I would like to thank GW66 for the kindness shown to a new writer. The suggestions and the alternative thoughts were of great help. Thanks again. I also want to thank my wife. Her insight made this a better story. This story has no sex in it. It is story of lines being crossed, but the question is how far? Please share your likes and dislikes about this story. It will help me to become a better writer. As usual all comments are appreciated.
Someone must think my head is a drum; they keep beating on it. I decide to open my eyes. Where am I? I look around and see that I am in my favorite recliner in my living room. That doesn't make sense because I don't live here anymore. A half full beer bottle is in my left hand. I try to sit up and wish I hadn't as my head goes into hyper drive with the pounding. Maybe I better just sit here and try to remember why I am here and in this condition.
First let's take inventory of my body. Bandaged right hand, left eye swollen shut, both lips cut, and my nose doesn't feel that good either. What the hell? Have I been in a fight, or mugged, or maybe both? I take a drink of the beer and wish I hadn't, it makes my tongue burn. I must have bitten my tongue too. After drinking the beer my brain finally starts to clear and some memories begin to come to my attention. NOW, I remember. My name is John. I was named after my great, great, grandfather. (Not really important, but I like to remember the old guy). He was a nice man. Anyway, I have just turned 32. I am not a martial arts expert and have no special training, but I did grow up in the inner city. As long as there are no rules I can take care of business. I am six feet even and about 195 pounds. I'm not a body builder, but I have a nice six pack and good Pecs. I earned those muscles by working, not lifting weights. My wife is Samantha. (Don't call her Sam, she hates that) She is 30. We are both still young and in good shape. At least I normally am, just not at the moment. Samantha is tall at 5 feet 9 and she is built like an erotic dream. She runs and goes to Jazzercise. Believe me the results make it all worthwhile. She is hot. We met at college but didn't begin dating until a couple of years after school. I was a little older than normal when I started college as I had spent three years in the military. No I wasn't a Green Beret, Ranger or Force Recon. I was just a regular guy serving my country. I decided to take advantage of the G.I. Bill and get an education and I earned my degree in business administration. Samantha majored in sociology. After school I began working in construction, with the idea of starting my own business someday.
Samantha and I met again at a construction site. Our company was building a parking garage for the building she worked in. She and another female worker had come out to eat lunch at the picnic area between the buildings. Jack and Bud, who worked for one of the sub contractors, approached the girls on a Friday. I guess hoping to set up a long weekend. Samantha told these two that she and Julie were not interested. These apes began to get pushy and a little bit nasty with the girls. As Samantha and Julie started to leave, Jack grabbed Samantha by the arm and pulled her to him. She was trying to pull away, told him to let go, and that he was hurting her.
I was walking through the picnic area and heard the discussion and sort of drifted over toward them. I don't like guys who manhandle women; I mean I really don't like that. It's just a thing I have. My sister was beaten by her ex-husband and had to sneak out to get away from him. (By the way, her ex was mugged and ended up in the hospital, imagine that). Any way Jack was going overboard and I thought of my sister and sort of freaked. "Jack, you might want to let the lady go," I suggested to him. "Fuck off John, she don't belong to you" "Don't belong to you either Jack. She asked you to let her alone." "I'm going to teach this little tease a lesson before I let her go," Jack boasted. "Stay out of it. You don't want any part of this John." "Jack, pay attention. Your mouth is writing checks your body can't cash. I will ask you one more time to let her go and leave." He dropped her arm, turned, and began to throw a punch at me. I reacted to the attack and Jack found himself on his back holding his nose. It appeared to be broken. I turned to Bud and asked, "You want some too? No? Get this piece of garbage out of here. I suggest you take him to an ER." As they left, Samantha came over to me and said, "Long time no see John. You are my slightly tarnished knight protector. I'm glad we met again, especially now." "Good to see you Samantha. What's it been two years? Well come on ladies, I will walk you back." We got to their building where Samantha gave me her number and asked me to give her a call sometime. I looked at her nodded my head and said I would.
I started to walk away then I turned and said, "Samantha, when I call you we will talk about old friends and old times for awhile and then I will ask you for a date. Let's cut to the chase. Want to get together tomorrow night?" She just smiled. "If you did call me, we would have talked about old friends and old times and when you asked me out, I would have said yes. I agree, let's cut to the end. Yes I would love to go out with you tomorrow night. Pick me up a 7:00. I'm still at the same place." Samantha turned and entered her building. The next evening I took her to a bar that serves the best burgers in town. We had a few drinks and got to know each other. After that evening we weren't apart, except for work, for the next 6 months. It wasn't love at first sight; we had known each other at school, but it was love at first date. Seven months after meeting again, we were married. Like all new couples, we had an adjustment period. Nothing major, small things like me remembering to put the toilet seat down, Samantha learning how I liked my coffee. Just little things we learned about each other. Also like most new couples we were trying to save money for a house. Children were part of our master plan, but we wanted a real home first. Because of this we both worked and I was putting in some long hours and an occasional Saturday. Most nights I would get home about 7:00. Samantha was working for the state in social services. Samantha was going to school two nights a week trying to get her Masters. She usually got home around 10:00 on those nights. She also went to Jazzercise two nights a week and usually got home 7:30. We didn't have much time together during the week and had to depend on the weekends for our together time.
We had been married just over 3 years when things began to go south. At least they went south for me. Samantha decided to stop after work to socialize with her co-workers on the one night a week we had free. It wasn't every week, but 3 out of 5. At first she would get home around 7:00. She would be too tired to do anything but shower, press her clothes for the next day and go to bed early. Then she started getting home at 9:00, then it stretched to 10:00. One of those nights, about 3 months into the new schedule, she didn't get home until almost midnight.
"Samantha, don't you feel you're going a little overboard with your socializing?" I complained as she came in. "With your school and Jazzercise, we don't have enough time together and I never get to spend any real time with you. You are usually too tired to talk or anything when you get home. Our sex life has taken a huge downturn. Now you are gone the one night we have together. By the way, what the hell are you doing staying out until midnight?"
"I'm the boss of me, not you," she slurred an answer. "I can stay out as late as I want."
"I see you've had more than the glass or two of wine you said you were having. What else are you not telling me?"
"Nothing, I'm sleepy and am going to bed. We can talk tomorrow."
"Tomorrow you have classes," I reminded her. "Are you going to skip those and to go socializing again?" I was being a little sarcastic.
She didn't answer and left the room with all the dignity a drunk can have, stumbling down the hall to our bedroom. "Good night," she yelled at me.
I turned out the lights and followed her to the bedroom. She was stretched out across our bed, still dressed, already dead to the world. Samantha looked like an angle laying there, still the most beautiful girl in the world, at least in my mind. I got ready and joined her in bed. As I lay down she put her arm across my chest and snuggled up to me. She slept, but I didn't very much. My brain was going around in circles, wondering what the hell was going on.
Nothing was said the next morning. I think she felt guilty and embarrassed about her actions last night. I didn't bring it up; it was up to her to make the next move. My concerns had been voiced and rather loudly, last night.
Things improved a little after that. Samantha still "socialized" but cut it back to about every third week or so. She was coming home at 7:30 or so and never again appeared to go overboard on the drinking. Two months into the new schedule, she began to come home later and later. Eventually 9:00, then 10:00 and then 11:00 became the normal time. I confronted her again one evening when she came home at 11:30.
"Samantha what the hell are you doing? After we talked last time we talked, you compromised and didn't go out as much. You also were coming home at a reasonable hour when you did go out. Now you are back to the same old shit, coming home later and later. What are you doing? You get off work at 5:00. What can co-workers have to talk about for five or six hours?"
.... There is more of this story ...