NURSE PENNY

By SemperAmare

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Vandemonium1 and CreativityTakesCourage have collaborated again. As per both our natural leanings there are consequences for the wrongdoer, but please be warned if you are a hardcore BTBer you will probably be left wanting. Sorry! Maybe next time!

We hope you will sit back, relax, maybe have a drink, and enjoy a little escapism with us.

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CHAPTER ONE

PENELOPE, OR PENNY as I’ve always called her, and I have been married for twenty-eight years. Our twenty-eighth year marked an ending but also a beginning. It was the year our third and youngest child started college. We’d just dropped her off. That made us officially empty-nesters.

I wanted to use the opportunity to try to rekindle Penny’s and my love life which had waned during the marriage, due mostly to lack of energy and privacy. As working-class people, we have a small house with thin walls, not a huge mansion with nannies and maids.

I thought all was on track for my plan to succeed. As soon as we arrived home, I carried Penny upstairs and, despite her protests of, “Mike! My ass is sore from the trip”, and “Let me have a shower first”, fucked the shit out of her. She seemed to enjoy it and I hoped it was a foretaste of things to come. After all this time I still loved my wife with a passion, and still lusted after her like a pervert. At forty-eight, she was still a dish.

After I rode her until she came, with my following suit shortly after, we lay back to get our breath. My plan was to recover a little then go again. Show her what our love life could be like now that we had the house to ourselves. I wanted to encourage her to want it near as often as when we first met. Penny, however, was not on the same page and used the opportunity to press her idea of our immediate future.

Penny is a nurse and had been training as such when we met. With time taken off to have babies, then time and money constraints arising from raising them, Penny had remained a general nurse. Over the years she’d seen and commented on many occasions about younger nurses coming in, fresh out of school, doing some basic courses and being promoted away, or even worse, promoted over her. To say she resented it was like saying the Pope was a little Catholic.

In the aftermath of some pretty spectacular sex, I was introduced to what was obviously a well thought out plan on her part.

According to Penny, there was a looming chronic shortage of paediatric nurses at the hospital where she worked. An intense, six-month training course would put Penny in a good position to stay at the same hospital. She knew for a fact that the head nurse in the same department at the town’s other hospital was retiring in two-years’ time and she’d be in the running for that vacancy.

That, in turn, would put Penny in the prime position to take over from the matron of her current hospital when she was due for retirement in five years. That was the ultimate prize Penny had her eyes on.

She’d done her research and found she could be paid while doing the six-months of training so wouldn’t be a burden on my modest income, then her enhanced salary would help us toward our goal of retiring at sixty with a comfortable bank account.

I looked at Penny, marvelling at this new-found ambition on her part. It was like seeing her for the first time; scary and exciting. I realised my wife was still able to surprise me.

And scare me.

With evidence that much thought had gone into it, I wondered why I was only hearing about it for the first time right now. Why hadn’t she used me as a sounding board? Asked my help? Why had she kept these hopes, dreams, and plans from me? Hadn’t I always encouraged her?

Even now, with a kernel of concern growing in my gut, I leaned toward encouraging her dream. That is, until the reason for her reticence was revealed. The only place Penny could do the course was in another state, an hour and $250 flight away.

“Six months. That’s a long time, Pen. Is there nothing closer? Do they offer an online course?”

“No, they don’t and it’s not that long a time. It will fly by. In times of war couples did it all the time. Hell, they went years with only letters to sustain them. And surely we can afford for you to fly up once a month?”

I remained silent, running questions and answers through my mind.

Before I could voice any objections, or even ask more questions, Penny snapped at me, “Christ, Mike, don’t be such a chauvinist.”

That got my hackles up; I’d never been a chauvinist. Not with her, and not with our daughters. I was so offended I almost missed the rest of her outcry.

“If this was about you and your career, I would be expected by the whole damn world to support and encourage you but because I’m a woman, you’re making out I’m being selfish for wanting you to support me in my dream.”

Selfish? When had I even had the chance to make such an accusation? I’d hardly had a chance to put a word in. I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm. Getting angry wasn’t going to get either of us anywhere.

“Pen, I’m not being selfish, nor accusing you of it. I’m just trying to get my head around it all. You’ve clearly given this a great deal of thought over an extended period of time whereas I’ve had all of ten minutes.”

Penny immediately looked contrite. Her tone went from strident to neutral as she explained things further.

By staying in student nurse digs and working at the teaching hospital, the drain on our retirement funds would be minimised. Penny flying home within the six months was probably impractical, given how busy she would be, but it wasn’t unreasonable that I could fly up every month or so to spend the weekend together.

It all sounded so reasonable, but I have to say, the divide between my plans for the near future and Penny’s threw me and, I think, in hindsight, made me vulnerable. Penny began nibbling my ear, initiating a welcome round two, and effectively silenced any questions I might still have.

Ask any sex-starved bloke. They’ll say yes to just about anything in those circumstances. I said yes to Penny attending the next course.

The last bombshell came when she climbed on board for a gallop; the course commenced the following week.

In the aftermath, my well-thought out questions meant nothing; I’d already agreed, remember? I felt manipulated.

Penny departed after a flurry of activity. She was like a kid heading off to their first camp. She was so excited she barely remembered to kiss me goodbye.

I’m embarrassed to say I struggled to establish a new routine. I hadn’t needed to think about what I would be doing in my leisure time for years. I was guilty of leaving the planning of our social lives to Penny. As long as she allocated time for my side of the family, I was happy for her to take charge of that aspect of our life. I wasn’t alone in that. I knew the same applied to most of the guys I worked with. Between Penny and the kids most evenings and weekends had been filled with things Penny had organised and committed us to, or my getting on with the have-to’s of life like mowing lawns, washing cars, and running kids to and from sporting events.

Now, from six in the evening when I got home from work, to ten or eleven at night, I was lonely and bored. It wasn’t that I was used to going out all the time, because we’d certainly never been like that, but now there was no one to comment to when the newsreader informed us of yet another stupid mistake made by one of our politicians or to hold hands and laugh with as we watched one of our favourite shows. I even missed giving Penny’s feet a rub.

The first week Penny was gone we spoke nightly for about thirty minutes. I must admit to wondering if she’d factored our escalating phone bill into all her planning and budgeting. I must also confess to feeling jealous. She was clearly busy and enjoying the new challenge. She dominated our conversations with all her news. Her excitement was palpable. Names of people I didn’t know got thrown nonchalantly in. It made me feel excluded; like I had no place in this phase of her life.

Having said that, our conversations always ended quite lovey-dovey and gave me hope. Perhaps, absence would make our hearts fonder so that when she returned we could go with my plans about rekindling our sex life.

As early as the second week, our thirty-minute nightly calls reduced to twenty minutes duration because Penny said she needed to study and our conversations got her out of her nursing mindset. That hurt. I was now relegated to an intrusion. I tried to always end our calls on a loving note but by the end of the week it felt somewhat one-sided. Regardless, I tried to remain encouraging and supportive, keeping my frustrations and loneliness to myself.

By the third week she asked that we only call each other every second night and, oddly, suggested she be the one to call me, not the other way around. That way, she said, I wouldn’t be interrupting her at inconvenient times.

By the fourth week I received only two calls. I tried to be understanding; she had her first major assignment due and was on evening shift, but it was hard. I was grateful that come the weekend I’d be flying up to see her. I missed her. I missed us.

Fate had other ideas. My planned trip had to be cancelled at the last moment as Penny said there’d been a flu outbreak and the hospital was overrun with patients. It was all able bodies to the coal face at the teaching hospital.

That weekend did pay some dividend though. While fuelling up, I ran into an old mate of mine who I’d drifted away from over the years. He, and a bunch of his mates, played poker at a local pub every Saturday night. He invited me to join them and considering I was sick of being at a loose end and forgotten by my wife, I went along. They were a nice group. We played a few friendly hands in the back room, then retired to the bar for some relaxing ales.

After years of having my social life consisting of neighbourhood BBQs, small local family-style bistros, and child-centred events, the pub was a bit of an eye-opener.

I was quite stunned by the number of apparently single ladies my age or slightly younger, who boldly came up to me and, quite frankly, tried to pick me up. Funny how you forget that sort of thing goes on in bars after a few years of wedded bliss and nappies.

It took three Saturdays, and I’ll admit, a bunch of other days of the week when it was clear Penny wasn’t phoning that night, before being hit on became a regular enough experience to not be passed off as a coincidence. I asked my mate Geoff what the deal was.

“Mike, you really have been out of circulation, haven’t you? Have you not noticed that by our age the single women already outnumber the single men noticeably? What you’re seeing are the widows, the dumped-for-a-younger-model, the kicked-the-middle-aged-cheating-prick-outs.”

“But why me?”

“Crikey, Mike. You’ve been married so long that your confidence as a man is intrinsically linked to what your wife thinks and says. Look in the mirror then look around you, mate. You’re better looking than most and because of your physical job, you’re still lean and muscled. You don’t have a wife riding shotgun on you and you’re not at home with kids. Mate, if you were to take off that wedding ring you’d get laid within two hours without having used one chat-up line or bought so much as a single drink.”

I looked around, noting more than one hungry look. Geoff followed my gaze.

“I’m not looking to cheat on Penny, Geoff.”

“I realise that, but let’s just say, for the point of the exercise, that you are on the market. If I were you, I’d avoid the overly aggressive ones. They’re dressed to kill tonight to find a man. Shit, I hate to say it but I reckon half of them are married and out for a quick fling. To be fair, though, the same probably applies to half the guys in here as well.

Now check out that table over there.” Geoff indicated a table with a downcast looking forty-something woman, surrounded by five friends. “The sad looking one has probably just been traded in for a younger model and is out being consoled by her friends. In a matter of weeks she’ll be back, looking to have a few quick hook-ups to reassure herself she’s still attractive and the fault was all her ex-husband’s, or out for some weird revenge thing. If you want a quick fuck, come back then or don’t flash your wedding ring the next time one of the predators comes over. It all depends on what you want. If you’re looking for something longer term, then check out that table over there.”

Geoff pointed to a table with four ladies around my age on it. They were laughing and having a good time. From what I could see it looked like two of them were wearing wedding rings, two were not. As we watched, three of them glanced around the room.

“Now, that’s where I would look if I was single. They’re a bunch of work friends out for a good time together. Two are married, but one won’t let that stop her. The other two are single but not desperate. They might take advantage of an opportunity but won’t go looking for it.”

At that moment my cell phone pinged with an incoming message from Penny apologising and explaining she was working and couldn’t get a break long enough to call me. I tried to be thankful that she’d bothered to text, but it was a struggle. With calls and messages getting fewer and further between the longer she was away, it was hard to feel grateful. But, hey, at least she’d even remembered to sign off with a quick, ‘love you.’ That was an improvement on her last two texts.  I replied with a quick ‘love you too,’ before looking at Geoff to continue.

“Okay, I’ll prove I’m right. Take off your ring, then go to the part of bar nearest that table to order a drink.”

I did as he suggested. As I leaned against the counter, waiting for service, I kept a lookout from the corner of my eye. My elbows hadn’t been resting on the bar top for more than sixty seconds before one of the married ones jumped up, stuffing her ring in her pocket as she approached. She quite boldly asked if she could buy me a drink, but lost interest as soon as I told her I was married. I must admit I also told her that I’d just seen her take off her wedding ring. She had the decency to blush. The rest of her table were watching and before she even made it back, one of the single ones was on her way over.

She reached me just as the barman was taking my order, then waited as my drink was delivered before giving her order. I glanced back at their table to see all the glasses were at least half full, so wasn’t surprised when my new bar mate said hello and made polite conversation. A quick glance told me she wasn’t really my type and my body language must have given me away because she soon returned to her table with a round of drinks.

I resumed sipping my drink, waiting for Geoff to return from the Gents so I could tell him just how right he was, when I heard a soft, “Hi” from behind me. I turned to see the second single lady from the table looking at me confidently. With my new-found insight into the single scene, I guessed she was creating an opportunity but wouldn’t be devastated if nothing came of it.

Now, had I been single this one would have been my type. Her age was hard to gauge. She could have been anything from my age to five to ten years younger than me. Attractive, slim but not unhealthily so, hair a soft honey-blonde that curled around her face, and a genuine smile. I did check out her ring finger but saw no shadow, then looked at my own. Because of my job, I pretty much only wore my ring when going out, so I was shadowless as well.

Tradition demanded I offer to buy her a drink.

“No need,” she said, holding up her glass and gently tilting it this way and that before taking a sip.

She had an air of self-assurance that was attractive. She was clearly a woman comfortable in her own skin. We then began an easy conversation about anything and everything.

Ten minutes in, I just had to admit that I was actually married but wasn’t wearing my ring. I could have lied about where it was and why it was in my pocket, but something drove me to be totally honest with Andrea, which the attractive blonde’s name turned out to be.

She quizzed me on my behaviour, which, on the face of it, was slimy and dishonest.

“Hey, in my defence one of your friends approached me not twenty minutes ago. She was so blatant she didn’t even try to be subtle about taking off her rings and shoving them in her pocket.”

“That would be Carol. She’s not actually my friend. I only met her tonight. She came with Sue, who is my friend. They work together. To be honest, I couldn’t believe it when I saw it either. Makes you feel kind of sorry for her husband, doesn’t it?”

I nodded. “Just so you know, I didn’t remove mine because I want to score but because I am testing out my mate, Geoff’s, theory about women our age frequenting bars.”

Andrea had a great chuckle when I explained Geoff’s theories in detail. She actually agreed with him in the main.

The conversation flowed from there to Penny.

“My wife’s nearly two months in on a six-month training course out of state, and I hate to admit it, but I feel kind of lost without her.”

“You must miss her.”

I nodded. “Very much. She’s busy between the work and the study and so we don’t even get to talk much. That’s how I ended up coming here. I’m sick of sitting alone and staring at the four walls of our living room alone.”

“So, just looking for company? No pick-ups or one-night stands then?”

I was somewhat shocked by her forthright questions.

“No. I’m a one-woman man. But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy some female companionship and conversation.”

Andrea obviously approved of my answer.

“Well, then, let’s keep talking!”

Andrea was extremely easy to talk to. She explained how she and her husband had put so much into their children as they grew that when the nest was empty, they were practically strangers. They’d decided on an amicable split half a year ago and Andrea was enjoying her freedom but if the right guy came along, she wasn’t ruling out a relationship.

We ended up chatting for well over an hour. Finally, it became obvious her friends were leaving. I could see Andrea debating whether to stay or not, but finally decided to head off. The fact that she even considered staying I took as a compliment as knowing a relationship with me wasn’t on the cards, she must have simply been enjoying my company and conversation. That was refreshing after Penny’s rebuffs.

The phone calls to Penny became even rarer and shorter. We were down to five to ten minutes twice a week. I consciously developed a new relaxed attitude to life, in part to preserve my sanity. There was no point railing; Penny wasn’t interested. The couple of times I mentioned waning calls she told me to stop being such a baby and to quit trying to make life difficult for her with my guilt trips. Wasn’t she in the same boat? Didn’t she have a lot on her plate already without my whining? My protests, denying I was whining and merely stating facts went unheard and in punishment, I didn’t hear from her for five days.

I refused to be miserable. And I was sick of feeling frustrated and powerless and at Penny’s whim, so I began going to the bar several times a week to just chat to people and be sociable. 

It wasn’t ‘convenient’ for me to visit Penny the following week as she had assignments due. That hurt. We’d been apart for ten weeks and I was ‘inconvenient.’ I felt taken for granted. She was clearly making little to no effort to make time for me, for us. She hadn’t even bothered asking what I was up to in our last three calls.

The next week when she claimed to be suffering from a heavy period and not in the mood to welcome me, I wasn’t surprised. The following night I broke protocol and phoned her cell. It was answered by one of her fellow student nurse housemates who told me Penny had taken some sleeping pills and gone to bed, leaving her phone with her friend for peace.

Meanwhile, I was quite happy with my social life. It sure as hell beat sitting at home waiting for phone calls that invariably didn’t come. Absent phone calls that made me feel like some lovesick loser teen sitting by the phone.

I joined the Thursday night dart comp as one of the teams had a player get transferred interstate and I enjoyed the Tuesday night trivia competition far more than I ever thought I would. I met some new and interesting people of both sexes, always telling the single ladies I was married and not interested in cheating.

I often saw Andrea who always came for a chat when she was there with friends. She did start spending some time with one particular guy and admitted he was interesting enough to pursue a relationship with. That lasted only two weeks, though, before he disappeared. According to her, she’d resisted his pressure for sex and so he’d moved on. That was fine with her; he’d failed the seriousness test.

We were very careful to stay away from serious conversation about Penny’s and my relationship, and at no time did Andrea offer an opinion on Penny or her behaviour, which suited me. I was angry with my wife and her utter dismissal of me. We hadn’t seen each other for fourteen weeks and the pattern of short, infrequent phone calls had continued. Worse, the times we did speak I felt like I was imposing on her time.

Sure she was busy. Sure she had undertaken a demanding task, combining work with study but did that mean I had to be shoved to the side, forgotten like a pair of old worn shoes? Would regular short conversations and text exchanges really be so detrimental to her achieving her goal?

The more time I spent with Andrea, the more I liked her. She was warm and friendly. Funny and smart. I even liked it when she asked to use me. It made me feel useful. When she approached a new guy at the bar or was approached, I would wait for her signal. If she wasn’t interested but was having trouble getting away, she’d give me a sign and I’d come over, kiss her on the cheek and give the guy the impression we were a couple. He’d bow out and I’d chat with Andrea until he left the bar.

It worried me how much I looked forward to talking to her. She was a great conversationalist. We actually talked. We didn’t flirt, unless debating Pepsi versus Coca Cola could be considered flirting. There was never anything inappropriate. And yet, I couldn’t deny feeling disappointed if I didn’t see her on my nights out. For the first time in my life I realised how someone could be tempted into an affair. Suddenly, the old clichés like ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’, or ‘my wife neglects me’ made sense. Not that I came to regard cheating okay in certain circumstances but I had a whole new understanding of how someone could slip and fall into an affair.

I was tempted, sorely so. It was a situation I never thought I’d find myself in and with each passing day my ability to resist temptation weakened that little bit more. Thus far, I’d managed to control myself and not touch Andrea in a way that was  inappropriate for a married man, but I wasn’t a saint or a eunuch. With daily reminders of Penny’s indifference, I didn’t know how much longer I could hold out.

I wondered if Penny was experiencing the same thoughts and feelings but dismissed the possibility almost immediately. She was too busy between work and study to miss me, let alone have time for being tempted by another man.

Still, we were only half-way through her training course and I knew I had to do something or our marriage would be a casualty well before the six months was up, and I would be the baddie; something I’d never imagined myself capable of being.

I decided to call Penny and not wait for her to call me.

“Hi, sweetheart. I can’t talk long.”

I bit back my annoyance at her opening line. Anger wouldn’t be productive.

“I know. Seems you’re always busy but I need you to make time tonight. I’ll keep it brief.”

I heard her sigh of impatience and swallowed a bit more annoyance.

“Penny, I’ll get straight to the point. You have no time for me anymore. Calls are getting fewer and farther between and even when we do speak you treat me as if I’m an imposition. You dismiss my feelings and needs. It’s like you’ve forgotten there’s two people in our marriage. Yes, I’m here to love, support, and encourage you but I also deserve some time and consideration.”

If I’d hoped for my words to reach her, I was out of luck.

“Jesus Christ, Mike. What are you? Two? I’ve spent my adult life putting my family first. Now it’s my turn.”

“You make it sound like I didn’t put our family first as well, Penny. Like I haven’t sacrificed and compromised for my family too. I gave up just as much. I have put you and the kids first in each and every way. Tell me, since you brought it up, when did I have ‘my turn’ because I think I missed it. I must have been too busy working my ass off to notice.”

“So did I,” Penny shrieked. “How dare you imply I didn’t, you ignorant son-of-a-bitch—”

I tuned her out for the next sixty or so seconds, knowing I didn’t want to have memories of the abuse I knew was vomiting from her.

When she ran out of steam I tried again. “Penny, our marriage is in trouble. Can’t you see that? If it continues as is, or even, god forbid, degenerates further, we won’t have a marriage at all by the time you finish that course.”

“Christ, I’ve had enough of your whining and guilt trips. Grow up—”

I didn’t hear the rest of her diatribe because I hung up on her. It must have given her a jolt of conscience because she rang me back immediately.

“Look, I’m sorry, Mike, but you need to understand how important this is to me. I need this. Our marriage is fine.”

I didn’t bother arguing with her further. She wasn’t listening.

“Of course, I miss you terribly too and I’m sorry you’re struggling without me, but this will be good for us, long term. You’ll see. We’re half-way there. When I get back, I’ll get the house sorted and you eating properly again.”

Her tone caught me off guard. She sounded condescending. I felt like a child being scolded. Yes, I was struggling without her but not in the way she thought. She seemed to think I was incapable of looking after myself. I looked around the room. It looked as it always had; clean, tidy, and organised. I was coping just fine with the day-to-day things. My clothes were laundered, the fridge stocked, the floors and benchtops were clean, the dishes done. She missed the point totally. Where I was struggling was in the intimacy, the companionship. I missed my wife, friend and partner in life. After twenty-eight years our lives were intertwined in every aspect and her absence felt like a part of me had been lopped off.

I made a noise that she seemed to interpret as agreement.

“Okay, I’m glad we got that sorted. Now, I really must go.”

After she rang off having forgotten yet again to tell me she loved me, I grabbed my keys and headed off to the pub. Perhaps a cold ale would soothe my frustrations.

Halfway through my first beer I knew I’d made a mistake. I was in no mood for people or conversation. I was hurt and angry. Worried, resentful, and frustrated. My gut was awash with too many emotions to process. They churned in my belly like a heavy-duty wash circle. Even seeing Andrea’s friendly smile couldn’t raise my spirits.

I gulped down the last of my beer and after a hasty goodbye, left and returned home. I’d only just walked in the door when my cell chimed with a message.

Are U ok? U weren’t yourself 2nite. I’m worried. Call me if U need someone 2 talk 2.

I stared at the text. My eyes smarted with unshed tears. A woman I’d known for all of two months was showing more concern for my welfare than my wife of twenty-eight years.

I sat on the couch and for the first time since I’d met Andrea I didn’t know what to say to her. I was scared. Were we getting too close? Was I guilty of engaging in an emotional affair? Until now we’d never spoken of Penny or the state of my marriage and I hadn’t told her things that I would be ashamed to admit to my wife, but I recognised I needed to tread carefully.

I’m ok. Just a bad day. Will see you on Thurs if you’re at the pub. Cheers, Mike.

I looked at the text a long time, checking and rechecking it was suitably casual before hitting the send button.

I heated up some leftovers, eating them while standing at the sink. While I ate I realised Penny and I hadn’t discussed my coming to visit the following weekend. Penny hadn’t specifically mentioned having anything on so I decided to book an impromptu flight for the following Friday afternoon. I couldn’t wait another week to see my wife. I needed to see her face, hear her laugh, and smell her hair to remind myself how much I loved her.

While the possibility of Penny misbehaving while away never seriously crossed my mind, I decided to keep the visit a surprise. That way she couldn’t fob me off yet again.

Friday finally rocked around. I left work early, going straight to the airport. Everything went smoothly and by six in the evening I arrived on Penny’s doorstep.

The doorbell was answered by a girl who I recognised from her voice as being Jenny, the girl that answered Penny’s cell phone that day. She showed me to their small living room and explained that Penny and their other housemate, Gail, weren’t back from school yet. When I pulled my phone out of my pocket, she waved me away, saying she’d ring Penny, seeming a little agitated. Before she’d pushed three buttons, there was the sound of a key in the front door.

Penny seemed pleasantly surprised to see me and after a brief kiss dashed off to the toilet. I thought it odd that she took her phone with her but with Jenny hovering, didn’t comment. Jenny and I made awkward conversation while waiting on Penny who seemed to be taking a long time in the bathroom.

She no sooner returned to the lounge area before dashing down the hall to her room, telling me to keep talking to Jenny. Jenny seemed to relax and our conversation became less stilted. After my evenings at the pub, the twenty years plus difference in our ages didn’t faze me. As we chatted, I saw Penny take a load of sheets to the laundry and return with fresh ones. I smiled. Was she trying to impress me, like when we were dating?

When the room had obviously been tidied to Penny’s satisfaction, she invited me to shower and freshen up with her before we went out. Despite the frigid air, Penny had opened the window to her room which I found strange as I knew she hated the cold.

After a three-plus-month absence seeing Penny naked, water cascading over her ample breasts I got aroused. My dick was acting like a Ferrari—it got from 0 to 60 in under three seconds. I made overtures but was told to wait for my dessert until after dinner. It was late and Penny was hungry.

We managed to get into a pretty nice seafood restaurant Penny had been told about. When Penny laughed at my traditional seafood restaurant joke, ‘don’t believe the tales of oysters being an aphrodisiac. I had twelve once and the last three didn’t work’, I thought my decision to surprise her was the right one.

We had an okay time with two bottles of a good Riesling between us, but one detail marred the evening. The detail that made it merely an okay evening instead of a great one; Penny kept interrupting our conversations to read, then reply to texts. I wondered whether to say something about it as we’d drilled the rudeness of this sort of behaviour into our children. At the risk of spoiling the evening I brought it up.

“Oh, sweetheart, you know I wouldn’t ordinarily do this sort of thing but I’m one of the older students here and some of the younger ones look to me for mentoring. I won’t be long.”

And with that she replied to another text.  

In between mouthfuls of salmon and texts she asked how long I intended to stay as she had two assignments to complete over the weekend. I tried not to feel put out by her question. I’d hardly arrived and she was already putting me on a plane home.

Despite my desire to be alone with Penny, I took my time over dinner, wooing her as if we were young lovers again instead of an old married couple who knew each other inside and out. Consequently, it was eleven before we walked the seven or so blocks back to Penny’s digs, hand in hand.

There was a second car in the driveway which belonged to Gail, according to Penny. Gail, I learned, had a part-time waitressing job to help pay for her course and usually finished around ten. The apartment was silent with only the hall light left on for illumination as we entered.

After dinner and wine, not to mention, our earlier shower, I was as horny as a ram with two cocks. The time for wooing was past. I picked up my wife, carried her to her room and threw her on the bed. After fifteen weeks of abstinence I was battling the urge to just take her roughly. That’s what I normally would have done, but there was a strange atmosphere that evening. It had been lurking on the edge of consciousness all evening. It was almost as if we were strangers. Conversation during dinner and the walks to and fro had been a little stilted, as if we didn’t have as much in common as we did a mere four months earlier. A rough taking implied familiarity. I felt like I had when we were first dating; in short, I felt the need to impress and satisfy.

So, with Penny on the bed, tired and a little tipsy, I ripped off her panties as she did the same to her top. She got a little tangled, which allowed me to quickly strip. Throwing an ankle of hers over each shoulder, I slid up in preparation to munch away.

Strangely, Penny made like she was resisting, yelling at me to just fuck her. This was highly unusual for her. Normally, she liked me to get her motor running with oral. I ignored her demands, determined to satisfy her first. Besides, by that time my tongue was like a clit seeking missile. Her legs were as tense a wood. I soon discovered why. Where once there had been a neatly trimmed bush, there was now bare skin. I tested the whole area with lips and tongue and encountered not a follicle. It wasn’t until I murmured my approval that she relaxed and got into it.

That wasn’t the only surprise in store for me. When my tongue hit the spot, Penny began thrashing around and moaning quite loudly. This was a far cry from the Penny I knew, the one who’d always been a little reticent sexually. I’d always put her inhibitions down to her strict Catholic upbringing. That and three children down the hall.

The new Penny was having fun and didn’t mind who knew it. Even with my ears muffled by a pair of thighs, her groans were loud. I was just starting to get in a rhythm when Penny tensed and her back arched, causing her ass to come right off the bed. This was all accompanied by a sound that was half groan and half scream. It made me feel like the porn star Ron Jeremy at his best.

I was in unchartered territory as Penny relaxed like a rag doll after cumming quicker than I’d ever seen her do, but her recovering and pulling me up to her chest was all the guidance I needed. She pulled me in for a kiss while manoeuvring her groinal area toward my probing cock. Tab A aligned with slot B and I pushed in. Penny let out another big gasp and huge groan. I guess she’d missed our sex life as much as I had during our time apart. I was in heaven as I began to plough away for all I was worth.

They do say heaven and hell are only a molecule thickness apart. It’s true.

Just before I lost control completely, there was an impatient banging on the flimsy interior door of the bedroom. An unfamiliar female voice shouted clearly and distinctly, “Penny! Jake! For fuck’s sake. Three nights in a row? I need to get some fucking sleep.”

It was the verbal equivalent of a bucket of iced water thrown on my gonads. A whole lot of things suddenly made sense. The shaved minge; the strange unfamiliarity between us; the reducing phone calls; the opposition every time I suggested coming to visit; the sudden changing of bed sheets. Even her disappearance into the bathroom for an uncomfortable amount of time when she first arrived home to find me there. I could well imagine her in the shitter whispering to her boyfriend about the change of plans. Was that who she’d been texting with the whole time we were in the restaurant?

My erection vanished. Overcooked pasta would have been firmer than my dick. It slid out of her, wetly slapping my thigh as I disentangled myself. I looked into her eyes and saw terror. I saw a person who knew she had to say something, and quickly, but having no idea what words to use to salvage a disastrous situation.

I looked down on her. Her hair was in disarray, her make-up smeared. Legs I once thought the longest and loveliest on the planet were splayed. Once upon a time I would have found her pose sexy. Now it sickened me. Now she looked like what she was; an adulterous whore. Now all I could see was a backstabbing bitch.

Instinctively, I knew I had to get out of there before my caveman instincts took over and I did damage. She wasn’t worth going to prison for. Rapidly donning my strewn around clothes left me with only my not unpacked carry-on luggage to close and zip shut. The whole time I was doing this I avoided looking at her. I couldn’t; my self-control was tenuous enough without being goaded by her wanton appearance.

Penny clearly didn’t recognise how close I was to succumbing to my outrage at her betrayal and physically hurting her as she began screaming at me. Words I only vaguely took in.

“Six months is a long time…” You’ve only been away fifteen weeks, bitch, and I suspect you started fucking around weeks ago. And what about me? Wasn’t I also alone for the same amount of time?

“All the other students are doing each other…” How many of the others have husbands at home?

“They made me feel young and free again. Not like someone on the verge of grandmotherhood…” Thanks for telling me there was more than just good old Jake, bitch.

“We can get over this…” Oh no we fucking can’t.

Penny’s shrieks got louder and more desperate as my escape progressed. I could hear an increasingly worried echo from the other side of the door. Finally, with suitcase in hand, shoes untied and with not so much as a glance over my shoulder, I opened the door. It almost hit me in the face as it was pushed from the outside at the same time I pulled it from the inside. That left me face to face with a young woman who I guessed was Gail. Over her shoulder I could see a bleary-eyed Jenny as well.

As I strode past the bewildered housemates toward the front door, I heard, “Who the fuck are you?”

Just before I slammed the outside door, I threw over my shoulder, “Penny’s ex-husband”, emphasising the éx’ and disappeared into the night.

I had a plane to catch; a lawyer to see; a marriage to dissolve; families, friends, and loved ones to tell a sad tale to; a broken heart to mend; and a well put together honey-blonde in a bar to get to know better.

CHAPTER TWO

I JOLTED TO attention when Mike answered the phone; I’d half expected it to go to his voicemail as all my other calls had over the last four days.

“Hi, Penelope. What is it? I can’t talk long.”

Despite all my attempted calls and all the things I thought I’d say when I finally got him on the phone, I was speechless. It was his tone. It threw me. It was neither heartbroken nor furious, both of which I’d prepared for. I hadn’t prepared for indifferent. Neutral. As if I was little more than an acquaintance.

In the ensuing silence I heard his sigh of impatience. It sounded loud and I panicked, terrified he’d hang up on me.

“Please make it snappy, Penelope. I don’t have all day. I’m busy. Tonight is Trivia Night.”

Trivia Night? How could that make him busy? How could he prioritise it over our marriage?

Words to that effect came out of my mouth before I could filter them.

“Clearly, Penelope, you don’t understand how important this is to me. I need this.”

I cringed, hearing an echo of previous conversations of the last three months. Part of me felt ashamed of those conversations but Mike throwing them back in my face angered me.

“Please don’t trivialise our marriage this way. We need to talk.”

I might as well not have spoken.

“Look, I have to go. The team is relying on my history knowledge. I can’t let them down. Talk to you later.”

I stared, disbelieving, at my phone as if the screen might make a lie of the fact that Mike had just hung up on me.

The wine I’d drunk to calm my nerves before making the call turned to vinegar in my belly leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I fretted, regretting my decision to stay rather than fly home immediately. I shouldn’t have given Mike time to cool down. I should have chased after him, naked if I had to.

What had stopped me? I analysed myself. Fear, nerves, guilt, shame, and, most definitely, reluctance to hear Mike call me every ugly name under the sun had all factored in to various degrees, but, I had to admit, so had my training course. I’d had an important end of module examination on the Monday and, despite everything, I hadn’t wanted to throw away over three months of hard work. Yes, I’d partied hard during my time away but I’d also worked hard and I didn’t want it to have been for nothing. Over the weekend I’d used the need to study for the exam as a way to distract myself in between several attempts to call Mike.

The exam was yesterday. I hadn’t booked a flight home yet. I knew I was procrastinating. Somehow, confronting Mike in our own home made it more real. And for some reason the house was Mike’s turf and the apartment mine. As unlikely as the possibility was, I hoped Mike would return and we could have our talk on my turf.

I dropped my head into my hands, facing reality was hard. It had been four days. Mike wasn’t going to return to confront me.

I looked at my phone again. I could see that Jake had left me a handful of messages. I ignored the temptation to open them. That, too, was hard. Very hard.

The time on the screen said it was after six. Too late to ask the course coordinator for a leave of absence. I’d have to wait until the morning. I hoped I wouldn’t have to reveal in detail why I needed time off. That would be embarrassing. Surely, saying I had a family emergency would suffice.

Putting my phone in my pocket, I walked to the kitchen and looked in the pantry. I sighed. Everything on offer looked like too much hard work and, besides, I had no appetite. I went to my room, laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

I closed my eyes but sleep wouldn’t come, my brain wouldn’t shut down. How could I make Mike see that my time away was something totally separate to him and us? Something parallel, not in opposition. How could I make him understand that at no time had our marriage been at stake? I loved him. Always had and always would.

A flare of anger shot through me. Bloody men and their egos. Damn pride. Yes, I’d broken my wedding vows, but only in the physical sense. In heart and mind I was still Mike’s. How could I make him understand that was what mattered? Not a bit of sweaty exchange of body fluids.

Sure, I’d succumbed to temptation, but just as this course would be good for us financially in the long term, so would my falling from grace be for our sex life. Christ, couldn’t he see that he’d finally get the energetic, uninhibited sex life he’d been craving for years?

I rolled to my side and spied Mike’s deodorant on my bedside table. He’d forgotten it in his haste to depart. I leaned over and grabbed it, bringing it to my face to smell. The familiar scent brought tears to my eyes. I closed them and turned my face in to the pillow in an attempt to blot out the image of his shocked and pained face. I’d hurt him. It hadn’t been my intention, but regardless, I had and for that I was deeply sorry.

Keeping the deodorant hugged to my chest, I tried to focus on the positives. I hadn’t heard from any of our children. I hoped that meant Mike hadn’t told them anything. He also hadn’t yelled at me or called me any names. That had to be a good sign, surely?

I sat bolt upright. What if the reason Mike had dodged my calls and hadn’t phoned the kids was because he’d been too busy seeing lawyers, changing locks, and emptying bank accounts? What if his calm voice on the phone was him hiding his plotting to destroy me? Our marriage?

I scrambled off the bed and raced to the lounge where I’d left my laptop. Grabbing it, I returned to my room. Blood pounded in my ears as I waited in frustration for it to boot up. It seemed to take forever.

With trembling fingers, I logged into our bank account. I slumped against the pillows and the tears trekking down my cheeks were ones of relief. Mike hadn’t touched the money.

I wiped the tears away with the corner of the sheet. I went to log out of the bank when a little voice cautioned me. Just because Mike hadn’t emptied the accounts yet didn’t mean he wouldn’t. I didn’t want to prompt any negative reaction from him but also wanted to protect myself and so I transferred a small amount to an old account in my own name. Just enough to cover airfares, taxis, and meals.

I intended to log off. I truly did, but the little Messenger icon showed I had messages. It got the better of my intentions. I clicked on it and there he was. Jake. Gorgeous, twenty-five-year-old Jake. Jake who was more of an age to date my daughters but who wanted me. Me. Forty-eight-year-old me.

My vagina throbbed. My nipples tingled and I knew if I were to touch them they’d be as hard as rocks. More tears trickled down my cheeks. Tears of frustration and longing. Despite everything, what I wanted more than anything in that moment was to call him. I longed to feel him between my thighs relieving the hot ache at their apex. I wanted to hear him tell me yet again how sexy I was, how much I turned him on. I yearned to see on his face and body his need of me. I wanted to feel him thicken inside me when I wailed and moaned. Feel his thrusts become erratic when I came on his cock. I craved my fix of young stud.

I cursed the young man who’d started it. The first time I’d been taken advantage of after having drunk too much and partaken of some ecstasy in an effort to fit in with my much younger classmates.

But it had been good. Too damn good. That young hard dick that just wouldn’t quit. What a thrill. What a boost to the ego it had been. Even the crudeness of his language, calling my vagina the sweetest cunt he’d ever fucked had been a turn on.

And then I couldn’t stop. I wanted it again. Wanted the lust, wanted to see the admiration and desire in their eyes. Wanted to hear again how I was the best fuck they’d ever had. Wanted to feel again the power of making their cocks hard again and again and again. The power was addictive.

I was at war with myself. I knew if I replied to either Jake’s messages or texts he’d come over. He’d come over and we’d be naked and I’d be cumming on his fingers, his tongue, his fat beautiful cock. I knew he’d be groaning his pleasure in my ear, telling me he wished his cock could live in my hot, tight cunt, that my pussy was made for his dick.

I wanted it. I wanted it so bad I could taste it. My vagina throbbed demandingly. Do it, she said. Do it. Call him. Get me some relief.

I whimpered. The sound escaped me. I bunched my fist and shoved it against my lips. I had to resist. To succumb could spell the end of my marriage if Mike were to return or somehow find out about it.

I rolled over onto my stomach, sending the laptop sliding off the bed. It landed on the floor with a clatter. I didn’t care. I cried. Cried for my loss. Saving my marriage would come at a price. I’d have to never succumb to my addiction again. I now knew how a recovering alcoholic or drug addict felt.

I must have cried myself to sleep because the next I knew sunlight was streaming through the window. I groaned into my pillow for the ache between my thighs was still there. Would it always be there now? Needing and never relieved? Was this my future?

I shoved the thought aside. It was too big, too daunting to face. Feeling like shit, I shuffled into the bathroom to have a shower.

I SLOTTED MY key into the lock and turned it. It worked. I paused, bowing my head in relief. Mike hadn’t changed the locks. Another good sign. He hadn’t emptied bank accounts, told our children, served me with divorce papers—it was Thursday so he’d had plenty of time to have a set drawn up—and my keys still worked. Mike would forgive me. It might take time, but he would.

A rush of love filled me. Mike was a good man. The best. And he loved me. He’d find a way to come to terms with it and we’d move on. Both of us would pay a price for it; Mike would always know I’d found pleasure with another man and I’d have to never partake of my drug of choice ever again. It was a high price, to be sure, but one worth paying.

I opened the door, expecting to find the house in disarray. Three plus months of Mike baching was sure to equate to a huge mess. I was wrong. All was clean. All was tidy. At least in the living room. I walked through to the kitchen and dining room. They were the same. Immaculate. He’d even dusted. Had he cleaned the place in preparation for my return? If so that would be another good sign.

But where was he?

It was six-thirty. He should be home from work and looking for his dinner. I walked to the stove, holding my hand above the hotplates. They were as cold as stone. I checked the fridge. It was stocked, including a plate of roast chicken and vegetables covered in cling wrap. Had he microwaved similar for his dinner? There were no dishes in the sink. Had he washed and dried them? Or had he decided to eat out?

I considered trying to phone or text him but after our one and only conversation on Tuesday, I didn’t like my chances of him replying. He certainly hadn’t turned up at the airport to collect me even though I’d sent him a text with the flight details.

Sighing, I filled the kettle in preparation for a much-needed cup of tea. While waiting for it to come to the boil, I pondered the contradictory signs Mike was sending me. On the one hand he hadn’t done any of the things I would associate with him deciding to end our marriage but at the same time he ignored my messages and texts and hadn’t met me at the airport.

Was he just being petty and wanting to punish me?

Cup of tea made, I sat at my usual place at our table. I looked at the table and the surrounding empty chairs. So many family dinners had been shared around its shiny surface.

I smiled, remembering lively discussions and exchanges of teasing banter. We mightn’t have been wealthy in a financial sense, but we’d certainly been so in love and happiness. I took heart in the memories; Mike would remember them too and he was such a softie when it came to the kids. He wouldn’t want them to have to choose or divide their time between us. For those reasons alone, he’d find a way to forgive me.

But the question remained. Where was he?

Leaving my cup of tea on the table, I climbed the stairs and made my way down the hall to Mike’s and my room.

Okay. He’d been home. There was a faint warmth still discernible in our bathroom. Again, I was struck by the cleanliness. Not that Mike was a slob, but I had thought without my being there that he’d revert to being the stereotypical guy and not clean up after himself.

Thoughtfully, I made my way back to the dining room. I sat and sipped my tea. Where was he? Where would he go?

My stomach rumbled. I was hungry. I went to the fridge. Could Mike have left the chicken dinner for me? I lifted the edge of the cling wrap and smelled. It smelled good. That decided me. I popped the plate in the microwave and while waiting for it to beep set myself a place at the table.

It bothered me that I had no clue where my husband was. I replayed our conversations of the last sixteen weeks. What had Mike said he was doing to keep himself amused? There was surprisingly little to remember. I looked around the room again. It certainly didn’t look like he was spending his nights at home. A sense of unease bloomed in my belly at the thought. Mike had never been one for boys’ nights out or weekends away fishing. He’d always been a family man. Had that changed in my absence?

Vague recollections of a name teased the edges of my mind. A name Mike had mentioned in the first few weeks of the course. Who was it again? John? Jeremy? Jason? I had a sense the name began with a ‘J’ but each alternative I came up with didn’t ring any bells.

And then I had it. Jeff. Jeff whose surname I couldn’t remember. I dashed over to the sideboard where we kept an old address book. It was ancient, from a time before we got lazy with numbers saved into our cells.

Page by page I scoured, looking for the name Jeff. I found it under ‘S’, well, I found Geoff Saunders and in a different coloured pen a cell number had been added and so I guessed it was the right Geoff.

I punched the number into my phone. It rang a few times then went to voicemail. I pounded the table in frustration. Would nothing go my way? The sound of the microwave beeping, reminding me I hadn’t removed my heated-up leftovers, startled me. I’d totally forgotten about food.

I made the decision to eat my dinner, using the time to think about what I would say once I managed to contact Geoff.

The roast was surprisingly good. Once things were more settled between Mike and I I’d have to get him to cook more often.

While still chewing the last mouthful, I gathered up my plate and cutlery and took them to the sink. Now that the time had arrived for my second attempt to call Geoff, I was nervous. What if Mike had told him? I remembered Geoff as being somewhat outspoken, what if he had a go at me? I sighed, knowing I’d just have to suck it up.

Decision made, I pulled up my call history and hit redial on Geoff’s number. He answered after the third ring.

“Hello.”

There was a query in his greeting.

“Um, hi, Geoff. It’s Penny Grainger here. I was wondering if you knew where Mike is?”

There was a long pause and I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t just hang up on me. His silence allowed the background noise to filter through. He was clearly somewhere where other people were also gathered.

“Hello, Penny. Long time no see.”

“Um, yes. How are you? And how is…” I paused trying to pull Geoff’s wife’s name from the recesses of my mind. “Jane and the kids?”

“Jean’s great,” he replied, emphasising his wife’s name. I cringed. This was so not the time to get her name wrong and potentially offend her husband.  

“We’re all great. And you?”

I didn’t think I imagined the tone in Geoff’s last question. He knew.

“Um, I’ve been better. Is Mike with you?”

“Yes, he is.”

 “And where would you be?”

“At the couples dart competition.”

I gritted my teeth, biting back a sarcastic reply. Geoff knew I wanted to know where my husband was, I’d asked twice, but it was abundantly clear he was going to make the exercise of giving me the information the equivalent of pulling teeth.

“Sounds lovely. And where would that comp be?”

“At the pub.”

“Which pub?”

“My local one.”

I closed my eyes. Fucking smartass arsehole.

“And what would the name of your local pub be?” I asked, keeping my tone pleasant with effort.

“The Royal.”

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of asking for the address, I thanked him and rang off. His parting words, scathingly delivered, infuriated me. Anything for Mike’s better half. Sarcastic prick.

I pulled up an internet browser and googled The Royal. Turns out there was more than one. There was the The Royal Arms, The Royal George, and The Royal Oak. Arsehole. It took me another ten minutes of visiting each of the pub’s websites to ascertain it was The Royal Oak that was hosting a couple’s darts competition.

I grabbed my handbag, only stopping long enough in the entryway to check my hair and make-up were still passable. Neither were. I scowled at my reflection as I rummaged around in my bag for my make-up purse and a comb. Five minutes later I was presentable and on my way out the door.

After throwing my bag onto the passenger seat of my Toyota, I started the engine and while I waited for the garage door to open punched the street address of the Royal into the GPS. Thankfully, it was going to be a short drive, both my patience and nerves were stretched to their respective limits.

I was relieved to find the pub had its own parking lot, though there wasn’t many spaces left. The couples dart comp must be popular. It was only at that thought that I paused. What was Mike doing at a couples comp? Was he just there to cheer on Geoff and Jean? I swallowed down my unease and headed for the entry.

I followed the noise. It led me to a room set with tables. Against the far wall two dart boards were set up and games were underway. I scanned the room and found Mike to the far left. His face was turned toward one of the dart games. Beside him sat an attractive blonde. She wasn’t watching the game. She was watching the entryway. She stared directly at me. Her expression said it all. She knew. Heat crept up my neck. I could feel it suffusing my face.

I watched as she gave Mike’s arm a gentle squeeze. He turned and looked directly at me. I don’t know what I expected; pain, grief, anger, the look of someone who’d had many sleepless nights, whatever my expectation, I was disappointed. He looked as he always had. I think that was what kept me rooted to the spot.

My gaze was locked to his, I couldn’t tear mine away. In my peripheral vision I noticed the blonde squeeze his arm yet again. My heart sank when I saw Mike place his hand over hers and pat it reassuringly. The gesture spoke of familiarity. It spoke of friendship. Of concern.

And then Mike was gone. Blocked from view by broad shoulders. The man was standing in my personal space. I took a step backward. I didn’t recognise him until he spoke.

“Hello, Penny.”

“Ah, Geoff. Hi,” I stammered. “I’ve come to find Mike.”

“I gathered that.”

“And, um, I’d like to thank you. Has he been okay? I mean, I know he must have been upset after… well, um, after he returned from visiting me. I hope it didn’t impose on you and Jean too much.”

“He’s been fine. Good, great actually.”

That confused me. “Good? Great? How could he be great after…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“After he found out you’d been screwing around on him for the last four months?”

The heat in my cheeks intensified. It felt like they were on fire. Guilty or not, it was bad form for him to give voice to my indiscretions. I gave him a withering glance, wishing I had the ability to turn him into a pile of ash with it.

Geoff laughed at me. My fury mounted. I clenched my fists.

“Yes, not that it’s any of your business. I highly doubt Mike is great as you say. We’ve been married twenty-eight years and he loves me. I know he must be devastated. He’s just been covering that up so as not to make you feel awkward and uncomfortable.”

“Hmm, he’s a good actor then.”

I had to agree. A glance over Geoff’s shoulder told me Mike was doing an excellent job of looking unconcerned. So unconcerned he and the blonde were now standing before one of the dart boards with Mike readying to throw his first dart. It appeared the blonde was his partner. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like that one bit.

For all my addiction to men young enough to be my sons, I wasn’t blind to their attributes. They were the equivalent of meringue; light and sweet and tasty, but ultimately unfulfilling as a meal. Like sugar, they had no substance. Mike, on the other hand, was a cut of prime steak. Fulfilling and best eaten slowly so as to savour.

“Who’s that woman?” I hated being put in the position of having to ask but my need to know outweighed my reluctance to reveal my vulnerability.

Geoff turned his head to look at Mike and the blonde and smiled. “Oh, that’s Andrea.”

Again, Geoff was being infuriating, answering only my immediate question and not offering anything extra.

“Is she here with anyone? Is she married?” Hopefully, having asked two questions at once I’d get two answers in short order. 

“Yes and no.”

I was tired and stressed, making it even harder than usual to remain patient.

“Is that, yes she’s here with someone and no she’s not married?”

“Yes.”

The unease in my gut grew and part of me wanted to walk away and not ask the next logical question. I was almost certain I wouldn’t like the answer.

“Who is she here with?”

“Mike.”

Despite having mentally prepared myself, I stumbled backward as if I’d been slapped. “Well, that didn’t take him long,” I blurted, pain negating my verbal filter.

“On the contrary,” Geoff said, his eyes like lasers burning a hole right through me. “He’s had four months to get used to being single.” He looked again at Mike and the blonde and smiled. “I guess he’s taken to it like a duck to water.”

He returned his gaze to me, his smile disappearing. His tone cut me like a knife. “But then again, so did you.”

EPILOGUE

It’s been eight years since Mike divorced me and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t regret the actions that led to our separation. Sure, once it became clear that reconciliation was not an option, I got to indulge in my addiction but it was a hollow victory.

It didn’t take me long to discover a continuous diet of “sugar” was ultimately unfulfilling and, like a true heroin addict, there was the law of diminishing returns. I’d spent eight years seeking that elusive first high. If only I’d realised back then I was doomed to fail. I try not to think about all the flings I’ve had and how they seem to get shorter and shorter in duration. Even less, I don’t want to think about the other taboo lines I’ve crossed.

Once I was a reticent lover who was scared that if I showed too much enjoyment my husband would think I was a slut and lose respect for me. Now, I’ve had more lovers than I can count on fingers and toes, thrice over. Now, I’ve done things I pray my children never find out about. My relationship with them is tenuous enough as is.

Looking around the kitchen and dining room, I feel despair. The rooms seem empty without Mike. He brought warmth and laughter. Now they are silent. Once they were part of a home, now they’re just part of a house.  

I guess I should count myself fortunate that Mike agreed to sell me his share in the house for less than market value, especially considering I never returned to finish the course and remained, to this day, a general nurse, but it was hard to feel lucky when I knew what lay behind his generosity. Andrea, damn Andrea, was wealthy and she wanted Mike, with or without money. I knew for a fact they were currently on a world trip. Scotland, Venice, Florence, the Greek islands, the whole shebang. I knew because they’d paid for all the kids, hers and his, as well as grandkids to meet them in Hawaii in a few weeks’ time.

That meant Christmas alone for me. Again.

I looked at my watch. It was time to head in to work. I gathered my handbag and made my way to the front door. Out of habit I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. I cringed. I was fifty-six and age was catching up with me; fast. It was getting harder and harder to pull the young guys. In truth the ‘young guys’ were now not so young. They were in their thirties and even forties rather than their twenties.

I sighed in resignation. What else could I do? Men my own age, marriageable men, were few and far between. At least the good ones were. And whether good or bad none wanted to marry me. My reputation preceded me. The only escape would be to move to the other side of the country and start over, but that would mean moving away from my children and I didn’t see enough of them as was without putting a continent between us.

While Mike and his bloody Andrea were probably kicking back and sipping Mai Tais I was heading off to change bedpans and shove thermometers up arses. I would end my days as a general nurse, having destroyed both my marriage and my career. And for what? For nothing. For a taste of sugar. Sweet but bitter sugar. I sniffed back self-pitying tears. Why bother crying? No one cared.

THE END

NOW, TO EASE YOUR JOURNEY FROM FICTION BACK TO COLD, HARD REALITY…

THE VANDEMONIUM JOKE.YOU CAN THANK JOE FOR IT.

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.

HERE’S THE CTC JOKE (Thank God Van1 has a sense of humour!!!)

Van1 was bragging to CTC one day, “You know, I know everyone there is to know. Just name someone, anyone, and I know them.”

Tired of his boasting, CTC decided to call his bluff, “Okay, Vandy, how about Hugh Jackman?”

“No dramas, Hugh and I are old friends, and I can prove it.”

Vandy and CTC flew over to the mainland and knocked on Hugh Jackman’s door. Jackman answered the door in only his boardshorts which CTC appreciated (see smiley face)

“Vandy! What’s happening? Great to see you! Come on in for a beer! Deborah and I’ve just fired up the barby.”

Although impressed, CTC was still sceptical. After they leave Hugh’s house, she tells Vandy that she thinks him knowing Jackman was just a lucky coincidence.

“After all, he’s also an Australian.”

“Okay. Fair point. Name someone else,” Vandy replied.

“Hmm, let me think. How about US President Donald Trump,” CTC quickly retorted.

“Yep,” Vandy says, “Not my favourite person in the world but let’s fly to Washington.”

The next day they were off.

At the White House, Donald Trump spotted Van1 on the tour and motioned him and CTC over, saying, “Vandy, what a surprise, I was just on my way out for a game of golf, why don’t you and your ball-and-chain join me?”

Well, CTC was very shaken by now but still not totally convinced. After they left Donald at the country club she expressed her doubts to Van1, who again challenged her to name someone else.

“Pope Francis,” CTC replied.

“Sure!” said Van1. “I’ve known the Pope for years.”

So off they flew to Rome.

Van1 and CTC joined the masses assembled at the Vatican’s St. Peter’s Square when Van1 said, “This will never work. I can’t catch the Pope’s eye among all these people. Tell you what, I know all the guards so let me just go upstairs and I’ll come out on the balcony with the Pope.”

He disappeared into the crowd headed toward the Vatican.

Sure enough, half an hour later Van1 emerged with the Pope on the balcony, but by the time he returned to the Square looking for CTC he discovered her surrounded by paramedics after having apparently suffered a heart attack.

Making his way to her side, Van1 asked,, “What happened, honey?”

CTC looked up and said, “It was the final straw… you and the Pope came out on to the balcony and the man next to me said, ‘Who is that guy in white on the balcony with Vandy?’