Chapter 12

Monica remained in a state of indecision until Valentine’s Day. Then everything really fell apart.

She of course went out of her way to ignore Cole, though Jim seemed to always have some kind of business or problem he needed to go over and see the man about. But it wasn’t just Cole being so offensive and crude the last few times Monica had been with him. Greg had also started to change, but for the better.

After a couple of weeks of cool politeness around Monica, Greg warmed, seemed to understand Monica’s plight, or at least resigned to Monica’s desire for safety and control over her life. He didn’t come right out and declare his love for Monica or say he was going to divorce his wife, but he did relax and start talking with her about things other than work. Twice each week, on her long-days, Greg took her out to lunch with only a minimal consumption of alcohol. Then on a Saturday they had a long walk in the orchard. It was damp and foggy and without a single sign of the coming spring, but he held her hand and talked about his grandparents and his early life with his older brother and sister.

More important to Monica was that Greg wasn’t trying to impress her or work his way into her favor. He knew that a kiss and a cuddle and mention of his desire would have her opening her arms and legs to him. But he waited, patiently, and only showed his lust and need when Monica first came to him. A kiss to his neck, a stroke of his side, and Greg had her in his arms and halfway into the bedroom or crushed into the couch. Even on the nights she so often knocked on his door at midnight, Greg assumed the posture of friend and confidant first. Monica was puzzled by this behavior, then touched, believing Greg had actually thought about her fears and need for safety, and had pulled back in a desire to give her room to decide.

Monica couldn’t get over Cole and his belief that Monica secretly wanted to throw her legs open to his work crew. She felt both disappointed and disgusted at the man whom she had considered the most caring if forceful lover she had ever known. Greg might have been a quiet man and prone to periods of melancholy if not despondency, but for every hurtful word, Greg’s actions had always been done with Monica’s needs at heart. Valentine’s Day, and the days after, showed that in bright glowing letters.

To be fair, Jim did put forth some effort. Sunday was a few days before Valentine’s Day, and Jim had shown no desire to wake, either to make love or attempt to make Monica breakfast. This was a disappointment, since she knew his work week would leave him exhausted and unable to do more than grumble at any desire on her part to mark how special Valentine’s day was for a young woman. No matter. She got out of bed and was waiting for the coffee to finish when she saw Mrs. Flynn coming up the walk. She knew what the old woman wanted, pushed aside her desire for a caffeine fix, and without even being asked, told the woman she’d be right out. Her old neighbor often needed a ride to church. Only a few blocks away, but in the cold of mid-February, that was a long way for her old bones to walk. Monica was happy to drive her over and, as ever, Mrs. Flynn assured Monica that she’d be able to find a way back.

Then the surprise. As Monica was pouring her first cup, Jim came walking out of the bedroom, dressed in his best, with tie and sport coat, nonchalantly asking if Monica was ready. For what? Jim had reservations for an up-scale Valentine’s Buffet Brunch at one of the city’s nicer restaurants. Monica chided him for not telling her sooner, but after a quick loving kiss and without a moment’s indecision put on one of the nicer dresses Greg had bought for her. Monica fully enjoyed her morning as a loved and pampered wife. It was a beautiful and most delicious event, and Monica almost started to think of herself as a woman dutifully betrothed to a loving if sometimes selfish and stupid man. And of course Jim ruined it all. She was grateful that he finally drew the line and showed Monica his true self, but she was also hurt at how he saw her and what he wanted her to do.

They had returned home, sated and happy, Jim looking forward to a nap (he worked that night) and some alone time with his truck. Monica didn’t mind this, wondering what she could cook for his dinner that could match the quality of the food they had just eaten at the brunch. Then Jim opened his mouth.

“Guess What? [My boss] is hosting his Valentine’s party next Saturday. Would have held it last night but he had a wedding to go to. Can you believe it? Getting married in February?”

“Um, so? Like a party at work or something? I’m surprised he didn’t just give out something like a box of chocolates for everybody to bring home.” Monica knew the answer, knew what kind of party Jim was referring to, but pretended to be clueless, just to see what kind of hole Jim could dig himself into.

“You know what kind of party, Monica. Stop playing the dumb broad. Just like the last one on New Year’s you enjoyed so much. He mentioned you by name, so its kind of expected we show up.”

Monica was shocked by the sudden change in tone, from loving husband to mocking jerk, but it was something Jim was getting good at. Monica struggled to find a way out. “No way Jim. That other party was a total surprise. I just played along with the group. No way I’m going to another one.”

Jim took a step toward Monica, raising his voice a notch, seeming to be undecided about whining for Monica’s help or cowing her into submission. “Come on Monica. This is going to be a special party. He said this is the one party to go to. An all-night blow out. This is sure to get me the promotion. Don’t go all pure and virtuous on me now. You liked what you did at the last gathering and you know it. Like it or not we’re going, and I bet you’ll be thanking me before the morning hits.”

That’s when Monica blew up. “Forget it Jim. You know what he means when he’s talking about an all night blow out. I’m not going to some fuck fest where you serve me up as a thank you for some stupid promotion. Not going to happen.”

“Damn it Monica...”

“Not going to happen.” Monica looked into Jim’s eyes and slowly enunciated the words. Then she stepped back and tried to reason with him. “I thought you didn’t want to see some line of men waiting to take their turns at me. What happened? Is some promotion more important than me?”

“I was exaggerating. I doubt that it’s going to be like that.”

“Or are you just hoping for a chance to make it with the redhead, or maybe Nina, the Asian chick?”

“You mean the girl you rolled around with on the floor? Your tongue was stuck so deep up her twat everybody thought you were two lesbians making out.”

They glowered at each other for a long moment, spit a few more words at each other and retired to their corners. Jim disappeared into his game room and Monica went outside, unsure whether to scream or cry. It wasn’t surprising for her to find herself walking over to Cole’s. A knock on the door and June was there, tilting her chin up in greeting, asking if Monica wanted something hot to drink, but then ducking into her room. Cole came in from doing something in the garage, all smiles and kindness, hoping Monica was well and asking about Jim and work and what she had been doing since she had last come by.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since she’d last seen and talked with Cole. She’d seen June just the week before, walking on the sidewalk past the house, but the girl hadn’t shown any inclination to talk. Now Monica had Cole to herself, or, rather, Cole had Monica all alone in his house.

He was kind, showed an interest in even the smallest things in Monica’s life. He had even noticed that her back windshield had a new crack from some pebble on the freeway. In only a few minutes his chair was next to hers, his hand on her thigh, and his wishes most evident.

“Come, join me for a while. Let me love you. I know you will disappear to Greg’s tonight. I must accept it. That is your pattern. I will say nothing to Jim, but I do worry for you. You’re unhappy, undecided, and more than anything I wish you could see me as the man who loves you the most. Even if only for an hour, let me give you some love, give you some peace.”

The man was good. Cole seemed to know Monica was troubled and needed a friend, a shoulder, and perhaps a soft bed and a loving touch. She almost leaned in and accepted his offer, at least for an hour, but then remembered that Cole wasn’t the friend she needed. The last person she’d confess Jim’s contemptable demands to was Cole. No, not Greg either, but Cole would only try to use Jim as an excuse to do worse with her. Greg would merely wonder why she had married the man at all.

A second away from melting at the soft words and soothing voice, Monica stood and told Cole she had to go.

“Turning your back on me again. I’m hurt Monica. I will miss you. Can you at least promise to visit on Valentine’s day? I have a present. Perhaps not something you can show Jim or Greg, but something that will help you remember me on these cold nights.”

Monica smiled, joked back, yet turned out of Cole’s attempted embrace and made it to the door. Suddenly June was there in the hallway, looking out from the darkness with a wry smile. “Leaving so soon? You surprise me blondie.” No more, just a nod and then back into her room, as though the teen knew everything that had been going on in the front room.

When Monica made it to the sidewalk, she was very aware of the tension in her body suddenly dissipating. She hadn’t realized how tight her shoulders had gotten just sitting for a few moments in Cole’s presence. She looked back and saw Cole standing in his doorway, his mouth forming a smile and giving a wave, but Monica could see that his eyes remained lowered and dark, as though deep in thought. With a sigh of relief, Monica walked quickly on.

At home Jim and Monica acted separately, Jim going into silent mode and Monica not wanting to breach a subject she didn’t even want to think about. Hardly a minute after Jim had left for work, Monica threw her bag into the car and was off, happily snuggling into Greg’s arms less than twenty minutes later. Later in the day, after she had returned home from work and was making dinner, Jim tried to apologize, admitting his lack of candor and misplaced morals, but then immediately came back and pressured Monica to rethink her choice. Monica escaped to their back yard and to her relief Jim chose not to follow.

The following night they existed in a state of deep freeze, hardly talking with one another. As Jim left for work toward midnight, Monica immediately followed and drove to Greg’s, no longer caring about whether or not Jim found her out. In her mind, openly cheating with her boss was more honest and moral than what Jim was asking her to do.

Then came the night before Valentine’s Day. Monica paused, wondering if Jim might return home with a surprise present, but that wouldn’t matter. She was expected to have left for work before eight anyway, so anything he brought home would have to wait until her return late in the afternoon. She shrugged, wondering if Greg might plan something. Unlikely. She would be happy to just be in his arms and hear his voice. Drinking a cup of coffee with Greg across the table from her on that special morning would give her all the joy she needed.

When she pulled into Greg’s driveway at midnight, Greg was already outside, putting a large suitcase in the trunk of the sporty two door Mercedes he only occasionally pulled out of the garage.

“Greg. What’s going on. Are you leaving? You didn’t tell me.”

Greg walked over and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. “We are leaving. Get in.”

“Greg. Come on. You know...”

“Yes, I know. I’m not spiriting you off to Paris, I promise. It’s just for the night. Decided that if we’re going to have an affair, we should do it in style. I have a [hotel] suite ready for us. Would have picked you up at your home but, well, I thought you’d be upset and think I was making a scene.”

Monica was stunned. She thought at best Greg would offer her champagne for breakfast, and maybe a neck massage before an hour in the Jacuzzi for lunch. The thoughtfulness of his actions kept her in a state of giddy silence well into the long drive to a neighboring city. Greg didn’t seem to mind that she took a short nap while he drove.

The hotel was large and luxurious, more so than any similar establishment Monica had ever dared walk into. In two minutes the car was taken away and their one piece of luggage carried up by a half dozen very helpful staff. It didn’t matter that it was one thirty in the morning. Everything seemed to have been arranged well in advance, and before the two minutes was up, they were left alone at the top of a tall building with huge windows looking out and down upon the city.

“Enjoy the view. Only booked the place for the night, so we have to be out of here by noon. Let’s make that three. Amazing what you get done with a good tip to the right people.”

Monica leaned into Greg, reaching up to kiss him on his chin.”Thank you Greg. This is incredible, and even if we’re only here for the one night, this is really special to me. But, why the suitcase?”

“Well, we can’t leave here dressed in the same clothing we arrived in. That would be gauche. My mother would be mortified at the thought. So, of course a change for us both, and perhaps a few presents.”

Greg walked over and opened the large burgundy colored bag, pulling out a number of pieces of clothing and a large multi-colored box of what were obviously chocolates before reaching his intended item. “Here. Put this on. I hope you find them suitable for the night.”

Monica almost laughed, but then bit her lip and blushed. There really wasn’t much to what he handed her. It seemed to be the skimpiest piece of red and white and pink frill and lace she had ever seen, but she took the proffered garment and headed toward the bedroom, hoping there was a bathroom attached.

Turned out the bathroom was itself a part of the bedroom, the large bath with shower having a window to the city of its own. She chose discretion and finally located the more standard toilet with shower and sink and changed into the most indecent garment she had ever worn. With a top and a bottom, and even a beautiful see-thru robe that could hardly pass as a negligee since all together they weighed less than the undershirt she had worn into the hotel.

Walking out to display herself before Greg, she playfully gave him a twirl, but then stopped and blushed. “Greg. Seriously. Why did you buy this?” Monica immediately regretted her words, thinking she was acting ungrateful if not churlish toward a man she had deep feelings for. Thankfully, he was in a good mood and pushed her seriousness to the side.

“I’m a man, Monica. Why do you think I bought such beautiful nothings for you to wear? So that I can take them off of you.”

That made Monica laugh and she reached out to pull him into a tight embrace. “Well, can it wait? It’s two in the morning and you kept me up half of last night. Do you think the boss would mind if we slept in?”

“I think the boss would expect nothing less.” And that’s what they did.

Greg called down to order a wake-up and breakfast, then throwing out a request for some of his clothing to be picked up and ironed. When they finally crawled into the large bed, Monica snuggled next to Greg and enjoyed the scent of the unique clove-scented cologne he wore and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

She knows Greg tried to waken her at sunrise, but Monica rolled over and ignored everything in favor of the joy of sleep. Then came strangers in the room, strange voices, and the smell of coffee. Wonderful coffee. Peeking out from the covers she checked to make sure the coast was clear before calling for Greg. He came into the bedroom, rolling a large trolley with covered dishes and wonderful aromas.

“Eat. If you won’t pay any attention to me, then give in to your other base appetites.”

And she did so. Sitting on the bed with Greg, spreading the dishes of food across the quilt, snacking on bites of omelet and sausage and some kind of cheese/potato mixture, and all interspersed with sips of coffee. Relaxing, enjoying the view of the city from so high up, and all with Greg at her side.

It was the most wonderful morning moment Monica could remember, the simplicity and joy and luxury filling her and making her appreciate Greg, even with all the dark musings she had to put up with. Then Greg did exactly as Monica hoped he would and made the morning perfect. He had opened a small jar of honey that had come with their toast. Pulling Monica’s minimal lace top off, he poured a few drops of honey on each of her breasts and leaned in to suck and tongue her sticky sweet nipples. Monica moaned with pleasure, but then allowed her adult self to take over for thirty seconds. After moving all of the breakfast dishes back onto the cart, she pushed Greg back onto the bed, opened up his robe, and bent down to tongue the leading few inches of his very hard and extended symbol of manhood.

“Maybe you’d like to add a little of this, to make me more palatable,” said Greg, holding out the remaining container of honey.

“Not at all,” replied Monica. “I like your taste, your smell. But I have another idea.” She took the honey from Greg, then removed the red and black lace panties her bottom was so poorly covered by. Pulling a small plate of sliced fruit from within the remains of their breakfast, Monica lay back on the bed and pushed a pillow under her hips. Pushing her ass and crotch up toward the ceiling, Monica deliberately emptied the jar of honey into her already glistening slit. Then piece by piece she pushed sliced bits of banana and strawberry into her hole, wishing only that she had some whipped cream to top the lust-fueled dessert off with.

Greg got the idea, and moved over, pushing his head between Monica’s upraised knees, but she ordered him to lay back on his side of the bed. He smiled, and only seconds later Monica rolled over and pressed her fruit-laden twat down onto his face, then stretching her body out to fill her own mouth with Greg’s leaking and, to her, sweet and salty cock.

It was true. Monica did enjoy the man’s smell, and even the taste of his most viscous cream when she tongued him into climaxing in her mouth. The biggest problem, as with all of the other men in her life, was keeping him from forcing his cock down her throat as he ejaculated the thick and pungent goo that was a man’s lifeblood. Being on top was no guarantee of controlling Greg either. Just a week before she had been in this same position and Greg’s knees had put Monica into a headlock, pulling her face into his crotch and burying his cock halfway to her stomach. It took all of her skill to fight the gag reflex and only just pulled back before his balls released their load into her mouth. Thankfully that had occurred after he had emptied his first load much deeper inside her twat. The man could be a little overwhelming, and as his need took over, Monica knew she had to look out for herself.

With her fruit and honey dipped pussy pressed onto Greg’s face, she took her time in licking and teasing his cock and balls, enjoying the sensation of the bits of fruit as they were pulled down by gravity into Greg’s mouth. Monica imagined her own secretions mixing with the honey and fruit, of Greg having to swallow each one piece by piece. Yet he somehow found the time to give some wonderful attention to her clit, her own sexual needs rising and finally overwhelming her, which made Monica turn around and impale her honey-filled hole on Greg’s still substantial boner.

With Monica still on top, she was able to alter Greg’s direction and speed, holding him back from simply fucking her on high while increasing her chance of a wonderful orgasm. She didn’t bother trying to hide her screams of orgiastic attainment, and when Greg rolled her over and began pounding into Monica’s open legs, she latched onto his bouncing torso with her legs and enjoyed the last few minutes of the ride. The man’s lusty need was evident from his loud groan, but also the feel of the warm wetness that filled Monica’s interior. Greg was always good for a powerful first release, all the more reason for her to prefer he do so between her legs rather than down her throat.

Monica was more than willing to continue their illicit conjugal relations, but after purring into Greg’s chest for a few minutes, he suddenly rolled over and off the bed.

“Something I want to give you.” He pulled a colorful box of chocolates off a nearby table and handed it to Monica. “Here. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

A little anticlimactic for Monica. She recognized the box as one of the specialty items the company had made for a chocolatier based in the south of the state. She assumed Greg had gotten the company to complement him a few boxes, and here he was giving one to her. Nice, but so what?

Then she noticed the small envelope under one of the ribbons covering the box. Her heart went into overtime. She could think of only three possibilities. One was what Jim had given her the Valentine’s after their marriage. It was a store bought card with two twenties in it. He thought he was being nice to give her money. It had been hard to resist breaking a handy vase over his thick head. The second possibility was just the opposite, perhaps with a dedication of love and, if dreams could come true, a desire for life with her at his side. Such a thing was impossible, but Greg was just stupid enough to possibly say something like that. The third possibility was the most preferred, with just a card, a lovely wish for her continued presence in his life, and leaving everything as it was. That would be best.

She opened the envelope, and inside was a sheet of paper with a typed and printed poem, dedicated to Monica and signed by Greg using his distinctive blue fountain pen. The poem struck Monica like a sledge hammer.

Monica,

Soft

The silence between us

No words to break upon the rocks

One touch to span the distance

Connect the void

Soothe chaos

Only the sounds of our smiles filling the room

Harsh lights dimmed

Clothing dropped aside

Judgment shut outside with the dogs

We fall deep into the shadows of our private realm

Time stopped, the moment ours

Love enough

Caressed

By the softness of the silence

Then the morning

There is more joy to the morning

Than the rising of the sun, the setting of the moon

For there is you

The hard wood floor

Cool to the feet as I rise

Start the water

Feed the cat

And breathe deep the early rays of sun that pour in through the side window

The aroma of the Celebes

Beans crushed, giving life

Sweet without sugar

The cup warm to my hand

As I think of all the normal things we can do together throughout the day

Footfall

Slight slow patter down the hall

To me, only to me

Your presence immense

Your scent fills the room, your raging heat envelops me

I am drunk

One sip from you enough

Yet always desiring more

The coffee put aside for now, forever

As our smiles merge, hands clasped, the bed warmed for another hour

Yours, Greg

Possibility number two, the promise of the impossible. No, not a promise, but certainly bringing Monica’s heart to an unfathomable height, only to then drop her, forcing Monica to return to earth and her daily existence alone. Her mind filled with white noise, her eyes blurring, not so much with tears as from some deeper darkness that filled her mind.

“Um, no title. Didn’t think it needed one. Just for you. And I hate rhymes. Maybe from when I had to do a paper on Frost. Do you like it?” Greg rambled on a bit more, but Monica could hardly hear.

She opened her mouth, but no sounds emerged. Her mind was too overwhelmed with competing thoughts to know what to say. It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever written for her. Of course her high school loves made the attempt, but it was all for fun, all immature attempts at doing what all boys thought they had to do. This was from the heart, and Monica understood that. Greg really meant what he had written, and she loved him all the more for it. But while he spoke of love, without ever bringing up the word, he was able to sit in place while knowing Monica was being called on to question if not reject everything her life had been up to that moment.

“Well, if not the poem, how about the candy? I know you prefer those with nuts, so I had them fill it with just...”

Monica threw herself into Greg’s arms, pushing the box off the bed, wrapping her arms around his chest just as her tears began to flow. “Just shut up, would you. Be quiet and hold me.”

Surprisingly, Greg did as he was told. In Monica’s mind he was the most selfish and stupid man she had ever known, opening her heart up, giving praise and promise and light and love, and all without being able to provide a stable floor upon which she could stand. All froth and nonsense, all beautiful and filled with roses, but with no thoughts at all about the thorns. To him it was a love poem, yet Monica was more than anything struck by his selfishness. She wanted to call him out, but knew now was not the time. He’d never understand.

Greg of course had to ruin the moment, becoming uncomfortable with the long span of silence, and of course thinking only of himself. “But, did you like the poem? Are you alright Monica?”

Monica had to take a moment to compose herself. “Yes you idiot. I’m fine. It was beautiful. Your writing is always so pensive, staccato-like and to the point. I didn’t know you could write like this. It was beautiful.” It was a selfish ego-driven slap to her face, but Monica didn’t say that. She smiled and foolishly added a last line. “It made me want to die.”

Greg stiffened. “Wait. What do you mean?”

“Oh stop taking me so literally.” Monica wiped her nose on a corner of their bed sheets. “Its just, it’s beautiful. So much so that if I died now, I could die happy. You know, before the crash.”

“Why are you always so dramatic? It was a love poem. I thought you’d like it.” Greg’s voice had turned serious, hard, with even a bit of chalky flint to its flavor. Monica smiled, happy at the thought that Greg was coming back down from his exalted height and acting his old self.

“Don’t mind me Greg. Just a woman getting emotional. Come on. It’s Valentine’s day. It’s my right to cry and be happy.”

Greg’s smile returned, but the rest of their time together retained that serious edge, a thin line of reality that had always separated them. After Monica had carefully returned the chocolates to the box and carefully tucked the poem into a pocket of her purse, she talked him into taking a long bath, looking out at the city and distant ocean. She forced herself to bring up topics that had nothing to do with them or with work, everything from scrubbing Greg’s back and commenting about how hairy he was to mentioning how he should drive his Mercedes more often. He didn’t buy it, but it kept them from entering into more dangerous territory.

Monica was suitably impressed by the beautiful dress Greg had brought with him. She couldn’t get enough of looking at herself in the mirror. It was a double lined silk dress, criss crossing her breasts and with a long slit up one side of the skirt. The color was a beautiful peach and with an asymmetrical design of red and white heart shaped leaves fluttering down one side from a single green and pink branch. He even bought a pair of heels that went well with the dress. It was all stunning, though hardly something Monica could wear to her office at the plant.

Monica was able to talk Greg into a short walk down to what looked like an outside market, barely seen from their window. It was still mid-winter and she knew she’d have to throw a sweater over the beautiful piece of art that covered her body, but she wanted to get out and do something different before they left. Keeping with the spirit of the day, Monica flipped her dress up in the elevator, showing Greg that nothing lay between his hand and her nether regions. He smiled and made use of this freedom, but returned his hand to a more socially acceptable place before they reached the lobby.

As they walked around the colorful displays of foods and crafts, Monica pulled Greg in close. “Nothing to see here,” she whispered out. “Just a married mistress walking around with her lover after getting her pussy fucked into the next county.”

Greg pulled her close, indicating that he had heard her indecent words. She looked up to see his smile, a twinkle in the depths of his dark eyes. “You should mention that your lover is well hung and whose balls were suitably sucked dry by his most beautiful lover.” Monica laughed.

After their all-too-short stroll, it was time to return to work, to real life and their more common daily existence. Or at least so it seemed to her. Perhaps for Greg this was all just another day in the life. Without a thought he tossed two fifties onto the bed, then another twenty on the remains that covered the food cart. She wondered if her night with him would be viewed as cavalierly, the contents of his ball sac and a quick poem stolen from some unknown online poet being used and given out with hardly less thought than he handed out money.