IF YOU TRULY LOVE ME: Chapter 01 David’s Words

If You Truly Love Me is a story of a love triangle. It was inspired by an actual couple I once knew. I worked for a time with the wife. In their story, though, it was the husband wanting to explore.

Each protagonist in the triangle tells a portion of the story. There is minimal overlapping of stories and the full tale won’t come together, with the fates of all parties known, until the final member of the triangle has told their part. Each part, or chapter, will be uploaded separately a few days apart. (This will ensure I don’t procrastinate on finishing Chapter 3 hahahaha).

As is usual for me I have done my own editing. I hope any mistakes I missed don’t detract from the story.

Thanks, as always, to my beloved Vandemonium1 for his encouragement and support, not to mention, his excellent proofreading skills!

Thanks and happy reading,

CTC

*****

WITH MY WIFE KNEELING before me, I didn’t care that the curtains were open, revealing the pitch-black night sky. I didn’t care that any passer-by could see me, could see us. Let them. Let them see me in rapture. It had been so long.

I massaged her scalp more firmly, warning her of my approaching orgasm. Soon, I knew, I’d be tugging her hair rather than caressing it. I’d be gentle, but I knew from past experiences it turned her on to know that for a few precious moments I’d lose control and clutch rather than fondle.

I gripped her head, my cock—the thickest I’d felt it in an age—surged into her warm mouth and I groaned loudly, climaxing.

I collapsed back on the couch, feeling flushed and bemused. “Jesus Christ.”

I stared at her as if seeing her for the first time before reaching for her, cupping her face, and kissing her passionately. Holly responded until we were both gasping for air.

I chuckled, resting my forehead against hers. “Holy hell, Holly. What was that, sweetheart? I don’t know what brought that on, but you can surprise me like that any time. I thought my balls were going to explode. I didn’t hurt you, did I? I kind of forgot myself for a minute there.”

She laughed, sounding a little drunk on her success. “No, all’s good. Kind of proud of myself, actually. Nice to see I can still rock your world after all these years.”

“Oh, you rocked it all right, sweetheart. Nuclear.” I kissed her again. I always made a point of kissing her after oral sex. If she was good enough to swallow my load then I was good enough to kiss her for it. Same as she kissed me after I went down on her.

I pulled Holly down, rolling her until she was on her back on the lounge. I kissed my way down her body, looking up at her from between her splayed thighs.

“Now let’s see if I can return the favour.”

*****

WITH A FINAL kiss to the nape of Holly’s neck, I lifted myself from her body. Cool morning air wafted over the damp skin of my chest and I shivered through the wave of goosebumps that followed it. Nothing, not the early start or a wave of shivers could spoil my mood—I had my wife back.

I lightly slapped Holly on the butt. “Come on, lazy bones. Time for that naughty ass of yours to get up.”

With a flourish, as if unveiling a surprise, I threw open the curtains. Holly groaned; she wasn’t a morning person.

“Naughty? I think they should be putting me up for sainthood for seeing to my husband’s need for greedy morning sex,” she groaned into the pillow.

I laughed at our shared joke and playfully slapped her rump again. “Join me in the shower and I might get even greedier.”

Quite early in our married life we’d developed a routine of sorts. Other than some slow spells when ill health, the birth and early years of our daughter, Caitlyn, or the regular travel demands of our respective careers interfered, we’d make love every second evening three times over the course of the night. Well, up until about six months ago, that applied.

The first encounter was usually quite early in the evening once we were certain Caitlyn was asleep; the second a few hours later when we were both snoozy and cuddly, and one final time the following morning. The next night our bed would be for sleeping only.  When, one morning, Holly had teased me about our three-a-night routine I told her the first coming together was for play and the second for loving.

“And the third?” She’d asked.

“Oh, that’s just me being a greedy bastard.”

Since then the terms had stuck and we were either ‘playing’, ‘loving’, or being ‘greedy’. It was a private joke and routine I loved. Ironically, each name was apt—we tended to be the most adventurous and kinky during ‘play’ sex, while our ‘loving’ sex was slow and sensual and tender, and in the mornings, I was greedy. I’d push myself so deep into Holly’s body it felt like I was trying to climb into her via her vagina.

Holly clambered from the bed, quickly stripping it, placing the sheets by the door before slipping into the shower with me. We didn’t make love again, but I had fun getting my wife of twenty-four years cleaned up and ready for work.

Once dressed, I made my way to the kitchen where Holly had already started making breakfast. We worked together like a well-oiled machine—me; squeezing our juices and making the coffees, Holly; preparing our muesli topped with fresh fruit since we were on yet another health kick. Well, Holly was, and that meant I was as well. No bacon and eggs for me for the foreseeable future.

Holly regularly cursed Mother Nature’s unfairness, saying that since hitting her forties she had to work far harder in order to maintain her weight and fitness than I did. It was true; she exercised as much as I did, perhaps more, but whereas I seemed to effortlessly maintain a flat stomach and toned arms and legs, she complained she had to work like a Trojan to stop her hips from expanding and gravity from wreaking havoc on her butt and breasts. She would joke that Mother Nature was a heartless bitch, trying to throw her on the scrap heap now that she was approaching the end of her childbearing years. Holly would laugh, saying she wasn’t having it, that she intended to go down kicking and screaming.

As we ate, we talked. Holly’s day was going to be fairly run-of-the-mill, if dealing with authors and artists could ever be considered ordinary, while I was excited because I had a big presentation to do that afternoon with my partner Ben, who also happened to be Holly’s older brother.

“I just hope Carlson goes for our designs for his new hotel. It will be a huge coup for us if we can win this project from some of the big boys in Sydney. We might even need to hire someone to help oversee it if we’re successful.”

“You will be. I have a good feeling about this. You and Ben will be great,” Holly reassured me, raising her face for a kiss as I retrieved our plates and headed to the kitchen.

She followed me to the garage even though she, weather permitting, usually rode her bicycle the short distance to work as yet another way to try and keep fit. With a final kiss and admonishment to remember to pick up some milk on my way home, she waved me off.

*****

“SO, BRO, BY the look of your goofy grin I’m thinking you got some sweet sweet lovin’ last night.” Ben cocked his head to the side, grinning as he studied me. “Or maybe even this morning.”

“Maybe my, ah, grin, which is never goofy, by the way, is in anticipation of us nailing the presentation with Carlson,” I countered.

“Nah. It’s definitely an, I-got-laid-and-laid-good grin.”

“You’re shameless, man. That’s your sister you’re talking about.”

I threw the Post-it notes I had in my hand at him. He ducked, avoiding my missile with ease. Worse—he caught it. His grin never wavered; if anything, it grew. The routine was old—he’d say something wildly inappropriate; I’d throw something non-sharp, non-breakable at him and he’d duck. We’d been doing it since college.

I looked at my partner-slash-brother-in-law and realized, not for the first time, how different he and Holly looked. I knew the story behind their different appearance, of course. As fate would have it, two sisters had married two brothers and between them they’d popped out a baby a year. Holly and Ben’s parents had been the first to procreate, bringing Ben into the world, followed ten months later by their Aunt Freja and Uncle Bill welcoming Ronnie. Nine months later it was Holly’s turn to put in an appearance and Warren followed a year after that.

In that funny and unique way that genes have of combining, Ben and Warren, though cousins, could have passed as siblings with their matching brown hair, olive skin, and grey-green eyes, while Ronnie and Holly both took after their mothers with their Danish ancestry and sported blonde hair and blue eyes. The four were close, but within their tight-knit little group Ronnie and Holly had always gravitated toward each other, as had Ben and Warren.

The sisters, their mothers, were close, but the brothers had had their moments when old sibling rivalries got the better of them. Of course, as Ben had confided in me, they hadn’t recognized their fathers’ actions as such at the time. They’d just known their fathers could have some humdinger arguments where faces got red and voices were raised and for a few weeks at a time the families wouldn’t socialize together. The mothers, though, would apparently continue to speak on the phone and wait for their husbands to get over their latest snit.

Ben and Holly’s parents divorced during their teen years when their mother discovered their father was having an affair. The divorce had a profound effect on both Ben and Holly, leaving one with insecurities and the other with commitment issues.

Still staring at Ben, I gave myself a mental shake.

“You’re just trying to find a way to tell me about your latest conquest. Let me guess… she’s incredibly young and hot, and, of course, a slave to your, ah, skills.”

Ben laughed, not in the least embarrassed. At forty-four, he remained single and could still pull in, with ease, women in their twenties.

“It’s called cunnilingus, my dear old friend. And, as I recall, I passed on a few of my mad tips to you to keep the home fires burning bright and strong between you and my lovely sister. I’m just glad to see them working so well.”

“Ben!” Heat burst into my cheeks as if a switch had been flicked. Under no circumstances would I confide in him about my sex life with his sister and my wife, Holly.

He laughed again. “Okay. Okay. I’ll give you some respite. Talk to me about the Carlson presentation. Any last minute changes?”

For the next couple of hours, we worked on fine tuning our pitch for the boutique hotel planned by the Carlson group.

*****

“CAN YOU DO what you did the other night, sweetheart?”

“With pleasure.” Holly grinned at me. “So, it was that good, huh?”

“Better,” I replied, returning her smile.

Holly grabbed me by my belt buckle, drawing me closer to her as she sat on the edge of our bed. Without shifting her gaze from mine, she stripped me of my trousers while I shed my shirt and toed off my shoes.

My cock was already at half-mast. Holly slowly and deliberately licked her lips, knowing I was watching, before swirling her tongue with excruciating slowness around the head of my dick. Just as I was about to beg, she ended her circling with a flourish by dipping her tongue into the slit.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” she teased, stroking me.

“My socks…” I murmured.

“Forget your socks. They can wait.”

For the next hour she rocked my world, edging me until I was begging her to let me come.

Afterward, I dived down on her, licking and nibbling her pussy like it was the last dessert left on the planet.

For the next few weeks, the pair of us were insatiable, even sexting each other during the day, getting each other hot and bothered with sexual innuendos about what we were going to do to each other that evening. Sometimes we couldn’t wait until the evening and rendezvoused at the house at lunch time, stripping off our clothing as soon as we were through the front door.

I loved it. It felt like I had my loving and sexy wife back, the one who’d been missing for about six months. I was so relieved I didn’t think to question why she was so hot to trot when she’d been so absent and uninterested in intimacy of any sort for months on end. Months where nothing I did or said penetrated. Months where she’d fobbed me off with feeble excuses. I didn’t want to tempt fate and have us revert to the lonely and confusing sexual drought.

*****

“YOU STILL AWAKE, sweetheart?” Holly whispered to me, while gently stroking my chest.

“Mm,” I mumbled only half awake. I was sated and sleepy after our lovemaking and resting in my favourite place in the world—on my back with Holly nestled in my arms, her head on my chest.

“David, there’s something I need to tell you.”

With her words my heartbeat escalated, and I wondered if she could tell.

“Yes, I’m still awake. What’s wrong?” I answered cautiously, holding my breath. After months of her withdrawal followed by our recent sexual renaissance, I was petrified she was going to tell me she’d been to the doctor’s and had found out she had some incurable disease.

She was silent for a moment. All I heard was her deep inhalation.

“I’m bisexual.”

My first reaction was relief. She wasn’t dying.

But then her words sank in.

What followed could only be described as a tidal wave. The wave radiated out from my gut but soon engulfed my vocal cords. I couldn’t speak. I could barely think. Had it been possible to see inside my head I think it would have resembled a glass jar containing hundreds of moths, all panicking and fluttering, bashing themselves against the glass. I couldn’t process the information. I couldn’t still my thoughts long enough to focus on just the one.

What exactly was she telling me? Had she stopped loving me? We’d been having so much sex lately so, surely, she was still sexually attracted to me? Was it that she left our bed sexually unsatisfied and that was why she wanted so much of it? Like when you keep nibbling when you haven’t had enough to eat. And, if so, did that mean I’d never satisfied her sexually? Had she been fantasizing about other women all these years when we were having sex? Had she met someone? Was she leaving me? Was she saying bisexual, but meaning lesbian? Was she seeing someone? Was she having an affair? Were we breaking up? Was she asking me for a divorce?

“David, say something. Please say something.” She sounded shaky. Scared.

“I-I-” I started but stopped. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know which question to ask.

“David—”

And then the words blurted from me, like projectile vomit. “How long have you known? Why have you never told me? Have you met someone? Are you leaving me? Do you love me? Did you ever really love me? Don’t I satisfy you sexually? Do you want a divorce?”

I was firing off questions, giving her no time to answer, but she’d caught me unawares. Holly was talking at the same time. “No. No. Yes. Yes. Yes, I mean, no. God, no.” and I didn’t know which questions she was answering.

As quickly as my avalanche of questions erupted from me, they stopped. I shifted, disengaging myself from Holly. Suddenly, I didn’t feel like my favourite place in the world belonged to me, to us, anymore. I scooted back to my side of the bed, turning on my side to face Holly.

“Come back. Please don’t pull away,” she pleaded softly, but I stayed where I was. Holly shuffled forward, pressing her face into my chest. “Please talk to me, David. I’m sorry. So so sorry.”

“Are you leaving me? Are we breaking up?” My voice was croaky and that angered me. This was not a time to show vulnerability.  

The sound of her cheek moving briskly over the pillow was almost as loud as her answer. “No! I love you. I’m not leaving you. I’m worried you’re going to leave me.”

“How long have you known? Did you know when you met me?”

“Yes,” she whispered shakily. “Yes, I knew when I met you. I was a teenager the first time I felt attracted to another girl.”

“Why did you never tell me?”

The knowledge that she’d known her sexual orientation since the very beginning of our relationship shook me to my core. It hurt as much as did the knowledge she was bisexual. On top of feeling scared, threatened, and suddenly, inadequate, I felt betrayed and deceived. It wasn’t that I had any issues with bisexuals, lesbians, or, for that matter, gays; hell, her cousin was gay, and Holly was part owner in a LGBT publishing house as well as an avid supporter of gay rights. Had I ever had any prejudices my regular contact with the LGBT world had long since rid me of them. It was the implications of what that knowledge would mean to our relationship in the long term. It was the fact that I’d been living with an untruth, or, at best, a partial truth, for my entire adult life. That she’d withheld a vitally important piece of information about herself for over a quarter of a century. My wife, who, as little as a moment ago, I would have sworn was as honest as the day was long had lied to me by omission our entire relationship.

“When I was a teen I had a girl-crush or two, but I was mostly into boys. I read somewhere that even bisexuals tend to lean more one way or the other, that its rarely a 50/50 split kind of thing and if that’s true then I was definitely more attracted to men, but, having said that, there was undeniably one or two girls I fantasized about.”

She paused, as if organizing her thoughts and so I waited anxiously, but silently, for her to continue.

“And then I met you when Ben brought you home with him that summer and I saw you and it was as if I’d been living in a dim room my whole life and suddenly someone switched on the light, like my world was a sepia print and then you came along and infused it with beautiful vibrant colour. After that, all those urges and attractions just disappeared. Poof. Like a puff of smoke. Gone. It was the same with other boys. I just didn’t see them anymore. All I saw, all I could think about, was you.”

I sagged; my relief so great that for a moment it robbed my body of strength. We were silent again while we each gathered our thoughts. I knew the question that needed to be asked, but I didn’t want to ask it because I already knew the answer.

But it had to be asked.

And it had to be answered.

“So why tell me this now?”

“Because those urges are back.”

*****

FOR THE NEXT ten days we had bite-sized conversations about Holly’s bisexuality because that was all I could handle. We started with the past and worked our way to the present. One bit of information at a time for me to chew on and digest. It was like trying to build up a tolerance by inoculating myself. Each conversation gave me a mini version of the virus; painful, but not deadly.

Our sex life was non-existent and for that I knew I had to take full responsibility. Holly would reach for me and I would shut her down. I even considered moving into either Caitlyn’s or the guest room when I walked into our bathroom on day six to find her masturbating in the shower. In the past, I’d have taken voyeuristic pleasure in the sight. I might even have stripped off and joined her. Now it hurt because the first question that sprang to my mind was what fantasy was she getting off on? Images of me or some hot young broad?

I guess I was an oddity. I’d never fantasised about watching two women together or doing a threesome with Holly and another woman. To my mind, if the women were into each other then me and my penis were superfluous. And the thought of Holly with anyone else, be it male or female, was totally abhorrent to me.

If measured on the Enhanced F Scale, my life, my marriage had been rocked by a EF5 tornado. Emotionally, the ‘building’ I’d believed our marriage to be was reduced to little more than a pile of rubble. And doubt, ever insidious doubt, had me not knowing what to salvage in order to rebuild.

To my mind, the dictionary definition of doubt is rather wishy-washy. I mean; ‘a feeling of uncertainty about the truth, reality, or nature of something.’ Really? How did that adequately convey its devious and treacherous character? How did those words and phrases show its crippling nature?

At its origin, doubt could be likened to a vine that sprouted a few seemingly spindly branches. That was where it fooled its victim because those few seemingly flimsy branches were anything but fragile or weak. They were sinewy and strong, elastic-like in their ability to bounce back from moments of belief. One wrong word or look, or even the absence of a needed word or look, was all it would take to prove that the vine was not only strong and resilient, but also laying down deeper roots and sprouting more treacherous limbs, limbs that threatened to overrun. Unchecked those flimsy branches turned into a jungle that would make the Amazon proud. 

Doubt flourished in the dark recesses of my mind, the parts I barely acknowledged, even to myself. It thrived in the night when sleep was elusive. It weakened my captive mind, holding it hostage, leaking its poison even as it strangled, until me, its victim was crippled. Unable to act. Unable to reason.

Why was I riddled with doubt about Holly’s sincerity? Why, when every day, several times a day, she told me she loved me? She phoned me, sent me texts. She whispered it to me when she thought I was asleep. And I wanted to believe her, my god, how I wanted to believe, but doubt niggled at me like a pebble in a shoe; small but impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t the fact she was bisexual; it was that she’d kept it hidden from me for twenty-six years, and I’d not suspected a thing. Never. Not once. It scared me just how adept at concealment Holly was. It begged the question: what else had she kept hidden? Or had she not kept it hidden and it was just me? Had I been guilty of not seeing what was right under my nose? Had I been blind? No. Surely not.

Trust. That was my other stumbling block. Her lie of ommission brought my ability to fully trust her into question. Could I believe her when she told me she loved me? And if so what form did this love take? Did she truly love me as a woman should love her husband; solely and passionately? Or was I merely comfortable like a pair of old slippers? A favoured armchair? When I made oral love to her was she fantasizing I was a woman? When she was with me was she really with me, or was she substituting some girl’s face over mine?

So many questions. So few answers.

On day ten, when I walked in the door I knew Holly had a big talk planned. She set the scene with flowers, candles, and wine. Take-out from my favourite Italian restaurant was being kept warm in the oven. I had to smile at that—Holly was a terrible cook. Caitlyn, in her colourful way, had always joked that her mother’s cooking made eating charcoal seem tempting—her culinary skills were that bad.

I’d barely shrugged off my jacket when she handed me a chilled glass of white wine. She leaned in, looking for a kiss and while I stood, undecided as to whether to give a kiss on the lips or to aim for her cheek, she quickly pressed her mouth to mine. Resting her forehead against mine, she sighed in what I thought was relief. It was the first time in ten days I’d kissed more than her cheek or forehead. I didn’t know whether to laugh or protest when she took the wine off me, placed it on the hallstand, wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me again. Properly this time, as she would say. She wouldn’t be the Holly I’d known and loved my entire adult life if she didn’t press her advantage.

“Thank you, sweetheart. I needed that,” she whispered, placing one last kiss on my lips.

We made small talk while she dished up our dinners but once we were seated at the dining table she didn’t take long to get down to brass tacks.

“Sweetheart, I love you. It’s always been you. You’re the only man—” at my raised eyebrow, she immediately amended her sentence. “You are the only person I’ve ever loved. The only person I want to spend my life with.”

“Holly, it’s not the bisexuality; you have to know that. It’s the fact that you hid something important, a huge defining part of yourself, from me. And, you concealed it so well. So well it frightens me. I never suspected a thing. It makes me wonder how well I know you at all.”

“Baby, nobody knows me better than you do. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want you to know as, for me, it became a non-issue because all those urges disappeared. In a blink of an eye. I saw you and that was it. I was a done deal.”

I looked at her, studying her intently. I wanted desperately to believe her. I wanted to tell her to forget about it, to not worry. I wanted to pretend I wasn’t hurt and feeling deceived and uncertain of our future.

But that would have been a Band-Aid, not a cure.

“I was a done deal too, Holly. And I trusted you. I trusted you with my life. I gave you that trust. I handed it to you on a platter. You never had to earn it. And now for the first time I truly realise just how incredibly easy it is to lose. All it takes is one act, one lie.”

“I didn’t lie, David.”

“Yes, you did. You lied by ommission.”

She frowned, not happy with my insistence. I watched as she wrestled with her conscience.

“Okay. Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry, David. I am so very, very sorry. I never meant to hurt you by not telling you. I didn’t set out to deceive you. I can’t tell you how much I wished I’d said something and how I’m cursing myself that I didn’t.”

I could hear the anguish in her voice. It broke my heart, but she had to know the blow she’d dealt me. Dealt us.

“Apologising is all well and good, and I do thank you for it, but you must know it can’t magically erase the break in trust that your ommission created. I mean, what else are you concealing? What else don’t I know about?”

Holly shook her head. “Nothing. There’s nothing else. I understand. Truly, I do. I know that what I did was wrong, however unintentional it was, and that had you done something similar to me, I’d be feeling upset and betrayed too. I know what I did has hurt us both, hurt our relationship, but if you truly love me then you owe me the chance to rebuild that trust.” She reached across the table and grabbed my hand, giving it a squeeze. “God, baby, don’t throw away our life together over one mistake. Please.”

With Holly’s words I came to a decision. I let it go. The way I saw it, I could choose to hold on to my fears and my sense of betrayal or I could look beyond them. I chose to look beyond. I chose to remember all her actions as my wife, my lover, my friend, and the mother of my child.

“Just promise me you’ll be completely honest with me from now on. Even if you think I won’t like hearing it. Okay? Promise?”

“I promise.”

The words were no sooner out her mouth and she was taking the wine glass out of my hand and leading me to our bedroom.

“I need you to make love to your wife. Dinner can wait,” she told me as she proceeded to undress me, kissing each and every bit of flesh she revealed. “Baby, I’ve missed you so much. Please don’t ever shut me out again.”

“I love you, Holly. Always have, always will,” I whispered.

She groaned at my declaration, the first time in ten days that I’d spoken words of love to her. And, as we made tender love, I prayed I’d made the right choice and I was the only person in her thoughts.

*****

FOR A FEW weeks Holly and I were so caught up in reconnecting we managed to ignore the elephant in the room. Those weeks reminded me of when we were dating and we couldn’t get enough of each other. It was like she didn’t want to let me out of her sight. She surprised me at work, turning up to take me out to lunch. She even encouraged me to call in sick one day and we spent the day in bed, snuggling, watching movies, and making love. If she wasn’t with me physically, she was phoning me, texting me, emailing me.

But elephants can be ignored for only so long…

Since her confession, I hadn’t performed oral sex on her. She hadn’t asked and I hadn’t offered, and so it came as somewhat of a surprise when I expected a quiet and early Sunday night to have her gently push my head south.

I pressed my face into her belly, resisting her subtle pressure. I didn’t know what to do or think.

“Please, David,” Holly asked quietly.

I resurfaced from under the covers. She was reclining on the pillows, eyes closed.

I moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “Are you going to be fantasizing that it’s another woman licking and sucking on your clit?”

Holly averted her face, avoiding my eyes. “Probably.”

A painful lump formed in my throat. I tried, unsuccessfully, to swallow it away. “Someone specific or just some generic female?”

Holly hesitated and still wouldn’t look at me. “Um, generic.”

I nodded, not that Holly noticed. Generic, I decided, was better than specific, but still the lump in my throat grew, making it difficult to speak. “Is that what you imagine every time I—” suddenly I couldn’t say ‘make love’ and a little of my heart broke. “—have oral sex with you?”

Holly looked at me, her face a mask of horror. “No!”

I had to ask, I couldn’t let it go. “When? How often?”

“Only when its dark and you pull the covers over your head and I can’t see you at all.”

I hung my head.

Within moments Holly scrambled from the bed and was on her knees in front of me, clasping my hands. “It’s just fantasizing, David. It doesn’t mean I don’t love or desire you. Haven’t you ever imagined I was someone else when we were making love? Maybe a celebrity?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“No. Never. All of my fantasies you know about. They’ve always been more about coming up with and planning some sexy thing for you and I to do like making love in a risky place like the restroom at a restaurant or at the cinema. Or tying you up and teasing you with feathers or coating you in chocolate and licking it off you. They’ve always involved you.”

“I’m flattered, sweetheart.”

“Guess, I must be boring and unimaginative, huh?”

“No. You’re anything but boring.” Holly kissed my hand, then placed it on her cheek. “You’re a wonderful lover.”

“How often do you feel the… um, urge to fantasize you’re with a woman?”

Holly looked uncomfortable. I watched her wage an internal war. Finally, she met my gaze. “I’m sorry I hesitated. I promised you honesty and so honesty is what I’ll give you.”

She scrambled to her feet and then sat on the bed beside me, her body angled toward me. She kept a tight grip on my hands, stoking the back of them as she spoke.

“Since the urge came back it feels like I have a fever. When I’m with you, and I don’t just mean physically, I mean just being around you, talking to you, texting you and so on, its like I’ve taken medicine and the fever calms and recedes but when I’m away from you it takes over. Then I’m fighting a losing battle not to think about it. I spend my time trying not to look at… um, other women, wondering what they look like naked, or what they’d taste like. Its kind of overwhelming.”

I closed my eyes. I felt sick. It was worse than I imagined. Much worse.

“So all of your,  ah… enthusiasm of the past month or so has been more about dealing with your, ah, fever, than because you were so hot for your husband?”

Holly dropped her gaze to our linked hands. Her lack of answer was an answer in itself.

I don’t know what made me press the issue. Was I torturing myself or punishing Holly for dealing me another blow? I honestly didn’t know.

“I see… so, I’m your ‘medicine’. Something to distract yourself with and, um, a thing for you to work your ‘fever’ off with and when your resistance is low you can get me to lick you under the cover of darkness and pretend I’m a woman.”

“It isn’t like that, David.”

“Really? Well, that’s what it sounds like to me.”

My tone was curt. I couldn’t help it. My emotions were a jumbled mess like the skeins of half-used wool that used to fill my grandmother’s knitting basket to overflowing. Strands of fear and anger and pain so tangled I couldn’t separate one from the other.

My whole being deflated. For weeks I’d walked around with a strut in my step after our sexual drought because I thought my wife was back and still enjoyed having sex with me, when, in truth, all I’d been was a tool for her to work off her demons. No wonder she’d been so desperate to get me back on board those ten days after her initial confession—she needed her ‘medicine’.

How I wished I could be like umpteen men I’d heard in bars and locker rooms over the years who boldly declared they didn’t care how or where their wives worked up their ‘appetite’ as long as they ‘ate’ at home. I realised in no uncertain terms, I did care about the ‘where’ and ‘how’.

Instead of feeling happy to have a wife with some ‘hunger’ to work off, I felt used. I felt demeaned.

I pulled my hands from Holly’s and stood. “I need a shower.”

“David, please try to understand.”

“I am trying. You have no idea how hard I’m trying.”

“David—”

“What, Holly? What?” The words burst out of me. “What do you want from me? I need to think. I need to get my head around this, around being some sort of substitute for what you really want—”

“Don’t say that, David. It’s not true. You’re not just a substitute. I want you too. Actually, I want you more.”

“Holly, think back on what you’ve told me tonight. You’ve admitted that when I was making oral love to you I was some nameless, faceless woman. No man wants to hear that. You pretty much admitted that the last month or so hasn’t been about you still being crazy in love with me, but rather that you were using me to fight your demons. And you told me that I’m medicine for your fever. Call me all kinds of stupid if you want but that sounds to me like I’m a cross between a surrogate and cough medicine.”

“When you say it like that it sounds awful. I sound awful. I love you. I love making love with you. I never meant to make you feel like I was using you.”

The fight went out of me.

“I don’t want to fight, Holly. I really don’t, but what are we going to do? Even if I can handle being little more than a… a tool for your, ah, other passions, I can’t be by your side 24/7.”

“I know.”

“And I guess with what I’ve learned tonight there is another question that has to be asked: how long before the fantasy itself is not enough? How long before you want to try the real thing?”

“I don’t know, David. I just don’t know.”

*****

YOU THINK WHEN disaster strikes the whole world, or at least your corner of it, will come to a grinding halt. Not true. Work still demands your attention. Bills still have to be paid. Deliveries accepted. Groceries need to be bought. Lawns mowed.

Then, of course, there’s family and friends. They’re still going to phone and invite you out to dinner or over for a BBQ. They’re still going to want to chat and maybe gripe about their day job or argue politics.

I wanted the world to stop. Not that I wanted to be stuck in my current predicament— I didn’t—but I wanted a chance to think and evaluate without outside pressures. I was exhausted by the need I felt to put on a brave face and pretend to the world that everything was A-OK in David and Holly land.

It wasn’t.

Not by a long shot.

At least, for me it wasn’t.

Holly did her best to reassure me. She was loving and attentive, kind and affectionate, both physically and verbally. By unspoken agreement we stopped discussing her bisexuality and its implications. Whether her silence on the subject was due to sensitivity or merely wishing to avoid another mini meltdown from me, I wasn’t certain. For my part, I had no illusion as to why I was silent on the subject. Cowardice. Pure and simple. The foundations of my world were shaky enough. Neither it, nor I, could handle another blow just yet. I needed time to regroup.

We still made love to our old routine. The ‘play’ sex wasn’t anywhere near as playful as previously, and our ‘loving’ and ‘greedy’ sex were also pale shadows of their former selves. Knowing I was only the vehicle to satisfy her ‘fever’ robbed me of the ability to let myself go and just enjoy our lovemaking. Where once I felt safe to be uninhibited, I now felt wary and cautious and as if I was being judged on my performance.

The biggest difference, however, was emotional. Now, I searched Holly’s eyes, I analyzed her touch, her words, her tone, even the wetness of her pussy and loudness of her climax. Everything about our lovemaking was measured and weighed and compared in my mind. Was she truly aroused? Did she come or was she faking it? Was she with me or was a fantasy lover filling her mind?

And I never went down on her. After her admission, Holly tried once more to encourage me but I resisted. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to again.

We didn’t discuss that either.

And so our life continued, one week limping into the next. I trod water, waiting… waiting for the other shoe to drop.

*****

AND DROP IT did.

Holly asked me for permission to explore her sexuality.

She pleaded. She cried. She explained, and she reassured.

But it didn’t change the fact that generic had become specific and specific had a name—Sophie Mitchell.

Holly’s words echoed; If you truly love me…

*****

AS SOON AS I realized I was repeatedly clicking my pen I made myself stop. At least being alone in the office there was no one to witness my anxiety-inspired action. Had Ben been present he’d have taken one look at me and the interrogation would have begun. I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes. Ben was due to arrive in ten minutes, and generally he was punctual.

Could I do it? Could I really confide in him about his sister’s bisexuality? About Sophie Mitchell, the lesbian editor she hired nine months ago (giving rise to more doubt and trust issues) and what Holly was asking me to contemplate giving her?

*****

BEN WAS SPEECHLESS. It was a state I’d seldom seen him in but my current situation robbed me off the ability to enjoy the rare event. He stared and I returned it, unflinching. The silence lengthened, stretching my nerves along with it. Ben finally broke it.

“Are you insane?”

“Maybe.”

“No maybe about it, Davey. Crazy, and playing with fire.”

“You don’t seem surprised to find out Holly is bisexual. Did you know?”

I had to ask. I had to know if I’d been as blind as I feared.

“No, I didn’t know, or even suspect, but next to what you’re contemplating that information kind of pales in comparison.”

The level of relief I felt at Ben’s words surprised me. But my relief was tinged with fear—Holly had managed to fool her own brother as well. Was there more about my wife that I didn’t know, more that she’d hidden?

Ben tapped the back of my hand, bringing me back from my thoughts. “Have you heard a word I said?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Have you considered she may be having a midlife crisis. Women can have them too. They might give it a different name, but, to my mind, its essentially the same thing. And, have you considered the possibility that she’ll like it so much she wants to continue?”

“She says she knew she was bi since her teen years. It just went dormant for a while. Maybe Caitlyn leaving home triggered it. Empty nest and all that, but she didn’t just suddenly become bi; she’s always been that way,” I said, replying to only the first of his questions. I deliberately ignored the second; I couldn’t face the idea of sharing, let alone, losing Holly to another woman.

“Just because she’s always been bi doesn’t mean she can’t be having some sort of midlife crisis. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Granted, but she’s not doing all the other things associated with that sort of thing. She’s not changing her hairstyle, or how she dresses. She hasn’t gone and bought herself a whole new wardrobe. She doesn’t suddenly want to go clubbing or partying. She—”

“She just wants to suddenly fuck this Sophie chick.”

I winced at Ben’s bluntness.

“David, someone going through a midlife crisis, or whatever they call it for a woman, doesn’t have to exhibit all the signs we associate with the condition. Holly’s not getting any younger, and, I know for a fact, she loathes the idea of getting older and becoming less desirable. Every woman does, whether they admit it or not. Christ, I’ve watched as she’s had the pair of you on one health kick after another for the last five odd years because she’s scared of aging and not being as attractive.”

“She jokes about it, sure, but—”

“Many a true word is spoken in jest, David.”

I harumphed in frustration. “So explain to me then, if Holly is having some sort of crisis how exactly would being with a girl be an answer to that?”

“To my way of thinking, another woman would be more understanding and accepting of the changes time makes to a woman’s body.”

“Then why isn’t every older woman running off with another woman?”

Ben inhaled deeply. “That came out all wrong. I got sidetracked—It wasn’t what I was trying to get at.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s look at this from a different angle. Think of Holly’s crisis as her being attacked by a swarm off mosquitos. They feast and she’s left with a bunch of bites that drive her just about crazy with the need to scratch them. Giving in and scratching one leads to her changing her hairstyle. Scratch a second bite and she’s suddenly dressing half her age. Scratch a third and she’s leaving you and shacking up with this Sophie bird who’s probably only five years older than your daughter. But the thing is, David, Holly didn’t have to scratch those bites. She could have resisted. It mightn’t have been easy, but it could have been done, and, with time, the bites would have healed and the need to scratch them would have faded.”

“I think Holly would say its not as straightforward as that and a bit more intense than a mozzie bite.”

“Perhaps, but it can still be resisted. With enough motivation an addict can resist their drug of choice or an alcoholic a drink, so why can’t Holly resist an urge to have sex with a woman?”

“Holly’s not an addict or a drunk.”

“David,” Ben snapped, clearly frustrated. “No, she’s not. I was speaking in metaphors but the result is the same. You don’t have to enable Holly in her desires. Would you be contemplating something like this if she said she had an overwhelming urge to fuck some twenty-five year old gym-rat-stud who was her personal trainer? If she’s told you the truth about her being bi rather than lesbian, and she wants to resist the urges she’s having badly enough, she can. You wouldn’t be asking her to deny her sexuality, you would be asking for monogamy. Fidelity. Something, I might add, she promised you when she married you.”

“You don’t understand—”

“I think its you who can’t see the forest for the trees. Christ, you sound like Holly’s PR person. She’s clearly had her voice in your ear, David. You know I adore my sister, but I also know she’s been indulged her whole life. She was the only girl. She had all of us—Mum, Dad, Ronnie, Warren, Aunt Freja, hell, even Uncle Bill, wrapped around her finger. We all went along with what she wanted. She made it easy. She never rubbed our faces in it, was always gracious in victory. A real sweetheart about getting her own way, but, at the end of the day, we usually ended playing the games she wanted, watching the movies she wanted. You’ve been the same. You’ve given her whatever she asked for, but, mate, it’s time to say no. It’s time to step back and look at what she’s asking objectively.”

“So, you think I’m making a mistake?”

“Yes, I do, and I’m the one who changes girlfriends like you have hot dinners. If I think its wrong, surely that must give you pause for thought. I want you to think about what I’ve said. She might be my sister, but what she’s asking for is wrong and if you give it to her you’ll live to regret it. Fucking this young editor she’s hired won’t bring her closer to you. It won’t make your marriage stronger or any of that sort of bullshit. It will, however, bring her closer to the editor. It will be like opening Pandora’s Box; once opened you’ll have no control over what you unleash, nor what you invite into your life. There’ll be no going back. What if she loves having sex with this Sophie bird? What will she ask for next? To be allowed a girlfriend on the side? Sharing? An open marriage? Will you be able to live with any of those options? Even if she doesn’t like it, will you be able to put what she’s done out of your head?”

*****

DRIVING HOME, I thought long and hard about Ben’s words. He was right and I realised I’d allowed Holly to manipulate me with tears and soft words, with sex and reassurances. She’d used my concern for her, my desire for her happiness and wellbeing against me. Another week of pleas and I might well have given her what she wanted. Pulling into the driveway, I steeled myself for what I surmised would be an unpleasant evening.

I wasn’t wrong.

Dinner was a quiet affair, both of us, by silent agreement, deciding to wait until we were seated in the lounge to talk.

“Holly,” I began, looking her steadily in the eye, determined to show her my resolve. “I’ve thought about what you asked and I have come to a decision.” She looked at me expectantly. “My decision is no. No, I can’t stand by and condone you having sex with someone else outside of our marriage.”

“But, David, if you truly love me—”

“Please don’t stoop to that, Holly. That’s blatant emotional blackmail.”

“But, it’s true. If you did, if you did truly love me, you’d understand how important this is to me and you’d give me permission.”

“That argument works in reverse too, Holly. I could say if you truly love me, you’d resist your, ah, fever, and not fuck one of your employees. You’d see how important it is to me for you to stay true to the promises you made to me nearly a quarter of a century ago.”

“Please, David. I’m sure if you could just see your way clear to let me explore this thing with Sophie I could work it out of my system and then we can put the whole thing behind us…”

“But it would never be behind us. That’s the point. It would always be between us. It’s already come between us. Already, we’ll never be the same. And tell me, how long were you envisaging exploring because the last time we spoke it was a one-off thing? Exploring sounds a little longer than once.”

“Well, I think I may have been a bit rash when I thought I could get it out of my system with only one encounter with Sophie. She suggested—”

“She suggested?”

Holly had the decency to hang her head.

“So what exactly did your young friend suggest, Holly?”

I was angry and I knew Holly heard it in my voice.

“She said I should give it at least a month and three to six would be better.”

“I see. So, long enough to worm her way into your heart and drive a permanent wedge between us. How helpful of her.” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

“It’s not like that, David. She’s not like that. She doesn’t want to come between us. And she couldn’t. I love you. I have since the moment we met and nothing that happens between Sophie and I will change that.”

“Wrong tense, dear.”

“Pardon?”

“Wrong tense. ‘Nothing that happens between Sophie and I’ suggests something will happen whereas with my refusal to agree, nothing will be happening. Right? Or is there something else I need to know?”

Her hesitation spoke volumes.

“Have you already had sex with her?”

Holly paused. “No, I swear I haven’t.”

“Then why your hesitation in answering?”

“I-we, um, well, we might have kissed…”

“Might, Holly? Either you have or you haven’t kissed. There’s no grey area.”

“Okay. We kissed! Are you happy now?” Holly snapped.

“No, I’m not happy. And so much for your promise not to do anything I wasn’t agreeable to. How many more lies and broken promises can I expect, Holly?”

“It was only a damn kiss.” Holly’s tone was belligerent. You’d have thought she was a teenager and I her difficult father.

“Would you be saying that if it was me confessing to kissing Laura Hartley?”

Laura had been my secretary for a short time five years previously. She was young and attractive and as smart as they come. She’d also had a crush on me. Holly had asked me to get rid of her when Laura had blatantly flirted with me at a work function. To appease Holly, I had.

“That’s different.”

“How? Sophie fancies you and has set about seducing you. Laura did the same with me.”

“But Sophie’s a woman, not a younger man.”

“So, its only cheating if the gender is opposite?”

“No, of course not, David. But you aren’t bisexual and Laura wasn’t a younger man, and you don’t have all these unexplored urges.”

“Oh, so if I was bi and wanting to have sex with another man you’d be okay with that?”

Holly hesitated.

“I don’t know, but I’d at least listen.”

“I have listened, Holly. I’ve listened and thought about it and tried to understand and put myself in your shoes and, at the end of the day, I believe my decision to say no is the right one for our marriage. In fact, I’m going to ask of you what you asked of me with Laura; I want you to terminate Sophie’s employment.”

“No! I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

That got me hot under the collar.

“I disagree. She’s kissed her employer who happens to be a married woman. That’s both wrong and inappropriate.”

“But I kissed her back.”

I took a deep breath to control my anger. “Thanks for the reminder. All the more reason to fire her. If you can’t be trusted to control yourself you need to remove the temptation.”

“I can be trusted, David.”

“Holly, you’ve demonstrated you can’t be. You’ve already lied to me and you’ve crossed a line; kissing someone other than me is cheating.”

“It was only a bit of damn kissing.”

“There’s a reason hookers won’t kiss their clients. It’s intimate. As much, if not more so, than intercourse. As far as I’m concerned you’ve been intimate with someone outside of our marriage.”

“She’s not some guy. I’m bisexual. I have needs.”

“Enough with the fucking bi shit,” I yelled, losing it for a moment. I inhaled, trying to regain control. “It’s doesn’t matter the gender. You were intimate with someone other than me. And I don’t want to hear anymore about your bloody needs. If I said I needed to fuck a twenty-two year old, that it was important to me to see her bouncing up and down on my dick, that I had a powerful urge to have her suck my cock dry, would you be accommodating? Would you be saying, ‘Go ahead, David, explore your needs with my blessing.’” I didn’t give her time to answer. “We already know the answer to that, don’t we? No, you wouldn’t. You’d be jealous. You’d feel threatened and insecure and you’d fucking have me fire the bitch. So, Holly, fire the bitch.”

*****

LIFE, POST THE biggest argument I’d ever had with Holly appeared, on the surface, to resume its former pattern.

Beneath the surface was another matter.

It was as if I was a player in Survivor, a TV reality show I’d always abhorred, and not only was I a team of one, I was the show’s only viewer and I was watching a disaster happen in slow motion, unable to stop it from happening.

Instead of living my life, I was merely observing it. Physically, I was there going through the motions, but mentally and emotionally, I was removed.

And in some ways, Holly, as much as Sophie, became the enemy, because being around her hurt too much. I was both angry and in agony that she was no longer solely mine. That she hadn’t—wouldn’t—fire Sophie as I’d asked. She may not have fully consummated things with Sophie, but emotionally, she had transgressed. Her heart was no longer mine alone. Holding it all in and trying to present a calm and in control front was exhausting.

The more withdrawn I became the more solicitous Holly became of me. Even that got my blood boiling—I recognized she was in ‘weathering the storm’ mode, hoping I would find my way through and give her my blessing.

Of course, the irony of it all was the storm she was weathering was none other than Cyclone Holly.

And Cyclone Holly was destroying everything in its path.

*****

I WALKED IN the door to the aroma of lasagne, probably bought from my favourite Italian restaurant. I knew immediately Holly was going to work on me, trying to break down my resistance. I was instantly on the defensive; furious that her opinion of me was so low she thought a bit of pasta and sweet-talking would make me change my mind. Well, I had news for her and it was all bad.

My assumptions were confirmed when I walked into the dining room to find it lit by candles, a bottle of wine chilling in the ice bucket, and Holly wearing some flimsy number that advertised her assets. So deep was my fury, I thought about stringing her along just so the let-down would disappoint her all the more, but I realised I wasn’t a good enough actor to hide my feelings for five minutes let alone an hour.

“You’re wasting your time. No amount of sex, Italian food, wine, or cajoling is going to get me to change my mind. I will not share you. I, for one, am fighting with all I have to save our marriage—”

At the beginning of my tirade Holly looked crestfallen, but as soon as she heard the words ‘save our marriage’ she interrupted me.

“But it won’t end our marriage. It’s no threat to our relationship. I love you. I always will. Nothing and no one can change that. I’ll never leave you.”

I shook my head, emotions of sadness and anger, like oil and water, swirling uneasily in my gut. “Do you actually listen to yourself, Holly? There are two people in our marriage, not just you. You may not ever wish to leave me, but have you spared a thought as to whether I might choose to leave you?”

Holly gasped. “You wouldn’t. You couldn’t; you love me.”

“Yes, I do, but there are limits to my tolerance. Mark my words, if you cheat on me I will leave you, and,” I paused for emphasis, “without so much as a backward glance.”

Holly stared at me, weighing my resolve. Clearly, she still wasn’t convinced.

“But if you gave me permission, it wouldn’t be cheating.”

I had to give her full marks for effort; she was like a broken record in her efforts to wear my resistance down.

“But I won’t give you permission. Not ever.”

“David—”

I’d reached my limit. “Enough, Holly. You’re flogging a dead horse. I actually have some news and a proposition of sorts for you.”

Her eyes lit up. How she could interpret my words as hopeful after what I’d just said was beyond me, but I no longer cared.

“We won the Carlson Project. I have to go to site and meet with Carlson about a few small changes and take care of contracts etcetera. I’ll be gone a week.”

Holly looked bemused and I swallowed the disappointment that rose in my throat at her lack of joy or pride that Ben and I had won such a prestigious contract. She was so consumed by her ‘urges’ she was blind to all but herself.

“I want you to take a week off at the same time. Go for a short holiday, work from home, whatever. The point is I want you to not see Sophie for a week. I’ll be gone and so you won’t see me either. I want there to be no phone calls, no texts, no emails. I want you to completely isolate yourself so neither Sophie nor I can influence you. And then I want you to think about what you want. It’s time to vote, Holly. You need to decide if you want me and our marriage or you want to explore your bi side and have an affair with Sophie.”

“I want both,” Holly replied in a small voice.

“Well, you can’t have both. It’s me or her. Your decision. If you choose her I will walk away, and we can split things amicably. We’re both adults and I don’t think either of us wants to traumatise Caitlyn any more than we have to.”

“You can’t be serious. You’d rather divorce me than support me?”

“Yes. I can’t support you breaking the promises you made to me on our wedding day. It makes no difference to me that the person you want to screw around with is a woman. Just as I wouldn’t expect you to condone me giving in to temptation and fucking Laura Hartley until my cock dropped off, I can’t sanction you get your jollies with another woman. Part of the commitment we made to each other was fidelity; that means resisting temptation. I’ve kept my end of the bargain. Now you need to decide if you’re going to keep yours.”

Holly stared at me for what seemed a long time, her features neutral. No anger. No joy. No sadness. No nothing. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. In the end, I broke the silence.

“So, what’s it to be Holly? Do you agree to my proposition? No contact with either me or Sophie for a week? And then a decision one way or the other so we can end this nightmare.”

“Yes. Okay. If you insist.”

Holly’s tone was rough, like her words had been dragged over gravel. Perhaps the same gravel residing in the pit of my belly.

*****

I DROVE THROUGH the suburban streets that would lead me home, windows down, Bon Jovi playing softly in the background. My marriage, my entire life, was imploding so what type of music did I choose to listen to? A raw and angsty love ballad by one of my favourite bands. It was salt in the wound. Perhaps, I had more of a masochistic streak than I realized.

Normal everyday sights and sounds drifted in from outside: someone mowing their lawn, an elderly gentleman washing his car in the driveway of his house, a dog barking, kids playing in their front yard. Somehow, it all seemed surreal. How could the world around me continue to function in its usual fashion when everything in my life was anything but normal and mundane?

The pendulum of my emotions, which had been swinging back and forth the entire time I’d been away, was now firmly planted on the side of reluctance to reach my destination. Physically, I was tired and longed for nothing more than a hot shower and the comforts of my own home. I wanted to be surrounded by familiar sights, sounds, and smells. I wanted my old, much-loved routine. I wanted Holly to be waiting for me, all smiles and open arms, eager kisses and impatient hands.

Emotionally, though, I was fairly certain that routine was history; the same as so many of our other routines had become things of the past in recent months. If my life was a house, it was being dismantled brick by brick. Soon there would be nothing left but the scar on the earth where it once stood.

Stubbornly, a small voice inside my head kept trying to reassure me. Of course, she’d have missed me. Of course, she’d be pleased to see me; glad I was home.

Of course, she’d have chosen me.

Another voice was certain the lure of the unknown would be too strong, and she’d choose Sophie.

I looked at my hands. They clenched the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles were white. I made myself loosen my grip.

The closer I got to our street the more reluctant I felt and my grasp on the wheel tightened again. What if she’d disregarded the rules we’d agreed upon? What if they were having sex right at that very moment, trying to squeeze in one more before I got home? What if Holly had that dishevelled, just-fucked look I knew so well? Or I kissed her, and her mouth tasted of Sophie’s cunt? Worse, what if I walked in and they were still at it, so caught up in their lust they didn’t even hear my car?

A sound like a cornered animal assaulted my ears and I decelerated, scanning the road and pavement in search of the source of the noise. Even after finding nothing it took me a moment to realize the sound had come from me. Horrified, I clapped my mouth shut. A flash of anger at Holly, shot though me; this is what she’d reduced me to.

I turned into our street, my gaze on our house, the house we’d designed, built, and decorated together. The usual warmth of homecoming didn’t suffuse my gut, and, in that instant, I knew the house was no longer my home. My name might be on the deeds alongside Holly’s, but now it was merely the place I stored my things.

Swallowing painfully, I slowed to a crawl and pressed the remote for the garage door, watching it slowly rise like a curtain to a stage show. Instead of looking forward to the performance, I was dreading what I’d see.

I looked at the floor to the left, to where the laundry door opened onto the garage and saw Holly’s lower legs appear. As the garage door slowly rose more of her legs were revealed. My heartbeat gathered speed, like a train gathering momentum as it left the station. I recognised the short silk dressing gown she was wearing—I’d bought it for her last Christmas. Upper thighs… a glimpse of crotch… Oh, my God. she had… they had… I just knew. Blood roared in my ears.

Time warped to Matrix movie slowness. It seemed to take hours to reveal the rest of her.

And then I saw her mouth.

Rosy red. Swollen.

Was it from kissing Sophie?

And her hair.

Damp. Messy.

Even the strangled cry that escaped with razor sharpness from my throat seemed to fill the air around me in slow motion.

I glanced to the left again. My worst fears were confirmed—Holly had ignored our agreement. Sophie stood in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb, clad only in a flimsy dressing gown – another of Holly’s. I snarled, rage bursting into my veins like an injection of adrenaline. Instinct told me to go for the bitch’s jugular. It told me to snap the bitch’s neck.

I dragged my gaze back to Holly to stop myself leaping out of the car and following my primeval urge to protect what was mine from a poacher. I stared at Holly through the windscreen. She took a step toward my car, her smile freezing at what she saw on my face. She recoiled, stepping back. I couldn’t breathe. There was no air in my lungs, and no blood in my veins. Only rage.  

I put the car into reverse and backed away, knowing if I turned off the engine, if I stepped out of the car, I’d do physical harm to both women. Worse; I’d make Holly watch as I strangled her lover until the bitch was limp in my grasp before turning to Holly and doing the same. I’d squeeze every drop of breath from their deceitful bodies.

In my mind, Holy was now a stranger. A threat. Someone out to harm me. Someone who needed annihilating.

As if from a distance, I heard her call my name. Once. Twice. Three times. Each time progressively louder. It only served to make me accelerate faster down the driveway, swinging the wheel of my car without a thought as to what was behind me.

I took off down the street as if I had harpies from hell on my tail. A glance in the rear-view mirror showed me Holly, clutching the front of her dressing gown, standing in the middle of the road. My foot developed a mind of its own and pressed down on the gas pedal. My brain disengaged, letting my body work on autopilot, twisting the steering wheel, taking a turn here, a turn there. I had no idea where I was headed. I didn’t care. All I knew was I had to get away before I did something I’d regret.

How long the car drove itself I’d never know. In the end, it took me to the carpark overlooking the beach. More pain. But it wouldn’t have mattered where its final destination was—there was nowhere to go in the greater city area that didn’t hold memories I’d made with Holly.

The waves rolled in, constant and steady, and I watched them, wanting some of their strength to roll into me.

Time passed, and my rage subsided. I touched my cheeks, surprised to find them wet. I hadn’t realized I’d been crying. I felt faintly ridiculous for my overflowing emotions. So much for my resolve to show a cool, calm, and collected exterior. So much for keeping my dignity intact. Idiot me, trusting Holly to stick to our agreement. Recent months were filled with her broken promises.

Sophie would be having a field day with my reaction. She and Holly had probably had a great laugh at my expense. Embarrassment, as much as a simmering fury of what I’d just seen, kept me from returning to my home. For a moment, I considered going to Ben’s. He’d have been helpful and sympathetic, but it was late, and I didn’t want to have to explain myself or put him in the position of having to choose between his best friend and his sister, and so I headed toward the office, deciding to spend the night on my sofa.

Rather than switch on all the lights I used the small torch on my phone to guide me across the expanse of the office. Lord knows, with the amount of time I’d been spending at work I could probably have navigated my way blindfolded. I inhaled deeply at the base of the staircase. Now that the end was in sight and I’d finally be able to rest, exhaustion was settling in, and the last hurdle between me and a place to sleep seemed daunting. I made myself lift one foot after the other, breathing a sigh of relief when I reached the top.

At the same time as my fingers flicked on the lights, Holly’s voice came to me from across the room.

“Where have you been?”

I jumped, instinctively forming my hands into fists and moving them to shield my upper body in a protective stance. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you. You haven’t answered my question. Where have you been? I called you at least a dozen times. Why didn’t you answer? I spoke to Ben. I even phoned Ronnie and Warren and no one has heard from you.”

“I forgot my phone charger. My phone died yesterday.”

Holly nodded and despite my excuse, which, admittedly, was a lie, still looked angry. “Why did you drive off?”

I didn’t answer. What could I say? She wouldn’t like any of the reasons and I wasn’t about to give her any ammunition. I could just see her face if I voiced; I left so I wouldn’t strangle you and your lover.

“David, answer me. Why did you drive off? Where did you go?”

Like a flame to gasoline, her tone reignited the anger in my veins. “Enough with the interrogation, Holly. I’m not a child, nor am I some employee for you to throw your weight around with. All you need to know is I didn’t want to come home. I didn’t want to see your lying deceitful face.”

Hurt flared in her eyes and the sight, rightly or wrongly, sent a wave of satisfaction through me.

“No, you’re not a child or an employee. You’re my husband.”

“Why, thank you. How nice of you to remember. Is tonight the first time you’ve remembered that little nugget of information since I left last week? And, I notice you aren’t denying being a liar or deceitful. Did you decide your promise not to see Sophie for the week I was away was another vow you didn’t need to keep?” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

Holly opened her mouth as if to reply, but I didn’t give her a chance. “Well, who can blame you for forgetting? After all, I’m sure you’ve been ever so busy exploring your sexuality. You couldn’t possibly be expected to remember something as boring and inconvenient as a promise, let alone a husband.” The venom in my voice surprised me. Clearly, my self-control was at an all-time low thanks to weeks of sleep deprivation and stress. All my anger, my pent up hurt and frustration, all my tightly reined in fears, were in control of my tongue.

Holly ran a hand through her hair, a sure sign of her frustration. “Don’t be an arsehole.”

I snorted, nodding. “Of course, you lie and cheat and break your promises but I’m the arsehole. Let’s see… I’m not being your cheer squad. I’m not singing your praises and offering my undying support. I’m not stroking your ego and giving you whatever you want. I’m not anticipating your needs and tying myself into a pretzel to meet them. And I’m not agreeing with every word coming out of your mouth so that automatically makes me an arsehole.”

Unsurprisingly, Holly ignored the true issues and focused on my driving off.

“Did it ever occur to you that seeing you speed off scared the crap out of me? That perhaps I was worried when I couldn’t find you and you weren’t answering your phone? And that when you didn’t phone anyone to let them know where you were that maybe, just maybe, I was concerned?”

“You know what, Holly? No, it didn’t occur to me because how I’m feeling, what I want or need, or what I’m doing or where I am doesn’t seem to rate highly on your list of priorities these days.”

She flinched. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? Could have fooled me.”

She sagged back into the armchair. “David, what’s happening to us? Why did you drive off? I only stopped long enough to throw on some clothes and grab my phone before following you, but you took off like a bat out of hell and I couldn’t find you. I’ve been worried sick.”

Fury at her refusal to see her actions for what they were saw the truth spill from me like an avalanche, gaining momentum with each sentence uttered.

“What’s happening to us? You dare ask? You. You and your obsession are what’s happening to us. We agreed—you promised—a week with no contact with either Sophie or me. A week with no one trying to influence you. A week for you to decide what you really want. Decide what’s really important to you. But could you do that? Could you keep your word? Apparently not.

“I arrive home to find that not only is Sophie there but that you look well-fucked and you’re both clad in one of your dressing gowns. And then you have the gall to ask me why I was—am—upset enough to drive away from my own home? Are you stupid? Delusional? Has she addled your mind?

“So, what exactly did I interrupt, Holly? Were you so hot for her you had to squeeze one more in before I got home? Gotta tell you, the thought of you kissing me with lips that have probably been up close and personal with her filthy snatch revolts me. Truth is, right now, you disgust me.”

“Oh, my god.”

Once upon a time her distress was a signal to offer comfort that I wouldn’t have been able to ignore. No more. Now, all I could think of was her deceiving me with Sophie.

“You didn’t interrupt anything. I’d not long been home from, um, work and, um, Sophie called in. She spilled a glass of wine over her dress and so I gave her one of my dressing gowns and she, um, showered in the guest bathroom. While she was doing that I decided to also have a shower in prep for you arriving home—” she broke off at seeing my look of scepticism. “—alone. I had a shower alone, David. When I heard your car, I didn’t even stop to get dressed because I was so keen to see you. I missed you, sweetheart.”

“Holly, you’re lying.”

Holly gasped at my blunt statement. I didn’t give her time to add to her lies.

“Firstly, the agreement was you stay away from the office and work from home. On top of that, it’s Sunday so how could you be not long home from work? Secondly, who the hell strips off and showers, not even trying to keep their hair dry, when they spill wine on themselves while visiting someone? Your explanation sounds like a load of cock ‘n’ bull to me.”

Holly’s hand was back in her hair. “David, she did get red wine down the front of her dress. It’s white and so I lent her one of my dressing gowns while I put her dress to soak so the wine wouldn’t stain.”

I laughed. “I still have my doubts but let’s assume for a moment you’re telling the truth. When was the wine spilled?”

“Um, I don’t know, maybe about fifteen minutes before you got home.”

Holly’s vagueness increased my certainty that I was being lied to.

“Who spilled the wine, Holly? You or her?”

“Um, a bit of both. I gesticulated and then she did knocked it over.”

“Wow, if I were to believe you, how convenient was that? And, of course, she couldn’t just wipe herself down or say her goodbyes and go home. No, she had to have a shower, knowing, no doubt, when I was due home. If this story had any basis in reality, which I don’t think it has, she’d be subtle… not.”

Holly winced but didn’t deny my observation and I wondered if she was believing her own bullshit and secretly thrilled that a much younger woman would go to such lengths to steal her from me. Her silence was like a blow to my gut.

“And, then there’s the biggie. What was she doing there in the first place? Especially when I was due home at any time. What happened to giving me your word on not having contact with either of us until I came home?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I didn’t realize I was breaking my word by having her at our house the same evening you were due home. I did it so we could all talk.”

“You didn’t think. You didn’t realize,” I repeated softly. “Why did Sophie have to be there at all?”

“Um, to show you she’s no threat to our marriage.”

“Perhaps not from your perspective, but she is from mine. And, my dear, I’ll say it again—if you slept with Sophie you can kiss our marriage goodbye. I will not share, and I will not condone cheating.”

Holly blanched and couldn’t hold my gaze. The last vestiges of doubt dissolved, but I needed her to admit it.

“You have, haven’t you?”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb, Holly. At least show me the respect of being truthful.”

Holly gently placed her palm against my cheek. “It doesn’t mean anything, baby. I got it out of my system. I love you more than ever. I choose you. I need to kiss you.”

I twisted my face away. “No, you didn’t. You didn’t choose me. And this is all a case of ‘too little, too late.’  And, Holly; I don’t want to kiss you ever again. I know where your lips have been.”

“But I choose you.”

“You’re not listening. Too little, too late. You chose me after spending a week with that slut. Didn’t she live up to your expectations?”

I turned away, certain my statement explained we were over—how many times had I said I wouldn’t share? Wouldn’t tolerate her cheating? Christ, I’d just told her I never wanted to kiss her again. But I was wrong. She didn’t get it. She stepped around me and reached up to cup my face, leaning in.

Again, I twisted my face away. “I said no. We’re finished. Over. You’re Sophie’s now. Please leave. I’m tired and I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’ll call you tomorrow to organise our divorce.”

“Divorce? You can’t mean to divorce me.”

“Yes, I can. And I do. In the recent past you’ve broken just about every promise you’ve made to me and then there’s the huge one, the most important one of all. You broke your wedding vows. What’s worse, you did it so easily my head is still spinning. I can’t help feeling that you don’t see what you did as a serious transgression, whereas I see it as monumental; a deal breaker. I can’t—I won’t put myself through this again.”

 “At least come home. I’ll sleep in the spare room. We can talk some more tomorrow.”

Holly’s voice faltered, and I saw from the corner of my eye she was crying.

“No thanks. I’ll sleep better here. I don’t want to look around and wonder which items of furniture the pair of you defiled. I don’t want to deal with so much as a single whiff of that bitch’s perfume, let alone anything else to do with her. And,” I paused for emphasis, wanting my next words to wound, to pierce her very soul. “I don’t want to be under the same roof as my lying, deceitful, whore of a wife.”

Holly gasped, more tears silently trekking down her cheeks at the venom in my voice. Without another word she turned and made her way down the stairs. I heard the click-clack of her sandals as she traversed the room. Her steps sounded fast and loud. She was running. Good. Let the bitch hurt. She deserved it.

I shed my shirt and trousers rather haphazardly, keeping only my undershirt, boxers, and socks on. I turned up the heat and flopped onto the lounge, exhausted. Despite everything, sleep came quickly.

*****

I FELT LIKE a burglar letting myself into what I knew was an empty house. My house. Or what used to be my house. It was early. Pre-dawn. The silence and darkness accentuated my feeling of no longer belonging. Of being an intruder. Holly, thankfully, was staying at her mother’s, so at least I wouldn’t have to deal with her.

I made my way to the master bedroom, only switching on a few lights, the bare minimum for I needed to pack up my life. It didn’t take long. There wasn’t much I wanted to take with me.

I left the cases on the bed and moved to the window, sliding it open and inhaling the cool air. I leaned against the sill, pressing hard enough against the sill that it was borderline painful, like pressing on a bruise. It had been a week since the final showdown at my office. No surprise that Holly had been bombarding me with calls and emails. I didn’t ignore her but I kept our communication to a minimum. In the months leading up to our final confrontation I’d already said all I wanted to say. Verbalised what I would or would not accept. Now all that was left was the talk of how to split our assets.

Holly felt differently.

She wanted to talk about forgiveness and forgetting, about counselling and reconciliation and not throwing away twenty-five odd years. In other words; crap. It was too late to talk about those things. The damage had been done and it was irreversable. At least, as far as I was concerned. I no longer trusted her and if we didn’t have that then we had nothing.

For me love was not just feelings and pretty words. Saying something didn’t make it true. Actions backing up words were what made them true and Holly’s actions of the previous nine-odd months spoke volumes. Months of neglect followed by a flood of sex, all designed to lead me where she wanted me to go. She’d used my love for her against me. She’d lied and manupulated me. She’d stooped to emotional blackmail and by the end had gambled that it was better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. She lost that bet.

Add to that, I didn’t like the look of a new reality that involved her bisexuality and my waiting for the next ‘Sophie’ to happen. I couldn’t go through something like that again and I couldn’t live with doubt as my constant bedfellow.

I’d camped at Ben’s—he’d insisted despite my protests. I was relieved. I didn’t want to spend so much as a single night in the house Holly had fucked Sophie in.

Despite everything, I couldn’t bring myself to regret the marriage; it had given me my sweet Caitlyn, after all, but I couldn’t deny I was bitter. Bitter, devastated, and angry. I wanted revenge. I was hot for it. I daydreamed about it. It haunted my every waking hour. My nights too. I wanted Holly and Sophie to hurt as I’d been hurt. I wanted them both to regret the day they’d decided to deceive me and play me for a fool.

I was temporarily moving to Sydney to be nearer the Carlson project. Ben and I decided I’d project manage the job and we’d hire someone to assist him, rather than the reverse which was what we’d originally planned. It was what I needed. Something to keep me busy, something challenging, and something to put some distance between myself and Holly and my memories of our life together. If I had to see her or if I bumped into her I couldn’t guarantee acting civilly. I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t act on my revenge dreams.

I sighed, making a concerted effort to not let the anger glowing like the embers of a fire in my gut to re-ignite. It was difficult, but I didn’t want to end up a lonely cynical old man. The road ahead might be long and arduous but I was determined to regain my peace of mind, if nothing else.

Before me was a view I’d once loved; that of the bridge crossing Trillby Waters. Like everything else in my life it was now tainted. The style of street lamps spanning its length had always reminded me of one of the many bridges in Paris. Many nights, Holly and I had lain in our bed, the curtains open and enjoyed the lights and the diamonds they cast on the water below. I closed my eyes, feeling the faintly briny breeze brush over my cheeks.

Knowing this was to be the last time I’d see this particular view from this particular window, I remembered the first time I laid eyes on the panorama spread out before me. I’d been with Holly. We’d stood, side by side, holding hands, our excitement palpable. It was our first night in our new home. Our dream home. The one I’d designed and Holly had decorated. Our baby daughter soundly asleep down the hall.

So many happy memories of how we’d scrimped and saved to make it a reality. Memories of picnics on the lawn while Caitlyn crawled at our feet. Memories of planting flower beds and painting walls. Memories of laughter. Of loving.

The problem was I couldn’t help questioning every memory. What had been real? What had been playacting? It was like I’d spent years with my eye pressed to the lens of a kaleidoscope seeing stars and flowers only to have it ripped it from my hands to reveal I was actually standing alone in a war-bombed city.

A sliver of sun was cresting the horizon, and I knew the lights on the bridge would soon be extinguished. To my tired eyes the sun didn’t appear to be eager to begin its daily journey across the sky. Instead, it seemed to hover. Perhaps, like Holly, it wasn’t a morning person.

Its hesitance paralleled my feelings.

Like the star-filled night, my marriage was over. And like the reluctant sun, I, too, was unenthusiastic about starting the next part of my journey, one I would be making alone.

I lowered my gaze, not wanting more reminders of the slow disintegration of my marriage. I stared at my hands, surprised to see how tightly I gripped the sill. My wedding ring caught my eye, the white-gold glinting silver in the light of the dawn.

I raised my hand, eyeing the ring ambivalently. It was time to remove it. It no longer symbolised a love with no beginning or end. It didn’t represent promises made and kept. I slid it off of my finger and held it up, focusing my gaze through its centre. One by one, I framed the orbs of the streetlamps that traversed the bridge. With each one I said a silent goodbye to my old life before drawing my arm back, intending to throw the band out the window.

Straight at the faux Parisienne bridge.

It would have been apt. A ring given in false promises thrown at a false bridge.

I could picture it rolling through the air, giving me brief flashes of silver, before it disappeared from sight. But the reality was it would never reach the bridge. It would never even reach the street let alone the river bank. Holly would probably find it in the garden at some point in the future and knowing Holly, at least the Holly of old, she’d read some kind of hope in having found it.

Thoughtfully, I turned away from the window and surveyed the room one last time. I had a better plan for the ring.

I went into the ensuite and dropped the ring in the toilet bowl. The water muted its shine. Appropriate. On the spur of the moment I decided to take a leak. Even more appropriate.

The ring proved as persistent as Holly and her calls. It took a couple of goes and a bit of help from the toilet brush to finally flushed it away.

I washed my hands, smiling all the while. It was the happiest I’d felt in weeks.

Now, that was apt, David. Holly crapped all over the marriage and now you’ve pissed on the symbol of that marriage that she gave you.

Two small suitcases rested on the end of the bed. Taking a deep breath, I crossed the expanse, grasped my bags, and left. My new life awaited me.