We didn't marry young like so many of our friends had; we were both twenty-five. We did well too, I worked an hourly blue collar job; made good money. She was little miss stay at homemaker. I'd thought we did good. Fifteen years worth of "I'd thought." Well, I'd thought wrong.
My wife not only didn't love me, as I discovered; she'd actually held me in contempt, had for a long time, I guess. Worse, she still does; though now "I'm" in the driver's seat. Hell, looking back, maybe I deserved it. Sure as hell I took too damn much for granted including her love for me. I'm mostly over it now.
Looking back, it'd taken me a couple of years of pure hell to get through it, and I only made it then with the help of a woman who was, and still is, way out of my league. I will say though that I will never forget it—any of it.
My name is Ethan Crowley. My now ex-wife, is Marie. She was the focal point of my life for almost twenty years, counting the four years plus before our marriage.
My life, my marriage, my heart all died going on three years ago today if "the when" even matters; it was our anniversary. The good news is that my life and my heart at least were eventually brought back from the dead and restored to me a bit less than a year ago, again, with the help of that very special lady. That first marriage was, however, lost forever and has been consigned to the trash heap reserved for its like.
Oh yeah, well, the story...
The boss had assigned me a job that was going to take me all day even if I worked through my lunch hour—on my freakin' anniversary! I was the warehouse supervisor for Gilchrist Shipping. Howard Gilchrist, the owner's son, and my boss; had told me that I had to handle it, the assignment, myself; he didn't trust anyone else to do it right, he'd said. At first blush I felt kinda good that he had that kind of confidence in me, that in spite of it being my anniversary; but then I started thinking. Why this particular job.
The task was to collect all of the data: mileage and expenses for each of the company's many vehicles for the past year. We had receipts, hard copies, for all of that. Why did I have to double check something so mundane? Heck, Julie in accounting could do the job better and faster than I could. I went to her. She looked at me funny.
"What Ethan? Gas, tires, oil changes? I can do that in fifteen minutes. It's all in the computers. You don't have to pull all of the paper work for this. Let me help you," she said.
"Julie, you're a life saver. I'll stay here with you while you pull it all up and verify it. The job was assigned to me, after all," I said. I was smiling like a possum. The boss had said I could go home to my wife when I got it all done; he didn't know it was our anniversary, but I had signed off for a half day's annual leave a few days before, that so Marie and I could have enough time to really celebrate the day; I had plans! Anyway, I figured to be done by 11:00AM latest.
I was wrong. Julie got it all done by 9:30AM. "Julie, I owe you a steak dinner for this one," I said.
"I'll hold you to that," she said. I kissed her on the top of her head, and she snarled at me in fun.
I handed the keys to my back up, Jerry Coulter, and headed out.
Our house was a good half hour driving time from the warehouse. I was thinking of the afternoon and evening of fun that Marie and I would be sharing. I was even planning on taking her shopping since I'd gotten off this early. I pulled onto my street just before 10:30AM.
There was a strange car in the driveway. Well, not strange, but a car that shouldn't have been there. It was my boss' car, Howard Gilchrist's—at fucking 10:30 in the freakin' morning! This did not look good. I drove past my house and around the corner and parked on the next street. I padded home on foot. If what I thought was going on was in fact going on, I was going to be sick—real sick.
I sidled through the side gate and into the back yard. I stayed close to the wall. I wanted to surprise my wife and her guest if I could. Moving up close, I could see them through the sliding glass doors. He was fucking her slowly. He had her kneeling on the couch with her butt pushed back to accommodate him, her breasts hanging down pendulously. God, she was sex personified!
Even from where I was watching the tableau, I could see he had a seriously large cock. It was much bigger than my four and a half inches. Well, and why wouldn't it be, he was six inches taller and a seventy pounds heavier than my five-six and one-thirty-five. I was suddenly sick. Oh, and he was black. All blacks had big dicks, didn't they?
I was standing in plain view now, but outside of the doors. Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, it did. He orgasmed into her. She screamed loud enough for me to hear outside. He pulled out of her and she straightened up and turned toward me. Our eyes met. Her hand went to her mouth. I must have looked like a puppy dog to her: hands at my side, my look undoubtedly tragic.
She wrinkled her brow and slowly shook her head in what I figured had to be sympathy; she mouthed my name. She said something to her lover. His head snapped around. He looked shocked for a moment, but then spread his hands out in a "you caught me" gesture. He followed that by a smile. I turned and walked away. I had no idea where I was going.
Not a word had been said at the house. I had to figure that our marriage was over, But I had no clue about how it might go down. One thing, I'd have to go back at some point and get my stuff. I'd figure that one out later, and then look at my options. I headed for the nearest watering hole. I needed a drink—or eight or ten.
Mister fuckwad Gilchrist was my boss. But, I couldn't work for him anymore. I'd go in when I knew he wasn't going to be around and resign and get my accumulated vacation pay and severance. I'd worked for Gilchrist Shipping for almost the whole of my married life. I'd started with the old man as a loader, was promoted to checker, then warehouse super; but since the old man had gone semi-retired, I'd been working for Howard. He'd treated me all right, but evidently he was treating my wife even better.
"So whaddya gonna do?" said Charlie. Charlie was the bartender at the Hard Hat.
"Don't know. I gotta get my stuff, but I don't wanna go through the inevitable scene. Guess I won't be able to avoid it though," I said.
Just as Charlie was about to comment a tall, very good looking, hardbodied black woman came up to the bar for a refill of whatever her poison was. "Fill 'er up, Charlie," she said. She turned to me. "What's the matter, sadsack, got woman trouble?" Charlie looked up from filling her wine glass.
"Give him a break, Chelsea, Ethan's got reason to be down," he said. She just looked me up and down as if trying to decide just how big a wimp I really was. Satisfied with her appraisal, but apparently not about to share it, she headed back to her table where a soldier was waiting for her.
"Name's Chelsea Brown. Chelsea's a good woman, Ethan, she didn't mean anything by what she said. Say, you want a suggestion?" said Charlie.
"Yeah, for sure," I said.
"Do it, get your stuff, but at 2:00AM. She'll be tired, and he won't be there unless he's already moved into the house. In which latter case you gotta get a sheriff to go with you," said Charlie. "Especially if he's as big as you say." I looked over at him.
"Hey, that's a good idea," I said. "You must be some kind of genius. I'll do it tonight. Get it done fast and furious."
"You got it," he said. He wiped down the bar in front of me.
I drove down the street in front of my house slowly. The lights were all out; well, it was two in the morning. The lover's car was gone. I wondered how long he'd stayed after I'd left. I figured probably not long, but who knew.
I killed my lights before pulling in. I was hoping to catch her asleep. I was disappointed.
Inside, I headed for the hallway of our one-story ranch style. I had not turned on any lights. The voice from the dark startled me.
"It was only sex, Ethan, not love. You don't have to worry about that," she said.
She turned on the little end table lamp by the couch where she had been fucking him earlier that day and where she was now seated. I stared at her. But, I said nothing. I headed down the hall to our—what had been our—bedroom. I pulled two suitcases out of the walk-in and began loading them. Two minutes later she appeared in the doorway.
"What? Nothing to say to me?" she said. I stopped and looked at her. I let out a long sigh.
"I love you, Marie, but not enough to share you with that asshole," I said. "Oh, and happy anniversary—I mean yesterday." She winced at that; it was clear she'd forgotten; that was one little ditty especially that still rankled.
"Ethan, it was only sex. Can't you process that in your head," she said. "And, I'm—sorry about our anniversary. God, how sorry I am about that. Jesus, what a fucking mess. How could I forget our anniversary?"
I had continued to pack. I stopped. "Good question, Marie. It's supposed to be the man that forgets those sorts of things, isn't it? But, I guess we got our roles messed up somewhere along the line," I said. "Whatever, I guess you won't have to worry about remembering stuff like that anymore after today; Since I have clearly have lost both my wife and my job.
"Well, we ain't got no kids, lucky thing, I guess. All we have, you and I, are fifteen and more years of love and marriage. At least that was true in my case until now at least."
.... There is more of this story ...