond that I'm privileged to touch. Then I have to kiss her ass for the next month or so."
"But I thought..." I began.
"That people in their twenties were fucking up a storm... ?" he said. "Everybody I know tells me how lucky I am. But none of them is engaged to a "good girl." Mary wants everyone to think that she went to the altar a virgin. So she gives me just enough to keep me interested. And one of the problems with younger women is that a lot of them haven't really learned to enjoy sex much.
It's funny; most guys think they're blessed if they get a pretty girl. But in a lot of cases, it's more of a curse. Pretty girls can get any guy they want. So they don't have to work for it or give it up. The girls who aren't so pretty will fuck you for a happy meal. And they've usually had sex enough that they enjoy it too.
Mary and I have been together since her eighteenth birthday. It took me almost a year to get her cherry. She was nineteen years old and acted like I had killed her. We were already engaged, and she made it seem like we had committed the crime of the century. We've been together for three years now; we're getting married next year when I graduate, and I have never gotten a blowjob. I hope your husband realizes how lucky he is."
There was another long silence, and then I pulled him into the house. We were all over each other. I didn't even have the sense to close the front door. Anyone could have walked in and saw us fucking on the sofa.
At the time, I lied to myself. I told myself that it was a one-time thing ... A moment of madness brought on by temporary insanity. I told myself that it had simply been my ego's way of finding out if I was still attractive to men other than Dennis, younger men, especially.
I told myself that it would never happen again and that everyone was entitled to a one-time mistake. I told myself that Dennis would have forgiven me since it had only happened once in our more than twenty-year marriage. I told myself that a one-time fling was not worth ending a marriage as strong as ours over. I knew that we would have a very rough patch, but we would undoubtedly make it through. And all of that was if Dennis found out.
When he came home that night, he was just as loving as ever. He was just as happy to see me as ever. I did my best to drain his balls dry. And I noticed that what Dennis and I did was different from what I'd done with Brad.
It was just a different flavor. Neither was actually better they were just different. I concentrated on being a good wife and a good mother, but about a week later, Brad was at the door and from the way my body reacted when I saw the look in his eyes, I knew that we were going to fuck again.
It took about seven weeks for me to quit and unfortunately, the day I quit was the day that Dennis quit me. I was totally wrong about the way that he reacted to finding out. Dennis seemingly turned off his emotions when it came to me.
He treated me like a math problem, and he was very good at math. Dennis would not even listen to any talk of counseling or anything involving us getting back together. When I got a lawyer, Dennis simply looked at him and explained to the man that if he wanted to get paid, he should get on board the divorce train. There would be no chance of a reconciliation, so counseling wouldn't work.
If there were any attempts to do anything to delay the process, Dennis would simply leave. In leaving he would scorch the Earth, not only would he leave me penniless; he would leave my reputation in tatters. We worked very quickly, and the whole thing was settled in less than two weeks after Dennis confronted me. My head was still spinning as I tried to figure a way out of it.
Of course, things didn't go the way either of us planned them. Dennis finally agreed to pay me alimony, but only for twelve months. After that I was literally on my own. I would also receive child support for Chelsea, but only until she left for college.
That was where things went to hell for Dennis. We had each campaigned really hard for custody of Chelsea, and she made no bones about telling the judge that she wanted to be with her dad. The problem was that Dennis hadn't settled on a house yet. It was actually taking him longer to close on a new house than it took for our divorce.
Since Chelsea lived with me, I got child support in addition to my alimony. In a year and a half when Chelsea left for college, I had to move out of the house. The house had belonged to Dennis' family, and he would not only not sell it to me; he wouldn't allow me to stay there a day longer than Chelsea did.
Dennis had finally found a house to his liking, and he was renting it. According to Chelsea, it was a nice house in a nice neighborhood. Dennis had very liberal visitation rights, and Chelsea had started setting up her room there as soon as Dennis had begun to furnish the place.
Dennis would also pay me child support for the new child, when the DNA proved it was his. I already set up an appointment to determine paternity as early in the pregnancy as possible. I was betting my future on the baby. If it was proven not to be Dennis' child, life as I knew it would be over.
As quickly as Denis had given me the broom, Brad had distanced himself from me even quicker. For the nearly two months of the affair, I had fooled myself into believing that although on my part the fling was a purely physical thing, that it meant something more to Brad.
I found out just how stupid I was when I went to tell Brad that I was pregnant, and there was a very small chance that he might be the father.
I tried to go up to him after he got off work. He pretended that he didn't know me. He'd been with some of his coworkers, and I thought that maybe he wasn't allowed to have personal visitors on company property.
I decided to wait until his friends were gone to tell him.
"Who was the old chick you were just talking to," asked one of his coworkers.
"She's just a friend of my mom's," said Brad. "It's kind of creepy the way she always comes over to say hi to me."
"Well she's got a big ass and some nice boobs," said his friend. "But she's so old they're probably rusted shut." I guess I expected Brad to defend me or at least to change the subject. But he joined in.
"Her tits probably drop to her knees," he said. "And her ass is probably covered in fat. I wouldn't fuck her with your dick. She has to be at least fifty. That's just nasty."
It didn't take long before tears filled my eyes, and I realized that I had just been stupid. I reminded myself that my affair with Brad had been just a quick fling and that there were supposedly no emotions involved, but it hurt me badly to hear him talk about me like I was just some toothless old whore. What was worse was that he was too embarrassed to let anyone know that we'd been together.
I also realized from listening to him talking that Brad was cheating on his fiancé with at least two other women. The other two were in his age group, and he had no trouble talking about them in favorable terms.
What had been temporary insanity on my part had been skilled maneuvering on his. Brad had liked my body and wanted to fuck me and he had. Maybe it was my mental state or feeling unattractive, but I had given it up to him as easily as any whore would have. And I had ruined a perfect marriage to a man who had truly loved me in the process.
Brad didn't care about me in the least. He had just wanted to fuck me. I finally got in touch with him, to tell him about the baby. It wasn't just his words; it was the venom in his tone that hurt me.
"It's not mine," he said quickly. "Get an abortion. I'll pay half, just don't tell anyone that it might be my kid. I thought you old women were supposed to be smart about stuff like that."
I went home and cried my eyes out. Neither Dennis nor Chelsea was much help. Chelsea looked at me furiously, before going over to a friend's house for dinner. And Dennis took one look at me and headed to the garage and his car, but not before I had noticed the tears in the corners of his eyes.
I simply could not believe how badly I had hurt him and for nothing. That evening Dennis went out and drove around until he found Brad. Brad was in a bar with some of his friends.
Dennis approached them; bought himself a beer, took a long swig of it, and spit it all right in Brad's face. Brad was no dummy; he made his excuses and tried to leave the bar with his friends laughing at him, and calling him names.
The bouncers tried to hold Dennis so Brad could get away. They held onto his arms until Brad had gotten into his car and drove away. But in a town as small as ours it did them no good. Dennis drove to Brad's parent's house and caught him sitting out on the porch.
Dennis hit Brad so hard that Brad broke the banister on the porch and fell off of it into his mother's rose bushes. He jumped off the porch, and landed on Brad and started pummeling him.
Brad's parents came to his rescue, but he was beaten so badly that he had to go to the hospital. Brad's mom took him to the urgent care facility in the next town while his father spoke to Dennis.
Dennis called the police himself and actually drove to the station and turned himself in. Brad's parents didn't press charges, and the Sheriff sent Dennis home. He bought a new banister for Brad's parents and a six-pack of beer. Dennis and Brad's father fixed the porch together.
The interesting thing was that reporters from our small-town newspaper dug into the story and put two and two together. Dennis kept his word. He never told anyone about anything, but somehow small bits and pieces of the story got out. My divorce, my pregnancy, my DNA test and Dennis leaving me, coupled with Dennis beating the shit out of Brad, made me the talk of the town. Every day it got worse.
Tomorrow, Dennis is moving out of the house and into his rental home. Chelsea is going to help him along with a lot of our friends. I decided to make a nice dinner for us, so I went to the supermarket. I got a lot of stares and frowns from several of the people shopping there.
I got into the checkout lane with the shortest line and once again fate was against me. When I was third in line I noticed that my cashier was Mary, Brad's girlfriend.
As I got closer to her, I was struck by just how pretty she is. There were all kinds of whispers in the store, and every eye was on us as I stood in front of her. As she noticed me standing there, a solitary tear rolled down her cheek. And with a dignity that women twice her age could not have mustered, she began sorting and scanning my items.
Everyone in the store was staring at the courageous young woman as she rang up my groceries. One tear after another became a flood as she worked.
I looked around and saw everyone staring at me. I felt like shit.
"Mary, I'm so sorry," I managed to croak out.
"No you're not," she said in a tiny voice. "You're sorry that you got caught is all. But I am ... I'm sorry for your husband. He's a really nice man. He didn't deserve this. He loved you so much. And you just pulled his guts out. I'm sorry for your daughter. She has a little bit more than a year left in the school here where she'll be compared to her mother, the town whore, until she leaves there. No matter how good she is, she'll always be compared to you.
I'm sorry that I was stupid enough to think I could trust Brad. But I got off lucky. I was going to marry him. I wanted to be like you, Sarah. I wanted a husband who loved me like there was no tomorrow. I wanted someone who would protect and provide for me and our kids. I wanted to be you, Sarah.
But now I'm glad I'm not. I could never hurt someone who loves me, the way that you hurt Dennis. And you know; I hope that baby that you're carrying is Brad's. Dennis deserves a shot at happiness with someone else. And he deserves to have it without being chained to you for the next eighteen years.
If that baby has to ruin someone's life, I hope it's Brad. I hope the two of you are tied together forever, locked in hatred for what you did to us. Was it worth it Sarah?" As she finished talking, every customer in the store started clapping for her.
Earnest Truth, the owner of the store came over just as I pulled out my credit card to pay.
"Sarah," he said as I pulled out my wallet. "Your groceries are on the house." I had the vague idea that he was trying to make up for the way that Mary had spoken to me.