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."
"You haven't lost your marriage or your job," she said. "I talked to him about it after you left. He understands how you must feel. He told me to tell you that everything is the same.
"There's no need to go overboard here," she said. "Nothing has to change. Nothing. You know, he thinks you do a great job for the company. He doesn't want to lose you."
"Well, he has anyway."
"Marie, it occurs to me that you've not said the two things that might have kept me around; I said might have," I said. "And Marie, everything has changed."
"Huh?" she said.
"You have not said you were sorry you made a cuckold of me, and you have not said you loved me. I've said that to you, but you've not said it to me," I said. She smirked.
"Of course I love you silly. And, I am very sorry you saw that today. I mean that. You didn't need that. I know it, and I am very sorry," she said.
"And what about him, Marie. You gonna keep seeing him? Keep fucking him? Him and his big cock?" I said. The bitterness was creeping into my words now. She looked down.
"Ethan, let's talk about this in the morning, okay. Just put those suitcases down and let's go to bed. I will make it right by you in the morning, okay?" she said.
"You didn't answer me," I said.
"Ethan—yes, I am going to keep seeing him. But, it doesn't have to break us up. I love you, not him; and he knows it. You have been my rock for all of these years. I need you and I want you. He's just a diversion, nothing more," she said. Now it was my turn to smirk.
"So, your plan is to make me a knowing cuckold instead of an unknowing one. A wimp husband who just crawls off into a corner and cries. That about it?" I said.
"Ethan, you've got this all wrong. Nobody's going to think less of you. Nobody is going to know about any of this but us," she said. "And, of course you're not going to be going off and crying. What kind of talk is that?"
"Nobody but him. And you. You'll both know what a wimp I am. You'll both be laughing at me. He certainly will be. You'll both be thinking less of me. And, it won't be long before everybody else knows and laughs at me too. No, Marie, I'm not into being humiliated and degraded, not even.
"Oh, and Marie, just so you know. I spent half the day today crying. Have a good laugh at that, Marie, you've earned it." The anger and sadness was beginning to take over again.
"I'll contact you in a day or two," I said. "I can't deal with this tonight—this morning." I slammed shut the second suitcase. Grabbed the two of them and hauled them down the hall and out into the night. She didn't follow me to the door or call after me or cry or anything a wife of fifteen years looking at a probable divorce might have been expected to do. I thought that telling.
The tears came again as I drove. The Camelback Lodge would be my address for the next few days while I found another place to live. The room was small; it stunk of sex, and it was likely inhabited by any number of thumb-sized life forms; but, it was cheap. Cheap would be good at least in the short run.
I watched as the man left the lot at around 10:00AM. I waited a couple of minutes and headed into the warehouse yard. I parked and went up to the office.
"Hi, Julie," I said to the accountant who'd helped me the day before. "I'm quitting. Need to process the paperwork fast. Can you help me?" I said.
"Ethan, what's going on? Howard said you might be in and wanting to quit. What's going on?" she said.
"I caught him fucking Marie, and I can't work with him anymore. Can that be enough? I really don't want to talk about it, Julie. It kinda hurts," I said. She looked at me stunned.
"Uh—sure Ethan. Ethan, I am so sorry. It happened to me too—you know—so I get it. Two years ago. I caught Paul fucking a neighbor woman. I told her husband, and he dumped her sorry ass for cause. I dealt with Paul the same way. The husband and I even used the same lawyer," she said. I nodded. She got the message and got down to the paper work immediately.
The check for all of my accumulated vacation time and severance, and my last three days regular pay, was in my hand within an hour. Julie was good. Eight thousand dollars would give me a start, but I would need a job soon.
I was pulling out of the lot just as my rival was pulling back in. He stopped. He rolled down his window and said something to me that I couldn't hear at first. I paused, gave him the finger, and was about to head out but lingered a moment longer. I wondered what it was he dared to say to me.
"Ethan, I'm sorry about—that—yesterday. I'm willing to negotiate all of this if you'll just come back inside and talk with me. Just two guys talking," he said. My look must have been answer enough for him. "Okay," he said, "if that's the way it is." I drove out and away. I wondered what he'd meant by the term 'negotiate'; I guessed I'd never really know.
I spent the rest of the day setting up a new bank account, cancelling credit cards, and doing all of the other usual self-defense stuff cuckolded husbands who were about to go through a divorce needed to do. I would give her the house, but no alimony. Hell, I didn't even have a job anymore anyway.
Howard Gilchrist was married. I wondered if his wife suspected his philandering; maybe that's what he wanted to negotiate, my not telling her. I wasn't sure I wanted to get involved with his home situation though; those kinds of things can backfire. But, the more I thought about it, the more I was inclined to give Mrs. Gilchrist a call.
I made the call. I think she fainted. When she came back on the line, she thanked me and promised to let me know, in a choked up voice, what she'd decide.
I'd told Marie that I would contact her in a day or two; we needed to settle a few things about the divorce; at least that was my thinking. Well, it was only one day, but what the heck, the time to get it over with was now.
I arrived at what had been my home at noon. I knew she'd probably be there. She was and he wasn't.
She was in the kitchen. "Hello," I said. I stood in the doorway.
"Ethan! What—" She looked frightened.
"What?" I said.
"You didn't call..." she was looking furtively around.
"I needed to call?" I said.
"Well, no, but..." The ringing of the doorbell interrupted our conversation. "Ethan, it's Howard. I was expecting him. I—" she looked sad.
"Oh," I said. "I guess I better get out of here then," I said. "I don't want to come between you and your big cock."
"Ethan, I am so sorry." I knew that she actually was, and maybe even a little embarrassed. She went to the door. I was still in the kitchen. He wasn't going to make me slink out my own back door. I waited for him to come in and face me. Turned out that was a bad mistake.
I could hear them talking. He raised his voice. "What! The asshole is in the kitchen!" I decided to face him down in the front room. I was pretty sure I knew what he was upset about.
We were but three feet apart when he snarled at me. "Mother fucker! You couldn't wait to tell my wife could you asswipe," he said. I'd been right. I knew what he was upset about.
"Figured it was only fair, Howard. You fuck my wife, and I talk to yours. Seems fair to me." That was the beginning of the end for me. The first blow took the wind out of me. After that there was almost no part of my anatomy that didn't receive unwanted attention.
I knew for a fact that I was a bloody mess. Everything hurt. I was certain that I had broken ribs and maybe even a punctured lung—I could barely get a breath.
I made to crawl toward the front door. I heard Marie screaming at him to stop. He finally did. Well, he stopped hitting me anyway. I sank to the floor unable to go any farther; I was about to pass out from the pain. I felt the warm liquid reviving me as it splashed across my face. I looked up to see if Marie was trying to revive me. But it wasn't her. Howard was pissing on my face. I gagged; but ironically it did revive me a little. Marie was still screaming at him to stop what he was doing.
I don't know how I did it, but I made it out to my car and got in. I keyed the ignition and got out of there as fast as I could. I thought I saw George, our neighbor, across the street; but I wasn't sure. I drove to the hospital and literally poured myself out of the car. I woke up in the predictably little green room.
My chest was taped tight. I had an eye patch over one of my eyes. And a splint on my right arm. I was pretty fucked up. But, looking on the bright side, I wasn't dead. Somebody had taken the time to clean me up.
I went out again. I must have been sedated. I woke up after 9:00PM, or so the clock on the wall maintained. I was thirsty, very thirsty. There was a call button hanging from the bars on the side of the bed. I pushed it. A white clad nurse came in and looked at me sympathetically. "How are you, sir," she said.
"Just peachy," I said. "But I'm dying of thirst. Any chance?" She smiled and left. She was back in less than a minute.
"Here you are," she said. I gulped it down. "Uh—sir—your wife is here. She's asleep in the waiting room."
"Under no circumstances is she to be allowed near me. It was her boyfriend who put me in here," I said.
"I know, he brought her here and the police arrested him on the spot hours ago. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on. Seems a neighbor of yours saw you crawling to your car and called the police. I know because the cop that arrested the guy is my husband. He told me the whole story, as far as he knew it.
"Your wife said you took a knife and attacked the guy, started the fight really, she said," said nurse Elaine—her name tag was large enough for my good eye to read.
"Bullshit," I said. "He beat me up because I told his wife about him and my wife."
"I figured it might be something like that," said nurse Elaine. I had a thought.
"Nurse, I've changed my mind. If she's alone, I do want to speak with her," I said.
"Really, sir? Are you sure?" she said.
"Yes, but I will keep hold of this buzzer in case I need you, okay?" I said.
"Okay. I'll get her," she said.
She came to the door and peered in. When she saw me, she looked down. I thought I could detect a small sob; I couldn't be sure. She came toward the bed.
"I am so sorry, Ethan. I guess, Howard just lost it. His wife has kicked him out: that's why he went off on you like that. She's a real bitch, I guess," she said.
I couldn't believe my ears. My personal whore and her personal asshole cheat on the asshole's wife and his wife's the bitch! But, I contained myself. "Why are you here Marie?" I said.
"You're my husband, of course I'm going to be here for you," she said.
"Well, thank you for that. You been here all day?" I said.
"Of course. I wouldn't leave you alone while you're like this," she said.
I knew she had something else to say, but she was holding back for the right moment. I could smell it. We talked for some time about how I was feeling and such, and then she got to it. She was clever too; I had to give her that.
"You know, your insurance was cancelled when you quit, but I made Howard reinstate you as a full time employee so you would be covered while you're here," she said. She looked proud of herself. Okay, I knew what was coming next.
"Ethan, do you think you could bring yourself—I mean I know you're a kind hearted person—" she stopped. She was afraid to go on. I waited, as bad as I was feeling physically, I was feeling real good in other ways at that moment.
"Do you think you could not press charges against Howard. He is so sorry for doing this to you. He would like to make it up to you. And, and, he promises, and I promise, to not cuckold you ever again," said my wife. I was so dumbfounded that I couldn't get my thoughts together for some moments.
"Marie, he pissed on me! Did you see that! He fucking pissed on me! Never mind," I said. "He damn near killed me, and then he humiliated me in front of you like no one ever humiliated a husband before! What did you think about that, Marie? What did you think about it! Did you enjoy seeing me like that, him peeing on my face!"
"God no, Ethan. God no. It was awful. I felt awful for you. I really did," she said.
"And yet you still went and talked to the asshole," I said.
"I needed to make sure you got your job back Ethan, and, and the insurance. And—he didn't mean to be so cruel—to humiliate you like that, Ethan. He just lost it. I..."
"Let me ask you. Are you saying if I don't press charges that he won't interfere with our marriage anymore? Is that what you said a couple of minutes ago? You mean you'll come back to me, I mean as my wife?" I said. "You mean no more you getting fucked with his big cock?"
She could see I was playing her. Her tone began to sound a little bit desperate; she really wanted to save the sonovabitch!
"He's a good man, Ethan. He doesn't deserve to go to prison. Punish him yes, but please don't send him to prison. Please don't do that to him, Ethan. I promise our affair is done if you will only grant him a little mercy," she said. "I promise to make it up to you in spades too if you will do this little thing for me—for him."
"You say you are done with him, if I don't press charges?" I said.
"Yes," she said.
"But, if I do press charges you'll keep seeing him?"
"Ethan, that's not what I meant at all. Not at all," she said.
"And, our sex life? Yours and mine?" I said.
She smiled. She began to feel a little more relaxed, in control, maybe close to getting what she was asking. "When I said I would make it up to you, that's exactly what I was talking about, young man," she said.
Now it was my turn to smile. "No, Marie. No mercy fucks for me. I finally got the message: I know you don't love me anymore. I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole. As for not pressing charges; I haven't made up my mind about that. If I don't, it'll be because I have other reasons for not doing so. I may not have an eight-inch cock, Marie; but I definitely have a brain, and I ain't gonna be anybody's wimp-assed cuckold. You better go now. We're done you and me. I will let you know about the charges thing later," I said.
"But, it wouldn't be any mercy fuck for you..."
"Just go, Marie, we really are done as husband and wife. Your lover almost killed me. I won't be giving him another chance," I said. She started to go. She was halfway to the door. I called after her.
"Marie, I really have loved you. Hell, part of me probably still does. Goodbye, Marie." I said. She started to say something but just nodded instead. I was once again alone with my thoughts.
I pressed charges. He was brought up on aggravated assault. But, as I thought might be the case. Marie testified against me. She told the court I had attacked him with a knife—an out and out lie. The judge, who seemed to know the attorney for the defense really well, knocked the charges down to simple assault; he got sixty days. The judge didn't seem to believe that he had to do all that he did to me just to defend himself, and allowed that, though he had gone a little too far in the heat of the moment, that good 'ole Howie baby had been provoked by the "alleged" knife attack by me.
As Marie was telling her lies, I stared at her with unadulterated hatred. I vowed that someday I would have my turn. She never met my eyes. I was stunned that the judge never picked up on that.
It was a month later that I was served with divorce papers. I should have filed myself, but had decided to let her or her boyfriend pay for it: bad mistake. The court date was short. She proposed, and I counter proposed. She asked for the house; she got it. She asked for alimony; she'd get it when I got a job. She asked for half of my vacation and sick leave accruals; she got those too. She asked for half of my retirement; she failed there; I guess I had to be grateful for small favors.
She sneered at me when we left the courthouse. I just looked at her coldly. Her boyfriend was still inside, but would be getting out in a few days. He would no doubt be buoyed by the fact that my wife had screwed me over in the divorce.
Well, there it was. I was financially ruined. M wife of fifteen years had cuckolded me. I was depressed as hell. And, the supreme irony? I still needed her sexually; I guessed I always would, but I would be losing out there too.
I wasn't sorry I'd gone ahead and preferred charges against the asshole. I had to do it. He'd robbed me of my life and my wife. I'd had to do something.
She'd taken half of my stake. I'd had to find a job in a hurry. I got lucky and got one doing about the same thing I had been doing, but now I was an assistant. The company was a subsidiary of Finegold Industries. I made about two thirds what I had at Gilchrist, and a third of that went to Marie. I was hurting. Another irony was the fact that when Finegold Inc. checked to get my references and work history, Howie baby had given me a good one. I wasn't sure if that was because he wanted to make sure I made the alimony payments to my ex-wife, or if Julie had maybe had something to do with it. But, it did help me get my assistant super position. Who said that life wasn't stranger than fiction.
For those last months before the divorce was final, I cried almost every night. Okay, I really am a pussy. Worse, I'm a pussywhipped pussy. I know it, and I don't give a damn; well, actually I do, but I am helpless to do anything about it. Anyway, I had just the medicine for it. And, my local eighty-proof pharmacist, Charlie, was more than happy to waive any and all limitations on the dosage; and, I abused the privilege with gusto.
The papers separating me permanently from my cheating spouse arrived right on time; some seven months after the incident with Howard baby. I was free, but alone and yes, frightened, shaky.
A couple of weeks after I got the final papers, I got a call from Julie, my ally at Gilchrist's. The dynamic duo had married in Vegas. Well, big assed surprise.
It was 7:00PM a couple of days later, and I had been ensconced in my usual location at the end of the bar sipping my usual, a not too dry martini with two Spanish olives.
"Well, whaddya know, it's sadsack," said an all too carefree female voice behind me and to my left.
"Well, if it isn't body beautiful herself," I retorted, after a lazy glance in the direction of the interruption.
She laughed. "Well, I'm glad to see you can appreciate the gorgeosity of the female form at its best," she said. "There may be hope for you yet, not much but some."
"Let me know when you decide," I said.
"Look," she said, turning serious, "Charlie told me about your divorce. Bummer, but shit happens. That's life in the big city, as they say."
I was alone and hurting and still crying in my lonely beer—well, martini, but who gave a damn. "Like to join me for a drink?" I said, out of the clear blue sky.
She looked me up and down and took a seat. "Okay. Bourbon, neat," she said. Charlie had been watching the little scene and showed up with her drink already poured.
"So, you're still lost and lonely," she said.
"You could say that," I said. "It ain't somethin' one gets over in a hurry."
"No, I guess not," she said. "You know—Ethan isn't it—you're a good looking guy. No need for you to wimp out on yourself. Just make the decision to get on with life. Find a girl who can appreciate what you got and do right by her. She'll take care of you and make you forget the bad stuff."
"Yeah, well, that's what I thought I had. I didn't," I said.
"Touché," she said. "Anyway, there are plenty of star quality women out there, trust me I know. You just need to take the time to find one." I looked at her like she had hit on something. She noticed.
"What?" she said.
"You wanna go out sometime? I mean with me?" I said.
"Me? You? I mean with you?" she said.
"Yeah, I'm on the hunt for a star quality woman. You it?" I said. I was figuring that at worst she would demur and then maybe back off the pressure. Well, I saw it as pressure.
"But, you're a white guy!" she said.
I looked myself up and down. "My God! You're right. I never realized until now—Oh my God, what am I going to do? I'm a freakin' white man!" She burst out laughing.
"You still haven't answered me," I said, turning serious.
"Okay," she said. "But, just remember, I never kiss a guy on the first half of the first date."
"Huh?" I said. Now she laughed even harder.
We decided to take a chance and hit a country western bar and grill I knew about. The likelihood of running into a swarm rednecks might be increased, but hell, it's a free country; screw the assholes in it.
The Chili Pepper Club, was crowded, but I was able to spot a small high-rise drinks table with too equally high-rise barstools empty beside it. We grabbed them. I signaled the bar girl with the tray; there was always a bar girl with a tray in sawdust joints. She took our order and headed off to fill them.
The drinks came and we talked, sipped our beer, and watched the activity heat up on the dance floor. I was in rare form for a guy who should've been cryin' in his beer. Chelsea laughed at almost everything I said. I wasn't sure if she was employing her brand of therapy or just impressed with my eloquent wordology.
Somebody started a line dance. We left our coats and drinks at our table and hit the floor. It was there that we got a few not too friendly looks from a couple of lowball cowboy wannabes. We ignored them and did our thing; it was fun. Dance over, we headed back to our table. Two newbies had appropriated it.
"Hey, fellas, this is our spot," I said, as politely as I could.
"You weren't here. We are now," said the larger of the two assholes. I was ready to go at it, but Chelsea put her hand on my arm and warned me off. The bargirl was back picking up our drinks.
"Let it go, Ethan. It isn't worth it," she said. I was miffed, but I knew she was right. But right then, the big one crossed the line.
"Tell yuh, what buddy boy. Your darkie there goes outside with me for a little R&R and we'll buy you a drink. How's that?" he said. The arrogance on the man's face was way over the top. I never even saw it coming.
Chelsea's foot literally flashed. The big guy squeaked rather than yelled and slipped to the floor. He was clearly going in and out of consciousness; his kneecap if not actually broken was seriously bruised. His eyes glazed over and he seemed about to conk out. "Be careful who you proposition asshole," said Chelsea.
By now a dozen bodies had surrounded us.
"I heard the asshole, Mac," said the bargirl to the guy with the baseball bat. "He had it coming. Same as last time." The guy with the club, I think it was the barkeep, just nodded, and told the guy's pal to get the hell out and to take his fallen comrade in arms with him.
The cops arrived just as the two assholes were making it to the door. They, the wannabes, looked sheepish; well, they had been humiliated—by a girl. In a way, I could kind empathize with them. Humiliation was something I knew a lot about. They questioned us and some of the bystanders. One of the latter came forward: shaved head, tattoos, nasty looking fellow.
"Officer, I know this lady, she was a DI at Pendleton a few years back. The asshole picked on the wrong woman tonight," he said.
"Hi sergeant," mister nasty-looking said to Chelsea.
"Back atacha... ?" she responded.
"Private Springer, sergeant," he said, identifying himself. She smiled. She didn't know him, but they were both Marines.
We were warned by the police not to cause anymore ruckus or they wouldn't be so tolerant the next time around. The fact that the assholes had caused the problem seemed to get lost in the telling—go figure. But they, the cops, didn't harass us anymore that night; I was grateful for that.
"A Marine? And not only a Marine but a drill instructor?" I said.
"You never asked," she said.
"How was I supposed to ask about that?" I said almost giggling.
"It doesn't bother you?" she said.
"Hell no," I said. "I think it's interesting as hell." She looked at me quizzically.
"Most men don't like it when they find out," she said. "I was hoping to get to know you better before I told you my life story."
"Well, the cat's out of the bag," I said. "The milk is spilt. Water over the dam, whatever. Give." She sighed.
"Okay, but just the short version tonight," she said. I nodded.
"We were poor; didn't have a lot of options. My bothers let me work out with them. I got real strong and real fast—for a girl. When I got outta high school I took the ASVAB, scored a ninety-two—well I had been hanging with my brothers—and I was an A-student. The Marines took me. I made squad leader in a year and was given temporary command of a platoon for short time. I made buck sergeant. Colonel Stansfield saw what I was doing, checked me out, and I eventually ended up at Pendleton schooling raw recruits. Had that duty for seven years before I mustered out. I was in for a total of twenty-years," she said. I looked at her like she was lying!
"You were in the service for twenty years! No way," I said. You look like your twenty-five."
She snickered. "Right. Well, I'm thirty-nine, just," she said.
"Fuckin'-A," I said. "I take it you're pretty good at self-defense and such."
"Very good," she said. She wasn't braggin', she was merely informing me.
"Hah, I wish I was. There are a couple of assholes I could name who I'd love to be able to dance with—I mean like you," I said.
"I could train you," she said. "Might be fun." We laughed and danced and drank some more and put the incident with the assholes behind us. Finally, worn out, we had one for the road and decided to head out.
The ride back from the club was slow. She nuzzled me, leaning over and putting her hand on my leg, high up on my leg. I looked over at her. "I think we're on the second half of our first date," I said sounding as serious as I could. She took my face in her two hands and leaned in and kissed me as I tried not to run into a tree or something. God she tasted good.
We went to her place.
"Have a seat, I'll be right back," she said. She wasn't; it took her ten minutes. When she did return she was wearing a black, knee-length negligee, and carrying two glasses of white wine.
She sat beside me on the couch. We tilted glasses, sipped our wine, and said absolutely nothing; it would have broken the mood.
She kissed me. I kissed her. I let my hands roam up and down her arms. I knelt down in front of her on the floor and lifted her nightie, but not too much. I wanted to go slow.
I began kissing the inside of her thighs. She tasted good, and she smelled wonderful. I looked up at her as I began to slowly pull her panties down and off. I nuzzled her bush.
Soon I was licking and sucking on her mons. Her slit was wet, not moist, wet, and almost dripping. I stood and took off my clothes. I was naked and she might as well have been.
As I stood in front of her, She took my cock in her hands and stroked it, very slowly. She leaned in and took it in her mouth. It was the best blow job I had ever gotten. What she was doing with her tongue could not have been found in any Marine Corps manual, but then again, what did I know.
I lifted her up and pulled her down on the floor with me. I rolled on top of her and forced her legs apart. I lay between them rubbing my cock up and down her mons.
"Put it in me, Ethan. I need it. It's been a long time," she said. "I positioned myself and she pulled her knees back and spread herself open for me. I slipped in without the slightest problem. She was wet beyond belief.
I began screwing her slowly and steadily. After some minutes, I don't know how many, I felt myself loading up. I began pumping her for real. She began to hump back at me driving her pelvis into the cruel assault of my cock. She made little squealing noises. Her breaths were coming in staccato bursts; she was having multiple orgasms and I finally unloaded into her washing her insides with my sauce.
We lay there for some moments trying to get back some semblance of routine in our breathing rhythm.
Before the night was over, I had her three more times. The most in my entire life. But, I can't take all of the credit; her tongue did a masterful job of getting me up when I was sure I couldn't get it up no matter what she did.
Sex with Chelsea looked promising as hell!
The next morning I lay musing on the bed while my new best love was showering.