LOREAL: A TALE OF BETRAYAL

By Vandemonium1

This one could reasonably have been posted under my and CreativityTakesCourage’s joint profile, SemperAmare. She helped me develop the plot and did her usual superior editing job but was too busy with her professional work to do any of the writing.

As is my habit for longer stories, this one is 16 Word pages, I’ll give you enough info to inform whether this will appeal to you or not. I’ve self-rated it at 4/5 pickaxe handles on the rating system you can find via the SemperAmare bio.

No, I haven’t invented a new discovery method or justification for cheating. It’s more a woman’s journey of self-discovery and the consequences of that. It will probably leave the hardcore BTBers hungry. I think it’s safe to say that most stories in LW here go one of three different ways. The guy catches his wife and either gets excited, gets violent, or steals away to plot his revenge. Welcome to the 4^th approach. WARNING, this story contains subtlety! Yes, I finally learned what that means.

On a final note; Luedon, you’d better not read this one.

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CHAPTER 1

Loreal felt her orgasm building. Aaah, she sighed; finally. She moaned into the ear of the guy above, pounding into her, to enhance the experience for him. He continued grunting and sped up. Loreal turned her head away to the side to try to get away from his breath. Beer and stale cigarettes, yuck. Certainly not an aphrodisiac. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and just concentrated on the delicious sensations. They were good, but not enough to tip her over the edge, at least not yet. Maybe with a bit more pounding.

It didn’t help that his foreplay had been minimal. She’d tried to remove the hand roughly caressing her sex and encourage him to go down on her. That’s how her husband, Dave, had learned to satisfy her fully. Not only had the prick ignored her hand trying to push his head downward, but he’d pushed her back onto the bed, shuffled up and stuck his cock in her mouth. Once in, he’d knotted her hair, effectively stopping her from pulling away to breathe.

In the battle that followed, she’d managed to insert a hand onto the base of his cock to limit the penetration. Thus, able to breathe again, she concentrated on making it an outstanding blowjob for him. Strangely, she wanted to convince him that an older woman held advantages that the girls his age didn’t. She braced herself for him flooding her mouth, listening for the giveaway signs he was close to climax. She hadn’t allowed Dave that pleasure in years but was willing to make the sacrifice to ensure it was good for this stranger.

Loreal was pleasantly surprised when he pulled out voluntarily. Manoeuvring her again, the twenty-something guy—was his name Frank?—forced her legs wide apart with his knees and, with little fanfare, impaled her with his above average cock.

On a purely physical level, Loreal thought the experience was a bit of a bust. Then, in the dim light of the turned down bedside lamp, she looked in his eyes. She loved what she saw. An early twenties guy, so turned on by her forty-six-year old body that he had little or no control. For the first time, her brain stopped long enough to allow her body to react automatically. She felt her diaphragm contract with a wave of lust and pushed her hips up to meet the guy’s thrusts.

Following the habits of a married lifetime, she tried to kiss the guy above her. That’s when the reality of his breath almost made her come down from her high. She could feel her clitoris being massaged every time his pubic bone ground into hers, causing her to surrender to feelings of intense pleasure. If she’d been capable of rational thought, it would have been along the lines of, ‘here it comes… aaaahhh’.

It was one of the most intense orgasms Loreal could remember. If the guy had come right then, she would have upgraded it to the best in memory. Then he ruined it.

If the guy had been Dave, he’d have known she liked him to slowly wind down after she came, over a period of half a minute or so, even if he hadn’t come yet, safe in the knowledge she’d see him right after a little rest. A rest that included him nuzzling her neck and telling her she was the love of his life.

Instead, the guy just kept hammering away; seeking his own release. Physically, it just felt uncomfortable and caused her conscience to attack her soul.

She was a cheat, and, as of ten minutes ago, a multiple one at that. All the self-justification that had made so much sense to her pre-orgasm was now vaporising as she came off her high. Had it been like this last month or was she too drunk to notice? Her mind tried to shy away from last month.

Last month. The first time she’d been unfaithful.

She’d begun the night out with her friends as a totally faithful housewife of twenty-four years. A wife who’d never even been tempted to stray. A recent empty nester, whose husband was away on yet another business trip, and a woman who was entering nature’s deadly trap. One who increasingly saw in the mirror the ravages of time and three children on both her face and body, and one who subconsciously missed lustful eyes following her when she walked into a room.

That first night had been a near perfect storm. She knew and accepted why Dave had to travel so much. They’d put everything they had into giving the kids the best possible start in life, including debt free tertiary educations. Reviewing their finances after Laura left home, they realised Dave would have to put in a hard five years if they wanted a comfortable retirement. That meant travel, and lots of it. She realised all that and had been comfortable with the decision. That hadn’t made the loneliness easier to cope with or reduce the time for introspection it gave her.

She’d taken to going out with three young, single friends after their volunteer charity nights. Well, two of them were single; the third just acted like it. If the rumour mill was correct, her previous job had been one of… negotiable value. She told her friends, ‘I love sex’ no more than six times a day.

One of the girls had brought some special cookies to give the evening a kickstart. Against her better judgement, Loreal had partaken of her share. That was followed by slugging back a quick succession of strong drinks. Loreal had learned to get fuzzy early. That way she could ‘not see’ that within an hour of entering a bar, she was the only one of the group buying her own. The sharks provided lavishly for the other three, younger women.

It wasn’t uncommon for one or two of the others to leave with a guy, this time it was all three. The last, one of the single ones, apologised to her when she retrieved her handbag before leaving with her partner of the night. The look of pity she gave Loreal even penetrated through the chemical influences. That left Loreal alone. Alone, stoned from the cookie, swaying from the alcohol and, in her own mind, over the hill.

The final crisis came when she went to the bar for yet another drink and saw herself in the mirror behind it.

Loreal didn’t know it but the plain, nothing special guy sitting next to where she stood, had been almost totally discouraged that night; four knock backs, including one slap in the face, will do that to a man’s ego. Almost. A cheery greeting, some cheap compliments, and one drink and both he and Loreal got what they wanted—he was invited back to some broad’s place, she got attention from a younger man. He drove. Neither took any notice of the sticker in the collection behind the bar. It read ‘Alcohol, helping ugly people have sex since 3,000BC’.  

Loreal was on cloud nine. She still had it. A younger guy had been unable to help himself and wanted her badly. She’d been too drunk to take much notice of the first brief episode once they got to her place, but it revived her feelings of value even in the stoned and inebriated state she was in. However, she was cold stone sober when he fucked her again in the morning. She was hardly even moist yet when he got off within a minute. While he lay back, panting, Loreal went for a shower. When she returned, he’d gone. No note, no hurried thanks. Nothing. The value of the whole interlude was dashed, and her ego sank lower than before the whole episode began.

She was horrified at her own betrayal, not to mention that he hadn’t even tried to arrange another meeting. How bad was she that he didn’t want a repeat performance? She was also terrified by the fact the guy obviously hadn’t worn a condom either time. Pregnancy was still a real risk and who knew what diseases she may have picked up? Her self-opinion plummeted as she made the trip of shame to retrieve her car from the bar carpark.

When Dave arrived home from that trip, she did the right thing and avoided having sex with him until any possible diseases had manifested themselves to a blood test. Then she just sweated until her period arrived later that month.

The whole episode was emotionally devastating and threw Loreal into a temporary insanity. Why else did she come up with the solution she did? Would she have continued on her self-destructive path if she’d just accepted the fact it wasn’t any fault of hers, the guy had just been a prick?

Therefore, on Dave’s very next trip away she went to the bar with her friends again, prepared. She refused the offered cookie, nursed one wine, patted the box of rubbers in her pocket and scanned the room like a predator. Pointedly taking off her rings and stuffing them in her pocket, then undoing a couple of buttons on her blouse, in full view of her friends, she turned and approached her target. Young, passably good-looking and already smiling the smile of the tipsy.

Her ego soared and she smirked at her companions when she retrieved her handbag from the table, before strutting out with her stud.

She’d meant to go back to his place, but he was from out of town and sharing a room with two other members of his rugby team. She was too smart to have a motel bill appear on her credit card statement and didn’t want to push her luck asking him to stiff for another room. So, back to her place she went. Again.

He was ripping off his and her clothes as they ran up the stairs. Then, well you know what happened next.

Loreal silently wished the guy would hurry up and get off. Then, learning from the previous mistake, she would ask him to join her in the shower to clean up before round two. This was going to be so good. She could bury thoughts of Dave and his lonely existence in a motel room on the other side of the country until morning. By that time, she would have proven to this guy and herself just what an older woman was still capable of. Oh yes; he’d be drained of every drop of semen he possessed when he staggered out in the morning. She vaguely hoped his coach wasn’t angry with him for sapping his strength before the game. He’d said he was the team’s Number Eight, whatever that meant.

‘Christ, get on with it,’ thought Loreal, unconscious of the irony. Younger women would kill for a guy that could perform like number eight could.

Remembering to provide little grunts of appreciation, Loreal couldn’t help her mind wandering to her husband, wondering what little gift he’d bring her back from his latest trip. He always brought her something that was not necessarily expensive but was always thoughtful. Every single time, since shortly before they married, they would undertake their little verbal ritual. On accepting the trinket, Loreal would say, “Why do you always spoil me, Dave?” To which he would unerringly reply, “Because you’re worth it.”

Although it was by no means an expectation, Dave’s homecoming and thoughtfulness was usually rewarded with an intense lovemaking session. Although, now she thought about it, the frequency had dropped off in the last couple of years. Was Dave’s libido flagging with his advancing age? Loreal didn’t think so; he still propositioned her every second or third night. Or was it her sex drive waning and causing her to decline his advances more often?

Thoughts of her husband caused a chill of guilt to suffuse Loreal’s soul. Post-orgasm, she finally thought of what she was risking by doing this. The guy pounding into her grinned with pride as he interpreted the tensing of her entire body as her coming again. Loreal relaxed as she decided once and for all that after this spectacular session there would be no repeats. Then relaxed further as she concluded that Dave would benefit from all this. With her sexual ego bolstered, Dave wouldn’t be getting near as many knockbacks in the future.

With a sigh, Loreal concentrated on making it spectacular for her conquest. She was getting increasingly uncomfortable down there, and hoped he finished soon.

The events of the next few minutes were so crowded and full of emotion for Loreal that later she had trouble remembering the exact sequence.

The main bedroom light came on suddenly. The first thing Loreal noticed was that her lover’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Confused, she turned her head toward the bedroom door and froze in a whole-body clench. There was Dave. Her darling Dave. She watched him walk to his closet and take down a large suitcase from the top and lay it on her prized antique blanket box at the foot of their bed. Loreal felt like a surreal spectator as he hardly even glanced at her as he did this.

Her sudden scream, seconds later, shocked the young guy above her out of his thoughts, which had he been able to articulate them would have been along the lines of, ‘Fuck, she’s coming again.’ This wasn’t that sort of scream, though. His eyes shot open, then he turned his head and followed the gaze of the terrified woman beneath him. He saw the guy he presumed was the slut’s husband—he hadn’t asked if she was married and she hadn’t volunteered it—saw what a vulnerable position he himself was in; leaped up, out, and off Loreal, to stand and face the threat. With his testosterone and adrenalin levels at a peak, his next words were almost an automatic response.

“I could make mincemeat of you, you know.”

Dave merely turned to face the guy who was half a foot taller, considerably bigger, and about half his age.

“Yes, I suppose you could. But isn’t it bad enough that you fucked my wife and destroyed my marriage without assaulting me? Now, cover up, you look ridiculous standing there like that.”

Number Eight, or Frank as he was more commonly known, cooled down quickly under the assault of that calm voice and non-aggressive expression. He looked down at his slimy, rubber-covered, rapidly deflating erection, saw the guy once again turn toward the closet and start stuffing clothes from hangers and shelves into the suitcase, and felt really, really silly. Sheepishly, he started gathering his clothes and putting them on, never turning his back on the guy who may have been in shock and could soon explode at any moment.

Loreal just made like an ostrich and kept her head buried under the sheet. She was in severe shock and was minutes away from reacting.

It took Frank about one minute to get enough clothes together to be decent. With the last of them in his meaty paws, he mumbled, “Sorry, man,” and headed toward the door.

Dave looked over his shoulder as he continued packing.

“Wait.”

Frank stopped; eyes downcast. Dave turned toward him.

“Look at me.”

Frank forced himself, through his shame, to comply. He saw a man in total control, whose expression wasn’t anger, in fact, if anything, it was pity.

“Married?”

Frank shook his head.

“Well, hopefully you’ll meet the love of your life some day and get married. One day you’ll be on a business trip and won’t be able to get your wife on the phone. When that happens, think of this exact moment.”

Dave held Frank’s gaze as the absolute shame of the situation sank in. The big guy mumbled another, “Sorry,” and walked out the door.

With a glance at the bed, Dave went back to his packing. Overwhelmed, Loreal continued hiding under the covers.

After a couple of minutes or so, Loreal risked a look from under the sheet. A quick glance to confirm that Dave was staring at her accusingly. He wasn’t. Instead, he was concentrating on zipping up the second of two suitcases. That meant he was leaving! What? Without discussion? From what she could see of his expression, he was behaving just like he was packing when leaving a motel room after a week of travelling. This penetrated even Loreal’s stupefied brain as… bizarre.

After watching him ignore her for another half minute, Loreal tried to speak. She opened her mouth. The words were there, ready to be given voice, but nothing came out. It wasn’t until Dave put both suitcases upright and side-by-side, preparing to walk out the room, that utter desperation forced her hand. She shuffled to a sitting position against the pillows. She decided against standing in his path to prevent his escape because that would mean being naked in front of him and she couldn’t guarantee there were no overt signs of her betrayal on her body. For some reason that seemed important.

It wasn’t until Dave picked up both cases and began walking to the door that Loreal summoned up the strength to croak, “Wait.”

Dave stopped, put down the cases, then did something that wouldn’t register as strange to Loreal until days or weeks later. He sighed and looked at his watch.

Loreal studied his face, expecting to see what? Disapproval? Anger? Rage even? Condemnation and devastation, surely? There was nothing like that. In the heat of the moment, Loreal couldn’t guess what the mind behind that all too familiar face was thinking. It was mainly neutral but with strange hints of other things. Other things that built large in her imagination over the ensuing weeks. She could have sworn he looked like he was trying to suppress a smile of pride, a modest kind of look, but that couldn’t be right. He stood there watching her, waiting.

“Dave, I-”

“Please, Loreal, don’t say it wasn’t what it looked like or that it was just sex, or that this was the first time. If possible, my opinion of you would go down even further if you trotted out those tired old clichés.

“And before you say you were bored with our sex life, remember, I’ve been in exactly the same boat as you since we married.

“Or were you going to say that you were worried about getting old and infertile? Well, I reckon men worry just as much about the decline in their performance as they age as women do about their fading looks and sex drive, yet that didn’t motivate me to have affairs.

“Maybe, you justified this behaviour as being acceptable to me. I reckon we’ve had about a thousand conversations over the years that told you otherwise.”

Loreal’s brain was reeling. Dave seemed to be looking into her head and seeing her thoughts sometime between when they were generated but before they made it to her mouth. She knew him. She knew she had to accept all blame and throw herself on his mercy.

“Dave…”

“I just don’t care, Loreal. I know I’m the good guy here. I know to the very bottom of my heart that I gave our marriage all I had to give. I gave you everything I had. Tell me if I’m not still more romantic than any other husbands you know. Point out one time I missed an opportunity to tell you or show you I loved you. No, it just didn’t happen.

“I suppose some guys might castigate themselves at this point that their best just wasn’t good enough, but not me. We drilled into our kids that their best effort was always good enough and it would be hypocritical of me to judge myself by another standard to that. So, Loreal, it obviously wasn’t good enough for you, but I did my best and I’m satisfied with that. That means the blame is all on you and your expectations. Goodbye, Lori.”

Loreal sat there, stunned. Dave picked up the cases again and paused, holding her gaze with that strange, unfathomable expression. The moment stretched on uncomfortably. It was not until Loreal dropped her gaze that she heard him recommence walking. She heard one of the cases lightly bump against the door frame and then he was gone. She knew she should run after him, but why? What would she say when she caught up to him? He’d said it all, already.

CHAPTER 2

That all happened on Friday night. Loreal may have avoided her initial PTSD except one after another all three of her children rang to let her know that their father had contacted them and pulled no punches.

Penny, her eldest, and Laura, the youngest, both rang early Saturday, asked her how she was then calmly let her know how disappointed they were in her before ringing off.

By Sunday afternoon when Mark, the last of the three rang her, she’d only left the bed to answer calls of nature and put the sheets in the trash. He was much more brutal in his summary of his feelings. It proved her wrong. She did have more tears to shed.

Friday night had been utterly devoid of sleep, and by Sunday night, she dreaded what sleep she could snatch. A pattern in her dreaming soon developed. Well, nightmares really. It would start with a fond memory of her earlier life with Dave. Maybe an anniversary, or just a gift or huge bunch of flowers Dave brought her for no apparent reason. In her dream she’d say, “Dave, why do you spoil me so?” He would reply as he always had, “Because you’re worth it, Lori.” She’d look up, smiling into his face but see no return smile. Instead he wore the expression she’d last seen on his familiar face that fateful night. An expression she still couldn’t begin to decipher. That inevitably woke her, at which time the memories of her betrayal would come crashing into her stupefied brain.

Dozing was almost as bad. Half asleep, she’d receive a trigger that brought the trauma crashing back. It could be a grunt that reminded her of Friday night, or turning her head toward the bedroom door. More often than not, it was a smell. Imagined aromas of male sweat, stale beer, or sex. No amount of changing bed linen or spraying with air freshener stopped them. On Sunday night she bowed to the inevitable and moved to the spare room, refusing to even enter the master bedroom to use that bathroom.

By Monday she was a wreck. If the phone rang, she only looked at it long enough to see if it was Dave. When it wasn’t, she ignored it. In a way, she was grateful he hadn’t rung yet. Despite all her efforts she still couldn’t even begin to justify what she’d done, to herself, never mind him.

Tuesday evening there was a knock at the door. Knowing Dave would never knock, she ignored it and returned to her obsessing. She almost jumped out her skin when Sandra, her best friend and charity colleague, entered the bedroom. She took one look at Loreal and came to the bed worriedly. She explained she’d been concerned about her friend not contacting her and had come over to find the front door unlocked.

Loreal let it all pour out. Taking her turn to not pull punches. Laying all the blame squarely where it belonged; with her behaviour. Sandra had been happily married for longer than she and Dave and was the most non-judgemental person Loreal knew. That’s maybe why the condemnation in her friend’s eyes hurt so much.

Sandra voiced no opinion, though, but quickly prepared some food and forced Loreal into the shower. She made the call to their boss and arranged the rest of the week off for her friend.

That set the pattern for the rest of that week. Sandra keeping Loreal alive. Loreal emotionally wasting, increment by increment away. Sandra broached the idea of getting some psychological help for her friend, but Loreal adamantly refused. It was bad enough her friend and children knew what she’d done. The idea of telling a total stranger was abhorrent.

By the following weekend, Sandra knew she needed help supporting her friend. It was getting quite depressing and she had her own life to lead. Loreal had told her enough about her conversation with her son, Mark, to know there was too much pain there to get past in the short term. Loreal’s youngest daughter, Laura, was at college in another state and not due for a term break for several weeks and Penny was away for another two weeks on a work trip to Europe. Sandra was aware that a neighbour was another friend of Loreal and sounded her out as relief, only to be told that the neighbour was a friend to both Dave and Loreal and Dave’s tales of his wife’s actions had resulted in her and her husband taking sides and Loreal wouldn’t like which side they’d taken. Sandra took the opportunity to probe Dave’s side of the story, only to find it was an unembellished version of the one she’d been told by her friend. It appeared Dave wasn’t being particularly vindictive but was simply stating his case. Sandra couldn’t blame him. Divorce polarises relationships.

The most difficult question Loreal asked Sandra was if she thought Dave would ever come back. Her friend avoided an answer. She knew Dave to be an exceedingly loyal but also an incredibly uncompromising person. After all, she’d known him for years as well.

CHAPTER 3

Loreal was well enough to return to the office the following week. Her performance wasn’t a patch on normal, though, and she was noticeably jumpy to loud noises and irritable, particularly when anyone laughed out loud.

For Loreal, the days were almost bearable. For whole minutes at a time, she was busy enough to forget what she’d thoughtlessly slaughtered in her personal life. It was the nights that were killing her.

Sandra was getting increasingly concerned and frustrated. Her husband was pressuring her to distance herself from her friend. He condemned what Loreal had done to Dave and was worried about any influence Loreal may have on his wife. Sandra was forced to admit that while she also condemned the behaviour, she felt she owed her friend some loyalty. However, a decision point was fast approaching. Sandra and her husband had a cruise booked for a second honeymoon, beginning in two-week’s time. Not willing to forfeit the non-refundable tickets, all Sandra could do was contact Loreal’s eldest daughter, Penny, to make sure she could take over Loreal’s care while she was away.

Luckily, when the process server arrived, Sandra was there for support. She’d brought her husband along to show him how much her friend was hurting and hopefully garner some sympathy from him and thus reduce his pressure to distance herself from the situation. When the enormity of the ramifications of that simple package sunk in, Loreal said to her friend, “I don’t want a divorce. I love him.”

Sandra’s husband began to say, “Bullshit! If you did you wouldn’t have—” before his wife elbowed him into silence.

Loreal knew what the rest of that sentence would have been, and it was eating her that it was true.

There was no doubt Loreal was in deep crisis. If she’d been in a rational enough frame of mind to analyse it, she would have deduced the crisis had two main foci. It was increasingly obvious that Dave was gone forever. The fact he must know the amount of pain she was in and was making no move to console her alone made that self-evident. That meant she had to move on at some point. But what did the future hold? Sure, she was still attractive, the rugby player had at least proved that, and according to the terms of the proposed divorce, she’d be financially comfortable if she kept working.

No, the problem, or problems plural, was love.

She’d thought she loved her husband like nothing else, yet she’d betrayed him horribly; twice. That left the huge question. Did she know what love actually was? Would she recognise it if she tripped over it? If she did manage to find love again in her life, would it really be love? Would she be able to delude herself that she loved the new guy, or would the thought always be there that she’d lied to herself once, and was doing it again?

That direction of her philosophising monopolised her thoughts until Penny returned. On seeing the state of her mother, Penny strongly debated moving in with her, but she had a fiancé she hadn’t seen for a month and decided not to. She did, however, spend as much time with her as her conscience allowed and joined her voice to Sandra’s in nagging her mother to find a counsellor.

Loreal’s second crisis was inadvertently triggered by her eldest daughter. It was a Sunday and Loreal knew that Penny had attended a business awards dinner on the Friday night. She saw her daughter pull up in front of her house. Her house? No. Hers and Dave’s house. As Penny was walking up the path, Loreal went to open the front door. Penny looked startled as her mother opened the door and hurriedly hid something behind her back, then kept it out of sight until she was inside. She couldn’t disguise the fact it was Loreal’s delivered Sunday newspaper, though. As usual, Loreal had been awake much of the night and was grumpy. She demanded to see the paper, then noted Penny’s nervousness as she spread it on the table and glanced through it.

She found what Penny was hoping she wouldn’t in the social section. She may have missed the full impact of the photograph if Penny hadn’t tipped her hand by trying her own brand of censorship.

There were several photographs from Friday’s business awards dinner. No, the picture wasn’t of her husband accepting an award. It was simply a picture of some attendees enjoying themselves. On the left-hand side was Dave seated at a table next to Penny, her fiancé, and some guy Loreal had never seen before. What was it about the photograph that had her daughter so anxious? Loreal looked closer. Her breathing quickened, then stopped completely as she spotted it. Dave’s right hand was near the bottom left-hand corner of the photograph. Another, disembodied hand was resting on his forearm. A dainty, feminine hand. The gesture wasn’t quite intimate but was definitely possessive.

Loreal looked up at the nervous face of her daughter. All of a sudden, Dave’s actions made perfect sense. The reason he’d moved on so quickly and so completely was that he’d already met her replacement. With ragged, panting sentences, she grilled Penny on Dave’s companion of the evening; all the while struggling to avoid falling into the mental abyss suddenly opened up right before her.

Penny chose her words with care. Yes, Sue was pretty, slim, and a few years younger than her mother. Yes, she seemed to dote on Penny’s father and, yes, they weren’t afraid to let other attendees know they were there as a couple.

Penny was very worried when her mother lapsed into a near catatonic silence. She had a pretty good idea of what Loreal had spinning around her head and automatically leapt to her father’s defence. Wise beyond her years, she realised that most people judged others by their own standards. Her mother was a cheater and thus probably thought everyone was capable of cheating.

She spoke to set the record straight. No, her father hadn’t been having an affair before he caught his wife with another man. She began telling Loreal that her father was far too honourable to behave like that, until she realised what that indirectly said she thought of her mother. An opinion she’d taken great efforts to disguise. It was obvious nothing she said was penetrating her mother, though, so she lapsed into silence.

Inside Loreal’s head, a battle raged. The counterpoint of most of her thoughts of the last month were unmasked.

Dave had obviously been either seeing this woman while living with Loreal or had moved on and found love very, very quickly afterward. How could this be? She would have staked her life on the fact her husband loved her completely, with everything he had. The last gift and declaration, ‘Because you’re worth it’, hadn’t been that long ago. His actions, to her, indicated he still loved her. She knew she’d been a little distracted by her thoughts and scheming in the few weeks leading up to that horrible night, but how blind had she been to not see Dave had fallen out of love with her? That was far from the actions of the Dave that loved her to distraction. How long was it that he’d been lying when he said she was worth it?

So completely out of love with her, in fact, that when he discovered another guy in bed with her, he hadn’t even tried to defend his honour, albeit in the certain knowledge he’d have had his head kicked in. Also, there wasn’t a skerrick of evidence he’d even once thought of fighting for her and their marriage.

Thus, by the time Penny called an ambulance because her mother was completely unresponsive, a few dread certainties had solidified in Loreal’s head. One; Dave wasn’t coming back. Shattered by her actions, he’d moved on. The second was that if Dave had been having an affair it could only have been because she, his wife, wasn’t enough for him. That hurt beyond belief. The third thought was a very ill omen for her own future. Not only did she not know if she’d be able to convince herself that she loved someone, even when she was sure she did, but now she would forever think she was being lied to when another man told her he loved her. If her husband of many years had fooled her so easily, a comparative stranger could pretty much say what he liked.

CHAPTER 4

Loreal awoke in the psychiatric ward of the hospital with no memory of how she got there. In a way, Penny was relieved. Now her mother was pretty much be forced into counselling. She visited as often as her work permitted. Her father offered to help out, but the specialists advised that probably wasn’t a good move. After confirming he had no intention of continuing the marriage, he was politely asked to stay away. He forced himself to obey, even though it went against decades of instinct to go to Loreal’s rescue.

Loreal was in hospital for two weeks before she was released under anti-depressant medication and with hospital monitored counselling.

Claire, her counsellor, was a crusty veteran of thirty years’ experience. Her private practice had failed due to her persona. Like all counsellors, Claire had a choice to make early in her career. Either take on some of the pain of her clients, and risk becoming an emotional basket-case herself, or build a hard, impenetrable shell around her psyche. She’d chosen the latter, which didn’t endear her to clients. Don’t misunderstand, she was good. Just a little brutal at times. She was putting the months in until she could retire from her government job and become the fulltime doting grandmother she yearned to be.   

Penny accompanied her mother to the first session and did much of the talking. Claire asked the daughter to stay for a private chat after Loreal left the room. Loreal was relieved. She’d found most of the session extremely embarrassing. If Penny hadn’t been there, many of the details revealed would have taken the counsellor many sessions to drag out of her. When Penny emerged fifteen minutes later, she said nothing, and her mother didn’t enquire. Sitting in her office, Claire pretty much knew which of her well-tested techniques to use. She emailed Loreal a request to bring the family photo albums with her next time for a long session. Claire hated short sessions; the constant stop-start was irritating.

Loreal arrived at the next appointment alone, nervous and carrying the requested albums. Claire spent less than two minutes flicking through them. They were exactly as she expected.

It took her over ten minutes to relax Loreal, then she asked her to describe her marriage. Loreal’s face took on a generally happy expression as she described meeting Dave, his pursuit of her, his proposal and their years together. She told Claire about how Dave constantly brought home surprises like flowers and gifts; even about their ritual of her saying, “Oh, Dave, why do you spoil me so?” and his ritualistic reply of, “Because you’re worth it.”

Nigh on an hour into the session, Claire saw that Loreal was waffling and suspected it was because she was subconsciously delaying talking about her cheating. Claire was good at her job and brought the session to the nasty issues she knew her client was dreading. She invited Loreal to describe the end of her marriage, a deliberate choice of words on her part, in as much detail as she was comfortable doing. She was quite surprised when Loreal skipped over her justifications for cheating; most of her clients in this situation used the opportunity to unburden themselves and look for approval from the counsellor. Instead she skipped through the details of her first disastrous impromptu fling with a random guy and the more deliberate meeting with the rugby player.

Claire admired Loreal’s description of Dave’s obvious emotional control at the final confrontation and correctly concluded that control, and the fact that he’d returned unexpectedly early, was evidence he’d been expecting what he found.

After her painful confession, Loreal was weakened enough for Claire to find out without too much effort exactly what Loreal wanted from the sessions: an answer to why Dave hadn’t fought for her. The embryonic ideas that she was incapable of love and unable to spot that Dave had been lying when he said he loved her, had been buried deep during her hospital stay.

Claire was interested in Loreal’s description of the strange expression on her husband’s face that night and suspected she knew what caused it but knew she had to break the reason to Loreal very carefully or risk another breakdown.

Claire requested the receptionist bring in a couple of coffees while they chatted about innocuous subjects as a little break, before turning Loreal’s attention to the stack of photo albums. For the next half hour Loreal turned the pages, giving a brief explanation of some of the photographs. Claire mentally kept tally.    

Six pages into the first album, Claire pointed out a picture of Dave and Loreal at a formal dinner. Loreal pointed out that the dinner was one of the nights that her husband had received an award for one of his designs and another table member had offered to take the picture. The photo was taken from the side, with Dave leaning out from behind Loreal. Claire, who knew the importance of clients discovering things for themselves rather than having them pointed out, tried to prompt a self-discovery.

“Did you take any photographs of Dave receiving his award?”

“Of course I did.”

“So, where are they?”

“Oh, I didn’t have room in the album to put all the photos in.”

Claire pointedly looked down at the opened page. The other seven photos on that page were of Loreal looking radiant.

“Dave certainly took a lot of photos of you.”

“Well, what do you expect? That’s a $400 dress, $150 hairdo, and a $100 professional makeup job. Look at me, I was beautiful. I hadn’t become pregnant yet, so I didn’t have that little tummy I’ve had ever since.”

The counsellor couldn’t help a little unprofessional comment slipping out.

“Dave must have felt very honoured that night.”

Loreal didn’t see the comment for what it was and totally misinterpreted it.

“Of course, he would have. He must have felt very proud. I mean, look at all the other wives in the photographs. Dowdy and drab to a woman. He told me walking in there that he felt proud to walk in with me on his arm. I always knew I was a little out of his league, but I thought, ‘what the hell’. He was kind and generous, passably handsome, had good qualifications, loved children, and obviously worshipped me. What woman could pass that up?”

Loreal lapsed into silence and Claire waited, hoping the screamingly obvious would start to take root in the woman opposite her. Unfortunately, Loreal simply turned the page and started talking through the photos again.

When they’d completed the last album, Claire encouraged Loreal to talk about her own achievements in life and wasn’t stunned by the information she learned. Loreal had only schooled up to the end of high school. Worked some menial jobs, until she’d met Dave, married him within a year-and-a-half. Gotten pregnant in an accident within a year, opposed having more than one child to preserve as much of her body shape as she could, but bowed to pressure and had two more. Been a stay-at-home mum pretty much since then. She’d tried to get a couple of meaningful jobs after the discussion that they needed a better nest egg to retire early and enjoy the standard of life they were used to, but gave up after a few knock backs. Her administrative volunteering for a couple of charities was so she could compete at the country club.

With time running out, Claire shuffled Loreal out with orders to think of what they’d spoken about that day. Loreal left, relieved that the session had been far less painful than she thought it would.

On the way out, Loreal asked Claire if she thought Dave now hated her. Claire simply replied that she should research the opposite of love.

Claire used her lunch break to do some research on Dave and again wasn’t surprised by what she found. Successful businessman who’d reached as high as he could in their small provincial city. His only choice to hit the bigger time was to uproot his wife’s social life and move away from their kids by relocating somewhere bigger or by travelling extensively to spread his net further.

Before her next client, Claire then pondered her tactics for the next sessions with Loreal. She sighed. Would she have to blatantly point out that about five percent of the photos in the albums showed Dave, another thirty percent their children, with the remainder being of a smiling Loreal?

Would she have to disclose that her conversations with Penny had revealed the daughter was immensely proud of her dad and in no way condemned him for his treatment of his wife, her mother? How much of the condescending way Loreal had treated her husband Penny had revealed? Such information had to be carefully handled to avoid a possibly permanent breakdown in her client.

She was amazed at Loreal’s self-delusion in not being able to interpret Dave’s expression the night he’d left forever. Loreal had clearly always, and to this day, believed she was out of her husband’s league. His doting behaviour toward his wife reinforced her belief. Claire could imagine his own journey of self-discovery. Memories of a thousand slights, being treated as second best, a mountain of small disrespects balanced against a lifetime of loving and cherishing her.

Claire wondered how close to the discovery of her cheating Dave had sat down and looked at the balance sheet and seen the inevitable conclusion. The conclusion that was the real reason for that enigmatic half smile that Loreal had described. She wasn’t out of his league, but he sure as hell was out of hers. He’d finally escaped.

Claire couldn’t help hoping Dave’s new beau appreciated him and treated him the way he deserved.

Moments before her next client was ushered in, Claire questioned her wisdom in suggesting Loreal research the opposite of love. If she did, the knowledge would certainly explain all of Dave’s behaviour since that fateful night, but could also, potentially, be quite devastating.

The opposite of love was never hate; it was indifference.

 EPILOGUE

Loreal’s next two nights after the session were a turmoil of nightmarish questions. Had she loved Dave? How hadn’t she spotted he hadn’t loved her? How could he just walk away without fighting for her?

Claire had researched the opposite of love but hadn’t understood the answers she’d found. Hadn’t understood or didn’t have the strength to accept?

Finally, at 4:00 a.m. on the second night, she send a text to the number she’d memorised from a surreptitious look at the file in Claire’s office. Dave’s new cell number.

“Can we meet so I can ask you some questions?”

Dave, an early riser responded immediately.

“I don’t think Sue would like that. I’m sure if I asked her if she minded, she would agree but wouldn’t want me to. I don’t want to put her under that pressure right now and risk what we have building.”

Frustration replaced the melancholy Loreal was feeling.

“You can tell her I’m not hoping to get back together with you. I’m harmless and just need some answers.”

Again, the answer came quickly.

“It’s a small risk I’m sure, but not one I’m willing to take right now.”

Anger building, Loreal thumped a reply on her electronic keypad.

“For the sake of our years together and the children we share, why wouldn’t you take that tiny little risk?”

The answer was slower coming this time. It made her suddenly understand the research she’d done the previous day. It cut through her delusions like a katana through a watermelon. She realised what a self-centred bitch she really was and that she never had experienced and likely never would experience love for another. Surely one of life’s essentials. Through the rapidly growing red haze of mental collapse, she looked at the response again.

“BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT WORTH IT.”

THE END

Dave’s monologue at the end of CHAPTER ONE was partially inspired by real events. In high school, I was captain of the debating team. We had little instruction and only one debate against another school. I developed our tactics from scratch.

I spoke first, and as I’d anticipated all their planned arguments, I answered them before they raised them. One after another, the opposing team stood and raised things I’d already addressed and that made them look silly. They knew that and I have to say I’ve felt bad ever since. We won by landslide, of course.

After the debate, I was congratulated by the head of the English department, our coach, who then pointed out one of life’s lessons to me. Yes, winning is important, but how you win is even more important. Actually, what he really said was, “…… that wasn’t really cricket.”

My debating skills are now redundant. Nowadays, you don’t need any skill at all. If you’re losing an argument, you just have to accuse your opponent of racism if they’re white, or sexism if they’re male, and then magically, you’ve won.

I apologise to any counsellors out there that may have taken offence at my portrayal of Claire above. I meant no harm and I admire their courage in choosing the profession. While I’ve never been a client, my work has put me in contact with many shrinks and counsellors. In my experience, some take it on board personally and become a little deranged. Others build a hard shell to protect themselves, as Claire did.

A counsellor once said to me, “That sounds interesting, tell me about it.” Well, that’s the kind of thing counsellors say, isn’t it? Problem was that we were at a party. I found it pretty disturbing.

++++++

NOW LIGHTEN THE FUCK UP. YOU CAN THANK JOE FOR THE FOLLOWING.

This morning, around 7:00 a.m., I went for my stroll around the marina.  I noticed a man with a long blade knife running down the dock toward me dressed in Islamic clothing, shouting, “Allah, be praised!” and “Death to all Infidels!” when suddenly he tripped and fell into the water. 

He was struggling to stay afloat because of the weight of all the explosives he was carrying, and I knew that if he didn’t get help soon, he would surely drown!

Not being a good swimmer myself but being a responsible citizen who abides by the moral code that requires a person to get help to those in distress, I contacted the Police, the Coast Guard, Homeland Security, and even the Fire Department.

 It is now 11:00 a.m., none of the authorities have responded and the terrorist has drowned.  I’m starting to think I just wasted four stamps.