Benedict, Ben or Benny, Horton, Veronica, or Ronnie, Horton nee Parker: that's us. Both aged forty. Married going on fourteen years I guess. Happy? She is, I'm not, and for damn good reason: she's been cheating on me. And, not just cheating on me, but serial cheating on me, with at least four different men including my boss, and that for at least the last thirteen years; she admits to that long. And, I just found out about it today. Fuck! How did I find out? Well, that's the story, at least the biggest part of the story.

But, to really understand the situation the way it needs to be understood, you have to understand our history: Veronica's and mine. To do that we've gotta go back to the beginning. We have to go back to our last days in high school.

"Veronica Parker, you are not just pretty tonight. You are flat gorgeous," I said. "I mean flat gorgeous!" There had never been an example of sincerity to equal my current one.

Oh yeah, me? Eighteen years old, about to grad high school, an intellectual giant, and a social pariah. Five-six, a bit on the chubby side, singularly plain looking if not actually ugly: not much for the girls to love, I guess. But, at least no acne thank god! Anyway, now, at the end of my high school career, I would be graduating with honors, with a scholarship and—and it's a big and—my date for tonight's prom is the most beautiful seventeen year-old girl in the world: Veronica Parker.

"Of course," she said pirouetting in front of me. "You think I might get a few offers to dance from other boys tonight?" I was already thinking bad thoughts, but I had a plan—didn't I?

"A few offers? It's gonna be all I can do to defend your honor. Heck, I might have to fight Gilford over you. You know how he is," I said. I was smiling, but I was not kidding. Roger Gilford was my worst enemy; he was also her longtime boyfriend, or, had been. He was my worst enemy because he was jealous that I had won the bet and that figured to be a small problem. The bet was that I wouldn't be able to get Ronnie to go out with me. Of course I had cheated a little: I'd blackmailed Ronnie into it.

Veronica was not a military genius, and, more specifically, she wasn't a genius at writing term papers: especially term papers in Physics, and well, I was. She'd begged me for weeks to help her, and, to prep her for the final; and I'd finally said okay, but there'd be a price. She had to go to the prom with me.

She'd balked at first, but then she'd had a thought, and I knew it. Her idea was that she could get a little revenge on good 'ole Roger for having cheated on her with Pamela Mason. And, she figured, and probably rightly, that Roger would see it as her trading up, i.e., the school brainiac over the school jock. Well, I could dream, right? At any rate Veronica was going with me, and I was never more thrilled. The best looking girl in the school, and maybe even the state, was going with me. And, I had plans: spare no expense, make my case for a second date, and prove my worth to her as a potential significant other—long term potential significant other. Well, those were my plans, and I'd prepped them.

Arriving at the country club, The La Dolce Vita, where the prom was to be held; we were greeted by all of the A-listers that a girl like Veronica had in her train. Most of them had never spoken to me, or, if they had, whatever they'd said had arrogance and sarcasm mixed in with the message. I did get a bit of respect on this night, however, I'd been selected as class valedictorian, and that did carry some weight with the student body even among the mostly intellectually bereft of the social set; hey, maybe especially with them. They may have been collectively dumb, but they all knew that adulthood waited menacingly just around the corner, and most of them feared it—I didn't because I knew beyond the vaguest shadow of a doubt that I was going to succeed. Add to that that I was sure damn few of them would. Oh yes, it was my turn to be confident if not actually arrogant, and I had plans for the night.

I was at the punch bowl, getting my date and I some of the not yet tampered with elixir when I sensed a presence looming over my shoulder. "Hey, shorty, you need to rethink whatever you have planned for after the prom. I'll be taking Ronnie to the parties, not you," said Roger. I turned: Jesus! he was big.

"Hmm, well, we'll just let Ronnie make that decision. Uh—not you," I said, very casually. "You lost the bet, Roger, try and live with your grief."

"The bet was for the prom, but not the parties, and I am claiming my girl back by night's end. Actually, I may do it even before then," he said.

"We'll see," I said. I was acting far more confident than I felt.

Ronnie and I were sitting with a group of her friends and one or two of mine. We'd danced three times: two slow and one fast. She was the same height as me, at five-six, but with her heels on, she did seem to tower over me. It bothered me a little, but I was dealing with it.

I had just turned to speak with Jill Capshaw, one of Ronnie's friends, who'd asked me a question, when he came up to us.

"Have this dance, Ron?" said Roger. It was a slow dance. She looked at me, smiled, and let him lead her out onto the floor. For the next two hours I got in exactly one more dance with her as Roger and his entourage of jocks and hangers-on dominated her dance card. In between dances, I saw her and spoke with her for maybe a total of five or ten minutes worth. Then it was time for the last dance of the evening. She danced it with him.

I tried to catch up with her at the end of the dance, but I was blocked in that attempt by several very large bozos no doubt on orders from their master. I heard later that she did indeed go to the all-nighters with Roger. And, she did it without so much as a word to me. I wonder if she even gave a flying fuck about my feelings on the matter. I decided that she didn't. Well, as Robert burns once said, "so much for the well laid plans of mice and men," or something like that.

I couldn't really complain. I knew she was his girl, had been since the ninth grade. And, I knew she was only out with me because she wanted revenge, and I guess I seemed a useful tool to that end. But all of that said, I still felt sick to my stomach about not even getting a polite goodbye-if-I-never-see-you-again-hello from her. Beautiful she was, but clearly a decent person she was not.

Graduation was three weeks later, and I did my turn at the lectern and did it well. Oh, I saw her in the audience, grad cap on, and looking ever so much like one of the masses condemned forever to a life of quiet desperation. She waved to me and blew me a kiss when I came off the stage after having gotten my diploma. I made a point of scowling and turning away from her. Jill Capshaw stopped me as I headed for my mom and the small group of friends that had come to cheer me on.

"Hi Ben. You okay?" said Jill. I looked her askance.

"Yes. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" I said. I wasn't being nasty or sarcastic, but maybe my look said more than my tone or my words. Apparently that was the case.

"You actually look angry," she said.

"What?" I said.

"When your girlfriend blew you a kiss, you sent her a look that would kill small game," she said.

"Girlfriend? What girlfriend?" I said. Okay, like I said, I'd seen Veronica throw me a kiss, but I read nothing into it. Certainly not that she was interested in being my girlfriend.

"You know very well what girlfriend—Veronica. She asked me to ask you if you would talk to her," said Jill.

"Tell her not a chance. I haven't forgotten what she did to me on prom night, probably never will," I said. And I stalked off and away from her.

That was the end of my in-my-dreams romance with Veronica Parker; or, so I thought. I was to be proved more than wrong. Oh, if I'd only known then what I knew now.

I felt fortunate, so did my mom, who'd been single since my dad had died on the job at the Cheese processing plant when I was ten. She'd been hard pressed to pay the bills, but somehow she'd managed until now. My graduation as valedictorian and my scholarship were as much for her as they were for me, at least on some level.

The Badgers of the University of Wisconsin had selected me as a recipient of a full ride scholarship. And, being a member of Mensa, as I was, I had accepted their selection and had begun the journey that would eventually end in an MBA in Business Administration, specializing in employee and customer relations. I had dreams of being the best in my field at some very big store—say Boeing or maybe Atlantic Richfield. Yes indeed, fortunate was the word.

My not so secret love, and not a member of Mensa, Veronica, was also accepted to UW. But, alas, her high school two-point-five GPA, and her marginal SAT scores did not support a scholarship bid. But, she was there, and also in the Business school. What luck right? Not.

The Milton F. Hauser building housed, among others, the Personnel Development classes of the school of Business Administration. The basement of the building is home to Badger Sett, a smallish café, seating for maybe fifty. The BS was the primary, "during the day," hangout for students like me. The loose meat sandwiches were pretty good, and the background elevator music was more to my taste than was the modern stuff in some of the other campus fooderies. I was listening to a piece by Pierre Bachelet: Emmanuelle. Knew it well; I was more than certain no one else in the school of Biz did.

I was buried in my text when I heard laughing and general verbal bedlam in the booth behind me.

"You went to your high school prom with some mister nerdy?" said a voice I didn't recognize. A gaggle of geese were giggling and guffawing, apparently at somebody's expense in the booth behind me!

"Yes, and I shouldn't have. Roger played me and got me to go to the parties with him afterward. I kinda abandoned the poor guy, I mean Benny," said a voice I did recognize. "I felt like shit doing it to him, but Roger and I..." My stomach was almost instantaneously in rebellion when I realized that I was the butt of their laughter.

I'd heard enough. I got up and came around to them. "Good afternoon Veronica," I said. "A mister nerdy am I? Well, maybe so. But, I'm not some poor nobody deserving of your contempt, or of the insults that you and your kind," I gestured at the group of geese around the table, "are heaping on me behind my back. Actually, you have my sympathy. People low class enough to say things, like you and your friends are saying about me, are definitely worthy of pity. Have a nice day." I stalked off leaving the five of them with their mouths hanging open. I felt good—I think. I certainly felt as though I'd gotten my licks in. I wouldn't be seeing Veronica again, I was pretty sure of that. Of course, I was wrong again and that on several levels.

I actually saw her, more or less at a distance, several times a week. She had classes in the Hauser. A couple of times I had the feeling that she wanted to say something to me, probably apologize for talking about me behind my back, but as for that I wasn't sure; she never actually tried to say anything to me per se. But, even that changed a couple of weeks after my encounter with her at the BS, sort of.

I was coming out of my dorm. It was getting dark, and I was on my way to the Pizzeria a couple of blocks away.

"Hey asshole, you insulted my girl," said a voice from the shadows. The voice belonged to Roger Gilford; I recognized it immediately. I turned to say something intelligent, and I was met by a typhoon of mayhem. I never had a chance. I wouldn't have had anyway. I was still five-six and a hundred-sixty kind of out of shape pounds. Roger, on the other hand, was six-three, an understated two-hundred and twenty pounds of steel hard muscle and sinew, and he was most definitely not out of shape. He cleaned my clock and left me bloody and very messed up. I heard him laughing as he walked off and left me there.

The ER pronounced me alive, but I figured that was only a technical thing and likely only temporary—very temporary—or so I reasoned in view of the pain I was in. Two days later I was surprised to be given my walking papers.

"No broken bones. Sorry about the tooth mister Horton. If you sue the guy, maybe you can get him to pay to replace it," she said.

"Thanks doctor." I said. She nodded.

"I'd stay off my feet at least for a few days though, mister Horton," she said. "You don't have any broken bones, but you do have a mild concussion, and some fairly severe bruising.

"Okay," I said.

"Oh, and Mister Horton, the police are here to see you," she said.

I gave the police my statement. They told me, that since there were no witnesses, that it would be my word against his. I could bring a lawsuit against the guy, but the pudding would have to be proven by me. I thanked them for their time and slowly, very slowly, made my way home.

Mom nursed me and fiddled and fussed over me the following week. My profs were informed of the attack and of my physical state; I was given a deal of academic slack until I was able to return to class. And then, on Saturday, I had a visitor at the house. You had to know who it was.

"Benny, some young lady is here to see you," said Mom. My intuition told me who it was. I figured she was there to see if I would be amenable to not suing the asshole. If that was it, I told myself, I would sue for sure even if there was little chance of proving my case.

I was sitting out on the patio at the umbrella table sipping an ice tea when she came out. She was new car beautiful, no surprise there. And, she belonged to the guy who had put me in the hospital for objecting to her dissing me behind my back. Talk about situations.

"Hi," she said.

"What can I do for you, Veronica?" I said, and no it was not my friendliest tone.

"May I sit?" she said. Her voice was soft, very much on the quiet side. I guessed she figured that arrogant wasn't going to fly on this particular day. I gave her a noncommittal nod to go ahead and sit.

"I'd say I was sorry, Ben, but that would be so inadequate that I won't waste your time. I know he did it to you. He didn't even try to deny it. In fact he kind of bragged about it. I guess he thought he was defending my honor or something," she said.

"Your honor? How about my honor? You know the one you were trashing to your friends," I said. She looked down.

"I guess this was a mistake," she said, and got up to go. I said nothing.

"Fuck yeah, it was a mistake," I said, finally...

She stopped just before going into the house to leave. She turned and looked at me. "Benny, would you like to—I mean would you go out with me?" she blurted. I stared at her for a long minute. I couldn't believe the gall.

"Go out with you? What are you talking about?" I said. "After all of the things you said about me, let alone what your lover boy did to me!" She started to leave again, but stopped again, and turned. She took a step toward me.

"I want to make it up to you, all of the things that I've done to you. The prom, me dissing you, my ex-boyfriend beating you up: I want to make it all up to you if you'll let me. I'm told I'm a fun date," she said. She tried to smile, but failed in the main.

"Ex-boyfriend?" I said.

"Yes. I kicked him to the curb after what he did to you. That was unconscionable, and totally not what I would ever have wanted or approved of," she said.

She'd floored me. I remembered two things about the prom. One, it started out as the most exciting night of my life, that even knowing that it was likely a onetime thing in spite of my plans. And, it ended being one of the worst nights of my life. That said, she was my secret fantasy and had been forever, or so it seemed.

"A date with me? A makeup date?" I said.

"Yes," she said. "Benny, I was a shit two weeks ago. You've never been anything but nice to me, and helpful. I owe you," she said. I'd been leaning toward going out with her; but, she'd just said the one thing that put the kibosh on it. I didn't want her doing me favors because she owed me. If she didn't like me for me, like going out with me; then, there could only be one answer.

"No," I said. "You don't owe me anything. We all make mistakes. Just let it be. Please just let yourself out; I still have a little trouble getting up and down," I said. I think she started crying.

"Okay, Benny, but the offer is open, no expiration date," she said, and then she was gone.

She felt like shit? I felt like shit! I wanted her in the worst way; and yeah, I knew every other guy in the place did too. But, I also didn't need the pity thing, not even. I had some pride for goodnesssakes, not much but some!

I did get the tooth replaced—at my own expense. I didn't sue Roger. And no, I have no real good reason as to why I didn't. I guess the bottom line was that I didn't want to fool with the lawyers and maybe lose or come out of it with a less than a satisfactory result. And I was, quite frankly, too damn busy! Anyway, I'm a firm believer in the truism that what goes around comes around. He'd get his; I just had to hope I'd be there holding coat of whoever nailed him.

College except for the few little bumps in the road already alluded to had been good. I walked the stage, after four years receiving my B.A. and my MBA on the same day. Veronica still had to make up one semester in spite of a herculean effort on her part to grad on time. And no, I wasn't keeping track of her. She'd come up to me on my grad day and told me. Took me to dinner the following night too; and yes, I did accommodate her—well, I did have two college degrees; my feelings of self-worth had been considerably enhanced. And, it was only dinner and a onetime never to be repeated thing anyway; so I went. I was curious.

We said our goodbyes and I headed off to begin my new career.

I'd been hired even before I graduated. I was in the sales division of Mercury Software. I was a high end peddler of some very expensive computer business systems that only the most sophisticated users would be interested in. The upshot was that, after a year in the trenches, I got paid accordingly. My boss, mister Watson, VP of sales, appreciated my talents and work ethic and rewarded me accordingly. Twenty-four years old and pulling down, when bonuses were included, $100,000 annual. I was feelin' good. Oh yeah. My first year with Mercury had been excellent. The learning curve had been ninety degrees to the plane, but I was a fast learner, and, as it turned out, a good salesman. Actually I was the company's number one salesman. It was just after Memorial Day that an opportunity, that had been totally unexpected, came my way.

I was just finishing up a lunch meeting with Greg Albright, president of Western Systems: a company mainly involved with security stuff for high-rise office buildings, and the like. He liked our product line, and he'd signed on. I was feelin' fine-fine super fine.

"Got a party to go to tonight, Ben, you wanna come?" he said.

"A party?" I said.

"Well, actually it's a party, but there's also a ballroom dance competition in the early evening. It's a hobby of mine. It's how I blow off steam after a long day in the trenches. Anyway, if you're interested, here's the address," he said. He pulled out a small pad and jotted down the particulars. "My private cell number's on there too."

"Well, thanks, Greg, I just might do that," I said. And, I did do that, and it changed my life—and complicated it.

Everybody was dressed to the nines; heck, the ladies were dressed to the tens! Now, I can dance, or thought that I could, but not like these people. I did however, after the competition, get a few rounds in with a couple of ladies that tweaked my fancy, and who seemed to be not all that embarrassed at my relative ineptitude as a hoofer. One such lady, Barbara Hillings in particular seemed interesting. We'd just taken our seats, after a round of Fox Trotting, when Barbara looked over at me and smiled.

"Tell me, Ben, are you involved with anyone?" she said.

"Involved? Uh—no," I said. "No time for that kind of thing."

"Really, well at least one female here seems to wish that you were—I mean with her," said Barbara.

"Not real likely, Barb, I don't know anybody here, and I'm realist enough to know that I'm not exactly a prize. You, Marsha, and Gladys have been nice enough to show me some mercy on the dance floor tonight; I mean by dancing with me, but I'm way too savvy to read anything more into it," I said. She laughed.

"Don't sell yourself short, bub. You're not by any means chopped liver, and you have potential as a dancer. But, I'm referring to her," she said, nodding her head toward something behind me. I turned to look, and I know for a blood mortal fact that stunned surprise was painted all over my face.

"Veronica!" I squeaked, as she approached our table.

"Hi, I'm Veronica," said Veronica, ignoring me while introducing herself to Barbara.

"Barbara," said Barbara. "Nice to meet you."

"Same here," said Veronica.

"Wait—wait," I said. "Ronnie, what are you doing here?" I said.

"Well Bennie, I like to dance, and I come here fairly often, actually. I'm not sure you'd call it my hangout, but, for lack of a better term, it's my hangout," she said.

"Really," I said.

"Obviously, you two know each other pretty well," said Barbara.

"Oh—sorry—Barb. Uh—yes we have kind of a history. Went to the same schools at the same time and stuff," I said.

"Well, to paraphrase you, Ben—really?" said Barbara.

"Uh—I mean yes," I said.

"What Bennie means to say..." started Veronica.

"Never mind," said Barbara. "Veronica, Ben, you two clearly have something to say to each other. I think I'll just mosey on around and hunt me down one or another of my partners in crime.

"Call me, Ben. When you get a chance," said Barbara.

"Uh—yes—depend on it," I said. And my new friend Barbara Hillings was gone. Veronica Parker took the seat next to me.

"Was she right, Bennie?" said Veronica. I could feel her leg pressing into mine. My junior sized johnson was responding predictably.

"Right?" I said.

"Do we have something to say to each other?" she said. I shrugged.

"Don't know what?' I said.

"Well, how about you have a little mercy on this girl and ask me out," she said. Boy was this a full court press or what, I thought.

I stared at her for a moment. Did I want to take the chance of getting burned, beat up, humiliated, whatever again? Yes, we'd had that one dinner after my grad from college, but somehow that didn't seem the same thing. That night, I'd figured I'd be safe because the next day I'd be gone and she'd still be at UW. But this was different. "What are you doing Saturday night, Veronica Parker," I said, throwing caution to the winds.

"Well let me think, Benny Horton," she said, smirking like a nymph that was trying to fake playing hard to get. "I'm sorry, but I think I have a date this Saturday. Some nerdy guy—uh—Benny's his name."

"Yeah, I know the guy. Tall, dark, handsome? Right?" I said.

"No actually: short, light skinned, brilliant. Handsome? Hmm, let's just say not ugly," she said. Nothing like telling it like it is, I thought...

"Anyway, a date? You and me? I won't get beat up or abandoned?" I said.

"Yes a date, and absolutely not those other things!" she said.

"Okay, the nerds are us bus will pick you up at seven," I said. She scowled at my reference to nerdists.

I arrived at her place, a small single story ranchstyle condo on the outskirts of town right on time. I parked, went to her door and rang. I stood there holding a small bouquet; I was dressed to go out on the town.

She answered the door, and she took my breath away. The high heels and the teddy she was dressed in left me almost speechless, but I did recover.

"I thought we were going to dinner," I said. "I mean..."

"We are, but after I have proved to you my abilities as a female," she said. I swallowed.

"Okay," I squeaked. God, was I pussywhipped or what.

The manhattans were already poured. I guess she'd been pretty sure that I wouldn't be late. Hell, I wondered if any boy had ever dared be late for a date with her.

She watched me as I sipped my drink with a little more gusto than might have been the case under ordinary circumstances.

"Nervous?" she said. Clearly she wasn't.

"I—I—I don't know. Maybe," I said.

"Don't be. I'm going to let you fuck me, and we, the both of us are going to enjoy the heck out of it, and then I am going to get dressed and we are going to go out on the town," she said. I could feel my face flushing as she talked, and I was sure she was doing her level best to stifle a giggle at my distress.

"Okay," I said. I was still squeaking.

We didn't hurry and the manhattans helped: at any rate they sure did me. She was being—what—patient. As I threw back the last drop of the tasty cocktail, she stood, came to me, and offered me her hand. I let her guide me to my feet.

"Come on, little man, let's see what you've got," she said. I frowned at her little man remark, but for damn sure this was not the moment to be overly sensitive about my size.

"I'm comin'," I said. We headed for a short hall where three doors, one at the far end and where the two others faced each other at the front. We walked the extra ten feet to the one at the end. She went in and I followed.

It was largish and very nicely appointed. Maybe twenty-foot square. What I estimated was a queen sized bed was off set a little to the left, it was the room main feature. There was the inevitable vanity flanked by drawers. There was a complex headboard behind the bed where various electrical things were cloistered. The door to the adjoining bathroom was open as the door to what I assumed was the walkin closet was not. I was a woman's room, and more, it was he room.

It was clear to me that miss Parker might not have been the greatest student who ever lived, but she was not poor. I learned later that she was a trust fund child. She dropped my hand which she had held for the entire walk to the room and went and stood by the bed facing me.

"Strip," she said. She was clearly going to be taking charge of events. I nodded.

Apparently, I was a little slow for her however, and she took on an impatient look. "Well, hurry up," she said. "I need a good screwing and patience is not one of my virtues." I speeded up the process and stood waiting for instructions. Jesus! what a wimp I was. It was no wonder that women didn't exactly flock to my door.

She came to me and looked down obviously appraising my equipment. "Hmm," she said. "Not real big, but judging by the veins and the purple of the head, probably serviceable." Now, I had to say something, wimp or not.

"Jesus! Veronica, You got any more put downs for me. If so let's get 'em out of the way now, so we can get down to business," I said. I'd finally grown some balls. She flashed me a smirk.

"Sensitive are we? Well, sorry if I upset you. But, if we're going to continue this relationship, I don't want to have to be faking it or lying to you about things that mean anything for the entire time we're married," she said. To say that her words floored me, stunned me, flabbergasted me, would have been an understatement of heroic proportions.

"What?" I said. Suddenly I was on cloud nine, and not even sure I hadn't actually died and gone to heaven. She smiled.

"We'll talk later little man, my little man, but for the moment I want you on your knees, lifting my teddy, pulling down my panties, and staring at your altar. Do you think you can manage that?" she said. A nanosecond later, naked and on my knees, I did exactly as she had directed. And an altar for me it was. God almighty was she beautiful.

A pubis barren of a single hair, dew oozing from the slit between the folds of her labia: she was Aphrodite personified. She was clearly already hot to trot—well—about half as hot to trot as I was!

I leaned in to kiss her secret place. I began licking her, then sucking her, then, burying my face in her. She pushed me gently away. She turned.

"Now my anus," she said. I obeyed without the slightest delay. She mooed and shivered as I licked the little brown button between her ass cheeks. Stopping me with a little shove, she returned to the bed and leaned forward over it, butt pushed back, legs spread wide. She still wore the teddy and the heels, but the flimsy panties had been shed.

"You are so incredible, so very damn incredible," I said.

She looked back toward where I still knelt. "Well, if I'm so incredible," she said, giggling, "then get over her and screw me."

I rose to do that which I had dreamed off forever. I stood behind her and fingered her for a moment or two; then, sucked her nectar from my fingertips. I leaned into her, pressing my dick as deep inside of her as I could. She seemed loose, which was both a good and bad thing. Good because entry was easy, bad because I knew she might not be able to get off from my efforts. But, nothing was going to stop me now. Buried in her, I began seesawing back and forth. I Lasted maybe three or four minutes before I erupted inside of her painting the walls of her vagina white.