Chapter 6: The Smell of Napalm

Well I got all the riches baby any man ever knew

But the only thing I ain't got honey, I ... ain't got you

Peter Wombert was going out of his mind. Ever since he'd seen Jennifer at the restaurant, he'd been unable to stop thinking about her. His obsession was back in full bloom.

Not that he'd thought of it as an obsession, all those years. No, Peter had thought himself in love. "Real, tormented, beautiful" love, he'd told James.

That was the day that Peter hired James to seduce Jennifer, hoping that the fallout would break up her marriage. Then Peter would swoop in. Jennifer would have nowhere else to turn; she would fall into his arms.

Peter was wealthy, powerful, and not unattractive. He was also an asshole, but that rarely prevented him from getting what he wanted—or whom he wanted. Indeed, Peter had been doubtful that James could succeed where he had failed; for Peter himself had seduced many married women.

Jennifer had been different, though. Peter recalled the first years of their acquaintance, during which time she'd often been unattached. She'd resisted his charms, but he stayed "friends" with her, hoping that would change. His passion burned hot, the time passed quickly, and his hopes remained high.

But then, Jennifer met the fucking Boy Scout.

Oh, how Peter hated Mike Chancey. He suspected that the feeling was mutual; but Peter resolved to outlast him. The engagement came as a shock and threatened to dash Peter's hopes, once and for all. However, the Boy Scout was either too clueless or too timid to try to exclude Peter from Jennifer's life. So, the game continued.

Peter knew Jennifer was quite fond of him and perhaps even loved him—albeit as a brother. That wasn't good enough for Peter, though; he had to have Jennifer. No matter how many other women he fucked—no matter how beautiful, sleazy, or pliant they were—none satisfied him for long. It always came back to Jennifer.

It was difficult for Peter to admit defeat; but after so many years, even his enormous ego could not deny the truth. As he'd told James, Jennifer was "totally, completely, in love" with Mike. Peter had not been able to make the slightest inroad. So, he turned to James Coltez, professional gigolo. Professional marriage-buster.

Peter remembered how excited he'd been that Friday night, when James had called him.

"I think tonight is the night," James had said.

Peter's pulse had raced at those six words. He'd barely heard the next sentence or two that came through the phone. But he sure heard the last sentence:

"Be waiting outside in one hour to get your proof."

Peter couldn't wait an hour. Almost immediately, he went to James' apartment building and hid on the stairs.

That proved to be his downfall. Jennifer didn't quite stay for an hour, and there was no warning from James. Suddenly, there was Jennifer, coming down the stairs. Peter tried to hide, then tried to run, but Jennifer stopped him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Shit, how I crumbled. What is it about her? I can lie about anything to anyone.

He fumbled to make up a story, but that night Jennifer was like Wonder Woman with a magic lasso. She wrung the truth out of him. After attempting some weak lies, he confessed his love for her and revealed his arrangement with James.

Pathetic! I crush people. I own people. But damn it, that bitch owns me.

Little had Peter known, that night, that the worst was yet to come. When Jennifer contacted him later and said she needed his help, his hopes had risen. But then, she made him go through with that ... charade ... all just to spite James.

We drove to James' apartment. She made me go upstairs, knock on his door, and feed him a line of bullshit. Funny, I had my game on then! Lied my ass off, and he bought it all the way. Told him that in her weakened state, Jennifer has finally succumbed to me; that I'd then blackmailed her; and that I'd been fucking her ever since. It was supposed to hurt his ego that I'd succeeded where he'd failed; and from the look on his face, it worked.

And she made me pay him! Pay his $25,000 fee. Chump change to me, but the fucking principle of it ... that bitch!

Peter had rebuked himself for that night many times. Why the fuck hadn't he blackmailed Jennifer? He'd seen her on the stairs, leaving James' apartment. She'd denied having sex with him—and James had seemed to confirm it—but still, what would the Boy Scout think?

Except something had told Peter that it wouldn't work. The resolve in Jennifer's voice, in her eyes—the way she commanded him—he knew there could be no more schemes. His only chance was to do ask she asked, beg her forgiveness, and stay in the game.

At least, that's what I told myself. But let's face it, I just caved. I flat-out caved. Again.

Like a pussy, like a fucking puppy dog, he'd asked Jennifer if they were "even" after his little performance. Couldn't they be friends again? Maybe he'd gone too far, but he'd done it out of love!

Peter would never forget the look in her eyes. No woman had ever given him such a look. And her words!

"You disgust me. Get out of my car. You will never see me again."

No woman, hell—no man—had ever hurt him with words. But those words cut him to the core. Still, she wasn't done with him.

As he sheepishly opened the car door, Jennifer administered the coup de grace. She lifted her shirt. There was no bra underneath—just a perfect pair of tits. Tits he had dreamed about seeing for fifteen years.

"And you most definitely will never get to touch these!" she said, before pushing him out of the car and driving off, stranding him.

For days—weeks—he'd stewed over the whole scene. The fucking bitch! Ironically, though, it freed him; freed him of the love that had made him weak. He was still obsessed with Jennifer, but now it was an angry obsession. He wanted to hurt her—the Boy Scout, too.

But what could he do? Tell Mike that Jennifer had been sneaking around on him? But Peter had no proof. Besides, it would sound crazy.

"Hey Mike, I hired a guy to seduce your wife, so that you would find out and divorce her. Then, I could marry her!"

Mike would never believe him. Mike despised him, and the last thing Peter Wombert was going to do was give Mike-fucking-Chancey an opportunity to squint at him with scorn and tell him to fuck off. So Peter left him alone.

Gradually, Peter came down from the peak of his anger. He went on a sex binge, going through women like General Sherman's army had marched through the South. He convinced himself he didn't need Jennifer. Hell, someday, she'd be chubby and wrinkled—and he'd still be fucking twenty-year-olds!

But recently, since that night he'd seen Jennifer at the restaurant...

Peter wondered how close it had been. Jennifer had, after all, spent a lot of time with James—apparently, behind Mike's back. She'd gone to his apartment that night. Okay, so Jennifer didn't fuck him—or so she'd said—but it must have been close. After all, James had been pretty sure. That phone call...

That phone call. That phone call! "Be waiting outside in one hour to get your proof." My proof ... what proof?

He tried to remember the details of the plan. James was going to break Jennifer, but that wasn't all. He was also going to get rid of Mike. But how? By telling him? Who was going to do it?

Not James—dealing with Mike was not part of his deal.

Not Peter—that wouldn't work either.

Jennifer? Maybe, but...

" ... get your proof." Right ... Mike was not going to be told; he was going to be shown. But what proof? What was the fucking—of course!

Suddenly remembering what else James had said to him that night, Peter felt like an idiot. How could he have forgotten? Hell, he had the same thing going at his house, in his bedroom.

He said he thought the night was the night. He asked if I remembered his address and told me to be there in an hour, to get my proof. And in between, he said...

"I have my whole apartment rigged with cameras."

At the next joint therapy session, Dr. Seymour immediately noticed something different about Mike and Jennifer. Maybe to someone who'd known them before their troubles, they still would have seemed off. But having met them at their nadir, the difference Dr. Seymour perceived was positive. They seemed more relaxed, more aware of each other. It seemed liked they were together, not just separate patients in the same room.

Towards the end of the session, Dr. Seymour asked if they had any questions to ask or anything to say to each other. Jennifer spoke up.

"Mike," she began, "I just want to say ... thank you for sticking with this. For sticking with me. I know ... I know you've made no promises, and ... that we've still got a long way to go if ... that is, if you'll ... I'm trying not to get my hopes up too high, but I want you to know ... I just wanted to say thank you. And..."

She hesitated, then looked straight in his eyes.

"I swear, on my sister's grave, that I've always loved you, that I will love you forever, and that nothing like ... what happened ... will ever happen again."

Mike closed his eyes as tears formed. Studying his face, Jennifer's eyes moistened as well. Tentatively, she reached out and took Mike's hand. He opened his eyes, looked at her hand ... and closed his own around it.

"I believe you," he said. "And while I can't feel yet that I forgive you ... I feel that I want to forgive you. I hope that means something to you."

"Baby!" Jennifer exclaimed, embracing him while staring to cry. "It's more than I deserve, so it means everything to me."

The session had lasted well past its scheduled end, but Dr. Seymour was not about to complain. She'd witnessed reconciliations before, but none had ever affected her like this budding one. Was that because it was special? Or simply because, for once, she was letting it affect her? Soaking up the emotion to feed her...

Stop it. Do your job.

"Listen, you two," she said. "I want to remind you of something. Peaks and valleys, right? Give it time, time, and more time, right? Don't go and spoil anything now. Don't rush anything. As Jennifer said, you still have a long way to go. Understood?"

They nodded.

"Okay. Here's what I want to do. You're way past bed time here, but I want to talk to Mike—alone—for just a few minutes. Then, next week, he gets a night off. Jennifer, I'll just see you, okay?"

"Okay," Jennifer answered. She squeezed Mike's hand one more time, rose up, and left the room.

As the door closed behind her, Dr. Seymour leaned across her desk.

"Mike, never mind most of what I just said."

"Huh?"

"That was for Jennifer. She's a train, heading downhill towards a curve. Yes, there is going to be a curve in here somewhere before you guys climb up again. I don't want her to be going too fast when she hits that curve, okay?"

"Okay."

"You, on the other hand ... I'll tell you, I was ready to kick your ass tonight! Then you surprised me, you really did. But I still feel like you're stuck at a tipping point."

Mike shrugged, almost apologetically.

"I know, I just ... I believe her, but I'm still not sure it matters ... not sure if it's enough."

"Mike, it's not about being sure; not right now. Right now is about living without being sure, until you are sure. Meanwhile, along the way, you may have to fake it. Or, as I prefer, you may have to 'leap' it. Make a leap—a leap of faith."

She let her words sink in for a moment, then smiled.

"Okay, get out of here! I'll see you in two weeks. Oh, and Mike ... The train, don't forget! I'm glad you're speeding up, but she may need to slow down, okay? Are you going to be my brakeman?"

Mike smiled.

"I'll try, doctor, but you forget what I do for a living ... I'm an engineer."

That night, it was all Mike and Jennifer could do to stay apart. Jennifer made a pretty obvious pass, but Mike deflected it gently. She settled for a long hug.

Brakeman. Gotta be the brakeman. Damned if I know why, but doctor's orders.

The next night, after Mikey was asleep, Mike sat in bed reading while Jennifer took a relaxing bath. Mike hadn't been able to concentrate well enough to read anything since before Black Sunday. Tonight, it was going better.

Still, he was ... unsettled. The optimism he'd felt the night before had dissipated somewhat. It seemed to happen every time after they made some progress; in the quiet, without distractions, he would hear echoes of his torments. He wondered if they would ever fall silent; he feared the answer was no.

Jennifer knocked on the open door. She was wearing her red robe. That meant, of course, that she was wearing only her red robe.

"Mike," she said, "I'll be in our room tonight. If you want to catch up on sleep ... that's fine. Or ... well, I'll be in our room."

She walked over, kissed him on the forehead, left the room, and closed the door behind her. Mike turned out the lamp.

The train is picking up speed. Got to be the brakeman.

It wasn't only Dr. Seymour's metaphor that held him held him back, though. He didn't feel well. He guessed it was psychosomatic, but that didn't make the queasiness go away.

He believed, finally, that Jennifer had not had sex with James and had not meant to get as involved with him as she had. But still, the lying. The sneaking around. The insult that she'd turned to that fucking player instead of him for comfort. The physical stuff, tame as it was...

Mike kept going around and around. What was the hardest part to get over? It was a moving target.

A moving target...

Mike remembered an activity at Scout camp: skeet shooting. Multiple discs were projected into the air. You had to try to shoot them down.

The novices couldn't do it. They'd shoot randomly at all the discs, hitting none. The secret was to pick out one disc, track it, and nail it. Then do the same to another disc.

Physical intimacy wasn't everything. But it was one thing, and no small thing in a marriage. They'd been stumbling towards it, but it still had been somewhat impersonal.

I haven't ... pleasured her. Not like I used to. Not at all, actually. I think about it, but ... then I think about everything else and I can't...

He imagined Jennifer, lying in bed in the next room over.

Maybe her legs are open. Those bare legs, hardly covered by her robe.

As he visualized the possibilities, the whole great and terrible range of his feelings for and against Jennifer welled up. He was afraid they would follow him, if he went to her. Afraid of what might go wrong. Maybe he should follow orders; be the brakeman?

But she also said I would have to contribute. That I would have to want this.

For the first time in a long time, Mike felt resolve.

Brakeman? No. It's time to be the engineer. Time to drive this train.

Jennifer lay in bed. A candle flickered like her flickering hope. Would Mike come? Had she put too much pressure on him?

She thought about the previous evening at the therapist's office. The incredible emotion. It welled up again and swept over her.

It's enough. Give the man some space. Thank God he's still in your house. After what you did...

Jennifer felt tired but not sleepy. Mike was not coming.

But he can be here in my thoughts. I can keep the fire burning for him. Besides, it will help me get to sleep.

Parting her robe, Jennifer closed her eyes. Bringing one hand to her mouth, she wet her middle fingers. As she spread her legs and lowered her hand, she whispered his name.

"Yes?"

It took a moment before Jennifer realized the voice was real. She opened her eyes. Mike had snuck into her room. He was standing by the foot of the bed.

"I hate to interrupt something so unbelievably hot, but I'd like to be of assistance."

"Mike! You ... I ... I'm sorry, I was just ... you don't have to—"

"Maybe not," he said, crawling up the bed and nestling between her legs.

"But I want to..."

Jennifer panted with anticipation. When he lowered his head and spread his mouth wide, covering her sex with his lips and tongue, she gasped.

It was awkward at first, but Mike fought the awkwardness. He focused on what he could see (the contours of her body); on what he could feel (the heat of her skin); on what he could smell (the scent of her arousal); on what he could hear (her gasps); and what he could taste (her moisture). He blocked everything else out.

The old instincts, the old feelings took over ... and he found that he wanted it. God Almighty, he wanted to make her feel good. He didn't worry about what it meant, whether it was right, whether it was enough, whether she deserved it, or how he might feel about it later. He just did it.

As he did, he felt his own arousal mount. As his mind remembered things, so did his body. Pleasing her had never been just about her, though he'd reserved some nights for that. No, this also turned him on ... made him feel good. He moaned as his hardening cock, still covered by his shorts, plowed into the bed covers.

He didn't try to tease her, but he didn't try to go too fast, either. He didn't try to make her come quickly, just to prove he could still do it. He simply followed her cues, building slowly but steadily towards her release.

He looked up at her. Her eyes were closed. Her breasts slowly rose and fell.

Something between a thought and a feeling struck him. Still licking her, he grasped her hands, raised them ... and brought them to her breasts. He flattened her palms against her orbs, circled his hands over them, and withdrew them—leaving hers there.

She hesitated at first, seemingly holding her breath. Then, exhaling with a slight moan, she took her breasts firmly in her hands. As Mike watched, his tongue circling her slit, Jennifer kneaded and caressed her mounds.

In reaction, Mike sped up, narrowing his ministrations to her opening, her clit, and the valley between. Responding, Jennifer began to play with her nipples. Watching it, especially from his vantage point—and with her taste in his mouth—made Mike's cock throb.

They spurred each other on. Mike focused all his tongue-work on Jennifer's clit and slid a finger inside her. Jennifer rolled, pinched and tugged her nipples. They were both moaning loudly. Unable to stop his hips from moving, Mike wondered if he might come before her, right in his shorts.

Then, something else between a thought and a feeling hit him. Trying to keep his tongue on her, he whispered.

"Open your eyes, Jennifer. Look."

It took a moment, but she responded. Lifting her head ever so slightly, she opened her eyes. They fluttered from his eyes to his tongue, then back to his eyes—and locked on. They had never done this before. But then, she had never pleasured her own breasts while he went down on her, either.

"Who do you see?" he asked.

"You..." she gasped. "I see you, Mike ... oh god..."

"Say it, baby..."

"It's you ... Mike ... Mike ... MIKE ... MIIIIIKE!"

As she climaxed, Mike groaned too. Then, he nuzzled her thighs while her breathing (and his tongue) slowly recovered.

"Do ... do you want me to do something for you?" she asked, as he came up beside her.

"You already did," he said, pulling off his wet shorts.

"You ... just from..."

"Yeah."

They cuddled. After a short while, Jennifer was on the verge of sleep. Turning her head towards him and mustering a voice, she asked,

"Are ... are you going back to your room ... to your bed?"

Mike smiled.

"I'm already here."

Watching a DVD on his computer at home, Peter beamed with delight.

How fortunate that James had saved all the video his cameras had captured! But then, apparently James saved everything. He'd been curious about Peter's request but not reluctant to turn over the video; after all, Peter had paid his fee.

Turns out that was the best $25,000 I ever spent! Joke's on you now, bitch!

The disc contained video captured from several different cameras. Some of the cameras had caught nothing; but some had caught quite a bit. The action was not as good as Peter might have dreamed, but it was far more than he'd expected, based on what Jennifer had said.

The very end ... well, that was a mixed bag. Oh well, he would play around with the raw capture and boil it down to something ... nice. It wouldn't be difficult; Peter had filmed and edited a few "home movies" in his time.

He had no illusions. Jennifer hated him. Though his new weapon might win his war against her marriage, she would never fall into his arms. If anything, it might bring some heat down on him. Then again, apart from Jennifer's little "fuck you" in her car that night, he'd escaped retribution so far—what did he have to fear?

Besides, he didn't care. Maybe he could never have her, maybe it would get ugly—but nobody fucked with Peter Wombert. And as for the Boy Scout, well ... if Peter couldn't have those tits that Jennifer had flashed, at least he could make sure Mike wouldn't have them either.

Will they give you a merit badge for suicide, Scout? And you, my dear bitch ... you thought your little stunt with me was so cute. Well, let me introduce you to a real bitch. Her name is ... payback!

For the first time ever, Jennifer was looking forward to her Friday night appointment with Dr. Seymour. She had so much to say. Not just about sex, of course ... though the therapist did seem quite interested in that! Oh well, Jennifer was becoming comfortable with the girl talk. She would go into minute detail, if that's what the doctor ordered.