Hey folks, first off thanks to everyone who wrote to me about Free Pass. I love hearing your opinions on stories and characters. Thanks also to the great Barney -R who edited this story in less time than it takes to say he did it. His work is great and he is largely responsible for you being able to read and understand my gibberish. Of course I went back through and changed his neat professional looking straight lines to separate the sections back into my****s.
But almost everything else I left alone.
And now the warning. This is a very dark story. If you’re looking for a story to make you feel good ... this ain’t it. If you’re looking for a happy ending ... this AIN’T it. Not every story can have a happy ending, but I hope you’ll give it a read anyway. And then let me know what you liked, hated or just would have liked to see changed. Any way ... Here we go SS06
The first thing that went through my brain was lust. The lust came from seeing her standing there, clearly waiting for me, naked as a jaybird, as I opened the door.
My fifty five year old dick was as hard as ... something really hard ... as I reacted to her twenty year old body. She was slim and, petite, with flesh as tight and toned as only someone her age can ever have.
Her legs, though thin were sexy and sculptured. There wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on her. Her beautiful eyes seemed sad. But at the same time her mouth, the same one that I loved to kiss seemed resolved.
It was almost as if she didn’t want to do this. That made no sense because she’d been the one who called me home so we could have sex.
Her breasts, barely more than a mouthful were more enticing than I remembered. I wanted to suck those tiny nipples more than anything else on earth at that moment.
The second thing that went through my brain was shock as she raised the hand that she’d concealed behind her back.
Before we discuss MY shock, let’s talk about yours. I mean I’m sure you’re confused about why a twenty year old woman is trying to seduce a guy who’ll be sixty in just under four years right?
So let’s go back to how and when this all got started...
It was a great fall Saturday morning. It was also the worst day of my life. I’d awakened that morning to check the weather before going out for my usual Saturday morning run.
According to the National Weather Service App on my iPhone, it was supposed to be a beautiful, sunny, fall day. But after checking my voicemail, the weather in my marriage was going to be cloudy with an unusually high probability of storms.
The voice, female and smokey, was sexier than should be legally allowed. She spoke with that weird Midwestern accent that seems like the speaker doesn’t have an accent.
People from Michigan and Chicago who went to good schools seem to speak with an unusual lack of regional attributes. They don’t sound like New Yorkers. They don’t sound Southern. Nor do they sound like they’re from the west coast.
“Mr. Shotz,” she’d said. And for all I knew that she’d made this same call to give other people the same shitty news, I really felt that she was genuinely sad to tell me.
Her name was Sarah Pryce and she was the best there is at what she does. Sarah is an extremely skilled, high priced, private investigator. And I’d hired her to ease the strange feeling I’d had in my gut.
My wife, Betty had been visiting her mother an awful lot lately. And while it was definitely true that, mentally, her mother was on her last legs ... I just had a feeling.
The message from Sarah told me that I’d been right to worry. The email she sent was very thorough. It included all of the sordid information I needed. It included who he was. It included photos of him. It included what he did for a living. It included the fact that he was not only married, but had children. There were photos of his wife and all of her phone numbers.
There were also photos of the two of them together at several locations over the past month or so. Sarah had somehow also managed to get recorded conversations between them, both face to face talks and phone calls.
Most damning though was the video. It wasn’t some grainy, barely viewable cell phone footage; it looked like a high resolution, extremely boring porno movie.
I guess I should have been hurt. I should have been shattered emotionally. After all, Betty and I had been married for more than twenty years.
And I was in fact angry. But to be truthful, a part of me was relieved. It was almost as if deep down inside I’d been waiting for this to happen.
There are moments or events in every relationship that define it. It can be a shared vacation, the birth of a child, the death of a family member, or any shared emotional event that binds two people together.
Betty and I had never experienced that. We had never looked into each other’s eyes and felt any sort of overwhelming emotion.
There had never ... at least from my viewpoint, been a watershed moment where we had felt, declared or thought that we were the missing pieces to each other’s souls.
I guess if I had to describe our relationship in one word, the word would not be love. I’m also pretty sure that knowing what I knew now, the word would probably also not be permanent.
The word that seemed to fit most was, “comfortable.”
Betty and I fit together well. And I mean that both literally and figuratively.
I hadn’t been very thorough in going through the material. I hadn’t listened to any of the conversations. I hadn’t done more than glanced at the video.
It was all too new ... it was too soon. Before I was able to study what she’d done, I needed time to process the fact that she’d done it.
The rest would come later. And that included how I intended to handle it. In other words ... how I intended to handle the divorce.
I went down the stairs and into my kitchen. I grabbed a Honey Crisp apple from the bowl on the table and bit into it as I headed through the kitchen door and into the garage.
I smiled as soon as I saw my blacked out 2014 Mustang GT. I never looked at the car without smiling. The car, unlike some people I could name, always did exactly what I expected.
I knew it was stupid as soon as I thought it, but it was all I had.
I drove the car to the park and got ready to run. I started out fast and slowed to an easier pace as I passed the tree line. I relaxed and took in the sights and smells of the woods as I skimmed along the trail with a playlist of my favorite eighties songs on my iPod.
I ran along and allowed my mind to wander as the tap-tapping of my footfalls matched the beat of the music.
I passed walkers and slower runners effortlessly; nodding at people I knew or had seen on the trails before.
Why the hell had she done it? Was it something that I had done or had failed to do that caused it? According to what little I’d read from Sarah’s report, it had been going on for at least a month. It may have been going on for longer, but Sarah was able to get evidence that suggested about a month.
I knew the bastard. Well ... I’d heard enough about him over the years to feel like I knew him. His name was Earl Gray, and he’d been Betty’s first boyfriend. He’d been her first everything. And now he could add a couple of more statistics to his record. He was the first guy she cheated on me with. And the first one she could call after I threw her ass out.
Logic dictated that I listen to her side of the story. Fuck logic, I just wanted to end this farce and begin the next chapter of my life.
I had to be careful though. At my age, I was still young enough to bounce back from this and find someone to spend the rest of my life with, but I didn’t have enough time to waste on another woman who wasn’t right.
Betty and I met in our thirties, and as I’ve said, she was someone I was comfortable with, but I felt like kicking myself in the ass. I had been lazy. I had settled for comfort instead of love and look where it got me.
Maybe that was why it happened. Maybe Earl was Betty’s great love and she had never gotten over him. Well, I wished her good luck with that. Perhaps, Betty, Earl, his wife, and their kids could all be happy together.
The heavy steps of someone clomping on the trail ahead of me pulled me from my thoughts. My eyes focused and found three younger guys ahead of me. I instinctively went into hunter mode, efficiently shifting gears and quickening my pace.
My running form improved and my longer strides ate up the ground between us.
As I gained on them, I saw that from the heavy and ungainly way they ran that they weren’t experienced or trained runners.
They seemed almost clumsy and one of them was wearing basketball shoes. His feet and ankles would be really sore the next day.
As I closed on them I could see sweat pouring off of them. They ran with a kind of hunched over stance that made them look like a group of gorillas. They were also amazingly hairy, which only added to their apelike appearance.
There were two dark haired men and one with lighter hair. One of the dark haired guys and the blond guy also sported full beards, which even though monkeys had very little hair on their faces, seemed to add to their apelike appearance.
Most runners use their arms to help drive them along and to help them with their balance. One of the trio seemed to either understand this or just did it naturally. The other two ... Not so much. They shambled along with their arms hanging uselessly from their shoulders.
.... There is more of this story ...