Edited by Barney R. Messed with later by me. All errors are my fault.

I am Chuck Kinross; I am now a 40-year-old very successful author. When the shit hit the fan I was 35. I had been married for 7 years. Sandra, my wife at the time was 33. We had three kids; Chuck Jr. 6, Lois 4, and Christy 18 months. The fox in the hen house was that Sandy was in love with riding in the ‘bitch seat’ on a big motorcycle. She was the mascot of the local motorcycle club. I hated bikes because I had a severe road rash accident when my friend and I dumped his bike on a gravel road when we were in high school.

I met Sandra (Sandy) when I was 25, and just starting a new book for my publisher. She responded to my local newspaper ad for a history researcher to look up some facts and details that I wanted to use in my fictional murder mystery. She was a college graduate in library science with a minor in history; so she not only could understand what I wanted, she knew where to find the information.

She was, and when I last saw her still is, a beautiful, petite brown haired Blue eyed pixie. She stood 5’ 2” or so, and if she weighed 100 lbs., it had to be with lead plates in the pockets of her shorts. She had a figure perfect for her size. Her definitely non model figure showed to everyone in any clothes except maybe a Mu-Mu.

Sandy, as she asked me to call her, was very interested in my work. She also decided that I needed a keeper. When we were done working for any day, if she wasn’t out running down information for me, she would kick me out of my own kitchen and make us both dinner. She was definitely a good cook.

Another thing she did that originally I thought was counterproductive was force me to take an hour and a half lunch/exercise break. It took three weeks to convince me that a light lunch and exercise made the afternoon work easier and less of a chore fighting off lunch fatigue. I was writing more and making fewer mistakes and unnecessary changes.

After she had worked for me for about five months, she asked; “Mr. Kinross, are you gay?” She always called me Mr. Kinross when we were working then.

“Why do you ask that?” I replied. “I am not only not gay, but I am also not, unobservant. I have seen the change in your style of dress to a more provocative mode. I see before me a beautiful, young lady. I do have a personal policy of not being a ‘Bill Clinton’. I do not mess with an employee.”

“OK, then consider this my two week notice. I want to go out with you, and if you won’t make the first move, I will. I have a party to go to in three weeks, and I want you to go with me.” She looked at me expectantly.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to quit. I understand that all policies are subject to review. The CEO of this operation only recently looked at all of the policies and decided that as long as the employer did not initiate the request, then the policy does not apply.” Then I laughed; “It’s nice to be boss.”

Sandy squealed, jumped up and came to me and sat in my lap. “Does that mean you will go with me?”

“Well,” I drew my answer out; “I think I can clear my calendar for a loyal employee.”

I got another squeal, a very wiggly butt in my lap and a kiss that caused the room to dim.

We dated for almost another year, she didn’t quit, and I was worse than ‘Bill Clinton’ I absolutely had sex with that woman. Good sex and often. Sandy decided that I shouldn’t have to spend the entire night alone in a three bedroom house every night. So she moved in. Then I was spending every night in one bedroom of a three bedroom house with her.

About six months after she moved in, I was invited to speak at a writer’s symposium in Las Vegas. I asked Sandy to marry me and go with me. She laughed and asked me if we could get married by Elvis. Strange girl, that Sandy.

Well Elvis married us and a year and a day later Jr. was born. Then Lois and so on.

About the time Christy was six months old, a biker dude moved in down the street. He was a nice enough guy, and he wasn’t a 1%er like the Hell’s Angels or anything. He was the president of the local Indian Motorcycle owner’s club.

That was when things changed at home. Nothing like Sandy spending all her time down to Frank’s place, but every time he fired up his bike she would run out on the porch and watch him drive off. I was the same way before I got hurt. I still am with helicopters and small planes.

I talked to Frank and for Sandy’s birthday I had the club over to the house with the wives and girlfriends. Sandy was in heaven. They gave her a club jacket the on the back above the club colors it said MASCOT. She about had an orgasm. Frank took her for a half hour spin with Sandy on the bitch seat. She about killed me with sex that night.

She started to go, with my blessing at first, to the monthly meeting of the club. Then she started pestering me to get her a bike. I told her; “Not only no, but hell no. End of discussion.”

Well of course I didn’t have the last word. She bugged me for four months before she finally gave up. Two months later, the club headed to Sturgis. I woke up the day they were to leave to a note on the kitchen table.

...

Chuck;

I’m sorry to be a coward like this, but you would have said no so I didn’t ask.

I am going to Sturgis with the club. I will be there ten days. I expect you will be pissed, but rest assured that I will come back to the family and nothing will change.

I love you, but the feel of that power between my legs is better than sex. I need to do this.

I know you will be mad, so I left my phone on the nightstand in the charger. I will be out of touch for the entire ten days.

See you when I return

Sandy

...

She was right in one respect, I was mad as hell. But she was very wrong with a couple of other things she said. I was not going to let her back in the house. Things did change. Then she didn’t come back in ten days.