I'm Jim Layton. My wife of seventeen years is Mabel Layton, nee Clay. We were married young and in hurry. We'd talked about waiting, but when my Ranger unit, an element of the 82nd. airborne, was called up to go to Iraq in '91; we took the plunge.
She was twenty at the time, and I was twenty-five. My very diminutive Mable is tawny-haired and some would say a bit on the plain side. She's a tad overweight too, but in her case I think it's sexy. Her best feature bar none is her dazzling personality; I have adored her since the day we met at a Cal Tech exhibition all those years ago.
I guess I would describe myself as slender, not exactly prepossessing in the face, and at five-nine and never over one-sixty-five, not especially impressive physically. But, what is, is, I guess.
As a combat engineer for the Army, with a degree from Cal Tech, Capt. James C. Layton, me; was a natural to fill the position at Harding Engineering Inc. upon my return from the war zone. Harding is a company with serious government contacts, It was a position, too, I had long hoped to get upon my discharge. I was not disappointed in my hopes and hired on as soon as I mustered out in late '92.
A few years later Mabel and I began the next campaign together: that of engineering a family. Clara, now twelve, was our first success in that regard; she was followed two years later by Johnny, now ten.
As I said, I adore my woman. She was and is sexy, she was and is fun, and she is mine, at least for now. Sex from the beginning has been virtually non-stop and varietal. Well it was until very recently.
It all seemed kinda sudden to me: the onset of headache disease on the part of my wife. More, lately it has seemed, that every time I make a move to make love to her, she's had an excuse: headaches, her period, fatigue from her long (four hour) day at the used car dealership—more about that shortly—it's always some damn thing. It's been almost a month now since the last time I was allowed to sock it to her, and when I did, and I'd had to beg, she just laid there like a lump enduring it. I knew something was wrong, but the obvious had not even entered my mind at that point. Okay, I'm a dumb fuck when it comes to her, at least I was.
I had been thinking about things all day, and I now realized, in hindsight, our troubles, mine at any rate, had begun two months ago, when Mabel laid it on me that she was going to get a job during the day while the kids were in school. I was not thrilled by the idea, but I had no good reason to deny her other than my personal preference for a wife to be a homebody.
She said she was bored. I said get a hobby. She said she was, one that paid. She ended up as a girl Friday at Landmark Auto: a used car dealership in town. The pay was okay and the work not especially taxing. For a while things seemed to be fine; except of course that her sex drive had gone from frantic to practically zero.
Today, I'd decided to make her sit down and talk it out. Something had to give, and her job was very high on the list of options. That, since I now recognized that her starting work was the beginning of the whole mess.
I had taken the half day off to talk with her. I wanted to do it before the kids were due to be picked up at 3:30. I pulled into the drive and noticed that the trash had been picked up, so I decided to take the empty can to the back, save myself having to do it later. I ducked into the garage and wiped my dirty hands on the rag hangin' by the door. The sight that greeted me was stunning.
Parked in my space in the closed garage was a vintage red Corvette. Not the kind of car often seen anywhere, but virtually never on our street. I had a bad feeling.
The door to the kitchen from the garage was ajar. I went through it. The noise emanating from the front room killed my heart. "Fuck me harder, damn it, harder! I need it. I need it now!" I heard her say. The 'her' was my wife. For some seconds, I don't know how many, I stood there in the kitchen, my mind a chaos of a dozen swirling emotions. I gathered myself.
I went into the front room. She was leaning forward with her hands on the easy chair, my chair. She was naked and her legs were splayed wide. He was behind her pile driving his cock deep inside of her. He was pretty impressive; I had to give him that. She was grunting savagely as he banged her. I stood there watching the woman, who I had never before doubted, betraying me. I knew the man, met him. He was her boss at the dealership, Dutch Miller. He was married with kids too.
Well, what they were doing explained the decline in my sex life.
Their backs were to me, and they hadn't heard me, not yet. "Mable?" I managed. God I must have sounded like the worst kind of wimp.
The man's head whipped around. To say he was startled was a total understatement, at first. But, then he just smiled. "Sorry man. I couldn't resist this nice little wifey of yours. He didn't appear worried. Well why would he have; he was at least six-six and maybe two-eighty, that he was wrong in his self-confidence notwithstanding.
I stared at him more stunned than anything else. Anger would soon replace those initial feelings. But, for the moment; I was completely at a loss.
Mabel, by now, had stood and turned to face me. She grabbed for the towel she'd evidently brought into the living room from the bathroom. She covered herself. She too got over her initial surprise quickly and offered me the same condescending smile that her lover had.
"Jimmy, you're home early. Well, it was going to happen sooner or later," she said.
"Mabel? What—what—are you doing? Is this the end of us? I know this guy. He's married. He has kids. We have kids. I don't..." I was more or less making sense, but I was not standing up for my rights, or for my family's rights. But, in my defense, I was in a state of shock. It was the worst moment of my life.
"The end of us? No, Jim, in fact it's a good thing. I love you Jim. But frankly, and I don't mean this to hurt you; you don't do it for me in bed anymore. You and I need to talk. But I promise you; I'll make this right by you. You'll just have to give me a chance to make you understand, that's all.
"Dutch, you need to go. Jimmy and I have a lot to discuss," she said.
"Yeah, I guess that's so," he said. He gathered his stuff together pulled on his pants and shirt and left by the kitchen door into the garage where he still had his car to retrieve. I heard the garage door opener engage and the sound of the powerful engine gun as he pulled out into the street and was gone.
"Pour yourself a drink, Jimmy. I'll be down in a few minutes," she said. Her giving me orders was new. She'd never talked to me like that before. I was feeling insulted—no—hurt.
She joined me in maybe five minutes. She started laying it on me as soon as she'd taken her seat. I had already downed a shot of vodka. I poured myself another one.
"Jim, to answer your earlier question again, no this doesn't have to be the end of us unless you want it to be. But, I need to tell you, I intend to keep on having my time with Dutch. If you want to stay married, I will be thrilled to agree. But, if you want a divorce; then, that'll be okay too," she said.
"Mabel this isn't right..." I started to say.
"Jim, deal with it or leave; it's that simple. If you want a divorce, I'll take the house, half of the savings, reasonable alimony and child support, and you can have your freedom. I'm sorry you had to see that today. You didn't deserve that. I should never have allowed him in the house to fuck me, my bad.
"But, in a way it's good because now I won't have to be sneaking around anymore," she said.
I looked at her. Who was this woman? I sure didn't know who it was. I sat there speechless for a long time at least it seemed like a long time. My marriage was deader than the proverbial doornail; I knew it if she didn't.
"Jim? Are you all right? I honestly do feel bad that you saw that. I didn't want to hurt you. You're good man just not what I need in some areas.
"Dutch fills that missing something that need. He's worthless every other way," she said, "you are twice the man he is other than when it comes to sex. And—and—you and I can still do it sometimes. I don't intend to cut you off completely. But—well—it won't be as often as maybe you might want I'm afraid."
"What? Why—why are you..." I said. Jesus, I was being wimpy. I just couldn't seem to get a hold of myself. I would at some point; I had to, but for the moment she was in the driver's seat, and I was getting my ass kicked.
"Jim, if you need to find a woman, you know, to take the edge off; like on the side, be my guest. I can't very well object to you doing what I'm doing can I?" she said. It was clear she was feeling proud of herself for being so magnanimous with me.
"But I love you, not somebody else. You love me—don't you?" I said.
"Of course I do, Jim. I will always love you. It's just, the sex with you—well—it's just not like it used to be, darling. Get your head around that, and you'll see; we can get by this little mistake of mine, I mean this thing today," she said. "We can deal with this. It's just a sex thing, nothing more."
We talked for some time. She actually got up and kissed me at one point. She brushed away my tears with her hand. "I promise not to flaunt it in front of you again, Jim. You deserve that much consideration at the least. Are we okay?" she said.
.... There is more of this story ...