As I lay in bed that night, at a hotel a long way from home, it all came back to me like a bad movie I couldn't turn off.
Over the previous 15 years, I had never forgotten what had happened, but I had managed to suppress it and not dwell on it.
But earlier that night, it had been forcefully thrust back into the forefront of my conscious thoughts...
I was shaking all over, except for my hands. They were rock steady as I held the pistol inches from her head while she slept in our bed.
She was naked, with the sheet covering only her lower legs, and I could still see in the soft glow of the bedside lamp the gelid semen as it pooled between her legs. Her butt was shining from where the man's juices had seeped from her thoroughly well-fucked pussy, a pussy that until earlier that night I thought had been exclusively mine.
It's the oldest cliché in the books, but it happened to be true in my case. Husband comes home early from a business trip, finds his wife with another man, etc., etc.
I had been gone the whole week and I wasn't due to return until Friday. But we'd busted our butts and gotten finished late that Thursday afternoon, and I was so eager to return to Jeanette's waiting arms that I changed my plans and drove on home that night.
The first inkling I had of trouble was when I called the house and Jeanette sounded out of breath, and there was a sultry slur to her voice like she was a little drunk and had been on the receiving end of pleasure.
That by itself wouldn't have aroused my suspicions so much, except that I could hear the sounds of a baseball game going on in the background. Now, Jeanette didn't much like sports anyway, and she loathed baseball, calling it boring.
So what was a baseball game doing playing on the TV, if I wasn't there, and quite loudly at that?
For some reason I'll never be able to fathom, I made a snap decision not to tell her I was on my way home. I just made it sound like I was making my normal nightly I-love-you call, the way I did every night I was on the road. Whether that would have changed anything, I'll never know.
When I turned onto the street where our house was located, I knew my worst fears had been realized. A strange car, one I'd never seen before, was parked in the driveway and all the lights in the front of the house were dark.
I knew in my gut what was happening, but I had to see for myself, so I parked on the street then carefully — and quietly — walked to the side door by the breezeway. I wasn't locked, so I silently let myself in, took off my loafers and padded through the utility room entrance to the kitchen.
As soon as I opened the door I could hear Jeanette and I knew she was engaged in some sexual activity. She was moaning in a way that was peculiarly her own, not especially loud, but very throaty, very distinctive.
But I still had to see, so I crept down the hall, past the closed door to the bedroom where our 4-year-old daughter Jamie was asleep (I guessed). I tip-toed to the door to our bedroom, and now I knew Jeanette wasn't alone. I quietly opened the door and was confronted by my worst nightmare.
My beautiful wife of six years was on her hands and knees getting royally plowed by a large man who appeared to possess a cock that was considerably longer, though maybe not much fatter, than the one I had on me.
What's more, he was running on at the mouth in some truly demeaning terms as he fucked my wife.
"Who owns you, slut?" he taunted. "Whose pussy is this? Who's got the best cock?"
"Oh God! You do," Jeanette moaned. "It's all yours, all for you, baby, just please keep fucking me. Fuckmefuckmefuckme!"
Then my "loving wife" buried her face in the pillow as she squalled out an orgasm more explosive than anything I'd ever seen her achieve with me. But her lover wasn't letting her off the hook. He pulled her up by the hair and kept on taunting her about what a slut she was, and how she was his whore, how she had proven it the day before.
"Yeah, you liked having all those cocks at your disposal," he taunted. "You liked getting gangbanged. Didn't you, whore."
"Unnnnnhhhh! Y-y-y-yeah!" Jeanette cried. "I loved it! I'm your hot s-s-s-slut!"
I was literally sick to my stomach, because I had had no clue, none whatsoever, that Jeanette was anything less than totally devoted and completely faithful to me.
Sure, I had been traveling a lot in the previous year, but when I was home, she was never anything less than as affectionate as she'd always been and our sex life was active, even with a 4-year-old in the house. Hell, we were even talking about having another baby.
A blind haze descended over me, but somehow I managed to keep my wits about me just enough to not force an immediate confrontation. I somehow sensed that would go badly for me.
I'm not exactly a wimp, but this guy was probably five inches taller than me and outweighed me by a good 40 pounds and it looked like he was all muscle.
No, I needed an equalizer if I was to avenge myself, and at that moment that was the only thing that was on my mind. And I knew just where I could find what I needed.
I silently closed the bedroom door — they never even knew I was there — slipped out of the house, climbed back in my car and drove away.
My father was a cop at the time, and he was a gun buff, so he kept an array of pistols, rifles and shotguns. He'd taught all three of his kids — I have an older sister and a younger brother — how to shoot when we were in our teens.
Moreover, I knew where he kept the key to his gun safe and by a fortuitous twist of fortune, Mom and Dad were vacationing in the Rockies in their RV, which was his pride and joy.
I always kept a key to their house, so I could feed the dog whenever I was home and they were traveling, so my arrival at the house, even at that late hour, wasn't unduly suspicious.
But, to be honest, I didn't care at that moment whether anyone knew what was doing or not. It didn't matter to me, because I wasn't going to be around for it to matter. I was going to get one of Dad's pistols, shoot Jeanette and her lover (if he was still there), then I was going to kill myself.
Jeanette's adultery, coming as it had so suddenly out of nowhere, had taken every bit of my will to live.
I remember that I was in a daze as I drove into my parents' driveway, let myself in, deactivated the alarm system and went to Dad's study. I looked in his desk drawer and found the key I needed, then went to the gun cabinet.
I found a pistol that suited me, a 9 mm automatic. I opened the clip, found it loaded and stuffed it in the waistband of my pants. I was ready.
I closed the cabinet and left my parents' house without even remembering to reactivate the alarm and drove back to my house.
At no time during all of this did I think about anything other than what I planned to do when I got there. I'm a pretty single-minded person, and when I get myself set on a course of action, I can be relentless in achieving my objective.
I was vaguely disappointed when I saw that Jeanette's lover's car was gone, indicating that he wasn't planning on staying the night. But I simply shrugged that off; the focus of my wrath was my wife.
Once again, I slipped silently into my house and now I stood poised to blow away the cheating bitch I thought I'd loved, then end my own misery.
Suddenly, I heard a sound from behind me, a soft gasp.
"Daddy?" Jamie said softly. "Daddy? Why do you want to shoot Mommy?"
For some reason, that penetrated the fog that my mind was under and I realized what I was about to do to my beautiful little girl. I'll never know what caused her to wake up, what caused her to get out of bed and investigate at that precise moment. Divine intervention? That's the only answer than makes sense to me.
Suddenly, it seemed like everything happened all at once. Jeanette awoke with a start, then screamed when she saw me standing there with a gun in my hand. Seconds later, I let out an inarticulate howl and threw the pistol across the room to smash the picture of our wedding that sat on the dresser, which scared Jamie and she started bawling.
With tears stinging my eyes and Jeanette's shouts for me to, "stop, please, let me explain," ringing my ears, I scooped my daughter up, held her to me as I dashed for the door. She was clinging onto me for dear life, sensing, I guess, that her world was about to be turned upside down.
"Wh-wh-where are we g-g-g-going, Daddy?" Jamie asked between her sobs.
"We're going to Paw-Paw and Nana's for the night," I said through my own sobs. "Mommy did something very bad and we can't stay there. We'll come back tomorrow and pick up your things. But we have to get away before something really bad happens."
And with that I dissolved into sobs like I hadn't sobbed in years...
I had returned to my hometown for a convention in my chosen field, one in which I had become quite successful. I was ambivalent about going home. So much had changed over the 15 years since that awful night, when I came close to committing a murder-suicide.
The city had grown remarkably, but in its wake it had left me and mine behind. Both Mom and Dad were gone. Dad had contracted lung cancer and had died eight years ago, and Mom had basically died of a broken heart just six months later.
My sister had never made the place her home, and my brother had moved on after getting a lucrative job offer halfway across the country. So, after Mom died, I had no reason to go back, and I hadn't. Too many bad memories.
.... There is more of this story ...