The clouds, that had been gathering all day and threatening rain, parted briefly, just after sundown, and allowed a sliver of light from the waxing gibbous moon through. It shone on the ancient standing stone that some quirky ancestor had absconded from Scotland with and set up at the top of a knoll on the family estate, here in the New World. Its enigmatic carved face was briefly illuminated by the lunar glow and seemed to almost come alive in the eerie light. Then the clouds closed up again and the stone seemed to be just waiting there patiently, as the late fall storm crackled and thundered - splitting the sky over the helpless landscape, periodically charging it with a quick strobe of brilliant energy pulsing light. The rain began to drum down and run in raging rivers over the indecipherable runes that covered the monolith.
"If only the lightning had of hit the damned thing, back then, and blown it to hell, where it belonged." John would later reflect on that night when it all started, "My life wouldn't have been changed forever... but, on the other hand, maybe it was the best thing that ever happened to me."
*****
I'm Johnathan - John to my friends. My buddies would sometimes rib me, as guys have been known to do, when we get together for a couple of drinks after a game of golf, by calling me - totally average John. Average handicap, average size at five-ten and one seventy pounds, with hazel eyes, and my neatly cropped blond hair was unremarkable except for the odd one that was bleaching to white.
My wife, of almost twenty-five years, Sheila, and I met in our first year of university at a mixer, when we were only eighteen. I was first attracted to her by her fiery red hair and green eyes mounted on a tiny five foot nothing frame, but the proportionally big boobs and bubble butt were certainly eye catching. So, I took a chance and started to chat her up. I know it's a cliché but we clicked instantly. It was a mutual agreement to date each other exclusively that whole year and eventually plans were made to get married as soon as we graduated. Both of us were young and foolish and thought we would be together forever. We told both sets of parents about our intentions, expecting their blessing, and were surprised by the cool response to our plan.
My father even took me aside at the 'meet the other parents' dinner, in our small city, and tried to convince me that this was a bad idea. "Don't be too hasty." He expanded on this theme, "this is a time in your lives to experiment and explore other options, rather than settling on the first girl you get a serious lust on for." In his, rhetorical, words, "If you were buying a car, you would kick the tires and take it for a test drive or two, but you would also want to compare it to other makes and models...right?"
His cautionary speech, and a similar one that Sheila endured, didn't change our minds. Long story short, we got an apartment together the next year and have been together - and have been, I thought, inseparable, right up to the present. In hindsight, my father's words make me think he was a lot smarter than I gave him credit for at the time.
*****
"John, we need to talk." Sheila started. Then she hesitated as if at a loss for words as to how to continue. I had just poured, and handed, her a glass of the burgundy wine she liked and gotten myself a finger of a new single-malt Scotch that I was trying out. It smelled and tasted like an excellent Scotch should and I was looking forward to enjoying it for many years to come.
We sat down on the couch together and she scooted further away so she could face me. "This is not looking or sounding too good," the alarm bells where ringing in my mind, as I watched her warily.
Apparently emboldened by my silence, she plunged ahead. "John, we're empty nesters now..." It was true, our kids, a son and daughter had both recently flown the coop and were establishing lives of their own - as is only right. My one disappointment was that they had flown so far away, because I knew Sheila was really feeling at a loss without them being constantly underfoot as children - or more recently when they were at university, but still within a reasonable driving distance for visiting.
She was silent for a moment as if to collect her thoughts and frame what she wanted to say next. "John, our twenty fifth anniversary is coming up...we're both in our mid-forties - we're going to be fifty in a few years..."
"Yes, I know. That's why I'm in the process of retiring and selling out my shares, to my partners, in the dot com..." I nervously, rambled out. "Very soon we'll have enough loot to do the things we always dreamed about. I was thinking about: finally, fully modernising this ancient, sprawling, estate-house; travel and adventure; having wild monkey sex on some exotic beach ..." My voice trailed off as I realized she didn't seem to share any of my enthusiasm, except maybe for the last one.
"John, that's what I want to talk about..." Her eyes were downcast suddenly studying the hardwood floor, like she'd never noticed it before.
"John..."she said as if determined to spit it out before she lost her nerve. "We got married very young...maybe too young..."
I had a distinct sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Some of those, 'We need to talk,' stories I had read on "NavelStories" flashed before my mind's eye. I had got a vicarious thrill out of them at the time, but that's because they were fiction. I didn't believe they ever happened to real people - certainly not to me.
Then she dropped the bomb.
"I want your permission for...a Hall Pass."
"What?" I shouted.
That seemed to really stagger her. I hardly ever raised my voice - Never directed at her.
She paused before continuing. "You know I love only you. And I will forever. But, I feel like we've fallen into a middle age rut. I want to try something new and see if I can recapture that feeling of excitement we used to have. Remember how alive we felt when we were young?"
The absence of an immediate response from me caused her to pause in what was obviously a prepared speech. I felt like I had been blindsided and it was taking me a moment to come to grips with what she was saying. "It won't be forever. I'll have an adventure, just for me, and then I'll come back to you and we'll do all of the things you want to do right into our old age together."
"Not going to happen!" was my immediate, perhaps ill-considered response, which I blurted out. "Think what this will do to us - to our marriage. I can't believe you're seriously willing to throw away more than twenty-five years of our lives."
My futile attempt to shut her down had the opposite effect - she just dug her heels in, "John, let me explain..."
"No, I don't want you to do this - I don't want to give permission for any...Hall Pass." I said banging my clenched fist on the coffee table for emphasis, with a loud, glass rattling, thump. "Hall pass, my ass - I've read stories about this, call it what it is, you intend to go out and fuck some guy. How long have you been planning this? Shouldn't I have an equal amount of time to think about where we are at in our lives and where we go from here?"
Then the next evil suspicion just slipped out of my mouth before I really considered what consequences might result. "Have you already got a guy just waiting in the wings? Has he got a bigger dick than I do? Or have you got more than one guy lined up? If looks could kill, I would have been hit by the lightning I saw building up in the thunderstorm gathering behind her eyes.
I tried to calm things down with a more conciliatory tone, "If you do this, it will probably be the end of us. There are so many things here that you have to consider..."
But it was too late. She didn't answer any of my questions. She just threw at me, "Don't you dare try to confuse me with your logic. Just because you went to graduate school and got an MBA you think you're smarter than me, well the world needs nurses too. Don't start an argument with me about this." She had screwed up her usually pretty face into an ugly scowl. "John...I'm determined to do this!"
That, was that. A silent standoff began. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped several degrees. I felt there was a huge chasm opening between us. I had blown my only chance to have a calm discussion about her feelings and maybe, just maybe, talking her out of this disastrous decision.
After a painful minute of the silent treatment, she toyed, for a moment, with the shiny new, colorful patchwork, leather shoulder bag that I had lovingly bought for her. She really loved it and had taken to lugging it around, full of God knows what, everywhere she went. Then having apparently reached a decision, she abruptly stood up, announcing, "Maybe I'll come back in a while when you've calmed your ego down and we can talk about this like adults. I'll explain my feelings so you can understand my reasons for doing this." She stormed towards the door.
I began to say, "Sheila, I'm begging you, please forget about this destructive fantasy..." the door slamming behind her with a loud definitive bang chopped off my fruitless plea.
There was no wrapping my head around this nonsensical decision that she had spewed out. Maybe I should chase after her, but then thought that might just prolong the argument - better to let things cool down until she comes back on her own.
I looked out the window but couldn't see where she had gone. The previously pounding rain had quit drumming on the roof and the waxing, almost, full moon now shone down in all its cold majesty. It penetrated through the wispy ground fog and gave a haunted look to the starkly monochromatic landscape, around our house. I thought that was a suitable reflection of my current feelings. But the moonlight did nothing to illuminate a path forward. No help for me to navigate my way through this minefield in front of me. It seemed like even the gods were laughing at, and focusing their 'other worldly,' glow on all of my lifelong plans, and wisping them away with the fog.
Before risking saying or doing anything more, when she came back, which was bound to end up in disaster, I did what any sensible man would do - grabbed my car keys and headed out to my favorite watering hole to sort my jumbled emotions out, or at least drown my sorrows.
*****
I'm not really much of a drinker - one or two is usually my limit - but not after the shock I had just been punched in the gut with. Handing my car keys to a long-time friend, who I had known since high school, the bar-keeper, Bonnie. I flashed her a weak smile.
She had been single and the owner of the small hole-in-the-wall bar ever since her husband had unexpectedly passed away from pancreatic cancer a year previously. She was taller than Sheila at about five six and very well endowed, "Rubenesque," came to mind. She kept her wavy blonde hair shoulder length so that it didn't get in her way when slinging drinks.
"Pour booze for me until I can't remember what the wife and I are arguing about, and then send me home in a cab."
That's what she did. Somewhere during that foggy night, while somewhat still standing - actually mostly sitting on my stool while desperately clutching onto the bar for support - I had drunkenly confessed to the sorry mess my marriage was in.
"It's probably something I did, or more likely didn't do," I arrived at, what seemed to me, in my alcohol fueled, befuddled state, this profound conclusion. I vaguely recall Bonnie's wise barkeeper's absolution of, "Stop beating yourself up. It's not your fault - it's hers," for my obvious sins and failures as a husband. Then she called me a cab.
*****
The next day about noon, bright sunlight streaming in the window woke me. Just barely making it to the toilet before losing the meager contents of my stomach - vaguely recalling nothing, except bar nuts, had been my supper the night before, then noisily ralphing again.
The thought, "Whoever coined the saying, 'Getting drunk never solved anything - it just makes things worse!' Sure got that right." Because I felt distinctly worse than I did before last night.
Then my phone rang splitting my head open with the sound. I croaked, "Hello."
"Why hadn't Sheila answered the phone?" flitted through my mind. Glancing at the bed, there was no sign that she had even slept there last night.
It was Bonnie on the line, "So, you're still alive. Do you need a ride to come and get your car? I'm just on my way to open up but I can swing by and give you a lift."
"Yah that would be great...when?"
"In about a half hour or so."
Somehow, I staggered into the shower and let the soothing water wash over me. Then managed to accomplish the other usual morning rituals. It was Saturday so I didn't bother with a shave, but brushing my teeth thankfully got rid of a foul taste in my mouth.
Using, "there wasn't enough time to make the real stuff," as an excuse for my total lack of motivation to use the drip machine, I settled for a cup of instant coffee. As the first few sips of the life giving brew started to lift the fuzzy fog in my head, I realized there was dead silence in the house except for me rattling around. Totally alone. Sheila hadn't slept in our bed and a check of the guest room had shown it to be empty as well. I could see through the kitchen window her car still sitting in the driveway.
Where was she?
Before I could ponder that question further, Bonnie arrived to pick me up.
"How do ya feel?" she said, brushing the golden hair back from her pretty face.
"Like the other team's enforcer checked me head first into the boards."
"Well, that'll learn ya. How's Sheila doing today? Did she give up on this 'Hall Pass' silliness, you were going on about last night?"
"Don't know. Didn't see her this morning. She left and went somewhere else last night... and stayed there."
"Oh, that's not good. She must really be pissed. Well, I'm sure she'll show up sometime today, after making her point. And expect you to apologize, grovel, and give her your permission."
"Yah, I expect you're right."
"Don't...just don't - Give in, that is. Again, Sheila's just trying to yank your chain with threats, until you give up and give her permission to go out and have her flings." She cautioned, as we pulled into the parking lot and stopped beside my car.
"I have no intention of giving her permission - wouldn't be able look myself in the mirror if I did."
Going home and finding out if there was a chance to save my marriage seemed like a good idea just about then.
*****
There was still no sign of Sheila.
She didn't come home all that day.
She didn't come home all that night.
In the early afternoon, I did all of the usual things, searching for her: Called all of her family and friends; called the local hospital; called both of my neighbors even. On the one side was the farmer I leased my fields to for grazing his cows and on the other the guy who ran a construction contracting business and used his back forty to park his heavy machinery. No sightings - Nothing.
Called the police and told them she was missing. The cop I was talking to politely informed me to calm down. When I admitted we had been having a heated argument before she abruptly left, I suddenly found myself being accused of some vaguely defined crime. Most of the call was me, strenuously denying I had threatened or used any violence against her.
He seemed to lose interest in the whole thing after that. Then he said, suppressing a yawn, "She's probably just run away for a while, got plastered in some bar and checked herself into a motel somewhere. She'll probably come home tomorrow once she's made her point and scared the daylights out of you."
"Look, she didn't take her car..."
"So, maybe she just phoned somebody to come and pick her up, while she was walking down the road. Or maybe she stuck her thumb out and hitched a ride - single women never have any trouble getting picked up for a ride." But I'll make a note of it. However, when she shows up, be sure to give us a call and let us know, so we can wrap up this incident report. Or, call us back in a couple of days if she's still missing and we'll open an official 'missing persons' file." Then he dismissed me with a polite, if bored sounding, "Good-Bye," and hung up.
That did not reassure me at all. Now I had visions of faceless, nameless, psychopaths picking her up, raping, murdering, and burying her in some anonymous hole in the ground in the rural countryside hereabouts.
I spent the whole day frantic with worry. The sun went down and the waning gibbous moon came up. I happened to be staring out the widow, looking at the moonlit landscape, trying to decide what I should do next when Sheila strolled through the door as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened for the last two nights. She acted like she didn't have a care in the world. In fact she looked quite excited and pleased with herself - if very disheveled, with her long red hair tangled in knots. And was that some hay clinging to it?
"John," she announced, throwing her arms around my neck and giving me a curiously distracted tongue free buss on my lips, "I've just had the most wonderful adventure. I'll tell you all about it in a while. But right now, I'm dying to have a bath. They didn't have any hot water where I've been."
"And where exactly was that?"
"Through the stone, Silly. Just like in those romantic stories that I love to read." She seemed oblivious to me like she was lost in some adolescent, teen-age-girl, fantasy.
How exactly does that work - I'd really like you to explain. Is it like some kind of ancient stagecoach were you buy a ticket and shake, rattle and roll until you get off at your destination, or what?" She ignored my sarcasm and babbled on, "I met the most handsome Highlander..."
"Ah now I get it, that's why you snuck off - to have some tawdry little affair. Well that's perfectly understandable."
This time she didn't ignore my scoffing tone. In fact, she looked at me like she was just waking up from a dream and realized that I was there.
"The stone on our hill was stolen and brought here but it is still connected by magic to stones in other circles in the highlands." She asserted.
"Magic, my ass. You don't really expect me to fall for that crap? And tell me more about this highlander."
"He's younger than us: so strong and virile; long, wind-blown, blond hair; handsome, clean shaven, rugged face; he has a very big sword in his kilt."
"We made mad passionate love under the full moon!"
I felt my eyes bulge out and my mouth drop open.
"Say, what?"
"What's this bastard's name? Wait, let me guess...Macbeth!"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is, that's his clan. His first name is Duncan."
"Not that you need to know, because it has nothing to do with you."
I was so taken aback that it, momentarily, took a bit of wind out of my sarcastic sails. But before I could even begin to think of something more intelligent to say, I threw at her, "Dunkin' the Dick, or is it Sword?"
"And what exactly do you think you mean by this, 'Nothing' to do with me...?" I sputtered. "What about your marriage vow to me twenty-five years ago? Does, 'I have forsaken all others and will cleave only unto thee,' ring any bells?
She totally ignored my question and scurried off down the hall towards the bathroom.
"That's it," I thought, "She's lost it. She's gone totally off the rails." Yet I couldn't really believe that she had done something this devastating to our marriage. I hoped that maybe it was just some fairy-tale crap that she had picked up from one of her cheap pocket book romances that she was throwing in my face, as some demented idea of a joke. Or, as Bonnie had said, "Sheila's just trying to yank your chain with threats, until you give up and give her permission to have her flings."
"Through the stone...my ass. She must think I'm a moron if she expects me to swallow that hoey," I railed in a silent and lifeless, except for me, room.
Sheila knew my ancestral roots went back to Scotland, but unlike her Highland Gaelic ancestors my kin were part of the occupying English settlers. They were gifted with rich lowlands, confiscated from the losers, for their support in the massacre at Culloden. Years later, one of my ancestors, a survivor of that historic battle, sold out the estates and immigrated to the New World to take advantage of the rich opportunities available. He had absconded with that strange carved monolith and set it up on the knoll above the stone mansion I lived in. I guess it reminded him of the family's history as landed gentry, or something.
I followed her into the bath room and asked her to explain herself while the tub filled with water. She had her back to me as she was taking her clothes off and leaving them in an untidy pile on the floor. All of the time she was babbling on about how Macbeth had explained that special true highlanders could travel through the stones on the three days around the full moon. I still thought it sounded like some unbelievable, fiction-novel, horse hockey-pucks about ancient magic. She turned the taps off and added a generous amount of bubble bath to the water and swished it around. Then she turned and smiled sweetly at me - or maybe some romantic fantasy that she was having - as she got into the tub. And that's when I saw the marks.
It was no manipulative, imaginary threat, to get my permission for anything. It became very real, very fast. It was way beyond the point of being a mere tawdry romantic fantasy. She had rather obvious fresh hickeys and love bites on both of her boobs. And I hadn't put them there.
I staggered backwards through the door - Too shocked to even try to speak.
*****
Later, there was no memory of how I got there. I was sitting in a stunned daze, as Bonnie brought me a whiskey glass with a finger of the golden amber 'water-of-life.' She sat it on the scarred up old table in front of me, before taking a seat in the burgundy, faux- leather, half-moon shaped banquette bench opposite so she could watch my face - trying to assess if I was drunk or sick, or both, I imagined.
"How ironic," I said to her, "Scotch." Then downed it in one gulp - It burned like hell.
She looked at me with a questioning look on her face, before saying, "Damn, I thought you liked to sip it and savor the flavor?"
"I do...I mean, I did. My hands may never touch it again. My hands may never touch anything that a Scotsman has touched. My hands may strangle someone. Fair Barmaid, please hit me again...but this time make it something else. How about a Canadian whiskey...as far as I know, none of them have stuck their sword in my wife's scabbard."
Again she looked at me quizzically. When I didn't explain right away, she scowled at my lame attempt at dark humor. "My ancestors were Scottish, as were yours - although yours were only lowlanders, Sassenach." She said, gently poking me in the chest. Before getting up to go and fetch another drink.
If it was meant as an insult, it went right over my head. I chose to believe she was only teasing me with that little dig, because she was smiling broadly at me. We had been good friends for years and had never done anything remotely romantic, beyond a little harmless bar flirting with each other, because we had both been married. However, I wasn't entirely sure if that was going to be the case for much longer. I looked at her with new appreciation - I sure liked what I saw.
"But, you aren't making any sense. Is this going to be another one of those nights? Better give me your car keys. Then you can explain. What's going on?"
I gave her my keys and she went and put them behind the bar. None of the thin scattering of regulars flagged her down for a refill so she returned with a new glass of whiskey - three fingers, this time - but of a darker poison. It reflected the subdued bar lighting and smelled and tasted like a good whiskey should. I decided, it fit my mood just perfectly.
"She came back." Escaped from my soul in a mournful tone.
"Well that's good news...isn't it? Is there a, 'but' coming here?"
"She told me before she left she was going to have sex with some random dude. I thought it was all just a fantasy in her imagination. Not funny, but still just a fantasy. Like some bedroom make-believe story meant to tease me and get me to step up my game, or risk her carrying it out. But when she came back she was bubbling over...like she was so happy for herself. Absolutely no thought about how I felt. She is so delusional, I believe she actually thought, I would be happy that she had done it. 'Explored herself,' how can any wife think that any normal husband is going to accept that? She fucked some guy! I called him, Duncan the Dick Macbeth. I saw the proof...she let him mark her as his own!"
"Oh, my poor baby!" Bonnie scooted around the bench seat in the alcove, where I was hiding, to cuddle up right beside me and began cradling my head on her ample bosom. She was soft and warm and smelled very definitely, deliciously womanly. That was certainly an unexpected, but welcome, momentary distraction from my woes.
"Not all women are like that. If you were mine, I'd never even fantasize about doing that to such a lovable hunk like you. I've known her for years and thought of her as a good friend, and I thought you two were in it for the long haul. She's a complete idiot to risk you throwing her away."
"Why would she do that? I can't understand it. I very clearly told her, before she went down this rabbit-hole, that it would probably be the end of us, if she carried through with it. Why would she do it anyhow?"
Then a thought struck me, "Oh, crap. I didn't want to just slam the door in her face with an outright, no. I wanted to hold out the hope of talking about it. So, I said, "probably be the end of us." In hindsight knowing now what that led to, I should have said, "It 'would' be the end of us." She obviously took 'probably' to mean 'possibly' I might forgive her. And she went for it. You know the old adage, 'It's better to ask forgiveness after the deed is done than to ask permission beforehand.' Do you think I brought this disaster on myself?"
"I don't know baby. I don't think so. Some women go a bit squirrely when they become empty nesters. Is she about to go through the change? A women's hormones can get totally whacky then. I've heard it likened to going through puberty in reverse. It's a big deal for a woman to let her kids leave and then at the same time realize she can never have anymore. Some feel like they are totally useless and unlovable - their main purpose in life is over. I've heard they go out and seek reassurance that they are still attractive and lovable."
"I tell her I still think she's very attractive, and I love her all, of the time. And make love to her every chance I get. Although, come to think of it, in total honesty, it seems there haven't been very many chances in the last few months."
"But you're her husband - you're expected to do that. You've been doing that for over twenty five years. Maybe she's got a point about this in a rut thing, if that's what she's thinking, but she's the one who is in a rut in her imagination. And thinking that by seeking validation of her sexuality and attractiveness by screwing some outsider is going to somehow make things better is just plain crazy...Do you suppose it could be something like that?"
"I don't know. She's shut me out about this. Bottom line, any way you try and excuse or rationalize this cheating is, as I said, just, 'delusional,' on her part."
I snuffled and my eyes got teary, over apparently losing who I still thought of as the love of my life, but I didn't cry.
"John? Are you going to be Ok? What are you going to do?
Then, I straightened up. I suddenly realized I had to overcome my own insecurities and fears about our future together. "Do...?" A plan began to coalesce in my mind as I spoke, "First thing I'm going to do is man up - put my big boy pants on - and deal with this pile of crap that's been dropped on me. I've only had one drink, and I've only had one sip out of this one - so, I'm Ok to drive. I need my keys back.
I'm going to confront my wife..."
I noticed that Bonnie's face broke into a big smile as I said that.
Then I continued, "And put an end to this fairy-tale, fantasy of hers. The hormone thing, you mentioned, that might be part of her sudden insecurity. At the very least it gives me a starting point for a conversation about this. Maybe I should take her to see a doctor about that. Then maybe some counseling. I'd even go so far as couples counselling if it would stop this slow-motion, train wreck from getting any worse."
Bonnie's smile had slowly faded away as I sketched out my action plan.
*****
Pulling into my driveway and parking, I could see that the kitchen-range hood light and one of the pole lamps in the living room were glowing softly in the gloom.
Going inside, didn't result in me finding Sheila in either of those rooms. "Has she sneaked off to meet up with Duncan the Dick again?" I wondered. Disappointed and disgusted, I dragged my sorry-self down the hall to our bedroom.
There she was, in our bed with only a thin sheet as a covering. Her freshly washed, dried and brushed, flame red hair was gloriously fanned out on the pillow, and accented by the softly glowing vanilla scented candles that were seductively spread around the room. Judging by the two prominent points that were poking at the white sheet that covered her, I knew she was naked and waiting for me.
"Ah, makeup sex was being offered." I knew this was probably a bad idea. I knew this was possibly another attempt at pacifying me into accepting what she had done. But what can I say, after all was said and done, I still loved the silly wench. She's my wife and nobody else's. Besides, I'm a guy and pussy is pussy - I rationalized. If this still blew up in my face, it might be a long time before I got some more. I didn't waste any time in joining her. My belt was unbuckled and the rest of my clothes were shucked off and clunked on the floor in record time.
Lifting the top sheet and sliding underneath it confirmed what I already knew, my beautiful wife was indeed naked and waiting for me to make an entrance. We started out with a soft, tentative, almost shy, first time kiss, as if neither one of us was sure if we still had a solid relationship left to go forward with. Her eyes stayed open and never left my face, as I equally watched her reaction. Fairly quickly things became more heated; the kisses turned more passionate. In no time we were forcefully mashing our lips together and our tongues were snaking into each other's mouths. Soon we were engaged in a full on breathless game of tonsil hockey.
My hand reached out and caressed an ample breast and then cupped a generous portion. She loves having her sensitive nipples played with and I obliged. Soon I was tweaking one nipple and had latched on and was suckling on the other, softly nipping that long dark object of my desire.
Her hand had encircled my turgid member and was rapidly stroking it to a steel hardness. Then she ducked beneath the sheet, scooted down and had soon engulfed me in her hot urgent mouth. I was getting ready to return the pleasure when she resurfaced and passionately cried out, "Now...I need you inside me now."
She pushed me over onto my back and straddled my waist. Then she began to rub my cock up and down her dripping slit for a delightful time or three. When I think she considered everything to be just right and to her satisfaction. She lined herself up and slowly lowered herself down. It seemed like an excruciatingly long time, but was probably only a moment in reality, before my mushroom head parted her fully engorged and flowered pussy lips and pressed inwards. Another exquisitely long time and my head popped past her vestibule and sank its way into the molten lava of her fiery depth. I was soon pushing as deep as I could get into her hot yet velvety softness as she rode me in the cowgirl position.
One of my hands had found its way back to a soft breast and began pulling on an eraser hard nipple. She sucked in her breath. My other hand had wandered down her taut stomach and found the beginning of her very wet slit. It was soon sensuously rubbing on the pearl poking out from its hood. She gasped and then moaned.
Somewhere in the sensory overloaded depths of my mush-mind, I knew I would last longer with the slow languid up and down motion she was setting, with her on top and controlling the pace. I just lay back and enjoyed the ride. In this position, I had both hands free to fondle her delicious bod. When I released the nipple, I had been enjoying playing with, her boobs slapped together with a delightfully sexy sound.
She had her eyes closed now and was making sensuous little squeals in between gasped out phrases of, "oh yes...oh god...right there...just like that." Then I could feel her pc muscles start to rapidly contract as a long drawn out moan burbled through her lips and I could feel a squirt of her love juices flooding over me. That pushed me to the edge and like it had a mind of its own my back started to arch, and with only my shoulders and heels still in contact, I lifted us both up off the bed. My balls seemed to pulse and I let out a bellow. Then jet after jet of my milky cum blasted deep inside her as she screamed out her own orgasmic glee.
She collapsed on top of me, our sweat slicked bodies rested, and hugging each other as close and intimately as only two long-time lovers could. Then she slowly slid off to lie beside me and we just naturally rolled into a spoon position as only a long-time married couple, totally familiar with the sleeping habits of each other, could. And just as naturally, my hand managed to find and cup one still softly heaving breast as I felt the nipple start to soften under my palm. She put her hand on top of mine and held it possessively against her breast while snuggling under my other arm.
The room smelled of the delectable fragrance of our love making. The scented candles had one by one winked out as if they knew their efforts, like ours, were well done and appreciated. "That was a thoroughly enjoyable expression of my love for her," I thought, as we both drifted off into a mutually satiated sleep.
*****
I awoke slowly the next morning, with the bright sunshine streaming in the window. I had a great big happy, well-loved grin on my face.
I didn't have rose tinted glasses on, I knew that getting over what she had done would be a long hard road. And maybe we were just permanently damaged and would never get over it.
I had stumbled upon stories in "NavelStories", in the past, about reclaiming your wife after she made a one-time slip. Making her want only you again, and I felt I had done an outstanding job of taking the first step in that direction.
For right now, I was just thankful that I had her back. "Forgiving and forgetting would be a 'Gordian Knot' to solve on another day."
After my morning ritual, I wandered into the kitchen. Sheila had cooked up a huge breakfast which smelled, simply mouth-watering. She was busy wolfing down bacon, eggs and toast like she hadn't eaten in days. The unwelcome thought, "Maybe she has been too busy fucking Macbeth to slow down and eat," popped into my head. My mood crashed.
"Tell me about it." I demanded, more harshly than I meant to.
"No, 'I love you?' Especially after, what I did for you last night. No, 'good morning,' at least?"
"Whoa. Did for me? It should be, 'did for us.' Me say, I love you? How about you? Can you still say the same?" I was fumbling for something to come back with and I settled on the only thing that came to mind as I twisted my wedding ring off and thrust it at her and showed her the inscription on the inside. Do you remember what this says? 'Forever, love Sheila.' Can you still say that after your 'fling' weekend? Doesn't the inscription on your wedding ring say the same, except for John instead of Sheila?"
"Of course, I still love you, and only you. What I did was only sex. It doesn't mean anything. It has nothing to do with our love for each other."
I zoned out, "Here we go," I thought, "Just like I've read in that frog boiling cauldron of 'Loving Wives' stories. All of the lame-brain rationalizations from the 'cheating wives handbook.' I realized I had run head first into the indecipherable and impenetrable, to the common John, stone wall of female logic. I decided, for now, a tactical retreat was best. So, I kept my mouth shut.
She was still going yada-yada about the insights she gleaned from the pontification of some femme prophetess she had read in 'Cosmo' when I tuned back in.
"Ok. Enough already!" I practically shouted. "Can we put all of this psycho babel behind us and try and put our lives back together?"
She looked like she was ready to blast flames at me, but she at least shut up, for the moment. This had gone south so fast that my glow from last night was totally gone. Worse I didn't even get a chance to present, to her, my plan; Doctor, hormone therapy, counseling, that I had come up with, when I was talking to Bonnie.
"Bonnie," I thought, "will probably smile from ear-to-ear when she hears how bad my crash and burn, so fast and disastrously, was."
I quickly threw in a diversion, in a totally different direction, to distract Sheila from the tangent I had flown off on. "Who do you think we should invite to our twenty-fifth anniversary? It's less than four weeks away - I think we should start making plans..."
Not the reaction I expected; she went very quiet. Usually, something like organising a party - especially such a milestone anniversary - would have sent her into a tizzy of planning.
"What? Nothing? Oh, crap..."
We seemed to be stuck in an uneasy truce for the next few weeks. I tried everything I could think of to draw her out and talk about what was bothering her. No response, except to say, "Nothing, is bothering me."
There was zero interest in an anniversary gathering of friends and family - so, I just let it drop. We became hermits. We didn't go out together to socialize, or have any of our friends or family over. And as far as any bedroom activity was concerned, I couldn't thaw my way through the glacier she had encased herself in to get anything going.
In desperation, I dropped into visit Bonnie in her little, chubby-hole bar and told her my sorry sob stories.
She always seemed happy to see me and commiserate. It always cheered me up, for a little while - until I had to go back home to the ice-queen.
*****
The weekend of our anniversary was soon upon us - it was the next day, after tonight. I wasn't in the loop for the plans for the surprise celebration if there, in fact, was going to be one. However, I was determined to use this occasion to give us one last chance.
"Saturday's our twenty-fifth. I haven't heard from the kids, are they going to fly in and take us out somewhere to celebrate?"
"No."
"Pardon me?" The puzzlement obvious in my tone, "I thought they at least wouldn't have forgotten about us."
"I told them not to come."
"Say what? Why in God's name would you do that?"
"Because, I won't be here." She said defiantly.
I was completely baffled - and speechless.
She continued, "It's one night before the full moon."
"So what...do we have to get drunk and dance around that grotesque stone...naked - that might be kinda fun sometime...but I really think in the summer would be better...don't wanna get frostbite on certain delicate bits." She didn't even crack a smile.
"I told Duncan I'd be with him again, this full moon weekend."
A quick glance out the window confirmed my worst nightmare, the waxing gibbous moon was just rising above the black horizon.
Have you ever seen that bit in a movie where somebody pulls their nails down a chalkboard and you cringe at that sickening screech? That's what just clawed through my heart. I had been prepared to try and get over a one-time crazy fling, but now I had to finally acknowledge that my attempt at reconciliation hadn't worked. Perhaps it was doomed to fail right from the get-go. Another truism gleaned from reading online stories, 'once a cheater always a cheater,' came to mind.
"I'll be back on the third night."
"No! No you won't...I've had enough of this fantasy. I'm warning you, if you walk out of that door, I'll never let you come back." I realized it was true - if she went to him again, I didn't want her back.
"Quit being so melodramatic. If you truly loved me as much as you say, you'd understand that I need this for me. Just for me. Right now. It will be over some day, and we will be together 'forever.' Just like we always planned - just like we pledged on our rings."
With that, she got up and left without another word. Nor did she wait to hear if I had anything to say. By the time I had got over my shock and managed to extricate myself from the table, she had a good long head start. I tried to catch up to her as she hurried up the knoll but the moonlight didn't really provide enough light to see exactly what was in front of me on the rough terrain of the hill. So, as my bad luck lately would have it, I ran right into a sleeping cow and went flying 'ass over tea kettle.' Take my word for it, you don't want to be around a rudely awakened, pissed-off cow when it starts thrashing around to get up.
Meanwhile, Sheila managed to reach the stone while I was still fifty yards behind and then I lost sight of her in the ground hugging fog. When I got to the mysterious slab of carved rock, there was no sign of her, and I had no idea where she had gone from there. I called her name several times but got no answer. Finally I gave up and went home to a cold, lonely bed and spent a restless, sleepless night.
*****
The next day, "What a sick joke," I railed, "it's our twenty fifth anniversary and I've been abandoned for some mystical lover who, supposedly, lives on the other side of a rock."
"Or under it is more likely." I spat out.
"Hmm, 'under it'..." the beginning of a plan was forming in my mind.
"Well," I concluded, "I can't go on like this. No more trying to be patient, understanding, persuasive, or pleading. It is time to take definitive action. I am determined to put a permanent stop to this nonsense once and for all. A divorce is definitely in my future."
But first, I went to visit my neighbor. He gave me the quickie course on how to drive and operate the backhoe he had for his small construction business.
I managed to navigate my way up the knoll without rolling the heavy rig over. But I did scare the crap out of the cows and they scattered in front of the snorting beast. I was vastly amused by seeing the fresh cow flop right in front of the stone. "That's what I think of it too," I said out loud. It only took a few tries to scoop a shallow trench in the soft earth and I had soon pulled that cursed stone over and put a shallow layer of soil on top of it.
"That," I thought, smugly, "is that."
"I win!"
"She will never again be able to fantasize about travelling to visit with her lover through some silly magical stone. And I'll be sure to point that out to her when I see her!"
Except...
Sheila never came home again.
*****
Epilogue:
When it became obvious that she was gone for good, I had to admit that to: Bonnie, who already knew most of the story; the cops, who didn't think it warranted any investigation, given her history of running away; my kids, who I saw no good reason to tell every hurtful detail to; and anyone else who cared that she had apparently taken off with her lover, Macbeth or Duncan the Dick or whatever his name might be.
But by then, I really didn't care anymore, Bonnie and I had progressed in our relationship. She was now affectionately referring to me as, "her very dear, lowlander, Sassenach," and things were looking very promising for our future together.
We had talked about it and knew we had to wait out the year before I could start on a divorce for abandonment and we could get married. But there was plenty of kicking the tires and test drives - just practicing for our honeymoon, before then.
I finally got to do some of those things I mentioned to Sheila, seemingly so long ago: Fix up the old homestead; Travel and see the sights; and wild monkey sex. Except it was with a new and I thought better woman, Bonnie.
An interesting thing happened when we took a nice vacation to see our ancestral homeland in Scotland. We visited a small rural highland museum, close to where both Bonnie's and Sheila's ancestral kinfolk once lived, high above the lowland that my ancestors had once inhabited. In that museum hidden amongst the antique farm implements and assorted clothing, swords and other such reminders of past lives, loves and fights, they had a couple of artifacts that puzzled them.
One was a faded and forlorn, loveless looking, patchwork, leather shoulder bag.
The other was a gold wedding ring estimated to be from a few dozen years after the battle of Culloden. Nobody knew who they belonged to, or how they came to be there - except for me.
I smiled.
It seemed maybe there might be something to the nonsense that Sheila had been spouting after all.
The ring was inscribed,
'Forever, Love John.'
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