by Vandemonium1
I also get people writing to me saying they’d love to write but can’t think of a story outline. I have on several occasions helped these people out with an idea for a story, and only once did it turn out bad when the guy showed himself to be a back-stabbing little cunt.
So, I give you ‘SPRUNG 1-9’. This is the third time I’ve tried something different to just about everything I’ve ever seen here. Sure, I got smacked down the other two times but, hey, I’m an optimist.
What SPRUNG is, is a common start to a story, then nine different endings. Some short, some long, some happy, some sad, some ambiguous; but all distinctly different. Quite frankly, I think two of the endings are amongst my best work. They go from gentle to harsh down the sequence. From the continuance of a happy marriage in Sprung 1, to the whole town being warmed by the burning bitches/bastards.
My public service gift to those struggling to start writing is an invitation. Grab any of the SPRUNG stories you like and do what you will with them. Plagiarise the whole start and write your own ending. Steal one of the concepts and write your own words. Anything you like, just put pen to paper, finger to keyboard, and have fun. I desire no acknowledgement for this gift, although a private email to tell me how you enjoyed your writing and publishing experience would be nice. To this end, some of the stories are incomplete. Either imagine the ending you want or write one and publish.
If you’re worried about your spelling or grammar, or if English isn’t your first language, then feel free to send to me for proofreading. If I’m busy, my partner in crime, CTC, a mighty fine editor, will muck in. We can do anything requested, from commenting on the story line, to shut-the-fuck-up-and-just-correct-the-spelling. Again, acknowledgement isn’t required. JUST GET OFF YOUR ASSES AND START WRITING.
This one has the common start and four alternate endings. The next five will be stand-alone stories with the same beginning as this one. I’ll submit them one per day. Warning. These first four do not have a cut and dried ending. They are left open. If you don’t like that kind of thing, then feel free to vote with your feet.
Many thanks to XTCHR for the advice and CTC for… everything.
There’s no sex in this one.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I took in my reflection. The person looking back at me would have to walk the gauntlet past her totally clueless husband. Must appear exactly as described on the packet: a dutiful niece going to look after her frail aunt for the weekend, so her other aunt could have a break. There could be no sign of the woman who was using the story as a cover to meet another man for two nights of who only knew what in his remote cottage in the mountains.
For the last time, I looked for any holes in my cover story. Auntie June was indeed sickly and was getting looked after by my Auntie Peg. Both were widowed, Peg’s husband having died last year. Aunt June’s husband, Nicolas, had been killed in Vietnam in the late sixties and she’d never really gotten over it. She’d chosen to have his body cremated, buried the ashes in the backyard, and built a little shrine. Every visitor to the house was expected to go out and give their regards to Uncle Nick. Auntie Peg was indeed having a break from care this weekend, but June was being taken to Peg’s son’s house while his mum had a respite.
So, discovery methods to scupper my plans?
My husband, Dave, wasn’t on friendly terms with Aunt Peg, so wouldn’t speak to her to confirm or deny my story. I doubt he even had a number for her son. Aunt June had no fixed-line phone, so Dave couldn’t be suspicious when I didn’t answer it. So long as I always answered my cell in the next two days, I was fine.
Could Dave drop in to June’s house unannounced? Impossible. A couple of hours after I left, he was going to the airport and flying out for a weekend business trip. Our two children my sister had already picked up to look after until we both returned on Sunday. His trip was a last-minute thing. Soothing a client who thought there was a huge problem with their mansion design when it was already half built. That wasn’t unknown and no amount of explaining it over the phone allayed their fears. Dave was using the opportunity to stay on site and design the gardens surrounding the house. It would save him a trip later. If I’d known about the trip earlier, I may not have bothered to make such elaborate plans of my own and invited Michael here. No. Too risky. So, with the double surety of my planning and Dave’s trip, I could not envision any scenario where my not being where I was supposed to be, with who I was supposed to be with, was discovered.
The doorbell rang, and I went to the bedroom door until I was sure who it was. It was my husband’s PA, Julie, obviously dropping off last minute stuff for Dave’s trip. She’d been with Dave for two years now and I knew Dave was sponsoring her through architecture school. He often described her as his perfect counterpoint, seeing all the things he didn’t. He even dedicated the award he won last year to her.
Any other wife might have been jealous of a younger, trimmer, better looking, bigger boobed woman that spent almost as much time with their husband as they did, but they didn’t know my Dave. He would be more likely to put his cock in a lion’s mouth and yell, “Dinner time, kitty”, than betray my trust. I trusted him exactly the way he trusted me. A roaring noise in my head accompanied that thought. I was using that trust to abuse that trust and the sudden realisation of that almost made my conscience make me abandon my plans. Forcibly thinking of Michael, only the second guy I’d have had in my bed, taking me while I was still wearing my suspender belt and stockings, my black cocktail dress in a discarded heap on the bedroom floor, stiffened my resolve until the moment passed.
Could there have been anything in my suitcase to give me away? I’d left it open on the bed all morning specifically to show Dave there was nothing inappropriate in it. All the clothes were consistent with my cover story. Sure, there was another bag locked in the trunk of my car, with my cocktail dress and other clothes in it, but as I had the only two keys for my car, all was good. The silky negligee, fancy stockings, and push-up bra with matching panties and suspender belt, had been purchased on the other side of town, with cash. The packaging and receipts were disposed of before reaching my car, and the offending items put straight in the trunk. As soon as Michael saw me wearing them, there was no chance of him chickening out on me. Besides, they made me look sexy, and my confidence needed all the help it could get if I was going to go all the way with this.
That reminded me. Appearance. Was it consistent with a wife going to look after her aging aunt? Let’s see, skirt down to my knees, showing off my calves, conservative blouse. Modest make-up that could be touched up in the car before I got to the cottage. I had considered stopping somewhere to change into something sexier before getting there, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. No, meet Michael at the cabin, an hour in the opposite direction to my aunt’s house. Shower and change into sexier clothes, out to the quiet restaurant Mick had told me about, then back to the cottage for dessert. I’d packed a second dress for Saturday night, but doubted it would be necessary.
I’d once done an adult education course in cooking. The first day we’d learnt that the first bite was with the eye. I hadn’t planned to wear any jewellery apart from my wedding rings, but looking at myself critically, I needed something else. Opening my jewellery box, I chose my current favourite necklace. Was it consistent with the trip? A little over the top maybe, but it helped my confidence so stayed in place. I undid the top two buttons on my blouse and leaned towards the mirror. The necklace complimented my cleavage, far and away my major asset, perfectly. Yes, it was worth the risk.
So, cover story good, nothing suspicious packed, nothing about my appearance to give me away. Was it worth reviewing the precautions Michael was taking with his wife. No. That was much simpler. He was going to their cabin as he did regularly to de-stress. His wife was flying out with their kids Saturday to visit her mum in the next state. All good.
Only one difficult thing remained to do. Getting past Dave to the front door. Somehow me and my conscience had to make the trip without giving anything away.
No, Dave was always going to be the problem. How would the woman in the mirror feel when he looked at her? When he told her he loved her? Maybe, when he again told her what a lovely person she was for doing what she was doing. Some of it I could cover by avoiding eye contact. I practiced once again in the mirror, arranging my features in a neutral expression. I’d already begun saying goodbye. A passing hug, kiss, and squeeze of Dave, and I was out of there and on the way to my once-in-a-lifetime adventure. A two-day sabbatical from being a good mother and wife. Did I need to run through my justifications to myself again? No. I’d done all that when the decision was made. I’d convinced myself of that absolutely. Otherwise, there was no chance of looking Dave in the eye in five minute’s time.
For strength, I let my mind wander down memory lane a little. I was a standard stay-at-home mum until our youngest, Jenny, started full-time school. Then I started work for a temp agency and did secretarial work where needed. Sometimes, I insisted I could only work between nine and three, so I could drop the kids off and pick them up. Others, I worked later, and Dave altered his hours to leave earlier in the morning, so he could pick them up. After Jenny went off to high school at twelve, I went back to work full-time as we’d decided. I was an intelligent, twenty-first century woman that needed to keep her brain active. I’d picked up my previous career, as a legal secretary, in short order and started with one of the biggest firms in town. That was nine months ago. Dave was home not much later than the kids most days.
One of the senior corporate lawyers was Michael. There had been an instant connection between us. You know the thing, when you feel like you knew each other in a past life. In fact, I’d joked along those lines to him at our first meeting. He’d said that he had once believed in reincarnation, but that was in his last life. His humour was just one of the things that attracted me. He was big and handsome, slightly younger than I, intelligent and quick. I learned about him slowly at first, when we just happened to be in the lunch room together. That pace quickened a little after I regularly chose to eat when I saw him heading there. It got to the point where I felt a little thrill every time I saw him. That thrill had been missing from my interactions with Dave for some time.
I began to suspect that Michael felt the same way when I caught him checking I was at my desk before walking past me with his lunch. From then on, we shared lunch every day and I discovered that in many respects we were a perfect match. Apart from the fact that we were both happily married with young families, that is.
One day, we were alone in the break room when his hand accidentally brushed mine. It was electric. I knew it and he knew it. We put our heads together and made plans to slip out separately the next day for an extended lunch, way on the other side of town. Before we went, I ascertained where Dave was, and Mick did the same for his wife. We did that at least once a week from two months ago until now. Starting four weeks ago, we’d retired to his car, with its tinted windows and kissed. Starting two weeks ago, we’d planned to get away together this weekend. Now.
Don’t get me wrong, we aren’t in love or anything like that. You see, part of our discussions were how sexually inexperienced we were when we married and how, after many years of marriage, we were just a little bored. The sexual tension we felt whenever we were together just threw us both back to when we were young and free. Neither of us discussed what would happen after this weekend. I, for one, was intending for it to be a one-time thing, but was wise enough to know I had a problem on my hands if it turned out to be so fantastic I wanted a repeat.
Glancing at the clock, I saw it was time to go. Deep breath, Sarah. This is the hard part and should be over in minutes. Sure, you’ll probably feel guilty when you see Dave on Sunday, but that’s all right. By then you’ll know it’s all in the past and you will devote the rest of your life to making this fine man happy. Grabbing my small suitcase, I walked into the lounge. Dave was sitting on the couch, staring at a large framed photo that hung above the fireplace. Putting my bag down near the front door, I turned around.
******
ALTERNATE ENDING #1: BTB Rating 0
Putting my bag down near the front door, I turned around.
And stopped. Dave was looking at me with an expression of, what? Regret? I know what you’re thinking. He knew where I was going, and this was the end. No. The regret was that fate had separated us for the next two days. I felt a sudden surge of overwhelming love. I knew with a deadly certainty that I could never, would never, betray this fine man, more than I had already.
All of a sudden, the tawdry nature of the justifications I’d used to convince myself that betrayal was okay, stained my soul.
Yes, I was a virgin when I met Dave. But so was he. He was perfectly happy to die knowing no other women, I was a lesser human being for not wanting the same.
Yes, our lovemaking was a little stale due to familiarity. But we’d learned exactly what each other did and didn’t like. Had I done enough to keep it fresh and vibrant? No, I hadn’t. Certainly not in the last six months as my attention gradually focused elsewhere.
And why would I want to feel like a teenager again? Why evoke memories of extreme social consciousness and embarrassing skin conditions? What the hell was I thinking about? Yes, we were young and free at that age. We were also very, very alone.
The worst and most evil justification, though, was that if I was clever enough and planned well enough, no one would ever know. That was such bullshit. I WOULD KNOW, and it would forever soil me as a wife, mother, and human being. That I had risked my perfect marriage and the happiness of my children, for what?
I stared at Dave and the tears streamed down my face. He looked confused and I was distracted. Already planning my phone call to Michael, asking that he never speak to me unprofessionally again, and my call to Aunty Peg, offering to give her the weekend off or at least give her some company. After all, I couldn’t not go anywhere, could I? I would confess to her; that’s right. Try to purge my soul of the stain I’d put there with my actions and thoughts to date. Maybe if I never spoke to Michael again, I could forgive myself for the sins I’d already committed.
After the weekend of confession, I would return and be the world’s greatest wife and mother. A much wiser person.
ALTERNATE ENDING #2: BTB Rating 1
Putting my bag down near the front door, I turned around.
And stopped. Dave had a crestfallen expression on his face and his eyes were focused on my throat. As I looked, his eyes began to glisten, which was as close as he ever got to tears. As I stared, confused, his expression changed to one of determination.
“Wha…what is it, Dave?”
“Really, Sarah? You were really going to meet your lover wearing the necklace I bought you with love for our anniversary last year. That’s just sick.”
I was absolutely stunned. Despite all my precautions, Dave had apparently seen through me just like that. But what did he know? Could this just be a wild stab in the dark? A joke even? I looked in his eyes and saw infinite sadness. Whatever happened in the next five minutes, five weeks, or five years, it was going to be vastly different to the future of ten minutes ago.
I wasn’t prepared for this. I’d never dedicated a microsecond’s brain runtime to answering for my crimes. I’d never meant to be caught and had been incredibly careful in the planning. That meant I had to think on the fly. Dave seemed to be content to just stare at me. Could I use the justifications I’d used to convince myself as excuses?
Yes, I was a virgin when I met Dave. But so was he. He was perfectly happy to die knowing no other women; I was a lesser human being for not wanting the same.
Yes, our lovemaking was a little stale due to familiarity. But we’d learned exactly what each other did and didn’t like. Had I done enough to keep it fresh and vibrant? No, I hadn’t. Certainly not in the last six months as my attention gradually focused elsewhere.
And why would I want to feel like a teenager again? Why evoke memories of extreme social consciousness and embarrassing skin conditions? What the hell was I thinking about? Yes, we were young and free at that age. We were also very, very alone.
The worst and most evil justification though, was that if I was clever enough and planned well enough, no one would ever know. That was such bullshit. I WOULD KNOW, and it would forever soil me as a wife and mother. That I had risked my perfect marriage and the happiness of my children, for what?
No. I knew no amount of justification could excuse this moment. The thoughts turned to ash as I thought them. The fate of my marriage, the happiness of my family, my very future hung in the balance. I desperately wanted to keep that happiness but realised instinctively that I’d handed all the power over to Dave, whose stare was getting really, really uncomfortable.
“Dave, I…”
“Shut..the…fuck…up…, Sarah.”
I was stunned by the anger those five words, said through gritted teeth, revealed. My Dave was a gentle, kindly soul.
“I just couldn’t go through with it, Sarah.”
He stopped talking, looked down at the ground, eyes still glistening. I waited for him to obviously compose himself. The next time he spoke, his eyes remained downcast, like he was ashamed of something.
“I couldn’t believe it when I first suspected you were up to no good. It was Friday of last week. I came home from work a few minutes early, the kids were not home, and you were obviously in our bedroom. I was going to burst in and ravish you, but when I looked through the crack in the door, you were standing in front of the mirror holding a little black dress in front of yourself. It was much, well, sluttier than anything I’d seen you wear before. You had an expression on your face like you couldn’t believe you’d contemplate wearing something like that.
“I snuck away again and made a noise like I was coming in. I didn’t want you to have to show me the dress in case you were ashamed of buying it. I looked at our bank statements online to see when you’d bought it and for how much, but it didn’t appear anywhere. That, and the strange expression on your face, just set off my internal alarms.”
I remembered the moment Dave was talking about. Holding the dress up had made what I was planning to do more real and had me really doubting my motivations. Ten minutes before that, and Dave would have seen me modelling the lingerie.
“After I’d picked the kids up from soccer and you were busy, I went looking for that dress and couldn’t find it. I checked the rubbish bins, thinking someone might have given it to you and you didn’t like it. Of course, it wasn’t there. I thought of looking in your car, but the spare key was missing off the hook. I waited until you were asleep that night, found both the keys in your handbag, then found the rather revealing stash in your trunk. The dresses and lingerie I could have explained away, even hidden as they were. The condoms just broke my heart. Do you still think I was sick last weekend?”
He looked up, forcing me to drop my gaze. I could see and hear him panting. A glance showed a rapid pulse in his neck. This was tearing him up and I’d caused it. I had the urge to go to him, comfort him and calm him. I was deterred by the expression in his eyes. It wasn’t hate, but something like a first cousin to it.
“I tried to find out who it might be but there were no unexplained calls from your phone or any hidden or deleted emails that I could see. I knew when you started crapping on about nursing your sick aunt that this was the weekend everything was going to happen. I invented a business trip in the hope you would change your plan and meet him here. That way I could get evidence for the divorce, but you stuck to your plan of going away.
“I needed to see if you would go through with it or whether your conscience would stop you before the ultimate betrayal. There was also a little, ‘if you love something set it free’, as well, but not much. I was mainly giving you enough rope to hang yourself. A PI installed a GPS tracker in your car last night. He was going to follow you today, find out who you were with. Once he observed you doing anything a wife shouldn’t do, he was going to get photos, then call me. We were then both going to serve you with divorce papers, there’s a copy in the desk drawer in the study.”
I was stunned even further that not only was I sprung, but Dave had decided to divorce me without so much as a word of discussion. But why was I surprised? Dave’s handshake was his bond. Trust, to him, was paramount.
“If the guy was married, I was going to send any photos we got to his wife. If he was from your work, I was going to send photos to every work email I could find. Every one of your family members was going to get them as well.”
Dave stopped talking with a sigh. He turned and looked once again at the photo above the hearth.
“But I just couldn’t do it.”
That’s when it hit me. Everything he’d described was in the past tense. He wasn’t going to burn me. Burn Michael. His gaze gave away his motivation for the change of heart. The thought of destroying his beloved children was just too hard a cross to bear. At least, I hoped like hell that was the decision he’d made. Not to destroy the family. As I watched in horror, Dave’s shoulders began to shake. For the first time ever, I was seeing him cry. I felt wretched at the two choices I’d forced on him. To murder the family he treasured so much, or continue to live with someone he no longer trusted, probably didn’t respect much, and, who knows, perhaps no longer loved. I felt like a murderess. If the ground opened and swallowed me, I would throw a quick prayer of thanks to the gods, before I was delivered to hell. I shut my eyes to block out the horrible sight. Hours seemed to pass.
“Do you love him?”
That shook me as well. I realised that Dave knew nothing about Michael or my motivation. He didn’t know I loved only him and would be as devastated as him if our family broke up. I could hear the quaver in my voice as I answered. I knew a delay would make him think I was pondering the question, so I answered before I was under control.
“No, dear heart, not in any way, shape, or form. I can tell you my motivations, if you like, but in hindsight, they’re silly and selfish. Please, please, please, forgive me.”
I didn’t even realise how tense he was until I saw his shoulders slump mightily. Whether it was from my answer or because he’d decided to end it anyway, I could only guess at optimistically.
“Have you had sex with him?”
“No. Please believe me, no.”
“But you were going to this weekend, weren’t you?”
I just couldn’t answer that one. The silence hung between us like a portcullis.
“Is he married?”
“Um, yes, he is.”
“Does he have children?”
“Yes, three of them.”
“I just can’t believe you would risk destroying your two children and he would risk destroying his, for what? For what? If you don’t love the guy and, presuming he doesn’t love you, why take the risk? Just for some meaningless sex?”
Dave shaking his head almost triggered me shaking mine. When he put it like that, what the fuck had I done? Had I been so sure I wouldn’t be caught that the consequence of my actions was just a little guilt? Talk about arrogance. Time for recriminations later, Sarah. What could I do now?
“I’m terribly sorry, Dave. I accept full blame for where we are and forgive you in advance for anything you do from now on. I desperately want to stay married to you and am willing to do whatever penance is necessary to regain your love and respect. I accept that trust is probably gone forever, but I can assure you, you are looking at a much wiser woman than ten minutes ago.”
He did turn and look. I know my voice had been strong, but I could feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. We stared at each other across the gulf of the lounge room.
“I can’t say how I will feel tomorrow, next week, or next year, Sarah, so I make no promises.”
He looked at the ceiling for a moment.
“Do you know where he lives?”
“Who? Michael?”
“If that is the cunt’s name, yes.”
I nodded. Presumably to talk himself up, Michael had told me his prestigious address during one of our conversations. I’d driven past for a stickybeak at it when I was in that part of town once.
“I want you to go there now.”
“Why? Michael won’t be there. He was leaving for the cabin straight from work.”
“I’d guessed that, Sarah. You’re not going there to talk to him, though.”
My heart sank, and my pulse quickened. A feeling of absolute dread pervaded my soul. Surely, he wouldn’t insist….
“You’re going to tell his wife everything. Don’t ring him to warn him first. I’ll see from your call log if you do that. If he seduced you, tell her. If you seduced him, tell her. Be truthful about everything you did and intended doing together. She deserves to know the truth. It’s what I’d want if the shoe was on the other foot. Do it now!”
I thought about trying to wriggle out of this heinous act I was being asked to do. I shut up. I’d committed a crime against Dave and our family. This was the first of many hoops he was going to make me jump through before he even contemplated forgiving me. It was a drop in the ocean compared to the pain I’d caused him. I changed into something more appropriate then slowly drove on my mission to devastate a woman I didn’t even know.
An hour later, I drove home, my conscience eased just a fraction. My right eye starting to swell shut.
Whether Michael’s family survived was almost totally out of his hands. Just as ours was out of mine.
ALTERNATE ENDING #3: BTB Rating Ambiguous.
Putting my bag down near the front door, I turned around.
And stopped. Dave had a neutral expression on his face. Interestingly, the feeling of guilt I was expecting at this point didn’t materialise. What did, was terrifyingly worse. It was far from any expression I’d expected on that familiar, loveable face. For the first time, the possibility that he knew what I was up to, or would find out one day, hit me.
Why was I doing this? All my justifications to myself to date had measured the value of what I was going to achieve against the guilt I would feel. I must have judged it worth it; otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here now. Judging what I would gain against hurting Dave or, heaven forbid, losing him… well, there was no question. I glanced at him again. He was still staring into the distance, expressionless. God! Did he know where I was going? Did he know what betrayal I’d already committed? Was he just giving me enough rope to hang myself? Should I fess up now? Would that change my sentence if he knew where I was going? But what if he didn’t know, or didn’t know for sure?
Another glance. He was now looking at me but still with that strange expression. He seemed to wake from a reverie, stood and walked towards me. I saw his gaze focus on my necklace, then flick to my left hand, the one with my wedding and engagement rings. Oh god! He did know! He was going to take my rings off. He knew and had already decided it was the end of our marriage, our family, and life as I knew it. The roaring noise in my ears partially masked what he was saying.
“Give my regards to Nick, won’t you.?
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! He even knew my lover’s name.
The roaring became a scream. I felt faint and before I knew it, I’d sunk to my knees, my head flopping forwards. I put my left hand behind my back, protecting my rings, the symbols of hope. Then changed my mind and threw both arms around his legs when I saw his feet next to my knees, to stop him escaping. I shouted to make myself audible above the noises in my head.
“I’m sorry, Dave. I haven’t had sex with him, you must believe that. I…I…was going to this weekend, but I haven’t yet. We’ve just had lunch a few times and kissed a bit, I swear. I didn’t think about what would happen if you found out, I didn’t think you’d ever know. I’ve been weak. Don’t take my rings, please. I’ll do anything, please don’t throw me out.”
I continued to cry, sob, and blubber, while he just stood there unmoving. Minutes or seconds felt like hours. Finally, my grief subsided. Turning my face to his was possibly the bravest thing I’d ever done. His expression would give me a clue to my future. A snarl would be bad. A smile, undreamingly good. I’d even settle for that neutral expression of hours, or was it minutes, before.
His actual expression was so confusing, it took a long time to register. It was as mobile as the previous one had been neutral. Shock, surprise, anger, all on a repeating loop. What? We stared at each other. After several attempts, he succeeded in forming a sentence.
“You…you’re having an affair?”
What the fuck? He knew that already. My next words were automatic.
“But you said, ‘Give my regards to Mick, won’t you?’”
He shook his head, like he was trying to clear it.
“No, I said, ‘Give my regards to Nick, won’t you?’ Uncle Nick, June’s husband; well, his ashes.”
I stared up at him as what he’d said forced its way into my befuddled brain. My mind, far more riddled with guilt than I’d allowed myself to believe, had firstly misinterpreted his expression—in hindsight, probably meaning he was musing on a work problem—then transposed Nick to Mick. In the confusion, I’d outed myself. If I was still standing, I’d have kicked myself.
Sobbing in remorse, self-pity, and fear, I dropped my head and squeezed his legs harder as I awaited my fate which was no longer in my hands.
ALTERNATE ENDING #4: BTB Rating 2
Putting my bag down near the front door, I turned around.
He was a little distracted, judging by the expression on his face. Probably thinking about a work problem. That helped. He rose as I walked towards him, that allowed me to make eye contact with him as little as possible. The rest was prevented by my hugging him. He returned my hug, then pushed me to arms-length and looked me square in the face, his expression still neutral.
“I’ll cancel my trip, if you cancel yours, Sarah. We won’t tell your sister and have a whole weekend in bed, just like the old days, huh?”
I pulled him in for another hug.
“It’s way too late for that, darling. Aunt June is relying on me, you know that. Have a good trip, I’ll see you Sunday night.”
Averted eye, peck on cheek, about face, walk to door, pick up suitcase, straight out door, shaking slightly from the released tension.
Jumping in the shower, I was out in record time. Mick was still on the phone. Quickly splashing some perfume on, I grabbed the lingerie bag and upended it on the bed, prior to the final decision on which set to wear. A piece of paper, about A5 size, fell on top of the garter belt. It was blank, and I could tell by the way it moved, it was heavy duty card. I was confused. I’d carefully disposed of all the purchase paperwork before taking them home, and I’d tried everything on while Dave was mowing the lawn one day.
I picked the paper up. What I saw on the other side felt like the trapdoor opening on the scaffold under a condemned man’s feet.
It was a photograph of my two children, one in the other’s lap, smiling happily at the camera. It was a smaller version of the framed portrait above our fireplace at home. The one Dave was staring at the last time I’d seen him.
There was only one possible way that photograph could have ended up in my luggage. All of a sudden, the expression on Dave’s face when I left took on a whole new meaning. The irony of it was that while I was busy trying to hide my feelings from my husband, he was doing exactly the same. Somehow, he knew precisely where I was going and what I was going to do. He’d made his offer to stay home this weekend if I did, as a last-ditch test of my resolve. He’d tested me, and I’d failed miserably.
My mind was a whirr as I scanned the possible repercussions from my actions. All my justifications to myself to date had measured the value of what I was going to achieve against the guilt I would feel. I must have judged it worthwhile, otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here now. Judging what I would gain against hurting Dave, or, heaven forbid, losing him… well, there was no question. God! He knew where I was going? He knew I’d lied to him? Did he know what betrayal I’d already committed? Was he just giving me enough rope to hang myself?
How much did he know? Another thought crossed my overloaded mind. How long did he know? Did he have a PI following me? Did he know that, apart from some lunches and kissing, nothing had happened? I calculated not. If he thought I’d screwed around on him, there would already be a furrow outside our front door, made by my ass.
He’d obviously found the lingerie and knew it was for use this weekend. I speculated that by planting the photo, he was trying to stop me from going past the point of no return. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? I hoped so. If that was so, what was his end game?
Suddenly, a pair of arms encircled me from behind. Hands grabbed my boobs, lips nuzzled my neck, and a bulge was pressed against my buttocks. I turned within the circle of his arms, fear giving me super-human strength and kneed Michael between his legs. I felt it wasn’t a perfect hit, but it resulted in a good whoosh of expelled air. My mind screamed at me. Minimise the damage done. Lunches, kisses, and intent to do more were forgivable; please. The more I did, the less the chances of survival. The quicker I got home, the less imagination fodder Dave had. Was he really going away this weekend? Unlikely. Much more likely he was monitoring what I was doing and using the story of a trip away to lull me into a false sense of security.
Michael stood upright and reached to grab me. In panic, I jumped across the bed, ran out the bedroom door and kept going. The early autumn, late afternoon freshness alerted me to the fact I was still naked. That pulled me up in my tracks just as Michael caught up to me and again wrapped me in his arms, this time to restrain me. That was the tableau Dave saw me in as his work ute came around the corner of the cottage and pulled up in front of us. He jumped out. Significantly, Michael turned us, so I was between Dave and himself.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“The chauffeur of your worst nightmare, shithead.” Dave replied grimly.
At that point, the passenger side door opened, and a mid-thirties lady got out and stared across the roof of the car at us. I heard Michael draw a deep breath.
“Laura. Honey. This isn’t what it looks… aw, fuck it.”
He let me go as his arms slumped to his side. Without losing eye contact, the lady, his wife, I gathered, strode around the car. I stood rooted; too mesmerised even to look at Dave. She stood in front of us, staring at Michael. I must have looked away briefly because her right cross caught me completely by surprise. I went down on my ass as I felt blood streaming from my nose.
The woman drew her leg back to kick me, then abruptly turned and took four paces back towards the car before sinking to her knees, sobbing. I felt lower than tadpole shit. Dave drew Laura back to her feet and wrapped her in his big powerful arms. I realised that I may never experience those arms ever again. I screamed but everyone was so preoccupied no one noticed.
The end.
Stay tuned for Sprung 5 tomorrow. 1
“If he thought I’d screwed around on him, there would already be a furrow outside our front door, made by my ass.” ROFLMAO. This has to be one of the best lines I’ve seen written in Erotica. It conjures a hilarious picture. You’re a great writer. You bring the characters to life and the situations believable.