This is a ‘what if’ story. I wanted to consider a situation where nobody was at fault, yet relationships and marriages were about to be changed forever. It’s about a woman in the horns of a moral dilemma. What if a woman loves and is loved by two men and yet is not, in theory, unfaithful to either? What if she is married and still is not unfaithful? It’s the tale of three people set over two days, none of whom are at fault, yet all have or will suffer and react in one way or another.
It looks at the emotional turmoil that evolves as the story develops. I’ve tried to look at it from the different perspectives of the three main characters. The central character is Peter, but I’ve interspersed his narrative with ones from the other two main protagonists. And yes I know when I’ve described the conversations from a second perspective, I’ve not used the same words but that’s reality, isn’t it. What we hear isn’t always what the other person is saying; it’s what we understand they are trying to say.
I can’t thank Romantic1 enough for the time he spent reviewing and editing the first version. This revised version was edited by Blackrandl1958, thank you for all your help. Any remaining mistakes are all mine, usually because I can’t resist fiddling with the finished story.
I was staying at a Caribbean resort, not on holiday, I’m afraid. I was on business, a surprise inspection tour for the company that owned the place. I’d arrived earlier that day, and after a nice meal, I had decided that a nightcap in the bar would be a pleasant end to the evening.
This leads to my first question: What would you do if you looked up from the half-full glass sitting on the table in front of you, and saw your dead wife in the bar, sitting with a group of people at a table on the far side of the dance floor. This was your loving wife and a devoted mother who was supposed to have died three years ago. She sat beside a man, laughing at something he’d said and was most definitely alive!
It had been the sound of her laughter that had made me look up from my drink, the sound of her laugh, loud in a pause in the music, a clarion call to my shocked senses. She was as beautiful as she’d ever been. Her long dark hair was falling in waves to her shoulders. Her hand was flicking the strands off her face with a gesture embedded into my soul.
For three long years, I’d mourned that beautiful woman, the mother of our daughter. I’d consoled my daughter in her anguish, and she in her turn had given me a reason to live. I’d not been given the closure of a funeral, as she’d been lost at sea. There she was sitting less than ten yards from me.
I know what I did: I stood up, knocking over the table in front of me. There was a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass and suddenly I was the center of attention.
I called out “Rachael.” The anguish, making my voice sound harsh.
All eyes seemed to be on me, while mine could only focus on Rachael’s face. For long, long moments, while the rest of the room seemed frozen in time, the expression on her face changed from a cautious smile to puzzlement look of surprise. It ultimately changed to a look of hesitant recognition, then intense confusion and finally total shock. She staggered to her feet, her face blanching before her eyes rolled up and she collapsed in a heap on the floor.
In the silence, the man seated by her side called out, “What the fuck ... Julia, what’s the matter?” Then to his companions, “Shit guys, I need some help here, Julia’s fainted.”
I was halfway across the room before he finished talking. I slid to a halt at her side, dropping to my knees, my hands reaching out to her.
He was on her other side, holding her hand. “Julia darling, what’s the matter?” Then he snarled at me, “Who the hell are you? Hey, don’t touch her.”
I ignored him to gingerly touch her face and whisper, “Rachael, oh dear God, Rachael, is it really you?”
I rocked back, falling on my ass as he pushed me away from her, shouting, “Leave my wife alone you bastard.”
I looked again at the woman on the floor between us. His wife? No, it couldn’t be. No, I wasn’t mistaken, it was Rachael. She still wore around her neck the antique gold cross I’d bought for her after our daughter was born. If she had wanted to leave me, then faking her own death was a hell of a step.
I was hauled to my feet by the two men who’d been seated at the same table. They tried to hustle me away, but I shrugged them off with a harsh, angry, “Fuck off.”
I addressed the other man. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but if you’re married to her, then we’ve got a big problem, because as far as I know, we are still married, even though she’s supposed to be dead...” I trailed off, the enormity of the situation crashing down on me.
“Oh, and by the way,” I managed to add, “Her name is not Julia, it’s Rachael!”
“P ... Peter is that you?” Rachael’s soft voice broke into my tirade.
“Yes, love,” I replied in the same tone, as I went to her side again.
She looked at me and then at the man at my side. “Oh, god no, James. She burst into tears, her body shaking.
I put my arm around her, and she buried her face into my neck.
“What the hell is going on here?” James shouted as he tried to pull her away from me.
Jim was knocking on the bathroom door.
“Come on Jules we’re going to be late, the tables booked for seven, and the others have called to say their waiting in the lobby for us.”
“One minute,” I called out as I washed the evidence of my surprise for Jim down the sink and checked that the last traces of the red dye and trimmed hairs had gone.
I applied the last of my makeup. “And whose fault is that,” I added. “You’re the one who insisted we had time for another quickie.” Not that I’d minded our afternoon sessions, this vacation seemed to have rejuvenated Jim.
I stepped back from the counter and looked at the woman in the mirror. Tall, at five-ten, long black hair cascading over her shoulders framed an oval face. Bright blue eyes, high cheekbones and plump, kissable lips, full breasts, a full thirty-eight C with just a hint of sag, dark large areola tipped with long firm nipples. Breasts waiting to be covered by the lacy black bra I held in my hand. The bra to matching high cut panties I was wearing from the set of Victoria’s Secret lingerie Jim had bought me specifically for this trip, the panties that now almost hid my surprise.
I smiled and muttered, “Not bad for a thirty-eight-year-old.” Then I hesitated, if that is how old I am, I thought, as my reality brought me back to earth.
I didn’t know how old I was, or, in fact, who I was. The problem was, I could only remember the last thirty-three months of my life, my age, even my name were educated guesses. My previous life was a complete blank, ever since I’d woken up from a three-month coma. I had been found half-naked and unconscious on a track that led up from a beach on one of the American Virgin Islands. The authorities best guess was that I had been attacked and sexually assaulted, either on the beach or on a boat. Some of my injuries were several days old, and at some time, I’d been in the water. They thought I’d been dumped in the undergrowth and left for dead. I had no identification other than a gold cross and a broken chain clutched in my hand. It was assumed I was American. I was treated at the local hospital, but after I didn’t come out of my coma, they transferred me to a special hospital in Florida.
I sighed and fastened the bra, then I took the dress I’d picked out for tonight from its hanger. I slipped it on over my head and pulled it down over my hips, teasing it into place. I opened the door and gave my husband a kiss before asking him to zip me up.
He lifted my hair up and kissed the back of my neck before pulling up the zip. I felt a shiver of excitement as his lips brushed my skin. I pushed my butt into his crotch and gave it a shimmy.
He groaned, “Do that again, and we may not make our dinner reservation.”
I laughed, and he spun me around and his lips latched on to mine. My tongue found his and all I could think about was his firm body and the hard lump that was pressing against my pussy, l loved the way he made me feel, warm and wet and a dull ache of desire.
“Didn’t you get enough of me earlier,” I laughed.
He broke my grip and gave me a slap on my butt. “Come on vixen, we’ll pick this up later.”
I laughed, “Promises, promises,” I said and blew him a kiss as I slipped out of his grasp.
Our friends were already seated at our table at the restaurant when we arrived, still giggling at the expression of the couple outside when they saw me raising the hem of my dress to flash Jim.
Jim held out my chair, and I sat down. Around the table sat Paul, Mary, Amy and David. Amy is Jim’s sister and David is her husband. Mary was the nurse who looked after me when I was in the coma and my best friend. She and her husband Paul had offered me a place to live after I was discharged. Mary and I had quickly become close friends.
.... There is more of this story ...