“And So ... the Worm ... It Doth Turn.”

I never would have believed it. What is it they say? It couldn’t happen to ... I should’ve seen ... think of Occam’s Raz ... there’s a sucker born ... oh yeah buddy that was me. Well it happened, and when it did it was like that dead Black Panther Eldridge Cleaver said once way back in the day, “Somewhere in the universe a gear shifted”.

The name’s Steve Cornish. I guess I’m just a regular kind of guy. In fact I’m probably the most regular guy anyone would ever meet; just turned thirty-four, five nine and a half, one hundred eighty pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, M.Ed. in elementary education, just a fifth grade teacher in one of the better schools in a neighboring county. How’s that for a typically bland resume?

Oh yeah, I’d been married to a beautiful five foot three, blue eyed blond paralegal named Myra. We had got two marvelous little boys; Michael who was nine and Jeremy eight.

I’d met Myra my senior year in college. Any of this sound familiar? She was twenty working as a legal secretary for a large law firm down in the center city. We met at a dance club; she was with a passel of girls, I was hanging with my school chums. I asked her to dance, and well, things took off from there.

The month of June right after I got my diploma we tied the knot. I already had a job; same place then as now. Her mom and dad put on the big spread; the church wedding, five bride’s maids, flower girl, ring bearer, reception with open bar at the country club. We honeymooned in Vegas; never saw the casino, barely took time to eat.

For the next eleven years we did all the right things; had the two boys, rented a small apartment, saved, and bought that first home, everyone knows what I mean the old ‘equity property’. We scrimped and saved. She stayed home until the boys were old enough for school then she went back to work, at first just between the morning bus pick up until the afternoon when the bus dropped them off. At night I babysat while she took the classes that got her that paralegal status. I made a little extra in the spring coaching lacrosse at the high school, and I worked for a construction company hammering nails during the summers. By the late winter of our eleventh year, sixth in the equity home, we were ready to trade up.

We scouted around and found our ‘dream home’ in one of those new bedroom communities about thirty miles out. It made my commute a little longer, but it put us right in the center of one of the best places imaginable to raise kids.

It was a slow thing at first, but as we planned for our new home Myra’s behavior changed. Up till the early stages of the move we’d always looked at things as a team; we’d discuss things and come to a decision that usually involved some level of compromise. But Myra’s attitude shifted; she started to become the ‘boss’. She said she was being more decisive. I felt she was more tyrannical, and maybe a little discourteous if not disrespectful. But I loved her so I let it ride.

The house we found was on a two acre lot on the edge of an established development. I preferred a house at the end of one of the cul-de-sacs, but Myra was firm, she wanted the bigger lot. She planned on a pool in the not too distant future.

Like I said Myra really took charge. We needed all new furniture so that meant trips to Frobisher’s the best store of that ilk in the area. I’d need a lawnmower; without any consultation she ordered one of those brand new John Deere tractors. I would have been happy with a used Cub Cadet, but Myra would have none of it; she’s checked Consumer Reports and I guess Better Home and Gardens. She decided John Deere was the way to go. There was a shed on the property; that wasn’t big enough, carpenters were hired and a newer bigger shed soon sat on the site of the original. I thought stuff like sheds and lawn tractors were man things? Well what did I know?

Myra was worried about the boys; especially with regards to issues of her availability. If there was ever a problem she rightly felt she’d need to get home or to school fast. Back before we’d lived close to their school. Now things were different.

Myra couldn’t stay with her old employer and feel safe. She scanned the papers, and found a law firm in the county seat that was advertising for a paralegal. She applied, and got the job almost on the spot. That put her just fifteen minutes from her work, and less than five miles from the kids’ school.

I wasn’t sure but I thought there might be one or two problems when she came home and told me about her new job. She said, “Steve I got the job and it’s a twenty percent raise. Plus I’ll get limited gas mileage, and one of their secretaries will be doing a lot of my clerical work. There are one or two minor wrinkles though.”

She said wrinkles with her ‘new’ authoritative tone. I wondered what the wrinkles might be. I found out pretty quick.

Myra explained, “Honey they’re a lot more ‘business-like’ than my old office down in the city. I’ll be expected to wear more formal attire so I’ll need a new wardrobe. And oh yeah, they have a Friday ‘happy hour’ at one of the restaurants a couple blocks from their office, and I’ll be expected to attend.”

We’d both been in the area scouting around, and I thought we’d traveled it pretty thoroughly. I asked her, “What’s the name of the ‘restaurant’?” She told me it was a quiet little place called The Wagon Wheel Inn.

When she mentioned the Wagon Wheel I guess a little light went on; not a suspicion thing, just a troubling little light. I’d been by the ‘Wagon Wheel’. I’d seen the ‘quaint’ little place, and it sure wasn’t what I’d call a ‘family’ restaurant, not even on a good day. I told her, “I’ve seen that place honey. I’m not happy with you going there on a Friday like that, not without me at least.”

That’s when the light grew a bit brighter. She gave me the first of what would soon become her new standard responses, “What do you know? Have you ever been there? Have you tried their food? Have you checked out the clientele? My new bosses say they like it, and if they like it, and its part of the job, then I’ll like it too.”

Here was a little more about the unhappy tidbit I mentioned. When Myra and I met, courted, and married she’d been a one kind of person, but over the years of our marriage there’d been something of a slow, then not so slow, metamorphosis.

When we’d met she was this perky flirty scamp who managed to bounce from table to table treating everyone to this wildly funny and innocently erotic girl. She always dressed prettily. By that I mean cute miniskirts, snow-white button-up blouses, low-heeled shoes, sometimes even with knee highs. She usually kept her hair back with barrettes, or sometimes back in one of those terrific little ponytails that flip flopped back and forth when she pranced about. She was light, airy, witty, and just an all-around pleasure to be with. She hardly wore any makeup, but for sure, I didn’t think she needed any.

Did I say she was popular? Well she was enormously popular. Once I set my sights on her I had to fight the competition off with a stick. Sometimes I felt like I was standing in line. I think I asked her about eight times before she agreed to marry me.

I remember the day we got married. Her dad walked her down the aisle her in this beautiful white dress all embroidered with rich satiny lace, the long train, and that veil! I’m saying she was just a delight to see. And when I pulled back her veil; those soulful big blue eyes. I mean the love I saw there was palpable, it could have been cut with a knife.

We went to Vegas, and yes we did leave the suite. She had a body other women killed for, and when she wore that white two piece in the water there wasn’t any doubt in anybody’s mind; she was the total package.

Out in public those first years she stayed the silly pouty girl I’d married and loved, but at home alone in bed she became a tigress. Neither one of us were virgins when we got married, but I think I got her cherry the night we got engaged, in fact I’m almost positive I did. At first she’d been a little reticent, kind of chary about sex, but it didn’t take her long to discover and appreciate all the joys of lovemaking.

Not a big or particularly buxom girl Myra had a natural athleticism that lent itself to real joy in the bedroom. She was really quite the acrobat! She liked to be on top, and in a second, once we got going she could swing around from facing me to facing away.

The truth, few men really know for sure how big they are in comparison to other men. Sometimes when we did it missionary I’d get so far as to able to hit her cervix, but when she was on top facing away, or when we did outright doggie I got in deep, I mean really deep! When she got going she was tight, warm and wet, I’d go wild sliding in and out feeling her tight canyon walls hugging against me.

When we first got married I admit I had a terrible time with her. She was incredibly tiny, and I spent an inordinate amount of time just cuddling and snuggling while I used my fingers to massage her nether lips. I’d rub and rub; she’d get all pink and swollen. I’d go down on her and lick and kiss and smooch on her till she agreed to let me try to get in. Those first few times I had trouble getting in for the full ride. Like as not it would hurt so much she’d make me stop. This might sound self-serving but being a man; my patience with her made me feel good. I swelled with pride when it finally happened thinking I’d been the one who’d coaxed my innocent wife into womanhood.

I tried to get her to suck me off, but she said at first she was afraid I’d squirt all over her, later she pulled the ‘oh it’s ‘dirty and degrading’ for a woman so I had to be satisfied with the occasional hand job. It wasn’t so bad really; her hands were small, her fingers were soft and dainty, and she was a fast learner.

I know when I finally did get inside, and she got beyond those first few uncomfortable occasions. She became a real wanton, and after our two boys arrived all fear of injury or pain evaporated.

By the time little Jeremy was off the tit and in his crib my little wife had grown into full womanhood. God how she loved it. We were back in the city, and I knew each evening when she was especially horny. She had this little dungaree mini-dress. It zipped up the front, came to about mid-thigh, was sleeveless, and hung loosely on her torso. I could never tell, at least not without pulling it up or looking underneath, whether she had panties on or not.

Sometimes she’d fix dinner in her little ‘mini’, get the kids off to bed early and then slip downstairs to the sofa. She’d slide up beside me, pull down her zipper, and we’d go at it right there. Once in a while she let me loop a finger in the big ‘O’ ring of that zipper and slowly slide the dress open myself. That was fun. When our parents, or when company came she had a big quilted blanket she used to cover it with; that way the semen and pussy juice stains were hidden.

It was so cool when we’d have company. She’d sometimes sit on her fanny on the floor in front of me while we all talked. I knew she didn’t have a stitch on under that mini. I knew and she knew, but none of our friends had a clue. When the last ones would leave we’d close the door and do it standing right there under the lintel. She’d undo my belt, unzip my pants, pull them and my boxers down and use her hands to slide me in. It was outrageous!

Why am I reflecting on all this? I guess it’s because, like everything, all good things do gradually come to an end. My whimsical little rosebud got to be, how do I say - more controlling, more staid I guess is the word. The things we once both thought were fun became, in her words, tedious.

Things even started to get different with our sex life; especially after she started her new job at the county law firm. With hindsight I can look back and see it, but at the time it just slipped up on me.

A lot of things started happening during and after our ‘big move’. I can look back and see how things slowly came apart, but like I said - hindsight.

I guess one of the things that played a role was my insecurity. We’d been pretty frugal throughout our marriage. The big housing collapse had come and gone, and we’d managed to dodge it. We were trying to pull together as much cash as possible to maximize our down payment so as to keep the monthly mortgage as low as possible. Myra hadn’t found that new job yet, and her travel time, plus mine, would have been an added burden. I had a regular pension with the county plus a 403B we’d started. We agreed to close out my 403B and her 401k. We’d take the hits when the time came, and close them out in order to add a little more down payment capital.

I was still worried. We’d been house hunting for weeks, and there were several out there, but she fell in love with this particular one. I liked it, but the sellers wanted a decision right away. I was all for holding off for another few months to get another house and a better deal. Myra wanted this house and she refused to wait.

Myra was determined and I backed down. Of course it all worked out. We had the money, everything went through, she got the new job, and looking back all my worries seemed senseless, even silly. Regrettably my caution would later seem like cowardice to her.

My reluctance to jump as fast as she wanted looked like fear to her. Yes I lost some respect on that one. Needless to say every subsequent suggestion I made to slow down was greeted with condescension. I was just the teacher. She was the one with the legal mind. I worked with children all day. She worked with adults. Once we moved into our new home I started to get these little ‘reminders’ about my inadequacies from time to time.

Another big thing that played out against us that I consider myself to blame involved my job. Sure, fifth graders are kids, but teaching is more than runny noses, broken spectacles, and that ‘first menstrual drip’. I had some real problems. I won’t go into detail but they were certainly there.

For one there was the fact I was on a very real career path. I’d taken the supervisory and administrative tests and had cleared the field. I’d done the course work, and had interviewed for a variety of slots. The county was having a population boomlet, and I was being ‘fast tracked’ from classroom teacher to vice-principal and then maybe principal. I’d made my presence known on the state level too, and there were opportunities beckoning there.

Throughout the state elementary education was going through another cycle of change, and one area covered ways to teach reading. There have always been numerous theories, but the big two at the time were the good old ‘look and learn’, and ‘phonics’. With look and learn the kid sees a picture, sees the word, and memorizes the word. With phonics the kid learns the alphabet and the sounds and learns to match the sounds with the letters. That’s a gross over-simplification, but in my opinion the first theory expects kids to memorize thousands of things independently without any cohesion. In the second the kid learns the letters and their sounds, then it simply becomes a procedure of breaking down each word part by part. In the second way the kid learns the ‘code’. Everyone remembers - ‘sound it out’.

Well about the time we’d moved the ‘look and learn’ method was holding sway. I preferred the phonics system, and I was getting a lot of flak for it. I’d been to the wall several times already. I’d written up my opinion, and done extensive research. I had become a regular at school board meetings, and I’d made some enemies. Of course, the big thing was I found myself at too many evening board sessions.

The third professional problem I faced had to do with child abuse, or in one case child neglect. Teachers were expected to report any suspicions of abuse or neglect. Well I had a kid coming to class day after day with no lunch, no lunch money, and almost never a change of clothes. I’d reported my concern to my principal, and she said I needed to follow up. I trusted her support, but when I went to social services I found myself out on a limb. Now I had a set of irate, and I knew, neglectful parents after me.

So I was losing respect at home, trying to advance my career in the county or state, fighting a rearguard action against a lousy educational theory, and I was trying to help a kid. Plus it was springtime when we moved, so I was coaching JV lacrosse, and I still had kids to plan for and teach.

Anyway we bought the house, she got the job, she bought her new wardrobe, we enrolled the kids in their school, and life went on.

Myra told me about her employer. It was a smaller office with five lawyers, six secretaries, an office helper, and her. Of the lawyers three were partners, one was an older ‘adviser’, and the last was the classic ‘new hardworking’ recruit. I heard all about the partners too; there was the older man with the ‘big’ clients, the older man’s lazy daughter who showed up when she wanted, and the hard-nosed businesslike thirty something - the man, who hauled most of the ashes. I thought nothing of it; we’d been down the same road when she worked in the city.

I’ll say Myra’s new wardrobe was eye catching. She’d bought new dresses and new tailored suits. High heels, matching purses, a new expensive wrist watch, plus a pair of new glasses; they all gave her an added aura of professionalism. She looked great! She acted like she was too; she was poised, confident, and maybe a tad arrogant.

So I was busy, Myra was busy, the kids were busy; life just got more fast paced. April, May, and June flew by, and then July was upon us. Myra came home and announced her office always served up a Fourth of July party the week after the fourth. They did it the following week so there was no interference with family activities. I thought that was great.

School was out, the boys were in day camp, and I was hammering nails again. I felt good. Then we went to the office party.

The party was held at the old lawyer’s private home. Man it was magnificent; a huge brownstone set back from the main road. It had a large backyard with an in-ground pool, a tennis court, a beautiful garden, and all the trimmings one would expect from one of the truly rich. Myra and I got there around 1:00 p.m. the expected time. Most everyone else was either already there or arriving.

I’d not met many of the people so it was a fun experience. We’d done these things many times before at her old office so I knew my role. I was supposed to be the nice, quiet, polite, unassuming husband. I would have been too if I hadn’t detected something almost as soon as I got there.

All the other lawyers, their wives and significant others weren’t important, only the thirty something ‘ash hauler’ and his wife. The lawyer’s name was Wendell Standish, not Wen, or Wendy, or Dell; no he had no nickname, he was ‘Wendell’, emphasis on the second syllable. Myra hadn’t mentioned him much, and I knew why. The son-of-a-gun looked like a model for GQ magazine. Look I’m no slouch. I’ve got biceps, I’ve got shoulders, and my stomach is flat, no rippling abs, but certainly flat.

Well Mr. Wendell Standish look like everybody’s idea of Adonis. He stood a cool 6’3”. He had magnificently thick wavy flowing blond hair, light blue eyes, a perfectly tanned complexion, and abs of steel. He just oozed sex appeal.

The only person at the party who compared to him was his wife, and she was stunning! She was almost exactly my height, she had beautiful light brown hair, butter melting green eyes, the perfect aquiline face, and a body other women would kill for.

The only difference I could see between Mr. and Mrs. Beautiful was in their demeanor. While our hero exuded confidence and that debonair suaviter that only comes with uninterrupted success, she evinced an uncertainty and uneasy tension one could only associate with internal doubts and apprehension. I don’t know if anybody else saw these things, but I sure did, and I knew why too!

There we all were. Everybody was supposed to be having a good time, and from the moment I got there I knew. I knew something was wrong; something was decidedly and awfully wrong. Mr. Wonderful had that uniquely special self-congratulatory expression every time he looked in my wife’s direction. The only way I could describe it would be to describe the way one looks when they go to a restaurant, open the menu, and see the dish they’ve already sampled and know it’s good.

I glanced at my wife and saw that selfsame look. Then I looked at Allyson, Wendell’s wife; she saw it too, and I knew she saw what I suspected. But by the look of defeat she evinced I was equally certain she’d been through this before. My chief concern from then on was whether what I was seeing was the acknowledgement of a fait-acompli or something anticipated but not yet accomplished.

Now it’s a modern world we live in. Marital infidelity is a too true and too cruel fact of life. Everyone knows someone who’s had to deal with it, and the descriptions they give are all starkly and strikingly the same. The comparisons all always hearken back to death; the death of a marriage, the death of self-esteem, the death of innocence, the death of trust, the death of a lifetime of dreams.

I saw the new ‘superman. I saw my wife, and I felt like I was going to die. I wanted to crawl in a hole somewhere and just pull the dirt in on me. One remembrance kept surging in on me. I know it was stupid; I kept thinking about an old book I’d read about the Black Sox Scandal of 1919. There was this kid looking at Shoeless Joe Jackson with tear filled eyes mouthing, “Say it ain’t so Joe. Say it ain’t so.” Oh Myra I thought, ‘say it ain’t so’.

I had to get away. I walked over to the ice chest, pulled out a soda, and strolled off in the direction of the picnic tables. No foods had been brought out yet, but I wanted to be by myself. As I reached the tables I found I was about to have company. Mrs. Standish was soon standing beside me.

I turned, smiled, and said, “HI I’m Steve, Myra Cornish’s husband. You’re Wendell Standish’s wife aren’t you?”

She smiled and took my hand, “Yes, Allyson. I saw you when you came around. You’re both new to the community aren’t you?”

I held her gaze in the most amicable way possible, and replied, “Yes, only been here a couple months,” I liked her right away. She wasn’t just beautiful, I could tell she was really a lovely and agreeable person.

She asked, “Have any children?”

“Two boys,” I said, “they just started at Broad Mill elementary.”

She touched my hand with hers again, “Wendell and I have two also, a boy and a girl. They’re at Broad Mill also.”

I said “I heard it was a good school.”

She said, “Pretty good; they’ve got some problems, some new ideas about reading. I haven’t gotten into it with them yet.”

God, she was right in my wheel house, I told her, “I teach. I work over at Hamilton Elementary in the next county. We’re grappling with the same thing.”

She squeezed my hand. Her fingers felt good, “You teach! I used to. What’s your specialty?”

We were kindred spirits. I told her what I did. She told me she used to teach high school science until the kids were born. Since then her husband wanted her to stay home; she’d reluctantly agreed. I hate to admit it, but excepting for a few brief forays into the rest of crowd just to be polite; Allyson and I pretty much kept to ourselves. I think Myra noticed. I couldn’t say. I was sure Wendell didn’t. I know I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

I did keep a discreet lookout for my wife. I noticed two things all afternoon. First, though there was ‘eye contact’ neither Wendell nor my wife went near or spoke to each other, and second I realized Myra was surreptitiously watching me like a hawk. I know my wife; I didn’t think she was watching me because she was jealous I think she was more concerned that I noticed she wasn’t associating with certain other people. But then who really knows? Myra was a woman, and women ... well.

Near the end of the afternoon, after the hamburgers, hot dogs, spare ribs, and ancillary salads had been ingested, and everybody got dessert the party started to break up. The next to the last thing I did was to avail myself of Allyson’s cell phone number and to give her mine. We agreed to see each other later in the summer; time permitting.

The trip home started off quietly, but that didn’t last. Myra was seated in the passenger seat, she softly smiled one of those twisted little smiles that signaled trouble, “Did you meet everybody I worked with. I mean after you stopped hovering around Mrs. Standish?”

I smugly responded, “Yeah they’re a nice bunch. I liked them all.”

She wanted to get into something, “Really. I’m a little surprised. You never left Allyson’s side all afternoon.” She’d placed a little snide intonation in Allyson’s name. Maybe Myra was a little jealous? I doubted it, but it was fun to think so.

I kept my eyes on the road, “Did you know she used to teach science. They have two kids, a boy and girl who go to the same school as Mike and Jeremy.”

Myra smirked, “My; I guess you two will have a lot to talk about while you’re off this summer.”

This had been another thing. My working for a carpenter in the summers had brought in decent money; not as much as if I were a twelve month employee for the schools, but it was a respectable amount. This summer I suspected she thought something different was going to happen. Gee, it wasn’t like what I did was easy or just part time. Some days I’d leave at sunup and not get back till after dark. It was hard and tiring work. I enjoyed it too. There’s a difference between perspiration and sweat; sweat means outdoor manly stuff, perspiration is indoors and greasy.

I had to zap her a little anyway, “She and I talked about getting together ... you know talking about the kids and school ... and stuff.”

She smirked, it was a real smirk this time too, “I bet you will.”

I changed the subject, “I like the people you work with.”

She shifted too, “They’re a great group.”

I asked, “Which lawyer gives you the most work?”

She got guarded, “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know, just asking.”

“Mr. Standish is the hardest worker. I guess I get most of my work through him.”

I pushed, “When you travel does he go with you?”

“Sometimes,” she said, “usually I only travel when someone wants to update a will or when there’s a settlement at a bank and not in the office. We go together for things like that. I’m a notary, that’s part of the reason.”

“Who do you hang around with on your ‘Good Friday’s’?”

She wasn’t really paying attention, “Oh the lawyers mostly,” she woke up and turned, “why do you ask.”

I lied, “Some of the girls were talking.”

She was full on, “What did they say?”

I changed the subject, “Oh look,” I pointed out the side window, “is that a coyote?” There wasn’t anything there. I just wanted to make her think.

She turned, looked, and turned back, “I didn’t see anything. Why’d you say that? What did the girls say? Which girl?”

I had to say something, “I don’t remember. I don’t know, Marsha maybe.”

Myra looked at me, she actually looked at me, “It’s a small office you know, and Marsha’s a busy body.”

I smiled, “Don’t worry about it. It’s probably just office gossip.”

She sat back a little, but I could tell she was sitting very stiffly, “Uh huh. When we get home you pick up the boys. I want to wash up.”

“Sure,” I said. We drove home from then on in silence.

Later I got the boys back. They were pretty tired. I got them washed up while Myra fixed them a bite to eat. A little later they were off to bed. I stayed downstairs, turned on the TV and waited ... and waited ... and waited. I checked the clock; it was after 9:00. I’d half expected a downstairs visit from Myra.

Since we’d moved to our new home the dungaree mini-dress had disappeared, but I still had hopes. I should have remembered what my pappy used to say, ‘when you start to think you can count on a woman; that’s when you can’t count on them. Don’t try to figure them out;’ he’d say, ‘ it’s like trying to figure out a possum.’ I gave up. I got up and went upstairs. Myra was sound asleep.

I climbed in bed and decided to give the situation some serious thought. Let’s see, married going on eleven, no twelve years. Lived in an apartment, then a small ‘equity home, and now the ‘big one’. Myra had finished schooling, gotten one then a second job. We had two fine little boys. I was proud of them. I had a pretty good job, a career on the way, and no serious bills except the mortgage and some furniture costs.

About the social and personal life, let’s see. Since we’d moved out we’d not done any entertaining. We hadn’t seen any of our old friends, and made no new ones. We’d gone to the Presbyterian Church we’d been married in, but since the move we’d shopped but hadn’t settled on anything. So there; no church and no social life.