Alana and Blake

by Matt Moreau

Copyright© 2008 by Matt Moreau

Erotica Sex Story: He saves her, kills to protect her, and she eventually does him wrong--but...

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Cheating   Slow   .

I met Alana in about the strangest way one can meet a woman, during a rape—hers. Two men were standing over a prostrate form in an alley behind the Mulberry Bar and Grill. Oh, my name is Blake Ritter. I was coming out the back taking the short cut to my car. I didn't want to have to walk all the way around the block if I didn't have to. One of the two men had a knife; I found that interesting.

That night, I was still an airborne ranger on weekend leave and in uniform. I had left a couple of my buddies inside; they wanted to close the place, but I was exhausted from the long drive up from Fort Benning, GA. where we'd just completed our indoctrination training. We, all of us, were now true believers in our own invincibility.

"Gentlemen, I believe the lady is tired and would prefer to be left alone," I said, addressing the nasties with more confidence than anyone had a right to feel being outnumbered and facing an armed enemy while not being so armed himself.

"Fuck off, soldier boy, or we're gonna be real inhospitable," said the one with the knife. He actually still had his dick hanging out. His contempt for me and my uniform pissed me off.

I moved toward the one who was unarmed. I wanted him on my left and slightly behind me. I had a plan. If it worked, the girl and I would both get out of this alive. If not we'd have something to laugh about in the next life.

The big one with the knife came at me. God was I glad that I'd excelled in bayonet training! I caused him to misdirect his thrust into the belly of his confederate. Who sank like the stock market. The bladist, momentarily shocked by his miscalculation, pulled his weapon free and slashed high, That's where I made my mistake. I tried to duck under it and he laid my right eye open wide.

"Shit! Shit it hurt!

He pulled back and came at me again. I tried to dodge his thrust, but it was hard because of the searing pain to my eye and because the blood, which was everywhere, all but blinded me. I was able to partially avoid his thrust, but it still pierced my chest maybe two inches deep just to the right of my heart. He snarled, no doubt unconcerned that I did not appear concerned which of course was in error because I was concerned as hell!

He reached out and tried to grab me by my tunic, but I caught his arm, and acting on pure adrenalin rush, broke it at the elbow. His scream energized me for the briefest of moments. I disarmed him and jammed his own blade under his rib cage and twisted it; I knew he was dead. Now if only I could survive.

I saw the girl move slightly just as I sagged to the asphalt. Well, at least I'd won my last battle. Funny, I didn't feel anything. I would learn later that shock was to thank for that little reality.

I think I heard the sirens; then, all was dark. I liked the dark. I needed the dark. I just needed to be left the fuck alone, and I was.

The room was quiet and empty except for the monitors. They were the first evidence that I had survived. I didn't really move very much, but my eye, my remaining good eye, took in the room. I'd seen rooms like this before; it was an ICU. One of the monitors must have alerted somebody; I had company almost immediately, a nurse. She hit a button, and somebody with a mobile tray came in. He was soon followed by a doctor. For the next twenty minutes I was examined and reexamined. The pronounced me alive; how fucking observant of them.

I was awakened by the morning shift coming into check my vitals. They were followed by the breakfast people. Them, by the porta-potty person who cleaned me up; that was kinda fun—she was female. Finally, the cops showed up.

"You Blake Carson?" said the short stubby one.

"That's the rumor," I replied. "But, I don't have any evidence of it to show you at the moment."

"You're a hero, Mr. Carson," said the short guy.

"Yeah? Well, that's good, right," I said.

"That's good," said tall policeman.

"Did the girl survive?" I asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact she's here too, but in a different ward. She was pretty badly beat up: some broken stuff. She asked about you. Said you took down those two pretty good. She asked to see you at some point. Wants to thank you, I guess," said stubby policeman.

"Yeah, well, tell her it's not necessary. I'm not much for sentimental stuff," I said.

"Okay, but she owes you more than you know. Those two guys you took down were both convicted rapists and one of them was a murderer. They'd have killed her for sure. They're, were, suspects in twelve killings of prostitutes during the last twenty-four months. The D.A. owes you a vote of thanks too for saving him the time and money of not having to prosecute the assholes."

"They're dead then?" I said.

"Yeah," said the tall policeman, "both of them are very deceased."

"Good. Couldn't have happened to a couple of more deserving assholes," I said.

The doctors were concerned about the wound to my chest. I'd lost my eye of course. Initially, there'd been some hope that they could save it, but that came to nothing. It was the one time in my life that I could have wished to have been known as Jack. One-eye'd Jack would have been neat; maybe I could change my name.

It was about the fifth day when I had a visitor. It was a woman, twentyish, tall, slender, nice ass; she wore a smock. "Hi," she said.

"Hi, can I get some more water?" I said. "I'm kinda dry?"

"Oh, sure," she said. "But, I'm not a nurse. I'm Alana Nelson," she said.

"Oh, sorry, I thought you were a nurse. The smock," I said. She had taken my plastic cup and was refilling it from the tap. She brought it to me.

"I'm the woman whose life you saved," she said. "I had to see you to thank you. The doctor said I could have a few minutes. I'm leaving today; I've been upstairs till now."

I looked at her. I didn't remember her. But then she'd been naked and messed up, and I'd been busy the last time we were in proximity to each other. "Oh, okay. Well, you're welcome. It's nothing that any white knight in hero's armour wouldn't have done," I said, making light of the situation.

"You saved my life, mister. I won't forget it." I was thinking that a date with her would have been reward enough, but I squelched the thought. She was a rape victim.

"Really, think nothing of it. I was there and I was lucky," I said.

"I was the one that was lucky," she said. "I owe you a dinner at the very least," she said. "Please, when they let you go home, I'd like to drop by and speak with you. You know maybe take you to lunch or dinner or whatever.'

"Sure," I said. "I'd like that." Looked like I was gonna get my date after all.

Several of my brothers in arms visited with me over the time I was laid up. They'd made a big deal out of us being rangers and invincible and helping damsels in distress. I even got a visit from Colonel Johnson. Except for the eye thing, initially, I felt pretty good. The bad news was that my injuries got me my pink slip from the military; I was down about that. I'd loved being a ranger. Plus, all of that training down the shitter! Damn.

I was released two weeks later. Alana must have had someone on the inside cluing her because she was in the lobby waiting for me when I came down.

"Hi there, soldier," she said.

"Hi to you too," I said. "Nice to see you."

"I was thinking. I mean if you don't have any big plans for the day, that maybe you'd like to join me; I mean for the whole day. You know: Lunch, dinner, talk, wine, whatever or all of it," she said.

This was working out better than I'd hoped. "No, I have no plans at all. They were gonna call me a cab..."

"Then it's settled. I'm the driver, and you're my poor, poor man," she said, taking the helm of the wheelchair and steering me outside where she had already parked the car.

I was able to walk, I informed her, "It's just that the hospital staff insisted that I ride until I was outside and officially out of their hands." She nodded and kept on steering and pushing. I was thrilled to be her "poor, poor man."

Finally out of the wheelchair, we walked, albeit me a trifle weakly, to her car. It felt good to feel the sun on my face, and feeling it with a pretty woman to share it made it special.

"Where are we headed now?" I asked.

"My house. It's not far. I need to..." She smiled. She didn't finish what she started to say, and I didn't push it.

Parking in front of a one story ranch style, she motioned for me to get down. She came around to my side, took my hand and led me inside.

The house was sparsely but tastefully furnished. Oddly, there was no couch or real chairs in the front room, only three wooden benches. I made the guess that the wood was rattan, famous in the Philippines. There were some small tables spaced around with flowers—real ones—in vases placed on them. It was the strangest room I had ever seen in a private home. This was one interesting lady.

She evidently noticed my interest. "I don't do things like other people," she said. "I'm my own person. Something of a wannabe artist, actually," and she giggled.

"No, no," I said. "It looks—nice. Unusual, like you say, but nice. It's almost like—an indoor garden."

"You're very perceptive," she said. "That is exactly what it is supposed to portray. You made points with that one, young man," she said, having fun mocking me.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Sure, no problem," I said.

"Does the eye patch bother you?" I must've looked like a pirate with the black eye patch.

"No, I'm getting used to it. The doctor told me I need to get plenty of sleep in the future to protect the eye I've still got," I said. "I plan to do everything he says."

"Very wise," she said. "What about your military job?" she said.

I grimaced and shrugged. "I'm outta there," I said. "The colonel told me that I would be mustered out in another sixty days. It would have been less, but he worked it out for me, so that I could get a few more paychecks before they cut me loose."

She looked thoughtful. "Do you have a place to stay?" she asked.

"I was headin' out to get a room later today," I said. I'd been billeted at the base, but I didn't wanna go back there, and besides I need to get a job."

"Then it's settled," she mused.


"Yes, you're staying here, at least until you can find a job and get your own place," she said.

Her tone of voice let me know that arguing was not an option, and besides, I had no inclination to argue. She was a good looking babe, and I was open to all possibilities. "That would be a big break for me," I said, sincerely.

She changed clothes and we headed out for lunch. The restaurant was a converted garden—this girl was into plants. We took a table in a shady spot off to one side. We conversed for two hours. In that time we shared most of the salient facts about each other.

I was born in California just south of L.A. She was from Columbus, Ohio, but had moved to Georgia to take advantage of a job opportunity: she managed an art deco shop in the center of town. She had two sisters that still lived in Ohio: one was younger and married; the other was several years older and single. Alana too was single and unattached. Me, I sure as hell was unattached; and I had no family other than the guys I'd served with. She was educated: a B.A. in art history. I was an ex-Ranger, or soon to be, with some skill as a mechanic.

We headed out. "Where would you like to go?" she said. "How about the park?"

I'd had no chance to answer, but I figured that would be all right if she didn't expect me to do a lot of walking. I was still a little weak especially after more than two weeks in the hospital.

"Sure, let's do it," I said.

"We walked along one of the paths, and the little brook made nice, I might say romantic, sounds while we did so. She took my hand, and led me kicking and screaming along. Actually, I'm only kidding about the kicking and screaming part.

She stopped me—us. She turned to me. She kissed me, on the lips. It was a delicate kiss, and one I would remember at odd times for years afterwards; first kisses are special.

We found a bench and sat down. I figured it was time for me to stop being a pussy. I pulled her to me and kissed her, my hand rested on her thigh; she didn't try to remove it. I moved it higher.

We kissed and hugged, gently, and let our hands roam free. Her breasts were large and her butt was broad, a little too broad, but that's the way I like 'em; it's soooo female.

My hand strayed up her thigh and under her skirt. Jesus she was hot to the touch. I pulled away and looked around. It was late in the afternoon, and it was warm. Few people were out and none right near us. I stood, took her hand, and led her to a dark little copse maybe fifty feet behind the bench we were on.

I stripped off my shirt and laid it down for her to sit on. The grass was soft and thick, but I wanted to make a statement. Bare chested, the still healing scar from the recent stabbing was clearly visible. We dropped to our knees, and she touched it, then kissed it. It seemed to hold a fascination for her.

"That scar makes you mine you know," she said. "Or maybe it's me that is yours."

"Either way works for me," I said. She slowly undressed for me and then lay back naked back on my shirt and the strewn clothes that she'd been wearing. I was totally enamored of her. I had never been with a woman as sexually exciting as she was, and I had never been with a woman whose pubic area was completely bare. I finished undressing and lay down beside her.

I leaned in to kiss her. I laid my hand on her breast very lightly. Moving my lips to her nipples I took first one and the other into my mouth and suckled on them. She was making little bucking movements coaxing me to do her. I moved between her legs and loomed above her.

"Yes, my poor poor man do me, do me now," she almost gasped. I poked at her. I drove all six inches into her, but slowly; I wanted to savor the moment. Soon I was pumping in and out of her. "Oh yes, don't stop, lover, don't stop. Fuck me good and proper."

I painted her insides with cum and she arched to drag from me every nano-sperm she could. I pulled out. She pushed me on my back and straddled my face. She leaned down and took me in her mouth. I was looking straight into her well fucked pussy and smears of my cum covered her there. I leaned up and kissed, then licked, then sucked her cunt trying to rob her of every trace of my leavings. She had me hard in minutes with her mouth. She rolled off of me, knelt, and bent over. It was a clear invitation to take her from behind.

I crawled behind her and licked her some more. I let my lips travel a little farther north, and I licked and sucked her anus glorying in it. God she was wonderful! I knew I could easily have fallen in love with this creature. No, that's not right; I was in love with her.

"Was it good for you?" I asked, smiling like a possum as we lay still naked beside each other in the little glen between the bushes.

"Oh my yes," she said. I looked at her closely now. I looked at her with objective eyes, not eyes glazed with lust only. Her ribs still showed faint yellowish patches where her assailants had kicked or punched her. There was a brown bruise on her neck too; she had clearly been throttled, probably to shut her up while they took her.

I felt funny laying there with her. I hardly knew her, yet we had shared the most intimate kind of moment that two people could. No, not the sex we had just had, though that had been plenty intimate; no, it was the life and death experience that we had been lucky enough to have survived just weeks earlier.

Alana was a tall woman, maybe five-ten, taller than me by three or four inches at least. She was not a slim woman, but certainly not fat. She had a nice body at a shapely 140 or so pounds. She was my kind of woman. She had light brown hair and a porcelain complexion that was almost baby-like. Her lips were full and her hips, again, broad and feminine. Her eyes were gray or light blue; I could never quite make up my mind, but they were mesmerizing. The package was wonderful; it was to me. While I'm at it...

I'm five-seven or so. Because of my lifestyle and my Ranger training I was steel hard-bodied. I could fight as well as any welter weight amateur champion, which I had been, regionally, as a youth. I am light haired but not actually blond. As for my looks, I have to be the prototype for average.

Her personality was on the bossy side, but I liked women who valued themselves and knew their worth; she clearly had and did both. This was a woman who knew what she wanted. She also knew how to fuck. Could she love me? It wasn't long before I found out.

We didn't go to dinner that first night; we went to bed. Oh, and it wasn't because we were tired. But, we sure as hell were tired in the morning; that's what comes from screwing all night and not getting any sleep.

I moved in officially the next day. I was put up in the guest room of the three bedroom home. The reason was that she wanted to give me some privacy, and I extrapolated, get some for herself.

We lived as border and landlordess with benefits for the next few months. The "L" word never passed between us, but that was about to change. It was a rainy evening. She came home from her work at the art place, as I called it, a little bit late, around 7:00PM. I'd gotten off my job at Selwin Motors, where I was now a fully certificated master mechanic, at the usual time of 5:00PM and decided to cook dinner for us. I had a motive behind such madness.

"Wow, Blake, dinner? Did I forget an occasion or something?" she said kinda playfully.

"No—well yes," I said.

"And that would be?" she said.

"I'll tell you over dinner," I said. I had set the table and as she went up stairs to get ready. And, I got ready. I had my speech memorized, and this was the night. I'd even disconnected the phone so as not to be interrupted. Oh yes, I was prepared. Rangers are always prepared. We might get killed, but it would never be because we weren't prepared for the challenge.

She came down about twenty minutes later. She looked nice, not exactly a novelty for her.

We ate, I poured us glasses of her favorite wine, burgundy. Just as she finished her first sip, I rose, went around the table and got down on my knees.

"Alana, I need to tell you that I have fallen in love with you, and I pray you will make me the happiest man on earth and be my wife," I said. And, I said it without stumbling all over the words. She stared at me in disbelief. I almost laughed.

"Blake—I—I..." I was getting a bad feeling.

"Alana? I mean did I do wrong? I thought..." Suddenly I could think of nothing to say. I was—embarrassed. She looked at me with tears in her eyes.

"Oh my no, my darling man. No, you did not do wrong. But, Blake, you know so little about me. Please," she said, indicating the seat I had so recently occupied. I did as she asked and retook my seat. "Let me tell you some things. Then, if you like you can respond. Would that be all right?"

I couldn't talk, but I nodded.

"Blake, I am not who or what you think I am. I'm a free spirit. I love men. No, that's dishonest; I love cock. Until I met you I screwed anything with a third leg. I'm a slut, Blake.

"That said, since I met you I have been monogamous. That's been some months now, and I can't believe it myself that I have had no hankering after any strange. It might be that I will never hanker after it again, but frankly, Blake, I don't trust myself. If the ache in my loins returns, I will disappoint you, Blake, and I couldn't stand that.

"Do you know what I was doing in the alley that night you saved me? I was getting ready to give one of those two assholes a blowjob. Then, his friend showed up, and they decided to beat and rape me instead. Then, you showed up and saved me. My knight in shining armour. I have been so in love with you since that night that nothing and no one has even tempted me, not even a little bit. You're every little girl's dream; do you know that?

"But if we married, would our romance get a little bit stale after a while; I mean like it does for almost every married couple? And if it did, and if I strayed, could you forgive me? Could I forgive myself for betraying the man that saved my life? Such an unholy risk my poor poor man," she said, finally.

"Alana, I could forgive you anything. I'll admit I don't—couldn't ever share you, but that said; oh for godssakes, I just love you so much! Honey, your past is what it is, as is mine. I am willing to take the risk. If we need to we will get counseling or something, whatever it takes. I ask again. Will you marry me?"

It was a gamble. I wasn't a fool. After what she'd said, I almost knew she'd go astray as she phrased it. Sooner or later she'd wrong me. I gritted my teeth and told myself that I would deal with that eventuality when is happened. At that moment, I had to have her, possess her; she had to be mine. I'd always been a fighter, and this was not different except in kind. I would fight the good fight when the time came, and I was betting on me to come out the one with the raised arm.

We were married, in front of a justice of the peace, three weeks after that evening.

The first nine years of the marriage were not good; they were spectacular, at least for me; and, I believe for Alana too. Two children had come along in quick succession in the second and third years of the marriage: Miranda and Shelby. Their parents adored them and the clan was happy.

It was after Shelby started school that Alana decided that she wanted to go back to work. She'd found a job at an art studio and it seemed to satisfy her. I was happy for her. The job was not taxing, she only worked four hours a day, and those in the morning: eight to twelve. Plus the extra money, though not critical for us, since I was doing quite well, was useful.

Some months, maybe a year into her new job, she started working longer hours. She was always to pick up the kids from school, and for my part I hardly noticed anything at all. Then one day I found her sitting in the living room with a glass of burgundy in her hand waiting for me. The kids were in the yard playing.

"Hi sailor," she said, as I walked in all grubby and smelly after a long day in the pit.

"Hi back atcha," I said. She was smiling, but for some reason or no reason I felt uneasy.

I sat down beside her and gave her a hungry kiss which she returned enthusiastically. "Got a surprise today," she said, pulling back a bit.

"A surprise?" I said.

"Yes. There's an art show in San Francisco, and the boss, Gordon, has invited me to accompany him and the artist there," she said, all bubbly and happy. "We'll be gone maybe four or five days. Isn't it exciting?"

I looked at her, not real happy. But, what could I say. "Yeah, I guess," I said, my lack of enthusiasm obvious.

"Ah, honey, it's only for a few days, and it is a really good opportunity for me to see some really good stuff. We have shows here in Georgia, of course, but not like on the coast," she said.

We talked for some time, and I eventually fell into line. She'd never had an opportunity like this, or so she said, so how could I in good conscience be a pooper.

I learned that she would be leaving Saturday afternoon and returning Tuesday or Wednesday evening. Well, the kids and I would do something special on the weekend, I decided.

On Saturday, the kids and I took Alana to the airport, had lunch with her there, and then we waved goodbye to her as she went upstairs to await her companions in the departure lounge. I had a bad feeling. But, I had the children with me, and that was a plus.

Late Saturday evening, she called. She let me know they'd arrived safely and gave me the number to the hotel she'd be staying at in case of emergency. She did say to call her on her cell for anything else though.

I had taken up working out with some buddies of mine from my days in the rangers: Mark Hutchins and Gary Chapin. I was of the unscientific opinion that working out helped keep me in shape including helping me to protect my good eye by increasing my circulation and such. I was certainly buff after a decade of it. We all were. We were the three musketeers, twenty-first century edition. We all became experts with the yawara too, a not very well known or understood invention of the Japanese.

The yawara was a very short stick, ours three-fifths of an inch in diameter and four and a half inches long. Someone who knew how to use one could not lose a fight if he or she got the first unprotected strike in; the operative term was "could not," literally.

We always practiced together at the park on Sundays for an hour no matter what, and the rest of the week on our own. And, we always took our children with us. They kinda did what we did, after they practiced the things we wanted them too. Both Shelby my seven year old, and Miranda, eight, were tough little kids; but, respectful. Neither had ever been in a school brawl—as far as I knew.

"Daddy daddy," said Miranda. "Mr. Hutchins says I did very good today." She was all smiles, and so was I.

"That's great, baby. Now got get your brother so we can get going," I said. Shelby was still with Mark and they looked like complementary shadows of each other as they repeated over and over the Shotei form. Gary, who'd finished his routine, stood near the duo and smiled broadly. His fourteen year-old son Arthur was laying on the ground near Karen, Gary's thirteen year-old daughter. The two of them were completely fagged out. I think they were in love too.

The kids and I headed for zoo after having breakfast at the IHOP. The day was a great success, and we all hit the hay early after dinner. Alana called, at 6:00, and spoke to the children then me. She sounded exhausted.

"Yes, honey, I am exhausted. The elevators were out for an hour for servicing because of a small fire on the ground floor," she said. "They put it out in a hurry, but I didn't want to wait, so I decided to walk up the nine flights of stairs," she said. I laughed.

"I told you that you should be working out with me and the kids," I said, making light of her plight. We talked a while. She explained what she'd seen and how wonderful it all was. Well, she was an art lover.

After hanging up, the bad feeling I'd had since hearing about her trip returned with a vengeance. Then, I did something unconscionable: I called the hotel and asked about the fire in the lobby. My heart sank when they told me that I must be mistaken; there had never been a fire at that hotel. Why would she lie? Without any more evidence than that, I began to suspect that my wife was having sex while she talked to me. Helluva thing the human mind.

Tuesday evening the kids and I picked up my wife at the airport. Amidst the excitement that the kids exhibited, my somewhat less than thrilled greeting went unnoticed.

We had sex that night. She did her best to make me happy that she was back. I guess I was, but I also had questions. Questions that I couldn't ask, not yet at any rate.

The following week was normal except for two things on Tuesday and Thursday night respectively, Alana had to work late. She didn't get home till after 9:00PM. In all of the time she had been working she had never been later than 6:30—ever. Add to that that on both nights, she showered when she got home and pled fatigue to my overtures for sex. My eyes narrowed; I was pretty sure she was having an affair. No, I had no clear evidence, and even the lie about the hotel fire might still somehow be explained; but I was pretty sure I was right.

The following Tuesday night, Mark and his wife Elizabeth, who were also neighbors, had the kids for evening. I was parked across from the Art Shop where my wife worked. My heart took a very bad hit that night. Mr. Gordon Crowder had his arms around my wife and was kissing her passionately while I watched the scene unfold through the window; the store was closed and the lights were out except for the security lights behind the two of them; they were clearly visible. Ten minutes later they exited the building, got into his car and drove off. I followed.

The Pine Tree motel does not have a restaurant, but it does have rooms. They got one together and went inside. I went home.

I'd already picked up the kids and now I waited. Murder crossed my mind. But before I killed her boss I wanted to have it out with her. And no, I had not forgotten her concern in the beginning when I had asked her to marry me. Now, I wondered how long and how many. She showed up at about 9:45.

I was sitting on the couch with a cup of tea. She stopped when she saw me.


"Yeah, it's me," I said, and took a sip of tea.

"Is something wrong?" she said.

"I don't know," I said. "You tell me."


"Well we can start with, how was your night at the Pine Tree?"

Here face went white. Her shoulders sagged. "You know?" I didn't answer.

"I'm sorry, Blake. It has nothing to do with you or us. It was just sex. I warned you that I might not be able to forego sex with other men. I've tried to keep you from discovering me, but I guess I've blown it haven't I?" she said.

"It was the trip wasn't it?" she said. "I knew that wasn't a good idea. I even thought of taking you along so you wouldn't get suspicious. But Gordon was adamant. He wanted me for the whole trip, and you would have complicated things for him. Shit!" she exclaimed.

"What's the attraction?" I asked, in a slow methodically cold tone. "He's not that big a guy. He isn't especially good looking. What was the attraction?"

"His cock. It's ten inches long," she said. "And he knows how to use it."

"What about us? I mean now that I know?" I knew I was testing the waters, pushing it; but, I wasn't sure that I cared anymore, not after finding out what I had found out.

"You're asking if I will promise to stop seeing him. My answer is no. You'll just have to deal with it, I'm afraid. I don't mean to hurt you, Blake. I really don't. But, I am not going to outright lie to you. He's going to get to fuck me, and that's all there is to it," she said.

Her matter-of-fact tone was so cold and cruel that I considered teaching her a lesson right then. But, I have never hit a woman, and if this is the way it was going to be, I was going to have to think of something else. Good 'ole Gordon of course was a totally 'nother matter; he was in grave danger, and neither he nor my whoring wife had a clue.

I took another sip of tea. "Blake? Are you all right?" She seemed to be having second thoughts at least about the coldness of her words to me. "Jesus, Blake, I'm such an asshole. You saved my life and I treat you like shit."

I still didn't say anything. I just sat there sipping tea and getting madder and madder every second. My silence was getting to her. "Blake? Aren't you going to say anything?" I remained silent. Rangers were good at psychological warfare, and the battle had been joined.

She came to me and tapped me on the shoulder. "Blake, say something. For godssakes say something." I didn't. I just kept looking past her. She changed her tactics.

"Well, if you've got nothing to say, I'm going to bed. Don't bother joining me until you're willing to talk to me," she said. I didn't even look up.

I didn't move until I heard the bedroom door slam. Good, I thought, she's off balance. Now, I have the initiative. She'd crushed my heart. And, not by the cheating per se. No, it was her heartless attitude about what I could do if I didn't like it. It was obviously her dictum that it would be her way or the highway. The way I saw it at that moment, the worst case scenario, was gonna be that the highway would hurt her more.

That night, and every night for the next month, I slept on the couch. I didn't flinch when she called to say she was going to be late Tuesdays and Thursdays as usual. We both knew she was fucking him those nights. And, then she began adding Saturdays to her schedule. This last, I was pretty sure, to push me to talk to her.

I did talk to her: about the kids, the house, the job, everything; but not about her whoring around on me. She was becoming skittish. She knew first-hand what I was capable of. I saw her look worriedly at me when I was working in the yard. My cold demeanor must have had her wondering when the shit was going to hit the fan.

The supreme irony was, that as I let things continue, my hatred grew, but so did my sadness. I loved this woman with all of my being. And, I was pretty sure she loved me almost as much. She just wanted to have her cake and eat it too.

Had I talked to her, I know she would have tried to convince me that her liaisons were nothing but sex; that they had nothing to do with us as a married couple. It made me smile inwardly when I thought of the scenarios that sooner or later would be played out. The charade went on for almost a year.

We had not had sex once during the whole time, and I had not, during that time, cheated on her or said so much as one word to her or to her asshole lover about their adultery. I had however, with the assistance of Gary and Mark, gotten a busload of evidence in case of a divorce. We were also grinding it out to find as much evidence as we could against Mr. Gordon Crowder of other things he might be guilty of. We worked on the premise that absolutely everyone had something to hide. The work was slow, but it definitely was sure.

Every state but New York is a no fault state, so to guarantee that I could have custody of the children; I had to have near incontrovertible evidence of her unfitness as a mother. This was going to be a tough nut. But now I was close to getting it.

I had been kinda surprised that she hadn't divorced me! I knew she was angry and frustrated with me. She did mention divorcing me a couple of times, but I just walked away without so much as acknowledging her words. But, then, finally, I caught a break.

Again, I think she was trying to force me to talk to her and agree that her fucking around on me wasn't so bad. She kicked me out. No talk of divorce. She just said to get out until I would talk to her and try to solve our differences—read agree to her demands.

This time I looked her in the eyes as mine teared up. I was genuinely saddened by her move, but I also realized it was an opportunity. I went up stairs and began packing a couple of suitcases. I heard her on the phone when I came out of the room. She was in the kitchen, but I could hear her side of the conversation easily.

"Your idea sucked, Gordon ... no ... he's leaving ... no damn it ... he's leaving don't you hear me ... no I said ... no ... when? what? ... you have got to be kidding you're not half the man he is except for your dick ... you? ... hahaha ... one on one with him ... yeah right ... you'd last about as long as a fart in a typhoon ... no ... forget it ... we have to cool it for a while ... yes, but not any time soon ... I have to get my man back ... yes ... goodbye."

I came down the stairs and she was waiting for me by the door. "Blake, I apologize. I made a mistake. Please don't leave," she said. I pushed by her.

"Goodbye," I said. And, I left.

I wound up at the Pine Tree. The same motel that she and her fuck buddy had frequented. I even got the same room they'd used at least that one time. The place had no restaurant, but it had the virtues of being cheap, close to my work, and it had a bar next door.

Alana sat on the bench at the back of the house. She wasn't sure whether she felt sorrier for herself or for him! Her tears hadn't stopped since he had left. She felt like a complete asshole. Her man, the one who had protected her, saved her; and had since married her, fed her, clothed her—and yes—loved her; she'd fucked him over. And for what! A bigger cock. Selfish—no, that in no way adequately described her—she was a douche bag, a vile thing.

And yet—it was his choice. He would have wanted for nothing from her; she wanted to be with him, love him, adore him. He had never wanted for anything, she rationalized. Gordon had not had her anus, but Blake had. Gordon had not ever heard her utter the L word, but Blake heard it every day. How could there be any doubt in her husband's mind that she loved him? And she had told him, argued with him, tried to convince him years ago that she was a slut. He either hadn't heard her or didn't care; but now of course he did care. What could she do? She didn't even know where he had gone. And what of the children. Oh, God this was a mess.

It was a week later that the doorbell rang. She'd just gotten the kids off to school and gotten back.

"Hi babe," said the tall, dark haired man with the mustache.

"Gordon! I thought I told you we'd have to cool it for a while," she said.

"Yeah, but call me horny," he said. "And, you can't hang around her moping forever. We need to get you out and doing," he said.

She knew what he wanted her to do. But the timing couldn't have been worse. Still, she did feel cooped up and hopeless. A couple of drinks somewhere would be nice. "No sex for you today, Gordon. I just can't do it. But, I suppose we could go for a couple of drinks. I could sure use one right about now," she said.

"Sounds cool to me," he said. "No pressure. We'll just have a couple of drinks and you can talk it out with me."

"God knows I do need someone to listen," she said. "Blake sure isn't willing to. I don't even know where he is. I'm going nuts!"

"He'll be back soon. Trust me," said Gordon. "For the kids if not for his honey. I know guy's like him: all domestic and everything. He actually believes that sex equals love."

She gave him a dirty look. But, thinking about it, Gordon was right. He'd been gone a week. It figured he'd be at least be calling before much longer. He'd wanna make some kind of deal, arrangement to see the kids. She'd take the opportunity to try and get him to finally talk to her.

For a single fleeting moment, she saw the incongruity of her wanting to set things right with her husband on the one hand, and going out for drinks with her lover on the other. But the feeling was gone before it had a chance to take root.

She changed and they headed for the Pine Tree Lounge.

Gary arrived at the Pine Tree motor lodge at noon just as planned. He had the envelope. He knocked on 103.

"Hi, Gary," I said

"You okay, man?" said Gary entering the room. "Kinda cheap for you isn't it?"

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