Author's note. I want send out a big and whole hearted thank you to PapaGus. His editing prowess and valuable input undoubtedly improved this story by far. I know the chat session bugged the shit out of him, but I patterned one side of it like a good friend, except I made it readable, because if you don't know my buddy and chat with him often, you have no clue what he's saying. Enough of my rambling, here's I Don't Know Much.
"I don't know much, but I know I love you. And that may be all I need to know"
Aaron and Linda crooned on about what they did, or didn't know, but I didn't have time for their bullshit. I had plans to make. Canada was out, "Too damn cold."
"I could run to Mexico. No, they'd be looking for me at the border. Sure, many people have great luck in coming across this way illegally, but sure as shit I would get popped going the other way."
As I talked to myself about escape plans I guided my wife's Jag through the mid-day interstate traffic. I had her car because she taken my Suburban to park in the long term lot for her flight to Dallas.
Staying in the states might be an option if I could clean out our bank fast enough, and get some papers and plastic surgery before the authorities began looking for me, but with my pale complexion and blue eyes, becoming Juan Valdez was definitely out of the question.
I only had a couple of hours to figure it all out before I went to pick my wife, Stacey, up from the airport, drive her to some secluded spot, and shoot the cheating cunt in the face.
So, why am I, Freddy Brian Murphy, (mom was a Queen fan) a 35 year old software engineer from Littleton, Colorado, rushing toward the "'til death do we part" part? I'd like to say that this thought of splattering Stacey's pretty little face with high speed lead is a new thought that just struck me in the heat of the moment so that maybe you'll believe I'm just a bit nuts today. But that's not the case.
No, I've been preparing for her demise for the last three years. Well maybe not planning to kill her, per se, but I have been keeping pretty good tabs on her. This is not a snap decision, it's taken three years of tapping her cell, watching her PC, e mail, and IM's, and finally a meet with a PI to arrive at condemning the woman I love.
This is a second marriage for both of us. My first marriage was to my high school sweetheart, Trina. We married right out of high school and since we'd both gotten full ride scholarships, paying for room and board was never an issue. We lived together even through our freshman year when most students were restricted to the dorms.
After we graduated, we decided to rent a small apartment until we could buy a house outright. We figured that with tight belts and pay raises, we'd have our house in five years. It was the fairy tale marriage until the day I came home from work early and found her with our landlords cock buried balls deep in her ass.
I recall the Warrant song "I Saw Red," and remember debates, while stoned of course, about whether or not a person can actually get mad enough to "see" red. I am going to tell you that I did indeed see red. I stepped outside of myself for moment or two as my body just did what my subconscious brain told it to do without rational thought input from me. Then I saw red on my knuckles as I beat our landlord senseless. I never laid a hand on Trina though.
I got lucky and got a sympathetic cop, who instead of cuffing me and making me do a "perp walk" out of the apartment, instead let me ride in the front of the car like a ride along. I was booked quietly into jail and awaited an appointment with a judge.
The judge was sympathetic as well and sentenced me to one year on probation and anger management classes. Stanley, our landlord, refused to press charges and opted to tell everyone that he had fallen down some stairs.
Trina never begged me to take her back. I often wondered why she wouldn't at least fight to save the marriage. Then she was diagnosed with nymphomania and I understood. She knew I'd never be enough for her and that I would never allow her to explore on the side. She ended up moving down into Stanley's apartment. He didn't do anything other than collect rent and fix the occasional leak so he had all the time in the world to keep Trina sexed up.
During the divorce I talked to her twice. Once to let her know who my attorney was, the second time to tell her I fully expected every cent I contributed toward rent back. The divorce was easy since we owned no property and we each had the vehicles we'd had since high school. I got all of my money back and a rare and sympathetic judge ignored her cries for spousal support, telling her "Young lady, it seems you do pretty well supporting yourself already."
My exit was the next one off of the Interstate and I jockeyed the Jag into the exit lane. Trina had been my reason for existing through high school. As I turned onto the main thoroughfare that would take me home I reflected on my life just after the divorce.
I saw Trina a month or two ago in line at a movie theater with three kids in tow. They all looked like different fathers. I had seen her sometime after our split at a night club. She spent half of the night on the dance floor, and the other half was divided between sucking cock under a table, and fucking in the parking lot. She never noticed me that night, but I had no doubt I had made the right choice in divorcing the whore. I felt stupid for months after, wondering why I never picked up on any signs of her infidelity.
I've read hundreds of articles and stories about cheating. Each time one of them goes through the "tell tales" of a cheating spouse I can't recall ever seeing the behavior in Trina. The thought that I had missed some critical clue bothered me deeply. I was a very detail oriented person and I had missed one and possibly several crucial details. This thought was one that made me start drinking.
I spent three months getting hammered every night and then trying to function at work the next day. It all came to a head when my program manager called me into his office. My program manager had been a D.I. in the Marine Corps and at times ran our group as if we were a class of new recruits. "Fred, I called you in here today because I feel we need to have a frank discussion about your job performance, or lack thereof. Have you ever heard the term 'Worthless as tits on a boar'?"
"No Dennis, I can't say I've ever heard that one."
"Fred, can you think of anything more worthless than tits on a boar?" I shook my head. "Well son, you are rapidly approaching that level. Look; I know the divorce was hard on you, but it is way past time to snap the fuck out of it and carry on with life. You have two weeks' vacation in your bank. As of today, I am considering you on vacation. You will use the two weeks to either drink your liver to oblivion, or screw your ass back on straight."
"That's OK Dennis. I'll be fine."
"You will not be fine, numb nuts!" he yelled. I'm sure that fifteen heads out in the office suddenly swiveled our way. "You need to quit walking around here like a god damned love struck pussy and grow some balls! You will take your vacation; I've already gotten it approved through HR. Get the fuck out of here and use the two weeks wisely."
I was pissed off as I left the office that day. What did fucking Dennis know anyway? OK so I had fucked a couple of things up. So I was irritable. He'd be irritable too if he went through what I did. Part of me realized that Dennis was right. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and move along, but Trina had been the love of my life since we were freshmen. I got in my car and headed straight for Smitty's Tavern. It was in there that my life would take a turn for the better.
I was tipping my third beer since I had arrived at Smitty's when three guys that had gone to my school came in and grabbed a booth near where I sat. They had been two years ahead of me and didn't know me. They were talking amongst their selves and soon the topic of women came up.
"Do you know who I heard is moving back to town?" said one of them.
"Stacey LaRusso, well she's Stacey Martin now but she stepped out on old Jerry one too many times I guess and is headed back here."
"That aint surprisin'," said the third, "In school it never mattered who she was dating, she would still be fucking Don Sanders every chance she got."
"I fucked her once." said the fourth. All three laughed at him.
"Sure ya did Eddy. Then you woke up and dried your jammies."
Stacey LaRusso was a senior when I was a freshman. She was the head cheerleader and prom queen. If her beauty wasn't enough to grab a teen age band geek's attention, the fact that she was known to put out did. One rumor had her doing a gang bang with six guys under the bleachers during halftime of the Homecoming game. I never heard it from anyone who saw it firsthand, or from anyone who was involved, but always someone who heard it from someone who knew someone who was there.
Take Carmen Electra without the fake tits and you have Stacey. If Trina was my reason for getting up each morning, Stacey was the reason my mom hated washing my stiff socks. I know most guys would think I was nuts for drooling over a serial cheater, but I look at it like a guy would look at his dream car. He'd take a model with some flaws just to own one, and work on those flaws. So in my head I saw myself making an honest woman out of Stacey.
.... There is more of this story ...