All of the Things

This one has a lot more back story in the beginning than I usually write. Usually I like to ignore the “How I met her, our first kiss, etc, etc.” I like to move on to the most interesting part of the story as quickly as possible. In this case though, I think it impacts what comes later. I’ll let the readers decide if it does or does not.

This story is dedicated to someone who posts anonymously, but signs his posts, “Paul in Oklahoma.” He made a comment on another story, that he’d like to see a story with this premise. I’d like to say I immediately started writing this because of that comment, but the truth is, I’m not that prolific a writer and this story was already one I was working on. I’m not sure if this is what you had in mind Paul, but I hope you enjoy it.

None of the “celebrities” or television shows in this story are real people or things. I made them all up. I won’t say it’s based on a true story, because it isn’t. Many of the characters in this situation are based on actual people though. There’s an incident in this story that may seem unbelievable, but is based on a real occurrence. I’ll reveal that one at the end after the story is concluded.

I had intended to finish this story before the pandemic changed my schedule, so it ends before “coronavirus” was ever trending on Google. Consider this to be a period piece, from a time before social distancing.

I’m what most people who aren’t extremely wealthy call “rich.” I definitely do well for myself, but no one outside Phoenix considers me a mover and a shaker. Most of the truly wealthy who live in places like New York, Tokyo or London are unlikely to know my name. For the record, that name is Leonidas Puckett.

I wasn’t born into money but I was born on second base. To get to the lifestyle my nuclear family presently enjoys, I didn’t need to hit a home run, I just needed a double. I’m not bragging or trying to be humble. I’m not ashamed of my advantages; I’m also not saying they meant I didn’t bring my own talents to the table.

My father had a business making swimming pools. He’s David Puckett, the founder of Puckett Pools. He had always wanted me to go into the family business. I didn’t want to sell swimming pools. I wanted to make beautiful art. If Dad didn’t want me to follow my own path, he should have named me David Puckett II, then just called me Junior.

Dad had his own reason for naming me Leonidas. He never told me the reason until much later in life. I always thought of the name as exotic. I grew up as “Leon,” but I always embraced my birth name, Leonidas. It spoke to me of possibilities beyond living in Phoenix, Arizona. I didn’t realize then that “phoenix” was also a word from the same language.

My mother died from leukemia when I was six years old, so I was mostly raised by Dad. My memories of her were good, but they could have faded over time. Dad kept them alive. He always made sure she was a constant presence. As I grew up, he’d say things like, “Your mother would be so proud of you.” There were always framed pictures of her in the house. When he’d say something like that, I’d look at one of those pictures and see her smiling at me. Dad’s words, those pictures, and my own need as a child to remember my mother meant she was an influence on my life long after she passed. The perfect spouse and mother.

Dad never remarried. As a child I did see a few “special friends” go in and out of his life, but he never tied the knot. My mother was always the person he compared every other woman to. As a child I never understood why these people who came into my life suddenly went out of it. As I grew older, I realized my father still loved my mother, and moving on was not easy for him. That understanding took time to appreciate.

The majority of the time I was growing up, Dad took me to work and talked about his business. He would say things to me like, “Someday this will be all yours.” Even then I knew it was manipulation. It’s the line every father says to their child when they want the child to take over the family business. Not that I knew it was a cliché then, I just felt pressured.

Here’s why. As a kid, I liked making art. I had a knack for drawing. I liked colors. One day when I accompanied Dad to a place where he’d been hired to install a pool, I suggested he make the pool’s colors match the colors outside. It was an outdoor pool in a backyard that was covered with red rocks. I also suggested that a pirate flag would look awesome because it could look like a scene in Peter Pan.

Dad’s dismissive response was, “I knew I should never have let Grandma Ginny give you those crayons.”

As it turned out, I was able to make both Dad happy and myself as well. I wound up making designer pools for my father’s company. It satisfied my desire to have a creative outlet, as well as his desire for me to be in the family business. The way it happened was, I became a double major in college, Arts and Engineering. Fortunately because of the money Dad had, plus the relatively low cost of in-state tuition and a bit of a scholarship, it allowed me to spend six years in college learning two separate skills. I went into engineering mostly to appease my father, while he allowed me to concentrate on my penchant for art.

I applied myself diligently while in college. While studying in two separate fields, I had my “Eureka” moment. Designing things was an art. I could also put my own personal touch on the functional thing created. At some point, I realized I could work for my father and pursue my own passion for art. That is, if Dad agreed.

I was expecting a fight when I said to Dad, “I’ll join the family business, but I only will if you let me do my own thing.”

Dad just said, “What do you have in mind?”

I’m not saying it was that easy, but we discussed it like adults. My father treated me like an actual person, rather than just his son. I told him I’d work in the family business and I’d make art. I’d learn what he had done over the years, but let him know I wanted to design pools that were unique. I told him I thought it could expand his clientele. To my shock, Dad had no issues with it. He just wanted me in the business no matter in what capacity.

It was while I was working I met my future wife, Donna Fox. Donna had (and still has) a body that should be on television. I’m not exaggerating, because she was on television. She used to work for KUCK, a local television station. If you live in Phoenix, I’m sure you have seen the cuckoo bird promotions. That bird sound was a staple of breaking news. “Cuckooooo!”

I’d recently just finished a pool for an Olympic swimmer. Sonia Auerbach was a local heroine. She’d gotten a bronze medal in the breast stroke. While she didn’t win the gold or the silver, what she did to endear herself forever to the city she lived in, was get a tattoo of a Phoenix on her right shoulder.

That meant nothing to a national audience. It meant everything here. That tattoo was on full display every time she swam or did an interview. Since most of her interviews were after a race while she was in her swimsuit, Phoenix pride was there for all to see. That tattoo, her medal and the event she won it in led to a series of television ads. This kept her name and face in the public eye. She hadn’t yet done a commercial for Puckett Pools, but that was about to change. I included it as part of the deal for designing her personal pool. I did manage to learn something about marketing from Dad while we were working together.

Sonia wanted the pool I designed for her to be practical for her to swim in, and she also wanted Phoenix to be a part of it. I went literal on her desire. At the bottom of the pool was “the Phoenix.” I made sure it looked exactly like her tattoo. I went further and had it illuminated when she or her husband pressed a certain button. That bird could light up whenever either wanted. It also had a few variations, like a slow build up to a roaring flame, or just appearing in all of its glory. It was ideal for a party, or just when Sonia and her husband Gunther wanted it to happen. Electricity and water are a tricky mix, but I made it work.

Needless to say as a local celebrity, local media was happy to include a story about her if there was the slightest reason to. Sonia Auerbach was very good about finding reasons. She had a lot of interviews and stories printed about her locally, even if the occasion had nothing to do with swimming. I wound up meeting Donna because Sonia invited the media there for the “unveiling” of her new pool. I was asked to attend by Sonia, and I agreed even though I was a bit media shy. I didn’t feel like I had a good camera face.

Sonia made it an easy sell by saying, “It’s good exposure for Puckett Pools, even though the attention will be on me. You should come for that. I’ll be sure to give you and your company a plug, even if the news crew isn’t interested in speaking with you. However if they are, don’t worry about having to do interviews. At most, you may get a few questions and your face may be on the air for three seconds. It’s a nice face, you have no worries whatsoever.”

She made it sound like she’d give me and our company a plug, and I’d be in the background on camera as the designer she referred to. I’m sure she meant it, since this was a story to keep her in the limelight. As it turned out, I got a request for a full interview. I knew that the only reason I got the request as just the designer of her pool, was to find a new way to satisfy the audience that wanted to hear more stories about our local heroine. It looked like KUCK wanted to stretch the story over two days. I was not prepared for a full interview, only to provide a few comments.

It was Donna who ultimately convinced me. Like anyone else in the area, I’d seen her on television. She was even more beautiful and magnetic in person. Sonia was reasonably attractive and certainly had an athletic body. Donna was gorgeous in the way that inspire men to create statues to capture that face and form. It was hard to pay attention to her words while she was talking to me, “So Leon, this will be a separate interview run on a different night. We’re killing two birds with one stone here, but I think this could be good promotion for you as a local artist.”

So as camera shy as I was, I bit the bullet and consented. It was good advertising, as I’d been repeatedly told, my non-telegenic looks not withstanding. I knew what was expected of me in the interview. I mentioned Sonia a multiple times while I discussed the design I’d created. I knew the story was really about her, while ostensibly the story was about a local pool designer. My hangups aside, I was glad for exposure to tell viewers about the work I’d created. I assumed most people wouldn’t care, but some would.

I’d expected after the interview was over the KUCK crew would leave. They were preparing to do so, except for Donna. Donna hung around Sonia and her husband as the crew headed back to the station. While the rest of the television crew gathered their gear, I let Sonia and her husband Gunther know I was leaving as well.

I shook his hand. I’d met Gunther a few times, and always felt he was a great guy. That relationship seemed to be a solid one on both sides, two good people in a happy marriage. “Thanks for allowing the plug. I know this was a bit intrusive.”

Gunther smiled and slapped me on the shoulder. “It was Sonia’s idea and we were happy to do it. That pool is amazing. We’ve fucked in it so many times-”

I interrupted, “Well I really should be going. You two have been more than hospitable.”

Donna said, “This is the kind of story I love covering. You’re a wonderful husband to support her, and also the work of an amazing artist like Leon Puckett.” Gunther beamed. Then he started talking again.

“She’s amazing and so is Leon. When Sonia swims in that pool he designed, she gets so wet, and I don’t mean from the water, I-”

I interrupted once more. “Really gotta go Gunther. Thanks again.”

Donna said, “Yes, thanks Gunther. I have to go as well.”

I quickly found myself to the front door and Donna was right behind me. The rest of the crew had departed and the KUCK van was nowhere in sight.

Donna asked, “Do you have to go, or can we talk a bit?”

I really had nowhere to go so I said, “I don’t have to be anywhere soon. Sonia is a private person around her house, we should probably talk somewhere else.”

“Of course. How about we talk somewhere else then?” She said that deadpan, but there was a twinkle in her eyes.

I said without thinking, “How about following me back to my place?” I could have wilted the moment I said that. What I’d been thinking, was that any public place would attract attention to her. She was a local celebrity after all. That’s really what I was thinking. After the words came out, I realized it must have sounded like a lecherous pick-up line.

I tried to recover immediately, “It’s just that there’s privacy there….” That sounded even worse. I think I actually blushed. My cheeks felt red, and it wasn’t from the intense Arizona sun.

Donna saved me. That twinkle was still there when she said, “That’s considerate. I’ll follow you, but give me your cell number in case we get separated. I’ll give you mine.”

We exchanged digits and then I got into my car. She followed me and we arrived at my “abode.” It wasn’t fancy, it was an apartment. It didn’t even have a pool. She pulled into my driveway and I was embarrassed to bring her inside. All I could think about was the fact the trashcan wasn’t empty, and that the place I lived in mostly was. It had furniture, but no personal touches. I had the worst bachelor pad in the world.

The reality struck me that I was alone with with one of the most prominent desirable women in the city… at my place. It was a situation I was unprepared for, since I had never, ever, considered the possibility something like this might one day happen. Well not seriously, I did have fantasies about this type of thing that usually involved a bottle of lotion, but I’d never actually formulated any kind of game plan in case the situation actually occurred. I didn’t even have any alcohol in the place to offer her a drink that night.

After I gave her the brief tour, I was at a loss as to what to do next. I was out of my element here. I felt like she’d been disappointed at the meager way “the artist” she’d interviewed lived. You certainly didn’t see anything that screamed creative in the place I was living in at the time. Donna gave me no indication that that was the case, but my nerves were moments away from producing visible shaking.

To cover, I said, “Well, that’s my place. I do have an early appointment tomorrow, so I should turn in. If you’d like to talk more at some time, could I ask you for a date?” While I waited for the answer, for what seemed like an eternity, so many thoughts were swirling in my brain. They ranged from thoughts like, “You idiot! You should just kiss her. You’re going to be rejected anyway, at least get a kiss out of it,” to, “Early morning appointment? Since when? Good job Leon, way to start a relationship with a lie.”

In probably less than a second, Donna said, “Sure. I’d like that.”

She headed toward the door, and as she retreated I said, “Can I have your phone number?”

She turned back to me, “Sure. I thought I gave it to you earlier.”

Shit. She had. “Um, I know you did, but it isn’t here now,” I said as I pulled out my phone and once again typed her number into it. As she headed out the door I thought, “Great. Now we’re starting out with two lies.”

After she left, I called my father just to be sure there was no secret trust I was going to be a beneficiary to. Women like Donna don’t just date an average man. Women may claim they like a man who is smart, older, has a sense of humor, is sexually inexperienced, is sensitive, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. My reality up to that point, had been far different. I certainly hadn’t had much experience dating.

Sure, I’d lost my virginity to a woman in high school at the late high-school age of 18 (symmetrically, so was she), but it was with someone that was drunk and made it clear the next day that she didn’t want a boyfriend. She had one two weeks later. What I learned from that was she didn’t want me as a boyfriend. I wondered if the sex was that bad, or if the alcohol was the main consideration. It was clear in the light of day I was found lacking. I’d had sex a few more times, but nothing ever developed into a serious relationship.

After waiting for 24 hours for the cameras to show up that let me know I’d been the victim of a practical joke, I finally called her and asked her out. Things took off from there. We kept dating. It was a slow courtship. For a month, we had dates once a week. Most of it was because of her schedule. I was happy that we even had once a week. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. I realized that on the third date we were supposed to have had sex, according to the unwritten dating rules of the time. It took me until the fourth one to even try to get to first base. So on that date, I kissed her.

We were playing miniature golf. It was one of those rare moments in Phoenix where clouds just suddenly appeared and it began to rain. We were on the 10^th hole and I was worried the date was over. Then she said, “I don’t think we’re going to make it to the 18^th hole. What should we do now?”

That’s when I reached for her and kissed her. Kissed her hard, with no idea how’d she respond. She clutched me and kissed me back even more forcefully. The sky had opened up and we were getting drenched as we kissed in the rain. I’m not sure how long that kiss lasted. It lasted long enough we were both soaked before we ended it, and the only reason we did was to come up for oxygen.

A flash of lightning and an almost immediate crack of thunder encouraged us to leave.

I said,”Let’s go.”

“Not before you answer a question. Why’d it take you so long to kiss me?”

The rain was pouring hard now, so I had to raise my voice a bit, “You could have kissed me!” I really hoped that would not have been interpreted as yelling.

Her voice raised as well. “A woman likes to be kissed! You could have done it on our first date!”

Now there was more thunder. I practically had to scream, “If we can get the fuck out of here, I’ll kiss you all over!”

She grabbed my hand and led us back to where our cars were parked. We never lost our hand contact as we raced through the rain. She said something I couldn’t understand as we got to our cars. So I shouted, “What?!”

“Follow me!”

I followed her to her place. We were both soaked. As soon as we were inside I kissed her again. Then I got to second base, third base, and home plate all in one night. I realize it looks like I’m stretching the metaphor a bit far, but that was how I felt, and it was certainly accurate for me. You can blame the song “Paradise by the Dashboard Lights” as a possible influence.

The next day, I woke up in bed with her and her head was on my chest with an arm covering me. To this day, I’ll say it was my favorite way to wake up in the morning. Donna has done it several times since then, and I always felt like the person that won the lottery. That first morning though, I extracted myself and went to her kitchen. I wanted her to wake up to a prepared breakfast.

Her refrigerator and cupboards were the most organized I’d ever seen. I like omelets, and she had all the ingredients necessary. I’m not the greatest cook in the world, but I do make a mean omelet. The proper distribution of cheese is everything, and I was pleased to see her pantry included Hatch’s green chiles. Judging by Donna’s pleased reaction to breakfast when she awoke to the sounds and smells coming from the kitchen and joined me, I had scored some points. Later in our relationship, Donna told me that was the morning she knew that she wasn’t going to let me get away.

I asked, “Was it the moment you woke up thoroughly satisfied from my skills as a lover?”

She replied with that twinkle, “No, it was when you cooked breakfast. The sex certainly rocked my world, but that was a great omelet.”

Once Donna and I got serious, we had some awkward discussions. I can definitely say they were awkward for me. I also feel pretty certain that they were awkward for her as well, we just had different reasons. We talked about previous relationships. I was worried about how many previous lovers partners she’d had and she was worried I’d think she was a slut. I’ll explain my reasoning first.

I assumed someone with Donna’s looks was very likely to have been more sexually experienced than I was, despite the fact I was older. I wasn’t expecting any woman to be a virgin, so it wasn’t that she’d had what I assumed to be a lot of sex that was my fear. Someone like Donna could’ve easily had almost any guy she set her sights on. I wasn’t sure what I could possibly offer long term when compared to an endless parade of lovers.

Donna’s concern was the opposite. She was afraid I wouldn’t think she was serious about me and I’d dismiss her interest as a flighty blonde. It was my first inkling that gorgeous women have a special set of problems. She had set her sights on me and wanted me to let me know of her serious intentions. As it turned out, I’d had more sexual partners (and had lost my virginity earlier) than Donna had, although her first words didn’t exactly alleviate my initial concern.

“It’s likely I’ll have had sexual encounters with some people we may run into. I had a reputation in college.”

I was proud that I kept a poker face on, at least I think I did. “What sort or reputation?”

Donna didn’t miss a beat. “Blow job queen.”

That wasn’t what I was expecting. I always felt women gave blow jobs to avoid sex. Donna could have avoided sex based on her looks. Men would be happy just to get a kiss and the promise of another date. At least I would have. I wasn’t sure what to say next.

I came up with,”Do you actually like giving blow jobs?”

Accidentally, I had stumbled onto the crux of the matter.

“Oh, hells yeah! The first time I ever gave someone a blow job, I felt like it was the best thing I’d ever done. I wasn’t a slut in college. Oh, I slept around a bit. Four guys. None of them turned out to last long. Two were one-night stands and the others lasted about a semester. I gave a lot of blow jobs though. A lot of them. I really have no idea how many.

“I loved getting high, I still do. It makes me feel like I can let myself go. I had limits; I didn’t want just any man inside me. I did like sucking cock though. I loved the taste, smell, shape and feel of those things. It’s a true story. Marijuana is a gateway drug. It’s just that it was my gateway to sucking cock.”

Her definition of “slut” was different from my definition. That was something to process. As I understood it, her definition was she didn’t think she was a slut if she only had sex with four guys, and the innumerable number of blow jobs that she couldn’t remember, did not factor into her definition. For her, a “slut” meant penetration. That insight into a woman’s perspective was illuminating.

My college perspective and experience had been very different. A woman who even made out with several people was considered a slut. She was not the kind of person you were supposed to marry, as Dad had reinforced several times while I was growing up. In his view, women who were anything other than dedicated to a singular man after a date and a kiss were tramps. While I didn’t share that extreme point of view, I still was shocked by Donna’s nuanced perspective.

It was a lot to unpack for me. I’d been the beneficiary of Donna’s blow jobs. I always had thought the love she had for my cock had an emotional component, like she was a normal woman that hated giving blow jobs, but she loved doing it for me. Now I learned she just liked giving blow jobs and had done this with previous… partners? Companions? Not sure what the right word is. My cock wasn’t magical, she loved them all. Mine wasn’t special, but it was to her in those moments. I made my peace with that pretty quickly.

Of all the cocks she could suck, she had chosen mine. She made it clear that my cock was the one she’d spend her time with exclusively. As I saw it, she’d seen the rest and chose the best. That’s not exactly how she put it, but I was comfortable with my interpretation, even if I paraphrased comments like, “You’re exactly the person I want to grow old with,” to get comfortably to my version. It’s a guy thing.

One other thing I was worried about, were people she might have had a relationship with from her work place. After all, she was still working among the beautiful people every day. Donna put that fear to rest quickly, “Leon, I’ve never had sex with someone I’ve worked with. I make a point of not doing that. I want to be recognized for my ability. If I have sex with someone at work, I’ll never know if I’m being rewarded for merit, held back for reasons other than merit, or just the slut of the month. Sex at work brings complications I don’t want. So yes, I’ve had sex with people while working, but never anyone I worked with.”

I believed her and was relieved to hear that.

Dad wasn’t crazy about Donna initially. “Son, that woman is out of your league. You need a woman like your mother. Your mother was pretty, but wouldn’t have been mistaken for a model. The same was true for me, and most importantly is true for you. A woman like Donna will always attract attractive men. Like seeks out like. I love you son, but attractive people have temptations we can’t imagine.”

That was Dad’s way of saying I wasn’t in Donna’s league in the looks department. I get it, he was trying to help. However if you want something bad enough, you’ll rationalize your way to doing the thing you want. What I wanted was Donna. So I pursued the relationship and figured Dad would come around. He did.

It took time, but Dad did warm up to Donna. I’d like to think it was me that influenced him, but I can’t honestly say that. It was Donna. She charmed him like she charmed everyone else. Donna had a way of making you feel you were the most important person in the room. I actually had a moment of jealousy when she was interacting with my father.

As our relationship progressed, I did learn a few of her quirks, as she learned about mine. A big one, was that Donna always needed to be in control of her environment, her perfectly organized kitchen should have clued me in a bit earlier than it did. I don’t mean she was some sort of dominatrix. She never wanted me tied up and gagged. The opposite of that was true, but more on that in a moment. I also don’t mean she was a nag. She was just averse to any situation where things could be taken out of her hands.

I like a certain amount of spontaneity. It’s an artist thing. We were definitely proof of the theory of opposites attracting. That may not be entirely right. Donna did have a sense of spontaneity, but it was spontaneity under controlled conditions. I found out quickly she still loved smoking pot on occasion. She even had a bong. Under those conditions when she wanted to unwind, there was a certain amount of frivolity. Very often it was of a sexual nature, but not always. Sometimes we’d just talk about names of our future kids while her head was in my lap and I was petting her wonderful hair.

I had certainly smoked pot as well, as having experimented with a number of drugs. The only one I still used recreationally was hallucinogenic mushrooms. Colors really pop for me under those circumstances. Marijuana never really took with me. I would occasionally smoke with Donna in the beginning, mostly because I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. More often than not though, I declined. Weed made me sleepy, and I didn’t want to poop out on Donna when she was at her most relaxed.

I accepted it was a part of her life; she accepted it wasn’t a big part of mine. There was no discomfort when I declined on her part, or any part on mine when she partook in her recreational drug of choice. And yes, she really meant it when she said she loved giving blow jobs when high. I certainly had nothing to complain about. One night, she threw me a new wrinkle. She told me she liked to be tied up. What do you say to that, except “You know you can tell me anything, love.”

Donna got a thrill from bondage. Her bed was a four-poster one. It was while she wasn’t high she usually wanted to be tied up. She did like being high if she already knew she could trust the person, just after a few experiences. It was that desire to be in control of her surroundings from the beginning. That night she mentioned it, we just made love as we usually did. I didn’t bring it up the next morning and neither did she. As far as I knew, she was only trying to titillate me.

But… it wasn’t long after that conversation she showed me her restraints, in fact, it was the next evening when we got together. We didn’t see each other every night, in those early days. Her job often meant she was covering an event that took place in the evenings. She was giddy when she made the decision to show her paraphernalia to me.

“I have to show you this. I haven’t done those with a lot of people Leon, only those I’ve trusted. I really love it and I so very much trust you. Would you like to tie me up?”

“Donna, are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I have never trusted anyone so completely.”

I was a little nervous, never having done anything like that before. I needn’t have worried, Donna was a good teacher. She liked to be teased, not used as a fuck toy. Her thrill was not being able to touch back and being dependent on a partner to bring her to orgasm. It was the one time and place she didn’t want a cock in her mouth. She couldn’t control the situation then. She wanted to be in the position of begging her partner to finally do things so she could orgasm.

Like I said, she had her quirks. I grew immediately to love it, just like most of all the other ones. I may have had more sex partners than she had, but she was much more sexually experienced in many ways than I was. I wasn’t threatened by it any more though, I was already trusting the commitment we seemed to share. Plus, I learned a lot that night. Fortunately, I’m a quick study and that experience only got better for both of us as it got repeated several times.

Except for a few moments when Donna relinquished control under a certain set of circumstances, our life was a compromise. She liked things a certain way, I liked things a certain way. The compromise we reached was that I usually did what she wanted. That included my marriage proposal to her. She didn’t tell me how to propose, she just overtly and overly hinted at what she wanted.

Not in a public place. Not while I was anything but sober. One drink was too much. Don’t surprise her, give her an inkling it would be coming. Oh, don’t make the ring expensive. That would be too distracting, and the ring symbolized love, so don’t make it gaudy. I was not expected to go down on one knee, unless I really wanted to. You can see that Donna was not completely unreasonable, she gave me a bit of latitude on the knee thing. In the end, I dropped down on one knee in a private place. I’m not bound by tradition, but there are some I really do like. That one is one of those.

That proposal happened nine months after we’d been dating. It was in my apartment. Check. I told her to expect something special. Check. I decorated my place like I would have for a themed party. There were rose petals scattered everywhere, as well as a bottle of unopened champagne prominently featured in the center of the living room. I like the classics, after all, what is marriage if not one of the classics? The only twist I added was blindfolding Donna before she walked in. I know she knew what was coming; I also knew she liked being blindfolded.

She said, “Yes,” before I could even show her the inexpensive ring I got from a gumball machine. Check and mate, my mate for the rest of our lives.

The wedding was a small affair. As a local celebrity, it could have been a big deal in local media. It’s why Donna insisted the wedding be somewhere other than Arizona, despite the objections of her parents. Donna put her foot down and told her parents we’d just elope and no one would be invited if no one respected our wishes. I don’t think I was actually consulted. I will say this, Dad loved her stance. He was wrapped around her finger by that point.

All he said was, “That woman is a keeper son. I support both of you in this decision. Weddings should not be a media event.”

I let it pass that Dad said, “both of you.” I didn’t remember to agreeing to this, but Dad was in a good mood, Donna wanted it, so the wedding was in the Florida Keys. It was a natural progression to our honeymoon, since we spent a week there after the wedding. Close family and friends attended, as well as all the people Mama and Poppa Fox wanted to invite. They were happy, Dad was happy, Donna was happy and so was I.

The honeymoon was the best honeymoon imaginable. Granted, I have no other honeymoon to compare it to, but it lived up to expectations. Yes, we had sex every day. It was more than that though. Donna seemed to feel just more free to let her guard down outside of Phoenix. No one knew her here. It was just us for that week.

There were simple things, like taking off her bikini top while we were in the ocean. She wasn’t worried about photographers, she just laughed and tried to strip me of my swimsuit. She struggled with it, so I helped and she proudly waved it over her head like a trophy. There were people around and many cheered. Others followed suit (no pun intended), and soon there were a few other sets of boobs and men’s trunks also waved around. Donna and I saw the response and clapped as each new display appeared. Then we kissed. We’d created a moment. Donna seemed so free of concerns and so was I. I really didn’t care if people saw her tits. Let them eat their hearts out, those tits married me. Little stuff like that. I could have died happy that day or any other day during that week.

Then we got home and we had to deal with life back in Phoenix as a newly-married couple. There were some of the usual minor complications, of course, and one a little less common.

The local affiliate wanted Donna to keep the last name “Fox” as her reporter name. It was her brand and no one liked the idea of trading a “Fox” for a “Puckett.” That last name of hers and pretending she was single was something KUCK wanted to maintain. She was sex and sizzle, and she was on the air for partly that reason.

Donna told me me what she was being pressured to do, and I tried to talk her out of not giving in. I told her, that her image was as “Donna Fox.” As long as she was still working, she should go with the name her viewers knew her as. Donna didn’t take my advice well.

“Leon, I wanted to marry you. I wanted to take your name. I don’t need my own husband fighting me on this when I’m fighting corporate as well. I’m proud to be married to you and I want it to be known I’m off the market. If it hurts my career, I don’t care. Please support me on this.”

What do you say to that? It damn near made me tear up. “Donna, you have my support.”

She named both of our kids. We talked about it and had our own preferences, but in the end I agreed to hers. She named our daughter Allison. She named our son Nicholas.

So really, there wasn’t much conflict. Donna wanted something, and I was happy to oblige. It didn’t meant there wasn’t the occasional kerfuffle. An example was an actress named “Carmen LaGaretta.” In college Donna and Carmen had apparently been frenemies. The two had been in the same sorority. After college, that had apparently bloomed into full-blown antipathy.

It made sense to me. Carmen was the flip side of the same coin to Donna. Two hot women in college would naturally be rivals.

I had seen Carmen in shows before I ever met Donna. She was a budding actress and had gotten small parts on streaming shows. I stumbled upon her by accident. I have a bit of a pirate fetish and she was in an HBO show called “Calico Jack.” For those interested, he was a pirate best known for creating the “Jolly Roger,” the flag most associated with piracy. It was a fun series, full of violence and sex. It was at that part I discovered Carmen LaGaretta as a supporting character. I’m pretty sure she was “supporting” by her frequent display of her tits and ass. One time, she even showed herself full frontal.

I wasn’t exactly told I shouldn’t watch anything that actress was in, but the temperature would drop about 20 degrees if we watched a trailer for a new streaming show or film that Carmen LaGaretta was in. If Carmen appeared, Donna would say something like, “This looks like crap,” and I had enough sense of self-preservation to suggest something else and definitely not watch those things on my own. Carmen was hot and sexy, and she was in some fantasy shows that definitely seemed like something I would watch, but I didn’t need to watch any fantasy when I felt like I was living one.

I’ll give you an extreme example of how bad it could get if Donna’s desire to be in control of her environment was challenged. Donna came back from a trip to Austin and the airline had lost her luggage. Donna had packed her usual two bags for that trip. After watching the luggage carousel for 30 minutes or so after it was empty, we went to the desk of the airline.

Donna was horrified as we notified the airline of the lost luggage. Honestly it was just clothing and some easily replaced items like makeup and toiletries. Donna certainly didn’t see it that way. She treated those missing suitcases as though she’d been a victim of a robbery. The only way I can describe it is that she felt her trust in the airline had been misplaced and she was feeling violated.

She gave the attendant at the airline counter her phone number and I gave her mine, in case Donna couldn’t be reached. Donna was devastated and shaking. I’d never seen her this distraught. As we walked away from the attendant, I put my arm around her and said, “Baby, you are over-reacting to this situation.”

“This isn’t supposed to happen. This shit should never happen.”

She didn’t shout it. She didn’t need to. There were tears in her eyes and I saw a quaver in her lips. I just hugged her and said, “It’ll be okay.” She hugged me back so hard I felt a bit crushed.

We went home, and the talk along the way was uneasy. I tried to comfort her by saying, “Darling, It’s just a suitcases full of clothes.”

That comment just seemed to make things worse. “The one with my underwear. The one with my panties and bras. Any person could sell those online. Or masturbate with those. Then sell them online.”

I thought her concerns were overwrought. Panties and bras are just underwear. If my boxers or briefs commanded a price on eBay, I’d think it was hilarious. I know women look at that issue differently, so I couldn’t exactly say, “I’d be the first to bid on them.” That would not have been helpful. I just embraced her and told her I thought it was unlikely that that would happen.

It wasn’t enough though. Of course, a husband can’t fix certain problems, as much as he wants to. Donna had to wrestle with this demon in her own way. All I could do was offer support. Donna took time off. She certainly had the sick days and goodwill available, because she’d never done that before. Donna never took a sick day, even when she was sick. It was a point of personal pride for her to always show up and pull off being on camera. Anyone who didn’t know she was sick, wouldn’t have been able to tell.

She went into therapy. Most people would think it was an extreme reaction to just losing her luggage, and the possibility of her undergarments being sold on eBay, but I knew Donna. This was a very Donna thing to do. Yes, it was an over-reaction, but that was my Donna. What others find odd, those of us in love find those same things endearing.

I guess therapy worked… eventually. It did take time, but the anxiety was gone. She got back to her normal self. If anything, she was better in some ways. She was also more Donna in others. She had let the incident go. She had also filed that in her memory as a situation where she could never feel exposed in that way again.

Yeah, she definitely had her quirks. I could accept those. Those were minor in the grand scheme of things. There are worse things for a husband to have to deal with. It wasn’t like she was bipolar or a serial killer, so I rolled with those quirks. A year and some change later she quit her job. It was time to make the babies.

Donna took to the prospect of motherhood like a dog chasing a car that finally caught it. She was so excited when she was pregnant. Forget what you’ve heard about a spouse being nervous about telling her husband. It didn’t apply to us. I got home from work and Donna jumped into my arms. “I’m pregnant!”

I was equally over the moon. We had two children. Both of them resembled their mother more than me, Allison and Nicholas, in that order. As I mentioned earlier, Donna picked the first names. I got to pick the middle names. Allison was the name of someone in her family. Nicholas was a name she just liked. I picked the name,”Angela” for our daughter’s middle name. It always meant, “angel” to me. In my eyes, she was. For our son I picked, “Michelangelo.” I did want to carry on my father’s family tradition of a name for sons with something they could aspire to. For all I knew, he’d likely more identify with a Teenage Ninja Turtle than the artist, but that character isn’t a bad one to aspire to either.

They were usually called, “Nick” or, “Alice,” unless they were in trouble. In that case, first full name, both middle names, and the last name were used. As far as I we were concerned, this was how it was done. It’s amazing the things you pick up from your families, even if you see yourselves as parenting differently. I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. Some things stick for good reasons, even if you don’t realize what they are when younger, or even as adults. Parenting is a joy, but also hard at times. If something works, go with it.

Thank God they won the genetic lottery as far as looks were concerned. They were also intelligent, but I couldn’t claim that as my own. That could have come from either of us. I always hoped they’d gotten it from both of us and been hit with a double dose. It was everything I wanted for our family. I couldn’t have been happier about the life I’d led from the moment I’d met Donna.

Alice was eight and Nick was six when I got the call early in the morning from an airline that Donna’s missing luggage from her trip many year’s ago had been found. Donna had changed her cell phone number when she retired, mine was still the same. So I was the one who got the call from the airline that Donna’s about the discovery. Donna was out when the call came in, and that is when I made the decision to surprise Donna by picking it up without telling her.

I had intended to have us open the suitcases together, so we could have a playful moment about wondering what she still could wear or would wear a decade after she had last worn these items, being as fashion conscious as she was. Then, a bit of an impish nature got a hold of me. I wanted to see everything first so I could anticipate her reactions.

I thought about opening the suitcases at the airport, but figured the airport parking lot would keep her items away from prying eyes. I opened the first suitcase wondering what sort of state the clothing would be in. There was a bit of a musty smell, but other than that, the contents seemed to have stood the test of time pretty well. If Donna wanted to donate anything, a thrift store would certainly take it. It had quite a few outfits that I had honestly forgotten about, as well as stuff like makeup and conditioners and personal hygiene items. I repacked carefully so I could pretend to be sharing the moment with Donna.

I opened the second suitcase expecting to see more of the same, and for a moment, I wondered if there had been another mix up at the baggage department and I was opening someone else’s suitcase. Then I began recognizing one item after another. It had some of her raciest bras and panties that she had told me she’d thrown away. It also had some of her most sexual lingerie that she told me she’d thrown away. Shit. It also had bondage gear that…. You get it. I was not sure what to think because my first thought was, “I’m really glad I didn’t open this up in the airport.”

Something had clearly happened on that trip. There was no reason for Donna to have packed those things unless she wanted to dress to impress and be fucked under duress. Her anxiety about losing her luggage took on a whole different light, as well as the things she was worried about being set up for auction on eBay. I sat in the parking lot for about 30 minutes to compose my thoughts, then repacked the suitcase with a lot less care this time, then drove home. It would be hours before the kids got home.

When I got in, Donna had returned and called out from the living room, “Hey sweetheart, I was just about to call you. Where did you go?”

I walked into the living room where Donna was working on the family computer and dropped the two suitcase I was carrying, none too gently to the floor. “The airport. Guess who’s luggage the Bermuda Triangle coughed up?”

Donna turned to look at me, then down at the suitcases, then back at my face. Donna knows me better than anyone, and I could tell she knew that I knew something about that fateful trip. She didn’t faint, didn’t break down, but I think she swallowed before she said, “Honey, please sit down and I’ll answer any questions you might have, but, “You have to let me tell you this from the beginning without you interrupting.”

To a stranger she might have looked calm, after all she had years to prepare what to say if this moment ever came up, and Donna would have prepared for this possibility. Still, I knew her almost as well as she knew me, and I could see subtle signs of nervousness. I did want to hear the story, so I sat down on a chair across from her and said, “Okay.”

She launched straight into it. “I never intended to cheat on you. I am absolutely ashamed that I did. I want you to know those things first. It’s the single worst thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

She looked at me. I could see both love and pain in her eyes. It was exactly how I felt. Love and pain. I’d been 99 percent sure that the risque items I’d found were there because she was planning on showing them and using them with someone other than me. Still, that element of hope in remaining 1 percent for some other explanation had just been snuffed out. I sat there silently and waited.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to interrupt.”

“You’re right. I just got emotional and wanted a response to reassure myself you still loved me.”

I managed to say without any animosity, “I still love you,” because it was true. If it would still be true after she told me the story, that remained up in the air.

“Thank you, I love you too. I never have not. Not ever. But please, no more interruptions. I need to finish this.”

I was about to say I hadn’t interrupted, but then she wiped her eyes and was silent for a moment. She broke eye contact with me for a few seconds. She was clearly in struggling to keep herself composed. I’d never seen Donna showing raw emotion like this. I’d had a hint exactly one time in our entire relationship. That, of course, was the night her luggage didn’t arrive. I waited.

“Do you remember Craig Anderson?”

That name was a blast from the past. She’d talked about him years ago but he’d soon left KUCK for greener pastures. He’d gotten a job in New York City. She’d never mentioned him since. “Yes. I think so. Is he the guy you always joked about because he missed flights because he was always having sex with someone he met on location? That guy?”

“That guy. He’s the one I had an affair with. It was short, it happened only four times on four different trips.”

“The guy that you always told me always made decisions with his dick? The guy you said was close to being fired? The one you always told me was completely unprofessional? That guy?”

Donna nodded. “I need you to let me get this out.”

I had promised, but it was hard. So hard. I’d never been suspicious of her relationship with any of her colleagues, but if I had been suspicious of anyone, he would have been at the bottom of my list because she’d always voiced so much contempt for him. Now I felt… I wasn’t sure how I felt. Suckered? Stupid? Something else beginning with the letter ‘S’? I ground my teeth and just nodded my head for her to continue.

Painfully for me, she did. “What was so aggravating about him, was that he thought he was God’s gift to women.”

“So you proved him wrong by fucking him? I guess you showed him.”

“Sarcasm isn’t helping. You said you wouldn’t interrupt.”

“Well I’m sorry I’m having reactions. This is hard to listen to and not say anything. I’ll try, but don’t expect me to be stoic while being silent. I’m actually proud of myself for not raising my voice, so you could be more appreciative of my fucking Gandhi-like level of restraint.”

She sighed, “I get how hard this is to listen to, but I just need to get this out.”

“So you’ve said. Just do it.” I said that with a tinge of bitterness, it wasn’t intentional, but I couldn’t help it creeping in. We both were silent for a bit. She was watching my reactions. I was waiting for her to continue. She picked up on that, and then she did.

“It was the trip we took to San Diego when the Cardinals were playing the Chargers. After the game and the interviews, we were all just unwinding together at the beach before the flight home the next morning. It was no different than any other time we had time to hang out after work. We all went to the beach as a group, had a few drinks and listed to a local playing on the beach. I let my guard down and got high with a few colleagues, including Craig. He was flirting the same way he always did, but this time I didn’t shut it down, I was feeling good and enjoying the moment and it didn’t bother me. Somehow he sensed that I might be more receptive to things when stoned, that he would never dream of trying with me if I was not. He wanted to walk on the beach and my hand was soon in his. I don’t even remember how it got there.”

I interrupted again. “Did you have feelings for him?”

“No. There were never any feelings on my part or his. It was a fling.”

I interrupted. So much for my promise not to interrupt.

For the first time I raised my voice, “So you threw all of us away for a fling?! A meaningless fling was more important than our marriage?!”

Donna finally raised her voice in response to me raising mine. “Okay, I loved him! There was a lot of intense emotion involved. I wanted to run off and marry him! Does that make it better?!”

She was now outshouting me. Not only was she loud, but she was also dripping with sarcasm. I was pissed off not only by the situation, but also because sarcasm was supposed to be the sole province of the aggrieved husband in situations like this. She was only responding to the sarcasm I displayed earlier, so I took it down a notch and said quietly, “No. It doesn’t make it better.” Well, at least she’d lost control for a moment.

Once again there were seconds of silence. I think we both wanted the tension to dissipate somewhat so we could both get through the end of this fucking story. Finally she continued, “There is no version of this story that does. There isn’t a version where he was dying of cancer and the only cure was my magic healing pussy. It was selfish. It’s painful, no matter what the motivations were.”

I wanted to reach out to her and hold her, but given my conflicting emotions, I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have ended up strangling her. As calmly as I could, I said, “I’m sorry. This is hard for me, and I know it’s hard for you too. Tell me the rest and I’ll try to keep the volume lowered.”

She looked up and I saw tears beginning to form again. I did hug her then, and she returned my embrace as though she was holding onto me for dear life. I just held her for a few minutes like that, until she was ready to continue, while dreading her continuing. I did have to hear the rest of it, but I also needed that brief respite as much as she did. She broke her bear hug, wiped her eyes again, then picked up where she’d left off.

“It was just the two of us on the beach, and the sun had gone down. We were separated from the rest of the group, and the time had gotten away from us. Craig had lit another joint at some point, and we shared it. We were sitting, he had his arm around my shoulder, just chatting and watching the waves, when I said I was really enjoying the moment but I was ready to go back to the hotel.”

She paused a moment,”I don’t know if he misinterpreted my wanting to go back to the hotel as a suggestion, or if he just decided to be bold and make a move, but he pulled me in and kissed me. I hadn’t meant going to the hotel as anything other than going to my room alone, but when he kissed me, I kissed him back. It was like a switch had been turned on, you’ve certainly seen that happen sometimes when I’m in that state. We made out, and then when our hands started roaming all over each other, he said, ‘You’re right, going back to the hotel is a good idea, if we continue out here we might get arrested.'”

I managed not to say anything and continued listening.

“We hurried back there,stopping a couple times along the way to swap tongues. When we got to the hotel, we went to his room. I won’t share the gory details, but we fucked. After we finished, got dressed then went back to my room, I didn’t feel any guilt then, but didn’t want to wake up in someone else’s room.”

I almost smile at that, that was very much like Donna.

She kept going, “The next morning, I woke up and got out of bed and all I was thinking about was packing and checking out of the hotel when I remembered the previous night. The guilt hit me then. I couldn’t believe I had had sex with someone else, especially not a co-worker and most especially not Craig. That cocky bastard had gotten through my defenses and had added me as a notch on his belt. His ego was probably sky high. In a way, that was bothering me as much as the fact I had been unfaithful.”

With as much sympathy as I could put into my voice I said, “I think I can understand under those conditions why it happened. I guess it continued because he threatened to tell me about it?” It was becoming more understandable, one slip followed by coercion. Donna had been protecting herself, but also was desperate to spare my feelings and avoid damage to our marriage.

She broke eye contact with me and softly said, “No. He didn’t do that. I was the one that continued it.”

Did I say it was becoming clear? Now it was as clear as mud, I was about to speak but Donna hurriedly said, “Before you say anything, it wasn’t because it was some kind of amazing sex that I wanted to repeat, it wasn’t. It wasn’t even close to the best sex I’ve had, and before you ask, that’s been with you. It was the fact I couldn’t bear the thought of him feeling that he had seduced me. I couldn’t work with him daily, with that idea. I wanted him to think the idea had been equally mine, I didn’t want him thinking I had lost control.”

If I’d been drinking anything I would have spit it out. Fucking Donna logic. This bizarre reasoning did fit what I knew about Donna, and I morbidly waited to see how this had played out.

She went on, “So after we returned, he played it cool. I spoke to him alone one day and told him I couldn’t wait for the next trip when we had more time, to see if he was up for more than a quickie. I said it was my fault party, because I should have suggested we return to the hotel earlier than I did when I lured him onto the beach. I planted the idea in his head that I was the one that had manipulated the evening, and also that the sex had been hurried. I can tell you I could see it on his face that his perception had just been changed to something a bit less satisfying.

I wanted to get any smug thoughts he’d had out of his head, and I had a plan. The next two trips that allowed for it, we did have sex again. We were very discreet, no one else knew then or knows now. The sex was less enjoyable for me those two times, still pleasant, but I needed to get high again just to put myself in the mood. It was part of carrying out the plan. Each of those times I subtly hinted that I thought with his reputation he’d be better. I could tell this was getting to him.

It was the fourth trip, where I lost the luggage was the last time and was supposed to be the last time. We were going to be away for four days, which gave us three nights he could look forward to. I was ready to decimate his ego sexually and end things at the same time. I told him I had some surprises for him, and hinted I was looking for three nights of earth-shattering sex. I could tell he was thinking he needed to up his game in the bedroom, and it was putting pressure on him.”

This not interrupting thing was a pain in the ass, but thankfully this train wreck of a story seemed to be coming to and end. I was a bit numb by this point, so I no longer had to bite my tongue. I just had to endure the rest of it. Fortunately I was right, we were almost to the end.

She said, “We’d always had sex in his room before, and I never spent the night. The first night in Austin, I let him know when we were done shooting, I wanted him in my room that night. I gave him my spare key and told him what time to let himself in, and I’d be waiting for him with a surprise. He showed up to find me naked and restrained in bed.”

Donna had had her share of toys, and she had done that for me a number of times. I knew the image well. Donna was like the opposite of an escape artist, in her ability to restrain herself before I’d arrived. She always let me know on those occasions I had better be home on time.

She said, “You know I like to be teased until I’m begging for an orgasm during those times. Dumbshit had no clue.” She said that last part with a certain relish. “He got the idea in his head that I was wanting to be helpless and taken, that he should use me any way he saw fit, that I was interested in his pleasure. It was some of the worst sex I ever had, and having smoked a joint before barely got me wet enough so that it didn’t hurt. I didn’t even have an orgasm that time. He could tell, and kept trying different things to get me off, although oral sex never occurred to him. After an hour, I told him it wasn’t working and suggested it was my fault, although I knew he was thinking anything but that. After he released me from the restraints, I said we should call it a night. I could tell he left the room with his ego devastated.”

I kept listening, at this point I was starting to feel a little bad for the guy. A little. Now that I knew she was winding up, I could even see a little humor in the situation. A little.

Donna kept going, “And that was the end of it. The next two nights I spent with different people on the crew as a small group. Craig was included, but he’d got the idea that I’d rather be spending time in other ways than having sex with him. I knew it was over, I torn his sexual self-esteem to shreds and sent him the message that disappointment in the sack meant it was over. I was friendly to him and he to me on the surface. Things had changed though, he never flirted with me again. The closest he ever came was one day at work, months after that trip, he said, ‘I’d like another shot sometime.’ I smiled and and just told him it was fun, but we weren’t compatible. I didn’t say sexually, but I knew that’s what he was thinking. And that’s it. That’s the story.”

I knew Donna was letting me know now was the time for comments or questions, but right then I was processing the story.

Donna filled the silence, “I’m really sorry. I want us to stay married. I love you. I know I fucked up. If you want a divorce, I’ll be heartbroken. I won’t fight it though. I know you’ll be reasonable and so will I. I’ll give you access to the children whenever you want. If you want or need to have an affair for the same length of time, you have my permission to do that. I’ll hate it. Or you can let me make it up to you every day, every month, every year.”

I said what I was thinking. “This seems very considered.”

“Ever since I lost that luggage, I worried about what this would mean. I’ve thought about this, and was prepared for you finding out. So, yes. I’ve been prepared years ago. I hoped you wouldn’t find out, but I knew what I’d say when you did.”

It was so Donna. She was always someone who rehearsed when on camera and came off as sincere. It’s why she was so good at her former job. She always practiced and prepared. I could always tell the difference between genuine sincerity and on-camera sincerity only because I knew her. If she’d practiced this speech in her mind, or probably out loud looking into the mirror as she often did, every word was considered. I focused on the part of the rehearsed speech that I thought could possibly save us.

“What does, ‘make it up every day’ mean exactly?”

“It means I’ll make it up to you for the rest of my life. Whatever you ask. I’ll do all of the things.”

That was quite a statement. That covered a lot of ground. “All of them?”

“Conditionally. I’ll do things to make you happy. I’ll do all of those things.”

“Conditionally?”

“You can’t go after my paramour.”

“Paramour? You mean Craig? Not that I was going to, but why shouldn’t I? Also, you saying ‘paramour’ isn’t really calming me down. It suggests feelings.”

“I said ‘paramour’ because I felt saying his name might be incendiary. ‘Lover’ or ‘boyfriend’ seemed a lot worse, and believe me he wasn’t either of those things. I don’t know how to refer to him without saying his name, so I thought ‘paramour’ was the least offensive thing I could say. Should I just refer to him by name?”

I could see she was trying to be sensitive to my feelings. The word ‘paramour’ was worse than saying ‘Craig.’ It gave him some kind of special relationship to her. “Let’s just refer to him as Craig. I can handle it. So why can’t I go after him?”

“Because I am the one that continued it. It was all me.”

“So you want to protect him?”

“No. I want to protect our marriage. I don’t want you to do something crazy that would keep him in our life. He’s gone. I don’t want him to be a mistake I made that affects us now. If you murder him and go to jail, then I lose you. Besides, you may not see it as punishment, but I assure you the damage to his sexual ego was huge, you just have to trust me on that.”

I really wasn’t the murdering type. It wasn’t that I don’t have dark thoughts, it’s more that I have a sense of self-preservation. That didn’t mean I didn’t want vengeance in a more subtle way. Giving that up would require quite a big trade off, even though I did believe Donna when she said she had crushed his image of himself as some kind of stud. I know how I would have felt in that situation, and I’ve never had any delusions about being a ladies man. It was time to focus on the good stuff.

“So those are the only conditions? Anything else I want for the rest of our life I can lay claim to?”

“Yes. Whatever you want. As often as you want it without argument.”

“Does that include anal sex?”

“Yes, goddamn it! Fuck my ass as often as you want and I’ll even pretend to enjoy it if you want me to.”

I needed time to think. Dad had always warned me about this possibility of my attractive wife finding another man. It turned out he was right. Therefore, he was the last person I wanted to talk to.

Instead, I decided to talk to my best friend Gonz. His name was Armando Gonzalez and his nickname was Mando, but I’d known him since we were kids and he was always Gonz to me. We always met up during the week, but I needed my best friend on that day. I called him and said, “Gonz, hey, can we do lunch today?”

“Nah, bad time. I’m working on a soundtrack for an independent film produced here in Phoenix.”

“Gonz, I really need this. Whatever favors you think you may owe me, I need this today. If you don’t feel you owe me any favors, then I will owe you for this. It’s that important.”

We met at one of our usual hangouts, a local restaurant known for having killer margaritas and awesome nachos. Gonz and I ordered both of these things, it’s what we ordered most of the time we met her, although sometimes we skipped the nachos. I took a health drink of my mango margarita before letting an impatient Gonz know what my problem was.

“Donna had an affair.”

Gonz almost choked on a tortilla chip, before washing it down with his raspberry margarita. “What?! Damn. Is she in love with him?”

“Had. Had. And no. It happened years ago. He doesn’t even live here any more.”

I told him the entire story. The whole time he was riveted. Gonz could be serious when he needed to be. He knew this was some major shit for me. After I concluded, I laid out the options she had presented me with. An affair of equal length or making it up to me for the rest of her life.

Gonz said, “For the rest of her life? So how would she do it?”

“She said anything I wanted.”

“What were her exact words?”

“She said, ‘All of the things.'”

Gonz cracked a smile before replying, “Does that mean anal sex is on the table?”

“It means anal sex is on the table, on the floor, in the bed or with her in the backyard on the swing set.”

Gonz held his hand up for the high five. I reacted to that reflexively as I had for so many years and high-fived him back.

“I still haven’t decided. I’m not sure I can live with it either way.”

Gonz ordered another round before saying,”This is easy, compadre.”

“How the fuck is this easy?”

“You’re thinking like a hurt person and not looking at it objectively.”

I was ruffled. “Dude, you lost your mind when Vanessa broke up with you.”

“Yeah. But that was my shit. You can’t be objective about your own shit. A friend can. You gave me great advice.”

“You ignored all of it!”

“I know. I realized after I was in jail for violating the restraining order that you were right. I should have listened. I didn’t then and you should listen to me now.”

“So what is your advice?”

“You two are crazy in love. She-”

I cut him off. “Obviously she doesn’t love me as much as I love her.”

“I thought you wanted my advice. That requires hearing it.”

“I will listen to your wisdom and cease from further interruptions.”

“She loves you, you love her. The only complaints you ever have are that she is too rigid. So now you get the woman you love that will loosen up any way you want to.”

I said, “Until she hates it.”

“Then enjoy the ride. Take her at her word. For the first time, you’re the one in control.”

“Until it doesn’t work out and she can’t keep her word.”

“Maybe it happens in a year. Maybe five years. Maybe ten. You’re at the same place you are now but you’ve had a hell of a ride.”

There’s a reason he’s my best friend. I did want my marriage to work. So I took Gonz’s advice. Once I did, it was hard to know where to start. There were so many possibilities that it was a bit overwhelming.

I went with a cliché usually initiated by the woman in a relationship. I told Donna that night after the kids were in bed, “We need to talk.”

We were in the living room again, this time sitting on the couch together. She wasn’t exactly on pins and needles, but she was nervous. I took her hand to reassure her.

“I’ve considered the options you presented me with. I don’t like any of them. I don’t feel like there’s a Band-Aid that will immediately fix this. I’m hurt.”

“I know.”

“I want us to stay together. I want us to grow old together. I want both of us to be there for our kids and grandchildren. I fell in love with you and that love has just grown stronger over the years. What happened though will take some time to get over. So I choose ‘All of the things.’ I’m not sure you really mean it, but that’s the one I choose. If you do that, I’ll eventually get over it. I won’t be abusive about it, but I will test you. If it doesn’t work for you, then we divorce. I will hold you to it. Even one time you refuse me, we’re done. I am believing you will be sincere and I need this to happen.”

Donna kissed me. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, it was the kiss of love. Anybody that’s been kissed that way knows the feeling. It’s the feeling of the woman you love, in your lap, as her body melds into you while kissing. She gives you that special kiss that makes you feel like you are the most important person in the world and only you get that kiss.

“I meant it. Until the end of time I will do what I said. I don’t say things without thinking about them, and I’ve thought about this for years. In some ways, I’m looking forward to it.”

We cuddled that night and didn’t have sex. It didn’t seem like either of us wanted it. We just wanted to take comfort in the other person’s body and feel everything would be okay.

The next morning I was ready to test her commitment. So many possibilities. I didn’t doubt she was sincere when she promised. I wanted to find out if the promise could stick over the long term.

Naturally I started with lingerie shopping. I had never bought any lingerie for Donna. She always knew what she wanted on her body and told me not to buy clothing for her. Now that changed. We shopped together and I picked three things that I liked. I let her pick the one she wanted from among the choices I presented to her. She didn’t pick my first choice, but I was fine with that.

The next step was the back yard. Did I mention I had a pirate fetish? I bought a flag pole and hung a Jolly Roger in the back yard. I went further than that and made the back yard pirate themed. This included a redesign of our pool. Now there were sharks, alligators and dolphins. Donna thought it was embarrassing, but the kids loved it. When Donna voiced her objections, I just smiled and said, “All of the things.” That always shut her up. She did take it graciously. I had only to say, “AOTT” and I won every big argument.

I also won the smaller things as well. I’d always loved karaoke and Donna hated it. While she may have had the face of an angel, she sure didn’t have the voice of one. I was no Freddy Mercury, or even Tom Jones, but I could sing the latter without embarrassing myself. I’d often sung “Sex Bomb” to Donna. The high notes I had to fudge, but she always thought my moving and shaking was hilarious. Yup, white men have no rhythm is a true stereotype in my case. Still, as long as you’re having fun, who cares who judges you.

Halloween I decorated the place. Our lawn became full of tombstones. I insisted Donna join me in a scary costume. One year we were zombies, another year vampires, another year scary clowns… you get the idea.

Then vacations. That one I really enjoyed. I got to take Donna and our kids to places Donna had always vetoed. We did things like white-water rafting. In a way that was safe, of course. The kids loved it. Donna got through it. She was worried about the danger to our children, but I knew what I was doing, inasmuch as you can when out in the elements.

I really didn’t think she could stick to it. She was a trooper though. At any thought I had that she disagreed with, she’d argue her point. If we hit an impasse, I’d just end it with, “AOTT.” It was a lifetime trump card as we had mutually agreed on. It took a while for me to accept that every new request would not be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

We had anal sex, and while it wasn’t as horrible as she feared, it was clear it did nothing for her. I only asked her for it about once a year. I called it our “Analversary.” She was game and gave it her best. She really did. She once put a “Post It” note on her ass when I got home that said, “Happy Analversary.” That meant more to me than the sex. Okay, it was a tie. They both meant a lot to me.

I also went and bought Blu-rays of every series Carmen LaGaretta was in. Even with Donna’s agreement, I thought watching this on a streaming service where Donna could see our viewing history, would be rubbing her nose in it. Besides, Blu-rays had interview and deleted scenes. I watched those when Donna was out, and kept those hidden in a desk. I had missed out on some good series, as well as some admitted crap.

Our children were an issue I wanted to have more influence on than I had previously. I had deferred to Donna on the kids mostly, but I wanted to revisit it. After all, “All of the things.” Allison wanted to go to cheer leading camp.

Donna absolutely hated the idea. “That promotes treating women as sex objects.”

As far as I was concerned, this was my father discouraging me from following my dream. “She’s young. For her it’s about entertainment and maybe that’s something we should encourage. She’s too young for it to be sexual, let’s let her decide for herself whether she wants to continue or not.”

I knew Donna didn’t like it, but I played the AOTT card. I had to play it again with our son.

Nick wanted to play soccer. The boy wasn’t the most athletic, but he wasn’t a slouch either. He did like watching soccer games. I’m not sure how much of it was natural interest or growing up hearing stories about his mother covering local sports. Whatever it was, he really wanted to do it.

Donna was even less enthusiastic about this idea than cheer leading camp. “Do you understand about concussions?”

“It’s children playing soccer. A child is much more likely to get a concussion falling out of a tree he climbed.”

I wasn’t exactly certain that was statistically accurate, but intuitively I felt it was okay saying it.

As far as I was concerned, taking Gonz’s advice was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. I had everything I’d ever wanted. I had my wonderful wife. I had my wonderful kids. I’d really forgiven Donna and I was on Cloud 9. What I didn’t realize was that Donna was finding “all of the things” harder to stick to as the years went on. I should have, but I’d gotten used to the new reality.

Friday nights were always date nights. We’d picked that night because sometimes I had to work on weekends. Weekends were the only time some clients had off. Dad hated the word “clients.” He called them customers. I realized early on the customers hated that word. I guess it was a generational thing.

Date nights we always had a babysitter. Date night was not a weekly occurrence, but it was something we did when we just wanted time together. The kids were left with Shelly, the 17-year-old neighborhood babysitter. We usually got back before 10:00. Date nights as a couple did come with some parameters, after all. You can only trust your children in a teenager’s hands for so long. Donna and I rarely stayed out past 10:00. If we did, it was because there was traffic, a delay in paying the bill, or that we wanted an extra 30 minutes before going home. The first inkling I had that something was amiss with our agreement was during one of those date nights.

We were in a karaoke bar, and I’d just nailed the Elvis song, “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” I looked at Donna the whole time as I sang it. After I got offstage I got a kiss on the lips. I was surprised, and a bit uncomfortable, so I didn’t kiss back. She separated and said, “Thanks for singing that song. It was sooo sexy. You made me moist.”

To be fair, that kiss and comment made me hard. I went back to our table, knowing Donna had seen that and was ready to reassure her that it was unexpected and meant nothing. I didn’t get the first words out because Donna said, as I sat down, “That woman is attractive.”

Her tone was surprising. There was just something off. It was like she was happy for me having that moment. Oh sure, that would have been in character for her to enjoy a moment like that with me, but “That woman is attractive,” was not typical Donna.

I just said, “Sure she is. Not anywhere near as attractive as you though.” I kissed her and sat down. I wasn’t sure where this was going, and I hoped it was going nowhere.

“She kissed you.”

“I know. I was there.”

“Did you see her tits? I don’t think those are fake.”

“They look nice.”

“They’re not nice, they’re exquisite. Perfection.”

That was an awkward comment to respond to. Yeah, she had great tits but I was supposed to say my wife’s were the best in the world. I hedged, “They do look better than average.”

“If I was a man, I’d be all over those. Hell, as a woman, I might be tempted to switch teams for a night or two.”

Donna was effusive. She didn’t seem jealous of another woman’s looks, she seemed to be in admiration. Donna had commented on a woman’s looks and body before, but never had tried to sexualize it. I didn’t disagree that the woman had an impressive rack from her outward appearance. The word ‘perfection’ seemed strange because there was no way to know what really was under her blouse.

It was such a bizarre experience. I talked it over with Gonz.

Gonz cut to the chase. “Was she sexually attractive?”

“Definitely.”

“It seems like she was was encouraging it. Is this a kink of hers?”

“No. It never has been. Until maybe now?”

Gonz patted a waitress on the ass as she passed by before responding. It took a bit longer because she turned around and mouthed, “Call me,” and he mouthed something back I couldn’t see. Then he said, “Dude, Donna is chafing at what she agreed to. Trust me, women don’t like chafing. It’s uncomfortable.”

I knew what Gonz was saying, but it was blowing my mind. So I asked, “She wants to get out of it so much she actually wants me to fuck another woman? Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

I wasn’t sure I believed Gonz. Donna wanting me to fuck another woman? I was happy with how things were going. I found it hard to believe she’d prefer I fuck another woman rather than maintaining the status quo. It’s not like I was unreasonable in the things I insisted on. If she felt it was, she’d done a great job of hiding it. Of course part of the agreement was she’d do what I asked without complaint. So there was really no way to be sure. I just paid attention to see if this situation would ever repeat. It did. I started paying more attention. It happened again during date night. This time, Donna suggested we try a “new place.” It was a new breastaurant called “Grand Tetons.” It turned out the name had nothing to do with the cuisine or atmosphere. I realized it as I was looking through the menu and taking stock of the waitresses. There were no waiters.

Leila, our blonde and well-endowed waitress, came to our table and the first words she said were, “Donna, is this that magnificent husband you’ve been telling me about?”

“Yes it is. He’s quite the catch.”

“I can see that.” She turned to me, “Donna certainly didn’t lie. It’s nice to finally meet you. So what will you be having?”

She didn’t say that last part with any sort of a suggestive nature, yet it felt suggestive. I ordered two beers from a local brewery. I always support local businesses when I can. “That will do for the moment, still deciding what to eat.”

Leila said, “Of course. Deciding what to eat is important. We can’t just put anything in our mouths.” She said it without any sort of sexy tone in her voice. She did lean over so I got a great view of her ample cleavage. This was definitely twice. Two times is not a coincidence, it’s a pattern.

I’d been to other breastaurants before. I’d never gotten that level of innuendo. This was strip club level flirting. Donna didn’t seem fazed at all. So when Leila left, and shook her ass in tight shorts, I said, “So… how do you know Leila?”

“She’s another sorority sister. I was there when she was a pledge. She was so appreciative to meet me. She seemed fascinated by you though. I think she was more interested in you than me, even though I was a legacy legend.”

That was clearly preposterous. My ego was flattered by the attention, but I knew that Donna’s acceptance and story was as unlikely as being washed onshore onto an island of attractive amazons that had never seen a man, and were immediately attracted to me, like I was the second coming of Adonis. I said nothing. We drove home and we talked about anything except that conversation. I sensed Donna wanted me to talk about it, and I also knew it was killing her that I didn’t.

After paying off Shelly and checking on the kids, we went to bed. I was feeling a bit amorous, being surrounded by breasts and short shorts will do that to a man. It’s a thing you don’t want to admit to your wife, even though you know she already knows that. I was also uncomfortable about the whole situation. Something felt off. Again.

I gave her a “goodnight kiss,” despite the fact I had a raging erection. I turned away to go to sleep so my boner wouldn’t be pressing against her. She spooned me. Not rare, we’d done this position before with her being the big spoon. What was unusual, was what she was whispering when I was trying to go to sleep.

“Leila’s hot, don’t you think?,” she whispered.

I sensed a trap. I had no idea what kind of trap it was. I responded as though I was tired and just wanted to go to bed, “She’s attractive. Not as attractive as you.” I yawned.

Donna started nibbling my ear, “I think she was into you. She’s so young, I bet she’s wild in bed. I’ve heard there isn’t anything she won’t do.”

That was something I’d never heard from her. I had always been worried about someone sweeping Donna away, I never thought she’d have her own insecurities. As soon as I thought that, it took me only seconds to realize this wasn’t what it was about. Donna was never insecure. For some reason, she was putting thoughts in my head of another woman. I was trying to consider the reason, and it wasn’t helped by her nibbling and dialogue and the fact Leila was attractive. It’s hard to think with an erection.

I dissembled. “Donna, if you want her, I have to say ‘No.’ I appreciate you asking permission, but I really want us to be exclusive. Just because it’s with a woman doesn’t mean I won’t feel threatened.” I was ready to be punched in the face.

Donna did pause nibbling on me. For a moment. Then she kissed the back of my neck. “Not for me, you know I don’t swing that way.” She gave me little bites. She knew my sensitive spots.

I let her continue for a bit. I was getting really horny. Then I said sarcastically, “Do you want me to fuck her? Would that make you happy?”

That stopped her lips on me. “Yes. Yes! YES! Fuck her. I’m going crazy. Yes I fucked up and agreed to this. I proposed it. Just fuck a woman, any woman. Enjoy it. Feel no guilt. Just do it because this is crushing me. Let me just be a wife and you be a husband and we talk about and agree about stuff together! I can’t take this anymore.”

It was a rant. How do you respond to that? Sex was clearly not going to happen after that monologue. Donna had agreed to a path she presented, and now was having buyer’s remorse. I was loving it. There was no woman I wanted to have sex with worth ruining this. Donna and I still had a great sex life and she was still physically attractive. So how do you console a woman that is wanting you to have sex with another woman because she wants to back out of the deal she proposed? I just hugged her and didn’t say a word. That turned out to be the right choice for that evening, despite my throbbing erection.

Life continued on as usual. I was more sensitive to the minor things Donna liked than I had been. I acquiesced to all of them, and even went a bit further with enthusiasm. On the important ones I was resolute. I got that she was feeling a lack of control. She got that I was acknowledging that and was showing her love in this paradigm. I thought we’d adjusted to a new normal. Donna understood that I liked the life we had more than any sexual fling. That was my reality until it wasn’t.

One day I went to work and got a voicemail from a Mrs. Sneider. She lived in Phoenix and wanted to talk to me about a specialized pool. I called her back and set up a time to look at her place. It was a fairly normal conversation except for one thing. The voice sounded slightly familiar but I couldn’t place it.

That voice was Carmen LaGaretta. I discovered that when I arrived at her place. I rang the doorbell as I’d done several times, and the door opened and there she was. She was dressed in a tank top and shorts, not unusual attire in a place known for heat. She looked hot. The shorts fit her body like they had been drawn on her. Her breasts couldn’t be ignored even though she was clearly wearing a bra. I was flabbergasted and didn’t speak. I knew her husband’s last name was “Sneider,” but I never even thought it could be Carmen LaGaretta. I was thinking I’d gone to the wrong place.

Carmen spoke first, “So you’re Donna’s husband.”

Her voice was friendly. Her smile was friendly. Her eyes screamed, “That bitch.”

I just said,”I am.”

Carmen’s voice was all sweetness and light. “I love that woman, we were in a sorority together. I love her so much, we were so close in college. Besties actually. It’s so nice to finally meet the husband of my sorority sister. Please come inside.”

I followed her inside in a state of shock. This was a woman that I’d seen onscreen and fantasized about. Donna had also been onscreen, but this was different. Donna was a professional journalist who did the news. Carmen was an actress best known for playing characters that were sexual and had simulated sex. I assumed it was simulated, even though it looked really convincing.

Carmen took me to the backyard. Of course there was already a pool there. Anyone in the city that could afford a pool had one. The pool was like many pools in the area, standard issue. It made sense that she’d want something special, or her husband did. Both of them were exposed to other pools from the rich and famous and probably wanted to project an image. I was here for an upgrade. It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked to do something like this.

Carmen was incredibly flirtatious, and that is an understatement. She made incidental contact. She bent over so I could see her cheeks poking out of those short shorts. She also showed her cleavage at every opportunity by just adjusting her pose or leaning into to me while I was discussing possible designs. She also patted my ass.

I tried to ignore all that. How often does lightning strike twice? This was just Carmen, of course sex was her brand. She was probably just was looking for a discount. I did get an erection though, and Carmen noticed it.

While I was mumbling something about the cost of turning her pool into something she seemed to want, she said, “Do you need to go to the bathroom and take care of your little head, so your big head can do the thinking?”

I could have died then. A bullet to the head would have been merciful. After way too long for a response to be taken as natural, I said, “Carmen, I think you may have-”

That was as far as I got before she interrupted my awkward start of a sentence, “I’m sure you’ve masturbated thinking about me.”

“I haven’t.” That was an honest response. I did realize at that moment that the only woman I had lied to was Donna. I put that thought on hold, following that road would just lead to uncomfortable issues. I was in a sexually charged moment with Carmen, best to focus on that. Since I’d met Donna, Carmen was the last person I’d masturbate to, if I imagined anyone else than Donna while masturbating.

She laughed. “I’m not offended if you did. I like the idea that there are men out there stroking themselves at the thought of me.”

“It’s true. I didn’t discover your films until I was dating Donna. I’m a one woman guy, even when I masturbate.” That was true. Every time I’d done it since I’d been with Donna, I only thought of Donna. Granted, sometimes I thought of Donna doing things she’d never do, but the image in my head was always Donna. Call me pussy whipped or whatever, I’m proud to be whipped by that pussy. Carmen didn’t seem to believe it. Or maybe she did, by what came next.

“That’s too bad. If a man won’t masturbate to my image, I’m not interested in having sex with him.”

I have no idea why I said what I said next. I think it was me bluffing to get out of an uncomfortable situation. “I only masturbate to nude women.” That wasn’t even true. I’d masturbated to images of women who’d I’d never gotten a naughty glimpse of. I’d masturbated to cartoon characters. Jessica Rabbit was a staple. So was Minerva Mink, a more obscure character. I really did think I was trying to shut it down. I still believe that.

That’s when she removed her blouse.

Her tits looked just like they had in every moment captured by cameras. Age had been kinder to them than to Donna’s. That wasn’t exactly a fair comparison, Donna had fed two babies. That put her at a disadvantage.

I could have retreated and said I was joking. I didn’t. I said, “That’s not complete nudity.” I still insist I was looking for an escape, to my dying day that is my story and I’m sticking to it. It was stupid to think she wouldn’t show me the rest. She’d done it on film a number of times. Maybe I was just stalling and trying to find a way out. While my mind was in turmoil, she got completely naked. Carmen didn’t do it fast, she just took the amount of time necessary to do it. I had so many opportunities to back out. I was just mesmerized.

I’d seen her pussy on film several times. At times she was completely shaved. Other times her bush was neatly trimmed. Now it was hairy. She saw my eyes riveted there. She seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.

“I’m doing a bit part in a 70’s film. I’ve showed you mine, now you show me yours.”

I’d called what I thought was her bluff, and she’d called my actual bluff. Now what? Now what indeed.

I dropped my pants, with a bit of difficulty since I had to work around my erection. My pants and underwear were around my ankles. This was worse than when I was a teenager. I’d had hand jobs and blow jobs in situations like this. I’d never just dropped my pants and felt like I was auditioning.

Carmen just watched with a predatory look while I eventually presented myself with a full erection, “Stroke it for me.”

That voice. That moment. It was the point of no return. Those are my thoughts in hindsight. What I did was just grabbed my shaft and started slowly pumping it. I watched her as I did. She didn’t say a word. She just smiled. I pumped it harder and harder. She just kept her eyes on me and kept her magnificent body on display. I was getting close and it must have been obvious to her. I wasn’t sure about just shooting my stuff. She made that choice easy.

“I want to see it fly.”

I stroked my cock faster. Lack of lubrication was a problem, so I just had to make my cock submit to my will. I’d apologize to it later. I wanted her to see me come in a forceful way. I was silent while I stroked, concentrating on my task. I let it loose all over the hardwood floors. I was pleased to see it was a lot. I know women don’t care about the volume, but it still made me feel proud.

“Why don’t you clean up while I clean up the mess.”

I went to the bathroom. I did the usual stuff to make sure I had no sticky underwear to wash later. I also took time to examine myself in the mirror to make sure that I still looked presentable and hadn’t bitten my lip or something. When I got back, Carmen was fully dressed. I was disappointed. I got over it quickly when she said, “I think you are the right man for what I want. You’re hired.” That voice was mischievous and so, soooo sexy. It promised more adventures to come.

At the first opportunity, I talked to Gonz and told him the story.

“It was crazy. She sat seductively on the couch and asked me to masturbate. I so did that. She encouraged me every step of the way.”

Gonz was into it, “That’s totally hot. Was she masturbating as well?”

“No, but she was completely naked though. She was just watching me and told me to cum. I came so hard.”

Gonz was excited as a good friend should be. “On her tits?”

“No. I came on the floor. We weren’t touching. She was doing her thing and I was doing mine.”

“What was her thing?”

“Watching me come, Gonz.”

“Awesome! Then what happened?”

“We both cleaned up.”

When you know a friend as long as I’ve known Gonz, you know every expression. I can’t really describe the exact look he gave at that moment, but it was like a good friend that doesn’t want to tell you bad news, but does it because he’s a friend.

“That is the worst sex story ever.”

“You had to be there.”

Gonz ordered another round before he continued, “So you just… masturbated in front of her. You just broke your agreement.”

“What do you mean?”

“You had an affair.”

I tried to explain it to him. “It’s not an affair. She wants me to come back, so it could become one. Maybe.”

“So you can masturbate while she watches in every room in the house? Christening the kitchen by masturbating while the naked woman watches and claps? Wow. Living the dream.” Gonz raised his glass in a toast.

“Oh shit. I screwed up, didn’t I?”

Gonz gave me his not-judging, but judging look. That look always meant to me to pause before responding and think about things. While I was doing just that, he said, “Think what you’re giving up. All of the things. All of them.”

I did think about it in the few seconds I had to consider it. My answer was, “Yeah, but it’s Carmen LaGaretta.”

“Is one woman worth giving up everything you have?”

“It’s Carmen LaGaretta.” That should have settled the argument, as far as I was concerned.

“How special can her pussy be? Does she have a magic vibrating one?”

“Come on. Wouldn’t you consider it for her?”

“No. She’s got a hot bod, but so do other women. She’s not even a good actress.”

I bristled a bit here. “I think she’s good for the roles she’s cast in.”

“Yeah, but you said good, not great. The attraction you feel is a fantasy from watching her on film. You have been happy. For years you’ve been telling me how ecstatic you’ve been with Donna going along with everything you want. You really want to give up that part of your life for a fantasy fuck?”

I said in my calm voice, “Gonz. You have a great point. I appreciate your wisdom.”

It was very good advice. It really was. I ignored it. I mean, since when in my life had Gonz been the voice of reason?

After that, I had to pretend everything was normal with Donna. I hadn’t really done anything wrong, Carmen and I didn’t actually have sex. So why was it harder for me to act around Donna like nothing had happened?

Planning my three weeks with Carmen took some coordination. I booked a ticket to Florida, on the pretense I was meeting a client there, then a return flight to Phoenix. Yes, I’d been given the option of screwing someone. So I could have just told Donna I was planning to going to have sex with Carmen.

I couldn’t. It was an elaborate deception. First, I wasn’t sure that would happen. Second, it was with her nemesis. So I told Donna I was going to be in Florida. More lies. At this point I was rationalizing that I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I wanted to preserve the illusion that I was working. Mainly I was trying to keep from her I was going on a fuck date with the last person she could possibly have had in mind when she offered the option of me having an affair of equal length.

Donna offered to drive me to the airport. I declined that offer. I had reservations about her driving me to a hoped for a rendezvous with Carmen, the woman she hated above all others on the planet. Sure, she would technically be dropping me off to fly to Florida. It still didn’t feel right.

I arrived at Carmen’s place. I had no idea what to expect.

Carmen said, “You’re not here about the pool.”

Well, that was wrong. I was there for the pool. “I am. My art is important to me.” The way she said what she said though, did make me question my motives. She had a way of saying anything that dripped with sex.

She gave me a smile that seemed so normal, yet her voice carried a different meaning, “I know. You create good art.”

I think I was sweating when I said, “It’s why I’m here.”

Then she went from innuendo, to single entendre. “If that’s the only reason, you can leave. There are many other men that can design pools. Is that your final answer?”

The way she said it… it was a combination of taunting and indifference. It was like she really didn’t care if I left. It was also simultaneously like she wanted me to stay. My brain finally sorted it out. She wanted me to say I wanted her. I was here because I hoped she wanted me. Now I was having stupid thoughts. Fuck it.

I said, “I’m happy to design a pool for you. But if I’m not getting the second best sex of my life with you, stop the teasing.”

“Second best?”

“Donna is always going to be the best. It doesn’t matter what we do, there’s a familiarity there.”

“I take that as a challenge. I also appreciate your honesty. Let me set the scene to allow me to be second best.”

Carmen seemed to understand everything I was saying. Somehow she convinced me to give her the shot at “Second best.” Those were my words. I was tied to the bed naked and spreadeagled.

She straddled me and her bush was tantalizingly close to my mouth.

“You fantasized about eating me.” She said this like it was a known fact. If she had delivered it without emotion or taking it for granted, I might have been offended. The way she said it made me feel she was excited by it. I was as well.

Words failed me. So I said, “Yes.”

I licked her with my tongue. Then she pulled that bush out of range.

“Then eat me.”

She dipped her pussy back into range. I used my tongue to get a few licks in. Then she maddeningly pulled away again. I extended my tongue as far as I could. It wasn’t close enough. Then she barely got close enough where I could just graze her.

“Don’t you want me baby?”

I softly said, “Yes.” I wanted to grab her hips and pull her onto my face. I couldn’t though. I tried. The restraints couldn’t be overcome. They were tight. Donna’s always could have allowed her to break free. I was bound and at her mercy.

She lowered herself again, a bit closer this time. “You do?”

I darted my tongue out, tasting her. For about two seconds. Then she pulled away again.

“I didn’t hear an answer. I’ll take that as a ‘No.'”

I managed to choke out, “Carmen, I do. I really do.”

She hovered over me again. She wasn’t in range of my tongue this time. She was barely out of reach. She used her fingers to open her folds, then started pleasuring herself. “You say it, but you aren’t making me believe it.”

I was pulling at my restraints trying to get closer to her pussy. It was so tantalizingly out of range and she just kept touching herself. “Carmen! I want you.” It was not a whisper now.

“Louder.”

I had never been loud during sex. Vocal yes, loud no. Donna and I had kids after all. I let it loose. “Carmen! I want you! Let me taste you!”

She dipped down again and said, “Eat me. Feast on me.” Part of me was still worried she’d pull away again. That moment was brief. She stayed there. She stopped talking in sentences. All I heard as my tongue explored her were words like “there,” “more,” “fuuuck,” or noises of pleasure.

She finally mounted me. I had never wanted my cock in a pussy so badly.

A thought occurred to me. “Are you on birth control?”