Chapter 1

(Sigh) I guess that I had better get to it. My mind is a mess of jumbled emotions. My problem, you see, is my marriage. You notice I did not say my wife, I'm not so foolish to place all of the blame for our unhappiness on her. I'm sure that I share at least part of that blame, although her reaction to our unhappiness was extreme, to say the least.

Ok, from the beginning. My name is Paul Rieger. I'm 49, yeah, I'll be 50 in a few months. I know it's silly, but it is kind of scary. Damn, half a century. My wife is Emily and she just turned 46, but you would never know it. She is almost fanatic about keeping fit. She is at the fitness center of our club every morning. Aerobics, weight training, all of that crap. Anyway, I have to admit, she does look great. If I told you that she was 36, you wouldn't have any trouble believing it.

As for me, I just don't appreciate the scene at the club. It's not that I'm a couch potato, I make sure that I do my run every morning before my shower, so I am fit, I don't carry around more than a few extra pounds and on my 6' frame it's not at all noticeable.

I first met Emily at a company Christmas party. I had just started working there in sales. I had graduated from college with a major in marketing and I felt lucky that I had landed a job with a great company. I was new and I was stag at the party. It wasn't long before I began to notice this girl, mainly because the schmuck she was with was getting drunker than a skunk and she was standing there burning. Damn, she looked gorgeous, tall, about 5'7', honey blonde hair, brown eyes, and built like... I dunno, like a girl should be built.

By the end of the evening, her date was passed out on a sofa and I had spent the better part of the party talking to and dancing with Emily. We seemed to click. It wasn't long before I felt that I had known her forever and I knew that I wanted to see her again.

Oh, yes. Her name at the time was Emily Kramer, you know, like in Seinfeld. We used to laugh at that. She was a nurse and had just started work at the local hospital. I drove her home that night, asked her for her number, and called her. We dated and, I think it was on the third or fouth date, we came back to her apartment and almost fell into each others arms. Jeez, she was as hot for me as I was for her.

Before I knew what was happening, her jeans and top were on the floor and I was holding this gorgeous, almost naked blond in my arms on the sofa. She was still in her bra and panties and the sight of her black underwear almost made me lose it. For some reason I get excited by black panties and bra, go figure. Then, without a word, she stood and took me by the hand and led me to her bedroom.

She stood by the bed and did a strip tease, I know, I know, she didn't have much to strip, but the way she removed that black bra and those black panties made me salivate. I don't think she was naked more than three seconds before I had stripped and tackled her to the bed. Yeah, I know - not very romantic, but, jeez, was I in lust with this lovely creature at that moment.

That first time in bed was pure fucking. No romance, no foreplay, I just stuck my cock into her pussy and it slid right in, she was as wet as a swamp. We just pounded each other. She had her first orgasm about ten seconds later and continued with a few more until I lost control and came. We just lay there, holding each other and not too much later we started again, only this time we made love.

It wasn't long before I realized that the lust was love. One thing led to another and I proposed to her a couple of months later.

The kids came along quickly, one after the other. We have two, Amy and Rachel, two girls who are the sweetest, smartest, prettiest heartbreakers in the world. I think you get the idea that I'm nuts about them. They're both in college and interning at the same company. Unfortunately, their school is on the other coast, so it's difficult for them to get home often. We do fly out to visit them as often as we can.

So, Emily and I have been married now for over 20 years. The first years were a little tough, money wasn't a major problem, but we didn't really have enough to throw around. We tried to be frugal, we wanted to save for a down payment on a house. I guess that's the dream of every young couple. Living in an apartment, especially with two young children, is not exactly a dream come true.

Anyway, I had been doing well in my job, had gotten a promotion, so with the money we had put aside, we were able to afford a nice Cape Cod style house, You know, two bedrooms and a bath upstairs, two bedrooms and a bath downstairs. It was nice and we loved it. Emily also enjoyed being a stay at home Mom which was fine with me. I'm kind of old fashioned, I liked the fact that the girls had their mother at home.

I can't even begin to tell you how happy we were. I was working really hard, trying to be successful and Emily had her hands full raising the girls and taking care of the house. But with all of that, we were happy as pigs in slop. The kids were great, my wife was gorgeous, my job was good - what more could I ask for?

So, the years flew by. I became more and more wrapped up in my career. About five years ago I was appointed national sales manager. Our income really shot up and we moved up into a new, larger house in a country club development. With that came increased responsibility. I also had to travel a bit more. No, no, don't get the wrong idea. I wasn't gone all of the time. I had to make trips perhaps three or four days out of the month; it really was no big deal, and Emily never made a fuss about that. She realized that in order for us to live as well as we did, I had to make the occasional trip. She never gave me any grief about that.

My life was about perfect. I loved my kids and they loved me. I loved my wife and she loved me. Shit, it was like a TV sit-com. We were all like Ozzie and Harriet, if you remember that show. Then, I guess it started about,... ahhh, maybe about a year ago, perhaps a little less, things at home started going downhill.

It was about the time both girls were away at college. It was really very gradual. So gradual that I didn't even notice it at the time. You know, a snippy remark, an impatient reply, an occasional lack of response in bed. Not all of the time, and not terribly frequent, but enough, now that I think about it, to cause a tiny bit of tension at home.

It was also about that time that I got involved in a weekly poker game. A few of the executives at work decided that it would be fun to play Texas Hold Em once a week at a local bistro. Sam Meecham, the head of marketing, knew the owner of this place and he arranged it so that we could use the back room for our poker game. The owner would benefit, we would be buying drinks and food while we played, so it looked like everyone would be happy. So the weekly game consisted of six of us from work. Sometimes Tim Shukay, from accounting, would show up. He was the only single guy, so he was more interested in chasing pussy than poker. The stakes were not really high and no one would get hurt financially.

I didn't think that Emily minded. She knew that this would relieve some of the stress that my job generated. I just wonder if she really did mind, but didn't say anything. Who knows.

Emily always had a tendency to keep her thoughts to herself, and if she did get upset, it was always difficult for anyone to get her to talk about it. I still believe that a major part of our problem was Emily's inability to face and discuss things that bothered her. She would just sublimate them and stew over them.

I tried to talk to Emily about how things seem to bother her. I tried to tell her to just get her feelings out, put it all on the table. I remember one conversation...

"Em, put the book down, I'd really like to talk."

I remember Emily looking up at me, a look of consternation on her face. Remember, when things seem to turn emotional she retreated. By emotional, I mean things that were upsetting to her, and the more upsetting, the further she would retreat.

"Talk about what, Paul? What's the problem?"

"We seem to be drifting apart, Em. We snap at each other, we don't seem to have conversations anymore. We're getting to be like strangers who live in the same house." I complained.

Emily became impatient and it showed. "Paul, stop being ridiculous, We're old married people, not newlyweds. There's nothing wrong with our relationship, as long as we remember our wedding vows."

See, it's statements like that that drove me nuts.

"What, what about our wedding vows? What's that got to do with what I'm talking about?" My voice went up an octave.

"Enough Paul, I don't want to discuss this nonsense," she snapped as she retreated within herself and returned to her book, but not before I noticed that her eyes had filled with tears.

See what I mean? Emily, despite her inate intelligence and common sense, always backed away from anything that might be emotionally disturbing. It isn't as if she just refused to acknowledge that there may be a problem, it's just that she refused to face it and get it thrashed out. But she would internalize it and let it become like a figurative festering sore.

I sighed, rose and went outside for a breath of air...

It seems that as the months went by, that tiny bit of tension at home got worse. We each tried to get on an even keel, but for some reason, never could. Any discussion about our relationship always seemed to end up in a fight.

After awhile, we were both afraid to bring the subject up; so it festered and got worse. Jeez, as I think about it, it really sounds stupid. How could a marriage as happy and loving as ours founder because of a lack of communication? The problem was that we were communicating too much and our communication consisted of terrible arguments. And yes, I certainly didn't help the situation; I would get so pissed that I also ended up contributing to the argument.

Many nights I would awake to hear Emily as she cried quietly into her pillow. I wanted to reach out to her, but was afraid to. Who knew how she would react if I touched her.

Anyway, about a few months ago or so, Emily really started to get involved with a women's literature group that some of the gals at the country club had formed. They were appalled, just appalled at the required reading list at our local high school. They were going to provide "input" as to what should be added to that list. They were also going to read the "classics" and discuss them amongst themselves. Wonderful.

You know, now that I think about it, I encouraged her to participate and I realize now why I was so enthusiastic about her getting involved. It would mean she would be out of the house one evening a week. I wouldn't have to worry about starting a fight, or listening to her smart mouth. Also, once a week I would be out of the house at my poker game. Great, two evenings a week would be peaceful for me. Then, a couple of weeks later the group decided that one evening was not enough for these important deliberations. They would meet twice a week, Yippee, three night a week of peace. Damn, what kind of marriage is that?

Ok, this is when the fucking ceiling fell in on me. It was just one incident, but I didn't know what to do, or better yet, I was afraid to do anything. It happened on a Thursday - Emily was dressing to go to the club for that women's thing. I just happened to pass by the bedroom and saw her in her undies. Ok, big deal, I peeked. Don't forget, she still looks gorgeous. She was wearing a black bra and black bikini panties. Yum, delicious.

Oh, yeah. I had better interject something here about our sex life. Ha, I ask, what sex life? We had always been very active sexually. You name it, we did it (well, almost). Sex used to be frequent and varied. Shit, until our problems started, we used to screw a lot. Oh, not like when we were young, but still we got together at least two to three times a week, and it was always great. Emily's sexual appetite was as strong as mine and we used to indulge ourselves, but as our personal problems intensified, our sexual encounters decreased until, now, the only pussy I would get would be if I put hair around my fingers. Yeah, in other words it's a lot less stress to jack-off. It had gotten to the point that I didn't even want to try to approach her.

Now back to the black undies incident. I peeked, saw her in her black panties and bra and felt a woodie start. Nope, that wasn't going to do me a bit of good, so I just proceeded past and made believe that I saw nothing. I did wonder why the black underwear for a women's literature meeting, but put it out of my mind. Who the hell knows why women do what they do anyway?

She took off about 7 and I made myself comfortable in front of the TV. I hit the sack before 11, wanting to be in bed and pretend sleep before she came home. I awoke to the sound of Emily entering the house and saw that it was after 1 a.m. but fell asleep again and didn't wake until the following morning.

I want to say right off that I'm not like the typical husband that does squat around the house. Even though I work hard in my job I help when I can. We don't depend on full time help in terms of cleaning, etc. We do have a crew that comes in once a week, but the rest of the time Emily takes care of things, and I pitch in where I can. One of the things that I do is the laundry. Not on a all of the time basis, but when I see the hamper start to get full I will, sometimes, throw a wash in.

Ok, the next day, Friday, I happened to take the afternoon off. I was just pissed at a sales team half way across the country, and had just finished chewing the lead honcho out about their performance the last quarter. I was in a foul mood and decided to take off. I just wanted to chill out around my pool for the afternoon. I pulled in my driveway and went into the house. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that Emily wasn't home. You see what state our marriage had fallen into?

I entered the bedroom and quickly divested myself of my suit and shirt, putting on a swim suit. Seeing that the hamper was full, I thought I'd be a nice guy and throw the dark stuff into the washer, so getting the laundry basket I started to sort through the laundry. I saw Emily's bra, but couldn't find the panties. I stood back puzzled, I saw her in the bra and panties last night, so they should be in the hamper. The bra was there, but no panties. You see where my thoughts were going? Where the fuck were her panties??

You know that old cliche "my knees turned to water?" It may be a cliche, but damn, that's exactly what happened to me. I found that I couldn't stand. I had to sit down on the toilet seat. Could Emily actually be cheating?? What explanation could there be for her to come home without her panties? I was shocked at how hurt and devastated I felt.

I felt my eyes fill with tears, I just couldn't believe that she would do that to us. Despite all of the problems we were having, the thought of cheating on Emily never entered my head. You just don't cheat on someone you love. Yes, I still loved her, in fact, was still crazy about her. So if she could do that to me, she obviously did not love me anymore, and that thought just about destroyed me.

What other explanation could there be? She goes out with panties and comes home without them. Then I also suddenly remembered that she had come home that night after 1 a.m. That scenario doesn't leave a lot of room for many explanations. I felt sick to my stomach, but I knew that, despite my fears, there could be an innocent reason for her panties being missing. Shit, she could have peed herself and just tossed them. Thinking about that made perfect sense to me, at least it made me feel a little better. I ignored the fact that she came home so late.

I put the laundry back in the hamper and tried to put the whole incident to the back of my mind. Actually, I was too much of a coward to explore it, I just didn't want to know. The rest of the day was uneventful and Emily and I managed to get through an evening without any vitriol.